Juliet

She’d been going through the box that had come in the mail from his unit. It had taken several weeks and by this time she was numb to the idea that their only son, indeed their only child was gone.

As expected, there wasn’t much, his broken watch, a class ring, some money. But there in the bottom of the box she could see a photo lying face down. On the back there was one word written: “Blondie”. She flipped it over and there was a photo of a beautiful young woman standing with her son, arms wrapped around each other…”Oh no, Frank come here!”

Frank was on a mission. It would be completely like his boy to fall in love and not say a thing. They had never met her and because she was not family no one would have told her. The thought that she was out there, wondering, with no idea, tore him up. He wrote to his son’s CO, thanking him for the nice condolence letter (“your son was a hero, etc.”),and asked about the girl. He never got an answer until the COs wife found his letter and wrote back explaining that her husband, too, had been killed in action.

He worked it like a detective, chasing leads, but as years went by memories faded, and each time he thought he was close to finding her it was always the same, “Your boy was a great fellow, yeah, I remember a really pretty blonde. But you know they kept to themselves, and he didn’t talk a lot to begin with.”

Eventually the trail went cold, and other things became more immediate and important. His health faded after his wife passed, and he didn’t get out of the house much. He liked to sit on his porch, playing solitaire and watching the cars and his younger neighbors go about their business.

That’s exactly what he was doing when a couple in their 50’s walked up the stairs and introduced themselves. The man said,  “I was with your son in basic and we were in San Francisco together for about a week. Then we got separated”.

Frank smiled, and offered to get them some beers. “Ah no thanks”, they’d been visiting some relatives in town and had a plane to catch.

“Juliet.”

Frank looked at him quizzically.

“Her name, your son’s fiancé, her name was Juliet”.

“Do you…”

“No, and if I don’t, no one else will either, I’m sorry, really I am”.

Frank looked at him…he knew he’d never find Juliet, but it really wasn’t about her anymore. It was about his son, it was a missing piece, something important in his boys life that completed the picture. He looked at the younger man “you have no idea how much this means to me. Thank you so much”.

So they’d been engaged; his son must have loved her very much. He would have been thinking about her before he died, and that would have given him great comfort. And knowing that, gave Frank great comfort as well.

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