Page 36 of Come Back to Me

“Make it a beer and I’m in.” Marco gives me a hopeful waggle to his brows.

“Not a chance in hell, little brother.” Hooking my arm around his neck, I wrestle him playfully, and he resists, chuckling.

“C’mon, I only got ten more months.”

The mention of his age reminds me of how long I’ve been here. It’s nearly Thanksgiving. One of my and Giana’s phone conversations a few weeks ago was about the upcoming holiday. She said Uncle Jim invited us to join their family for dinner.But I’m quickly realizing that’s yet another thing to add to my list ofNever Gonna Happen.

Marco’s age also reminds me he’s almost old enough to join the service and help the fight in Vietnam if he wanted. Shit. He’ll be old enough to go even if he doesn’t want to. All over the news, they’re talking about the war and the likelihood of a draft. Between Marco and I, Mama cries at church every Sunday over the possibility.

Most of the time, I try not to think about the war. It’s the worry in the pit of my stomach that I won’t ever get back to Maple Ridge that keeps me awake at night. The worry that these so-called “family obligations” will consume the rest of my life.

Suddenly my view of the world shrinks. Time on this earth diminishes. And a measly ten months feels like nothing. Sharing this with my brother feels like what’s most important right now.

“Ya know what?” I tip the brim of my cowboy hat as we head back toward the farmhouse. “How ’bout we do get those beers instead.”

“Yeah?” Marco’s brows lift.

“Yeah.”

“All right,” Marco says excitedly, pumping a fist in the air.

“Just don’t tell Mama. Or your ass is grass.”

“I swear. Takin’ it to the grave.”

CHAPTER 14

Giana

Dear Leo,

I won’t tell you I’ve been keeping track of the days we’ve been apart like some kind of lovesick puppy dog. I won’t tell you I haven’t been doing that either.

Saying our situation is unfair feels like an understatement. I know you have “family obligations,” and I respect you for stepping up. But it doesn’t mean I miss you any less.

Thanksgiving is next week. You were supposed to be home by now. While it was nice of Mr. Martin to invite me, I’m not sure I’ll go there for dinner. What if I came to see you instead? I’m sure I can get some time off from the diner. Maybe not until after Thanksgiving, though.

Think your mama would mind if I came there and crashed her perfect Southern socialite reputation when I introduce myself to her friends as her son’s live-in girlfriend? Bet she’d get a kick out of that.

I’m kidding. But not kidding about wanting to see you. Maple Ridge isn’t the same without you. The cabin isn’tthe same. It’s lonely. I’m not sure how I ever thought I could live here alone.

Come home soon, Cowboy.

All my love, Giana

Thanksgiving has come and gone. Staying home sounded best, but Nettie convinced me to have dinner with the family. There are rumors about the war. About a draft. It has the entire town on edge.

Both Nettie and I aren’t excluded from that. Just the thought of Leo going over there has me so frazzled that I’ve been messing up at work. I’m surprised I didn’t get fired after I dropped a tray holding an entire family’s dinners.

The president is holding a press conference tonight. I don’t have a television, so after I finish my shift at the diner, I walk on the snow-shoveled sidewalk to Nettie’s. She and Pete got a television as a wedding present.

After I climb the steps and knock on the door to the hardware store’s apartment, Nettie welcomes me inside. There’s a somber tone in the space. I can feel it from the moment I step inside.

Nettie takes my coat, and I stomp the snow from my boots. Nettie and Pete’s parents are here too. Everyone is crowding around the small television. Poor Nettie is serving drinks while she emanates panic. It’s something best friends notice about one another.

I’m no better at hiding my jitters. After she hands her mother-in-law a cup of tea, I take Nettie’s hand in mine and squeeze it tight. She closes her eyes briefly, and when she opensthem, they’re misty. The tears are inevitable. Even though we don’t know what’s going to happen, it’s almost as if we do.

The state of address begins, and a banner runs along the bottom of the television screen. A hush covers the room, and in an instant, it’s stuffy, and I fight to take a breath. Thick dread fills my limbs like concrete.

---