by TWCS Authors
He never told her. He never asked her out. He just looked forward to seeing her and sometimes chatting via instant message systems while he was off duty after he got stationed after basic training. Thanks to her insane studying, she passed enough exams to start college as a sophomore while he was just a private in the Green Machine. He never felt he could ask to be more than her friend.
As the next few years passed, he flirted, she flirted, but that was it. Whenever he was home on leave, his mom threw a party and April’s family always came, too. It was like she had said in that next-to-last email. They never spent time together, just the two of them.
But he wasn’t the same guy as he’d been before Afghanistan. He made light of what he had been allowed to talk about, when he deployed. April didn’t know everything.
Only God and the others in his unit did. And that was as it should be. Protecting April’s innocence was important to the man he had become over there. Sacrifices had to be made.
If he said yes to a date . . . If he said yes, he’d never be able to say no to her.
So he hadn’t said anything. He’d printed up her email, tucked it away.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Justin? You okay? Did you get my last email? So help me, if you got sent somewhere and didn’t even tell your mom, we will barbecue YOU at the next get-together.
~April
Staring at the computer screen, he swallowed a couple of times. Shook his head. “I can’t, April.”
Before he could rethink it, Lance Corporal Justin Clark deleted his entire Yahoo account.
December 17, 2012
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
April,
It was really good to see you and meet your daughter the other evening. Thank you for giving me the means by which to contact you. It’s been a long time.
Justin
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Justin,
It has been a long time.
I was surprised to see you, but Hannah was right. I could use some friends in this area. How long are you stationed in Maryland? Are you in D.C.?
April
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
April,
Hannah is a very smart girl.
Yes, I’m at 8th and I in D.C. I’ll be here for another couple of years, probably.
So, how have you been? What have you been up to, lately? I don’t mean to be insensitive, but I haven’t been stalking you or anything, so I don’t know.
Before anything else, since you’ve agreed to be in touch for now, I have to apologize to you. It may be pointless, and that’s okay, but I do.
Justin
December 19, 2012
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Justin,
Sorry it took me a while to answer. I didn’t know what to say. I would guess you’re apologizing for disappearing on me that one time. Someday I might ask what you were thinking, so if you are really sorry, I hope you’ll tell me, okay? It kind of messed me up for a while.
Can’t believe I wrote that, but I did. And I won’t delete it, because it’s true.
Look. My friends can find me on Facebook. If you want to be friends, add me and I’ll add you.
You’re right, by the way. Hannah is a very smart girl. And she likes you.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
April,
Thanks for adding me on Facebook. I feel kind of strange, checking up on you there, but you said it was okay and I guess it is since you can do the same to me. You have any questions about anything, you can ask, okay?
I’ve missed you.
Justin
P.S. Glad Hannah likes me. I’d like to get to know her better.
December 20, 2012
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Justin,
Hannah said to say hello.
I have thought of a lot of things I’d like to ask, I think, and I bet you have some, too.
Sometimes, when I get your email, I feel like I’m in college again, you know? And writing to you comes easy. Like, did you see The Avengers this last summer? Did you like it? I read The Hunger Games books and saw the first movie while Hannah visited with my mom.
Honest, Justin, I never thought I’d see you again, so it’s taking me some time to work around the idea that you’re willing to talk to me.
April
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
April,
Can I call you?
Justin
Justin stood still as he punched April’s number into his cell phone. He wouldn’t add her to his contact list until after they had talked and cleared the air, he’d decided. While waiting for her to answer, though, he was pacing. His rank assured him of private quarters, but they weren’t large and he covered the space from the door to his window several times before he heard, “Hello?”
“April? It’s Justin.”
There was a pause and a slight laugh. “That was fast.”
He could hardly believe he was talking to her again. “Yeah. I hope that’s okay?”
“Sure. Um . . . Hannah’s getting ready for bed, so I don’t have a long time to talk.”
Nerves kept Justin on his feet as he prayed desperately for the right words. “Then I’ll try to be brief, if I can.” She didn’t respond so he took a quick breath, leaned against the closed door, and began. “I’ll save the long version, but the short version is that I was stupid. And young. And you intimidated the heck out of me with being brave enough to ask me out and I didn’t know how to say any of that back then.”
Dear God, help me. It hurts just saying this to her.
His eyes burned, his stomach was in knots, and he felt as if he’d fall down if not for the door at his back. It was silent for several very uncomfortable moments.
He heard a strange kind of hitching sound in her breath and closed his eyes as she spoke. “Why didn’t you at least answer, back then? We’d been friends a long time, and I deserved an answer. Even if all you could do was tell me that you didn’t have time for me, you know?”
