Letters from War (3 page)

She folds the letter and slips it in the envelope, then addresses it and places it on the dresser for tomorrow's mail. As she does, she sees one of the framed photos watching her, grinning in the silence.

It's a picture of James with his father, Richard.

If love was four by six inches in brilliant color, this would be it.

The familiar ache comes like the gentle kiss of a child, unabashed.

Sometimes, the more you love, the more you hurt.

It shouldn't be that way, but in a fallen and broken world, there are many things that shouldn't be.

Beth accepts it, even embraces it. She would rather hurt knowing the love exists than never be able to picture it at all.

In the darkness moments later, under the covers in an ocean of a bed, she thinks of a land she's never seen before and wonders if he's there.

Doing what she's doing.

Waiting and wondering.

Every weekday morning, the sunrise competes with her grandson's smile.

Beth watches Richie pounding a plastic toy into another as he sits in his hunkered-down stance on the worn carpet. The wide eyes and healthy cheeks
and giggling demeanor never hint at the truth behind this little man. The boy doesn't know the father he's missing, the father he's never seen in person. The father who doesn't even know his name.

Perhaps some grandmothers wouldn't be able to move on from this fact. But now that Richie can walk, Beth doesn't have time to sit around moping about missing soldiers. Instead, she relishes these moments and reflects on how much Richie's little round face resembles his father's.

A cackle comes out of the toddler's mouth as he gnaws on the plastic car. Richie is only a year and a half old. They never decided on a name, so after James went missing, the choice of names fell to Britt. She decided to name him Richard, after his grandfather. Everybody has since designated him Richie or little Rich.

“I know—that's pretty cool, huh?”

Richie's playing with a new toy that Beth brought over. She can't help herself. This is her first grandchild and she can't help spoiling him.

You can't spoil someone who's missing half his life. It's impossible.

Every weekday morning, Beth comes over to this house to watch Richie while his mommy goes to work. Britt usually comes back home around one in the afternoon. It's the least Beth can do. In fact, these visits
are something she's grown used to, something she's started to need.

The phone rings and Beth answers it, already knowing who it is.

“Everything going okay?”

A year and a half and Britt is still more worried than she should be.

“He's in a great mood today.”

“He's always in a great mood when Grandma brings him new toys,” Britt says with a smile in her voice.

“It was on sale at the store. I couldn't say no.”

“I just realized that there's nothing to eat for lunch.”

“It's fine. We'll find something. We can always go out.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's fine. Please.”

Beth ends up telling Britt about something new that Richie did this morning. She can understand the extra anxiety in her daughter-in-law. Anybody who has something traumatic happen, like the death of a spouse (or in this case, the possibility of death), will surely be left with oversensitivity.

“I'll try working on that stain in the carpet sometime later,” Beth says. “That was quite the explosion.”

“I didn't mean to leave you with that mess.”

“You never forget how to clean up messes like that. Richard could do anything on a battlefield, but give
him a messy diaper and he suddenly became completely inept.”

For a brief second, there's a pause. Beth quickly fills in the silence.

“Don't rush home. We're going to take a nice little stroll around the neighborhood after lunch.”

After getting off the phone, Beth looks at the wedding picture of James and Britt. Who would ever have guessed that a little over a year after it was taken, this beautiful picture of love would be cracked in half?

She feels tugging at her leg. Glancing down, Beth sees Richie with his mouth wide open and smiling.

Who would have guessed that three months after that, God would bless us with this strong bundle of love?

He's still not too big to pick up. Almost, but not there yet.

Beth lifts Richie and then shows him the picture.

“That's your mommy and daddy. Do you know that?”

She wants to say that he's going to see his daddy soon, that his daddy loves him, that his daddy's going to come and make things better. But Beth can't say any of those things.

He's only one and a half, but I can't lie to him.

“You look just like he did, you know that?”

It could be a blessing or a curse, depending on how you looked at it.

Holding this precious child in her arms, Beth can only think of it as an amazing gift.

“Come on, let's go try to clean up that mess you made in your room. Okay?”

