Page 15 of Pages of My Heart
We’re in a constant state of tension, never knowing where they’ll send us next or when. Never knowing where the next bomb is going to fall or who’s going take the next bullet. You just get so damn tired. Some days you simply don’t have the strength to care anymore. I’ve only been fighting for 2 months and it already feels like 2 damn years. But I keep going for you. I’ll do anything to make it home from this fucking hell. Please don’t worry about me—focus on your job and the time will pass quickly. I’m glad to hear that Evie is visiting and you’re still going for family dinners.
Speaking of my sister, she must have had her little one by now. Is it a boy like I predicted? Have you been to visit? I sure hope the baby looks like Evie and not Richard, and that Richard is taking good care of them both. I’m sure you’ll keep an eye on Evie for me, and I know wild horses couldn’t keep you away from a baby. I can imagine you holding the little one and instantly falling in love. It troubles me I can’t give you one of your own, and I worry that as time passes, you’ll regret your decision to stay with me.
To answer some of your questions, the food tastes like shit, but some days you’re so hungry you’d eat anything. Other days, the thought of food doesn’t even cross your mind. When you’re at the front, you sleep in short spurts between watches. Some nights Ibarely sleep, nerves too frayed to settle. Other nights my body is so pained, so exhausted, I can’t stop myself from collapsing into the sleep of the dead.
Most importantly, of course I’ll stay faithful to you. You should know not to question that. You should know you have my loyalty for life. But I should’ve known not to question your loyalty either. I’m sorry for that, sweetheart. We’ve got to make do with our thoughts and our hands until we’re reunited. I let my thoughts wander to memories of us to relieve my mind of the horrors of this war. I find myself reminiscing often, and it transports me away from all this pain and death. Sometimes it’s those very private moments, and sometimes it’s the fun times we’ve had. I can always picture you clearly in my mind and hear you talking to me. I can feel the ghost of your touch.
Last night I was thinking about that time we went on that double date just after New Year’s in ’39. You remember the one I’m talking about? When you went overboard trying to sabotage everything and the night still ended with you having to dodge a kiss. I’m grinning right now thinking of it. You ordered something your date didn’t want at the diner, then spilled your drink all over their clothes. At the pictures you refused to buy them popcorn or candy, and you were making fun that they didn’t know nothing about poets. I think you even made a dig about their hair! It still makes me laugh to this day. Your stubbornness knows no bounds, Red. That angry chin of yours was jutting out so far I thought your damn neck was going to snap. Lucky we only needed to do those double dates every now and again. But I still wonder what got you so riled up that time—you never didtell me.
I just stopped writing to read your letter again. I don’t know what made me do it, but I brought it to my face, and I swear I can smell you on the paper. Did you spray it with that scent you wear? Surely, I’m imagining it? Even if you did, would the paper hold the scent traveling all this way? I can smell you, I swear I can. I’ll sleep with it under my pillow tonight. It arouses me, Red. If only it were already lights out, I could breathe in your scent as I take myself in hand. Thank you for this piece of home, sweetheart. Maybe tonight as I think of you, you’ll also be thinking of me. Maybe we’ll reach the pinnacle together. My body aches for you, Red. I’ll whisper your name in the dark, and drown in your scent, and dream of when you take me in your arms once again.
I love you, sweetheart.
Forever, your beloved Charlie
xox
Chapter 8
November 1937
Charlie
When Charlie wakes the following morning, the first thing he becomes aware of is the freckled hand clamped over his own. The second is that he desperately needs to bathe. He’s sore and tender, and he can feel the evidence of last night’s lovemaking on his stomach and between his legs. They’ve moved during the night, Thomas now pressed to his back, arms caged protectively around him. Thomas’s steady breaths are the only sound to fill the room, every warm exhale like a delicate caress on the back of Charlie’s neck. It’s Charlie’s first time sleeping next to someone, and it calms him in a way he’s never experienced before—at least not since he was a very young boy enveloped in his ma’s embrace.
Despite all the time he’s spent thinking about it, Charlie doesn’t know what he expected sex to feel like, and in the aftermath he has mixed emotions. Part of him feels shame, especially for being the one to take the dame’s position. But the truth is, his desire tobefucked was—is—stronger than anything else. Does that mean he’s less of a man? That he’s a sissy, just like his pops has always said? Because after the initial burn and sting, itfelt good to have Thomas inside him, to give himself up to the boy. Thomas’s body, heavy on top of his, had been a revelation. He hadn’t even realized they could have sex facing each other like men and women do. Charlie always assumed that if he ever got the chance to sleep with a man, he’d have to be taken from behind, like an animal.
What they had shared was more than just sinful fornication, wasn’t it? When Thomas was inside him, kissing him, holding him, Charlie had felt deeply connected to him. It’s not like he’s got anything to compare it to, but he imagines it might be what love feels like between two people. Charlie barely knows Thomas, but somehow last night he felt closer to him than he ever has to any other person in his life. How can he walk away tomorrow and never see him again? He can’t bring himself to think on it.
Charlie squeezes his eyes shut, knowing he is mere weeks away from marrying Ruthie. The church is booked and the invitations have been sent. His heart pounds as guilt pushes greedily into his thoughts. But then Thomas stirs behind him, and just as quickly the guilt and shame melt away like ice on a hot summer’s day. He reaches back, running his fingers through Thomas’s soft hair.
“Mornin’, Red.”
Thomas hums happily, trailing kisses down the curve of Charlie’s neck. “Good morning. How do you feel?”
“Sore. And needing a wash.”
“Mmm, not ready to let you out of this bed yet,” Thomas says, arms tightening around Charlie’s chest and stomach.
Charlie laughs and tilts his head for a kiss, the heat building anew.
His whole life he’s felt like a mistake, never believing that anyone could love or want him—the real him. But with Thomas, as implausible as it seems, it feels . . . possible.
Saturday morning is filled with many firsts for Charlie, starting with the revelation that the O’Reilly house has a shower, where Thomas insists on scrubbing Charlie’s back and tenderly washing his hair. Then there is the pain of taking his morning constitutional and the humiliation of discovering the remains of last night expelled at the same time. He doesn’t share any of this with Thomas, but his face is surely as red as a beet when he walks out of the bathroom.
The two make breakfast together and sit at the homey kitchen table, eating until they can eat no more. Between bites of toast Charlie tells Thomas about his job and all the other boys that work at the garage, and he sips his black coffee and listens to Thomas talk about what he studies at college, even if most of it makes little sense to him. Thomas is funny, even downright goofy at times, and he’s stupidly sentimental. Charlie teases him for it, but the truth is it makes him all the more fond of the boy. And there is an easiness between them now that they’ve laid bare the most intimate parts of themselves.
Late morning they walk to the drugstore, Charlie puffing on a cigarette around the corner while Thomas goes inside to buy a new jar of Vaseline. And after lunch they play a few games of eight-ball down at the local pool hall—something Thomas has done little of, so Charlie teaches him some tricks. Several times throughout the day Charlie is stricken with the fear that everyone they encounter knows what they’ve been doing and what they are.
Homosexuals.
Deviants.
Sinners.
But then Thomas will smile at him, and the fear will fall away, creating a dangerous illusion that they are safe and separate from the rest of the world.
In the evening, Charlie helps Thomas cook a simple meal for them to share. They set the dining room table, and Thomas lights a candle he’s produced from somewhere. In some other world, it could almost be a romantic dinner date. They certainly act like it is, making eyes at each other and giggling like love-struck schoolgirls. It should be embarrassing, but they’re alone, with no one to bear witness, and so Charlie allows himself to enjoy it.
