If I Return (11 page)

He doesn’t respond right away and my heart starts sinking. I was foolish to hope for something more than what was being offered to me this week. I can’t help the wetness that floods my eyes, and I’m happy that he can’t see my face right now.

“Hope,” he says tentatively, almost with the sound of dread in his voice.

“Never mind,” I cut in. “It was silly. Forget I even mentioned it.”

Jack pulls back from me so he can see my face and I blink rapidly, hoping to dispel the tears. “No, I won’t forget it. I was going to say that yes, I could definitely see us reconnecting when I return.”

An overwhelming feeling of elation courses through my body. “Really?”

Jack meets my smile. “Yes, really.”

I throw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck. Burying my face in his neck, I mumble, “That makes me so happy. And we can stay in touch the entire time you’re gone. I can write you letters every day, and I’m not sure if you have access to email, but we can do that, too. And I’ll send you care packages... of all your favorite stuff, and you can tell me all about your life there. Before you know it, you’ll be back and—”

“Hope, wait. I need you to stop for a second.” Jack pushes me back from him and the tone of his voice scares me. Jack sits up in the bed and rests his back against the headboard.

“What’s wrong?”

Jack takes both of his hands and rubs them on his face. Letting out a huge sigh, he looks at me and his eyes are filled with sorrow. “I don’t want to stay in touch with you when I’m gone. I don’t want you writing me and I’m not going to write you.”

“What?” I ask, confused by this. “But you said you wanted a relationship.”

Jack lowers his gaze from mine and is silent. Without looking back up, he reaches over and takes one of my hands in his. He strokes my hand, keeping his eyes focused there.

“I don’t want you waiting around for me. I might not come back and that’s not fair to you.”

“Isn’t that for me to decide?”

He finally looks up at me and his eyes are hard. “No, it’s for me to decide. I can’t leave you back here worrying about me. I can’t have you waiting for a man that may not come back to you. I won’t let you do it.”

“That’s absurd,” I tell him.

“No, it’s not. It’s life and I’ve seen firsthand what it’s like for the girlfriends and wives that have to wait out the torture. I’ve seen firsthand the devastation it can cause a woman when she loses the man she loves.”

“Jack... it won’t—”

“No, Hope.” His words are harsh and cause my mouth to snap shut. “Listen to me. I watched my best buddy head over there, and I watched his wife, Jennifer, suffer months of torturous waiting. I saw the worry on her face every time the news reported soldier deaths, and every time her phone rang, I watched dread fill her face. But most of all, I watched her crumple to the floor when she got the news that Mark was coming home in a body bag. I don’t wish that on anyone and I certainly don’t wish that on you.”

Jack’s face is awash in misery over those memories and I choose my next words carefully. “I understand all of that, Jack, and it sounds horrible... but I
know
I can handle this.”

He leans forward in the bed and frames my face with his hands. He looks deep into my eyes, his gaze searching back and forth until he’s sure he has my undivided attention. “You may be able to handle it... but I
can’t
. I don’t want to have to worry about you, too. I need my head in the game and if I worry about how you’re doing, I won’t be worried about my job. I’m sorry, Hope, but I mean it. I don’t want any contact and I want you to go on with your life. If I come back, then more than anything, I want to see you again.”

I don’t know what to say to him. I think he’s wrong... so very, very wrong. I don’t think it’s fair for him to judge what I can and cannot handle. But the thought that his worrying over me could cause him to operate at less than optimal level is like a punch in my gut.

“Please, let’s not talk about this anymore tonight. I’d rather spend my time making love to you.”

He leans in and kisses me, and it’s filled with hunger and desperation. I give in to it, but in the back of my mind, I’m already planning to hit him with this again tomorrow before we leave. I don’t believe cutting off all contact is the answer.

I crawl onto his lap and wrap my arms around his neck. “Okay, Jack. No more talking tonight. Let’s just show each other how much we’ll be missing while you’re gone.”

Present Day

I open my eyes, shaking myself from the memories I created with Jack.

Memories that I hope I won’t have to rely on the rest of my life because I want to create new ones with him.

Thinking of the way that Jack left me a year ago causes me to both burn with anger and practically weep with sorrow for him. I understand his reasoning, I truly do. But I don’t agree with it and I wasn’t about to abide completely by his wishes.

I reach into my purse and pull out two envelopes. Laying both of them on the bar before me, I pick up the one that has The Montgrove Inn’s logo in the top, left corner. Pulling the sheet of paper out, I unfold it and flatten it out before me. It was Jack’s last words that I had to hold on to.

When I woke up that last morning, my first thoughts were about starting up a fresh conversation with Jack about moving forward with our relationship right now... not when he returned from war. But, rolling over in bed and seeing that his side was empty, I knew immediately that he was gone. I stood on shaky legs and made my way over to the closet. Sliding the door back, I saw it was empty. I peered into the bathroom and it was bare as well.

When I walked back into the bedroom, I saw the envelope lying on his pillow that only had the word “Hope” scrawled on the front.

I’ve carried that letter with me since that day, and while I only read it every now and then, I choose to read it again, at this very moment, to see if I can renew my hope that he will show up.

Dear Hope,

I hate to leave you like this and, although we have not known each other long, I know you well enough to know that you’ll ambush me with another attempt for us to forge a relationship right now rather than wait for my return. When I’m around you, my resolve is weak and I want to give into the comfort that I know you will offer me. As such, I decided to go ahead and get an early start out of here so I don’t have to see your beautiful eyes looking at me with sadness.

