The Letter

It was dark outside when she awoke. She couldn't remember going to her bedroom or collapsing on the bed. But when she realized she was curled up in the fetal position she knew why as she again thought of this boy she'd once loved who'd grown to be a man and who was now gone forever.

Any outsider would have laughed off her description of being in love with him, but the only opinion that mattered was hers, and no matter how little she really knew him, she was certain that she'd loved him in some way she still couldn't quite explain. But all that was now moot as Grant Harmon had gone the way of all the earth.

As she sat up in bed, Denise's mind began to race. She knew where his parents lived, and it took all of the self control she could muster not to drive over there or call. Even in her state of shock, she could still imagine how awful things must be at their home, depending on exactly how long ago they'd learned the news.

She tried to force herself to eat something, but after a small bite of dry toast and a sip of water she gave up and sat down in her favorite chair to think. And to mourn. And...to remember.

By noon the following day, Denise could no longer stand it and drove by the home where Grant's parents lived. She wasn't sure what she expected to see, but for some reason she thought there might be a government vehicle out front or maybe someone in uniform standing guard.

But after slowly driving by and seeing nothing unusual, she realized there wouldn't be anything wrong with a former teacher stopping by to pay her condolences.

Once the idea was fixed in her mind, she drove to a flower shop and bought the nicest arrangement she could find along with a card offering her deepest sympathies. As she drove back down the same street she did her best to retain control then pulled up to the curb and turned off the engine.

The urge to cry hit her again as she walked up to the front door, but Denise took several long, slow breaths then rang the doorbell. A dog barked followed by the sound of a man hollering, "Hush!"

The door opened, and Denise stood face to face with Grant's father who asked if he could help her.

"Oh. No. I...I was Grant's teacher. In high school," she got out.

His wife walked up and said, "I remember you! Not by name, but I do remember your face."

"Yes. Hi. I'm Denise. Thomas. I teach chemistry."

"Right! Ms. Thomas! Won't you please come in?" the older woman said very cheerfully causing Denise to wonder how they could be so friendly considering the circumstances.

"Um...I don't want to intrude. I just wanted to stop by and, you know, pay my condolences and leave these."

"Condolences?" her husband asked, a confused look on his face.

"Well, yes. I...I heard about Grant and I...just felt terrible," she told him.

"Wait. What is it you heard? Do you know something we don't?" the man asked, a worried look now on his face.

"I'm confused," Denise admitted.

"That makes two of us," Mr. Harmon said.

"So...Grant's not..."

"Dead?" he asked with a strong sense of disbelief.

"Well, yes," Denise replied as politely as she could.

"You need to come in and sit down, young lady," he told her, finally smiling.

As she walked in, Mrs. Harmon took her arm and said, "Grant is going to be just fine. He was hurt pretty bad, but he's not dead or anything close to it."

"But...how could he...what about...you know..."

"I'm sorry, dear, but no, we don't know," Mrs. Harmon said as she asked Denise to have a seat, the flowers still in her hands.

A dash of embarrassment mixed with Denise's confusion as she tried to understand what was going on.

"What made you think he died?" Mr. Harmon asked once they were all seated.

Denise mentioned the letter without saying a word about the romantic words from their son knowing it would lead to an admission of guilt, and that would only lead to even deeper embarrassment.

"His vehicle was blown up," Mr. Harmon explained. "One Marine was killed, and Grant's left side has a few holes in it, but he's actually doing quite well. In fact, we're expecting him home in a few more days."

A massive sense of relief washed over Denise, temporarily covering over the confusion.

"I...I am SO happy to hear that," she told them. "I was so deeply saddened and hurt, and I wasn't sure if I should even stop by. And now I feel very silly and even foolish."

"Being concerned is never foolish, dear," Mrs. Harmon told her with a smile. "I only wish more people cared as much as you do."

"Here, here," her husband added.

"Could we get you something, Ms. Thomas?" Mrs. Harmon asked. "Some coffee or tea or maybe just some water?"

"No, thank you. I don't want to trouble you any more than I already have. I...I think I'll just go ahead and run along, if you don't mind."

"You don't need to run off," Mr. Harmon told her. "We understand if you need to get somewhere, but we're glad to have you stay."

