For three days it was blissful. They were lovers that didn't tired of each other. Henry would leave for school in the morning. Rose would watch him walk down the tree lined street, just as she always did. The pretty morning sun dappling light through the trees. Rose would watch her little boy leave, so brave. Sometimes before he turned the corner he would kick something and follow its trajectory, back and forth weaving along the sidewalk. Sometimes he would pick something up and inspect it. He'd either toss it down or put it into his pocket. Rose would lean against the doorframe and watch until he turned the corner towards Carmen's, out of sight. A couple of blocks down he would meet Lewis and she knew they would chatter the whole way to school, comparing ideas. Adding to each other's the way children do.

On the first morning, Rose rushed upstairs to her room. She looked for something to wear that felt light, soft. Unlike the times when she felt awkward in her clothes, as if the color of the blouse were a poor choice for her complexion, now everything felt lovely on her. She was seeing herself through Ed's eyes and so while she put her clothes on she imagined his glances, over her body, around her hair. Her face. How he studied her face.

On the first day, she wore a cream dress with scalloped shoulders and neckline. It had a pattern of bright green flowers and a green sash. She slipped on a small charm bracelet. On it were sterling flowers. She ran her fingers across the charms and they jingled pleasantly. Each one a gift from Nick or his parents. Small roses and a lilly. There were daisies and a petunia. She sat down and rubbed her hands over the charms. The house was quiet. The wood floors were glistening.

She walked down the stairs and sat on the couch. But, she couldn't stay put. He had said he would come in the morning. They could sit in the garden and have coffee. She could see the arbor through the dining room windows. The leaves were lush green now and the window that had let in so much light in the winter now framed a dappled transluscent green. She had an urge to go out to the garden and just walk around, mindlessly picking a weed here and there. She stood up and walked through the living room into the dining room. A vase with delphiniums sat on the table. The deep blue flowers with their full head of blossoms were fresh cut. The flowers sat in a clear vase with pebbles she had collected on a trip to cannon beach before Nick left for the war. She had washed them carefully and saved them in a little sack. She had used them often to hold the stems of flowers that she arranged. She walked over to the large window and looked out into the back garden. The delphiniums were abundant. And a spray of violet blue, white and wine-color overtook the yard. Rose loved June best of all in the garden. All of the plants were going crazy, growing. As if they had finally released themselves from winter's grip. And, now they were frantic to grow, grow grow. To be alive again.

That's when she heard the faint knock at the door. She felt everything inside of her drop and fall to the ground. She had thought he wouldn't come. That he might leave her longing for him. Wondering about the meaning of his touch. His words. But he hadn't. He was there at the door. And in the beautiful early summer light, and in her quiet home was a secret world that no one knew of. Even she could pretend that it didn't exist. For the time, there was nothing more that she wanted from him. Because the attention he paid her was so immense. Even Nick had never paid such close attention to her gestures, the slight almost imperceptible movement of her eyebrow or lips. It was as close to reading her mind as one could be, because before she even fully reacted to a thought he recognized it.

When she opened the door he was standing there. Something about him seemed helpless. As if he had been caught in the rain. As if he were foolish for some reason. She smiled. And he turned his head to one side and smiled, "What is it?" he asked still standing on the porch.

"What?" she asked and instinctively she reached for her hair. She had it down, the sides held up with combs.

He reached and touched her hair. Then, he pulled his hand away. "What is it that you've done?"

And, then she realized that he had noticed. She had taken off her wedding ring. And where it had been for nine years, was a white line on her finger and an indentation. He was staring at her and suddenly she felt hurt somehow.

"Where is your wedding ring?" he asked.

Her expression changed and she backed away from the door, making room for him to enter. And he did. He closed the door behind them and he took her hand. He held it up to his lips and kissed where the ring had been.

"Why did you take your ring off, my love?"

And she could feel herself beginning to cry. She couldn't make love to someone else and wear Nick's ring.

"Is this a good or a bad thing?" He asked her. He leaned close to her and kissed her lips. It was a soft kiss and after he embraced her, he kept her in his arms and held his cheek to hers. Her heart raced and she pulled away, enough to look at his face.

"Its all right," she finally said. He lifted a hand and wiped her eyes.

"It is?" he asked.

"Yes," and they let go of their embrace. She reached for her ring finger and rubbed it with her hand.

"Do you want breakfast?" she asked. She was trying to get herself composed again.

"No," he said. "I want you to take me upstairs. To your room. I want to be close to you." He was serious and she saw how he was confident in what he said. No matter how it sounded.

She started to say something, then she just smiled.

After they made love, they lay in bed together and he traced the lines of her body. Her long hair was full and messy and her cheeks were flush. The rose color of her cheeks made her eyes look deep green. Even though she had given birth to Henry, her body was still young.

