by Ann Major
The kids have been good for me in a lot of ways. Nights are usually filled with helping Susan or Jackie (because both their husbands are SAC pilots who fly B-52s and are away more than they're home-sound familiar???). I've become Auntie Gale to the children, and I rather enjoy my status. There's something about a child's smile when it's given to you, or the touch of a child's hand that just can't be duplicated anywhere else in life. Do you like children, Kyle? I know you were an only child and never had the pleasure of sibling company. Let me know. I'm curious.
Take care. And you're right: enclosed is a huge bottle of vitamin C! You'd better be over your sniffles by the time the New Year call rolls around or you're in deep you-know-what. As always, you're in my heart and thoughts.
Your friend, Gale
December 20, 1977
Dearest Gale,
Another Christmas. Life goes on, doesn't it, whether we want it to or not? This letter will reach you down in Sedona. I'm sure Mike's folks are delighted you're there again for them. I don't see how you do it. You've got a hell of a lot more courage and internal fortitude than I would under your circumstances. Just your being there has got to lift their spirits. If you were here at Griffiss AFB, which is near Buffalo, New York, I'd give you a big hug and kiss for what you've done for them. You're one hell of a lady in my book.
Well, I'm finally settled into my new base-I have more responsibility, less flying time. I don't like that. If I wanted to fly a desk, I wouldn't have joined the Air Force.
Buffalo is-well, let's put it this way: it's not the most exciting place for a bachelor. We've already got a ton of snow. Hell of a change from my Florida base. I guess I live a life of extremes. I wear the sweater you knitted for me a lot nowadays when I'm off duty.
Until you told me, I often wondered what your favorite flower was. A daffodil. I pictured you like spring flowers, so I was close. Fall is my favorite time of year. I like the riot of color. Makes me think of some invisible painter who's gone wild with a palette of colors, slap dashing them here and there. I like the smells, too. Funny, since I've known you, you've put me more in touch with my senses. I never used to notice subtle shadings or pay attention to smells in general.
You're right: pilots are put in a little box, certain skills they possess brought out and honed to a fine degree, but everything else just sort of sits there, ignored and untended. You're a hell of a gardener, lady. I like being cultivated by you. I like seeing life through your eyes. It's made me see my world differently. Better.
Because of my transfer to Griffiss, I can't be home for Christmas with my parents. Too bad, I'd promised them I'd make it this year. I know you'll drop by and see them for me, you're that kind of lady. Don't tell my mother that I'm unhappy here. Lie. She tends to worry too much. I think she got all her gray hair while I was over at Udorn flying missions over Hanoi. I don't want to be responsible for any more gray hairs on her head. Worst of all, I can't be there while you're there. If nothing else, I could have offered you fortitude with Mike's parents and been there in case you needed a shoulder to cry on.
Hi… this is a supplement. A KC-135 tanker just slid off the end of the runway during an ice storm and I had to go help. Not much for me to do, but as one of the few officers left on base during Christmas, everyone becomes more important or integral than usual. Luckily, the crew is fine. The 135 is going to need some major structural work, but it could have been worse. Much worse.
God, it's freezing cold here compared to Florida. I think my blood's thinned too much. It's dark and gloomy here in the office. I really didn't want any lights on, I guess. It's 1600 and the dusk is coming up rapidly. I was sitting here in my new office, leaning back in my chair, my feet propped up on the desk, a warm cup of coffee in hand, and I got to thinking about you. It was a good, warm feeling, Gale.
You've taken the last few years with so much grace. You haven't faltered at work, and you've gone on without Mike. Hanging in limbo must be a special hell for you. It's got to be. And yet, you survive. The last year's worth of letters from you has explained so much to me about you, how you work, think and feel. Reading about your world has affected how I see mine. I've got the best end of the deal, I think.
Maybe I'm feeling guilty… feeling something, that's for sure… hell, I don't know what it is. Maybe it's the holiday blues that strike the military people who can't be with the people they love at special times like this. I think I'm feeling sorry for myself because you're home with people I love and I'm not there to share it with you. So, don't get alarmed at my wallowing. I'm just sharing my wallowing with you for the first time.
