Unpredictable Love

by Jean C. Joachim

  When she came in the front door, Pookie, their calico cat, was waiting in the kitchen. The furry creature rubbed against Jory’s leg.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m feeding you.” She opened a can of cat food, dumped it in the feline’s dish, added clean water to the water bowl, and put both on the floor. Then, she poured herself a glass of merlot and climbed the stairs to her room.

  She took out a piece of fine writing paper and began to pen the letter she had written at work. A knock interrupted her. She glanced at the clock. Sixty thirty already. Amber opened the door.

  “What do you want?” Jory asked, looking up.

  Amber leaned against the doorjamb. “Uh, it’s after six, and I don’t see any dinner on the stove.”

  Jory’s lips compressed into a frown. She rose from her desk, fueled by anger. “You’ve got a lotta nerve. I’m up here beating my brains out, writing four Goddamn letters to Trent Stevens. Letters you should be writing! And you’re asking about dinner? Here’s the deal. You want me to write, fine. But you’ve gotta cook.”

  “Me?” Amber pointed at her own, ample chest.

  Jory nodded.

  “Really? I can’t cook.”

  “Then learn, damn it. It’s about time you did anyway.”

  “And if I don’t?” A sassy look crossed her sister’s face, and she rested one hand on her hip.

  “I’ll write to Staff Sergeant Trent Stevens and tell him you’re a fraud. Then, I’ll report you to Laura Dailey. They’ll drum you outta town.”

  “You wouldn’t do that.” Amber frowned, but Jory saw uncertainty in her eyes.

  The older one narrowed her eyes. “Try me.”

  Amber chewed her lip. “Okay, okay. But not every night.”

  “Three nights a week.”

  “Three?” Amber’s voice shot up two octaves.

  “That’s right. Like it or lump it.”

  Amber made a face and huffed down the stairs. Jory broke into a smile as soon as her sister was out of sight. That’ll teach her. Besides, she needs to learn to cook and pull her weight around here.

  Jory stayed at her desk until she had copied the computer letter and written two more. He deserves to get one for each he sends out. It’s the least I can do.

  When she finished, she went down to dinner. A casserole that looked like it had been dumped on the floor and scooped back into the dish sat on the table.

  “Amber had a little trouble with the chili casserole. So I helped,” Nan said, taking her seat.

  Jory curled her lip.

  “Too bad!” blurted out the young woman. “You made me do it, now you have to eat it.”

  “Did this fall on the floor and get swept back into the pot?” Jory’s stomach churned.

  “Not quite. Some of it spilled on the counter. But it was clean. It’s okay, Jory. Just looks a little lopsided.”

  “Eat it!” Amber flounced down into her seat and thrust her elbows on the table. Tears gathered in her eyes.

  “Hmm. Looks delicious,” Jory said, ladling a generous portion onto her plate.

  Amber blinked rapidly then stole a glance at her sister.

  Jory took a breath then shoved a spoonful of the mess into her mouth. “Yummy. Sure tastes better than it looks.”

  “I’ll get it right next time. I swear.” Amber put her napkin in her lap.

  “I’m sure you will, Cookie,” Jory said.

  Amber smiled at the sound of her nickname. She took a good helping of the food and then tasted it. “Not bad. Considering I made it.”

  “You don’t mess up everything, Amber,” Jory assured.

  “Almost.”

  “Not today. I’m proud of you. Well done.”

  Nan pulled a small box out of her pocket. “In honor of learning to cook, I’m awarding this pin to Amber, for bravery and valor facing off with the stove,” she announced, handing the box to the young woman, who opened it with eager fingers.

  Inside, nestled in velvet, was a small gold and ruby pin. It had belonged to the girls’ mother.

  “Mom’s pin! I love it. I love it. Put it on.” Amber handed the piece of jewelry to her aunt, who fastened it on the collar of her niece’s blouse.

  “It looks beautiful,” Jory put in.

  “You know I’ve saved some of your mother’s pieces to give to you girls, when the time is right.”

