The Days of Mail and Roses

By Felicia Ferguson

Author's Note: Usual disclaimers in the first chapter titled, July. Enjoy!

November

As the week progressed, they whittled down the letters and packages from the accident that needed to be processed. Oliver was pleased to note the extreme damage was limited to only a handful of the collection.

He stood at the DLO's credenza and looked over the tray of the remaining options, selecting a water logged internationally-shipped box. "It appears to have been sent from outside the United States."

He felt Shane's curious gaze from her seat behind her computer, and his lips twitched. She never could resist a mystery. It was one of the many character traits that had drawn him to her. He sniffed and pulled his thoughts away from his growing personal interest and back to the work.

Norman peered at the package and shook his head. "There's nothing remaining of the recipient's exact address."

Rita sighed, setting her handful of no zip code letters back in the sorting bin. "Internationally shipped. Imagine what it could be."

Oliver rose on his toes with a nod. "Well, it appears we will need to find out in order to properly process it." He walked toward his tray of letter openers, his gaze locking with Shane's for a brief moment. Curiosity radiated from her, and he almost offered her the option of selecting the letter opener. But again, he squelched the inner prompting. It could be interpreted as a sign of favoritism in the department.

He opted for the brass lion's head opener then returned to the package, this time keeping his gaze fixed on the task at hand. Shane and Rita joined him and Norman around the credenza. Oliver slid the opener through the packing tape, his practiced slice cutting the air with a satisfying rip.

He pulled back the flaps and found a letter atop what appeared to be some sort of journal. Lifting out the envelope he again picked up the opener, but slid it more carefully through the delicate paper. A piece of pink, lined, five by seven paper folded in half slipped out of the confines. He set the opener aside and unfolded the paper.

The faintest whiff of blackberries and roses tinged his inhale, and his gaze darted to its source. Shane leaned toward him, but her eyes were fixed on the paper. Oliver sniffed, this time forcing himself to ignore her perfume, and began to read.

Michael,

I am truly sorry. But I can no longer do this. We are now separated not only by culture but by physical miles and, I fear, will be for some time. I had hoped as you had hoped that this journal would span the distance between us, reminding us each of our past times together and our dreams of a future.

However, the physical distance has proved to be too much for my heart. And it has found another, here in Bosnia. I wish only the best health and happiness to you, and I pray you wish the same for me. Since this journal was your gift to us, I am returning it with my final prayers and blessings on your life. Please do with it what you will, but do not send it back. I need to move on with my life. We both do.

Seeking your understanding and sympathy,

Elena

Oliver's gaze flicked automatically to Shane. How would the plight of these two lovers affect her? Would it tear at her heart as it did his?

Shane looked to him with tear-filled eyes. Heartbreak softened her gaze. He almost reached for her, to place a comforting hand on her shoulder or arm. But he only nodded.

"Well, then," he said, his voice cracking for a moment. "We obviously need to deliver this as soon as possible."

"Is there any other information in the letter about Michael?" Norman asked as his hands fidgeted in worry.

Oliver shook his head. "Perhaps there will be more in the journal itself." He handed the letter to Shane and watched her scan its contents as he lifted the book from the box. "It appears to be intact, with minimal damage. This package must have been at the top of the stack, so there was little absorption of water in the interior."

The leather-bound journal was inscribed with the words Our Story. Oliver carefully opened the cover. The first page was two-columned and titled, Us. Michael Eric Barstow was written at the top of one column and Elena Tea Sorsak at the top of the other. Below each was their birthdate, employment, and the date they met.

Oliver lifted his gaze to Shane. "Well, it appears the package was intended for Major Michael Barstow. Possibly stationed at Fort Carson?"

Shane nodded and quickly wiped her tear-dampened cheeks. "Most likely since it was on a van in Colorado Springs. I'll adapt the search protocol I used to find Captain Clay Marcum. We should have an address by tonight or even tomorrow."

"Perfect. We can deliver it first thing Monday morning. Now, let's turn to the remaining packages and letters."

##

That evening, Oliver sat at his sitting room table with a glass of wine and his favorite book of sonnets, ready for a quiet evening with Mr. Shakespeare. But instead of opening the book, he stared at its gold leaf embossed leather cover. Reading love poetry in the face of Michael and Elena's break-up seemed almost sacrilegious.

He understood the impact of distance on a relationship. Was it braver of Elena to recognize that their love would not survive and end it quickly, or braver of himself to hold onto vows he had made even in the face of silence and distance? What would the last two years have been like if he had done as Elena had done and sent some sort of letter within months instead of years? Or if he had accepted Holly's leaving as her complete separation from the marriage?