We've shared a lot of ground with one another, haven't we? That's the good thing about our friendship. I've never had a woman as a friend. (Don't comment on that!) I guess I want to say while I'm in this philosophical mood, that these past few years have been the best of my life. I never had a relationship with a woman that ever got to this depth or that I allowed to get past my jock facade. It's not so bad. In fact, it's damn good. Just thinking of you, of what we've shared these years, makes my heart feel like it's exploding in my chest. If you feel one-tenth as lucky as I do, I'll be happy.
Give my folks and Mike's folks a big hug for me, will you? Tell them I'll make it next Christmas or else, okay? And give yourself a big hug from me.
Warmly, Kyle
December 26, 1977
Dearest Kyle,
I'm here in the guest room at Mike's parent's home. Your last letter touched me so deeply, that I cried. Oh, I know, you didn't intend on making me do that, but I couldn't help it. Loneliness is something I know well, and so do you, in another kind of way.
More than anything, I wanted to meet you here so we could have celebrated a Christmas together. Wouldn't that have been nice? We both could have drunk a toast to Mike and been here to help support his parents. They still are suffering so badly, I just don't know what to say or do. I talk a lot with Mom about this, and I think it helps to alleviate some of her fears. This year, she really unloaded and revealed a lot more to me than last year. I think she's really beginning to trust me. After all, I was a stranger who walked in, married her son and then left town. I really like her, but she's gotten so many gray hairs worrying.
Mike's dad has internalized the whole thing. His ulcer (which he got after Mike was M.I.A.) tends to act up at this time of year, according to Mom. I spend time with him down at Oak Creek. You know how he loves to fish. I just sit there on one of those smooth red sandstone rocks and let him do the talking, if he feels like it. For the first time, he spoke about Mike. About the possibility that he was dead, not alive. It hurt to hear him feel that way.
I guess men are more pessimistic than women by nature. I hold out hope he's alive. Dad has not. But Mom has. I really wished you had been here. It got pretty emotional for me with each one of them unloading on me. They didn't mean to, but who else could they talk to? I went for a hike on Christmas Day and wished you were here. I know that I could have cried in your arms and it would have been okay. I didn't dare cry in front of Mom and Dad. They were feeling miserable enough.
Oh, Kyle, I just hope this is over soon. What's wearing me down isn't myself as much as those I love, like Mike's parents. It hurts me to see the pain they carry with them daily. With your help, I've been able to put my pain into a perspective of sorts. I don't know what I'd have done without your care and help through all these years. I'm thankful for your support. And, like you, I love where our friendship is going. It's a privilege to know the real Kyle Anderson, 'cause he's a far better guy than that jock facade he wears.
I'd better go. I hear Mom downstairs. I woke up early and wanted to get this letter off to you today. I can hardly wait to hear from you on New Year's Eve! Your parents and Mike's can hardly wait, either. How I wish you could come home for Christmas. Any Christmas! You're dear to my heart, my best friend…
Gale
Chapter Three
December 24, 1978
Travis Air Force Base, California
Any minute now, Major Kyle Anderson was going to walk through the doors of Operations. Gale fidgeted nervously behind the meteorology desk, the only meteorologist on duty Christmas Eve. Her heart speeded up, as it always did whenever she got a letter or received a call from Kyle. How long had it been since she'd last seen him? Five years. Five of the most hellish years of her life. But his letters and later, his frequent phone calls had helped ease her suffering.
Licking her lower lip, Gale moved to the forecaster's desk and sat down. In the other room, twelve Teletype machines noisily clattered away, printing out weather information from around the world. Her mind and heart focused on the fact that within seventy-two hours she would know one way or another whether Mike was alive or dead.
Rubbing her aching brow, Gale closed her eyes, the tears coming. She fought them back, refusing to cry.
