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“I’m kidding… sorta. My timer on my calling card is counting down, and I hope this voicemail made you smile. Listen to it one more time and picture some incredibly sexy soldier singing and dancing in a small room about the size of a broom closet, knowing there are five other soldiers waiting in a line outside of the door,” she heard him laugh again, realizing that he had no shame, and thrived on having a good time or being goofy.
“Now, I’m gonna go do the ‘Walk of Shame’ past them, listen to their critique of my wonderful singing – and go mail my special girl something pretty to make her smile again. Have a great day, Minx, and we’ll talk soon. Bye.”
Stunned, her mind whirling, June replayed the recording once more, and listened in fascination to this crazy man… who was starting to reach her.
Opening her email, she ignored the trembling of her fingertips and double-clicked on his name. As she began to read, she felt her eyes tear up and turned away, unable to read anymore without starting to cry. Instead, she printed the email, folded it up, and shoved it in her purse to read when she was alone later.
She needed a distraction, needed to focus… and needed her head examined because of what she was thinking and feeling right now.
Grabbing her purse, her notes, and her list of phone calls to return – she headed out to her car, hopping inside, and welcoming the distraction.
* * *
Hours later,June was ordering her brother one of his favorite cookies to be shipped to him… and ordered a second one for Ian.
She knew from experience that it would take a few days to get there, and always tucked an icepack under the plastic cellophane tray that she wrapped in bubble wrap. The smaller boxes seemed to get to Joshua faster than the larger ones – and hoped it was the same for Ian.
… Which made her hesitate.
Did he know her brother?
It had been a while since she had emailed him, and he’d just surprised her recently at Thanksgiving for a brief visit. Maybe she would reach out to Joshua to see what he could find out about Ian.
Mailing the cookies right away, June stopped once more… for a very different purpose. She wanted to surprise Ian with something else, not just a cookie, but rather like he’d done for her with the scarf and the mirror.
Browsing around the store, she picked up several bags of candies, packaged nuts, and paused… staring at a shirt in disbelief, laughing. This would fit Ian’s personality to a ‘T’ – and picked it up immediately. She continued browsing, deciding to make not just the one care package but two or three of them… along with another one for her brother.
Just being out, gathering little goodies and things to make Ian smile, made her feel good, and was strangely satisfying. She didn’t want to admit that the idea of making her pen pal happy was weirdly more thrilling than closing the deal on a client she never thought she’d land.
As she checked out, boxed up everything, stopping by the post office to mail it… she recognized that this was quite out of the ordinary for her. She wasn’t one to spend frivolous amounts of cash on something that couldn’t be used to further her career – nor did she want to admit at how driven she was since Mark’s death.
It was horrifyingly eye-opening to realize that you had to make it on your own, when before it was always the two of them, working as a team.
Getting back to her car, she picked up drive-thru nachos and immediately retreated to her home, wanting to read the rest of Ian’s letter, and knowing it was going to be too much for her.
She wasn’t a fool. The first paragraph told her she wasn’t going to like what he said, and her eyes started burning when she began the second one, seeing Mark’s name… that is when she had stopped.
Walking into her place, she plopped down on the loveseat and undid the belt on her skirt so she could breathe… and dragged out the paper, preparing herself.
… And cried.
Massive, sobbing tears tore through her as she realized that this man was saying the same things that she was afraid to hope for - and felt so guilty about. Mark chose to keep his addiction to himself, excluding her, and it wasn’t her fault he overdosed.
… It also wasn’t something to feel ashamed or guilty about, to want happiness in her own life.
She opened her laptop and began typing, replying to Ian’s email, and ignored the tears on her cheeks.
Dear Ian,
I appreciate your words – and they are so hard to swallow right now. I know that it’s true, it’s right, but that guilt I feel is going to have to be something I come to terms with. It’s not a light switch to turn off and on.
You said you saw the ‘best and worst of people’ today? What happened? Let me be someone to listen to you, if you need someone to talk to – after all, I guess I need to pull my weight as a pen pal in this friendship… don’t I?
Work does give me a purpose – and I’ll be honest? It’s enabled me to hide my grief, hoping time would dull some of it. It’s hard to realize that guilt is the strongest emotion I feel right now when I think of Mark and it keeps me from living because I know he can’t. The quiet hours are the worst, because that is when my mind is loudest.
I’m scared to admit it, but you are reaching me, even though I feel like I’m drowning sometimes. Don’t let go, and keep pushing no matter how hard I fight, because I don’t want to be alone anymore.
I need a friend.