"And I was going to make some tea anyway," his wife said.

"Well, in that case, that might be nice," Denise said. "And will you please call me Denise?"

"Of course, dear. I'm Sylvia, and my husband over there is Wayne."

Denise stayed another half hour as they talked about Grant, their common experiences with him, his time in the military, and what had happened since the explosion.

"As relieved as I am, I can only imagine how happy you are to know he's coming home."

"Oh, yes. We can't wait to have our son home again!" Sylvia said. "With any luck, he'll be able to stay here while he's convalescing until his discharge in August."

"Oh, right. Yes, that would be four years, wouldn't it?" Denise noted as though she'd only connected the dots just then.

"I'm hoping he'll finally come to his senses and go to work for me," Wayne said. "I tried like hell..."

"Sorry," he said to Denise while looking at his wife who was really giving him the eye. "I tried hard to convince him to stay here, but he kept insisting he had to leave."

"It was the strangest thing," his mom said. "He only mentioned it once, but he said there was a woman here in town, and he needed to leave because even though he said he was in love with her, he also said he couldn't be."

"Love! Ha! He was 18. He didn't know love from his as..."

This time he stopped before getting another visual dagger.

"He was too young to know what love is," the older man said dismissively.

"Yes. I...I'm sure that's right," Denise agreed, even though in her heart of hearts she hoped that wasn't true. It almost certainly was, but she had a recent letter from their son telling her it wasn't, and now that she'd met his parents, she felt even worse than she had four years ago when they'd kissed.

"But now that he's a little older, and once he gets settled, who knows?" Wayne said. "I have to admit I wouldn't mind having a grandson to take fishing with me."

"Or a granddaughter," his wife told her husband with another, different kind of look.

"Okay. That might not be half bad, either," the gruff man said.

Denise tried not to even smile, but Mrs. Harmon noticed.

"He's hopeless, dear. But with any luck Grant will have a better outlook on the world when he's his father's age."

"My outlook is just fine!" her husband thundered.

"Oh, look at the time," Denise said as she set her tea cup and saucer on the table. "I really do need to run."

"What about your flowers?" Sylvia asked.

"Would it be too inappropriate to ask you to keep them?"

"No, not at all. It was the kindness of the thought behind them that counts, so we'd be happy to keep them," Mrs. Harmon told her.

As they walked to the front door together, Wayne shook her hand, and his wife gave Denise a hug.

"Don't be a stranger, okay? I'm sure Grant would love to see you once he gets back home."

"Oh. I...well, maybe I'll stop by sometime then," Denise said as the thought of doing so now brought back the feelings of guilt she'd experienced just minutes before.

As she left she had no intention of ever going back to avoid any chance of the truth getting out. It was extremely unlikely she'd face any disciplinary action from the school board even if word somehow leaked out about a four-year old kiss with an 18-year old boy, but the embarrassment of what she'd allowed to happen would be difficult to deal with.

By the time she got to back home, all Denise wanted to do was get back in bed, pull the covers over her head, and forget about Grant Harmon. Instead, she picked up his letter and read again and then reread it once more after that.

By the time she finished reading it for the third time, she felt pretty sure she would never completely forget him. But there was no chance she would ever be with him, and that was the thing she would have to come to terms with.

"It's time to grow up, Denise," she told herself as she carefully folded the letter and put it back in the envelope before putting in the back of a dresser drawer in her bedroom with the intention of never looking at it again.

*****

Two Weeks Later

Neither his mom nor his dad heard a sound when he quietly snuck in, so when he loudly cleared his throat, his mom assumed it was her husband. But when she turned around to look and saw her son, she screamed.

The scream caused her husband to jump up and run to her just as she was hugging Grant.

"Did I hurt you? Are you okay?" his mom asked as she let him go as soon as she hugged him.

"It's fine, Mom," he said as his dad's voice boomed out.

"You're home!"

"Don't hug him!" his wife warned as the two men embraced, ignoring her completely.

His father wanted details while his mother just wanted to smother him with affection. She offered to get him a drink, make him a meal, wash his clothes, put them away, and several other things in the space of the first ten minutes.

"He's not an invalid, Sylvia!" Grant's dad finally said.

