Return to Sender - 6. Chapter 6 - Kai

CHAPTER 6 - Kai

Adam and real life made me wait.

A week passed and no letter came. Then I was informed that I’d finally be transferring to Walter Reed and though I was happy at the prospect of finally being able to see my family, I became uncharacteristically cranky, lashing out at no one in particular. Anyone coming near me was at risk of at least a growl. I’m usually even-tempered. Eight days. Nine. Nothing. No letter.

I’d received a big long one from Megan in the meantime and a care package from Kellan, complete with drawings from my nephews. And normally, that would cheer me up and I’d hang them on the wall, to look at. I did put them up, and called to thank them, but…it didn’t do what it normally did; give me pleasure, cheer me up. Think good thoughts and make me feel just a tiny bit more homesick. It did manage to do that, and I wanted to see them all so bad, but no, no real pleasure.

Then I became worried; Adam hadn’t gone and done what I’d asked him not to do, had he? Try to fix that damn jetty.

That was no good.

Once I got that in my head, I dreamed of smashed hands or worse; him slipping and falling, hitting his head on the boards of that stupid contraption that should’ve been dismantled or renewed years ago. In the dream, I saw his last view; the surface of the lake, rushing toward his face.
I woke up with a yell.

Half a minute later, the door to my room opened and the night orderly, Kevin, checked in on me.

“Everything okay, Kai?”

“Bad dream,” I growled.

Coming in, he came to my bed and drew a stool closer with his foot, then sat down. “Talk to me.”

“It’s nothing,” I answered evasively.

“I got time, it’s quiet. Come on, Kai; you’ve been off your rocker for a few days now. I hear you’ve been a bit of a dick to my colleagues. If you’re having bad dreams, it helps to share. Talk about it.”
Lying back, I closed my eyes, breathing deep.

I appreciated his reaction. It wasn’t uncommon for wounded soldiers to have bad dreams. I’d had my share of those and they could be very frightening. Reliving the massive jolt when the helicopter impacted. The cries and screams of pain. The heat of the flames and seeing those flames creep closer and not feeling my legs or being able to get out of the way. I spoke to a psych at length, many sessions. Therapy groups (every day), talking about it with others who had similar experiences had helped. A lot. We helped each other and I haven’t had such dreams in months.

Sending him an appreciative smile, I lightly shook my head. “It wasn’t about the crash, Kev. It’s just a bad dream. You know me pretty well; I’d say it if it was. But you are right; I was a dick. Tell em sorry for me?”

“Tell em yourself,” he smirked, rising. “I ain’t your messenger boy.”
I chuckled.

“Leaving tomorrow, remember?”

“Oh! That’s right!” He grabbed my hand in a hug. “I’m happy for you; finally get to be closer to your family, huh?”
Finally I felt the cheer when I thought of that. I grinned.

“Yeah. Thanks so much for all the care. I really appreciate it. So…you’ll tell them? I’m sorry, I was in a bit of a funk.”

“Will do. I’ll tell em.“

“Thanks man.”

“Try and get some sleep.”

“Roger.”

Once he was gone again, I lay there in the dark.

Sleep eluded me. Because yes, I was happy (now) to return closer to home. But I hated that I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t go to check in on Adam. And how ridiculous would that be, if I did that? He’d shut the door on me and two seconds later, open it again with a shotgun in his hands and chase me off the property. I would.

He’d blow right back out the backdoor if he fired one.

Alright, that was funny. Because there was just no way Adam would ever hold a shotgun. I somehow knew he would never go near a firearm, he was too gentle for that. I doubted he’d ever hurt a fly.
Sighing, I shook my head and chided myself.

‘You’re an idiot.’ But the image still made me snicker. Oh well, snickering was at least better than worrying.

**********

I transferred to Bethesda MD with one other patient while traveling, which was nice because it made the time go by just that much faster, swapping stories and recovery experiences, and it was strange to be on the actual outside once again, having been cooped up at Brooke AMC for so long. Yet, the strangest thing happened, when it was time to go - I found myself dragging my feet. And I knew why, too. I was waiting for the time mail call usually came around. Which was ridiculous, because that would not be before mid-afternoon and we’d be leaving at 10am sharp.
Which then got me thinking that I’d miss his letter. And I knew I was behaving silly. Mail would follow. I knew that. But it still bugged me. And I got a little cranky again.

