Thirdly, I’m super mad that you didn’t give me instructions on how to write to you. I thought we were friends, and you’d want to hear from me?
Fourthly, when I was MAD, trying to find instructions on how to find your platoon, I searched for the Barney episodes you were in. Is your name even Dallas? I now know that your last name is Golden, (don't ask me how I found that out), but nothing came up under the credits for kids named Dallas. Also, you were right. The name Dallas Golden is totally a movie star name.
Have I been writing to Margarita all along? Is my birth mom a marine stationed overseas (kidding, kidding. I’m an adult now and don't believe in fairy tale endings so I no longer believe in the fairy tale of finding my mom).
Stay safe, please and write back if you can.
XoXo – Dove
**********
I smile as I reread the letter then fold it closed.
Sure, my old pen pal Dove had crossed my mind occasionally during the past year of training, war, and devastation that I'd witnessed, but I never thought she'd try to find me just to mail a letter overseas to yell at me. And I never imagined I'd need that letter as desperately as I did right now.
My fingers trace the tiny outline of a dove she's drawn at the bottom. Her letter was like that bird, carrying an olive branch, a moment of peace to me in the midst of the storms that had permeated my life.
Little did I know how prophetic that feeling would be. Later that night, our barracks were ambushed. Most of my platoon was either killed or injured, while I narrowly made it out alive with only a minor injury to my right knee.
You’d think that’d be enough to have me deciding to leave, butinstead, I signed a contract to stay in for eight more years, two more tours and an honorable discharge before finally, returning to civilian life and settling in Lonestar Junction, Texas...
Chapter 14 – Dallas
Present Day
Eight years later... Paloma is 26, Dallas is 30
“Good morning, Stevie,” I say as I crate another full box of sweet potatoes and onions into the warehouse at Nourish Co-op.
“Is it a good morning?” she asks, arching a brow and taking in my disheveled appearance.
I haven’t bothered to look in the mirror since I woke up this morning, passed out in the living room of Cameron Ranch, but I’m sure I look like a mess.
After rereading all of the old letters Dove wrote me, while trying to remember what I'd said in response, I took it upon myself to get piss-drunk with Wylie—something I haven’t done since I finished my last tour months ago and moved permanently from Los Angeles to Texas.
When I finished my third and final tour, I did what any recently discharged Marine would do: try to figure out what the hell I’m going to do next now that I’m a civilian again.
Unlike most people who would tape a map of the world to a board and throw darts to see where they’d land, I knew exactlywhere I wanted to go. My heart was set on a city described as quiet, peaceful, and with a "down-home" feel. And that’s exactly how I ended up in Lonestar Junction buying a farmette that I had no business managing.
I told myself it wasn’t about feeling physically closer to my old pen pal and one of the few friends that kept in touch with me while I was deployed, and unrelated to the persistent curiosity I've always had about who she was, but deep down, I knew that was part of it. Still, I never planned on reaching out to her, even though I've passed her parents' ranch a handful of times now.
At least, I didn’t think I would.
She deserved to live the life she’d designed for herself without my interference. I hoped it was a happy one, but her letter last night, one where she professed that she was in love and sorry she’d ever written to me, well that set me off.
“Sorry if we kept you awake last night,” I nod at her in apology as she smiles and rubs the tiniest bump on her belly.
“These crazy hormones are doing enough of that. They say the hormonal shifts are even worse if you’re having a baby girl. I haven’t slept in months. It seems like you and Wylie had a fun time, though.”
I chuckle softly, “Something like that. Your husband’s a wild man with that weapon.”
She laughs, “You should have seen him with that thing when his dad told him he had to get married in order to inherit Cameron ranch.”
I shake my head because I can imagine. Wylie had entertained me until the late hours of the night as we recklessly used his father’s old rifle to shoot at the glass bottles that he’d set up in the back of Cameron Ranch while taking shots of liquor for each target we missed. I rarely missed, my aim was still strong, but somehow, the tiny glasses full of sinful brown liquid kept ending up in my hand instead of his.
He was the kind of friend who didn’t ask questions if you showed up and said that you needed to shoot some shit and yell at the sky, and I appreciated that. Especially when I wasn’t in the mood to explain why I was willing to get drunk on a Wednesday night at six o’clock. I hadn’t fired a gun since I got discharged, and although the weight and recoil of his dad's rifle and the smash of glass bottles echoing throughout the ranch wasn’t the same, it had been surprisingly cathartic to let loose a little.
“You have any plans for the holiday?” she asks, gesturing to where I can place the sweet potatoes to be cleaned and peeled by the handful of employees moving around the warehouse busily.
