Captured(77)

Derek,





My sweet and amazing man. I was too weak and too scared to write this while you were still here. I knew if I wrote it, you’d be able to sense what I was feeling. I knew I’d lose it, and you’d get in more trouble. You had to go. I know that. I know you’ll never be able to tell me what you did over there, and I don’t think I want to know. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I love you.

That I’m missing my heart while you’re gone.

Every time a woman sends her lover off to war, she’s sending out her heart. She lives, left alone there at home, with a hole in her chest. It’s a big, gaping, numb wound. Yet it still hurts when you let yourself feel anything. I assume it’s the same in many ways to send a son, or a brother, or a best friend. But nothing can touch the pain of missing or losing or fearing for the life of the man you love, knowing he may not come home.

Damn it. I’m avoiding the issue.

There was something I should have told you. I was going to, but then the phone rang. The captain came and took you away from me, and I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t send it in a letter. I’m weak, you see. Selfish. Like you keeping it from Tom while he was dying. I think I understand now why you didn’t tell him. And I forgive you.

I can only hope I’ll be able to hand this letter to you in person and watch you read it yourself.

Let me write the words again: I love you.

I must be the luckiest woman in the world to have found the love of a man like Tom. And then, again, the love of a man like you. I’m also the unluckiest woman, having sent both of you into combat. I lost Tom, and now I don’t know what your fate will be.

For the second time, I commit my truth to a simple piece of paper.

I’m pregnant.

I have no way of knowing how you’ll react when you find out. Or what I’ll do. What we’ll do. I just don’t know. I just…I love you. And if you’re reading this, please, don’t be afraid. Having your baby is an honor, Derek. Having a part of you growing inside me is a privilege. Loving you is a privilege.

I’m not going to sign this letter, either, because there’s no good way to end a letter like this.

Except, maybe,

I love you.





*





His hands shake as he reads the words, and when he gets to the end, he lays the paper on his knee, turns to look at me. His eyes slide down to my stomach.

“I’m not showing yet,” I say. “I’m not very far along.”

His expression is impossible to read. “But you…you’re sure?”

I smile. Why do men always ask that? “Yes. I—I had blood work done.” Another long silence from him, in which he alternates between staring at me and at the letter, at my belly, out the window. “Say something, Derek.”

“What? What do I say?”

“Anything!” It comes out in a hysterical shriek, and then my voice drops to a whisper. “Are you happy? Angry? Are you—will you stay with me?” I can barely ask that question, so thick is my fear that he’s going to leave.

“Stay?” He says the word slowly, as if he can’t fathom what it means. “Reagan, I love you. Where would I go?”

“I don’t know.” My voice is small, high, taut. “Anywhere but here?”

“Why? Why would I leave? You’re carrying my—my child.”

I can only shrug. I try to blink and keep breathing. My eyes burn, stinging from tears I’ve held in since the day he left. “I don’t—don’t know—” The words aren’t even audible. Breathless sobs are stuck in my throat. My shoulders shake.

I unbuckle my seatbelt, lean forward, breathe, keep trying to hold it in, but I can’t. I can’t. I come apart. Derek unbuckles and reaches for me, pulls me to him. I crawl onto his lap, and I bawl. The Texas fall heat blazes, and a long wind blows. A sparrow wings past, trilling. I keep sobbing, and sobbing.

He just holds me, cradles me against his chest. “I’m here, Ree. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I love you. I’m here.”

He repeats this, I’m here, I love you, I’m not going anywhere, over and over again, and eventually I hear it, believe it. Feel it, deep inside. He’s not leaving. That was my worst fear—that he’d find out I was pregnant and not want me anymore. That he’d be scared and bolt. He’s a better man than that, and I knew it, but the fear remained. It was an easier fear to hold on to than the terror of imagining that he wouldn’t come back, like Tom.

Eventually, I manage to calm down. I sit up, but Derek doesn’t let me go. He wipes his fingers beneath my eyes, smearing salt on my cheeks. He slides his finger over my ear, brushing my hair out of my face. “Ree, listen. I don’t even know what I’m feeling. So many things. I’m crazy f*cking scared, mostly. I’m not—I’m not father material. Shit, I’m not even boyfriend material. Before I went back over there, I was messed up. But now? Baby, I don’t even know which way is up. I’m a goddamn cripple. One f*cking leg. What am I gonna do? I can’t help you on the farm. It’s gonna be months before I can even walk on my own. You have a baby, and I’ll be waking you up screaming just as much as the kid will.”

“We.” It comes out strong.