involved with other men when they were
supposed to be going together. But then again, he hadn’t
proposed marriage, perhaps because he didn’t want to
make her a young widow. It was the classic dilemma of
wartime: to marry or not to marry? He couldn’t recall ex
actly what had transpired between them regarding this
subject, but he was certain she’d remember.
He sat at the base of the birch tree and looked out at the stars. In Washington, he could barely see the stars, but here in the country, the night sky was breathtaking, mind-boggling. He stared up at the universe, picking out the constellations he knew, and remembered doing this with her.
After his post-Vietnam leave, he had less than a year of
service remaining, but he’d decided to stay in a while
longer, and requested and was accepted to Army Intelli
gence School in Fort Holabird, Maryland. This was an
interesting field, and he actually enjoyed the work. He re
ceived orders for a second tour in the never-ending war,
but this time as an intelligence analyst. He’d been pro
moted to captain, the pay was all right, the duty not bad
.
Better than combat, better than Spencerville, better than
returning to a nation going crazy.
They stopped corresponding, but he heard she’d
dropped out of the doctorate program and traveled to Eu
rope, then returned to Spencerville for a cousin’s wed
ding. It was then, at the wedding, according to a friend
who had been there, that she’d met Cliff Baxter. Appar
ently, they had a good time at or after the wedding, be
cause they married a few months later. This was what
he’d heard, anyway, but by that time, it was a subject he
no longer wanted to be informed about.
Keith took the letter out of his pocket but couldn’t read it in the fading light. Nevertheless, he stared at it and recalled most of it. The sentences, the words, were innocuous, but as a product of everything that had come before, it was everything he wanted to hear. He knew what it took for her to write that letter, he knew there was an element of danger for her to put it in his mailbox and to say that she’d stop by. And the danger was not only physical in the form of Cliff Baxter but emotional as well. Neither of them needed another disappointment or a broken heart. But she’d decided to take a chance, to in fact take the lead, and he liked that.
Keith put the letter in his pocket and plucked at the grass around him.
After he heard she was married, he put her out of his
mind. That lasted about a week, and against his better
judgment, he wrote her a short note of congratulations,
care of her parents. She wrote a shorter note thanking
him for his good wishes and asked him not to write again,
ever.
He had always thought, and perhaps she thought, that
they’d somehow get together again. In truth, neither of
them could have forgotten the other. For six years, they’d
been friends, soulmates, and lovers, and had formed each
other’s lives and personalities, shared the pains and hap
piness of growing up, and never imagined a life apart.
But the world had finally intruded, and her letter made it
clear that, indeed, it was now over between them, forever.
But he never believed that.
After he was stationed in Europe, some months after
her wedding, she wrote again, apologizing for the tone of
her last letter, and suggested that writing was okay, but to
please write care of her sister Terry in the next county.
He waited until he returned to the States, then wrote
from Washington, saying little, except that he was back
and would be at the Pentagon for a year or so. Thus
began a two-decade-long correspondence, a few letters a
year, updates, the births of her children, changes of ad
dress, his transfer to the Defense Department, her local
news from Spencerville, his postings all over the world
.
They had never exchanged photographs; neither had
asked for a picture and neither had offered one. It was,
Keith thought, as though they each wanted to hold on t
o
the
supposed to be going together. But then again, he hadn’t
proposed marriage, perhaps because he didn’t want to
make her a young widow. It was the classic dilemma of
wartime: to marry or not to marry? He couldn’t recall ex
actly what had transpired between them regarding this
subject, but he was certain she’d remember.
He sat at the base of the birch tree and looked out at the stars. In Washington, he could barely see the stars, but here in the country, the night sky was breathtaking, mind-boggling. He stared up at the universe, picking out the constellations he knew, and remembered doing this with her.
After his post-Vietnam leave, he had less than a year of
service remaining, but he’d decided to stay in a while
longer, and requested and was accepted to Army Intelli
gence School in Fort Holabird, Maryland. This was an
interesting field, and he actually enjoyed the work. He re
ceived orders for a second tour in the never-ending war,
but this time as an intelligence analyst. He’d been pro
moted to captain, the pay was all right, the duty not bad
.
Better than combat, better than Spencerville, better than
returning to a nation going crazy.
They stopped corresponding, but he heard she’d
dropped out of the doctorate program and traveled to Eu
rope, then returned to Spencerville for a cousin’s wed
ding. It was then, at the wedding, according to a friend
who had been there, that she’d met Cliff Baxter. Appar
ently, they had a good time at or after the wedding, be
cause they married a few months later. This was what
he’d heard, anyway, but by that time, it was a subject he
no longer wanted to be informed about.
Keith took the letter out of his pocket but couldn’t read it in the fading light. Nevertheless, he stared at it and recalled most of it. The sentences, the words, were innocuous, but as a product of everything that had come before, it was everything he wanted to hear. He knew what it took for her to write that letter, he knew there was an element of danger for her to put it in his mailbox and to say that she’d stop by. And the danger was not only physical in the form of Cliff Baxter but emotional as well. Neither of them needed another disappointment or a broken heart. But she’d decided to take a chance, to in fact take the lead, and he liked that.
Keith put the letter in his pocket and plucked at the grass around him.
After he heard she was married, he put her out of his
mind. That lasted about a week, and against his better
judgment, he wrote her a short note of congratulations,
care of her parents. She wrote a shorter note thanking
him for his good wishes and asked him not to write again,
ever.
He had always thought, and perhaps she thought, that
they’d somehow get together again. In truth, neither of
them could have forgotten the other. For six years, they’d
been friends, soulmates, and lovers, and had formed each
other’s lives and personalities, shared the pains and hap
piness of growing up, and never imagined a life apart.
But the world had finally intruded, and her letter made it
clear that, indeed, it was now over between them, forever.
But he never believed that.
After he was stationed in Europe, some months after
her wedding, she wrote again, apologizing for the tone of
her last letter, and suggested that writing was okay, but to
please write care of her sister Terry in the next county.
He waited until he returned to the States, then wrote
from Washington, saying little, except that he was back
and would be at the Pentagon for a year or so. Thus
began a two-decade-long correspondence, a few letters a
year, updates, the births of her children, changes of ad
dress, his transfer to the Defense Department, her local
news from Spencerville, his postings all over the world
.
They had never exchanged photographs; neither had
asked for a picture and neither had offered one. It was,
Keith thought, as though they each wanted to hold on t
o
the
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