“Sure, I have no plans. I’m stuck here. Stuck.”
Vivian entered the room and took in the sight of a man covered in bandages from head to toe. His arms were wrapped in white and his legs were raised above the bed. They were elevated and his face was covered in lines. Red lines from being injured. Vivian swallowed and held back her gasp. She was not going to act shocked. She had to be strong. Two rooms left. Two more soldiers, and then she could cry. God, how she would cry.
“Hi, I’m Vivian.”
“Great, whatcha got? Peppermint sticks? I really like peppermint sticks.”
Vivian’s eyebrows squinted. “I’m sorry, I put Nutella in for everyone.”
“Humph, well I guess that will do. Can you give me a scoop? I’m a bit confined at the moment.”
“Sure.” Vivian opened the jar and fed the soldier. He nodded to her for another scoop, and another. After several more, he signaled he was through and for her to leave.
Vivian hit the wall on the outside of his room. Her back was braced up against it. She breathed heavy as the hallway spun. She had to get a grip. One more room. She could do it. One more, and she could go. She wasn’t confined to a hospital bed like all of these soldiers. She was free, and it burned inside. She took in slow steady breaths as she made her way to the front of the final door.
The nurse stopped her hand. “Honey, you don’t want to go in there. He doesn’t talk to anyone.”
Vivian retracted her hand and she nodded. The nurse left her in the hall, and Vivian’s insides shattered into little tiny pieces. Was it possible that someone wasn’t talking because of her? How many of these soldiers were here because of her company—her former company—and their careless, callous ways? She sank against the wall and a tear fell from her eye. He was gone because of her. No. Don’t think about him now. Not here. Anywhere but here. She had to stop thinking about him. He was gone.
Chapter Forty-One
Vivian turned around and faced the door. The last door. She had to do it. She had to give her last bag. Vivian gave her custom knock, knock. It was slightly open, but a light blue curtain was covering the view of where the soldier lay in the hospital bed.
“May I come in?”
“Why?” A deep man’s voice inquired. It was stern and seemed bothered. Granted, the voice belonged to a soldier in a hospital, but Vivian was there to try and bring some form of happiness. Her chest tightened. With each room, the guilt swept the air from her lungs.
“Um, I have a holiday bag to give you.” Vivian pushed the door further open. “I can leave it on the chair if you prefer.”
“No, you can come in.”
Vivian made her way around the curtain to the other side of the soldier’s bed. Underneath his thick, sandy-colored beard, his tan face was covered in scratches that seemed to be healing. The white hospital gown had little blue dots, and somehow, they seemed to make his eyes clearer. One of them. The other was different. It wasn’t the same as the right eye. The right eye was a crystal blue. She traced her eyes over his body. His chest was large and rippled with muscles, and his hands were scarred. Down his body her eyes traveled until she met his legs. His leg. One was missing. It was covered in white gauze. He had lost a leg. Most likely because of her. Vivian’s former company and their money saving practices. Vivian swallowed hard. She was not going to be sick. Not in front of him. In front of him, she would be brave and focus on his face. He sat tall in his wheel chair. She could be brave.
“Hi, I'm Vivian.”
His eyes seemed cooler as he took in Vivian, like an attempt to inspect her conscience and motive for being there. “Vivian, is it?”
In all her visits, no one had mentioned her name. And that was okay. No one needed to say her name. She was there for them, not her own emotions. This was not a charity act for her own soul. This was not an attempt to lighten the load of guilt on her heart, but an unexpected gift to someone else. It wasn’t meant to be an exchange. This was supposed to be one-sided.
She wanted to be better than herself and not be selfish. If no one wanted to be nice back, that was okay. Vivian was there to try and bring smiles to them. Something, anything, to give them a tiny bit of happiness after all her company had taken away.
The man’s eyes were so familiar. They made her want to fall into his ocean. Something about the color. The lightness of it. It wasn’t Matthew. Vivian had to stop projecting. Annoyed with herself, she flipped her hair over her should and faced the soldier.
