Freedom

by Faith Potts

  We reach the bridge that supports the interstate as it crosses the river and continue until we reach the center. There, James stops and peers over the cement barrier to the swirling waters far below.

  “I bet a lot of people have ended it this way.” He nearly has to shout to be heard over the noise of passing trucks and cars.

  I cringe and squeeze my eyes shut. “Too many.”

  He must have noticed the way my hand instinctively tightened around his, because he snickers and kisses my cheek. “I’m fine, Lex.”

  “I know.” I release him and boost myself up onto the cement barrier behind us, separating the walking space from the lanes of traffic.

  “This isn’t easy to talk about,” he finally says. “But I’ll try, because I want you to know.”

  “Okay.” I nod, searching his eyes. “If you’re sure.”

  He stands for a moment more, back to me, hand pressed to the cold concrete, gazing down at the murky-dark river, before turning. “We can’t talk here; let’s walk some more.”

  Agreeing, I slide down to the sidewalk and walk on with him, out toward the city park and then down one of the random pathways until we reach an overlook spot along the river. Be it consciously or subconsciously, he’s drawn to water this evening.

  I flop down on a bench a bit back from the edge, while he wanders on forward to look out over the expanse of water.

  “The day of the accident…” he starts. “Well, it was night actually. Three of us and a canine were scouting ahead of the rest of the platoon. None of us wanted that job, but it wasn’t too bad at first. We joked and cut up, until the dog caught a scent he didn’t like and we were forced to get serious.”

  Knowing where this is ultimately going to lead, if he can get that far without breaking down, my heart already hurts for him. I stand and move to his side, pressing my hand against the center of his back and waiting.

  “Hudson and I were following Stemilt with his canine down this gully. It was like a ravine, with smaller crevices cutting up both sides. It would be a great ambush spot and place to hide out, which is why we wanted it, but also why we were so on-guard.” A momentary pause, and then the flat tone returns. “The dog stepped on the first IED. It took out both him and his leader.”

  Breath catching, I move closer to him, unable to imagine seeing violent death up so close.

  “We were far enough back not to be hurt by it, so Hudson and I skirted around to get to Stemilt. Hud was calling for backup and a chopper when, uh…” James stops, presses his hand to his mouth, unable to go on.

  “It’s okay,” I whisper, rubbing my hand in tiny circles across the top of his back. “It’s okay.” But it’s not okay and he knows it.

  “I stepped on the next,” he manages finally, his voice cracking. “The last thing I heard was Hudson cussing into the radio. There was this sudden, unexplainable darkness around me. Impenetrable heat, pain like I can’t even begin to describe. I can’t explain it, Lex. It’s like…you feel death all around you…you know it’s going to claim you any moment… and yet, it doesn’t. And—and the wait is the hardest part.”

  I don’t say anything; I can’t. It would be wrong to pretend to understand. There’s no way I can even begin to relate to what he saw. I move into the space under his arm and hook my arm around his waist.

  He stays there for a minute, staring out across the river without saying anything, then he pulls away from me and grabs my hand.

  “Where are we going?” I ask as he leads me around the edge of the overlook, onto a worn-out trail that leads down to the riverbank.

  “I don’t need an audience.”

  I glance over my shoulder as a group of chortling teenagers wander into the area we just vacated, presumably under the impression that they interrupted a kiss. Not hardly, kiddos.

  Barely keeping up with James, I clamber along the rocky shore. More than once, he stumbles, his prosthesis tangling in the craggy rip-rap. But he presses on without a word, maintaining his hold on my fingers. He stops when we reach a secluded spot where the wind blows across the water and rustles the leaves on the shoreline.

  I glance up at him as the breeze blows a lock of hair off his forehead and his jaw muscle tightens. He drops back into the telling of the story without even giving mention to the interruption.