Sniffing, she took a tissue, dabbed her eyes and tried to focus on the wall of weather maps. Operations was ghostly quiet. Across the way, one airman was on duty at the air-control desk. Everyone else was with family on this Christmas Eve. Everyone had someone to spend the holidays with.
Two days ago, the Pentagon had informed her that Mike's dog tags had been supplied by Hanoi as belonging to a POW. The North Vietnamese were releasing some POWs and the remains of other servicemen as a goodwill gesture. As to Mike's fate, sometime between December 25 and 28, the Pentagon would know and Gale would be contacted. Unable to stand the suspense alone, she had called Kyle.
More tears came and she wiped them away. He was supposed to go home for Christmas this year. She'd hesitated calling him. She knew how badly his folks wanted to see him and how much he needed to be home. But the pain of waiting alone had driven her to the phone to ask him to come and wait with her instead.
Kyle hadn't sounded as if he wanted to be anywhere but at her side when the news came from the Pentagon. She felt guilty about taking him from his folks and hoped that they would forgive her moment of weakness.
Gale got up and went to the Teleype room where there was a modicum of privacy. She didn't want the airman across the way to see her like this. Even now, Mike's parents waited, having also been notified. They had looked to her for solace over the past few years, especially since they had both come to fear Mike was dead. But they'd never openly admitted that to her.
Kyle was coming to be with her. He'd always kept up her hope, her belief that Mike was still alive.
"How am I going to handle this?" she muttered, burying her face in her hands. "How?"
Right now, her emotions were little more than taut butterfly's wings ready to shatter at the slightest movement. Kyle, flying in from Griffiss AFB, was supposed to land momentarily. A part of her was so weak after the years of terrible waiting and wondering, of being in limbo about Mike, that she ached to simply be held by Kyle. Gale knew she'd feel safe and protected from a world gone mad. The peace she'd felt in his arms five years ago when she'd burned her hand would be there, too. Her emotions were playing tricks on her. Gale thought she had heard longing in Kyle's voice when she'd made that phone call, but that was impossible.
She began to absently tear off and collect the Teletype paper, gathering it from each machine and then clipping it to posting boards. Some of the sheets would be used in plotting the midnight weather map an hour from now. Walking out into the main office, Gale put the weather information on the desk where a clean sheet of map paper lay. Working kept her from thinking. Working kept her from feeling.
Halting, Gale lifted her chin and looked out the windows into the gloomy darkness. The landing apron in front of the building had very few jets parked on it. No one flew during the holidays unless they were on alert duty. It was raining. The gusting wind sent sheets of water across the tarmac. Gale prayed Kyle would be strong enough for both of them. The waiting… the wondering had taken their toll. She was too emotionally drained to be strong any longer.
She moved to the front desk and stood watching the double doors, and she wondered when Kyle would arrive. His letters had been filled with anecdotes about his military life, funny stories about things that had happened to him, stories meant to make her laugh, to pull her out of her depression. During the past year, there had been a wonderful shift in his letters-they were more personal, more about the man, Kyle Anderson, and not the pilot. Those letters were special to her.
Kyle's phone calls weren't frequent. He called on her birthday, Thanksgiving and Christmas, just to check in on her. Kyle knew what it was like to be in the service and alone on holidays. She ached to hear his voice, to listen to him laugh and tell his jokes. There was nothing but good in Kyle Anderson. His loyalty to Mike was unswerving.
The doors opened.
Kyle stepped into the dimly lit Ops area and shook water off his olive-drab flight suit. In one hand he had his helmet bag, in the other, a small traveling bag with two sets of clean civilian clothes inside, including the sweater Gale had made for him. His F-4 Phantom was parked at the hangar, the crew chief having given him a ride over to Ops.
Sensing Gale's presence, he looked up. He hadn't seen her in five years; he hadn't dared. Her heart-shaped face was the same, and so were those haunting green eyes, that full mouth and slender build. Her hair was longer, and he was pleased about that for no discernible reason. The strands were pulled into a French twist behind her head, with feathery bangs barely touching her eyebrows.