  “Like Mom’s wedding band?” Jory asked, before taking a forkful of the casserole.

  “That’s for you. Your mom always wanted that to go to you, on your wedding day.”

  Amber coughed then looked away.

  Jory noticed Nan stare at the young woman. “You okay?” the older sister asked.

  Amber nodded, taking a sip of water. “Sorry. Choked on saliva. But she doesn’t get that until she gets married, right?”

  “Right,” Nan confirmed, narrowing her eyes.

  “Good. I mean. Since you’re not serious about Archie, it’ll be a while before Nan has to dig that out of storage.” The younger one shifted in her seat.

  Jory watched her aunt continue to stare at Amber, who looked away, casting her gaze on her plate. Something’s up. Jory shrugged. Something was always up with Amber, so she didn’t give it a second thought. The truth would come out eventually. It always did.

  * * * *

  Jory hadn’t set out to craft boring correspondence to SSGT Stevens, but as she wrote, she realized how uninteresting and predictable her life was. She sighed when Nan entered the house Saturday morning with the mail.

  “Another one for you, Jory. This young man likes to write.”

  “I thought he’d be discouraged by how insipid and stupid my letters are. Guess not.”

  “Guess not.” Nan smiled as she hiked up the stairs.

  Jory put the envelope in her pocket, saving it for bedtime.

  She’d taken to retiring early so she could savor Trent’s words in solitude. She liked to read through fast to get the facts then reread them two or three times. When she went back over them, she’d dig out the hidden loneliness lurking between the lines. Although he never mentioned fear, upon second and third readings her observant eyes picked up the hints of anxiety in his many references to home.

  His easy phrases, speaking to her as if she was just on the other side of the back fence, sucked her in.

  Milky Way was my favorite candy when I was a kid. What was yours? Do you like baseball? I’ve been a Yankee fan since I could throw a ball.

  Before she was aware, he’d become a friend somehow, ingratiating himself.

  Did you ever have to deal with bullies when you were a kid? If I had been there, I’d have beaten them up for you. I had my share, being on my own, and figured out early how to take them down.

  He revealed pieces of his personality with every letter.

  I didn’t like school much. Except in the eighth grade. I had Miss Armstrong for math. God, she was gorgeous. Best figure of any female in the school. I got an “A.” But she left to get married and move to Minnesota. That was the end of my interest in school books. That’s why I joined the Marines.

  With patience, she’d fitted them together to form the image of a man she could almost touch.

  Sometimes, she’d reread three or four before turning out the light. She’d tacked his picture on the wall next to her bed. He was the last thing she saw before falling asleep and the first thing in the morning. Jory had planned to wind down the correspondence, but every day she eagerly awaited mail delivery, and a new peek into the mystery man who had inched his way into her heart.

  Admitting she had feelings for SSGT Trent Stevens wouldn’t happen. Jory wasn’t some foolish schoolgirl with a crush on a handsome Marine. She was a grown woman, who had been shouldering the responsibilities of an adult since she was seventeen. Her head wouldn’t be turned by a few letters and some fancy words. She was above that. Or so she thought.

  Saturday morning, she headed downtown to interview Laura Dailey. She’d ask about the pen pal project, keeping her correspondenc
e with Trent private, and the town garage sale planned for two weeks hence. The money would go toward buying a new ambulance. The rust bucket they used to cart sick people was on its last legs.

  She hiked up the wooden steps to the woman’s kitchen door. As always, the warm, tempting aroma of something baking enveloped Laura like a soft, cashmere sweater. The scent drew Jory in as her taste buds jolted awake.

  “Come in. I’ve got the last apple pie from the fall crop in the oven. It’s almost done. You’ll have to have a piece and tell me how it compares to the pies made from the earlier apples.”

  Jory stepped inside. Her mouth watered at the smell of baking apples and cinnamon. The apple crop was almost used up. Soon apple pie would give center stage to sweet corn fritters, blueberry cobbler, and peach pie.

  After the interview was over, Jory gave in to the desire for more.