  “The last thing I remember from that night was seeing a guy jump out of the chopper and run toward me. He was screaming ‘oh God, oh God’ when he got to me. He grabbed me by the shirt and yelled in my face. ‘Hang on, man,’ he said, ‘you’re going home.’”

  Fighting the tears behind my eyes and the ache in my heart, I wrap my hand around James’s arm and just hold onto him. I underestimated how much he was holding inside, bottled up tight.

  He stops long enough to kiss my head and then goes on. “I was in and out for like, I don’t know, a week or something. I don’t remember anything of that time other than the pain.”

  I lean my head against his side and wait for him to tell me more. It’s not all out yet, or he wouldn’t still be standing so tall. So stiff and rigid, like he’s on a mission…a mission to hold himself together.

  “I was transferred to the U.S., first to Walter Reed in D.C. I woke up and my…my left arm felt like it was on fire. I reached over to try and figure out why and, um…”

  His voice breaks and I squeeze the fingers of his surviving hand. Surely he didn’t discover on his own… Oh, please no.

  “And I couldn’t find it,” he says after a moment, his voice tight and strained.

  Choking back a sob, I release his hand and wrap my arms around his waist. “Oh, sweetheart…” My hands are clenched together against his back so tightly they actually hurt.

  His arm circles my back, but it seems to be moving on autopilot. Like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Because his mind is still trapped in this nightmare of a memory.

  “Then, I looked down toward the foot of the bed,” he continues. “And my, my stump was raised on a pillow. In plain sight. Like—like my own body hated me and wanted to make sure I knew how much of a useless cripple I’d become.”

  And now I know that all of the story has been poured out to me. Because he buries his face in my shoulder as sobs rack his frame.

  I rub my hand across his back, whispering assurances and reminding him that I’m here. That I love him so much. That I’m not ever, ever leaving. I struggle myself to keep from losing it. I have to be strong for him. I’m afraid he’ll fall apart if I don’t.

  Another minute and the sobs have slowed. He draws back from my embrace, wipes his face on his shirtsleeve, and takes my hand. Neither of us says a word as he leads me to a large rock along the shoreline.

  When he takes a seat, I sit next to him, still seeking his face. I need him to say something to me. To break the silence, to smile, to say he’s okay—just to let me know he’s still inside there, here with me.

  He nudges me closer with his arm around my waist, and I lean against him and wait until I can’t take it anymore.

  “Are you okay, Semper Fi?”

  More silence, silence that almost makes me wish I hadn’t even asked, and then, “I will be.”

  Somehow that’s what I needed to hear.

  “Alex, I told you this in part because I don’t want my injuries or what happened to me over there to be something you’re uncomfortable with or afraid to bring up. Okay?”

  Tears pricking my eyes, I sit up straighter and press a kiss to his cheek. “Of course.” Arms around his middle, I snuggle back against his side.

  Maybe if I hold him tight enough, try hard enough, and pray often enough, love can fill those broken cracks and crevices of his tender heart.

  || ~* || ~* || ~* ||

  || James

  We walk toward Alex’s apartment in silence. But it’s not bad silence; it’s peaceful. Until we turn down her street…and chills race up my spine. Something is up.

  I glance to my right and see a guy with a black hoodie pulled over his head cro
ssing the adjacent street. Head still down, he starts on an indirect path toward us. Not good.

  I turn my gaze straight ahead, hoping Alex won’t notice. The guy could be totally innocent, but instincts tell me he’s up to no good. Most people aren’t walking this street after dark on a weeknight. Well, except for us.

  A few minutes later, I hear the guy trip on a seam in the sidewalk and catch himself with his other foot. Alex straightens next to me and her hand clenches mine.

  “James…”

  “I know.” I keep myself from glancing her way—and deter her from walking too fast. “I’ve got this.”

  She doesn’t exactly relax, but she doesn’t speak again either.

  My military training already has my mind running through the what-if scenarios. If this guy decides to jump me, Alex comes first. He can take my wallet, my phone, whatever. But he better not so much as touch her, or he’ll have a double amputee Marine on his short, scrawny, little frame.

