The Marine Finds His Family. Angel Smits
red-and-white postal box. He hoped—just as he knew Colin hoped—it was from his sister Addie. Getting a closer look, he saw that the return address confirmed it. Yes. Cookies.
The box rattled and Colin reached over and tried to swipe it. No way. DJ wasn’t sharing. Not yet, anyway. Not until he’d stuffed himself to the gills, and then only maybe.
Stowing the last of his gear, DJ ripped open the box, yanked out the plastic bag Addie had wrapped the cookies in and stuffed one very broken, very delicious peanut butter chocolate chip beauty into his mouth. He sank to his bunk in pure bliss.
Just to torment Colin, he groaned aloud in near ecstasy. For a minute or two he was no longer in this godforsaken hole in the world, waiting for the next enemy attack. He was a five-year-old whose big sister made the world’s best cookies.
“You gonna share?”
“Not a chance.” DJ laughed. He could feel the disappointment rolling off Colin. “Don’t pout about it.” He tossed the plastic bag to Colin—it wasn’t as if the crumbs could get any more busted up.
“She should just pack a spoon.” Colin reached into the bag and scooped out a handful of the sweet, gooey mess.
Most days DJ really did love his life. He hadn’t joined the military with the notion that he’d stay safe all the time. He’d figured out a long time ago that he wasn’t a stay-at-home, family kind of guy. He’d watched his older siblings shoulder too much responsibility after Dad’s death. He’d seen the life go out of them when they were just kids. He would never let that happen to himself.
But that didn’t keep him from missing his family.
The care packages helped. And his three sisters were great about sending them—cookies, toothpaste and really bad books were the norm. His two older brothers managed to send emails every now and then. He laughed at the image of either Wyatt or Jason baking. Yeah, their expertise ran more in the area of picking out a bag of Oreo cookies.
Expecting the package to include a letter, DJ wasn’t disappointed, though the feminine handwriting didn’t look familiar. For an instant he wondered if he’d gotten the right package.
His taste buds confirmed these were Addie’s cookies, though. Plus, his name and his last stateside address, Mom’s house, were clear on the envelope. Then he noticed Addie had written on a little yellow sticky note and stuck it on the outside. “This came in the mail. Thought I’d send it along.” Yep, it was his.
He tore open the seal, surprised in this day and age of email and computer-printed letters to see the old-fashioned lined school paper. Several drugstore-printed photographs fell out.
Slowly, he unfolded the letter and stared at the date. Two months? This had been sent, or at least written, two months ago?
The words flowed in pretty curls of blue ink.
DJ,
You probably don’t remember me. I don’t know why you would. It was only one week. A single week in your life that completely altered mine. I can’t blame or regret it...though it saddens me to think of it that way.
It’s time you know. You have a son. I’ve stuck in pictures of him. He looks like you. So much like you. You’ll see. But that isn’t the purpose of this letter.
His name is Tyler. He’s in Texas. I can’t do this anymore.
The name Tammie was scrawled across the bottom of the page, the ink smudged.
He stared at the pictures. What the...? A boy and a familiar young woman smiled at him from the dozen images.
Distant, banished memories rushed in. Eighteen. He’d been a grand total of eighteen years old. Fresh out of high school, prepping to head to basic training in two months. He and three buddies had packed a car and headed to the Gulf Coast beaches of Florida. He couldn’t recall why they’d picked Florida. Someone’s harebrained idea.
Two weeks of no school, no parents and no commanding officers. Heaven. Pure heaven.
DJ’s memories, foggy and age-worn, flickered. He recalled the pretty blonde, too much beer and a long night on a sandy beach. He smiled. Those carefree days seemed so far away.
Picture after picture. His mind raced. How long had it been since he’d been with Tammie? Eight...nine years? The baby photos didn’t show him the resemblance, but the others... Three years old, four, six, eight...
DJ’s vision narrowed and nearly went black. The whole world moved in slow motion around him. The tent flapped in the wind and the scrape of blowing dirt against the canvas sounded like a lion fighting to get in.
Despite the desert heat in this outpost, a chill shot through him, icicles instead of sand particles cut across his heart. This wasn’t possible.
He had a kid?
A kid he hadn’t even known about?
He scooped up the pictures scattered across his bunk. As he stared at the boy with the wide grin, he couldn’t deny it. The boy looked exactly like him at that age.
My God. The words in the letter tumbled through his mind over and over again.
What the hell was he supposed to do now? His brain was mush half the time these days, what with the long hours, the heat and all the energy he gave his job. He couldn’t wrap his mind around any of this.
“Hey,” Colin said around a mouthful of cookie as he lounged on his bunk. “What gives?”
DJ paced, his eyes staring at the child—his child—in the pictures. His heart pounded and the desert heat washed over him. Words? He was supposed to be able to say words? Think words?
His stomach revolted and Addie’s sweet cookies threatened to return to the world. He couldn’t speak. He simply shoved half the photos into his buddy’s hands.
“What the...?” Colin looked first at DJ, then back at the picture and back at DJ again. “Whoa!”
DJ cursed again. What was he supposed to do now? He needed to get back to the base and see if he could get ahold of Wyatt, or Jason, or Addie. Someone. Tyler—was that his name?—was in Texas. They needed to find him—he needed to see his son.
His son.
He looked up just as his commanding officer, Major Dixon, walked into the tent, a cloud of dust on his heels.
The frown on the older man’s face didn’t bode well, and DJ knew he wouldn’t get the chance to call home anytime soon. He stuffed the pictures and letter back into the envelope and shoved it all into the cargo pocket of his uniform. He had to go to work now.
But later—
Meanwhile, halfway across the world...
TAMMIE EASTON DROPPED the tattered curtains back in place. The old, fragile lace didn’t so much waft as thunk against the frame. Vaguely, she wondered if Cora had ever had them cleaned. Looking around at the tiny, old house, Tammie shook her head. Of course she hadn’t had them cleaned. Cora could barely afford to feed herself.
Even though the curtains hung over the window, Tammie could still see what was happening across the street.
Tyler, her son, at all of eight years old, the only person who mattered to her in the world, was leaving. Never mind that she was the one who’d set all this in motion. Never mind that she was sending him to live with his dad’s family to keep him safe. Never mind any of that. Her heart hurt and she doubted it would ever stop. Even if...no...when she got him back, she’d never forgive herself for sending him away.
The images blurred, and she blinked furiously to clear her eyes. She couldn’t bear to miss even an instant of his life. She might never... No, she reminded herself again, she would see him again. She was coming back. He’d be with her again. Soon. She’d promised him.
Footsteps came up beside her, and Tammie glanced down briefly