I was usually much steadier on my feet but we were at the end of almost continuous missions for the past twenty-two hours. The next crew was ready to stand by and, hopefully, after we landed this one, we would have a break. Intense fighting had broken out near one of the outposts and the injuries were piling up. So far today, though, all saves.
An hour later, I was back in the bird, but this time on the ground cleaning and restocking. We had quickly restocked between our flights out today, but items had been more thrown in rather than itemized, categorized, and double checked, which is what we did now.
By the end of the twenty-four-hour shift, I felt every one of my thirty years, almost staggering back to the tent as my boots pounded the dust. Bone wearying fatigue pulled at my aching muscles and joints. Once more, my bed called my name more than food and I resisted the urge to immediately hit the DFAC.
Crashing onto my bed, I knew my mind needed a distraction from the constant replay of the day’s frustrating events. Leaning over, I grabbed the latest mystery I was reading from my makeshift bookcase, glad for Molly’s offerings. It didn’t take long for the words to begin swimming on the page as my mind relaxed enough for sleep.
Not hearing my tent mates come in, I slipped off, dreams of a beautiful woman named Molly intertwined with the mystery filled my night.
Chapter 5
(May – Molly)
“So what makes you think you don’t have anger issues?”
Looking around the group of women sitting in a circle, my stomach clenched. I hated the group sessions. The women sitting with Susan were either denying they did anything wrong, claiming they were falsely convicted or were proud of what they had done to end up in this place. I was neither. I didn’t deny what happened with Sam nor was I proud. What happened was over…done. And talking about it wasn’t going to change anything.
“I rarely get angry and when I do, it’s about something that would make anyone angry,” I said, my voice harder than normal.
“Hell, girl, you’re in here because of—”
“That’s not important for you to point out,” Susan interrupted, looking at the other woman. “Your job is to work on your issues and let the other women work on theirs. And recognize that we each have our own difficulties.”
I watched as a few women nodded while others appeared irritated that I had not discussed wanting to kill Sam. Heaving a sigh, I was grateful when the session ended. Standing, I was almost out of the room when Susan called me back.
She was still seated in the now empty circle of metal, folding chairs and motioned for me to have a seat. I obeyed and looked into her face, waiting to see what she wanted.
“Molly, you’re a model prisoner here and your work with the military books project is going fabulously. But I’m concerned that you still have not opened up about what brought you here.”
“I see no reason to talk about it,” I replied honestly, if not a bit tersely. How can I when I promised my sister that I wouldn’t say anything?
“I know something happened that night when you went back to your house. I know something must have caused you to strike at your stepfather. The report verified that he was legally drunk at the time of his death. In fact, the blow you struck alone would not have killed him. It was when he fell over and hit his head that caused his death.”
I stared at her, surprised she had read more details into the investigation than just the initial prison report. But it was not my story to tell. Licking my lips, I said nothing, offering a shrug instead, hoping she would drop the inquiry.
Pursing her lips, she said, “Quite frankly, if you’d had proper legal representation, I think you would have gotten off completely vindicated.”
Eyes wide, I was unable to hold back the wince as I remembered the lackadaisical attorney that had represented me. His boredom with me and with my case had irritated me at the time, but without any known recourse I simply accepted it. What does it matter now? There’s no going back to change anything. “Susan, I appreciate your concern, but I don’t see how this matters now.”
“Because every once in awhile someone crosses my path that truly does not belong here. I can’t do anything to change that, but I can try to assist them in making the best of this time and not let it ruin their lives.”
Barking out a rude snort, I tucked an errant curl behind my ear as I shot her an incredulous look. “For the rest of my life, I’ll have a prison record for involuntary manslaughter. Every time I try to get a job or do anything, that blight on my record will always be there. I’ll never be able to do anything out there without knowing it was affected by being in here. I don’t see how it can keep from ruining my life.”
Susan leaned back in her seat, eying me speculatively. “I believe that is the most I’ve heard you speak at one time about your stay here.”
Blushing, I stayed quiet not knowing how to respond. My chest heaved but I worked to steady my breathing, wanting to find a sense of calm.
“Then let me help you,” she begged.
I was tempted, sorely tempted. Taking a deep breath, I stood up. “I need to get back to the library now. Thank you.” Turning, I walked away feeling more alone than ever.
Dear SGT Brody Molina,
It’s always so nice to hear from you. You are so right about the difference between some of the more famous mystery writers and some of the new indie authors. It is so much fun to read some of the new ones…they have such a freedom of expression that many of the older mystery writers didn’t have.
If you love political mysteries like Tom Clancy, you should try some of the new ones. I’ll attach a list of ones that I think are particularly good. I confess that it has been really nice to have someone to talk books with, even if you are across the world.
You said your father assisted with your love of reading. For me it was my grandmother. Her eyesight was not very good, so as soon as I could read, she would have me read to her. I spent a lot of time with her until she died, so I got a lot of reading in.
I’d love to know more about what you do in the Army. You mentioned being a medic. Do you work in a hospital? I’m terribly ignorant about the military.