A warm smile crossed her face. Despite being there for her own atonement, she did truly want to make these soldiers happier. The pain she experienced was nothing to what they and their families had been through—the fear, the worry, and the self-doubt. And all she had to offer was a care bag. Thankfully, this was the last one.
“Yes, I'm just bringing…well, I made these bags.” She reached over his bed and handed him the bag. Not sure what else to do. Vivian stepped backward. This was not her comfort zone, being so close to another person. The only person—well, living thing—she had been near in the last five months was Duke. Even feeding the other soldiers had seemed distant. Removed. The heat from this soldier’s body radiated against hers and they hadn’t even touched. The handle left her fingers and met his palm with no physical exchange.
“May I?” The soldier raised his eyebrow at her and peeked into the bag.
“Of course, it's all yours.”
The soldier lifted the chap sticks out of the bag and a smile crossed his weathered face. His beard was thick and rough, but the lines of his smile could still be seen.
“I read that lips get really dry in hospitals.”
“That they do.” The soldier laughed and reached for the next item. A small puzzle. Five hundred and one pieces. Vivian would give anything to have the missing piece of her life back. She needed to leave this room before she cried. She couldn’t let tears fall from her eyes in front of this man. This wounded soldier. He didn’t deserve that. With as much courage as she could give, she opted to project happiness into the room.
“I like puzzles and thought it would help to pass the time.”
“You do seem like a puzzle kind of girl.” He reached in and pulled out a jar of Nutella.
“I had made caramels, but then I read you can’t have any food that isn’t sealed. For the safety of the soldiers.”
“Yes, the safety of the soldiers.” He grunted and placed the jar on the table. He rifled through the bag and pulled out a snowflake, then held it up, inspecting it.
“Did you make this?’
“Yes, I’ve always liked snowflakes.”
“Why is that?”
“Because they remind us to forget our imperfections and embrace our uniqueness.” She swallowed. “When the snow melts, the water evaporates back into the sky and provides a new opportunity to reinvent itself when it falls again.”
“That’s nice, Vivian, thank you.” The way he said her name was so smooth and familiar. Like he had recited it a thousand times before into her ear. It was almost magical. But not. She was weary and distraught from all the visits with every single soldier on this floor. He was the last one. She needed to stay in the moment and not drift away into a daydream of hopes and despair.
Vivian swallowed. “It’s really nothing, thank you for your service.”
The soldier nodded and brushed his thumb and forefinger over his jaw.
“So, do you have big plans for the holiday?”
Vivian’s cheeks flashed a crimson shade. "No, this was it."
"This is it? Passing out care packages on Christmas Eve?"
A small laugh escaped from her mouth. "Pretty much." And she brushed her hair off her face. “I wanted to put some caramels in the bags. But the hospital staff said no, so I'll probably go home and stuff my face. 'Tis the season for a jelly belly, right?"
He laughed a hearty chuckle and their eyes met. It was one of those moments of silence that pass between two people which speaks volumes. With as much strength as she c
ould muster, she broke their stare and glanced at the floor. His eyes were so intense, like he was able to read deep into her soul, like he knew all of her secrets and insecurities. It couldn’t be Matthew. If it were Matthew, he would say something. He had a zillion photos of her. He would recognize her, at the very least, and acknowledge her. No matter how much he hated her, surely he would say something? It wasn’t Matthew, this was not her Soldier Boy. Despite the knowing look in his eyes and the physical warmth of his body, it couldn’t be true. It wasn’t. She had only seen a few photos of him, and this man was not Matthew. As much as she wanted it to be him, it just wasn’t.
“What about you?”
He glanced at the bed. “Given the leg, I'm pretty much on lockdown.”
Vivian’s eyes squeezed together and she nodded. “I'm sorry.” A large lump formed in the back of her throat and she swallowed. “I guess I should go...and let you get some rest.”
“Yes. I definitely need rest.”
The curtain was soft on her fingers, like a moment in time, paused and expectant, but returning nothing but a cool breeze of what could have been. Her body squeezed through the doorway as the soldier cleared his throat.
“Don't leave, Civilian Girl."