"No, but he's still my little boy, and I am SO happy he's home!" she replied, addressing her son and now ignoring her husband.

"So your leg and your side, huh?" his dad repeated after the drama died down.

Grant patiently repeated the story as his mother cringed several times as his father either nodded or grunted.

"Is it bad? Does it hurt? Can I get you something? Do you need extra blankets on your bed?" she asked staccato style.

Grant managed not to laugh then assured her again he really was fine.

"Any infection?" his father asked.

"No. So far, so good. But I have antibiotics just in case."

Neither of his parents thought to mention that one of his former teachers stopped by until late the following day when his mother thought of it.

"Oh. Do you remember Mrs. Thomas?" she asked out of the blue.

Just the mention of her name made Grant freeze.

"Is she okay? Did something happen to her?" he asked, the worry so obvious it made him mom give him a funny look.

"Not unless it just happened," she replied.

"Mom. Be serious," her son said.

Sensing something, but not sure what it was, she told him about the visit.

"Poor woman was told you'd been killed in some letter someone sent her," she said with a laugh. "I have no idea who did that, but she brought flowers for us."

Grant not only didn't respond, a million thoughts ran through his mind in the course of a few seconds; the time it took for him to realize someone had mailed 'the letter'.

A feeling resembling panic set in, and Grant had no idea his mom was asking what he wanted for dinner. When she repeated the question, he told her he wasn't really hungry.

"Where are you going?" she asked as he stopped up and grabbed his cane. He'd gone from a walker to crutches in a few days, and had been given a cane during his final check before being sent home on convalescent leave until he could be evaluated and discharged. The cane relieved most of the pain caused in his left leg, but it the way it made him walk caused his side to hurt. Then again, he was extremely happy just to have both legs, so if a little pain was the price to pay, it was well worth it.

"Can I borrow the car?" he asked, forgetting both of his parents had one.

"Can you drive?" his mom asked.

"It's my left leg, and you have an automatic, Mom," he politely reminded her.

"Okay. Sure. Will you be home for dinner?"

"I'm not sure, but don't worry. I'll be fine either way."

As a Marine sergeant, Grant wasn't exactly well off financially. But having saved everything he'd made during his time in country to include hazardous duty pay, with everything being tax free, he had a modest little stash saved up in Navy Federal Credit Union. He'd buy another car in the near future, but he needed one right now.

When his mother handed him the keys he thanked her then kissed her on the cheek just as his father walked in on the conversation.

"Where the hell you goin' already?" he asked.

"Just out," his son replied, having no desire to get into it.

"Can you even drive?" he asked in his normal gruff way.

This time Grant chuckled as he assured his dad he could.

Sylvia Harmon had a hunch about where her son was going and knew her husband had no idea and would almost certainly try and talk his son out of it if he found out. She smiled as she watched her boy drive off and didn't care one bit about him seeing this former teacher of his as her woman's intuition began piecing together the parts of the puzzle. He was alive and well, and in her mind, nothing else mattered.

Denise had been home for about an hour and was grading papers. The end of the school year was at hand, and as usual, several students needed every point on every test to pass her class. As she drew a red mark through one such student's answer, Denise heard the doorbell ring.

She'd done a reasonably good job of keeping the promise she'd made to herself in that she hadn't pulled the letter out to read it again. But when it came to not thinking about the words contained in it, she'd been a miserable failure. No one had ever said the kind of things Grant had written in the letter, and she'd run them through her mind almost continuously since the moment she left his parents' home that day.

"Hold on!" she called out as she got up and headed to the front door.

She'd taken off the skirt and blouse she'd worn to school and was wearing sweatpants and a tee shirt. Having no idea who it was, the thought of putting something else on never crossed her mind. It was probably a neighbor or maybe Amazon delivering a package, anyway.

But when she peeked through the peephole in the door she nearly fainted.

"Oh, my God!" she said out loud as her entire body began to shake.

Her hand was trembling as she unlocked the deadbolt. She took a long, deep breath before opening it, and even though she now knew who it was, her knees still nearly gave out when she saw him standing there.

"Hi," he quietly said, a smile on his still-handsome face; a face that was even more attractive now that it had matured.

"Hi," Denise managed to say as she steadied herself.

