“I’ve been gone for two weeks, and I come back to find you in the same spot I left you,” Paul says as he stands in front of my desk, his hands filled with a box and stacks of mail.

I get up and kiss him on the cheek. “Haha. I’ve been up. I’ve gone downstairs, made twelve dozen pots of coffee, and ate nothing but junk food.” I sit back down, smiling at him. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“I’m sure you are so I can cook a real meal for you.” He laughs and lays the box on my desk. “You haven’t even been outside to check the mail, have you?” He points at it.

“It’s a big scary world out there, and there are spiders that live in that mailbox,” I tease him.

“You need some time away. Even the musicians you write the music for get more of a break than you do.”

“You know I have to keep my head busy.”

“Are you still having headaches?” He leans his elbows on the desk.

“Only when I try to sleep,” I snicker.

“That’s what the sleeping pills are for, cupcake.”

“I know, but they make me so groggy in the morning. Hence the twelve dozen pots of coffee.”

“You’ve been out running at night again, haven’t you?”

“You know that’s when I do my best work.”

“I checked the fridge on my way up, and there is nothing here to eat. I’m going to run to the store and pick up something to make for dinner. I’ll pick up a bottle of wine while I’m there. When I come back, you are going to come downstairs and help me.” He crooks a finger at me.

“You know I can’t cook,” I whine.

“No, but you can chop vegetables and sip on wine to keep me company while I make something good for you to eat.” He gets up out of his chair.

“Thanks for giving a shit about me,” I say.

He leans over my desk and kisses the top of my head. “You have one hour, and I expect you to be out of those pajamas when I come back. Put on a top that shows a little cleavage, so I have something to stare at every now and then.” Affection glows in his eyes, and he winks as he walks out the door.

I pick up the box he laid down, putting it in my lap. The return address says New Hampshire. Keegan must not have gotten my letter in time. It has to be Wolfe’s belongings.

I could send it back without opening it, but my curiosity about Wolfe wins out. I carefully remove the tape from the box so that I don’t rip it. As I unfold the top, the first thing I see is Wolfe’s Purple Heart. I open the plastic lid, and my fingers involuntarily trace the medal. Keegan should have kept this regardless if I was Wolfe’s sister or not. I lay it on the desk. Next are his dog tags. Underneath is a folder. I pour its contents onto my desk. There are a couple of pictures of a man and an older gray-haired gentleman. I flip one over and on the back in faded pen are the words Wolfe and Dad. He looks like a much older version of Wolfe, only shorter. They look awkward, standing about three feet apart. Their expressions are taut. It even looks like Wolfe’s jaw is clenched. His dad has an open bottle of liquor in one hand. I’m not sure why whoever was holding the camera chose to snap this picture. They are standing on the porch of a rundown white wooden house. I can see little flecks of paint peeling off.

I flip through more pictures that are all very similar. They look despondent in every one of them. Wolfe would be so nice looking if he was smiling. I wonder what happened between the two of them. He doesn’t resemble the man that Keegan described at all. He made him sound happy, and a larger-than-life hero.

There are a set of keys and a few other trinkets. At the bottom is his green army jacket. I pull it out and hold it to my nose. It’s a mixture of musk and lavender. The smell is familiar, but I’m not sure why. I can’t help but touch the patch with his name on it before I fold it neatly and place everything back in the box.

I rummage through the rest of the mail and stop when I see another letter from Keegan. I anxiously rip it open this time and read it out loud.

At this point, I wish I was his sister because I’d really like to get to know Keegan; he’s piqued my interest. I haven’t felt that way about a man in a long time. Figures it would be someone on the other side of the world from me. There is something about his kindness and dedication to his friend that draws me to him.

I don’t know why, but I feel the need to write him back. I think part of me longs to connect with this stranger.

---

Dear Keegan,

---

I received the box of Wolfe’s belongings you sent me. I will get it sent back to you. Don’t worry about the cost of shipping, I’ll be tearing up the check.

I’ve lived in California for almost twelve years now. The coast is beautiful but way too busy for my liking. I live here because it was the best place for me to get my business started. I write music for some of the more successful singers and bands in the business. I only write the music, not the lyrics. I got bored with them when the words couldn’t even be heard over the music. I’m not sure why I needed to tell you that. Even though I have gotten used to the hustle and bustle of city life, I long for the outdoors. My escape is running, which I do in the middle of the night for various reasons, but primarily for the quiet. It’s the only time this city isn’t booming. Unless of course, you like the bars. I’m not into that sort of thing. I’m not sure if I ever have been.