Vivian’s heart fell to the floor as tears filled her eyes. Three months, and nothing. An entire year of getting to know this man, and zero contact. Shut out. Shut down. Gone. Everything seemed to be over. All hope had been lost. She had been delivered his death letter. His goodbye. His closure. Could this even be possible? Was it really him? Was she dreaming, or did she mishear him? The man in the bed. The injured soldier. Was she projecting? Was her longing crossing over into her perceived reality? Making her hear things that weren’t said?
She pushed past the curtain and faced Matthew, knowing it had to be him. There was something about his eyes and his voice, even though she had never heard it before. It was him. It had to be. He was the only person who would ever call her Civilian Girl.
Chapter Forty-Two
"Leaving already Civilian Girl?”
Vivian’s head shot up. Her eyes widened, hazel eyes, just like she said, but different. She hadn't mentioned the gold flecks that made them glow. The pictures didn’t show that or the pink that crept up her neck when she blushed. Oh God, she was beautiful, more so than any of her pictures had captured. Tightness spread across his chest. It was hard to breathe. She sucked the air from his lungs, just like in his dreams. But he wasn’t dreaming. This wasn’t another morphine fantasy like on the rescue chopper. He was on fire like the dream, and he couldn’t breath—so much pressure on his chest, it ached. But his mind could never conjure her beauty. She was perfect. She was too much for his feeble mind to imagine on its own. She was here. Oh, God, she was here. She was real.
“No,” her voice trembled.
“Don’t you recognize me?” His voice cracked.
Vivian took a quick step back. She hit the wall and her purse dropped to the ground. Matthew lunged forward to pick it up, but then he remembered: he couldn’t. The realization hit him. Shrapnel tore every conscious thought. He couldn’t pick up her bag. He couldn’t teach her to rock climb. He couldn’t run a marathon with her. He wasn’t the soldier she wrote to. He couldn’t be the fantasy they had created. Reality kicked him hard in the gut.
The color drained from her cheeks. She opened her mouth like she was going to say something, but nothing came out. She shook her head and took another step back. She was leaving. He should let her go. He shouldn’t have had her in the first place. He had no right.
He would let her go, but first, he wanted just a few more minutes, seconds even. He just wanted to be with her, to speak to her…tease her…love her. Oh, God, that was real. That part was real. The rest of it was just a fantasy now, but that was still real. Shit, he wished he had his crutches so he could get up and stop her from leaving. He would barricade her in, kidnap her, whatever it took just for a few moments. He would let her go again because she wasn’t his, but he would let himself pretend for just for a minute, maybe two. He just needed to smell her, and touch her. He needed to feel her skin. He looked down at her hands. He had imagined those hands on him so many times.
“I know. You don’t recognize me because you never let me show you a real picture. Here, if I show you just the top of my head, would you recognize me? Maybe imagine it between your legs.” A laugh found its way into his voice. The part of his soul that processed joy ignited. He thought it was dead, but it was just asleep, and just like a sleeping limb awakening, it was accompanied by a rush of fresh tingling pain.
“No,” she whispered softly. A tear slid down her cheek. “Why? Why Matthew?”
“Why would I put my head between your thighs?” he asked, deliberately misunderstanding her. “Because we would both thoroughly enjoy it.” He rolled his chair closer to her. “And because at this precise moment, page fifty-seven is off the table. Give me a few months to get used to my new leg, and it will be game on. I can’t promise we'll be ready to take it to the shower, but I remember you saying you preferred the bath. Do you remember telling me about the bath? All the things you did in the bath?” A wicked grin spread across his face. The muscles in his cheeks ached from it.
The color returned to her cheeks. It crept up from her neck. God, he wished he could see lower, where it started. He wanted her. He tried telling himself he didn’t, but he did, he always would. He didn’t deserve her. He couldn’t have her, but, God, he wanted her.
“Why? Why didn’t you write back?” She asked. She wiped her face with the back of her hand but as soon as her hand came away there was a stream of fresh tears.
Matthew looked down at where his leg should be. Was she really asking him that? Wasn’t it painfully obvious? He shook his head. “Because it was over. The fantasy is over; I’m not that guy. I never was.”