**********

It was somewhat of an emotional rollercoaster, returning to my home area again. Megan and Kellan were already waiting and as soon as I saw them, I kinda lost the plot for a while. I was a mess, most of my emotions exploded out when I finally felt them in my arms and heard their voices, right there in my ear, live, instead of on the phone. Kids were basically not allowed (or discouraged to come), so I didn’t get to see my niece and nephews yet. But this was enough, for now.

They helped me settle in.

“Now how on earth…is that our place?” Megan remarked, looking at my alarm clock. Shit.
The sunrise photo and the one of our house, next to it. I’d placed them there without thinking.
I glanced at it and struggled for an explanation.

“Yeah. Umm, I always had those with me.”

“Really? Anyone ever tell you you’re weird? Most people carry pictures of people, not property.”
Kellan chuckled at that and I joined in. Alright, that was funny. It also gave me time to respond; I didn’t want to divulge…things.

Alright, not ‘things’. Adam. I didn’t want to reveal things about Adam. Not yet, anyway. My sister was a curious woman. She’d be all over it like flies on dead meat, if she found out. I didn’t feel like explaining myself to her about that.

“Yeah, well, I always liked our home. You know that. Makes me feel grounded whenever I look at it.”
Not even a lie. Very true. She smiled, patting my arm.

“Relax, I’m just giving you a hard time. You do you.”

**********

Adam’s letter arrived on the twenty-first day. Just returning from my first session with the new coach, I opened the door to my room and there it was, on my bed; a package, a stack of mail and the letter on top; I could see the wax seal from here. Immediate relief flooded me when I saw that seal.

“Thank god,” I muttered.

Carefully removing the rubber band holding all the mail together, I removed his. Then my eye fell on the package; there was another envelope attached on that, also with a wax seal and that beautiful writing. Two letters? The package was tied vintage style, with string. No glue or tape. It made me smile. Very nice touch! It had a label on it as well, that said: Open me first.

Alright. Alright, you’re forgiven, Adam. Two letters, and a package.

Cutting the string, I looked at the envelope on top of it, similarly attached with string to keep it in place. When I took it and turned it over, on the back it read Open me second. Alright. I folded open the wrapping paper and chuckled. A box of Arturo Fuente cigars and matches. God, what I would give to open that box right now and light one. I’d set off every fire alarm, probably, but I loved the inappropriateness of him sending a box of cigars to a hospital. And sending my brand - he’d remembered.
Taking the second envelope, I sliced it open near the seal and peeked inside. Not a letter. Pictures. A lot of them!

Taking them out, I slowly looked at each one, shuffling them. The first one was at the front door. It was new; the old one had been a solid affair. This one had a leaded beveled glass window - sturdy looking, with new locks. The next was of the hallway entrance, running clear to the back of the house. Only a fresh paint job, in cream color., tasteful art on the walls. A side table stood where we’d used to put our shoes, two vases with flowers on top and a mirror above. The floor gleamed in the late afternoon sun, shining through the window of the back door, also new with the same glass as the front door..
In the next picture we went to the right, into what had used to be my parents’ bedroom, at the back of the house. Oh wow, that room had been completely overhauled. It looked like an old, small library, with dark furniture, two chesterfield chairs in front of the fireplace, a low antique table between them. A very comfortable looking sofa there, a loveseat and a rug that would make you want to take your clothes off and just…well, use your imagination. On the other side, and in the next picture, a desk with a laptop on it. The desk looked like an antique, but with a comfortable new chair. He had excellent taste. I used to have an antique desk; I wondered what had become of it. It’d been in my room when I left on this last tour. I’d have to ask Megan about it, she’d made all the arrangements for clearing the house.

He’d made another picture in the evening; it was dark, the curtains were drawn, candles lit and a low fire going in the hearth. One lamp, glowing soft yellow, on his desk. I almost whined audibly; what a picture of comfort. Warm and inviting.

The walls were covered with books. Old books, leather bound books, new books, paperbacks, encyclopedias; lots and lots and lots of books, floor to ceiling and all around the room. Some handcraft in those shelves or I was a novice in woodwork (and I’m not). So maybe not a small library; there had to be a thousand books if not more in there.

In the previous picture I’d seen that the windows had been replaced with what looked like sliding doors, so he’d step right onto the deck, behind the house, and heavy (velvet?) dark curtains hung on both sides on a thick, round dark-wooden rod.

From the study/library, we went to the kitchen; seemingly intact, nothing replaced except for the obvious; new stove, refrigerator but other than that, just fresh paint. Same with the utility room. New washing machine, a freezer. No dryer. The door to the outside had also been replaced with a new one - a solid door, where we’d had one with a window in it. Right the opposite of what we’d had.