“But that wasn’t the truth, April. I couldn’t lie to you. I won’t lie to you. Not ever.”
“Oh, you couldn’t lie, but you could just make yourself disappear and not tell me where you’d gone? Like that was supposed to be better?” Pain and anger whipped through her voice, but the uneven sound had faded and he felt better to hear her sound so strong. “Why didn’t you just say no, then? Anything would have been better than ignoring me.”
If he hadn’t ignored her, if he’d said no, would they have stayed friends? Might he have manned up and asked her out eventually, deepening their friendship to something more?
If he hadn’t ignored her, might April have fallen in love with him, instead of John Sinclair?
“You’re right,” was what he said to her on the phone. “Like I said, I was young and stupid. That’s the short version.”
He heard her take a deep breath. “There’s . . . There’s a long version?”
Crossing to his bed, he sat down. “Yeah, there is.”
“Okay.” He heard a slight scraping sound then a muffled, “Coming, Hannah!”
“You have to go.”
“Yeah. Um.” He heard Hannah’s voice in the background, singing something, and he felt his lips curl in a smile. She was too cute. “Justin?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you like to come to Christmas Eve worship with us? Do you still go to church and . . .”
“Absolutely, and yes, I’d be honored.” Thank you, Lord! “Can you send me the details?”
“I’ll email them. I’ve gotta go.”
“Good night, April.”
De
cember 24, 2012
Justin tugged nervously on his dark blue sweater. His mom said it matched his eyes, but he didn’t get it. His blond hair had gone darker over the years, but it was cut so close to his head that it looked light brown. He stood at six four, but he managed to feel a little dwarfed by the dimensions of April’s front porch.
Elkridge had a lot of what he would call “high rent districts.” The widow of John Patrick Sinclair could certainly afford to live in one.
Justin Clark still felt hopelessly outclassed by this woman. Offering up a silent prayer, he took the antique knocker in two fingers and rapped the door three times.
“Mom! Mr. Clark is here! Mom! Can I open the door?”
“I’ll get the door, hon. Be patient!”
“Mom!”
Despite his nerves, Justin had to grin. He glanced down at the presents he held in his arm and hoped for the best. It had been barely over a week since he and April had reconnected, but he felt that judicious, aggressive pursuit was what was called for at this time. It had taken less than an hour to drive to her house from the barracks. Even at twice the distance, Justin would have counted it easy. He hoped this was a positive sign for the renewal of his relationship with her.
“Just stay there,” he heard April say.
The door opened and he took a deep, quick breath. “Hi, April.” The scents of pine and gingerbread met him and he smiled.
She answered with one of her own. “Hi, Justin. Merry Christmas. Come in.” Wearing a deep red turtleneck, black skirt and black boots, she looked incredible. “No coat?”
“No, but thanks.” Her eyes dropped to the wrapped presents in the crook of his arm. “These are for you and Hannah,” he said in answer to her unasked question.
“Justin, you shouldn’t have.”
He shrugged and handed them over to her. “You know, not once in all the years we wrote to each other did we ever do this. I figure it’s kind of overdue.”
Her smile was shy as she turned to put them under the tree that he had seen from the street. It was decorated with white lights, bows, and angels. “Mom? Can I open mine now?”
“You know the rule, sweetheart. Not until after church.” April smiled at Hannah and Justin felt oddly included as mother spun daughter about to tie a shiny green bow on the back of the girl’s dress.
“Ready?” April asked, turning to him. “I want to be able to find a good place to sit, and the timing of the service was to allow for children.”
“Probably be pretty busy, then.” He nodded. “Are you driving or . . .” Privately, he hoped she would. He wanted to be able to watch her, not the road. Was that selfish of him? Probably. He couldn’t find it in himself to care.
“I’d like to drive,” she said, obviously pleased. “Ready?”
He watched as she made sure Hannah was securely settled and then he opened the driver’s door for April. She didn’t bat an eye, which made him happy for some reason. With a smile, she thanked him and he stepped quickly around to the other side. She was driving a brown BMW 335i that still carried that “new car” smell. The interior was muted and intimate as she drove past the wrought iron fence that bordered her property and into the road. The streets were lined with a two-day-old snowfall, windswept and mostly barren.
The silence felt awkward, however. Even Hannah wasn’t saying anything at the moment. “I love seeing the world like this,” April volunteered after sliding a shy glance his way. “We got here in the fall, after the leaves were changing, and it was really so pretty.”
