Chapter Three

“So,” Evie said slowly, still trying to wrap her mind around the idea, “you write your husbands sex letters?”

The look Lynette gave her was sympathetic. “No, honey, the point is you write Jon your private thoughts and feelings. If that includes sexual fantasies, then let it. You write to him the kind of things you can’t say with your in-laws looking over your shoulder. The stuff he can read where he doesn’t have to worry about who’s looking over his shoulders as with emails, or that you don’t want exposed to cyberspace.”

“Don’t use a computer. Handwrite your letters, and send pictures,” Pauline instructed. “The kind of pictures he can pull out in private and view when he’s lonely. Charlie said that’s the best thing about letters. He can take them with him on patrol and re-read them at times when it isn’t feasible for him to have his computer.”

“Pauline, Afghanistan is a Muslim country. She can’t send those kinds of pictures. They consider it pornography and the base doesn’t allow it,” Lynette chided.

Pauline pooh’d that away. “Of course she can, and it’s not like the rules are enforced. Besides, I’m not saying she should be naked—that’s just tacky—but a really nice baby-doll in his favorite color to remind him what he’s missing wouldn’t hurt.”

“And it really worked? The letters I mean,” Evie asked, still hesitant. No way was she sending x-rated pictures overseas.

Pauline nodded. “It made a huge difference in my marriage.”

“Mine, too,” Lynette echoed.

Taking a deep breath, she said, “Okay, I’ll give it a try.” After all, what did she have to lose?



Evie called her mom as soon as she got home.

“Well?” her mother answered.

Evie couldn’t help the smile that bloomed. Her mother was such a card, as her grandmother would say. “You were right,” she admitted.

“I knew it!” her mother crowed. “I hate to say it, but I told you so.”

Chuckling, Evie tossed her purse on the sofa. “Un-huh. Sure you do, mom.”

In a more serious tone, her mother said, “I’m glad they were able to help. So what was it like? Tell me all.”

“When I first arrived, it was really strange. I felt left out. It’s not that they weren’t friendly,” she said quickly, lest her mother thought otherwise. “It’s simply that I could tell they all knew each other really well. I was the newcomer, you know?”

“You felt awkward,” her mother said.

She went into the kitchen and pulled down a glass. “Yes. I sat in a corner, speaking when spoken to but otherwise—”

“You pretended to be invisible, and if know my daughter, counted the minutes until you could make your escape without appearing rude,” her mother completed, proving how well Nadine knew her daughter.

“Yep.” Evie tilted up the now water-filled glass and took a swallow.

“So what happened?” her mother asked, a hint of eager impatience showing.

“The hostess—her name is Lynette—refused to let me hide. She drew me out, and then spent some time talking to me. She’s really nice, mom. You’d like her.” Evie put the half empty glass on the counter and headed for her room to kick off her shoes. “I found myself explaining how I was feeling and Lynnette not only understood, but said she’d been there too. She gave me advice on how to handle it.”

Evie paused. When she didn’t continue fast enough, her mother exclaimed, “Well, what did she say?”

“She told me to write Jon a letter.” She smiled, waiting for what she knew was coming.

There was this pause, and Evie could almost see her mother’s brow wrinkling. “A letter? She told you to write Jon a letter?”

She couldn’t contain her laughter. “You sound like you’re thinking the same exact thing I did.”

“Well, you are my child and honestly, what good’s a letter going to do? You already Skype and email.”

Evie flopped down on the bed. “It made sense once she explained it.”

“Hmm, if you say so. You going to follow her advice?”

“Yeah,” Evie said slowly. “I believe I am.”

After disconnecting with her mom, Evie showered and dressed for bed, then crawled under the covers with pen and pad. She chewed on the tip of the pen as she stared at the blank, lined paper. What to say? It had been so long since she’d talked to Jon about more than superficial things, she didn’t know where to begin.

This was worse than when they’d first begun dating. At least then they were learning each other. There was always something to say, some question to ask. And of course, when conversation dried up, there was sex. Now Jon was her husband. The man she loved with all her heart. The man she intended to spend the rest of her life with.

And just that simple, Evie knew what to say.