Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
I’m going to miss you. Just like I have every day for the last fourteen months. I know we decided to be friends and “what happens, happens,” but just know not a day goes by I don’t think of you and wonder where you are or what you’re doing. Maybe someday things will be different. I’ll always hope for that day.
Be safe. Be happy. I’m so proud of you.
Love,
Faith
I read it a second, then third time, soaking up every word she writes and committing it to memory. It’s crazy how you can miss someone with every fiber of your being. Someone who isn’t technically yours, but somehow seems to own your heart anyway.
I’ve never told her to wait for me.
Never.
That’s the ultimate selfish dick move.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve wanted to. So many times, I’ve wanted to beg her to wait, but that wasn’t fair to either of us, even if that particular scenario worked out for Ford and Shayne. I just keep holding on to “what’s meant to be will find a way” and praying she doesn’t meet someone along the journey. I wouldn’t blame her if she did, but I’ll always hold out hope.
Her words make me sad. To know we were close, as she said, but now farther away guts me. But this is what I signed up for. This is what I was meant to do, what I had planned to do with my life. Timing has just been a cruel bitch ever since Faith strolled into my life. Or more specifically, since I strolled into hers.
“A letter from home?”
I fold the piece of paper back up and slip it into my pocket. “Yes, sir,” I confirm, offering a small smile to the older man sitting beside me.
He nods, knowingly. “A woman, I take it.”
I confirm with another small grin. This one’s sadder than the first.
“I remember when I left for Vietnam. My Junie was home in Indiana, and it killed me to be apart from her all those months. All I could think about was getting home so I could marry her,” he says with a sad look in his eyes. Something instantly tells me his Junie isn’t around anymore.
“How’d you do it?” I ask, instantly wanting to reel the question back in. It’s not my business or my place to ask such a personal question. I’m ready to tell him to forget I asked, when he replies.
“It wasn’t easy, son. We didn’t have these telephones in our hands like you kids do nowadays. We had to write letters to communicate, but it was those letters that got me through. I didn’t get them nearly as often as I would have hoped because it took forever and a day to move mail all the way over to Vietnam, but when I did,” he says, shaking his head gently, a smile turning his lips upward, “it was like I won the lottery. I’d read her words and know I could get through anything. I’d read them at all hours of the day and carried every single one of her letters in my breast pocket of my jacket so they were close to my heart.”
I can’t help but smile.
“Being apart isn’t easy, but the reward is worth the temporary heartache you feel,” he adds as we receive the announcement to prepare for descent. “Knowing someone is home, waiting, is one hell of a motivator.”
His words hang heavy in my mind. We both follow the flight attendant’s instructions, and before I know it, wheels are down in California. It’s such a surreal feeling. I started my morning in Texas, ready to get settled at my new base, and I’m suddenly landing in an entirely different state for the same reason.
I release my seat belt when instructed, and the older man beside does the same. Then, he extends his hand. “Sergeant James Conover, US Marine Corp.”
“Corporal Chad Anthony, sir,” I reply, giving my new title a try.
The old man gives me a firm shake. “Pleased to meet you,” he says before releasing my hand and opening the overhead storage compartment. We wait until it’s our turn to disembark the plane, and when we’re up, he faces me once more. “Thank you for your service, Corporal.”
“It was an honor to meet you, sir.”
“Same,” he says, before turning and walking down the aisle.
I make my way to baggage claim to retrieve my duffle bag, ignoring all the eyes tracking my movements. I’ve noticed a lot of people take notice of a military person, but they rarely say a word to them. I’m pretty sure I can count on one hand how many times someone has approached me and thanked me for my service. Not that I do this for the accolades or the pomp and circumstance.
I do this for the betterment of my country.