Opposite the kitchen was the dining room; we’d rarely eaten there in later years, always getting a plate from the kitchen and eating in the living room, watching the game or whatnot, but that was when I was grown up. Only at Thanksgiving or Christmas had we eaten here. When I was younger, though? Every day, but the last time I'd been in there in recent times had to be over two years ago. I didn’t even remember that particular room all that well.

The table in there was larger than we’d had, at a guess. Counting the chairs, there were eight. Yep, we’d had six. Eight? What the heck did Adam need eight chairs for? All the furniture in there matched, too; a huge cupboard, gleaming darkly and the matching sideboard on the opposite of the room. The surface of the table seemed to shine like glass, equally dark. Elegant chairs, also gleaming. And carpeting that you’d probably drown in.

The next picture was also from the dining room, taken at night. Semi-dark, lit by candles on the table and a sideboard I hadn’t noticed in the previous picture, with a menorah. He’d also lit a fire in the hearth there; we’d never done that. There was no other light than just that. It oozed warmth.

“Wow,” I muttered. He really was into comfort.

Actually, I was under the impression that the chimneys were clogged; I couldn’t remember us having lit them in, oh gosh…over fifteen years? Twenty? Not in recent times, anyway; a long time ago, sure. The early 90’s, before we’d had central heating installed, they’d been used and especially in winter. Megan’s room had always been the warmest because of the chimney column running through her room. I’d spent many a night in there, freezing my nuts off in my own room. I chuckled at a memory.

Both Kellan and I would invade her privacy and stand with our backs against the column, warming up. Then warm our feet on it too, while she was screaming her head off for us to get out. To this very day I can’t sleep when my feet are cold.
On especially cold nights, we got to use oil heaters. Those were nice. I’d put socks on those and when they were warm, I’d put them on, then hop back into bed under three blankets. Ah, but no shirt on, or PJ’s. I was a dumbass.

I’d have to ask Adam about the hearths and the chimneys. Did he have them cleaned?

From the dining room we went to the living room, my favorite room in the whole house. It looked out on the lake and my mom had always made that the safest place in the house. Always warm, always cozy, no matter how hard the rain was coming down or the wind was blowing or amount of snow falling.

I had to look twice to recognize it. For one, everything matched in this picture. Our furniture had always been a haphazard bunch; the most wonderful brown shaggy couch in existence and chairs you could just sleep the night away in. The walls had been papered caramel brown, the curtains a lighter shade of that. It was a big room. I knew that. But now it looked huge.

It was quite light now and looked like it breathed. Comfortable dark oak furniture, low tables of glass and oak, mixed around and light carpets on the wooden floor, that gleamed in sunlight. Net curtains, cream colored walls, and flowers and big potted plants all over the joint. By far, the lightest room in the house (so far) and the most cheerful, exploding with color dotted all over. And it didn’t look like it stepped out of a magazine either. It looked lived in; an open book on the couch,half a glass of wine on a table, a mug on another. A fleece blanket hanging from one of the couches onto the floor. I spotted a bone under said couch. I wouldn’t recognize it as our old place, if I didn’t know better. The last picture from downstairs had me laughing out loud; Arya, midrun at the camera, tongue wagging, tail in the air. Looked like she was about to jump up and fly at Adam while he took the picture.

Then we went upstairs and I smiled. The first room was my room. The curtains were open, they seemed to be of the same heavy velvet.

Adam slept in my room.

It used to be my parents’ bedroom until they moved downstairs when my mom couldn’t get up those stairs anymore because the arthrosis got so bad. Up to then I’d had the coldest bedroom, to the north, Kellan the one at the far end (south) and Megan the one opposite this one, at the front of the house (east). I moved in here when I was…31? 32? It was right after my mom died. 32 then.
When I joined the navy, I never got a place of my own, it didn’t make sense so I always came home. Why buy or rent something when I’m not gonna be there most of the time?

Much of my time was spent at some base, somewhere in the world. I’ve been all over and as a result of that, I’d never really had a relationship until around my 40’s. To my family, I never made it a secret; I knew I was attracted to men around the age of 15 and my eyes were wide open when I joined the navy. My parents warned me that it would be a hard life. Surprisingly, I found that it wasn’t as long as I kept my trap shut and the guys I fooled around with did as well. Until I met Ryan, it was a long string of stolen moments in alleys, hotels, you name it.

