Part One
19th August 1945
John sighed heavily into his cup of coffee as he looked out the kitchen window to see it raining, again.
He was meant to finish painting the window frames to match the rest of the building, a nice light blue his Mom had helped him pick out, to match the neighbours' bright colours and cover the weathered previous white.
He had barely managed to go to the hardware store to get the paint, tired out of his mind from not sleeping and shaking despite the lack of hot metal flying at him. It'd be a shame to waste the paint having managed to get it, so he had to do it now.
Since it was raining, he'd have to do it another day or the paint wouldn't stick, so John moved on to the next thing on the list.
Said list was underneath a pile of papers and letters on John's kitchen table, displacing everything to find it, he once again saw the three letters from Buck he didn't reply to. He pulled out the list and slapped it down over the other papers but still a corner of an opened envelope poked out- John Egan, Buck's unmistakable handwriting.
There was also a bundle of letters he had written but never sent. Addressed to Gale but with no stamp, edges worn from being carried in a chest pocket for months or years. He had put them on the table when he moved in and not moved them since.
Scrub the kitchen floor- first objective of the day. John started immediately after finishing his coffee, and thankfully it wasn't such a hard task that he could afford to zone out somewhat.
The first of Gale's letters was simply telling John he had arrived home in Wyoming safe and sound, if a bit disgruntled at the long train journey. He also described how jarring it was to be back, in Marge's arms, finally truly safe but still haunted. "John, you may understand how strange it feels, to be back home but not fit how you used to. I am never going to be the man I was meant to be before the war."
John had barely settled back into his parent's home when it had arrived, only a week later followed by the second. He read it the morning before going to look at properties to buy with his air force checks.
"Marge isn't the same either, even though she tries to be. She puts up a facade, a wall, and it hurts that she feels she needs to. I can see she isn't as happy as she hoped she'd be." Gale wrote a few letters uncharacteristically shaky here and there, like he was upset whilst writing it. The thought made John sad, and he had thought about it until the next letter came, three weeks later.
The third, sent to his parents address still because he hadn't set up forwarding yet, held none of the shaky emotion of the one before. John could imagine Gale taking his time with it, drafting what he needed to say to his friend, his previous best man to be, looping cursive carefully written.
"John, I am writing this because I feel I cannot hold this in longer and you need to know, Marge and I have decided to split. I have no desire to marry her any longer. As sweet as she is, she is not the one for me. And we both know that. It is a mutual decision, amicable- she has her lover, and I am still stuck in the war."
John rinsed off the soap and grime with a bucket of clean water, the tiles were a mix of blue shades to match the old cabinets he had ripped out, he'd have to take a toothbrush to the grout next. He wiped the whole floor with a tea towel, too lazy to find a mop, noting that the fabric came up grey by the end.
He had decided on a small farm property, not because he had dreams of farming in the future but more because he wanted some space between himself and his neighbours. It seemed to work, although his dirt track drive was tiny in comparison to most farms. The poor house was falling apart, the stables at the north end were in better condition, but John knew he could repair it.
