Ben’s the kind of guy who’s so good looking other women did a double take when they saw him with me. You didn’t need a Harvard degree to know what they’re thinking.  Okay, so I don’t like wearing make-up. I have pale skin, limp mousy hair, thin lips that could use some collagen (not that I ever would) and fat ankles. But I do have my mother’s flashing green eyes and a killer smile. Not to mention great tits.

My husband used to call me beautiful. That may or may not be true since Ben turned out to be the biggest liar in Boston and probably the entire western hemisphere.

 I know, I should have seen it coming. The two of them signing up for the Boston marathon. The training runs five days a week. Ben returning to our apartment with a different kind of sweat. But, I was distracted by morning sickness and house training our new puppy. How was I to know I should have been house training Ben?

For someone with a genius level IQ, I was such an idiot. Stacey was the first friend I’d shared my pregnancy news with the week before. I worked as an analytical chemist in research and development at a multi-national pharmaceutical company.  Stacey had wrapped her perfectly toned arms around me and said, “That’s wonderful. I thought you were just gaining more weight. Does this mean you’ll be stopping work?” Then, without missing a beat, “Do you think Crossly will promote me to your job?”

But no warning bells went off. “I’m barely six weeks along. I mean, my mother doesn’t even know yet.” I felt queasy from the sulfur dioxide in the lab’s petrie dish, then a tsunami of nausea washed over me. Stacey’s hollow happiness about my pregnancy didn’t help the doubts about my job. I’d liked being a chemist at first. It’s the only job I’ve ever had. I mean a real job. I’d worked summers at a chowder joint in P-town. I knew my future, as a chemist was limited without a graduate degree, so I’d hunkered down in the PhD. program at Harvard while slaving over test tubes at my job.

 In the middle of writing my thesis boredom set in. I begun experimenting with making chocolate and a new passion emerged. To me it was the perfect marriage of art and science. Not to mention free, yummy samples. I’d contemplated chucking my job and Harvard for a new career as a chocolatier, but Ben had been less than enthusiastic -- something about it being “a complete waste of your brain, babe.”

       Ben left our apartment in a flurry of garment bags with Stacey in tow before the guests arrived for my surprise birthday party. He even took our puppy, Truffles. I made excuses to the guests, plastered on a smile and ate more than my share of birthday cake. Later that evening, after the guests and caterers left, I stabbed every helium balloon and crumbled to the floor in a bleeding mess of spasms. Happy birthday to me. Yup, I’d lost everything I loved in one day.

A few days later, I dragged myself to work, determined to square off with Stacey. She looked up from her desk and squealed my name like the cheerleader she used to be. “Hi, Tara! Welcome back.” She lowered her voice and bit her lip. “We should talk. Can I take you out for lunch?”

Before I could do something illegal, like incinerating her bleached blonde hair in a Bunsen burner or tossing acid in her face, I choose the sensible route. “Okay, we can have lunch.”

Across the booth in the diner, I examined her analytically for the first time. She turned heads in a cheap, obvious, fake tan, plastic boobs, hooker-heeled sort of way. I couldn’t understand what Ben saw in her. She lowered her spidery eyelashes and in a whiny baby voice said, “I’m so sorry about everything. You know Ben and I never meant to hurt you.”

I squeezed a squiggle of mustard onto my hot dog and enjoyed watching her squirm. She spewed out a barrage of apologies but none entered my heart. It was like having a veil torn down on our Jekyll and Hyde friendship.  The truth was we’d never been more than co-workers who enjoyed sharing lunches, shopping and the occasional cocktail.  We might not have been BFFs since the sandbox, but when I invited her to my wedding, I didn’t expect her to fall for the groom.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Stacey said.

I considered stealing a fry from her untouched meal. For me, thinking and eating went together like ketchup on fries, and no tragedy warranted wasting food.

Stacey blithely continued, “I feel awful about you losing your baby, but maybe it’s for the best.”

Something snapped in that moment and it wasn’t my overstretched waistband. I threw my fork down (narrowly missing her hand) and spat out, “You cheap, conniving bitch. You can have my job and that asshole Ben. You deserve each other.” 

      I had plans and I can tell you that they had nothing to do with laboratory spectrofluorophotometers. That was three months, two weeks and five days ago. Not that I’m counting and no, time does not heal all wounds. At least not yet. And Ben was wrong. Chocolate, it turns out, is the perfect brain food.

#

       Who would have guessed that my most precious belonging would be a piece of paper; a piece of paper folded and unfolded until the edges loosen like window shutters off their hinges.