But he had done neither of those things. And that was time he could not recover. But, like Elena, he could move forward. It was November and Thanksgiving was approaching. Rita and Norman would likely be celebrating the holiday together as a new couple, which would leave Shane alone. This might be the opportune time for their dinner together. Their meeting would be outside the workplace, thus avoiding any impertinent discussions of their intentions toward each other. It would also be a safe activity through which to further probe their mutual chemistry.

Oliver nodded. Yes. Come Monday morning, he would extend the invitation to her personally. Heart and mind settled, he took his seat, sipped the wine, and after saying a prayer of comfort for Michael and Elena, opened his book and began to read.

From fairest creatures we desire increase …

##

Saturday morning, Shane sat in her pjs on her back porch and sipped her coffee, studying her planters—the rose cutting in particular. According to Ramon's weather report last night, next week it would start turning colder.

The cutting now had several roots and about a foot of new growth, but to make sure it survived the winter, she would have to do something to provide it protection from the cold. But other than taking it inside, she wasn't sure what. She tapped open her browser on her phone and scanned the article she'd previously saved. "Hmmm … nothing about rose cuttings and over-wintering."

She wrinkled her lips and opened another page for a different search. Finding several results, she tapped the first option then grimaced. She'd have to transfer it out of its pretty pot and into something larger for more soil insulation. Studying its blue and yellow container, she sighed. She'd known it would happen at some point given the rose's growth. And it wasn't as if she couldn't plant something else in that pot. But for some reason, removing the cutting and putting more soil between the roots and the pot's edges felt like she was losing … well, something.

Shane shook off the odd sensation. At least she didn't need to go back to the garden store for a larger pot or more soil. She had plenty of both in her shed. It was simply a matter of pulling them out. "You'll be glad you did it," she murmured.

Her phone screen blinked, and the article was replaced with a familiar name and number. "Oh." Shane grimaced again and glanced at her coffee mug. It was only half-empty. She needed at least one full cup in her before these conversations. But it couldn't be helped. Shane tapped the green button. "Hi, Mom."

"Hi, Shaney." Mom barreled past all of the usual conversational pleasantries. "Your aunt wants the whole family together at her house for Thanksgiving this year. I told her you would probably say no even if I asked."

Shane gulped. The whole family? Would that include …?

"Of course, Alex won't be here, so that means it won't be the whole family anyway. So if you say no, it's not a big deal."

Given the lack of steady forward movement with Oliver, maybe a break from each other would be a good thing. Maybe he would miss her enough to finally ask her out? "You know what, Mom? I'd love to come."

"You … would?"

Shane shook her head at Mom's surprise. But then, she was half-surprised at own her response, so she couldn't hold Mom's reaction against her. "Yes, it's been a while since I've been home. And Christmas is always too crazy here at work to take off then. So, yeah, I can get my tickets today and ask off on Monday. I'm sure it'll be fine."

Shane's gaze landed back on the rose cutting. She hadn't grown roses from cuttings, but Mom might have. Maybe Mom could say whether or not the rose actually had to be repotted. Shane's lips parted on a question, then she swallowed it. Mom would want to know where she'd gotten the cutting, which would mean Shane would have to tell her it came from Oliver … when he purchased their old house lot … which he was going to use to build a postal worker retirement home … named after her.

She definitely did not have enough coffee in her for that conversation. Thankfully, Mom dived into a discussion of the likely family dynamics at Thanksgiving with little opportunity for Shane to add her input. A few minutes later, a familiar ding rang from her laptop where it sat on the kitchen counter.

"And then there's Rickie—"

"Mom, I hate to interrupt, but I need to go. One of my work searches just finished, and I need to check the results."

"Oh … well … okay. Send me your flight information when you get it, and I'll pick you up at the airport."

Shane nodded and wound up the call. She loved Mom. She did. But their interactions were best enjoyed in small doses. Come to think of it … Shane's lips pursed. Wonder if I can fly in Thanksgiving Day and then home first thing Saturday?

Uncurling from her chair, she grabbed her mug and headed for a refill before pulling up the search results. She stirred the creamer and vanilla syrup as she scanned the list of names. Major Michael Barstow lived on base at Fort Carson. She flicked a glance toward her phone. Should she call Oliver? It was Saturday, maybe he'd want to try and deliver the package today? But Fort Carson was over an hour away, and it was already ten o'clock.

Shane shook her head. Monday would be soon enough. No sense in ruining Michael's weekend with such a heartbreaking delivery. But then, wouldn't he already have some idea? The package was at least six months old, and if he'd tried to contact Elena during that time, she probably wouldn't have responded. She sighed. She hadn't known many long-distance dating relationships that survived.

Look at me and Steve.

She snorted. But then, there was so much more wrong between her and Steve than just distance. The relationship was bound to end—despite Shane's waiting. And Becky had been right to push it toward that end with the transfer to Denver. Without it, Shane never would have met Oliver.

