Page 62 of Returned Mail

“Get it together, Mia,” I whisper.

I shove the rest of the mail under my arm and hurry upstairs. My hands shake so badly it takes me three tries to unlock the door. Inside, I drop my bag, kick off my shoes, and go straight to the bedroom to sit on the edge of the bed.

For a long second, I just hold the letter.

I don't know what I want it to say. That he's okay? That he forgives me? That he hates me? That he understands? All of those feel impossible because I don’t deserve any of them. Hell, I don’t even deserve a response.

I slide my finger beneath the flap. This time, when the paper opens, it is not a secret I stole. It is something he chose to send.

Chapter Seventeen

George

a few weeks ago

Mail call is always a mess.

Guys crowd around the folding table pretending they don't care. That's the game we like to play around here. We crack jokes, we shove each other around, complain about the heat, the food, the fact that Jackson has apparently been waiting three weeks for a package his wife swears she sent. Anything we can do to act like this isn’t serious for us.

Nobody says what everyone is really thinking or feeling. ‘Please let there be something with my name on it.’

The mail clerk works through the stack in the same bored voice he uses every time. “Martinez.” A cheer goes up when a box gets lifted from under the table.

“About damn time,” Martinez says.

“Your mom sent enough for everybody?”

“Of course she did. My mom likes me. Can't relate, huh?” Someone tells him to go fuck himself.

I stay against the wall, my arms folded, and I’m just watching and laughing at them. I'm not expecting anything… I haven't been for a while. Which is way easier than hoping. Or maybe I've just gotten better at pretending it is. The clerk calls another name. Then another. I look toward the far side of the base. Mack said he needed me later to go over tomorrow's movement plan. I should probably find him before⁠—

“Hale.”

I don't move. The clerk looks down at the envelope and repeats. This time, saying my full name, “Sergeant George Hale”. My head turns. For half a second, nobody says anything. I can feel Jackson glance at me. I push off the wall and walk over there. It feels way longer than it is. The clerk holds out a white envelope.

This one is not from Monica. I know that before I even touch it. The handwriting is wrong. It looks nothing like hers. My stomach drops a little at the sight of it. The envelope is addressed directly to me, and when I turn it over, it’s the return address that stops me.

It’s my apartment’s address.

The name above it is one I've never seen before.

Mia Matthews

Something cold moves through my chest. My first thought is that something happened to Monica. It has to be. Why else would a stranger at that address be writing to me? I shove the envelope into my pocket and start walking outside.

Mack watches me. “You’re not opening it?”

“Later.” He studies my face for a second. Then nods without asking again.

That's why I like him.

I make it through the next hours without opening it.

There's work to do, gear to check, soldiers to reassign. I don’t have time for a letter. I sit in my office trying to sort some documents, and somehow I find myself in the middle of a conversation with Mack, and that’s when he notices that I’m distracted. “You planning on joining us today?”

I look up and see him standing across from me with one hand braced against the table. “What?”

“Exactly.”