"The uh, rumor of my death has been greatly exaggerated," Grant said, still smiling at his former teacher.

"I...I can't believe you're here," she said, still barely able to speak.

"May I come in?" he asked.

"Oh. Yes. I'm sorry. Your...seeing you...shocked me," she told him as she stepped aside before finally noticing the cane.

"Oh, my goodness. Grant, are you okay? Do you need some help?"

"No, thank you. I'm fine. Really."

"You don't look okay," she told him before realizing how that sounded. "No. What I meant was you look like you need help. You actually look fine."

Grant laughed and told her she did, too, just when it hit her that she'd changed clothes. She looked down at herself then apologized and said she'd go change.

He laughed again then said, "You look amazing. Just like you are."

She watched him make his way to the living room where she again asked if she could help him sit down.

"Getting up is the hard part," he told her with a smile. "At least from a soft chair."

"Do you want to sit on a wooden chair in the kitchen?" she asked immediately.

"Those hurt my leg," he told her with a laugh.

"Oh, my goodness! Grant, you're not okay, are you?"

The distress in her voice was almost palpable as he slowly and painfully sat in an upholstered chair that had a straight, stiff back.

When she started in asking what she could get him like his mother had he asked her to please sit down.

"Sorry. I'm just so befuddled. I...I thought you were...you know, and then I found out you're alive, and now I see you limping, and I know you're in pain, and I..."

"Denise?" he said, cutting her off before asking, "I can call you Denise now, right?"

She felt a flutter when he smiled at her again then said, "Yes. Of course. I...I'd like that."

"I'm doing okay, and I will be fine. Really."

She was already very emotional, and when he told her that, she couldn't stop herself from tearing up.

"Hey! What's that all about?" he asked.

"Sorry. I'm just so glad you're all right."

Grant grimaced as he shifted his weight then said with a smile, "As I said, I'll be fine. As in a few more days."

He paused, and when she tried to smile, he added, "Or maybe weeks."

"Can you show me where you're hurt?" she asked, the hurt in her own eyes there for him to see.

"My left leg took the brunt of it. My side took a chunk of shrapnel, too, but..."

He was pulling up his pant leg then thought about the captain everyone liked so much and stopped when she spoke again.

"No. On second thought, please don't show me, okay," she said, her eyes now filled with sympathy which had replaced her tears.

"All right," he told her gently as he sat up straight again.

"I'm really glad you stopped by, Grant," Denise told him. "I was so worried."

"My mom kind of mentioned that," he told her, making sure to smile again.

"Oh, right. I can only imagine what she thought when I told her I thought her son was, you know."

"She thought it was extremely considerate of you to take the time to stop by and pay your respects."

"She's very nice."

"Yeah. I kind of like her," Grant said with another smile. "My dad can be a little rough around the edges, but he's pretty awesome, too."

Denise had been looking at him, but now she was looking down at the floor.

"What's wrong?" Grant asked.

"Oh. Nothing," she told him unconvincingly.

"The letter, right?" he said, knowing what it was.

"We don't have to talk about it. It's okay."

"When my vehicle got blown...hit...I was medev...they took me away in a helicopter. I'm certain someone from my unit found the letter I'd written to you and mailed it."

"It's okay. Really. You don't have to explain anything, Grant. It...it was very beautiful and..." Denise told him as she finally looked at him.

"So you don't want to talk about it?" he asked when she stopped speaking.

"I just didn't want you to feel like you owe me an explanation," she told him.

"I uh, I stopped by because I needed to tell you in person that I meant every word I wrote, Denise. If it made you feel...uncomfortable...I apologize. I just needed you to know how I felt. But it wasn't supposed to ever get mailed unless I was, you know."

"I'm just very thankful that you aren't," she told him with deep sincerity.

When he didn't say anything, she managed to smile then said, "I...I cried when I read your letter."

"I know I'm a terrible writer, but, geez..."

"No! Stop! Grant, don't tease me."

"Sorry," he quietly replied, feeling bad for saying something so...immature.

Denise waited a few seconds then said, "I actually read it several times, and each time I hurt for you—and your family—even more."

"And?" Grant asked as nicely as humanly possible.

"I...I don't know. I think maybe it scared me."

"Scared you?" he asked, not sure what she meant.