It’s quite funny that the longest - and only real - relationship I’ve had was with someone working in politics. I met Ryan in Washington, aide to the Secretary of I’m-not-gonna-tell. I’ll say it was at a gala, and we were drummed up as a small group to represent the navy. He looked at me in passing, I looked at him. Our eyes met, I winked at him (well, he was cute) and he walked straight into a wall. I knew then that we were going to end up in either a toilet, an alley or upstairs in one of the rooms of the hotel.

It was a toilet because when he walked into that wall, he’d spilled his drink and went to clean up. I followed.

In hindsight, one could say it was a flimsy beginning, based on sex and leave it at that - I certainly didn’t expect anything to grow from it, nor was I particularly looking for a relationship - but it wasn’t. Ryan, from the start, was an intriguing young man, five years younger than me. Social, quick, smart, sharp and ambitious. My family didn’t really like him but they accepted him because he made me happy.

But I still couldn’t call up his face.

I glanced at the picture again. He’d never slept in this room. Only me and now Adam. It was an intimate notion.

The next few pictures showed the other rooms upstairs, mostly empty except for Megan’s old room, which was being used as, what seemed to be, storage for boxes, paint and other stuff. None of the other rooms were redone, paint wise.

The very last picture was a selfie.

Taken up close, what really stood out were his gaunt cheeks but, I might be mistaken but I didn’t think so, they already had a little more color from being outside daily. His eyes, very light gray with a dark limbal ring, were staring at me with some humor shining in them, crows’ feet as he squinted at the camera, Arya in the lower corner, tongue hanging out. She kinda stole his moment.

I kept that picture in my hand as I reached for the thick envelope he’d also sent, planning to keep that right in view as I read.
Slicing around the seal, I took out the letter, looking at page after page of flowing script, covered on both sides, each side containing at least one doodle.

Hi Kai,

Oh! That rhymes! I know, I know, I apologize for this long wait. My excuse is that I had something of a problem, having to concentrate on my work, and this letter, with some dozen workers flooding the place.

You see, while most of the urgent work has been done (roof/chimneys/deck/doors/painting), a lot of work remains. As you can see from the pictures I sent along, most of the upstairs rooms need to have a bit of love but I’m in no rush with that. I’m not planning on inviting any guests in the immediate foreseeable future. I am planning on a theme for each room, though, and look forward to immersing myself into that at some point. I love going on roadtrips and browsing antique stores, picking out paraphernalia, especially with themes in my head. Nothing too expensive, though; I don’t want to live in a museum! Then, after a long day of hunting, find a cozy inn, have a long dinner and plan for the next day. Just for a couple of days usually, like a mini holiday. Then return home with my treasure and see it all come together.

He really was a creature of comfort and nice living. Quite refreshing to encounter someone who didn’t have a full agenda, each day. He’d maybe have one task on any given day, and if he couldn’t complete it, so what? There’s always the next day.
Good! He had the chimneys checked.

Of course, the ‘coming together’ is left to professionals, and by that I mean the bigger work like moving in furniture, carpeting, painting. It may not surprise you by now that I’m utterly useless in terms of building or fixing things, other than meals or stories; two left hands, I’m afraid. But I also like to think that there’s a reason such services exist. A baker bakes my bread, a painter paints my walls (or paintings) and a carpenter builds my doors and windows. And deck. And a mover moves my crap! I’m a big fan of the latter!
So why take work out of their hands? I’m of the opinion that it’s unfair to them and that it’s my duty to fork as much of that work over to them as I can.

There’s nothing wrong with knowing your limitations but his excuse as to why he’d never learned any sort of craft made me chuckle. Creature of comfort indeed. Then again, if you can afford to, why not. Not a position I’ve ever been in, nor a goal of mine. I make a good living (well, used to) and I didn’t overly spend. My savings were such that it had given me the ability to consider buying out my siblings, to purchase our parental home, without the need to fully mortgage it. My income would go down now, but I was thinking of perhaps starting a business for myself, like doing something in woodwork. It was an idea, nothing fully formed yet. I already knew that the Navy was no longer an option, unless I spent the rest of my career behind a desk or shouting at recruits at a base somewhere. And that didn’t appeal to me.
I knew I would be eligible for Honorable Discharge, which would help with benefits.

Then, reading back up a bit, his mention of antiques began to worm into my brain. Wouldn’t that be great, to start something like that. An antique store. Restoring furniture. Hmm…
I continued to read.

Anyway, back to current events. As I mentioned, there is still a slew of work to be done. Replacing the fence, fixing the jetty, garden work. I was also advised to wait until spring, to start on that. I may have underestimated all the work, when I could finally give the order; since some seven days ago, I find myself harassed by buzzsaws (they are fixing the jetty at the moment), digging machines (I hired a landscaper for some yard work; apparently, he deemed that to be an order to dig for treasure, the man has been digging around for days. He’ll hit the water table soon, I think) and….

