On the way out the door, Abigail catches their mail carrier, Douglas Elliman, on the outer foyer, and her eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. A smile curves up her face as she spots the letter from Bill in Douglas’s hand. Right then, everything Abigail needs to turn her day around rested in his hand. With Shelly pulling her by the wrist toward her convertible, just like she had pulled Abigail toward the swing sets every day during recess in elementary school to gossip like a couple of squawking magpies, Abigail snatches the letter out of Douglas’s hand before the exuberant postman could hand it over.
It may sound quirky, but Douglas and Abigail had long ago established a certain dialogue to indicate when one of Bill’s letters arrived in the mail. This started out when Douglas uttered a clichéd line from Casablanca when he delivered Bill’s first letter. Abigail had to look up the movie on Netflix to catch Douglas’s reference. Since then, Douglas has always greeted her in the same way just to see a confused smile crease her face.
“Of all the post offices in all the towns in all the world, this walks into mine.”
As with most of Douglas’s timely mail deliveries, Abigail simply smiled—quietly thinking Douglas aloof. She then tugged gently at the letters in his hand, although she had been dripping with exhilaration all morning and every day, waiting for Bill’s next letter to arrive. Curiously, though, two months and three letters later, and after watching Casablanca, which she now loved, Abigail fired back with her own line from Casablanca’s repertoire of famous lines:
“We’ll always have Paris.” She gleefully smiled with a spark of curiosity gleaming in her eyes.
Douglas was totally reserved. He watched Abigail with a conservative eye—taken aback by a sixteen-year-old girl who did a bit of light detective work on Netflix. He didn’t say much, handing Abigail her letter and the rest of the mail. A moment later, halfway down the steps, Douglas turned back around. He tipped the bill of his federal mail carrier hat and came back with another famous line uttered by Humphrey Bogart—“Here’s looking at you, kid.” Douglas then turned down the walkway to avoid crossing the bed of lava rocks and continued on his route.
Abigail liked to think she offered Douglas a degree of excitement on those days. At least it was something more than trudging up and down people’s walkways every single day of every month and every year just to deliver the mail. Abigail wasn’t entirely sure why she bothered involving herself with such silly romantic gestures. She always presumed it was because Bill was nostalgic about classic movies as well. This relationship between Douglas and her has carried on for two years now, including today, in spite of Shelly’s pushiness. Their wistful dialogue went something like this:
“Of all the post offices in all the… towns, in all—”
“We’ll always have Paris!” Abigail shouts, lets out a hasty girlish giggle, and then rips the letter from Douglas’s hand as Shelly and she barge past him.
“Here’s looking at you kid,” Douglas says with a surprised laugh.
Abigail has little choice but to place Bill’s letter in the back pocket of her denim shorts as she tucks herself into the passenger’s seat of Shelly’s Camaro. As they speed away, she waves at Mr. Elliman as he walks along the sidewalk with his bulging mail satchel nestled along his right hip.
* * *
By early afternoon, the temperature has climbed to a staggering one hundred and eleven degrees. It is enough to keep most residents inside their homes and under the constant cool breeze of stressed air conditioners. However, at precisely 1:30, Abigail and Shelly walk out of Sharpe’s, bags in tow, as an uncomfortably intense heat is steadily rising off the streets. They stop by a Carnival Barker’s ice cream parlor, where Shelly gets herself a serving of Munchies (a sweet, creamy peanut butter ice cream with milk chocolate-covered Ruffles potato chips that were crushed and mixed into the ice cream. The girls then decide to take a short break from shopping and seek comfort in the park, under the shade of a tree. There, Abigail could finally read Bill’s letter and Shelly could finish her ice cream before they head to Ted and Maggie’s estate home… But even then, the park is uncomfortably humid.