It was the look of utter devastation on Gale's pale features that forced him to remain strong, because he could see that she wasn't. This wasn't the Gale he'd met five years ago, the woman who had courage under incredible duress. Five years without Mike had ravaged her in many ways. And still, she was the most beautiful woman Kyle had ever seen. The years hadn't dimmed his memory of her. Like a miser, Kyle had hoarded that precious, sweet memory, pulling it out from time to time to savor it, knowing that it could never be anything more.
Putting a smile of welcome on his face, he strode toward the counter where she stood. He noticed the airman sitting at the control desk, reading a magazine, not even bothering to look up.
"Hi, stranger," Kyle said, setting his helmet bag on the counter and the traveling bag on the floor. An ache seized him, and he wanted to walk around that desk, pull Gale into his arms and simply hold her. The urge was overwhelming. Kyle didn't let his smile slip, being very careful to keep the look of devilry he was famous for in his eyes-and to hide a look of yearning.
Gale stared up at Kyle not believing he was really with her. She moved without realizing what she was doing, coming around the end of the counter. The smile on Kyle's face changed, became nakedly vulnerable, and she saw him open his arms to her. Tears blinded her, and she couldn't stop herself. In moments, his arms closed around her. He dragged her against him and held her tightly.
"Oh, Kyle," she said, her voice muffled by bis flight suit, her arms going around his waist. She needed to lean against someone for just a little while, to seek protection against the final seventy-two hours of a five-year marathon that she'd run alone. Then the words she had refused to say to herself started pouring out of her. "I'm so afraid… so afraid…"
"It's going to be okay, Gale," Kyle whispered, shutting his eyes and absorbing the feeling of her against him. "Mike's coming home. I can feel it. Everything's going to be okay." Every muscle in his body screamed out for further contact with her warm, pliant body, but he kept his embrace that of a friend. "Just hang in there," he told her, pressing a chaste kiss to her hair. The clean, faintly fragrant scent of her body sent a painful surge through him. Kyle dragged in a deep breath, rocked her gently in his arms and fought his personal need of her as a woman.
Now beyond words, Gale collapsed into Kyle's arms. The moment his hand stroked her hair, a small sob caught in her throat. She felt his arms tighten around her momentarily. It was as if Kyle knew exactly what she needed, and beyond exhaustion, she capitulated to him. Each stroke of his hand on her hair took away a little more anxiety, a little more pain and suffering. Finally,
after a full five minutes, she was able to ease out of his arms and step away.
Wiping her cheeks dry, Gale managed a shy, broken smile. "Thanks for coming, for being here…"
Kyle shrugged self-consciously. "I'm glad you called. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way, Gale."
"Your parents-"
"They understand," he whispered, reaching out, barely caressing her hair. "I want to be here."
"It's been so long since I last saw you."
Too long. The words begged to be said, but Kyle held on to them. He managed a strained smile meant to buoy her flagging spirits. "I know."
Gale sniffed and found a tissue in the pocket of her dark blue slacks. "I'm just glad you're here."
"Hell of a thing," he muttered, forcing himself not to reach out to smooth back several strands of hair clinging to her reddened cheek.
"What is?" She stuffed the tissue back into her pocket, then raised her head and met his blue eyes smoldering with dark intensity.
"The Pentagon springing this on you at Christmastime. I wish they'd waited… or something."
With a shake of her head, Gale whispered, "At least I'll know."
The haunted look in her eyes tore at him. Kyle had to stand there, not touching her, trying not to comfort her beyond the province of an old friend. "Buck up," he coaxed huskily, trying to sound positive. "It'll be good news. Mike will be back in no time."
Rubbing her arm because she was suddenly chilled, Gale forced a slight smile. "I hope you're right, Kyle. So many prayers, so many hopes dashed so many times and ways."
"The kind of suffering the wives and families of the men who went over there is a special kind of hell. I can't really know what it's like for you, except that I know it's agony." How could he tell her he hurt for Mike almost as much as she did? Kyle didn't want to dwell on negatives with Gale.