Juliet,
I dreamed about you last night. We were together, locked in each other’s eyes. You smiled at me, and I couldn’t help but pull you close and kiss you. You moaned once and the rest of the world disappeared. And then we made love, without ever removing a stitch of clothing. The glances, kisses and touching were so intense. I’d never felt that close to anyone. It was as if I experienced your soul, your very essence far beyond the physical world, and I finally discovered what it means to make true love. And then we undressed…I dreamed about you last night, without ever closing my eyes.
Romeo
The note had been typed and wasn’t signed.
Lindsey took in the oxygen she’d forgotten to breathe. The words had touched her soul. David? she wondered, but quickly dismissed the thought. She looked around again. The sounds of cogs busy at work filled the large room. She peered over the partition. “Walter, did you see anyone drop off an envelope at my desk?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t seen anyone come by here. Why?”
She half-shrugged. “Oh, nothing. I think someone might have delivered it to my desk by accident.” With a smile, she disappeared back behind the portable wall.
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
The day grew wings and flew by. Lindsey asked everyone in the office about the mysterious envelope. No one knew anything. Even Courtney, the woman who knew everything that went on at work, was at a loss.
Lindsey wasn’t two feet from her car when she spotted another white envelope tucked under her windshield wipers. Her heart raced as she plucked it free. There was no denying it this time. The name Lindsey had been typed on the front. Her trembling fingers hurried to open the prize.
My Juliet,
I’ve pictured you and I walking down a wet cobblestone street in Europe (who cares where). It’s just past dusk. The streetlights have come on. We walk past several cafes, past other couples talking and laughing. With a quick look at each other, though, we smile and silently decide not to join them. Instead, we hurry into a shop for a stick of bread, a wedge of cheese, some assorted fruit and a bottle of wine. Hand-in-hand, we hurry back to our little bungalow located just above the busy street and strip each other of our clothes. Dinner takes place while we make love, the windows to our refuge left open to allow in the breezes and the happy conversations of foreign tongues.Will you meet me there?
Romeo
Lindsey gasped and held the invitation to her chest. David? she thought again, but scolded herself for even allowing the thought.
Walter approached the car parked alongside hers. “Hey, did you end up finding out who that envelope belonged to?” he asked.
Lindsey’s eyes swung up to meet him. “I think so,” she whispered. “I’m pretty sure it was meant for me.” An excited squeak accompanied the word me.
Walter nodded and smiled. “See you in the morning,” he said and jumped into his Chevy Camaro.
“Oh, I’ll be here,” she whispered. “I’ll definitely be here.”
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
Lindsey arrived at work earlier than ever, only to find an unaddressed envelope sitting on her keyboard. She looked around. There was no one there and no evidence that anyone had been there earlier than she. Strange, she thought.
Juliet,
You light a few candles. I pour us each a glass of wine. No TV, just music—dreamy music that puts a tantric rhythm in our heads. I play with the straps on your camisole as we move together, standing, swaying. Our lips meet, my hands are now in your hair. We pass our wine glasses to the table, barely. I press myself against you and you breathe hard into my ear. We look at each other, but there is no need for words. Minds whirling, hands sweeping, lips touching everywhere, time eludes us as we feel the softness of the carpet on our knees, our backs…And then we make love without ever losing eye contact.
Romeo
She felt faint. “That’s it,” she said to no one. “I have to know who this is.”
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
Courtney and Lindsey spent the entire morning sifting through ambiguous clues and listing possible suspects.
Walter spent the same time watching them and sharpening his next arrow.
Lindsey hadn’t been away from her desk for five minutes before another letter appeared. With Courtney over her shoulder, she tore into it.
Juliet,
The most important thing to me is to enter into a union with a woman who will become the second half of a whole, someone who will allow me to love her without restraint and love me with the same effortless passion—you.
Romeo
Even Courtney broke out into a sweat. As the two shared a moment of breathless silence, Walter walked up behind them and handed Lindsey a single rose. “You,” he whispered.
Lindsey’s knees wobbled once, and she nearly went down.
Walter Brady was a mysterious man with looks that were extremely kind on the optic nerve. Tall, with masculine features, he had green eyes and perfect teeth. He was well built, bold and charming—the perfect catch. Lindsey swallowed hard.
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
They began flirting, hard. Every secret email made Lindsey feel like she was alive again.
What if I don’t live up to your expectations? she replied.
There’s no way you can’t live up to them because they don’t exist, he countered.
If we could have one date, what would you want to do? she asked.
Turn it into fifty-five years, he responded, and then turned up the heat:
Juliet,
I constantly fantasize about being with you.
Romeo
This guy’s too good to be true, Lindsey thought and sent him another note. When can we go out?
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
It was a Monday night. They were halfway through dinner when Lindsey reached across the table and grabbed Walter’s hand. “I’ve been walking around smiling a lot more lately. Thank you for that.”
He nodded.
“Where do you think this will lead?” she asked, surprising them both.
He squeezed her hand. “The clock started the moment I saw you,” he said.
Lindsey studied him and shook her head. “Why do you seem so perfect?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Not quite,” he said, shrugging. “I’m married.”
