Dearest Rita,
He’s home. My Robert is home. His homecoming was so strange. No matter how hard I tried to make it not awkward, there was just no getting around the surreal quality of the whole event. Waiting at the station with the children (I’d told Levi to stay away). And then there Robert was being helped into his waiting wheelchair by two other officers. He wheeled toward us with no hesitation and stopped about four feet away. He held out his arms to the children and they ran to him. He scooped them up and nuzzled both of them close. Then, he looked up at me and do you know what he said?
“I thought you might have brought Levi,” and in his eyes, I saw he was grateful I didn’t. I wondered what he could read in mine. Could he tell what I’d done just by looking at me?
I dropped my handbag. I went to pick it up but he rolled himself forward fast, maneuvering the chair and giving the children a ride. We almost knocked heads trying to grab that darn bag. But I grasped it first and stood up straight.
“You’re a quick one, aren’t you,” I said, and then wanted to gobble the words back into my throat.
“Give us a kiss, Glory,” he said, and turned his head tapping his cheek. “It’s been a while since a pretty lady kissed this soldier.”
And I should have turned his face with my gloved hand. I should have cupped his chin and kissed him full on the lips, because that’s what I wanted to do. But I didn’t. I kissed his cheek like a sister would have. A cold sister. And then we made our way home. Marie helped by driving us, and the wheelchair was easy to maneuver. I thought it would be clumsier. Turns out the only clumsy part of the whole equation was me.
When we got home Robert marveled at all the new accommodations for the chair. And at how Levi lowered some of the cabinetry in the kitchen and bathrooms so he can reach things without having to ask for help. Levi met us there and the two embraced like brothers. I felt ill and sweaty.
“Why don’t you go to bed for a bit, Glory?” suggested Robert. “It’s been a hell of a war.”
It’s been a hell of a war, he said. I’ll never forget it.
Of course, what kind of a woman would go to bed? I went directly to the kitchen. I left the two of them with the children outside and didn’t pop my head out again until I had a four-course meal for all of them. It’s all I could do. It’s the best I could do.
That’s how it’s gone. It’s only been a few days. And we all walk around with our own thick clouds hanging in the air. Father would have called them “elephants in the room.”
And then, when I got your last letter, I acted like a childish fool. Robert was newly home and I was taking a moment to myself on a fine, blue sky September afternoon. I strolled down to the mailboxes and on finding your letter ripped it open. I’ve missed you and I wasn’t going to wait to sit in the house with a proper letter opener. Then, when I started to read the tale it wove... I folded it up again and fairly ran back to the house! I swept past Levi and Robert, who were talking on the front porch and supervising the children as they painted. (There’s another picture from Robbie. It’s of a Christmas tree. He’s a little impatient for the holiday season, that boy.)
Anyway, I must have been flushed because Robert reached out and caught my skirt pocket. “What’s the rush, honey? What you got there?”
Levi answered him before I could. “It must be a letter from Rita. If those two ever meet, we’d never get another second with Miss Glory.” Then they laughed a little.
I flushed, deeply. There are some things...some things that should not be known. How much of myself have I given to these men? Anyway. I held my head high and said, “Yes, Robert, Levi is correct. It’s a letter from my dear friend and it holds some very important news. May I be excused?” My sarcasm must have bitten because both of them looked down and then Robert cleared his throat and let go of my pocket.
It was odd, standing there. Wanting to say I was sorry and wanting to be gone all at the same time. So I left and grabbed a glass of iced tea on my way up to your sunflower room. I sat on the bed and read your tale. Oh, Rita. How awful and wonderful, too!
I’m so glad you are safe and that Charlie was there. What a terrible man he is, that Roy. And how marvelous you were, truly, to give her that peace of mind...that moment of pride when you looked at her and hid your own sorrow in order to help her self-confidence. Once again you prove yourself to be of the finest stock of human there is. I swear it.
And the way you wrote it all down. It was like I was there with you. Right there under that warning moon. Please tell Roylene I’m proud of her, too. What a wonderful, selfless thing to do.
My heart, though, aches for you. Yet another loss. And you love her—you opened your home to her and now she’s like another child to you. I suppose life is all about one loss after another. Anna used to say that the Buddhists meditate about reactions. That we cannot control WHAT happens to us, only how we react to it. Well, my darling Rita, you have been a supreme being in that department. I on the other hand have failed miserably.
I suppose Robert’s homecoming is going to take a lot of time and healing. A lot of careful steps.
When I was little and my father took me out on the large rocks that jut out into the sea, he’d say, “Gloria, take off your shoes and socks. You must feel each foothold and make sure it is sound before you place the next in front of you. There are some paths you cannot trust with your eyes, test them always to make sure.”
And then he’d add, “Don’t be afraid of walking on the barnacles. They hurt, it’s true, but at least you know you have stable footing. Barnacles aren’t slippery.”
So here I am...walking one foot in front of the other...on my own private patch of barnacles.
I miss you.
You still haven’t answered my plea for planning a meeting, Rita. I’d love to plan one. Even if it never came to be, at least we could look forward to it.
Love,
Glory