Читать книгу Always And Forever - Lindsay McKenna - Страница 6

December 24, 1974 Castle Air Force Base, California

Gale sat in the living room of her base home, several letters and a magazine in her lap. The house was quiet. Deadly quiet. She had just gotten off duty at the meteorology department and the holiday stretched out unendingly before her. This year there was no tree in the corner, no decorations in evidence, not even Christmas music to take the edge off the silence that surrounded her. The coolness in her home seeped through her uniform, making her feel chilled more than she should be.

Six months after marrying Mike, he’d been lost over Hanoi during a bombing raid. Was he a prisoner of war—or dead? No one knew. She slowly looked at the first letter, wishing it was from Mike, but it wasn’t.

Instead, it was a neatly addressed envelope from Captain Kyle Anderson. Gently, she ran her fingers across the crisp envelope. Kyle... Her grieving, shattered heart filled with warmth and a thread of hope. Kyle had signed up for a second tour so he could be with Mike during his first. When Mike had been shot down by a SAM missile, Kyle had been there. He’d seen the whole thing.

Mike had often said Kyle was like the brother he’d never had. Since the time Mike had been listed as missing in action, Kyle had written to her at least once a week, fulfilling his duties as a friend who wasn’t there to help her over the terrible days and nights of loneliness. In his first letter, Kyle had told her that Mike had made him promise to care for her if he was ever shot down and became a POW or MIA Like the Marines, the Air Force took care of its own, Kyle had informed her. And because of his promise to Mike, he would do his best to take care of her, even though they were half a world apart.

With a sigh, Gale saw that the other two letters were bills. Her parents were dead, so there was nothing from family. Her sister, who lived in Haight Ashbury, was opposed to the war and to Gale being in the service. Gale expected nothing from Sandy as a result. They were on opposite sides of an ideology that had divided them for the past four years.

This would be her Christmas present: Kyle’s letter was a precious, life-giving gift. Inevitably, Gale’s spirits lifted, as they always did whenever she received a letter from him. Opening this one slowly, savoring the fact that it was several pages thick, she settled back to find a tiny shelter from a storm that hovered around her twenty-fours hours every day.

December 16, 1974

Dear Gale,

This is your hot-rock jet jock writing to you from a place where a Christmas tree would never grow! I’m sitting here at a bar in Udorn trying to write to you under some pretty severe conditions: beautiful Thai bar girls dressed in decidedly tight dresses, loud (and lousy) music, cigarette smoke so thick you could cut it with a knife, and a lot of pilots making eyes at all the bar girls.

Of course, yours truly is the only one doing something praiseworthy—writing to you! How are you? In your last letter, you sounded down. Don’t give up. I know Mike will be back. Somehow, some way. And me? Brazen (to use your word) as ever. Yes, I still fly a mission over Hanoi just about every other day. And no, I haven’t had any close calls. Are you kidding me? The ace at Udorn? Come on! This jock has one and a half tours under his belt. I’m considered the Old Man around here. All the younger jocks always gather around me when I sidle up to the bar, wanting stories. So I oblige them.

Thanks for the tin of cookies! My God, they were a hit around here! You know how our post office works don’t you? Those enlisted guys have noses on them like bloodhounds. They smell each package. The ones that have cookies in them are somehow detoured or “lost.” When the package finally finds its way to the officer, the food that was in it has mysteriously gone. All the guys who work over at the post office are overweight. I wonder why?

However, because you told me ahead of time that you were going to make six dozen chocolate-chip cookies and send them to me for Christmas, I went over and warned all those guys to keep their hands off—or else. Your cookies got through unscathed. How did you know my favorite was chocolate chip? I’d die for those. Between the box my mom sent and yours, I was the cookie king here at Udorn. And don’t you think the other jocks weren’t wandering over to my hooch to bum a few. Yes, I shared them, like you requested. Would I hoard them? Don’t answer that. I carried out your wishes to the letter. You made a lot of jocks happy. I gave some to the enlisted guys on the flight line, too. Those guys bust themselves twenty-four hours a day, and it was a good feeling to make them smile. They thank you, too.

Hey! Gotta zoom off. One of those beautiful Thai ladies is giving me a look I can’t resist. Look, you take care of yourself, hear? Your letters are like life to me here at Udorn. I really enjoy getting them. Don’t stop! I won’t, either. I promised Mike that I’d take care of you, so expect a letter once a week.

Merry Christmas, Gale.

Your Friend, Kyle.

December 24, 1974

Dear Kyle,

I want you to know that your lively letter—which sounded like a buccaneer swashbuckling—was my Christmas gift. I sat here with two bills, a magazine and your letter in my hand. Your letter, by far, was the one I wanted to open and read.

I had to giggle about the Great Cookie Heist! Just to brighten your day, I’m sending another box (air mail, of course, so it doesn’t take three months via ship to reach you) of chocolate-chip cookies. Keeping busy is my only way to keep my sanity, and it’s nice to be able to cook for someone who loves my cooking so much. So, in your own way, you’re helping me, even if it’s something as simple as appreciating my cookies. Baking them keeps my mind off so many terrible thoughts I shouldn’t be thinking.

Enough of my maudlin musings. I hope the bloodhounds of the Udorn post office can’t smell these. I’ve triple wrapped them in foil, plus wrapped each cookie individually to make sure no odor escapes to get their attention. And I’ve disguised them in a plain cardboard box instead of sending them in a suspicious round tin, which I’m sure tips them off that it might be cookies or other goodies inside.

Hi, I’m back. I started this letter an hour after getting yours. When I’m lonely, I write letters to my friends here Stateside. Yours is the only one going overseas. It’s Christmas Day now, and I got lonely. I’m learning to turn on the radio or television set just so I can hear the sound of another human voice. What hurts is when the nightly news comes on and they show at least fifteen minutes of footage on the Vietnam War. I forget that it’s going to come on, and then, some part of me focuses in on it, no matter what I’m doing. I’ll hurry to the living room to shut it off, but it’s like I’m mesmerized by some power and I just stand there watching and listening to it. What’s wrong with me? Why do I have to watch the shooting, the killing they photograph?