I twist my wedding band around and around my finger. The three diamonds in a row glint in the sunlight. Matt said they symbolize our past, present and future but I feel cheated by the third stone. Still, I can’t bring myself to remove the ring any more than I can stop reading his words. It’s all I have left of him. I pick apart the sentences like a crazed archeologist hoping for clues, digging for treasure. By stringing up the words, by excavating between the lines, I claw for another piece of him.

From: Matthew Rosa

To: Kate Rosa

Subject: 4 more

March 21, 2009.

Darling Kate,

It’s the first day of spring. Darn, it’s getting hot here. It’s nothing like New Jersey. Thanks for the photos. You look great. Josh looks like he’s had another growth spurt. I hardly recognize him. The only thing that gets me through the days and nights in this hell on earth is you and Josh. Every day, I wake up not knowing if this is the day I die. Another day in Baghdad. The rat-ta-tat of gunfire. Rocket attacks. Car bombs. Screams in Arabic. In a way I’m glad I don’t understand what they’re saying. We lost 4 more soldiers by sniper fire today. I feel helpless and mad as heck. See, I’m not cursing ;-)

xo,

Matt

From: Matthew Rosa

To: Kate Rosa

Subject: Foot cream

March 25, 2009

Kate,

Can you pls. send more of that peppermint foot cream?  The weight of foot patrol gear in this heat is murder on my feet. Remember how I’d bitch if the air conditioning wasn’t at full blast? I promise when I get back you can have it at any temperature you want. There’s no getting used to this hellish heat with no air conditioning. It must have been 120 today and the showers were a spotty dribble and the port-a-potties at full stench. I’m trying my best to be strong for my guys and for you. But every day the war chips away another piece of me.

 Love, Matt

From: Matthew Rosa

To: Kate Rosa

Subject: Prayers needed

March 26, 2009.

Kate, my love…

The last few days have been quiet; I alternate between boredom (Thank God for my iPod) and fear. There is no feeling safe here. At any minute all hell can break out, sniper fire, an IED (improvised explosive device)... I used to feel good about being in uniform, seeing the smiling faces of the Iraqi kids. But, I don’t anymore. These same smiling kids will lob grenades at us for a handful of cash. Pray for me, and all the soldiers that are killed or wounded every day.

xox, Matt

On Matt's last visit home, his parents drove us to the airport. I have a photograph taken by his father (the world’s worst photographer). The photo is poorly framed at a weird angle and our feet are chopped off, but it’s the last photo taken of the three of us. Matt is in the middle in army fatigues, his hulking arms around Josh and me. He dangles his boarding pass from his hand. His wedding band gleams in the bright light. He’s smiling a closed-mouthed smile. His dark eyes (with his beautiful impossibly long eyelashes) look straight into the camera, unsmiling, all knowing. Josh is all teeth, grinning wide, but his eyes look the same as his dad’s. He’s proudly wearing Matt’s cap. It’s much too big on him but it’ll fit perfectly one day. I’m nestled under Matt’s arm. I look tiny compared to  his 6’3”, buff 28-year-old body. My arms are crossed in front of me, in a vain attempt at protecting.  Not all armor is bulletproof.  I wear a frozen ricktus grin that fools no one. My wet eyes hide behind my over-sized sunglasses. It is the first time I cry at the airport. Something feels different this time. I don't want to know what.

At the last moment, he whispers in my ear, “Don’t open this unless something happens to me.” Before I could say anything he kisses me on my open mouth. I could feel him slip something into the pocket of my jacket. I pretend not to notice even after Josh and I return home. Every time I wear that jacket, I slip my hand into the pocket and finger the corners of an envelope. It stays there, along with a couple coins, a half-used tin of mints and a feather Josh found in the park. It sits in my pocket day after day, week after week. An angel of death I can keep at bay, if it stays unopened.

From: Matthew Rosa

To: Kate Rosa

Subject: Yankees

March 28

Kate, you are uppermost on my mind. I try to think of you and Josh, our family, our friends, to stay sane. I have that photo of us at the airport as my screen saver. 62 more days and I’ll be in your arms again. Back where I belong. All in all it was an okay day; no one got hurt, no suicide bombers. I got to shoot a few rounds. Found some IED making materials, a sniper rifle and artillery rounds. I’m going to make you so happy when I get back. I know we didn’t always get along. I can be so impatient but I’ll promise to be the best husband and father ever. How about we have a special 4^th of July party we have a special party and celebrate my last deployment? And tell Josh we can go to the Yankees opening game.