"I want to know about you," he said. "I want you to tell me everything about you."

She put her hand on his face, traced his lips. "What would you like to know?"

"Where are your parents?"

"My mother died," she said and looked down, "when I was a seventeen.."

"I'm sorry," he said. He moved closer to her and kissed her lips, "I'm sorry."

He waited for her to say more.

"She was sick almost my whole childhood. She was always sick. And when I was seventeen she was unable to get out of bed."

"Why?" he asked with such regret that she wished she could take it back.

"She had cancer all over her body. Lumps in her neck and arms. In her breasts."

"No one could help?"

"No. They didn't know. Then, it was too late to do anything."

"What about your father?"

"He's in Bend. In timber industry. After I married...I don't see him often."

"But he still takes care of you?"

"Well, my mother's family too...And, Nick's..."

Ed lay back on the pillow and put his hands under his head. Rose knew the day was going to pass and she didn't want it to be like this, talking about sadness. She rolled over on her side and touched his chest. His chest was almost smooth except between his pectoral muscles, and down the center. She rubbed her hand over his muscles and looked into his eyes. How had she not seen it before? How handsome he was. How utterly handsome? She really hadn't and she contemplated this. He was so beautiful.

He turned to her, "What are you thinking?"

"How handsome you are."

He blushed and smiled shyly.

"Now you look like a little boy."

He looked up at the ceiling again and then he said, "tell me a secret. Something that no one else knows."

She smiled and lay back down. Her long hair formed waves that ran down the side of the pillow. A few tendrils had landed on his shoulder and remained there. "I don't have any secrets." She said, but she did. Immediately she thought of it. She had Nick's letters. She hadn't even told Carmen that she hadn't opened them. Of course, there must be other secrets, but that was her greatest.

"I know you have a secret," he said. "I absolutely know you have a secret that you are thinking of right now."

"All right," she said. She sat up and pulled on her robe.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Just over here."

He sat up with eager anticipation, "what is it?"

She stood at the door of the armoire and turned to him, "See? you can't really read my mind."

"I never said I could." He said and when he did his eyes sparkled. She liked him. She stared at him for a moment and realized in amazement all that was underneath the surface of Ed O'Neil. He wasn't afraid to give himself to her and in such abundance. He didn't care that it was wrong, here he was with her. In such a spectacular way. A way that made her think that they were two pieces that fit together exactly. That it would be wrong not to have each other. That their feelings were exempt from the morals and standards set by society.

She opened the door to the armoire slowly and reached inside. She picked the letters up from behind the clothes, on top of the hat boxes. She carried the stack over to the bed.

"This is my secret."

"Another lover?" he asked laughing. "I would have never guessed."

She blushed and passed an irritated glance at him. "Is that what you really think?"

"How do I know?" he said. "You have a secret and you carry over a stack of old letters. What am I supposed to think?"

Her face grew serious. "They are from Nick."

"Oh," Ed said. He sat up and pulled the sheet up to his waist.

She lay the letters down in front of him. He picked one up gingerly, as if he were unearthing an artifact. "They're unopened," he said. He looked at her.

"That is my secret." She pursed her lips and stared down at the letters.

"Why?"

He inspected the letter. "Its from 1943. Just before..."

She nodded her head.

"Why didn't you open them?"

"I am afraid," she said, her voice almost inaudible.

He leaned in and looked at her intently. "What are you afraid of?"

She was afraid to tell him and at the same time she could feel the relief welling up inside of her. To trust someone to tell him her thoughts. To let them out. She leaned closer to him and put her arms around him. She was like a child. And He kept one arm around her and moved the letters to the other side of the bed so they would be safe.

"Tell me, my love. Why are you afraid?"

"I'm afraid he'll be gone. This is the last of him."

"Oh," he said and held her tightly. After a moment, he brushed her hair away.

"You have to read them, you know that don't you?"

She looked at him, her eyes wet. "Why?" she whispered.

"He wanted to tell you something. Or things. You were the one he loved. He wanted to tell you something."

"I don't want to lose him." She said and she knew how foolish that sounded.

Ed looked down for a moment. He pursed his lips together. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I can't tell you what to do."

"Will you read one?" she asked.

"Yes." He said without any no hesitation. "I will."

Her eyes brightened. "Right now?" It had never occurred to her to have someone else read them. There hadn't been anyone else to read them. Not until Ed. In that instant, she had the romantic idea that is why she had met him. That was why this happened.

"Yes. I will read one now if you'd like."

She handed the first unopened letter to him. "Do you want me to tear it open?" he asked.