  Come to think of it…that doesn’t sound like much of a threat, scrawny or not.

  I have to intentionally release a breath when we reach the circle of light spilling from the street lamps in Alex’s community. But when we arrive at her apartment, I still push her up the stairs to the door ahead of me. She fumbles with the key in the lock, finally getting the door open on the third try.

  We step inside and I lock the door behind us, while she hunts a light switch. The chandelier above the kitchen island comes on, illuminating the tear stains on her face.

  I lean against the door and hold my arm out to her. “Come ‘ere.”

  Inching forward with slow steps, she buries her face in my shoulder and leans her weight into me. “That scared me more than I care to admit.”

  I brush her hair back out of her eyes and kiss her cheek.

  “Will you hang around for a while to make sure that guy has moved on? I don’t like the thoughts of you walking home alone right now.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  Her head pops up and she grins at me, eyes still red and puffy. “I know you can, Semper Fi. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t worry.”

  I settle in on the couch, and she puts a chick-flick of some kind in the player, a Hallmark movie, the previews tell me. You know, the kind of movie where the guy is perfect and the girl is basically perfect. There’s a creepy ex-girlfriend somewhere who wears entirely too much eye makeup, everyone cries before it’s over, and everything always turns out right. Snooze fest.

  || ~* || ~* || ~* ||

  || Alex

  When the credits begin rolling down the screen, I realize I missed about sixty percent of what happened in the movie. Which is a shame, really, because I’d been wanting to see that one.

  I squirm from my position, head on James’s chest. He doesn’t budge—meaning he probably missed even more of the movie than I did. So much for requesting a recap.

  I sit up and nearly burst out laughing at the comical sight of my boyfriend, asleep on my couch, jaw hanging open. I lean closer and kiss his cheek, drawing back just before his eyes slit open.

  “What did I miss?”

  “The whole thing.”

  He grins sleepily. “What a shame.”

  I walk with him to the door, and he releases my hand once we’re in the glowing ring of the porch light. A quick kiss to my cheek and he’s disappearing down the steps. The creepy guy in the hoodie and the silly rom-com may have diverted his mind from the memories for a while, but he’ll still carry them home.

  Hand on the door handle, I watch him go, a prayer in my heart.

  Chapter Twenty || James

  I let myself into the apartment, expecting to find the living areas deserted. It’s a few minutes after midnight now, and the lights are off upstairs and on the left side of the structure.

  When I step inside though, I notice light spilling in from the living room. I stick my head in the entryway, surprised to find Lester sitting to the left of the couch, flipping through the TV channels.

  “Hey, man.” He glances up and nods in acknowledgement. “Looks like your date lasted longer than mine.”

  “Yeah.” I don’t mention the reasoning behind that or the question Alex presented me with that I’m still mulling over. “I didn’t know you were going out with Miss Hope tonight.”

  The brightness of the television screen lights up his grin. “Actually, we had dinner at her place. Met her little boy.”

  “I didn’t know she had a kid.”

  “Yeah, teen mom. Casey’s three.” He stops scanning channels and looks my way. “Think I’d make a good dad?”

  “Yes,” I say without reservation. “I don’t have any doubts.”

  He drums his fingers on the arms of his chair a moment longer. “I think I’m in love. It’s driving me crazy.”

  That’s it—I’m not cut out to be a mentor. I burst out laughing, guffawing so hard that I flop sideways on the couch and nearly bang my head into the lamp table.

  “Hey, cut it out!”

  The remote socks me in the stomach before I can beg forgiveness. “I can’t help it.” I sit up, still chuckling. “In love? Tell me about it, bro. It messes with a guy’s head.”

  “I know.” He wheels toward me, grinning, and snatches the remote back. “Ain’t it great?”

  Strangely, yes. “Speaking of girlfriends, listen to what Alex wants me to do.”