Just beyond the crowded playground, underneath the comforting shade of a royal red maple tree, Abigail sits quietly on a wood slat bench, reading Bill’s letter. Her vibrant, youthful green eyes show stifled exuberance as they move slowly along each line, absorbing the truth behind Bill’s every word. Of the seven hundred and forty days Bill has been absent from her life, this marks the thirty-seventh letter she received since he shipped out for boot camp. When Abigail finishes, she presses the letter against her chest and sighs. She grips each side of both pages, clinging to their words in her every thought. Abigail looks to Shelly, who sits across from her, modestly licking her spoonful of ice cream that seems to be melting too quick as it runs down her fingers. Still thinking about Bill’s words, she ignores the foreseeable doom Shelly had gotten herself into with the ice cream and leans back against the bench, letting the letter fall flat against her lap.
She listens to the gentle rustle made by the trees’ fiery red leaves as a tenuous breeze rushes in between them, passing through each tree and onto the next. She closes her eyes, sighs, and with a calm smile, she thinks about Bill and the contents of his letter. She then looks up at Shelly with a smile.
“What does honeybun have to say?” Shelly asks a bit too girlishly, in between licks, trying to get her situation under control while her insouciant tawny eyes drift between the ice cream cup and Abigail’s sudden smile. “And… what’s with the smile? It’s good news, right? Is Bill finally coming home?”
“Yes. FINALLY . . .” Abigail breathlessly answers and then quickly adds, “by the end of next month, for two weeks, he’s going to be stationed at Fort Sill during his last year. Something about training army personnel.”
Shelly no longer pays any mind to the ice cream and sighs, letting out a sympathetic snivel, “Aw… That’s great news. I’m so happy for you, Abs.”
“Thanks. I am just so glad he is finally getting out of Kuwait. I’ve exhausted myself worrying about him. Hopefully, things will get back to normal once he gets home.”
Abigail reflects back on a few of Bill’s letters sent prior to the one she is holding in her hands, and her smile vanishes, knowing that lately, most of them have been distant and bleak and a great deal shorter. Through no other means except correspondence, she has slowly realized just how mechanical Bill was becoming. He seems unaffectionate, and that is not like Bill. His letters often show signs of traumatic stress. Today’s letter is by far the only letter in more than six months that seems remotely optimistic. Abigail understands the war would be over for the both of them after Bill rotates back stateside. Despite the purest expectations still burning in her heart for both of them, she is not entirely certain as to who is coming home to her.
“Listen, sweetie. I’m sure when Bill gets back, he’ll take one look at you and forget about the things that happened over there.”
“You think?”
“Yes, of course. Duh…” Shelly appears overly expectant of the situation, but then again, Shelly is never one to linger over details that do not directly affect her immediate needs. She is wittingly thick-skinned, beautiful but tomboyish. At times, her tough-as-nails persona leaves her reeling with a genuine lack of common sense or moral compass. “Quit worrying yourself, will you?”
“I don’t know, Shells. I mean, it’s been a long time.” Abigail expresses a tinge of distress, desperately wanting nothing more than to believe Shelly, but through Bill’s letters, she realizes the situation may be different from how Shelly depicts it. “Things could have happened to him over there. What if the war changed him? I mean, what if I’m no longer what he needs, and the war has changed him so much that I’ve lost him emotionally?”
“Abigail Josephine Lux. What if, what if, what if. Will you listen to yourself? I swear, this whole thing has got the crazy coming out of you.” Shelly dismisses Abigail’s barrage of pessimisms too easily. She stands up, tosses the empty ice cream cup in the trash can next to her and then crosses the short walkway between them, licking trickles of peanut butter ice cream between her fingers.
Placing her foot on the park bench between Abigail’s knees, Shelly looks to her left and right and then huffs out a short breath to clear the blonde hair from her face. Shelly thoughtfully looks into Abigail’s worried eyes. “Sweetie, if there is one thing I know, it’s that you and Bill are meant to be together.” Then pushing herself up and off the bench, Shelly staggers backward playfully, reciting something completely corny. “You two will always be what a honeycomb is to a honeybee.”
Abigail chuckles through a fading frown as Shelly comes down and nearly loses her footing. Honestly, she didn’t know what she would have done without Shelly by her side through the whole ordeal. From the beginning to the very near end, it is Shelly’s uncanny optimism and pushiness, regardless of how blindly misplaced it is, that has kept Abigail moving down that long road and eventually, someday, back into the arms of her one true love.
