by Ally James
My extended family is very . . . vocal. I’m putting that kindly for your benefit. Don’t want you to think I’m the type of person who is mean to old people and animals. Anyway, one of my aunts totally blindsided me in front of the entire family unit by announcing that I’m a spinster who lives with my brother. And that I’ve never had a boyfriend. Which, by the way, isn’t true. I had a very active social life before I became a nanny, and I still meet up with friends often.
Since when is being a good person a crime? I thought my relatives were going to give my brother a medal of honor for supporting his deadbeat sister. Then place me in quarantine before some poor innocent person caught my spinsterhood disease. Either that, or ship me off to a retirement home to live out the rest of my golden years. Obviously, I missed the memo that says you’re put out to pasture when you reach your mid-thirties. If you, my new friend, are around my age, I’ll see if I can get a discounted rate at the local old folks’ home. Oh wait—you didn’t know you were over-the-hill either? Well, thank goodness, I’m glad it’s not just me. Don’t worry, we’ll have loads of fun playing shuffle board and bingo. If you play your cards right, I’ll let you take my scooter for a ride. That sounded rather risqué. Don’t get excited, I was speaking of my future motorized chair—bedazzled, of course. According to my family, I’ve never given a single ride of the other variety, so get that notion right out of your head. If you’re a woman, this must sound even more insane.
I should probably end this now. It’s already gone off the rails and crashed into a brick wall. You’re quite possibly scanning for a return address to forward to the authorities. I promise, I’m harmless. A bit of a disaster when it comes to words, but that’s it. Oh, before I forget, I have a very serious question for you. Which character from the movie Top Gun would you be? Goose or Maverick? If you’ve never watched the movie before, then do so immediately and get back to me. Cue the music from Jeopardy. I’ll be waiting.
Take care and be safe,
Sara the spinster—and future cat lady
He read the letter twice more before reluctantly laying it down. By sharing her own amusing tale of woe, the stranger, a woman named Sara, had made him feel lighter somehow. The stress of the last twenty-four hours had been subdued as he found an escape outlet in her words. And for that, he was more grateful than she’d ever know. He owed her at the very least the courtesy of a reply. Yet as his fingers hovered over the keyboard, he could come up with nothing that even compared to her humor. The few lines he typed sounded stilted and formal. Had it really been so long since he’d put himself out there to someone not affiliated with the military? Well, he couldn’t discount his parents and sister, but that was different. He and his dad said a few words, but after that, he mostly listened while his mom and sister talked, and they seemed fine with that. In fact, it was hard to get a word in most of the time. But for some strange reason, he wanted this Sara to like his e-mail. For it to make her smile in the way her letter had him. But how? He could tell her he Googled tips on how to write a great letter to a woman. And he actually considered doing just that, then thumped the desk in disgust. Unless pity is what you’re going for, buddy, you should go back to the drawing board. He was still sitting in the same position ten minutes later when Jason stuck his head in the doorway. “Hey, we gotta go, man. Got that promotion ceremony in a few.” Gabe nodded as he began gathering his things. Then before he could talk himself out of it, he sent a brief response to Sara. He had too much on his plate to be stressed out over something so trivial. He doubted he’d ever hear from her again anyway, so why expend energy worrying about it?
Sara:
Thank you for the card and letter you sent. I enjoyed them both. I am thirty-seven, which my mother points out often, so I can relate to your situation. Skip the cat, though, and get a dog. I have one that I miss.
Regards, Major Gabriel Randall, US Army, Iraq
PS . . . I’ll take Maverick since Goose meets an unfortunate ending.
Gabe winced as he read over the short response. He’d written warmer and more engaging e-mails to his boss than he had the woman he wanted to impress. Being career military had taught him to get his point across using his words sparingly. He’d long ago lost all social graces, it seemed. Not that he had many to begin with. He was a man who believed in getting to the point. There was no sugar coating, nor chitchat. It was all about the fastest way to accomplish the objective. In business, time was money. But in war, time could be your worst enemy. You work long hours not only because there’s always something that needs to be done but also because you need to dull the ache of being away from everyone you know. There was no looking forward to the weekend. Saturday and Sunday were no different than the five days before them. You get up and go to work, then come back to a tiny room where you stare at the walls or watch Netflix. Then you attempt to sleep in an uncomfortable bed. When you’re as tall as he was, your feet were usually dangling off the twin-size mattress.
He knew firsthand that the first month of being deployed in a combat zone, you woke with your heart racing as the sounds of fighter jets landing and taking off shook the thin walls around you. And, of course, the announcements when there were bombings near or inside the base. The latter can be terrifying for the newbies, but even they become accustomed to all of that after a while. Life in the suck zone.
Speaking of time, Gabe glanced down at his watch, then cursed under his breath. Unless he was dealing with an emergency, he was never late for anything. Yet his musings had done just that, to the tune of two minutes. He jumped to his feet and hurried out of the office. This is all on you, mystery lady. It was painfully obvious that he was more Major Randall than Gabriel Randall, which made sense given how many tours he’d done. That also made him good at his job, so that wasn’t a total negative. But what would the woman who wrote the letter think? It shouldn’t matter, and Gabriel knew that. The brief moment of receiving something unrelated to war, unrelated to risk, unrelated to woe, was just that. A brief distraction, something he’d probably not receive again given his succinct reply. Duty called. Back to real life.