  By the time I finish telling Lester about the 5k, he has switched off the TV and is absentmindedly removing the remote batteries and fiddling with them.

  “So I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I conclude. “I hate to disappoint her, but I can’t do that. I don’t think she even realizes what she’s asking, although she of all people should know what it would take.”

  “James.”

  “Yeah?” I watch the way he’s playing with the batteries, beginning to think he should be checked out.

  “Do it for the people who would if they could.”

  My head jerks from his hands to his face so fast my neck pops. Lester stares back at me, no remorse or bitterness in his gaze. But…he’d be out there running down that track, if he could. He’d like to swing Hope around the dance floor, play backyard baseball with her little boy.

  I’m broken and ‘butchered,’ as I like to say to make Lex laugh, but I can walk. I can run, or I could if I tried and worked hard enough at it. Maybe I’m not as bad off as I’ve been known to convince myself.

  “Thanks, Lest,” I say finally. “I think you’ve put things back into perspective.”

  He just smiles as he wheels out of the room. “Anytime, James. Goodnight.”

  As I’m getting ready for bed, I pause in brushing my teeth and pull my phone out of my pocket. She’ll sleep better knowing my decision.

  12:34 AM — James: I’ll do it if you’ll do it with me

  The reply comes as I’m removing my prosthesis. I grab my phone—and grin. I won’t regret this.

  12:37 AM — Alex: Deal. Goodnight <3

  || ~* || ~* || ~* ||

  || Alex

  Bright and early the next morning, Saturday, I wander around my apartment collecting laundry while talking on the phone to James. “So, we need to get started right away if we’re going to be able to run in a 5k by October. We only have this summer.”

  “Mhm,” he mumbles, halfway tuning me out by the sounds of it. “That’s something I was going to ask you. I don’t just want to participate; I want to have a chance of winning. Might need a good coach, though. Know where I can find one?”

  I grin, shaking my head at his antics. “I’ll consider myself hired. Do you have a blade attachment for your prosthesis?”

  “Umm…” I can clearly envision him rubbing the back of his neck and frowning at the phone, which is probably lying on something given all the background noise. And, it would have to be if he is rubbing the back of his neck. Ouch.

  “Could you run that by me again?”

  I sigh and drop an armload of clothes into the
washer. “Running blade. It would attach to your socket in the same way your walking foot does. Google it.”

  “Okay. That I can do.”

  I measure out the detergent, pour it in, and start the machine before he has any success in his search.

  “Lex, you should see this!”

  “Found it?”

  “Yeah! And, man, do you know how many amputees there are who race? Seriously, there’s even kids.”

  I laugh, kicking an empty hamper out of my path. “I know, I know. What did I tell you? So, do you have a blade?”

  “Yup, I remember trying it on at the hospital sometime or another when I met with the prosthetist, but I didn’t like the feel of it. He called it a J-blade or something. I do have one around here somewhere though, compliments of the Corps.”

  “Perfect. Find it and bring it and any tools you have with you when you meet me at the park this afternoon.”

  “We’re meeting at the park?”

  “I’ll bring food. Be there at one, ‘kay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  A few hours later, I arrive at the park’s main parking area. James is waiting for me in the gazebo, a backpack—which I presume holds the prosthesis attachment—at his feet.

  I grab a bag of takeout from the passenger’s seat, lock the truck, and start toward him. We dine on fresh fish and chips, complete with the salty smell and cardboard packaging, on a bench in the gazebo.

  I pop a salty chip in my mouth and point toward James’s bag. “Is it in there?”

  He nods, swallowing quickly. “Yeah, but I’ve never tried it on since leaving the hospital.”

  “It’s not difficult.” I wipe my fingers on a paper napkin and kneel to unzip his bag. Pulling out the J-shaped blade, I work the bend and nod approvingly. “This is a nice one.”

  “Nothing but the best for a leatherneck.”

  I grin in response to his humor and set to work adjusting the attachment mechanism, preparing it for use.