The town of Jackson sounds absolutely charming. I will have to look up Honeymoon Bridge. The outdoor adventures that you describe seem like they would be fun. I love being outside, but my work keeps me so busy, I don’t get much time to enjoy it.

I’m truly sorry to hear about the loss of your wife. I can’t imagine the pain you must have gone through and having to raise a daughter alone. I’d say you’re a brave man. A survivor. This is yet another reason for you to live. Your daughter could not have endured losing another parent at such a young age. I bet she worships the ground you walk on. Her very own life-size hero.

I wish I could help you find Wolfe’s sister. I do have a question about the pictures in his box. Why do they both look so sad? He’s quite the contrast from the man you described.

You’re no trouble, I’ve enjoyed the distraction of your letters.

I seal it up and immediately run the envelope to the mailbox. I’ll have to go to the post office another day to ship him the box.

I run inside and change clothes, finding I have a renewed spurt of energy. Part of me is a little sad to think I won’t be hearing from Keegan again. His letters hit something inside me that makes me want to know him. Maybe I’m envious of the deep connections he’s able to have with other people, or his bravery to continue after his wife died.

I make it downstairs as Paul is hauling grocery bags inside. “Here, let me take a couple of those.” I take four bags, and he kicks the door closed with the heel of his shoe.

“I’m glad to see you listened.” His gaze falls on my cleavage.

“Don’t go getting any bright ideas that I wore this for you. I wore it for me, to feel like a woman.”

“You keep telling yourself that. You love me, and you know it.” He chuckles.

We empty the recyclable bags on the kitchen bar. “From the looks of this, you’re making salad and lasagna.” I snatch the bottle of red wine and remove the cork.

“You’re responsible for making the salad. I’m sure you can handle that.”

His eyes grow wide as I tip the wine bottle up and take a drink. “I guess you don’t plan on sharing. Maybe I won’t be able to trust you with a knife to make a salad.” His eyes twinkle, and I know he’s joking with me.

I hold the wine out for him to take. “Only a sip.” I snatch it back as he reaches for it. I love teasing him.

“Nah, you go ahead and drink the whole bottle. Maybe it will make you finally give in to me.” He laughs, knowing good and well that will never happen again. I sip on the wine and watch him as he starts assembling our meal. He really is a handsome man. He’s lean with some muscles, not bulky, but nice. I like his dark hair now that he’s wearing it a little longer. The curls in the back lay over his shirt collar. He’s got a smattering of gray at his temples, making him look distinguished. His five-ten frame is an inch shorter than mine. He used to hate when I would wear heels out on a date with him. Actually, we didn’t go out on dates much; we preferred to stay wrapped in bed together. He had some skills in the sex department, no complaints there. I just couldn’t get my heart to connect with him. Sometimes I think there is something really wrong with me.

“That was delicious.” I lean back in my chair, rubbing both hands on my stomach. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to go on a run tonight or not.”

“I think that has more to do with you polishing off the whole bottle of wine than it does the food.” He smirks.

“Hey, I offered to share,” I almost slur.

“I’m just glad to see you out of your cave.” He wipes his mouth with his cloth napkin. “What was in the box? I noticed it was the same address as the letter you received from the soldier a couple weeks ago.”

“It’s really kind of odd. His name is Keegan, and he’s looking for his dead friend’s twin sister. This address was listed as hers.”

“That’s odd. You don’t have any siblings.”

My eyes flutter as I rub my left temple. “Not that I know of anyway.”

“Have you ever been able to dig up anything about your background?” His chair scrapes across the tile floor as he picks up his plate from the table.

“I gave up a long time ago. It was a dead-end every time I tried to search for information. My therapist suggested that it was time to move on after years of looking.” I join him at the sink. “I’ll wash these.”

He playfully swats my ass with a dish towel. “Damn right you will, wench. I cooked.” He dries his hands off. “I have some emails I need to answer, anyway. Do you want to go to your favorite little lunch café tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I would like that.”