Instead, I’d rather remember you lying in the snow, with your hair spread out and your eyes full of promise. That is the image I will hold on to and I know it will never grow dull in my memory.

I don’t have the right to ask you to wait for me, so I won’t do it. I want you to lead your life to the fullest and don’t look backward. If it helps, please know that I’m not going to look back on our time together either. I don’t want to be burdened with ‘what ifs’. I’m going to move forward with what I need to do and you need to do the same. It will be easier on you if things go badly for me.

If, by some miracle, you remain unattached and I remain alive, perhaps we can have another chance to be something. I hope to meet you back here next Christmas Eve and then we can move forward.

But only if I make it back. Only if I return.

Be well, Hope. Be happy.

Love,

Jack

My hands shake slightly as I lay the letter back down. He told me to move forward and don’t look back. It was a ridiculous request and one I found impossible to do. I knew Jack would be in grave danger while in Afghanistan, but I also knew chances were good he’d make it back to me. So there was no way I was moving forward without him.

I lasted all of two days before I had Audrey work her magic. She called Carson, who in turn called Jack’s mother, and before Jack even made it to Afghanistan, I had his address.

I waited two weeks before I wrote my first letter. It started off with an apology for doing something he specifically asked me not to do. Then I filled it with chatty news about my life. I wrote words that were upbeat and positive. I wanted him to know that he didn’t have to worry about me, even though I was secretly pining and filled with anxiety over his safety. I waited patiently for a response but I never received one.

Two weeks later, I wrote again. I told him jokes, and enclosed some funny comic strips I had collected. I explained, in probably excruciating detail, how my classes were going. I filled up two pages of fun details about my life and I made sure he knew that I missed him.

I never got a response.

But that didn’t deter me.

I wrote him thereafter about every two weeks. I kept the letters light and breezy. I poured out word after word about my life and there is now no person on the planet that knows Hope Camden better than Jack Freeman.

About four months after Jack left, I got an envelope in the mail. My heart stuttered, and then stalled for a brief moment when I saw the postmark. It said “Military Post, APO, AE”. I had no idea what that meant, but the words “military post” told me all I needed to know.

Jack had written to me.

I reach out and pick up that envelope that is lying on the bar. There’s no return address and I have the back secured with a piece of tape that I carefully peel back.

Inside there is no letter but there is a wealth of information. I reach in and pull out the dried flower... some sort of desert species, I assume. It’s a deep shade of purple and looks like it may have been round and fuzzy at one point, although now it’s flat and shaped like a fan. It’s clear that Jack took his time to press and dry it out before sending it to me. I lift it to my nose and sniff, although I know it won’t smell like anything.

Setting the flower down, I let my fingers graze the remaining contents of the envelope. It’s nothing more than maybe a quarter teaspoon of sand, but I know it’s the soil that Jack himself stood on, and that has brought me much comfort over the last few months.

A flower and sand is what I received from Jack, but the message was clear. He had been thinking of me and I took that to be his silent agreement that I should keep writing to him. I doubled my efforts and sent him a letter every week.

I never received anything else from him.

I also never bothered to try to find out if he was okay. I could have easily found out through Carson, but I knew in my heart of hearts he would make it out of there okay. Besides, I knew if something had happened to him, Carson would have gotten word to Audrey, and as I sit here now, I know if Jack doesn’t show up, it will be because he doesn’t want to see me.

I return the flower to the envelope and carefully seal it back up so as not to lose any of the precious sand. I place it carefully in my purse, and then pick up the letter he had left me. I resist the urge to read it one more time, and start to fold it up.

“I lied, you know.”

His voice is soft and seeps into the very pores of my skin.

Jack.

Turning slowly on the barstool, I take him in. He looks the same... tall, military haircut, glimmering eyes. He’s dressed in jeans, a white dress shirt, and a tweed sports jacket. His hands are tucked into his back pockets.

My mouth goes dry at the sight of him and the hammering of my heart sounds like thunder in my own ears.

“Don’t you want to know how I lied?” he asks.

Licking my lips, I do nothing but nod at him.

Removing his hands from his pockets, he takes a step closer to me. I inhale and smell his spicy cologne. His hand comes up and tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear. That small touch sends a tremor down my spine and I have to fight not to close my eyes in response.

“I lied in that letter you’re holding,” he says, looking down at the paper that is now gripped tightly in my hand.

He reaches out and takes the letter from me. Opening it up, he skims it briefly, his forehead crinkled in consternation.

“Right here,” he points, showing the letter to me. “Where I said that I wasn’t going to think back on our time together. That I was going to move forward without you.”

I glance to where he’s pointing and then back at him. His eyes are deep pools of sorrow and my heart aches for him.

“I lied about that, Hope. I thought I could put you out of my mind, but I couldn’t. I thought about you every single day that I was there. I thought about you every single night... just before I fell asleep. And those letters... I was pissed when I saw the first one, but it didn’t stop me from devouring every word you wrote. From then on, I craved to hear from you. My happiest days there were when I got a letter from you.”

Elation bubbles up inside of me over his words. To know that I gave him comfort makes the agony of waiting so very worthwhile.

“I got the flower and sand you sent me.”

He nods. “I didn’t write, because I didn’t want you getting close to me. But I had to let you know that your words weren’t in vain.”