“You’re what?” It took a few moments for the first layer of shock to allow the truth in. “But you emailed me all those things,” she muttered. “How could…?”
Walter stared her straight in the eye. “And I meant every word, Lindsey.”
And it hit her. Walter Brady was deceitful and selfish, traits revealed only when the sun went in behind the clouds. Lindsey was heartbroken, though it wasn’t Walter who caused it. I’m with the wrong Romeo, she realized, and rage quickly replaced sorrow. “You piece of garbage,” she hissed and stood up from the table. “You think you can just play with people and…”
Walter rose to meet her. As he tried to quiet her tone with his growing pupils, he reached for her hand. “Lindsey, please. We don’t have to…”
“No!” she yelled, slapping his hand away. “You mark my words. You’ll get yours!” She tossed her linen napkin in his face and stormed away.
On the way out, David’s face appeared in her mind. I was with the wrong Romeo, she told herself again.
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
It was midday. David was perched on a barstool at Bobby’s Lounge. The place was dimly lit. Bobby LePage, a husky, unshaven barkeep, was wiping down glasses behind his bar. A talk show, dancing in and out of static, was on the tube above the bar’s long mirror. The clock read 12:45 p.m. The place was empty. David was slouched over, inebriated but free from anxiety attacks.
“Want to tell me about it?” Bobby finally asked David.
David slammed his glass on the bar, making Bobby’s eyes go wide. “Everybody’s a therapist,” David hissed. “Why don’t we just talk about another drink, okay?”
Bobby shook his head and poured another one, leaving the bottl
e and swiping David’s twenty-dollar bill off the bar. “Knock yourself out, partner.”
David gulped the whiskey, while Bobby returned to his glasses. “Have you seen a guy by the name of Max Essington in here?” he asked.
Bobby shook his head. “Sure, I know him. But he’s not allowed back in my joint,” he said, angrily.
“Why not?”
“Because he’s a troublemaker and a deadbeat who won’t pay his tab.” He shook his head. “And stupid me, I let him run it up because he was just back from the war.”
“Deadbeat?” David asked at nearly a roar. “Max Essington is a war hero, and I was there to witness it!”
Bobby stopped wiping down glasses and leaned his chest against the bar. “Really? Then maybe you’d like to pay that war hero’s bar tab?”
David shook his head. “When I see him, I’ll tell him to square up with you.”
“Yeah, you do that.”
David poured himself another shot and downed it.
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
An hour later, David slid into the Mustang’s driver’s seat and started the ignition. There was a pile of mail sitting on the passenger seat. He picked it up and, through hazy eyes, sifted through it. There was an envelope sent from the Disabled American Veterans. He ripped it open and began to read. “They’re looking for donations,” he said aloud and tore up the letter angrily, throwing the pieces onto the floor.
“I’ve given enough!” he screamed and threw the shifter into drive. While the first drops of rain hit the windshield, he pulled out of the parking lot and swerved into traffic.
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
Lindsey sat on the park bench and looked around. Gooseberry Island had always been a magical place where tourists flocked to in the summer. The community was still small enough to be quaint. Lacking any industry or technology, the stars always seemed to shine brighter here. As a result, many dreams were cast from the water’s edge, where Earth met heaven.
Lindsey tried hard to remember the details of that magical night with David, to relive those same feelings that made her feel like she was walking on air.
But I can’t feel anything anymore, she thought.
Gray, swollen clouds were stacked high and wide, threatening the world below. So much for dreams coming true, she told herself.
Just then, a hurricane of wailing winds launched their attack, pounding the shore with one combination after the next. Tiny tornadoes, whirlpools of ocean water, were hovering across the sea. With warning signs of danger all around her, Lindsey remained seated and watched. And then the downpour came, hard and fast.
With sheets of rain draped over her face, Lindsey fought back a hurricane of dark emotions. I guess I can feel something, she thought, and began to cry for all that could have been.
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
David was enduring an agonizing struggle back to normality. Along the way, he’d learned, Not all war wounds are visible, nor are they all suffered on the battlefield. War’s a state of mind, and there’s no way a man can live in two worlds at one time. Eventually, there has to be a truce.
Tragically, his brother, Max Essington, was never able to find that truce.
No one questioned that Max was having a tough time trying to heal. While in Afghanistan, he’d tried to patch up one of the many local kids who’d come across a roadside bomb and never survived the meeting. David knew that the gory memory had haunted Max terribly.
Upon their return, the rangers parted ways. The best explanation was that it actually became less painful to avoid faces that only served as reminders of a difficult time—no matter how much the people were loved behind those faces. Max was never alone in his struggle, perhaps the greatest tragedy to come out of the war. Not one of them had to suffer alone. Yet, that’s all any of them did.
David’s comrade eventually switched from alcohol to heavy drugs, surrendering to any means that might dim the nightmare and bring relief from his demons. Max fought desperately to beat them back. His son was only five when those demons finally won. When the police responded to Max’s home, they found him cold, fresh track marks peppered up and down his thirsty arm. Although Max had escaped, he left a child behind—a son—Max Jr.
