Dearest Milton James by N.R. Walker
Chapter Six
I clappedmy hands together and gasped. “For real?”
He nodded.
“And I thought eating the butthole of a cat cake was going to be the highlight of my day.”
Julian snorted.
“Sorry.”
“I thought the guy wearing a sequin dress on the bus was the highlight of your day.”
“That was the weirdest. Though honestly, given I still have a return trip to make yet today, that door is still open. The afternoon bus adventures to home are usually the best for weird. I’ll let you know tomorrow how it went.”
Julian smiled warmly. He met my eyes and didn’t look away for a few beats too long.
It did twirly things to my stomach.
“So how do we do this?” I asked before I let my nerves get the better of me. “Because my job list is usually chockers, as I’m sure you know. But I can try to fit it in.”
Julian shifted in his seat, looking slightly uncomfortable. “I know you’re busy. I am too. I have reports and budgets to get through. But I thought between the two of us . . .”
The two of us. Working together. Me and Mr Sexy.
He chewed on the inside of his lip, his brows furrowed. “How are you at keeping secrets?”
I sat forward, eyes wide, excited. “Absolutely terrible. Do not tell me anything.”
Julian laughed. “I kinda figured that’d be the case.”
Oh. “Is that . . . um, what?”
He smirked at me. “Malachi, in the short time I’ve known you, you’ve told me twice that you are honest to a fault, and you’ve displayed, on several occasions, the ability of spectacular word verbiage.”
“Oh.” I relaxed. “That’s all true.”
Julian put his hand on the stack of Dear Milton James letters. “Now, about these. I’m fine with the others knowing.” He gave a pointed glance to the door. “So you don’t have to lie about it. Though I’d rather no one else get involved. These letters are quite personal and—” He sighed. “It would feel like a violation, of sorts. If we can even find Mr James or the man who sent the letters, which is unlikely. I know that sounds a little weird, but . . .”
“But the nature of the letters calls for discretion,” I offered.
Julian nodded slowly. “Yes. If we do find the sender or recipient, I’d like to be able to reassure them that no one else read the letters.”
I found myself smiling at him. “That’s very decent of you.”
He smiled right back and did that staring thing that pinned me to my seat. Christ, was it hot in here all of a sudden?
“The thing is,” Julian added, his voice low, “I don’t know if these letters should leave this office. Or the premises, at least. Should they be lost or damaged outside of this building. They can’t be replaced.”
It was my turn to nod. “Okay. So how do we . . . ?”
“You can read them in here.” His tone was his boss voice, deeper and final. My inner twink-who-wants-a-daddy sat up and took notice.
“Okay. Sure.”
I would have agreed to him suggesting anything when he used that voice.
“Or at your desk, if you’d prefer.” His voice was softer, relenting.
“Oh no, in here’s fine.”
His lips twitched. “Did you want to start today?”
“Yes.” I might have answered a little too quickly. “Sounds great.”
“You’ll need to read them first, obviously.”
“Then that’s what I’ll start on.”
His phone rang, which made me glance at the clock. It was now after nine and I was supposed to be out on the floor. I stood up. “Shit. I mean, oops. I’m late.” I gestured to his phone as I walked backwards to the door. “I’ll let you get that and I’ll just . . . I’ll be back later. To read the letters. I guess. If that’s what we’re doing.” His phone kept ringing and I stupidly kept talking. I pretended to zip my mouth and he was smiling at me by the time I forced myself out the door.
When I pulled the door closed, I leaned against it and sighed.
Cherry was at her desk and she glanced up. “Everything okay?”
I nodded quickly. “Yep. Super. Didn’t get fired, so you know, yay, bonus.”
She gave a sly smirk and rolled her eyes, as though me thinking Julian would ever fire me was ridiculous. But she never asked for any more details and I was grateful. Although Julian didn’t want me to lie about what we had planned, he also didn’t want it made public. Not that I could have told anyone anyway, because once I started my job list, I never even looked up until Cherry told me it was lunchtime.
The good news was that I put a pretty big dent in my work, and that would give me some time to read those letters.
And I was excited to read them. Intrigued, hella-curious, even a little nervous.
It wasn’t too unusual for some of us to be milling around during our lunch break. Sometimes we sat in the breakroom, but sometimes we sat at our desks and finished off some paperwork or whatever needed doing.
So I ate my lunch real quick, then knocked on Julian’s door. “Hey,” I said, poking my head in.