She stares at the picture of the perfect family standing in front of her in the atrium of the church.

They're perfect because they're together, all the members still intact.

The music has finally stopped streaming out of the open doors of the converted gym. Holding on to a church program, Beth can't help smiling as she watches the playful jostling between siblings. She waits for Josie as the mother of four makes sure the rest of her family knows the plan. It appears the only one of the group who needs special attention is the father.

“Maybe we'll just go to Denny's,” Phil tells his children.

There is a collective groan as the man looks at the two of them and laughs.

“Be kind to the kids,” Josie tells him.

“They really do have good food. If you weren't so health-conscious maybe you'd try it out.”

“My idea of a good breakfast isn't a Grand Slam.”

“Hey—don't knock it till you've tried it!”

Beth watches Phil talking to the teenagers the way a youth pastor might interact with his kids. There is an unmistakable bond visible between the father and his children. She takes in the scene and studies it, her eyes more focused than they were ten minutes earlier during the pastor's sermon.

The kids laugh at their father's jokes and joke back. A relaxed and joyous banter bounces among them, the kind that contradicts the typical image of a typical father with teenage children. The father glances up at Beth.

“How are you doing today?” he asks.

“I'm doing well,” she says. “Thanks.”

It might be easy to be envious or bitter, but she knows that these two things are exactly like the cancer that killed Richard. They grow in silent, dark spaces. If not caught, they are deadly.

“So what are you in the mood for?” Josie asks her after they say good-bye to the rest of the gang.

“Something healthy,” Beth says. “Like a hamburger.”

The women agree where to meet and separate in the parking lot. The Sunday after Memorial Day is hot, and even though the drive to the restaurant takes just ten minutes, the air conditioner in Beth's car is still blowing
mostly warm air. The SUV is only a few years old, but she is starting to wonder if she needs to get it checked. With everything going on, she doesn't want to deal with taking the car in for a tune-up.

That's someone else's responsibility.

The errant thought surprises her. She imagines it's probably having Emily home, a nonstop voice that never ceases to surprise her.

She thinks of Emily and calls her on her cell.

“I notice you didn't come home last night.”

“Yeah, I met a guy at the restaurant,” Emily says. “He lives in a crummy trailer in the middle of the woods.”

“Stop it.”

“I told you I was going over to Trish's place after work.”

She's glad to hear that Emily doesn't sound too tired.

“I missed you in church.”

“We were up late last night.”

“I hope you weren't being foolish.”

Emily sighs. “Just because I didn't go to church doesn't mean I was up to no good.”

“I thought Trish went to church.”

“She does. They went this morning. I came back home. I'm sitting on the deck.”

“You're home?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Beth asks. “I could've changed my lunch plans.”

“It's no big deal.”

“You didn't want to go to church with Trish?”

“Not really.”

This new air of—what is it?—indifference, perhaps nonchalance, toward church is something new. It's been there ever since she came back from college.

But now's not the time.

“I won't be long,” Beth says.

“Enjoy yourself. I just started a new book today.”

“Anything I'd like?”

“It's by Dennis Shore.”

“Ooh. Too scary for me. I don't need anything else to keep me awake at night. I have enough already.”

“Why do you think I'm reading it in the daytime?”

Throughout lunch, she can tell that Josie is digging, probing, trying a little harder than usual.

And then:

“There's nothing wrong with letting go.”

The statement slaps her across the face. In stunned silence, Beth hears the soft echoes of conversation in the dining room, the familiar clinking of silverware against china, the footsteps of a server rushing by. For a moment
she's frozen in time, not sure where the comment came from, not sure what to say back.

“And I don't say that to hurt you in any way.”

Beth tightens her lips and takes a sip of her iced tea. “Then maybe you shouldn't have said it. Because it hurts.”

“It's been two years.”

“It will be two years in August.”

“A lot of folks are worried, Beth.”

“So am I.”

“They're worried about you.”

For a moment, she glances down at her hand. Her ring is there and will always be. She notices how pale and bony her hands and arms have become, how old she's starting to look now that looks are the last thing on her mind.