A coward’s escape, David thought, when he first got the news. When the truth settled in, though, David wept like a child who’d just abandoned all hope. To him, family wasn’t only a birth rite, contingent upon a name or blood type. Family was chosen. And I just lost a brother, he thought, grieving hard for it.
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
David stepped into Rosini and Rosini Funeral Home. Family, friends and brothers at arms filled the place. The air was cool, with a nauseating scent of carnations, mixed with cheap perfume and cologne. Soft music played from hidden speakers. Rows of folding chairs were set up to face the casket, creating an audience for Max’s final show. He would have really hated this, David thought, keeping his pain locked tightly behind a thick door—for the time being.
Overstuffed chairs lined the left wall, creating a receiving line for immediate family. Although old ashtray stands—relics of the past—were spread throughout the home, smoking was only permitted downstairs. Evidently, it was one practice that was still good for business. Gold wallpaper offset the paisley print carpeting with extra padding. It felt like you were walking with a bounce. Anthony Rosini, a third-generation undertaker and second-rate greeter, wore a smile that attempted empathy. Poor attempt, David thought.
Family and friends signed their names in a book that no one would ever read. At the podium, there was a stack of prayer cards with Max’s picture on the front and the Lord’s Prayer on the back. Everyone took one while waiting in line to pay their respects at the casket. David took a deep breath and marched off to the polished mahogany boat in which his friend was preparing to sail off to eternity.
David kneeled at the casket and offered his heartfelt prayers for a brother he was going to miss for the rest of his life. “Thank you for having my back over there, Max,” he whispered. “I’ll be seeing you soon.” He stood and took a seat in the second row.
He watched as some people stood and others kneeled, weeping for a man they admired for his bravery and selfless service. Boxes of tissues were strategically placed throughout the home and were used aplenty. But after the initial shock of seeing their deceased hero and offering their prayers, the gathering became a family reunion. It was a real social event and one that Max wouldn’t have minded at all. Knowing Max, he would have never cared for such a morbid ceremony—dressing up a corpse and putting it on public display for a few days.
The casket looked like a square boat in a sea of flowers. The bottom half of the box was covered in an American flag.
David watched as a young boy and his grandmother, a peculiar site, approached the box to pay their respects. The young boy clasped his hands together and closed his eyes, just as he’d clearly been taught. He waited a few moments before slowly opening one eye. His grandmother’s thin lips were moving at the speed of light, a ramble of whispered secrets escaping them. The boy closed his eyes again and quietly waited for her to finish.
The priest arrived and spoke of “tragedy and faith and eternal life.”
David spent the time remembering his fallen friend and a few of the laughs they’d shared back in Afghanistan.
As always, David’s team was dropped, via deuce and a half, six miles out from camp into “the projects” of South Kabul.
Max was walking point, leading the squad along the safest possible route. As the morning sun hit its zenith, the boys were following up on some local intelligence, sweeping through three locations—two houses and a dilapidated community building. With the help of a translator, three tips produced two different tips but no suspected Taliban.
After another late and nearly inedible lunch, the team worked its way through the city back toward camp.“Keep your eyes and ears opened wide boys,” Lieutenant Menker said. “The bad guys are just waiting for us to drop our guard and become careless.”
David nodded.“Maybe they’re just waiting for us to drop our lunches, so they can enjoy some fine American cuisine,” Max joked.
Big Al laughed. “Good point, Maximillian,” he called out. “A few dozen dehydrated pork patties might do just as much damage as any firepower we can unleash on them.”
Everyone laughed.
“And that’s coming from a guy who eats anything that’s put in front of him,” Billy commented.
“To include the dreaded dehydrated pork patty,” Max added.
Everyone laughed more.
As the patrol started back toward camp, David pulled his father’s note out of his pants cargo pocket and read it a few times.
When they returned to camp, they showered and grabbed some hot chow. Max asked David, “Want to play cards?”
David shrugged. “Sure, but I’m keeping my clothes on this time,” he joked.“We’ll see about that,” Max said, laughing.
David heard names being called to visit Max’s casket for the final time. He stood and made a beeline for his car. Max isn’t in that wooden box, he thought. He could never lay still for that long. He nodded. Max is in a better place.
As the family headed out to the black limo, six pall bearers filled the flower car, and the long convoy headed off to the mausoleum.
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
While the priest’s words echoed off the white marble walls, he offered a brief sermon, blessed the casket with holy water and incense, and then turned the show over to the military contingent. David stood and walked out again. I’m all set with this dog-and-pony show, he thought.
David reached his car and looked back toward the cemetery. I guess that’s the funny thing about life, he thought. None of us is getting out alive.
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
Lindsey checked her Thursday horoscope after dinner to see how close it had come. Not even close, she thought. It was a silly game, anyway—allowing herself to believe the good stuff and ignore the bad. She’d learned that thoughts were a powerful thing, and she was still looking for any sign that David would come around.
The Thursday Night Club had just convened when Ana approached Lindsey; her face was troubled. “Did you hear that David’s friend, Max, committed suicide?” Ana said.
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