She didn't need to look at the addresses; she knew from the shape of the envelope that all three were from Stan. She hugged them to her breast as though she were protecting gold nuggets and ran upstairs. It seemed to take an eternity to open the door, but then the refreshing wave of coolness rushed out of the apartment and engulfed her. Kicking the door shut behind her, Grace headed for the bedroom, tossing her purse on the couch as she passed. Then, unmindful of her dress, she threw herself across the bed and picked up the first letter. With impatient fingers she ripped open the first envelope and read:

Darling,

Today we returned from patrol and now I have three days to do nothing but think of you. (And do all the paper work that has accumulated, and sit in on a court martial of a kid in the 101st who was caught smoking pot on guard duty, and lecture the men on keeping their weapons clean, and make sure none of my men get caught in off-limits places, and… so on.) But mainly, through it all, I'll think of you.

It was the oddest thing. Last night I called a halt to our activities and we settled down for the evening on the banks of the Mekong. It was horribly hot, the bugs were really chewing away on us, and the humidity was high enough to take a shower in it. The moon came up and then, through the trees, I saw the light dancing on the waters. All of a sudden I wasn't in Vietnam any longer. I was on the banks of the Spence, and you and I were lying there watching the moon come up. Do you remember? That was the night…

It was as though Grace had unexpectedly taken a ride on a flying carpet. Suddenly she was back in Montana. It all came back to her. She wasn't lying on her bed, but on the white sandy banks of the Spence River. The river made soft sucking sounds as it nuzzled the tree roots hanging over the bank. Frogs and crickets croaked and chirped their love songs in the blackness of the night. Overhead, the stars gazed down in approval at Grace and Stan's nude bodies.