are correct in assuming he asked me to inform you of his injuries and as his superior officer, it was my duty.
I am truly sorry to deliver such news.
John read the last sentence and deleted it, deciding it made Jazzy sound dead rather than lying in a hospital bed cracking jokes and twisting his arm to make him do things he didn’t want to do. Instead, he added I am sure he will contact you when he is able .
Leaning back, John reconsidered that. He couldn’t write that to the girl. He wasn’t exactly sure Jazzy would hop out of bed and email Summer immediately. He did have a wife to catch up with. Hmm. Deleting that line also, he simply signed the letter John Blake and hit Send before he could think any more about it.
He found himself doing the strangest thing. He didn’t log off. Instead, he sat there and waited. John soon realized he was waiting for her response. He somehow knew with certainty it would come. Somewhere in the United States, nearly halfway around the world from where he sat, this woman was at this very moment reading his letter and writing back to him.
John quickly did the math. He didn’t know where Summer lived, but it would be late afternoon, or actually early evening on the East Coast, mid-afternoon on the West Coast. Was she at work? Did she even have a real job or did she sit around in slinky lingerie writing sex stories all day long?
Jeez. Where the hell had that image come from?
Then, something even stranger happened. John found himself typing in www.summerwinters.com and holding his breath as his guess at her website address paid off and the home page loaded. He scanned quickly through the site. There was a picture of the cover of the book he had watched Jazzy and Morales fight over in the chow hall. Next to that book another one, featuring an equally provocative, unclothed male chest on the cover, was listed as Coming Soon .
On one webpage John found a vague and sketchy biography but no photo. He hadn’t even realized he was searching for a picture of her until he felt the disappointment at not finding one.
With that discovery, he closed the website and checked his inbox again. As he suspected, he found her email and opened it.
John,
Thank you for your quick response. I can’t say that knowing the severity of his injuries relieved my worry. Quite the opposite. But knowing is far better than not, and these past days wondering why he didn’t respond to my emails have been nearly unbearable. It is strange. Though we have never met, he and I have been friends for so many months now that I find a hole in my life at the thought of being without his friendship.
Would it be all right if I emailed you occasionally and inquired as to Jazzy’s progress? I would not normally bother you. Jazzy has told me how busy you are there being tank commander and all. I just don’t know who else to contact to find out how he is doing. Please, could you let me know if anything changes? Jazzy has told me about the gravity of internal injuries incurred from explosions. I will worry until he is back to one hundred percent. Thank you, John. I appreciate your taking the time.
Please keep yourself safe.
Summer
PS Please let me know if you or your guys need anything and I will send it to you.
John leaned back in his chair and let out a long slow breath. This woman he didn’t even know was now calling him by his first name, worried for his safety and wanted to send him things for his troops. He shook his head. Could anyone really be this nice?
He pushed aside his craving for Summer’s tasty coffee and responded, sparing a brief thought that each email seemed easier to write than the last. Worse than that, each one brought him closer to having a pen pal of his own. Dammit.
Ms. Winters,
I will keep you informed. I promise. We are good here. No need to send anything.
Thanks.
John
And then John realized with shock that he had been on the damn computer for nearly thirty minutes emailing with her, there
I am truly sorry to deliver such news.
John read the last sentence and deleted it, deciding it made Jazzy sound dead rather than lying in a hospital bed cracking jokes and twisting his arm to make him do things he didn’t want to do. Instead, he added I am sure he will contact you when he is able .
Leaning back, John reconsidered that. He couldn’t write that to the girl. He wasn’t exactly sure Jazzy would hop out of bed and email Summer immediately. He did have a wife to catch up with. Hmm. Deleting that line also, he simply signed the letter John Blake and hit Send before he could think any more about it.
He found himself doing the strangest thing. He didn’t log off. Instead, he sat there and waited. John soon realized he was waiting for her response. He somehow knew with certainty it would come. Somewhere in the United States, nearly halfway around the world from where he sat, this woman was at this very moment reading his letter and writing back to him.
John quickly did the math. He didn’t know where Summer lived, but it would be late afternoon, or actually early evening on the East Coast, mid-afternoon on the West Coast. Was she at work? Did she even have a real job or did she sit around in slinky lingerie writing sex stories all day long?
Jeez. Where the hell had that image come from?
Then, something even stranger happened. John found himself typing in www.summerwinters.com and holding his breath as his guess at her website address paid off and the home page loaded. He scanned quickly through the site. There was a picture of the cover of the book he had watched Jazzy and Morales fight over in the chow hall. Next to that book another one, featuring an equally provocative, unclothed male chest on the cover, was listed as Coming Soon .
On one webpage John found a vague and sketchy biography but no photo. He hadn’t even realized he was searching for a picture of her until he felt the disappointment at not finding one.
With that discovery, he closed the website and checked his inbox again. As he suspected, he found her email and opened it.
John,
Thank you for your quick response. I can’t say that knowing the severity of his injuries relieved my worry. Quite the opposite. But knowing is far better than not, and these past days wondering why he didn’t respond to my emails have been nearly unbearable. It is strange. Though we have never met, he and I have been friends for so many months now that I find a hole in my life at the thought of being without his friendship.
Would it be all right if I emailed you occasionally and inquired as to Jazzy’s progress? I would not normally bother you. Jazzy has told me how busy you are there being tank commander and all. I just don’t know who else to contact to find out how he is doing. Please, could you let me know if anything changes? Jazzy has told me about the gravity of internal injuries incurred from explosions. I will worry until he is back to one hundred percent. Thank you, John. I appreciate your taking the time.
Please keep yourself safe.
Summer
PS Please let me know if you or your guys need anything and I will send it to you.
John leaned back in his chair and let out a long slow breath. This woman he didn’t even know was now calling him by his first name, worried for his safety and wanted to send him things for his troops. He shook his head. Could anyone really be this nice?
He pushed aside his craving for Summer’s tasty coffee and responded, sparing a brief thought that each email seemed easier to write than the last. Worse than that, each one brought him closer to having a pen pal of his own. Dammit.
Ms. Winters,
I will keep you informed. I promise. We are good here. No need to send anything.
Thanks.
John
And then John realized with shock that he had been on the damn computer for nearly thirty minutes emailing with her, there
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