He looked from his computer screen to me and smiled, pushing his keyboard away and giving me his undivided attention. So, that was hot. “Come in,” he replied in that deep, sexy voice of his.
“Is now a good time for me to . . . ?”
“Yes, sure. Take a seat.”
“Did you have your lunch yet?” I asked, sitting across from him.
Julian smiled, his eyes an imploring brown. Christ, they could burn holes into me and I wouldn’t even be mad about it. I was two seconds away from asking him to do exactly that—asking him to do something, anything, to me—when he spoke. “Not yet.”
The way he looked at me, the way his deep voice rattled right through me, it took me a second to gather my thoughts. “Is it . . . is it okay if I read through those letters now? Do you mind? Or would you rather I sit at my desk, because that’s—”
“It’s fine, Malachi.” He stood up and it took all of my self-control to keep eye contact and not look down at his crotch. I really wanted to, but I was a very good boy and managed not to ogle what God gave him.
“I’ll just go have my lunch and give you a few minutes to get reading.” He picked up the pile of letters, still bound in twine, and placed them before me on his desk. “There’s a few to get through, but they’re in chronological order which makes it easier to follow.”
I nodded, now staring at the pile of mail. Julian left me to it and I plucked at the twine, pulling the bow undone. I took the first envelope and opened it. It was old, the paper dusty and delicate. I took a second to appreciate the handwriting. It was old-school cursive, in fancy ink, like calligraphy. No computer-generated font could replicate this. It was beautiful.
I took a deep breath and began to read.
Dearest Milton James,
I write this knowing it will never find you, and in many ways it’s for the best. This way, I can write all the things I was too afraid to speak, too afraid to even admit to myself.
You’ll be leaving soon. Your birthdate sealed it for you. When they called the number twenty-two, my heart broke. I’ve never hated a number more.
Twenty-two. Why couldn’t you have been born on the twenty-first or the twenty-third? Why was it that day?
Why was it you that got called and not me?
I’d send a thousand men in your place.
We have three weeks before you leave for Duntroon and it’s not long enough.
I want to tell you what’s in my heart. I want to say so much. We steal a brush of hands or a timid smile. You put your arm around my shoulder as a friend or brother might, but your touch lingers. It sears me through my shirt. Sometimes when we’re alone I see the spark of want in your eyes and I dare to hope you will act upon it.
Is it wrong that I should feel this way?
Is it wrong that I daydream of you?
Is it wrong for me to want you as I should want a woman?
If it is wrong, Milton James, I’m not certain I want to be right.
I’ll end this now, though I’ve said too much.
Signed, my love.
Oh my god.
These were forbidden love letters. Between two men in a time when such things were most certainly not allowed. It was postmarked 1972.
Oh hell . . . Duntroon. Milton James was going to Duntroon in 1972 . . . He was being sent off to the Vietnam War. His birthday was the twenty-second. He was conscripted into the war.
My heart felt all kinds of heavy. I felt a little ill.
I opened the next letter.
Dearest Milton James,
Today was the best and worst day of my life. We swam in the river, as we’ve done a hundred times, just you and me. The sun glistened on your skin, water from your hair ran rivulets down your torso, you smiled as you laughed.
You swam to me in the water, smile wide. We wrestled like we’d done so many times before, only this time it was different.
You stopped and I stopped, our hands on each other, our bodies close.
There was fear in your eyes, hidden in the blue. I’m sure you saw the same in mine. But then, with more courage than I could ever muster, you kissed me quick.
Oh, I was so surprised, you misread my shock for horror. You tried to back away but I managed to hold you fast.
I asked you to do it again.
And you did. Warm lips in cool water, the sun burning our skin as my world stopped turning. Your hands, your mouth.
It was the best moment of my life. Everything I’d questioned about myself, about my life, was answered.
We broke apart, smiling, scared.
You didn’t want to leave without doing that, you’d said. Reminding me you were leaving in two weeks. You didn’t have a choice. You’d be gone and we might not ever see each other again.
And so the best moment of my life became my worst.
We walked home without another word spoken between us, even though there was so much to be said.
Signed, my love.
I quickly opened the next letter as carefully as I could.
Dearest Milton James,
I need you to know that kissing you was the best moment of my life. In my last letter I said that day was also the worst day, but now, with the gift of hindsight, I know the truth.
There’ll never be another day like it.
I may never have another moment like it.
I can tell you, anonymous Milton James, that kissing another man settled something in me. Something frightening, something I’d feared for a long time. My father would dare beat it out of me if he ever knew.
