Later, Jason insisted on driving Kat back home. Sitting in his truck in front of Uncle Do’s house, there was a quiet denial that filled the space between them. Neither wanted the other to leave.
Suddenly an idea struck her.
“Letters!” Kat suddenly said.
Jason looked at her quizzically. “Letters?”
“Could I write you letters? Where you’re going, will you be able to get letters?” Kat asked, her eyes bright with hope at the idea.
Jason’s face changed into surprised understanding. “You want to write me letters?” he asked incredulously.
Kat’s heart almost tore in half at how surprised he looked. “Of course,” she said smiling. “Not once tonight did I get to tell you where Uncle Do’s special tattoo is.” She winked.
Jason laughed. He shook his head. “You really are something else, sweetheart,” he said.
The quick endearment filled Kat’s heart with a rosy glow.
“Well?” she asked. “Could I?”
Jason thought about it. “Well, I’ve never received letters before,” he said slowly. But he reached over into the glove compartment and pulled out a notebook. He wrote down an address and ripped out the page for her. “But if you write here, it should get sent on to me.”
Kat took the paper and read the address. She tried to commit it to memory. Folding the paper carefully, she looked up at Jason. “I’ll write,” she promised solemnly.
Jason looked at her. His smoky green eyes searched her face. Gently, he brushed a hand across her cheek, his thumb swiping across her cheekbone. “Today is what I’m going to be thinking about for a long, long time,” he said quietly. And in his eyes, she could see the cloudless desert nights, the echoing shots of bullets firing overhead, the cries of anger and terror ringing clear in the hot sun. “Today felt like a miracle.”
Kat softly touched his hand. She couldn’t have thought of a better word.
Miracle.
What a miracle.
Chapter Four
Three months later
“You can’t be writing another one,” Malcolm said as he passed through the kitchen, scratching under his arms sleepily.
Kat barely raised her head as she continued writing her letter. “And you can’t be just waking up,” she said, mimicking his tone. “It’s nearly one in the afternoon.”
Malcolm shrugged as he pulled out the orange juice from the fridge and took a long gulp straight from the carton. Kat looked up and immediately made a sound of protest. Still gulping, he moved towards a kitchen cabinet to pull out a glass. By the time he poured the remaining juice in, there was only half a glass left.
“Honestly,” Kat muttered as she returned her focus back to her letter. “What is the point of buying cups and plates if you’re just going to eat like an animal?”
Malcolm burped and took a seat across from her on the kitchen table. “Ask myself that every day, sis,” he responded.
Kat shook her head, grinning. She then felt a shadow over her letter. Looking up, she saw Malcolm leaning over the table to read her writing. Quickly she jerked the letter closer to her, putting an arm around her work.
Malcolm gave an annoyed sigh. “What could be so private between you two?” he demanded. “You hardly even knew this man before you started writing to him!”
“None of your business,” Kat said defensively. Besides, she knew there was no way to explain the unexplainable. Even she had been unsure how her connection with Jason had happened. It had been sudden and it had been deep. When he had left mere hours after dropping her off at home, she had felt an acute ache of loss.
“And anyway,” Kat added, “I know more now. I know he’s with the 5th Group Special Forces. A green beret.”
Malcolm’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “He is? How do you know that?”
“His return address from his letters. They show his battalion and squadron information and I looked it up,” Kat said.
“Stalker,” Malcolm muttered quickly before furrowing his brow. “A green beret, huh? Those are like the soldiers’ soldier, aren’t they?”
“Some of the toughest sons of bitches around,” Uncle Doughy said as he came in from the backyard, covered in sweat. He had been working in his garden. Although the man looked like he would rather be taking a bat to some man’s poor kneecap, Uncle Doughy preferred growing tomatoes.
The diner was having ventilation problems and had to shut down for the day, giving the whole family an unexpected day off. Uncle Doughy had immediately headed for his garden and Malcolm had slept all morning.