But that brought up another thought. Unlike Michael and Elena, she and Oliver were close in proximity, working together almost every day in the DLO. But emotionally? She wondered. She'd had such hopes for them growing closer after he'd opened up to her during Holly's return and the revelation of his parentage. But outside of his sharing at Boulder Creek, Shane only sensed a growing distance.

She shook her head and clicked off the search results and over to her preferred travel booking website. Don't read too much into anything. This is Oliver. Just give it time.

Scanning the flight options, she smiled as she found the exact departure and arrival times she'd wanted. Grabbing her wallet, she pulled out her credit card and booked the flights.

##

Major Michael Barstow was a man of indeterminate years with steel gray hair and bearing of a career military man. He gave Oliver and Shane a cool nod that would best the most stoic sphinx. But when Oliver handed him Elena's letter and their journal, he simply … melted.

Oliver's cheeks flinched, and his mouth parted as he collected his words. "I apologize for the invasion of your privacy as we conducted our research to locate you."

Major Barstow waved off the explanation and nodded. "Understandable. And acceptable." He fell silent and swallowed hard. Oliver caught the slight tremble in his fingers as Major Barstow unfolded the letter, and felt his heart clench. The major had loved Elena. Deeply.

Oliver's gaze darted to Shane. Had she seen the tremble? Her tear-filled eyes confirmed she had.

A few minutes later, he refolded the letter and sat staring at the journal.

"We are so very sorry, Major." Tears clogged Shane's voice. She clasped her hands in her lap as if willing them to remain still.

Oliver's eyes moved to hers. Did she want to reach for him? Seek his comfort in the face of Major Barstow's obvious heartbreak? The idea curled in Oliver's heart. What would it feel like to be free to readily comfort her and she him?

Major Barstow's voice rasped between them, jerking Oliver from his contemplation. "I was the Army attaché at the US Embassy in Sarajevo for a two-year term. Elena was a translator there." He smoothed his hand over the leather, covering the Our Story embossed in its front. "We fell in love. When my term was up, I was transferred here to Fort Carson to train the troops for service over in eastern Europe."

"She didn't want to come back with you?" Shane's tentative question echoed Oliver's silent one.

Major Barstow gave a quick pain-filled shake of his head. "I wanted to get her a green card—she was eligible due to her years of service at the embassy. But she said she couldn't leave her father. He was sick. Her mother was gone, and her brother had been killed in the Bosnian war."

His gaze returned to the journal and finally he opened the cover, studying the first page of personal information. "We decided to keep this journal and mail it back and forth until I could return to the embassy as the attaché. We did this for almost two years. I had just put in for a transfer back when Elena cut off all communication.

"I checked with my contacts at the embassy and found out she was still working there. So I knew she was at least safe. As the months wore on, I figured she'd found someone else and just didn't know how to tell me. As weird as it sounds, I was actually glad she hadn't sent the journal back. It was like she still had some part of me with her. But now I know she didn't and doesn't."

Oliver felt Shane's glance. But he couldn't meet her gaze. Not and have any possibility of maintaining his own composure in the face of the major's pain.

Major Barstow traced the edges of the pages then turned to the end and read Elena's final entry in silence. "You know, I can still hear her voice as I read this. It was beautiful, mesmerizing. Part of me sometimes wondered if that was the secret to her success at getting contacts to trust her."

Clearing his throat, he rose and escorted them out of his office and toward the main exit. "As hard as this letter is to receive, I am glad to have the closure. Thank you, both." He returned to his office and quietly closed the door.

Oliver nodded once then turned, leaving Major Barstow to grieve the loss of Elena's heart. He watched as Shane swiped tears from her cheeks. Helpless to aid Major Barstow, perhaps he could at least ease Shane's heartache by offering something positive for her to ponder. Satisfaction slipped over him, and Oliver set his thoughts to locating the perfect words for his invitation to Thanksgiving dinner.

##

Shane darted quick glances toward Oliver as they walked in silence toward his car. When they reached it and climbed in, she sighed. "Well, as hard as that package was to deliver, I'm glad he has closure for the relationship."

"Yes, so am I." He paused and flicked an uncertain glance toward her as he buckled his seatbelt.

Shane caught his eyes, and her brow wrinkled. He looked nervous. But why? Hoping to soothe his nerves, she flashed a bright, supportive smile and decided to change the topic. "Oliver, Mom asked me to come home this year for Thanksgiving. Would it be all right if I took a few days off?"

Oliver's lips turned down. "Ah … yes … of course."

Was he disappointed she wouldn't be here? Hope bubbled in her heart. "You know, I-I don't have to go. She'll understand if I need to be here." She paused, allowing the hope to grow just bit more. "… do you … need me here?"

