My step was lighter as I made my way down the hall to the social worker’s office. Knocking, I entered as she called out. Now greeting each other with familiarity, I sat down in the chair provided, my gaze shifting around the pleasant room.
Susan sat quietly, her eyes not leaving my face for a moment before she lifted one eyebrow and commented, “You seem different today.”
Sucking in my lips, I had no idea how to respond.
“Has something happened that has made you appear less stressed?”
Shrugging, I replied, “I…I really don’t know what you mean.”
“Hmmm,” she mumbled, her gaze still pinned on me. “How is everything with your cellmates?”
“They’re still good. Ellen and Jackie are really nice and Jocelyn’s not too bad. She’s kinda moody, so I stay out of her way.”
“And your job in the library?”
At that, my smile broke free. “I love it.”
“Tell me why,” Susan prodded, her gaze not wavering as she smiled encouragingly.
I looked behind her at the eye-catching picture hanging on the wall in her office, the bright swirling colors, reminding me of a sunset over a beach, sending a sense of happiness through me. Looking back at Susan, I shrugged as I answered, “I just love books. I’ve always loved books.”
“Why?”
Forcing me to analyze my answer, I continued, “I can disappear in the pages. Become someone else. I can go to another place or time. I can delve into a romance or mystery or time travel. Books…I don’t know…can take us away from where we are.”
Nodding, Susan smiled and said, “I like that answer. I enjoy books as well, but you’ve stated the reason perfectly.”
We sat for a moment of peaceful silence before she asked, “And what of your project?”
At that reminder, my smile turned into a full blown grin. I was uncertain if I should share about the email but l knew that I was supposed to show proof that my community project served a purpose. Looking at her hesitantly, I said, “I stuck a note in one of the books that was a favorite of mine and asked whoever got the book to send me an email just to let me know they were received.”
Susan, her interest piqued, leaned forward, resting her forearms on the desk and asked, “And did you hear back?” Her excitement was palpable and her eyes sparkled in anticipation.
Nodding, I rushed, “I got an email this morning and the soldier who found my note told me he liked the book and thanked me. He talked a bit about how he likes mysteries and hopes I send more.”
Leaning back, a satisfied gleam in her eye, Susan said, “Congratulations, Molly! Well done!”
I sat, prim and proper with my hands in my lap, and smiled back. My smile drooped when she continued, “So what’s your next move?”
“Um…well, I’m definitely going to get another box together,” I rushed, hoping she didn’t think my project was a one and done.
“Okay, I expected that, but what about the soldier who emailed? Will you be corresponding?”
Surprised, I dropped my calm demeanor and with a hasty shake replied, “Oh, no. I…I’ll just send more books.” I looked at her raised eyebrow again, indicating she was questioning my answer, but I had no idea what to say.
“Why would you not respond?”
Hurt slashed through me as I looked down at my hands. I wasn’t sure why I had to explain…surely she knew my reasons. “I’m nobody. I’m in prison for killing someone.” My words were barely above a whisper, but I felt their force echo through me.
“You were not convicted of murder, Molly. You certainly would not be in a minimum security facility if you were a danger. I’ve read your file, and while you won’t talk to me about what happened, I know that someone died after you had struck them but you were not trying to kill them.”
All my pleasure from the book email slid away as my reality slammed into me—not that it was ever far away. The bars, guards, locked doors, and lack of freedom tended to keep incarceration front and center. No words came so I just sat, rigid once more, my hands tightly clasped as my knuckles turned white from the pressure.
“Molly,” Susan’s soft voice called.
I looked up, swallowing deeply.
“Whatever happened is in the past. But you need to work on reminding yourself that there will be a long life after this stay here. There is nothing wrong with having some communication outside of these walls. And if this soldier is a book lover then they might enjoy a conversation with someone else who loves books just as much. I’m not suggesting you have to become pen-pals, but I think it would be good for you to focus on this project, and it should involve getting to know some of the people that it helps.”