I thought it was funny that you thought I was an old lady. I guess Molly seems like an old name. Your description did match the librarian here, though. She’s nice enough but has her hair pulled back very severely and wears the half-glasses that she lets ride down her nose so she can stare at me over the top. It’s kind of creepy!
We get in a lot of books that have been donated – several boxes a week. My job is to go through them and decide their fate. Books seem so real to me that it is hard to have them go in the recycle pile, but a few are really close to destruction. I rescue as many as possible and, now that I have this project, I can save even more.
I confess that when I go through them, I now always think of you. I wonder if you would you like it? Would you want me to include it in the package? You know, that kind of thing. I’ve reached my email max limit so I must close. Be on the lookout for a letter in the next shipment.
Your friend,
Molly
The new cellmate entered our cell slowly, her wide eyes taking in the room. We had had a few different women come in, taking Jocelyn’s place, but they had been temporary. Now, with Ellen and Jackie on duty in the cafeteria, I was the only one to greet the new inmate. She appeared younger than me, but it was hard to tell. I was only twenty-four, but sometimes I felt ancient. And when I looked into the mirror, I saw ancient. Whatever youthful innocence I used to have, it was completely gone now.
The guard who brought her into the cell said, “This is Cynthia. Show her the ropes and make sure she finds her way to the cafeteria at dinner.”
Nodding my compliance, I walked over with my hand out. “I’m Molly.” She stared at my hand as though it were venomous and I felt immediate empathy—only a few months ago, I had reacted the same.
“I won’t bite, but you’ll learn that when someone extends friendship here, it�
��s best to take it.”
She shook my hand then looked around the room again, her gaze raking over the room, the fear pouring off her in waves.
“There’s not much to show here. That’ll be your bed over there,” and I pointed to the corner. “Here, I’ll help you make your bed.” Taking the sheets still clutched in her hands, I escorted her over and together we got her bed put in order.
I showed her the locker where she could store her few possessions and the only other door in the room, for the toilet. “This is a minimum security facility as you know, so we get privacy to use the toilet. When someone’s not in there, the door must stay open and the guards are allowed access at any time.” Seeing her eyes widen with fear, I added, “But as long as the door is usually open, they never bother us.”
By the time we were walking down the long hall to the cafeteria, Cynthia had relaxed slightly but I noticed her gaze shooting around, taking everything in. Jackie and Ellen were working the food line so I made rushed introductions.
I introduced her to others sitting near us at the table, hoping to alleviate some of her fear, but it wasn’t hard to see how overwhelmed she was. The others at the table made faces behind her back, but I knew as long as she minded her own business, she wouldn’t be bothered. I had been like her and hated to think how jaded I had become. She pushed her food around the tray and I leaned over to whisper, “Better eat while you have it. Not too many chances for a snack around here.”
I smiled to soften my words, but I could see her nerves were still taut. Shrugging, I knew I’d done all I could, but nodded in approval a few minutes later as I saw her eating more.
Cynthia was still quiet as we lay in bed when lights went out later, and I awoke during the night, hearing her softly crying. Yeah, the loss of freedom hits hard.
“Have you got another box for me to take?” Susan asked. “I thought I’d drop it off this weekend.”
Nodding, I smoothed my hands over the packing tape on the box. I noticed Susan leaning over and staring at the box label. “Kanadar MWR? What’s that?”
Blushing slightly, I said, “The soldier who emailed me said that if I put this on the label he might get the box to his station. I didn’t know what it meant so I looked it up. Kanadar is the military base in Afghanistan and MWR stands for Morale, Welfare, and Recreation. So if I label the box this way, it will get there.”
Susan stood straight, her eyes pinning me again, a smile curving her lips. “So you have continued to correspond with this soldier?”
Sucking in my lips, as my blush flamed deeper, I nodded. “Yes, ma’am. It’s been nice to talk about books and learn a little more about him.”
“Did you decide to tell him about your situation?”
Jerking back, I exclaimed, “Oh, no way! I’ll never meet him and if he found out I was in prison…well, I think it would be best if he doesn’t know.”
“Your choice,” she said, patting my shoulder. Picking up the box, she walked out of the library, leaving me staring in her wake.
The talk of Sergeant Molina had me move over to the computer to see if anything new had come in. To my pleasure, there was a new email.
Molly,
I realized that I don’t know your last name. I’d like to know more about you if you’re willing to share.
In answer to your questions, I work with the unit that goes out in helicopters to pick up injured service people or Afghans and bring them back to the hospital here. The work is intense and while I like what I’m doing and the people I serve with, I am looking forward to getting out of the Army after this tour is over in the fall.
Thanks for telling me about reading to your grandmother. That must have been a special time. I’m more of a loner, so reading is the perfect pastime for me. I’d like to hear more about your family. My mom’s a kindergarten teacher. I’ve got a brother and also a sister who’s married and has two boys of her own. I grew up on a farm in southwest Virginia and will probably head back somewhere close to there when I leave here. My dad still works the farm but he’s sold off part of the land and has a much more manageable acreage to take care of now.