* * *
• • •
Sara was lying in bed flipping channels. She’d already tried reading, but nothing seemed to keep her attention. Normally she was thrilled when Kaylee went to bed early without a struggle, but without the distraction of her niece, she found the evening to be endless. At one point she’d drifted off to sleep herself, which had been a big mistake. Because now she was wide awake, with no end in sight. She’d just settled on a rerun of Sex in the City when the e-mail alert on her iPad sounded. She absently picked it up from the nightstand and scanned the preview. Wait, what? The e-mail subject read: “Thanks for your card.” It had been almost a month since she’d mailed the card to the radio station. She’d hoped for a reply, but hadn’t really expected one. It’s probably spam, don’t get excited. The sender’s address was [email protected]. Looks official enough. Why in the heck am I still sitting here guessing? Sara hesitated another moment, then took a deep breath. She had no idea why she was so nervous. This is nuts. Open the damned e-mail already.
She straightened her shoulders and braced herself before clicking the button. Her pulse leapt as she read the message:
Sara:
Thank you for the card and letter you sent. I enjoyed them both. I am thirty-seven, which my mother points out often, so I can relate to your situation. Skip the cat, though, and get a dog. I have one that I miss.
Regards, Major Gabriel Randall, US Army, Iraq
PS . . . I’ll take Maverick since Goose meets an unfortunate ending.
Okay, admittedly it was rather brief. And her spam mail from her Internet provider was way more animated, but still. Her letter had reached a deployed soldier. Once again, her fingers were hovering as she debated a reply. He hadn’t asked her any questions, nor made any type of overture toward continuing their communication. He hadn’t exactly said he
was single either. Although she thought he alluded to the fact when he mentioned his mother giving him a hard time about his age. So what if she’d written him a book and he’d responded with a paragraph? He probably figured she talked enough for both of them. Screw it, what have I got to lose? She might never hear from Gabriel again, but this qualified as the most exciting thing to happen to her in ages. And this year’s spinster award goes to . . .
Sara pushed that depressing thought aside. She’d dwelled on her aunt’s words more than enough since the reunion from hell last month. Gabriel was no doubt breathlessly anticipating her reply. She didn’t want to keep him waiting. Dare to dream, sister, dare to dream.
Dear Gabriel:
It’s great to hear from you! It sounds like we have a lot in common with the whole age thing. Although I’m not sure men are considered spinsters. Assuming you’re single, of course. I think you’d just be called a bachelor. That hardly seems fair, does it? My nickname brings to mind the little old lady in the deck of Old Maid cards. While yours makes me think of that reality television show where the men get to pick from women who look like supermodels. You lucky thing. Plus, the whole uniform thing clearly gives you the advantage. From my experience, it seems to make even unattractive men appear sexy. Camouflage is a real miracle worker. Kinda like a Wonderbra. Not that I’m saying you need it. (The uniform, not the bra.) I’m sure you’re handsome. Heck, everyone has something that works for them, right? At least one feature that others notice. Not sure what mine is. I can touch my nose with the tip of my tongue. Wait, I don’t think that counts.
What is your dog’s name?
Be safe,
Sara
Sara read it over twice more, thinking it sounded even more insane than the first note. Yet he’d responded to it, hadn’t he? If he’d done it out of pity, then shouldn’t she stay with what worked? She hit the Send button, then picked up her cell phone to call Chloe. Surprisingly enough, they’d stayed in touch after the reunion. Not only had they gone out to dinner once, but she’d also met her for lunch a few times. Of course, Kaylee had been along as well, but Chloe didn’t seem to mind. They’d even gotten into the habit of calling and texting each other most days. It was the closest thing to a friend that she’d had in years. But ever the pessimist, she wondered how long it would be before her cousin got involved with some guy and disappeared. That had happened to all of her friends from high school and college. They got married, had families, and were just sort of gone. It wasn’t that they were inconsiderate people, it was simply that their lives went in different directions and they ended up spending time with people they had more common ground with. At one time she’d spent time with Shannon, a woman who lived right across the street. But between Sara having such an unpredictable schedule and Shannon having her second child, their friendship had turned into more of a friendly wave when they saw each other in passing. They had gotten a quick cup of coffee together a few months back, but those occasions were few and far between now. There were a couple of other single women who lived nearby, but they appeared to have their own network of friends and showed no interest in branching out. Unfortunately, it made it all too easy to end up a virtual recluse, with her main source of company and entertainment coming from a five-year-old. Don’t forget dear old Mom.
