Surrender (13 page)

I was a complete mess that afternoon as I headed home from work. When I drove up and saw Neal's car in the driveway, my heart started to pound a million miles a minute because, like it or not, it had become a part of the landscape here. I had even taken to calling it his spot, careful to park on the right side of the driveway so that he had his space.

And there I sat in my car, staring at the rental car beside mine, my fingers clutched around the steering wheel as I thought about my future and that of my son's. I was paralyzed with fear, unable to bring myself to go inside the house and face the future that Neal was about to offer.

I jumped in my seat when the front door opened and Will came rushing out. He knocked on the car window and shouted, “Are you coming in or what?”

To see that little face pressing against the glass, making squashed faces at me, made all my doubts melt away. I had my answer. “I'll be right there,” I said, knocking on the glass against his piglike nose.

When I finally found the courage to go inside, I found Neal pacing in the dance room, rubbing his head with one hand and the other stuck firmly in his pocket. He looked so worried, I was compelled to stand off to the side of the doorway and watch him, wondering what was going through his mind.

“Hey,” I said finally, setting my purse down and walking over. “Thanks for picking up Will.”

He gave a small smile. “You thank me every day.”

“Because I'm grateful every day.” I wrapped my arms around his waist and stood on my toes to kiss his nose. The doorbell rang just then and I pulled away to answer the door.

“Hey,” Stacy said when I opened it. “Is Will ready to go?”

“Where is Will going?” I asked, glancing back at Neal.

Stacy looked confused. “I thought we were taking Will out to dinner.” She looked over my shoulder to watch Neal approaching. “Neal set it up this afternoon.”

“Oh, that's right,” I said, playing along. I called up the stairs for Will to get his things.

“Here, I'll get him,” Neal said, going up the stairs two steps at a time.

I turned to Stacy the moment Neal was out of earshot. “What is going on?”

She shrugged, but the smile on her face said otherwise.

“You know something.”

“No, I really don't,” she said with a chuckle. “All I know is that he asked me to take Neal for a few hours because he had something important to discuss with you.” She nodded, her eyes bright with excitement. “Is he doing what I think he's doing?”

I glanced back up at the stairs, my stomach trembling. “I don't know. I think so.”

—

A few minutes later, after I'd closed the front door, Neal and I stood in the foyer and stared at each other.

“Um, I'm going to go change out of these,” I said to break the silence and headed upstairs. “I'll be right back.”

I didn't hear him follow me. I only felt him touch me after I'd taken off my scrubs, felt the wide expanse of his palms on my shoulders as he bent down and kissed the base of my neck, felt his warm breath as he let out a ragged breath. “I love you so much, Julie Grace Keaton,” he murmured.

Tears sprang to my eyes at the raw emotion in his voice. “I love you, too, Neal,” I said, taking his hand and holding it over my thundering heart.

I felt him turn to stone behind me. “You've never said that before.”

I turned in his arms. “Well, I've felt it. For a long time now.”

He blinked several times and then he was kissing me, pushing me back onto the bed. He took off my bra and panties and proceeded to kiss and touch every inch of my body, his movements desperate and frantic.

I pushed against his chest. “Slow down. We have time.”

He stared down at me, breathing hard. “We're out of time, Julie,” he rasped, dipping his head to take my breast in his mouth. “And tomorrow I'll feel bad about this, but right now, I just want you. I want to take you and possess you and imprint my memory into your brain.”

He crawled backward, dropping kisses down the valley of my breasts and onto my stomach, his destination clear. Then he stopped and stared at me, his handsome face creased by anguish. “I can't do this.”

“What? What can't you do?”

He slid his hands under my waist and bowed his head to my stomach, clutching at me. “I'm sorry, Julie,” he whispered before he straightened and reached into the back pocket of his jeans, producing an envelope folded in half. “I shouldn't have kept this. It doesn't belong to me.”

I leaned up on my elbows. “What is it?”

He swallowed hard then unfolded the envelope so that the name on the front was visible, written in messy, scrawling cursive.

Julie Grace Keaton

“Who is that from?” I asked, my breath stuck in my throat. I'd lost all feeling in my toes and I was pretty sure a headache was on the way. “Tell me who the hell that letter is from.”