“I’m embarrassed,” I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper. I’m not sure if I’m speaking to her or admitting it to myself. But no matter, the words were out now.
“I’m sure you are,” she nodded, her slight smile understanding my plight. “But you are not obligated to tell anyone what you have done or where you are. All that matters is the shared love of a good book.”
Walking along the stark corridor to the cafeteria, I heard Ellen called out my name as she jogged up behind me.
“Hey girl, did you hear what happened?” Bouncing on her toes, hands flapping to her sides, she appeared ready to bust out the gossip, so I barely shook my head before she plunged right on.
“You know how Jocelyn’s been acting all weird and shitty lately?” she began, eyes darting around to see who might be listening.
“I just thought she was always like that,” I responded, thinking of our cellmate with the perpetually bad mood.
“Turns out, she’s been doing it with one of the guards, but suspected he was doing someone else as well.”
Eyes wide, I stared over at her as we walked slower so she could get all of her story out before we were with others in the cafeteria. I knew some of the women would have relationships with each other but had never seen a problem with a prisoner and a guard. “So what happened?”
“She went all crazy on the other prisoner, got taken down, then started screaming about him.”
“Oh, Lordy!”
“Yep! So as of right now, she’s gone,” Ellen finished, her eyes bright, pleased at her tale of excitement.
“Gone where?” I whispered, as though afraid to be overheard.
“Honey, the guard’ll be fired and Jocelyn’s ass will be sent to maximum. They don’t play around here with that shit.”
A few minutes later as we sat eating our dinner, I noticed the other prisoners deep in gossip in their respective groups. I guess any excitement here breaks up the monotony. Tonight’s meal was only sandwiches and chips, but the chance of scandal kept the grumbling to a minimum. I’m not sure a fancier meal would have even been noticed this evening.
As soon as my cellmates and I entered our cell again after dinner, Jocelyn’s possessions were already gone and her bed was stripped bare. That night as Ellen, Jackie, and I got ready for bed we wondered who Jocelyn’s replacement would be. I was worried. The three of use got along well and, more importantly, I was not afraid of them. A new cellmate? That unknown frightened me.
Ellen looked over and stated, “Don’t let ’em push you around. Remember, you’ll be the one with seniority now.”
Before I could question, Jackie spit out her toothpaste into the sink and agreed. “Hell yeah, darlin’. Whoever comes in will have to fit in with us.” Winking at me, she added, “You’re no longer the newbie here!”
An hour later, lying in bed as sleep once more appeared evasive, I rolled Jackie’s words over in my head. I’m no longer the newbie…in a prison. Somehow those words didn’t make me feel as good as I think she meant for them to.
“Are you about finished with those books?” Ms. Purdue asked, peering at me over her glasses.
Nodding, I glanced down at the large box and replied, “Yes, ma’am. Just making sure they’re packed well.”
I wasn’t certain but it almost seemed as though s
he smiled. It must be the books. While I didn’t kid myself into thinking she was smiling at me, I knew the idea of a book being taken care of would please her.
I had chosen the books with particular care this time, looking for ones that were not damaged, but putting every mystery I could get my hands on into the box. For each book, I found myself wondering if Brody would be the one to get his hands on them.
Wrapping the box with packing tape, I went to the computer to print out the address label. As soon as I sat down in the chair, I realized I had avoided the computer for a week, not wanting a reminder that I should write to the soldier. But I wanted to. The pull to have some communication outside these walls was strong. I don’t have to tell him who I am…or where I am…or what I’ve done.
My mind made up, I opened up my prison email and found his missive. Hitting reply, I began to type before I chickened out.
Chapter 4
(April – Brody)
Hitting the weight room behind the MWR, I spent an hour working out. It helped to keep me in shape, of course, but for me the mind-numbing repetitions kept me from thinking too hard about the last mission.