I’ll be anxious to get the next box of books from you. I’ve warned the MWR workers to be on the lookout.
Talk to you soon,
Brody
I stared at the email for a long minute, especially his signature. Brody? He signed off as Brody! Feeling a warmth rush through me that I had not felt in a long time, my fingers quickly clicked my reply on the keyboard.
Brody,
Thanks so much for the email. I can’t believe you lived in Virginia. I grew up outside of Charlottesville. The books were just taken today to the nearest Army base so I don’t know when you’ll get them. Remember to look for the latest mysteries! I can’t wait to hear more about you flying in helicopters!
Molly Thurston
Signing off the computer, I checked my account balance. I had to pay for internet access unless taking a class, so I made a note to add more to my account. I longed to be able to check Facebook to see if he had a profile picture, but was unable to access social media. Sighing heavily, I stood up as I prepared to head back to my cell, deciding it was okay not to know what he looked like. Smiling as I walked down the brightly lit hall, I thought of my completely secret pen-pal.
Chapter 6
(June – Brody)
God, what am I? Fifteen? Unable to talk myself out of what I was doing, I scrolled through Facebook, looking up Molly Thurston. Using Virginia as a filter, I found her thumbnail picture. Clicking on it, her face suddenly illuminated my screen. Fuck! She was not what I had expected at all!
Dark curls framed a heart-shaped face with big blue eyes staring at the camera. Her wide smile showed white teeth, perfectly straight except for a cute, little, slightly crooked incisor. According to her birthday she was twenty-four, soon to be twenty-five. A little young for me—fuckin’ hell, where did that thought come from?
Chastising myself for looking at her that way, I finally gave up when I realized that the woman was now an object of my fantasies as well as a pen-pal who loved books. I went through some of her pictures, but it seemed as though she had not updated in a while. There was one of her with a younger teenager, tagged as her sister. Clicking back on her profile picture, I hit print. Yeah, it’s official…I must be fifteen fuckin’ years old!
Her profile listed her job as a waitress at a chain restaurant and also a student at a local community college. That’s odd…she hasn’t updated this to list working in a library. Scanning back through her posts I observed that her last update was almost a year ago.
Rubbing my chin, I found her disappearance from social media to be surprising but, then, I was hardly a social media hog. Clicking over to my profile, I realized I hadn’t update in months either. Chuckling, I signed off and picked up the picture of her from the printer. Carefully folding it, I headed back to my tent.
Two weeks later, as I got off duty, Todd called out as he reported in. “Hey, I was told to let you know the MWR got in a box. They said you’d be interested.”
A smile replaced my normally taciturn expression and I thanked him. Seeing him stare at me strangely, I asked, “What?”
“Just never saw you smile so big! I thought maybe it was due to that girl you’ve been writing to.”
Flipping him off as he walked into the Dustoff command center laughing, I hustled through the summer sun to the MWR tent. Afghanistan was now securely into the hot weather, but I knew the real scorchers were to come. Walking into the cooler MWR tent, my gaze landed on the worker behind the desk. I called out my greeting but before I could ask about the box, he was already hustling over, a big smile on his face.
“Sergeant Molina! I’m glad you came by! We’ve got the box of books in that you said to be on the lookout for. In fact, I haven’t had time to open it yet, so I’ll let you do the honors.”
Taking the scissors from him, I stalked over to the table where the large box was located and slit the
top. Opening it carefully, I peeked in, seeing it was packed just as neatly as the others had been. Lifting out the top books, I noticed several mysteries that Molly and I had discussed. And, as a bonus, there was an envelope with SGT Brody Molina written on the front.
Fighting the urge to rip it open immediately, I shoved it into my pocket and finished unpacking the books. Stacking them on the table, I choose the ones I was interested in reading first and checked them out.
Waving to the MWR worker as I was leaving, he called out, “Did you get what you wanted?”
Patting my pocket holding Molly’s letter, I grinned, “Yeah, sure did.”
Dear Brody,
I know we email all the time, but there is something special about a handwritten note and I wanted to send this to you in a box of books. It was a risk…so I hope you are the one getting this! I have to pay for internet access so sometimes writing a letter will be easier for me.
What do you want to do when you get out of the Army? As a medic I would think that there is so much you could do with your medical knowledge. You must be so smart! I was a good student in high school and not too bad in my community college courses, but I still like to just curl up with a good book. Why can’t someone pay us just to read? (just kidding).
When I was younger, my mom would always say that I had my nose stuck in a book, and I guess she wasn’t wrong. But I love the feeling of being transported to another time and place. And with mysteries, I love the sense of suspense…wondering what’s going to happen. I have to confess, though, that I am a sucker for a happy ending. I hate it when a book has a sad ending or one that leaves me dissatisfied.
I hope you noticed the books I packed for you (and others of course). I included as many mysteries as I could get my hands on. I added both thrillers—some psychological, some who-done-its—and even a couple of romantic suspense books (don’t laugh – they’re good!)
Freedom of Love (Letters From Home Series Book 2) Page 4