When Sara’s father had died unexpectedly of a heart attack a few months after Kaylee was born, she saw firsthand what a bad thing it could be for one partner to coddle the other. Her father had controlled everything. Her mother had never paid a bill before, nor did she have a clue as to how much money they had in the bank. By being the man of the house in all aspects, he’d essentially ensured that his wife wouldn’t be able to stand on her own feet should something happen to him. Sara knew he hadn’t done it maliciously. He doted on his wife and wanted to take care of her. He didn’t want her to be upset over anything. Even though the doctor said that his heart attack was caused by blockages in several major arteries, she knew that the stress he had to be under at times couldn’t have been good for his health.
So now, Sara had taken over the finances for her mother. And Chris handled any type of repairs. For a while she attempted to get her mother involved each month when she went over the household account, but she’d wring her hands and make a million excuses why she couldn’t. Eventually it seemed easier and faster to do it herself. Hello pot, meet kettle. Their father had probably come to the same conclusion years ago, so how could she hold it against him? And if Sara was bad, Chris was worse. He treated their mother like fine china. And in his defense, their mother seemed to be a master at working them to her advantage. She had the “poor me” act down to a science. Plus, if she met any resistance, she could, and would, produce tears in five seconds flat. It was actually kind of impressive. Poor Kaylee didn’t stand a chance. Not only was her mother emotionally manipulative, but her grandmother was too. It’s totally genetics. At least Kaylee has me.
Basically, what it all boiled down to was that Sara had two kids to take care of. And Kaylee was the only one who wanted to learn new things. Their mother was firmly committed to being coddled, and didn’t seem to care who it inconvenienced. Sara loved her mother, but a part of her had also started resenting the fact that she seemed to want and expect her daughter to put aside any thoughts of having a life of her own. Before their father died, her mother had urged Sara to get out more. To meet someone and settle down. But that encouragement had packed up and skipped town. And in its place were guilt-laced words, such as “I don’t know what I’d do if you left me too, Sara.” Or the ever-popular “I’m so lucky you decided not to get married.” When exactly was that choice made? Congratulations, Sara, you’ve won a lifetime supply of mommy-sitting. Step right up and claim your prize.
“Hellooo, I know you’re there, I can hear you breathing.” Sara nearly jumped off the bed as her cousin’s raised voice came through the line. She’d been so busy brooding over her mother that she hadn’t been aware of pressing the speed dial for Chloe.
“Er—sorry about that.” She laughed as she reclined against the headboard. “I was a little distracted and missed you answering.”
“That was about five minutes ago,” Chloe said wryly. “I just put the call on speaker while I dried my hair.” Oh crap, had it really been that long?
If anyone would understand the deal with her mother, it was Chloe, but Sara didn’t feel like rehashing another exciting episode of “Why my world sucks ass” right now. She’d save that for a rare evening out and a fishbowl margarita. Better make that several if you’re going to get through it without sobbing uncontrollably. “I got a response,” she said excitedly. “Can you believe it? I was floored. I really had no expectations to begin with, and what few there were had pretty much dwindled away by now.”
“Sara, that’s wonderful,” Chloe exclaimed before asking, “Exactly what are we talking about? Wait—is this about the letter to the manager of the Walmart down the street from you? I hope you scored a gift card. That was a nasty cut you got off that dilapidated shopping cart. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen. Good for you.”
For a moment she drew a complete blank. Walmart? What th— “Oh no, it’s not that,” she replied, remembering her rant about being stabbed by a rogue cart. “Remember the Easter card I sent to the radio station? The ones they were forwarding to deployed soldiers?”
“Er—vaguely,” she replied. Sara could almost hear the wheels turning in Chloe’s head as she racked her brain. It was tempting to let her go awhile longer, but she was too excited to share the news. So she repeated the details once again, then added, “Anyway, tonight I got an e-mail from Major Gabriel Randall.”
Chloe whistled under her breath, “That name reminds me of either a naughty pastor or a virginal nerd. Well, actually he could be both things. What’d he say? Did he send a picture? Wait, did you send one?” She was firing off questions so fast that Sara was beginning to wish she’d texted her instead of calling.
“No, he didn’t send a picture, and neither did I. This was to support the troops, not try to pick them up.” Chloe asked her to read the e-mail, which took only seconds.
“I’ve been more stimulated by bad Mexican food. Talk about lack of personality. Did he at least toss an emoticon or two in there? Something—like anything—to show he’s not an android.”
Sara laughed, having had similar thoughts. “Maybe it’s a military thing. Wouldn’t it have been more surprising if he used some kind of Snoop Dogg lingo?”
“I guess you’ve got a point. Although it would have been funny as hell. Have you responded? I assume you’re going to . . . but you should wait a few days. Don’t want to seem too available, you know? Act like you’re a social dynamo. It took a while, but you finally managed to get back to him. Also, keep it as brief as he did. You know how impatient men can be? Leave him wanting more, not nodding off while reading your mini-series.”
Sara inwardly winced. “Chloe, this isn’t a dating app. I’m simply writing to one of our soldiers who is off fighting to ensure our freedom. Our interaction isn’t about finding a man . . . and I doubt he’d be thinking anything like that about me either. It’s just a program to look after our soldiers.” She felt a little uneasy at Chloe’s assumption. She’d never been the type to give so that she could get something in return. And she certainly hadn’t sent the card hoping for a date.