We’d gotten the call to the same outpost we’d been to earlier this week, but this time the IED had hit three men, one severely wounded. Unable to stabilize him, one of the crew continued to work on him while I turned my attention to the other one—I knew the last soldier was in the other bird and beyond my control.
After getting an IV in and administering pain meds, I had been able to assess and stabilize the chest injury on my patient as well as the broken scapula. Calling in the incoming report so the ground crew would be prepared, I moved back to the first victim.
Nothing. Fucking Hell. I shared a look with Jeff, the member of my crew, who’d been working on him and saw his hard expression. Just then, the bird landed and we slid the door open. I motioned for the ground crew to take the living patient first and then had the second group come and lift the fallen soldier.
I knew no one back home would probably ever be aware, but the dignity given to a fallen soldier never failed to take my breath away. There is a reverence that permeates every move that is made. I stood at attention as they solemnly carried the stretcher toward the hospital, my eyes never leaving them but in my peripheral vision I could see every soldier on the road stop and do the same.
Now, the clink of the weight bar into the supports should have indicated I was ready to get up, but instead I continued to lie back, staring at the tent ceiling. I can’t save them all. I knew that, but those words didn’t help when one died. Closing my eyes for a moment I felt as though the weight was lying on my chest.
Hitting the shower thirty minutes later, I let the warm water sluice over my tired muscles, washing away the sweat. I’d almost completed twelve years in the Army and while I had at one time contemplated doing my twenty years before getting out, I knew this was my last tour. I loved my job and I loved my crew…but I was ready for a change. But the next step was still a mystery.
The weather was finally pleasant this time of year. The cold of winter had left and the heat of summer had yet to appear. For once, I could close my eyes and almost pretend I was back in the States. But then sucking in a deep breath, I knew I wasn’t. The smells of our camp in Afghanistan, especially the infamous Poo Pond, immediately brought back to mind exactly where I was. And it wasn’t home.
Stopping at the MWR again before I went back to my tent, I walked over to the computers to check my email. Finding one from my sister, I laughed at the pictures of my two nephews. At two and five, they were all boys and into everything related to trucks or dinosaurs. I need to order some books for them.
I sometimes wondered if I would meet someone special, settle down, and have children. God knows I’d like to, but since I’d been in the Army it was tough meeting women that interested me. Pulling myself from those thoughts, I clicked through more emails.
Next, I read one from my mom, where she talked all about the kids she taught. A long-time kindergarten teacher, she still found the antics of five-year-olds to be hilarious. She added a few anecdotes from my dad, making me smile. A familiar pang in my heart tugged as I sent a short note back, missing home more and more.
A few online bills needed to be taken care of and then I cleaned out my spam folder. A reply email was in the spam and I recognized it as the librarian who had sent the books. Curious, I clicked on it.
Dear SGT Molina,
I was excited to receive your email and discover that the books came in such good condition. I was especially happy to hear that you liked the book as well. I love mysteries and it is nice to meet someone who likes them too. I’m not a librarian but have started taking some college classes. I think that I would like to be a librarian some day so that might be what I end up studying. But for now, it’s math, science, and English that I have to get through. I was a decent student in high school, but that was a few years ago.
Have you read any of the books by Andrew Taylor? I love his British mystery series. In fact, I think he has written 2 different series, but I have only read the first one. I am sending a new box but I know they don’t go straight to you. I really hope you are able to get some of them. Have you always loved reading? I always remember having a book in my hand when I was little.
I can’t imagine what your life must be like over there, and I suppose you get tired of people saying “Thank you for your service,” but I really do. I admire anyone who can be so courageous. I have to get off now because the internet is so expensive. Take care.