Neal's face was full of apology, but he didn't offer me the envelope. He continued holding it between his fingers as if he never intended to let it go. Finally, he said it, the name I'd somehow known all along:

“It's from Captain Jason Sherman.”

My body didn't know how to react to the appearance of that letter. My skin broke out in a cold sweat even as my insides overheated, so that I was a shivering, sweaty mess.

“What did you say?” I asked, even though I knew I hadn't misheard him. I'd recognized Jason's messy handwriting the moment before my brain put a name to it.

“Please tell me you don't know who that is,” he said, lines bracketing his mouth.

“Jason Sherman is the name of my dead fiancé.”

Neal let out a defeated breath and, with head hung, held out the envelope to me.

I looked down at it, not knowing how to proceed, simultaneously dying to open it and yet afraid of what I'd find inside. I turned it over and saw that the envelope flap had not been sealed. “Did you read it?” I asked.

He didn't meet my eyes when he said, “I did. I'm sorry.”

“What is it?” My hands were shaking and my vision was blurry from unshed tears, and for some reason I couldn't bring myself to open that envelope and look inside.

“It's Jason's good-bye letter to you.”

My body, my entire being, turned to stone at the revelation.

“I found it in the room I moved into when I deployed to Bagram. It was at the bottom of his closet, hidden under his clothes.”

I was light-headed and having trouble pulling air into my lungs. Neal's words were not making sense. “Jason died over five years ago. You've had this for five fucking years?”

“Yes.”

“And you're just giving this to me now? Right when everything had gone back to good and I was finally feeling like my old self again?”

“I've wanted to give it to you for a long time,” he said.

I stared at the wrinkled envelope in my hand then up at the man who had delivered it too many years too late. “You need to go, Neal.”

He gave a small, resigned nod. “I'm sorry, Julie. I kept hoping that there was some other Julie Keaton out there somewhere,” he said, getting to his feet. “I guess I'm still hoping that.”

“Get out,” I whispered, trying to hold on to the last vestiges of my temper.

He said nothing as he slipped back into his shoes. I couldn't look at him, couldn't bear to see the look on his face. I'd trusted him, had opened up to him, and all this time he'd been keeping this secret from me.

When he was fully dressed, he bent down to give me a kiss but I turned away. “'Bye, Neal,” I said with more sadness in my voice than I wanted to reveal.

When the front door clicked shut, I got out of bed and put the envelope on the dresser then got dressed. I sat on the bed, staring at that envelope, until I heard Stacy's car pull up outside.

I took a deep breath, gathering myself before going downstairs and greeting my son as if nothing had happened.

“Where's Neal? I drew something for him,” he said as soon as he came inside. He held up a kid's restaurant menu, on the back of which he'd drawn three stick figures—of a kid holding the hands of the two adults beside him.

I dropped to my knees and tried to control the expression on my face. “Oh, honey, I don't know if he's coming back.”

“What? Where did he go?”

“Um . . .” I looked at that drawing he'd so earnestly done and found I couldn't do it. I couldn't break his heart. Not like this. “He had to go.”

“That's okay. I'll give it to him tomorrow after soccer.”

Oh, hell. “Okay. Give it to him next time you see him.”

—

“Hey, Mom,” he said that night as he pulled the shower curtain aside. “Check out my scar! It looks just like Neal's! Cool, huh?”

I gave his scar the scrutiny he expected, talking about how scar tissue forms, how much stronger it is than normal skin, anything to steer his thoughts away from the man who refused to leave mine. “Lots of other people have the same kind of scar, too, you know. Not just Neal.”

“Yeah, but Neal and I are twins. He called them our battle scars.”

I leaned against the wall, thinking about my own wounds and whether, if ever, they would heal and scar over.

—

After Will had gone to bed, I called the one person who might understand what I was feeling.

“Elsie,” I said as soon as she picked up. “Did I wake you?”

“No, not at all. I'm still working. What's up?”

“I just wanted your opinion on something.” I paused. “Something happened.”

“Hey,” she said, taking note of the tone of my voice. “What's going on?”

“Remember that guy I told you about?”

“Neal?”

“Neal.”

“What about him? What happened?”

“Turns out he was hiding something,” I said. “Jason's good-bye letter.”

“Jason's what?”

“You know the letter military members write in case they're killed in action?”