Love, love, love, your Matt

From: Matthew Rosa

To: Kate Rosa

Subject: 2 more

April 1 (April Fool’s Day, yeah right)

Kate,

Things are unreal, surreal, you could say. I can’t sleep more than an hour or two. I’m beyond exhausted. I know I might need some counseling when I get back. It’s like sitting on the razor’s edge of sanity. Either way you get cut. We lost 2 men today. I didn’t know them well, but I feel like I’ve lost blood brothers. We used to play jokes on one of them, writing silly things on the inside of the port-o-potty cuz he’d sit there forever. Now he’s gone. For the grace of God, it could have been me. Why not me?

Your loving Matt

From: Matthew Rosa        

To: Kate Rosa

Subject:                                            

April 5

Kate,

All I can say is WTF! (Sorry for swearing). I’m not going to get into what happened today. It’s too horrific and depressing. My only goal is to get back to you alive. I’m doing my job; best I can, but maybe not good enough. I feel like it’s all for nothing. Morale is low all around. Pray for all of us.

Matt

         The military always have personnel arrive at your doorstep with bad news. A solid pair of men, literal pillars of strength. Bad news used to arrive by telegram, but seeing men in uniform hand you an envelope, makes it more real. They don’t actually need to say anything. One glance at them darkening your doorway is enough. The spouse’s or family’s response is immediate: Crying, screaming or quiet shock. The emotions in free fall or lock down. Nothing in between.

         I know the messengers of death arrive before they press the doorbell. A shiver travels to the small of my back and I instinctively glance out the window at the magnolia tree Matt had planted. It was thoughtful of them to arrive before lunchtime so I wouldn’t need to puke up lunch. It gave me time to compose myself before picking Josh up from school. There were errands to run, no time to cry. Josh needed new soccer shoes, I needed to make cupcakes for a friend’s baby shower, return library books, and pick up milk. No time to cry; enjoy the silence before the symphony of cell phones would begin calling me. Before I need to wear black. Before I change my identity from wife to widow. There would be plenty of time for all that.

         I sit down at my kitchen table wearing The Jacket. A cold cup of coffee sits in front of me. I resist the urge to top it up with brandy and sit stone still. Despite the 70-degree warmth, my teeth chatter, my hands burrowed deep into the pockets. Coins jingle in my left hand. My sweaty palmed right hand touches Matt's ‘Just in case’ letter. Leave it to him, Mr. Practical, to write one. He couldn’t even remember my birthday. But every record, account, document were filed in alphabetical order in a metal filing cabinet. I never had to worry whether the insurance on our cars were up to date or when the furnace needed cleaning.

         The envelope grows soft and soggy. The corners curl. I shoo away the idea of baking cupcakes. I could buy them, thereby stealing one last hour to be alone with Matt before all hell broke loose. My body shivers hot and cold. The bright red clock on the wall, the one Matt bought at a flea market, ticked away the seconds. 12:04, 15 seconds, 16 seconds, 17 seconds, 18 seconds. I’d never noticed how loud the tick-tocking was. Matt's voice in my head said, “Do it, it’s okay.”

         I squeezed my eyes tight and pulled out the ordinary white envelope. It was sealed shut. I turn it over and my heart leaps at the sight of my name written in Matt’s messy scrawl. I grab a bread knife and slice open the top. All four corners sag in dog-eared sadness. For a moment, I wish it was thicker, a War and Peace of letters, something long enough to read for the rest of my life. One thin sheet of paper pokes out. Only half the sheet has words on it. I unfold the paper, flip it over, flip it back and begin to read. It has no date.

         My darling Kate,

If you’re reading this, you already know the news. I’m so sorry. I made you and Josh so many promises I won’t be able to fulfill. I know it’s a shock and the most awful thing that’s ever happened to you. But, you will survive. You have to. For Josh and for me. You are as beautiful as you are strong and I know you’ll do a great job raising Josh.

You know I’m not big on sappy romantic crap, but I wanted to give you this last “Valentine” to tell you…you were my first and only love, and I’ll continue to love and watch over you from Heaven. For all the times I didn’t appreciate you and tell you what you wanted to hear, I’m telling you now that…I love you. I’ve always loved you, from the first time we met at the beach. I love everything about you. You’re not just beautiful inside and out but kind, caring, generous, an awesome cook, and best mom in the world. Never forget that. I love you 4 ever.

Your loving Matt.