He had gathered intelligence on her, since they had met up again. It was a luxury—a bittersweet one, to be sure—he had not allowed himself to do so in all the years since he had learned she was married. But since he and April had “friended” one another online, he was able to do his best to catch up with her—as he hoped she was doing with him. He had updated his profile there insofar as he could, so that she could examine his life to some degree and become a bit more familiar with him. Nothing, however, could take the place of face-to-face conversations. Even about the weather.
“Southern California didn’t have this kind of seasonal change, for sure.”
Hannah chose that moment to join the conversation. “I like the snow!” Her smile was missing a tooth since last they met, but it was still brilliant in the back seat of the car. “Mom said there might be more in January.”
“One year, we had quite a few feet of it,” Justin told her, half-turning in his seat to converse with the girl. “Shovelling it is a lot of work, but it can be fun, too.”
“I want to build a snowman. And snow pets. And an igloo. And—”
“Hannah,” April said, sounding amused.
Justin grinned and shifted his body to sit straight forward once more. “It is fun,” he told April. “If, uh, if you want to, that is, maybe we can build something after a good snowfall.”
April slanted a smile to him, without really taking her eyes from the road. “That sounds like fun.” It wasn’t a full-on endorsement, but Justin took it as a yes, anyway.
They talked about their families, their respective mothers and the annual Fourth of July barbecue.
“She really didn’t mention me?” April asked as she pulled into the church’s filling parking lot. Snow had started to fall again over the cars, coming down in light flakes that looked almost like they were afterthoughts.
Blowing out a breath that fogged in front of his face as he levered himself from the car, Justin shook his head. “She hasn’t mentioned you for years. She adores you,” he hastened to assure her, “but she was—she was trying to be kind to me.”
April met that with wide eyes as they stared at one another over the hood of her car. He had a million things he could say, but she might not want to hear them. Besides, it was Christmas Eve, they were at church, and he really wanted to be able to worship with April and Hannah, not be preoccupied with himself.
So, he cleared his throat and lifted a brow. “Can I get Hannah out, since she’s on this side?”
“Yes, please!” the girl called, her voice muffled through the window.
He saw her hand waving through the glass. “You got it.” Opening the door with a bit of a flourish, he saw that Hannah had already unbuckled herself and really only needed a hand to help steady her small booted feet on the slick pavement. “Here you go.”
She smiled brightly up at him, the light from a high pole catching in her eyes. “Thank you.”
April’s steps came slowly around the car, reaching for Hannah with one hand. “Justin?” she asked, her voice soft but edgy.
Alarms went off in his head and he prayed again that he didn’t say or do something stupid. “What?”
Holding Hannah’s hand with one of hers and gripping her Bible in the other, April continued to speak softly. “What are you doing? Or what do you think you’re doing?”
The words that sprang to mind were not words he was particularly proud of, but living and working as a Marine did influence a man’s vocabulary. He swallowed those words and puffed out another breath. “I’m going to church with an old friend of mine and her daughter,” he said aloud. Silently, he added, And I’m hoping that you will someday be ready to be a current friend of mine and more because I’ve missed you so much it hurts, sometimes. April looked almost ready to blow a fuse for a moment, so he tossed out one more thing. “Look. Right now? I am looking forward to worshiping with you and with Hannah. Can we just do that, right now?”
Her expression softened immediately and she looked up at him for a long moment. Then, walking with more determination toward the church entrance, she said, “All right. But afterward?”
“After church?”
“Yeah. Can you, can we talk?”
“Of course.”
She nodded and took a quick breath through her nose before clearly trying to set her mind to the church building in front of them. Justin endeavored to do likewise.
“Mom? Will I get to sit with you tonight?”
/> “It’s a family worship time tonight, sweetheart. So, yeah. You’ll sit with me.”
“And Mr. Clark?”
“And Mr. Clark.”
He felt as if his heart was being squeezed by a fist, but Justin also felt unjustifiably happy. So he smiled as he passed through the covered entrance with its brick accents and went into the church. It wasn’t a large building, but it had a good crowd milling about in the foyer. A Christmas tree was decorated in one corner, evergreen garlands hung on the walls, and the sounds of excited but subdued children seemed to rebound even off the apex of the cathedral ceiling.
“April Sinclair! You made it. And Hannah!” A woman about Justin’s mother’s age approached with church bulletins in one hand and a box of tiny electric candles in the other. “Merry Christmas.” Bright green eyes behind frameless glasses darted politely curious looks to Justin, who nodded with equal good manners. “You’re welcome, too, of course.” She eyed his close-cropped hair and smiled with less formality. “Marine?”
Grinning, he said he was. “Yes, ma’am.”