Elsie gasped on the other end. “He had it all this time?”

“Yes.” My eyes flew across the room to the letter still lying on the dresser.

“How? Did he even know Jason?”

“I don't know. He said he found it in Jason's room in Bagram.”

“What does it say?”

“I don't know. I haven't read it.”

“Then why are you talking to me? Read it.”

“I'm scared,” I said softly.

She sighed. “Why? It's just a letter.”

“I was happy, Els. I'd moved on with my life.”

“A letter won't change that.”

“It already has.” I thought I'd moved on from Jason's death, but my reaction to the existence of that letter proved that I hadn't. I couldn't even imagine what its contents would do to me. “I wish this letter was for you instead.”

“You're lucky, Julie. I would give anything to have a piece of my brother back,” she said. “So please, just read it.”

“Okay . . .”

“Go. Then call me tomorrow when you've processed it.”

I hung up and made my way across the room, feeling as if every step took hours to complete. When I stood over the letter, I reached for it and took it out of the envelope before I could lose my nerve.

I sat on the edge of the bed and unfolded two wrinkled pages.

Dear Julie,

I don't like letters like these. Hell, guys like me don't need letters like these because our jobs are considered relatively safe. But after you told me about being pregnant, I'm feeling sentimental enough to want to write one. Not because I think I'll die here—I'm sure I'll live to be ninety like Grams—but because I hate the thought of leaving you with nothing if I do. I'm not worth anything and I only have about five thousand in savings, so maybe I could leave you and our baby my words and hope that's enough.

I had a dream about you last night. You were in this big room, surrounded by mirrors, with a lot of kids around you. You were teaching them a move, that one where you jump and do a split in the air, and the kids were copying you. It was nice to see you surrounded by dancing children. You looked so happy. I guess now I know what that dream meant.

Did you know that I started falling for you that first night in Panama City, when I asked you how many people you'd slept with and you said, all beautiful sass, “Does it matter?” Yes, it did matter, but somehow you made me believe that I was the only one who did. I'd never met anyone like you, so full of life and light, so confident and adventurous.

I shouldn't have wasted so much time over the years pretending I wasn't in love with you, allowing you to push me away whenever you got scared. Oh, yeah, I knew what was up. You were afraid of getting too close to someone, but I was determined to make you let go and let me in so that I could show you there's more to life than casual sex and shallow relationships. I wanted to show you there's a deeper love out there and that we could have it if only you'd let your guard down and let it in.

And I think we're almost there. I think I've gotten under your skin and it's only a matter of time until you accept that I'm the one for you.

You asked me once why I haven't told my family about you. You think it's because I'm not sure about our relationship, but it's the opposite: it's you who's not ready. I don't want you to freak out and run again. So I'm waiting until you let me know, until I'm absolutely sure without a doubt that you want everyone to know about us.

I'm hoping it's only a matter of time. Hopefully when I get back from this deployment, I can make my way to you during homecoming, drop to one knee, and give you a ring worthy of you. Because you deserve more than a quick question over the phone.

Ah, shit, I'm supposed to be dead when you receive this letter, but that's the last thing on my mind. Only this morning you told me that you're pregnant, that I'm going to be a dad. How can I possibly think of death when all I can think of is that amazing thing growing inside you? I know nothing about that peanut, if it's a girl or a boy, but I love it already.

I can't even imagine not being there the first time he or she cries, or not being there to compare what features the baby inherited from you and me. Or not being present for the first step or the first word, or any of the firsts. I refuse to entertain the possibility of my missing all of that.

I am not worth more than my fellow airmen—we all have our reasons for living—but knowing that you are carrying my child gives me more drive to succeed. I'll make you this promise, Julie: I won't go down easily. I am going to fight tooth and nail to survive, to be the last man standing. And if by some slim chance I do get killed, then know that I died loving you with everything I had.

Life is full of pain and heartbreak, but it's also filled with surprises and love. I've been lucky enough to love and be loved by you for a time, and for that I'm the most fortunate guy in the world. Despite your fears, I know you'll be a terrific mother. And I know there's more out there for you, more love and dance and laughter. If it's not with me, then I hope you find it with someone else, because you deserve to be happy.

All the same, I hope you never have to read this letter.

I love you, Julie Grace Keaton. With everything I have.

Jason Sherman