  “So, how’s that new man in your life?” The older woman cast a keen eye on the reporter.

  “What new man?”

  “The military guy.”

  “You mean my pen pal?”

  “That’s what they call it? Guess I can take some credit for setting you two up, since I started the program.”

  “Nobody set me up with anyone.” Jory’s jaw stiffened.

  Laura went on, “Yeah. He’s the one. Staff Sergeant or something. Rumor has it you’re pretty tight. Marla told me you’re getting a raft of letters.”

  Jory waved her hand, casting her gaze down to hide her blush. “A lot of hot air on paper, Laura.”

  “That’s not what Marla said.”

  “How can she know, unless she’s steaming open my letters?”

  “So there is something going on?” Laura sat back, a grin spread across thin cheeks.

  Jory took another forkful. “He’s pretty handsome, but not my type.”

  “What is your type? Short, fat, and ugly?” Laura chuckled.

  “Maybe living here? Not facing death every day? A guy who reads? The Staff Sergeant isn’t exactly a Rhodes Scholar.”

  “Don’t be such a snob. Opposites attract. Look at me and Barney. He’s a big lug who works outside, gets filthy like you wouldn’t believe. Look at me. I’m trim and have a spotless house.”

  Jory laughed. “Point taken. Right now, we’re sort of friends.”

  “That’s how it begins,” Laura piped up. “He sounds better than Archie.” Laura made a noise of disapproval in her throat. “Don’t know how you ever settled for him.”

  “Not much to choose from around here.” Jory wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Thanks for the fantastic pie. I gotta be going.” She rose, stretched, gathered her notes, and went on her way.

  Upon returning home, Jory went to her desk and tapped out a rough draft of the interview while it was still fresh. She hoped to write a piece compelling enough to jumpstart people into trotting out their second-hand stuff and parting with some hard-earned cash.

  Then, she headed for the kitchen. It was her turn to make dinner. Laura had given her a few apples and the recipe for apple dumplings. Jory hoped to make pork chops and broccoli too, even though Amber didn’t like the veggie.

  She hummed along with music on the radio as she prepared dough. A low rumble drew her attention as she put the meat in the oven. Glancing out the window, she saw the sky darken. Looked like a storm was rolling in. She sighed. How perfect—lying in bed, writing to Trent, while lightning flashed and thunder crashed right outside her window. She shivered.

  When dinner was finished, there wasn’t a crumb left from the apple dumplings. Amber vowed to make them next time she had dinner duty. Jory left the others to tidy up the kitchen. She climbed the stairs, closing her door for privacy. She edited the garage sale story several times before calling it a night. After donning her fuzzy nightshirt, she climbed into bed with a yawn and a glance at the clock. It was midnight.

  Jory pulled out her lap desk, nabbed some paper from the nightstand, and watched the thickening clouds. She pondered what to write to SSGT Trent Stevens. I’ve at least gotta try not to be boring.

  A low roll of thunder shook the house a bit as clouds curled around the moon.

  Jory loved storms. She cozied into the covers.

  “A romantic setting and the closest thing to a man for me is at the other end of this paper.” She took a deep breath and let it out, taking the ballpoint in her right hand then returning it to her mouth. Words didn’t come.

  “Write about what you know. That’s what they say.”

  Dear Trent,

  I love scary storms. Spooky nights with clouds rolling in make me want to curl up with a bottle of wine, a fire, and a good man. Am I crazy? What floats your boat?

  What are the storms like in Afghanistan? I’m sorry if that’s a stupid question. I guess all storms are the same.

  I’m staring at the moon and feeling sorry for myself that the only man here with me is you, on paper. Sorry again!

  I’m a downer tonight. I hope you’re not down. But you probably are. None of this is coming out right. Wish you were here with me. Then, you’d be safe, and I wouldn’t be alone.

  Wishing you a safe journey,

  Jory

  I shouldn’t send this. But she signed it, folded it, and put it in the pink envelope. She addressed it by heart, this being her seventh letter to Trent.