No one can ever know.
I tried to hide my smile and play it cool so my cousin wouldn’t suspect us when you pulled up in your dad’s Marquis. You looked so handsome with your shirtsleeves rolled up and the windows down. And I imagined we were a world away as we drove out past Acacia Road to that private swimming hole. Patsy Cline on the radio, the summer coming to an end.
We had so much more privacy at the river than we ever did at the town pool.
We kissed until the sun disappeared through the trees. Nervous and fumbling and laughing, touching and tasting. And when you dropped me home, I was one hundred per cent in love with you.
Signed, all my love.
Oh god. My heart was about to burst.
I hadn’t even noticed Julian come back in, but he was sitting in his seat watching me read.
“You need to tell me right now if he dies,” I demanded. “I won’t be able to—”
Julian shook his head and gave me a gentle smile. “He doesn’t die.”
“But he goes off to war?” I was holding the letter a little too tight. “I don’t even think I can handle that.”
“Just keep reading.”
“Julian, I can’t deal with angst and sadness. It kills me. I’m not kidding. I totally cry during pet insurance ads on TV.”
He chuckled.
“I mean it. I might look a little feisty on the outside, but I am complete marshmallow on the inside.”
He seemed to find that amusing. “Feisty marshmallow. Got it.”
I put the letter down. “I’m not a pretty crier, I’ll have you know. I’d like to think I could weep poetically, but no, it’s more of a snot-sobbing, ugly cry. Just so you know.”
He laughed again but took pity on me. “Shame. Weeping poetically sounds delightful. But perhaps we should leave the rest of the letters for later.”
“So he does go off to war and I’m going to blubber like Judy Blume.”
“Like who?”
“I don’t know. My mum says that.” I shrugged and glanced at his clock. Shoot. “God, look at the time.” I neatly folded the letters and placed them in their envelopes, keeping the read letters aside and the still-unread letters in their pile. I stood up and made an apologetic face. “Yes, to leaving the letters for later, that is.” I got to the door. “But just so you know, if he goes to war and dies, I’ll be an emotional wreck for the foreseeable future, possibly forever. You should prepare yourself.”
Julian was smiling at me as if I was the cutest thing he’d ever seen. It did very strange swoopy things to my belly, and for some strange reason, my cheeks burned hot. “Later.”
I went back to work, tackling the rest of my list of lost mail to sort. There were packages of clothes, food, camping gear, a horse bridle, two very large tubes of lube and some sex toys, letters, and a lot of junk mail.
It was never boring, that was for sure.
I was making myself a pretty good success rate too, which I was proud of. My job was kinda menial in the scheme of things, but I was making a difference to some people, no matter how small, and that felt good.
I actually tested myself to see how much I could get done, how many letters and parcels I could successfully redirect, so it was so easy to lose track of time. Five o’clock came around so fast, I thought the time was wrong, and I had to run to grab my stuff so I could hurry for the bus.
I logged out of my computer, grabbed my things, and spun around only to run right into Julian.
“Oh,” I said, trying not to paw him like I wanted to. I mean, I did run into him, like actually physically collided and my hands went to his chest. Which felt surprisingly hard and bulkier than I’d thought. His taupe shirt was soft, almost silk-like, and I’m telling you right now, that combination—hard muscle under silk—well, that is hotter than hell. But yes, getting back to me not pawing at him like I wanted to . . .
I took a step back and his hands went to my shoulders to steady me. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice deep and quiet. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“That’s okay, my fault. I wasn’t looking.” I glanced around for the time but couldn’t find a clock. “I’m going to miss my bus.”
“I can drive you,” he said, smoother than his goddamned shirt. “Did you want to finish reading those letters?”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
“Here?” The night shift was coming in. We’d be in their way, and wouldn’t they think it was weird that we didn’t leave as soon as we clocked off?
Julian’s gaze met mine. Something honest and intense flickered in those brown-and-amber eyes. “Well, we’re not supposed to take any mail from the premises, and me asking you to my place would seem too straightforward and probably inappropriate, so yes. Here.” He turned back to his office door. “No one uses my office. I know the night crew. They won’t mind if we’re here for a bit.”
I hadn’t really processed anything he said after asking me back to his place and ashamedly, with that deep voice and those eyes in that handsome face, I would have agreed to whatever he suggested.
Dazed and with a belly full of butterflies, I nodded. “Yes.”