Please forgive me. I still love you,
Flynn
My lips quivered as I folded the letter back up and stuffed it in the envelope. I got to my feet and made my way back to my car. The leaves bounced over the ground, taking small flights into the air. I raised my eyes to the darkening sky as I approached my car. I made it before the sun had set.
As I drove home, memories of Flynn and I flooded my mind. His letter was proof that he left for a reason and he didn’t want to leave me, so why did he? And why was I receiving the letter now?
There were nights I dreamed in such vivid detail that when I woke up, I forgot that I lost half of my leg. The minutes that followed, grief consumed me all over again. I kept dreaming of shit I wished I’d forget.
A deafening blast and shrapnel tore through the vehicle, taking away the life I once had. The shirt I wore to bed was drenched, sticking to my skin. My fingers curled into a fist, nails digging into my palm. Fear churned my gut into intense cramps, and a shiver shot down my spine as I threw the shirt over my head and onto the floor.
I rubbed what was left of my right leg. I hated waking up in the middle of the night with phantom leg pain. The nub was swollen at the end, tender to the touch. I doubted I would be getting any more sleep. I pulled myself up and grabbed the crutches I kept by the bedside. Maneuvering them under my arms, I went downstairs to grab a cup of water.
I poured myself a glass and slumped in a seat at the table. Being back in Violet Ridge only brought back the memories of Evelyn and I. Military life was fast, not leaving much time to reminisce, but being stuck on this fucking farm again gave me plenty of time. Every time my eyes shut, I’d see her face. I wanted to see her smile again, hear her voice. I let out a harsh chuckle before I gulped down the water and sat it down on the table. Feelings were fucked.
I heard Ma’s footsteps before she padded into the kitchen in her night robe.
“What’re you doing awake? It’s past midnight.” She yawned, grabbing herself a juice from the fridge and sitting next to me.
I shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”
She pressed her lips into a line and left the room for a few minutes. She came back with a dusty wooden box. She set it down on the table and let out a shaky breath. “I think it’s time you knew about this.”
I lifted an eyebrow as I studied the box on the table. The medium-sized box was made of dark wood with edges that were cut down. It had signs of imperfection and wood glue on the sides, and it did not sit flat on the table. “What’s that?”
“It was your father’s, and the reason he lost it when you mentioned the military.” My gaze lifted and bore into hers. I went to open my mouth, but she shook her head. “It does not excuse what he did, but it may give you some insight as to why he did it.” She pushed the box further toward me on the table, and the sound of wood on wood filled the kitchen.
I opened the lid and the aroma of musk and dampness spilled out. A sneeze built up as a tickle before it whiplashed out, and I covered my nose. “How long has it been since this box has been opened?”
She scratched the top of her head. “Honestly, I’m not sure if he ever opened it after putting his memorabilia in there.”
“Memorabilia for what?” My eyes scanned over the contents of the box, and my shoulders stiffened.
A green US Army Vietnam era Uniform sat folded on one side. It had a First Infantry Division patch added to the shoulder with a name strip of Rockwell. Sitting on top of it were two pairs of silver dog tags, both with the last name Rockwell. One said Frank, and the other said Jack. A bayonet with a green sheath was on the other side with an olive green L-shaped flashlight. Under that looked to be a Boonie hat from the Vietnam era.
My eyes lifted to Ma’s, and I swallowed hard. “Vietnam?”
She paled as she nodded her head. “Frank was in the Vietnam war from 1970 to 1975 when it ended. He fought for five years.”
My mouth went dry as I reached out and grabbed the dog tags. “Who’s Jack?”
“Jack was your uncle. Frank didn’t want to talk about this with you, and I promised I wouldn’t tell you.” Her eyes welled up with tears. “But I think if you knew, you might understand.”
I clenched the dog tags in my hand. “Understand what?”
“Your father joined the Army when he was seventeen. Jack was eighteen. He and his brother forged his birth certificate so they could join together. The Army knew about it, of course, but kept it quiet.” She reached out and trailed her fingers over the uniform. “Frank lost his brother and the majority of his platoon during an ambush.”
My lips parted, and my body numbed. My father had fought in Vietnam and lost his brother and platoon? I wasn’t sure how to process it or what to say. I shook my head and placed the dog tags back on top of the uniform.
I grabbed my crutches and whacked my swollen nub on the table as I got