  She pulled the covers up to her neck to keep out the chilly air and turned on her side. Closing her eyes, she imagined what it would feel like if Trent was in bed behind her. She touched his picture for a second with her forefinger. He was much taller than she, making it hard to visualize. How can I imagine a man I’ve never met?

  Chapter Two

  The storm was gone by morning. Jory rose early, planning to spend a couple of hours at the paper when it was quiet. She had stories to finish and deadlines to meet. Before she left, she handed the letter to Nan to mail on her way to church. The familiar toot of Dan MacMurray’s car horn announced his arrival. He was fifty-five, trim, gray-haired, and attractive. He’d be escorting Nan to her house of worship.

  Amber was sleeping off her late night date with Troy, the local hunk. She went out with young men in Pine Grove and a couple from Oak Bend, from time to time.

  Amber made no bones about her freedom. She flirted with everyone and had dated several men at once. Probably sleeping around too. Jory ground her teeth at the image. But, of course, if she looked like Amber, maybe she’d be a bit freer too. Jory shook her head. Never.

  The journalist pushed thoughts of her sister’s behavior out of her mind. Amber was twenty-five, old enough to deal with the consequences of her own decisions. As long as her sister continued to take birth control pills, there’d be no negative consequences to her lifestyle. At least that’s what Jory hoped.

  At times like these, the reporter reminded herself that she’d had the guidance of two parents for a lot longer than Amber had. She cut her sister some slack, knowing that the trauma of losing them had affected the young girl deeply. She’d been rocked to her roots, and had become clingy with both Nan and Jory. It had been hell for three years.

  Jory arrived home at one. She dropped her briefcase by the stairs before joining the others in the kitchen. Nan had whipped up a late lunch before she’d gone out with her boyfriend and had left a plate for her niece.

  After eating, Jory ambled into the living room where Amber stood, refreshing her lipstick.

  “Going out with Archie tonight?”

  “Nope.” Jory flopped down on the sofa. The journalist had been “dating” Archie for a year, though she never used that word. After all, they were only friends. She wasn’t sleeping with him and didn’t intend to.

  “Really?” Amber cocked an eyebrow.

  “Staying home. Alone.”

  “You’re leading him on, you know.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are. You’re not even sleeping with him, are you?”

  “That’s none of your business.” Jory pushed to her feet and headed for th
e stairs, but her sister stopped her.

  “Archie complains about it to his friends. Word gets around.”

  Just like you get around. “Archie has a big mouth.” The journalist clamped her lips shut.

  “It’s not nice to date a boy and not have sex with him.”

  “You would know.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” The young beauty placed her hands on her hips.

  “Whatever. Archie’s not a prisoner. He doesn’t have to spend time with me. Go on your date and leave me alone.”

  The younger woman reapplied her lipstick a second time and left, slamming the screen door.

  Jory mixed a vodka and tonic, added cubes, and swirled the liquid, listening to the clink of the ice against the glass. Her sister and her aunt were out living their lives. But not Jory. Nope, she was in the house, living hers through letters.

  She stretched out on the sectional sofa and put up her feet. After a big swig, she plucked the thin envelope out of her purse and eyed it with suspicion. You’re still writing to me? Why? There must be a thousand women who’d write you sexier letters. Always the practical one, the efficient one, the hard-working one, Jory had never expected the attentions of the captain of the football team, or even the debate team. She didn’t have time for the little niceties of flirting.

  During the years she had commuted to college at night, men had come around, taking her on dates and making passes. She had enjoyed a social life, her first sexual experiences, and had her heart broken. When she had received her degree, she’d gotten a good job offer. Jory had returned to work—her comfort zone—and left school behind. She had dated from time to time, but eligible men who drew her interest were rare.

  Trent Stevens, a lonely man, had come into Jory’s life when she was ready to see him. Perhaps Jory had come into his life when he needed her most. Whatever the serendipity of the situation, Jory stopped resisting and opened her heart to the warm, funny man penning letters she couldn’t wait to read, reaching across thousands of miles to touch her heart.