Oliver straightened in his seat and clutched the steering wheel with a forced confidence. "No, no. Go." He took in a quick, fortifying breath and nodded once. "Enjoy time with your family." With a brief flicker of his lips, he started the engine and headed back to Denver and the DLO.

Shane's heart clenched as she studied him out of the corner of her eye. His words sounded right, but she couldn't shake the sensation she'd just misstepped. As the miles passed, she had the oddest feeling that he was once again creeping back behind an invisible wall. But she had absolutely no clue why.

##

Thanksgiving Day had come, and Shane still had no idea how she had erred in their discussion of their holiday plans. As she left the concourse at Reagan International, her thoughts returned to Denver and Oliver. What was he doing for the holiday? Had he reached out to Joe to connect for their own celebration? Her heart warmed at the thought. Maybe one day, the three of them—

A car horn honked, yanking her from her dreams. Shane scanned the collection of cars in the five-minute waiting area, then waved to Mom. She stowed her bag in the back seat and settled in the front passenger seat.

Mom gave her a long once-over then asked, "Good flight?"

"And Happy Thanksgiving to you, too, Mom." Shane rolled her eyes, but softened her words with a slight wry smile.

"Oh, uh, yes, Happy … Thanksgiving." Mom glanced in her rearview mirror and then over her shoulder. "I can't believe how many people actually fly on this day. Traffic getting here was a nightmare. We're going straight to your aunt's house since your flight was delayed."

Shane swallowed her correction of the flight's surprisingly prompt arrival and held all her comments until Mom turned onto the parkway and headed to Arlington.

"So might as well get it started now …"

Shane took in a deep breath and willed patience into every fiber in her being. But if it only reached her mouth, she'd still be thrilled.

"Are you seeing anyone out there?"

Yes. That will definitely be a topic of discussion in the family. "Ah, no." Shane bit her lip. But if that was her only answer, Aunt Doris would start listing all of the eligible bachelors in her independent living facility. "Well … maybe?"

"Maybe?" Mom parroted as she cast a doubtful glance toward her. "You either are or you aren't."

"It's complicated." Shane wrestled for the right words to describe her … whatever it was … with Oliver.

"Is he married?"

"No, well, at least not now." She gave Mom a brief overview of Oliver and Holly and how Holly had left him at the Pony Express exhibit. As Mom mulled over the explanation, Shane watched the scenery race by, allowing her thoughts to return to Denver and the DLO.

"But he's your boss …"

Shane sighed. Of course, out of all of what I said, that's the detail Mom would pick out. "Yes. But really, we're all more like colleagues now. Oliver just happens to have the highest pay grade in the department."

Mom shrugged. "All right, so being your boss does complicate things. What else?"

Shane glanced over. How much detail should she share? Mom already sounded less than impressed—although that was fairly typical of most of her responses. But she was Mom. And Shane really could use a woman's perspective. "Well, I'm definitely interested in him. But I'm not so sure if it's mutual."

He bought you a porch swing, made you a rose cutting from your childhood home, and even bought your house lot. What else do you need to prove his interest? Shane blinked as Mom's voice laced the comment in her head. Yes, it was a very good thing she was only in town for two days.

Mom flicked a quick glance from the road to Shane, her eyes softening with motherly concern. "Give it time. If it's meant to be, it'll happen."

Shane nodded as the paraphrase of her advice to Rita slipped over her.

"But at least he's not married—or out of the country three weeks out of the month."

A rueful chuckle slipped between Shane's lips. "Yes. There is that." After a moment, she reached over and squeezed Mom's arm. "Thanks, Mom."

##

When Shane had landed back in Denver, she'd cringed at the light snow flurries that swirled in the air. She hadn't checked the weather before she'd left for D.C. and had worried about her rose cutting. As she stood on her back porch, shivering and staring at her plant, she realized she was right to have worried. A bare stick jutted out of the soil surrounded by a blanket of curled brown leaves.

"Oh no." Tears blurred her vision. Roses went dormant in the winter, but they didn't usually lose all their leaves in the process. At least not the planted ones. After all her care and attention, had one slip killed it?

Brushing the tears from her cheeks, she darted back into the house and grabbed her phone. She pulled up the browser and the article she'd been referencing. "Please let it be okay." As her eyes found the frequently asked questions, relief melted through her. Rooted cuttings would lose their leaves, but would still be fine as long as they were overwintered in shelter—especially if they were in a climate zone that was colder than their original home.

Shane set down the phone and headed back out to the porch. Reluctant to bring the plant inside the house at this late date and risk a huge shock to its system, she scanned her backyard. The article said it wouldn't need much light until spring, so the best bet would be her storage shed.

She hurried it over to the shed and found it a place in the middle then tucked a few bags of potting soil around it for more insulation. Kissing her fingers, she tapped the top of the stem, and headed back to the house to unpack, hoping there was still a chance to save it.