Back when Bill and Abigail first met, Bill was still quite boyish. His mysterious dark blue eyes and that confident smile of his were all she needed to fall head-over-heels in love with him. Back then was not at all like these days, when all Abigail could do was constantly worry for Bill, and after such a long time apart she questioned if he still remembers how much she loves him. She often wondered if Bill was just clinging to the idea of them to help pull him through his own personal hell, or if the love they once shared with each other is still immeasurable by any means.
“Sometimes it’s really hard to think about what we had, you know, before the war. I mean, do you think he even looks the same? The last picture Bill mailed me was more than a month ago, and I still haven’t gotten used to his short hair.”
“Look. I’m sure Bill is still very much Bill, just more buff and…” Shelly dreamily pauses as if indulging herself in a taboo fantasy that involves Bill and herself. She quickly snaps back to reality and smiles mischievously. “Hmm… You know,” she says, twirling around in small circles, performing one of her mock cheerleader routines. Finally, she stops, giggles at herself, and finishes her statement, “Sexy.”
“I’d settle for normal, but then, Bill is a cutie, isn’t he?”
Abigail blushes about the same time Shelly nods her confirmation and then quickly corrects her, “Sexy.”
“That too, I suppose.” Abigail hides her embarrassment delicately with the back of her hand and quickly looks down at her Skechers.
“Personally, I’m surprised you haven’t done it with him yet.” Shelly stops twirling on it, bringing the back of her hands down against her hips. Shelly turns to Abigail narrowing her eyes to an exaggerated, audacious glare. Pursing her lips and tilting her head in a sultry pose, she then pursues the topic of sex. “I mean, really, Abs. Bill is in Iraq risking life and limb for his country. The least you could have done was give him a little of your va-jay-jay.”
“Ah, Shelly Spencer—” Abigail takes a quick look around to see who was watching or listening to them. Again, Abigail blushes, and this time, you can measure her embarrassment by the shade of her flustered face. She gasps, bringing her hands up to cover her mouth and then giggles modestly, blushing even more.
“What? I do not think it would have been out of the question. You’re both obviously head-over-heels for each other. I think it would have been a romantic gesture.”
“I think it’ll be even more romantic on our wedding night.” Abigail defends her purity even if her cheeks are now the shade of the bright red leaves lying around the park bench. “That’s when I plan to share my va-jay-jay with Bill.”
“Okay, prude,” Shelly sneers.
“Whatever, tramp,” Abigail says jokingly, yet brutally honest.
“Bitch.”
“Slut.”
“Whatever.” Shelly takes a seat beside her. “Humph. I still think it would have been a romantic gesture.”
Abigail smiles without agreeing with her and then dismisses Shelly’s idea of romanticism. “I have plans for Bill as soon as he gets back home.”
Abigail spent the last three years dreaming up her life with Bill. She had preconceived ideas about every detail of how their long-lasting love affair would play out, shortly after meeting Bill. Back when she considered herself the right girl for him, when she had fallen in love with him at the notorious pool hall known as Sucker’s Billiard, where they shared their first kiss.
The marine corps was only a minor setback in Abigail’s plans. The pinnacle of the plot came after graduation this year. At least for now, and only because of their time apart, Abigail opted to skip the college phase of her plan. College would always be there. More than anything, Abigail needed to reconnect with Bill. Eventually, they would get married and settle down. They would have no less than two kids, a boy and a girl. Before all of this, though, she thought they would travel. She always wanted to see Italy, particularly Rome, and the Vatican, and although it seemed like such an unreachable goal to a small-town girl, Bill made her promises, and the way Abigail put it, NO STUPID WAR WAS GOING TO GET IN THE WAY. However, all of this teetered on Bill coming home.
“So… how are you and Garret? Is he still working at his dad’s lumber yard?”