Happy reading,
Molly
Grinning, I re-read the email, realizing Molly was much younger than I had initially thought. I figured she was a grandmother! I was curious about the author she mentioned and did an internet search, discovering he was a well-known British mystery writer. Wondering if Molly would be able to send me one, I decided to ask her about it when I wrote back. That thought surprised me for an instant…I wasn’t exactly the pen-pal type. But having not found anyone here with as great a love of mysteries, it would be nice to talk to someone with that interest. And working in a library, Molly would be the perfect person to ask about new authors.
Clicking off my email, I headed over to the stack of books, seeing which ones appeared new to me. Finding just a few, I checked them out and headed back to my tent.
Just as I settled down on my bunk, Todd came charging in. “Molina? Going to the barbecue tonight?”
Knowing I had a shift coming up, I replied, “When does it start? I may not have time.”
“Yeah, you will. It starts in about an hour and you can eat before duty.”
Tossing my book to the side, my stomach won the battle over my reading and I headed out with more of our crew. Getting in line for the meat roasted over the grill, I grabbed a paper plate and loaded up on the food. The temperature had risen and was about as nice as it would get in Afghanistan. Finding a place to sit, we piled up in the sunshine and chowed down on the barbecue. Looking around, I was struck once more with how most of us hung out with the same people that were in our occupation specialty. I know for my friends, we all understood the stress and needs of a MEDEVAC medic. I supposed most soldiers felt that way.
Outside with the camaraderie, laughter, and good food, it was easy to imagine us sitting stateside at a bar or on the beach somewhere. Somehow with stars overhead it was easy to pretend that I wasn’t in a warzone on the other side of the world.
Looking at my watch, I stood and tossed my trash into the large cans provided and with a wave to the others, headed toward the airfield in time for my shift to begin.
Two days later, I sat back down at the computer and tried to think of what to say to Molly. Jesus, this is harder than I thought it would be. Oh hell, it’s not like I’m trying to impress the girl! Letting out a long breath, I began to type.
Hey Molly,
I had not heard of Andrew Taylor, but looked him up. He writes exactly what I like to read. I know when you box u
p books, there’s probably no way to make sure they get to this MWR, but if you can put Kandahar MWR on the outside of the box, then it would have a good chance of getting here. This is a big base so a lot of people would have access to the books.
I was surprised that you appear to be younger than I thought. Somehow I imagined you being a little, old lady librarian. Sorry about that.
I started reading mysteries as a kid. My dad had an old set of Hardy Boys Mysteries and we would read them together. I went through a phase of loving Agatha Christie, then Margaret Miller and I have to say that PD James is an all-time favorite.
I’d love to hear more about the books you come across in the library. Most of the medics I work with aren’t into reading as much as I am, so hearing about your discoveries will be a nice distraction.
Yours truly,
SGT Brody Molina
Re-reading my email three times before I was satisfied with it, I still sat with it unsent for a moment. Leaning back in the chair, I rubbed my hand over my face, sighing loudly. In a world full of extroverts, it sometimes sucked being an introvert. Even this email had stressed me out, trying to decide if I should write, what to say, and what her reaction would be. With a final fuck it, I hit send.
The bird hit turbulence and banked hard to the right. Rocking back on my heels to steady my feet, I jabbed the needle in the patient’s arm, hitting the vein on the first stick.
“Fuckin’ A, Sarge,” my crew medic called out, earning a grin from me. I wasn’t always successful on a first stick, but I’d earned the reputation of being damn accurate in the air.
Stabilizing the patient, I began to pump pain meds and fluids in him. With a tourniquet on his leg set by his comrades in the field, I made the decision to leave it alone. It appeared adequate for the few minutes it would take to get to the base. Part of my job was knowing what needed to be prioritized and what needed to be left for the surgeons.
The turbulence jolted us again and, this time, I fought to retain my balance. Fuck! Planting my feet while grabbing a bar overhead, I kept from falling over, but some of our supplies were tossed onto the floor of the bird. Kicking a few items away from my feet, I leaned back over the patient checking the IV line.
Freedom of Love (Letters From Home Series Book 2) Page 3