"Wait," she said, She rushed out of the room and returned a moment later with a letter opener. "Don't tear it." He held the first letter in his hand and he pressed the opener gently into the paper. Rose watched him as he carefully worked the file across the top of the envelope. He had cut a perfectly clean line in the seam. He placed the opener down on the bedside table. And he slid the letter out of it.

"August 13, 1943...Dear Rosie, My Rosie"

Ed stopped and looked up at Rose. "He called you Rosie?" She smiled at him and nodded. "I can hear his voice." He said.

"Me too." Rose agreed.

Ed continued to read, "Thank you for your letters. It brings me home to you and Henry. I will try to answer them each. Today I will write about your letter from July 14th. Firstly, I should like to think that Henry would have liked the beach, but from the sounds of it the trip to the beach, he was less than pleasant. Thank you for appeasing my parents. – If I had been there, I might have built a sand castle with him. If he would have had it. He really is a little rascal, isn't he? (don't tell him I said that. Just give him a big kiss instead, OK?)

Oh, Rosie, by the way I read your letter six times. Did I mention that it makes me feel as if I am back at the house on Spokane. You can't imagine how much I want to be there. Hopefully this mess will end soon. Today I flew from Sicily. I am somewhere in Italy now. I have a picture in my mind of the ear rings I want to get for you. Maybe something else nice too. I will try to.

Oh and your letter. I liked how you said that you missed me beside you at night. You know --I hope that you know-- that I am feeling the same way. I am beside you because our thoughts are together. Our thoughts have always been together. This distance makes me sentimental. I think often of reading to you in the tree house. I was thinking that when I returned we could build one for Henry. Maybe a club house. You and I could slip away with a lantern and read novels again. Now, I'm getting sloppy. Am I really crying, thinking about your head on my lap? Yes, Rosie I am sitting here blubbering. I am looking at your picture, Your pretty face. When I close my eyes, that is all I see. And, all I have is knowing that you belong to me.

I'm going to sleep now, sweet heart. I will answer another letter tomorrow. Send some more pictures. Small ones I can keep with me. Take one with your hair down. All of the ones I have are so damned formal.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Nick

Ed stopped reading and handed the letter to Rose. She held it in her hand and stared at the lines and curves of his handwriting. For some reason she didn't feel the urge to cry. There was no mystery in the letter. Only his love. The same love she had known for so many years. And, instead of saving the last moments with him in an unopened letter, now she could return to them. As she did with his other letters.

"It must have been just before he got hurt." She said softly.

Ed put his hand on his cheek. He nodded slowly and remained serious.

"The others are the hospital. He doesn't even know what is going to happen to him yet. Not in this letter."

"No," Ed whispered.

She stared back down at the letter thinking about Nick. How brave he had been.

"Rose," Ed said softly, "it wasn't that long ago, not even a year yet." She continued to stare at the letter. She tried to picture that place that Nick was when he had written it. Was it a dark tent? A bunker? Was he outside somewhere? In the country? She didn't know and it caused a kind of unease inside of her body.

For a little while, Ed sat silently next to her. Then he leaned closer to her. "I have to go," he whispered. Her eyes looked up at him quickly.

She raised her eyebrows just a little. "All right," she whispered. She looked back down at the letter. Ed stood up and started putting his clothes back on. He had his trousers on and pulled on his white t-shirt.

Rose put the letter back in the envelope and stood up. She still had her robe on and she pulled the sleeves up around her elbows. Ed pulled his shirt sleeves over his arms. His shirt was still unbuttoned. She walked over to him and buttoned each one of his buttons for him. He looked down at her as she did. She reached up and fixed his collar.

He took her face in his hands and held it for a moment. "You are beautiful," he whispered, "how did I find you?" She put her arms around his neck and pressed her face against his; and his skin felt soft against her lips. It was warm. She closed her eyes and for the first time, she noticed his scent. It was like fresh laundry, but sweet. She touched the collar of his shirt. And then ran her fingers over the top of his t-shirt. She wished he would leave his t-shirt with her, so, she could have his scent while he was away from her.

She pulled away and studied him for a moment. "Tell me something about you, before you leave."

He looked at her for a long moment before answering. His face remained serious and he looked up at the ceiling, thinking. Finally, he said, "My sister is an actress. In Chicago."

She hadn't imagined him with a sister, but then in a moment, she pictured this delicate creature. Same olive skin. She could envision her, long slender hands and legs. Serious in the same way as Ed. She imagined her, somehow, after a performance sitting in front of a mirror combing her long hair.

"Is she younger than you?"

He nodded and raised his eyebrows, "she is."

"Do you have any other brother's or sisters?" She asked. She bit her bottom lip and watched his expression.

"No. Just Anne."

"Are you close?"

Ed shrugged his shoulders and put his hands on Rose's face. "sometimes." He said, then he leaned forward and kissed her on the lips.