“I guess.” Shelly avoids the inquiry, taking a long look at the children playing in the nearby park. She walks her eyes over each of the two dozen children gleefully moving with no purpose from one toy to the next, until she stops on a toddler in a rainbow-striped shirt and corduroy shorts. He sits in the middle of the sandy lot, crying out for his mommy after deliberately shoving two handfuls of sand into his mouth. Abigail studies Shelly, who continues to stare blankly, unconcerned, as the toddler’s mother breaks away from the gathering of proud moms and hustles over to her sobbing baby boy.
“Shelly—” Abigail snaps at her with heavy accusation. Shelly peels her eyes away from the boy long enough to look up with a mutually blank expression on her face. Unresolved with curiosity, Abigail narrows her eyes. “Spill it B.”
“All right already. I dumped him.”
“What… After a year and a half?” Abigail is surprised but not at Shelly. Just surprised. “Why? What did he do this time?”
“He’s a pig,” she says flatly as if it were a fact.
“Yeah… but you already knew that about him right?”
“No. I mean he is a pig because he boned that fat ass, Mandy Meyers. I found her lace thong behind the seat of his truck.”
Abigail stares ahead, wondering how Shelly has come to the conclusion that it was Mandy.
“Well, they didn’t belong to me,” Shelly says. “I’m a sexy bitch, but I don’t rock a thong.”
“Mandy Meyers… that’s just… EW—” Abigail is genuinely disgusted at the mention of that tramp’s name. “So you confronted him, and he admitted it? That doesn’t sound like the Garret I know.”
“No. She did, but only after I beat it out of her.”
“You did what?” Again, Abigail wasn’t surprised, although she appears as if she had just heard a real shocker.
“I had my suspicions,” Shelly says firmly. “I know that pig well enough to know when he’s working his bullshit, even if he thinks I don’t. Besides, she’s the only slut I know that wears a thong wedged in between those sides of beef she calls an ass. Believe me, it wasn’t hard to figure out. You should have seen those big ol’ drawers.”
“Oh, Shells, I’m so sorry.” Abigail lets out a giggle and then bites her lip, stopping herself.
“Not as sorry as Mandy freaking Meyers. Let’s just say she has a little less hair growing out of that head of hers.”
Abigail knows it to be true through the unwavering gleam in Shelly’s eyes, and the genuine disgust curling her lip. She set out trying to appear stern, showing her support. However, Abigail soon finds herself erupting into laughter. She could picture Mandy Meyers walking around in a thong while sporting a bald spot, and quite possibly, a matching set of shiners, knowing Shelly the way she did.
“Can you believe she had the nerve to scream out ‘I always liked you, I always liked you’ while I was punching her?” Shelly waves her hands out in front of her with little enthusiasm as she recalls the brawl between her and Mandy. She then drops her hands on her lap and looks squarely into Abigail’s eyes. “What a cunt.”
“So when did it happen, and why am I just finding out now?” Abigail straightens her buoyant expression long enough to hear Shelly’s answer.
“I guess, the day before yesterday, and you have your own man to worry about. I am a big girl. I’m okay.” Shelly kicks her feet out in front of her, up and down like scissors, opening and closing them.
“So this was the reason for the shopping spree, then?” Abigail asks, innocently prying.
“What? A girl can’t do a little shopping when she wants to?”
She resumes studying Shelly’s body language and then plainly says, “I never liked him, just so you know.”
“Yeah, well, me neither.” Shelly frowns. “Garret was just something to do. Trust me, I’m so over Garret Riley.” Shelly then turns away to watch the children playing. The hurt in her eyes is obvious, and she stops kicking her legs up and down. There is no use addressing the matter further as Shelly would only deny that her feelings for Garret has grown over the time they’ve spent together. Glancing back at Abigail, eyes glistening, she smiles. “You’ve got a good guy in Bill, and I envy that, Abs.”
“And you’re a great friend who deserves better than that jerk.” Abigail snuggles in behind Shelly for a hug and dreamily rests her chin on Shelly’s shoulder.
“Bitch.” Shelly pulls Abigail’s arms tight around her waist.
“Slut.”