I burst out laughing, pausing my reading. Hah! That was a complete hoot, the way he worded that. Far too formal and extremely funny, combined with the doodle in the middle of the page, portraying a silly Leprechaun digging and finding water, spouting up in the air instead of gold, even saying ‘where’s the gold, where’s the gold, where’s the gold!’. Hah! Haha. Of fuck, my back…

…these gentle men seem to think all of this is normal. Well, I think it’s high time for me to do a runner now. So I’m packing a bag with supplies and taking Arya on a hike. A long one, where I don’t hear these saws and see people’s buttocks peeping out of work jeans , much less have them hang on the bell all day, as if that is normal. They’re too needy. “Can we use your water?” “May we use your electricity?” “May I use your bathroom?”
Yes, of course! I don’t mind if you drill the enamel from the pot while at it. Give it your utmost effort, as audibly as you can!

Bah!

I almost spit some water at the letter, reading that.

I need peace and quiet while I work and I wasn’t getting any, so I’m leaving before I embark on an invective diatribe. As a result of all this nonsense, you’ll receive this letter much later than you might possibly expect. So I've decided to make it a long one and chronicle my trip with Arya for you, to compensate. I hope you’ll find that satisfactory?

Oh yes, very much so, Mr. I’m-trying-to-come-off-as-British. I hiccupped, grabbing my back again. Ow. The man was funny, even if he wasn’t trying to be. But if he was, he’d be the death of me in five minutes flat.

Day 1

We’ve fled hostilities, Arya and I, barely finding refuge within the treeline. We are watching the enemy at work, using wicked machinery to dig trenches and planting seeds. Lord knows what devilry they’ve cooked up for us. No doubt, their offspring will be horrid, red and thorny, possibly purple, orange, white or the dreaded yellow. One fears the black kind; if those spawn, the world as we know it might be lost.

I turned the page, snickering.

Day 2

Arya and I kept watch during the night. Nothing happened, we sat here for nothing. You’ve wasted five minutes of valuable reading time buying into this drivel.

Hah! Another doodle, this one a ridiculous Harlequin or court jester. The latter, I think, below which he resumed the normal letter again.

Hello again!

A feeble attempt at comedy. Much of the previous page is me trying to be funny but there’s a grain of truth to all of it. They’ve started work on the front lawn today, or should I say the future flower garden? And another crew has come to fix the jetty. That was all true. As we speak, they've removed the first batch of weakened/hazardous boards. They’ve also done a check of the other parts; they’re saying it’s safe to just replace the boards; the underlying construction is still sound, but with added advice that I should let them check this again in two or three years. Trust me; a reminder sits in my calendar as we speak.

They’ve offered to remove the half-sunken boat as well.

Yes! Remove that thing…

I accepted the offer. It’s too dangerous to leave around. What if a neighbors’ kid comes by and goes ‘Oh, I’m gonna be a complete moron and try to dive over that’ and instead hit their head or worse? I don’t want that on my conscience. I’m sorry if that disappoints you; it might be nostalgia that I’m now having removed, but I can't risk it. By the way; how did it sink? I’m curious.

Absolutely, there were plenty of families living around there and I was not at all disappointed. The memories were fun to recall but I’d probably have removed the boat at some point as well, had I been returning home. Ah, there’d been a bad storm in the area a few years ago. It drove the boat onto the jetty, knocking a hole into the bottom and it sank. We never got it out. Obviously.

So how are you? In your last letter, you’ve alluded to loneliness and a wish to return home. I’m so sorry you have to go through all this. Do you have an idea as to how long you’ll have to wait for that? How is your recovery going, I realized I haven’t asked that yet. What does it entail? Are you in much pain, still?

Sometimes, when I make sudden moves, like laugh due to silly writings! Then it’s a jab of pain. I receive medication for it, but I don’t like taking it. It makes me feel loopy and hazy and feeling like a wet rag. I can’t think, then. But it’s not as bad as in the very beginning, learning to walk again.

Days of desperation, thinking that would never happen. But it did. Slowly. I’m not gonna be catching any rabbits soon, but I can walk unsupported. And there’s a possibility I might have to use a cane; my right leg keeps giving out after prolonged exertion. It’s one of the reasons the surgeon wanted to see me. He might have to go back in.

I spoke to him earlier, glad for the opportunity to thank him.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he’d said with a lopsided smile, “let’s wait for the scans. We’ll go from there.”