Vivian’s fingers touched her forehead like she was trying to signal her brain to focus. “Why didn’t you tell me you were okay?” she demanded. She had found her voice, and it shook with uncontrolled anger. “I have been dying over here. You ripped out my heart and threw it on the ground like trash. Did I mean that little to you?”
Matthew shook his head. “No. No, I didn’t do that, Civilian Girl. Fate did that. I didn’t have the right to start this in the first place. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry,” she asked incredulously. “You’re sorry? You made me fall in love with you. That is not an accident you apologize for and we go on our merry way. And what the hell do you mean, you didn’t have the right?” She was shouting now. If the other patients couldn’t hear her, it was because they'd had their eardrums blown out.
She took a step forward, her hand on her hip her finger pointing at him in accusation. She was pissed and nothing was going to stop her. God, he loved her anger. Thank you! Finally! It made a change from all the goddamned melodramatic bullshit he had witnessed since he woke up in Germany. The saccharin-sweet declarations of love and loyalty, they made him sick. Not speaking for the last three months meant that he had overheard more conversations than he cared to count. Because he was silent, people assumed he was deaf or so damn gone he couldn’t understand, but he heard every single oath of undying loyalty. Soldiers who probably had no intention of getting married were suddenly popping the question left and right, desperately trying to lock someone, anyone, into a relationship, just as long as they had someone. And then there were always tears from the women. They were crying because they had no desire to marry a wounded vet and live off disability. That wasn’t the dream they had bought into. But they couldn't exactly say no in front of his entire family and all the doctors and nurses. It wasn’t romantic; it was a goddamned ambush.
“Why are you smiling? Do you think this is funny? Was this all a joke to you?” Vivian shouted. Both hands were on her hips now. If she was trying to look intimidating or badass, she was failing miserable. She was far too small for that, and way too sexy. “You break my heart and then smile.”
“I’m smiling because you wouldn’t marry out of guilt and subject yourself to a lifetime of pity fucks.”
She threw her hands up in exasperation. “What the hell are you talking about? Can we focus on the heart-ripping asshole part of this? I cried for three months. I don’t cry. I’m not a crier, but I ugly cried on the bus, and at work, and in the supermarket. Basically, there is no place in DC I can go that I haven’t blubbered away at. You killed me. Why? Was it a game for you?”
“No, it wasn’t a game. It was real. Everything I wrote was real,” he admitted softly.
“Then, why? Why did you do that to me? Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you come home for me? Is it because of who I work for—who I worked for?”
Matthew’s eyes squinted at the realization of what she said. “God no, woman. I don’t care who you work for. I told you that.”
“Then why, Matthew? Why? Because there has got to be some explanation for the pain. I have to know what your reason is.”
Matthew ran a hand through his hair. “Because I’m stupid. You knew that going in, Civilian Girl.”
“Don’t. Don’t call me that.”
“But you are, you’re my Civilian Girl.”
Looking at her now, the black haze around his vision dissolved. He saw her, the situation, everything. He saw everything for what it was. He didn’t deserve her, but God, he wanted her and he would fight for her. With her standing here now, all he saw was hope.
“You’ll always be my Civilian Girl.”
Vivian shook her head vigorously. “I’m not. Not anymore.”
“Why not?”
“How can you even ask me that? You really are an idiot. I thought you were being self-deprecating, that it was part of your charm, but you really are that stupid if you have to ask me.”
A few nurses stopped in the hallway to watch their interaction. If nothing else, they were providing some entertainment to the overworked staff.
Matthew reached for her hand and wrapped his fingers around hers. Even if she pulled away he would have touched her, if only for a moment. He would always know what she felt like. His breath hitched when his calloused fingers brushed against her smooth skin. Heat radiated through his. They were so soft and perfect, just like he imagined. No, better. She was so much better than he ever imagined. “Just tell me this, is this about Tommy? Is that why you can’t forgive me?” He held his breath as he waited for an answer. He didn’t have the right to ask for her forgiveness. Some things were unforgivable. But he needed it, he needed for her is forgive him.
Dear Soldier Boy Page 15