Sara:
Thank you for the card and letter you sent. I enjoyed them both. I am thirty-seven, which my mother points out often, so I can relate to your situation. Skip the cat, though, and get a dog. I have one that I miss.
Regards, Major Gabriel Randall, US Army, Iraq
PS . . . I’ll take Maverick since Goose meets an unfortunate ending.
Gabe winced as he read over the short response. He’d written warmer and more engaging e-mails to his boss than he had the woman he wanted to impress. Being career military had taught him to get his point across using his words sparingly. He’d long ago lost all social graces, it seemed. Not that he had many to begin with. He was a man who believed in getting to the point. There was no sugar coating, nor chitchat. It was all about the fastest way to accomplish the objective. In business, time was money. But in war, time could be your worst enemy. You work long hours not only because there’s always something that needs to be done but also because you need to dull the ache of being away from everyone you know. There was no looking forward to the weekend. Saturday and Sunday were no different than the five days before them. You get up and go to work, then come back to a tiny room where you stare at the walls or watch Netflix. Then you attempt to sleep in an uncomfortable bed. When you’re as tall as he was, your feet were usually dangling off the twin-size mattress.
He knew firsthand that the first month of being deployed in a combat zone, you woke with your heart racing as the sounds of fighter jets landing and taking off shook the thin walls around you. And, of course, the announcements when there were bombings near or inside the base. The latter can be terrifying for the newbies, but even they become accustomed to all of that after a while. Life in the suck zone.
Speaking of time, Gabe glanced down at his watch, then cursed under his breath. Unless he was dealing with an emergency, he was never late for anything. Yet his musings had done just that, to the tune of two minutes. He jumped to his feet and hurried out of the office. This is all on you, mystery lady. It was painfully obvious that he was more Major Randall than Gabriel Randall, which made sense given how many tours he’d done. That also made him good at his job, so that wasn’t a total negative. But what would the woman who wrote the letter think? It shouldn’t matter, and Gabriel knew that. The brief moment of receiving something unrelated to war, unrelated to risk, unrelated to woe, was just that. A brief distraction, something he’d probably not receive again given his succinct reply. Duty called. Back to real life.
* * *
• • •
Sara was lying in bed flipping channels. She’d already tried reading, but nothing seemed to keep her attention. Normally she was thrilled when Kaylee went to bed early without a struggle, but without the distraction of her niece, she found the evening to be endless. At one point she’d drifted off to sleep herself, which had been a big mistake. Because now she was wide awake, with no end in sight. She’d just settled on a rerun of Sex in the City when the e-mail alert on her iPad sounded. She absently picked it up from the nightstand and scanned the preview. Wait, what? The e-mail subject read: “Thanks for your card.” It had been almost a month since she’d mailed the card to the radio station. She’d hoped for a reply, but hadn’t really expected one. It’s probably spam, don’t get excited. The sender’s address was [email protected]. Looks official enough. Why in the heck am I still sitting here guessing? Sara hesitated another moment, then took a deep breath. She had no idea why she was so nervous. This is nuts. Open the damned e-mail already.
She straightened her shoulders and braced herself before clicking the button. Her pulse leapt as she read the message:
Sara:
Thank you for the card and letter you sent. I enjoyed them both. I am thirty-seven, which my mother points out often, so I can relate to your situation. Skip the cat, though, and get a dog. I have one that I miss.
Regards, Major Gabriel Randall, US Army, Iraq
PS . . . I’ll take Maverick since Goose meets an unfortunate ending.
Okay, admittedly it was rather brief. And her spam mail from her Internet provider was way more animated, but still. Her letter had reached a deployed soldier. Once again, her fingers were hovering as she debated a reply. He hadn’t asked her any questions, nor made any type of overture toward continuing their communication. He hadn’t exactly said he was single either. Although she thought he alluded to the fact when he mentioned his mother giving him a hard time about his age. So what if she’d written him a book and he’d responded with a paragraph? He probably figured she talked enough for both of them. Screw it, what have I got to lose? She might never hear from Gabriel again, but this qualified as the most exciting thing to happen to her in ages. And this year’s spinster award goes to . . .
Sara pushed that depressing thought aside. She’d dwelled on her aunt’s words more than enough since the reunion from hell last month. Gabriel was no doubt breathlessly anticipating her reply. She didn’t want to keep him waiting. Dare to dream, sister, dare to dream.
Dear Gabriel:
It’s great to hear from you! It sounds like we have a lot in common with the whole age thing. Although I’m not sure men are considered spinsters. Assuming you’re single, of course. I think you’d just be called a bachelor. That hardly seems fair, does it? My nickname brings to mind the little old lady in the deck of Old Maid cards. While yours makes me think of that reality television show where the men get to pick from women who look like supermodels. You lucky thing. Plus, the whole uniform thing clearly gives you the advantage. From my experience, it seems to make even unattractive men appear sexy. Camouflage is a real miracle worker. Kinda like a Wonderbra. Not that I’m saying you need it. (The uniform, not the bra.) I’m sure you’re handsome. Heck, everyone has something that works for them, right? At least one feature that others notice. Not sure what mine is. I can touch my nose with the tip of my tongue. Wait, I don’t think that counts.
What is your dog’s name?
Be safe,
Sara
Sara read it over twice more, thinking it sounded even more insane than the first note. Yet he’d responded to it, hadn’t he? If he’d done it out of pity, then shouldn’t she stay with what worked? She hit the Send button, then picked up her cell phone to call Chloe. Surprisingly enough, they’d stayed in touch after the reunion. Not only had they gone out to dinner once, but she’d also met her for lunch a few times. Of course, Kaylee had been along as well, but Chloe didn’t seem to mind. They’d even gotten into the habit of calling and texting each other most days. It was the closest thing to a friend that she’d had in years. But ever the pessimist, she wondered how long it would be before her cousin got involved with some guy and disappeared. That had happened to all of her friends from high school and college. They got married, had families, and were just sort of gone. It wasn’t that they were inconsiderate people, it was simply that their lives went in different directions and they ended up spending time with people they had more common ground with. At one time she’d spent time with Shannon, a woman who lived right across the street. But between Sara having such an unpredictable schedule and Shannon having her second child, their friendship had turned into more of a friendly wave when they saw each other in passing. They had gotten a quick cup of coffee together a few months back, but those occasions were few and far between now. There were a couple of other single women who lived nearby, but they appeared to have their own network of friends and showed no interest in branching out. Unfortunately, it made it all too easy to end up a virtual recluse, with her main source of company and entertainment coming from a five-year-old. Don’t forget dear old Mom.