by Jewel, Bella
Yes, I know. I shouldn’t have invited him into my bed in the first place, but I make bad decision after bad decision where this man is concerned, and I can’t seem to help myself. I’d been vulnerable, and I’d felt scared and alone, and Jake had filled the void that had been yawning wider and wider inside me since the day I’d left my husband. Maybe even before that, if I’m being honest with myself.
So, this morning I did what any adult wanting to escape bad decisions from the night before would have. I ran. Right to the dresser to pick out clothes, and then to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and then out the door and into my car, which led me to the hospital to see my son.
Spence is awake when I walk in, but he isn’t afraid as I feared he’d be. The nurse said he hadn’t even asked for me, which is both baffling and a little hurtful, but when I see that the television above his bed is on and his mesmerized little eyes are glued to the early-morning cartoons, I understand why.
“Hi, baby.”
“I’m not a baby.”
“No you aren’t.” I sigh, almost wishing I could go back to that time, when he was too little to fuss when I touched him. “How are you feeling?”
He shrugs. Taking the seat beside him, I pull the plastic cover off his untouched breakfast, pick up the spoon, and feed him bites of Cheerios. To my surprise he lets me, but I think it’s more to do with the fact that he’s really focused on SpongeBob SquarePants. I barely even garnered a look before his eyes swung right back to the TV.
When he’s finished, and he’s had a little juice to wash it down, I stare longingly at his hand lying on the bed. I don’t dare grab it, because I know he wouldn’t like that. Instead, I sit back in my seat and close my eyes, smiling at his tinkly little laugh.
“Mamma?”
I open my eyes to find a serious expression on his face. “Yeah, Spence?”
“Mr. Williams shot himself, didn’t he?”
I pause, not ready for this conversation, but knowing we have to have it all the same. Williams’s slumped body bleeding all over the floor comes unbidden into my mind, and I squeeze my eyes tightly closed in order to shake the vision from my head.
I nod, open my eyes and try to not be somewhere else right now because my son needs me. “He did.”
His eyes fill with tears, and my heart breaks all over again. “Why would he do that?”
Oh boy. Leave it to my son to pose the difficult questions. “Mr. Williams did something very wrong. He did it for the right reasons, but that choice wasn’t up to him to make.”
“I read his letter. Did he kill my daddy?”
Tears fall from my eyes. “Yes, Mr. Williams did a bad thing to keep you and I safe.”
“Mamma, I’m gonna miss him, but I’m glad I don’t have to see you hurt no more.” With those words from his mouth, everything just deflates within me and I stand up, unable to deal with sobbing in front of my son. “Mamma, you think Jake can be my daddy now?”
“No, Spencer, I don’t.” I’m too raw, too exposed, and I can’t answer these questions without feeling like my heart has been ripped right out of my chest, because I let my son down. I let Jake Tucker into our lives. I got Spencer’s hopes up that Jake could be something to us that he doesn’t know how to be, and I haven’t just broken my heart in the process—I’ve broken my son’s, too.
Spencer turns back to his cartoons and I slowly walk to the bathroom. Once there, I try to keep it together, but it all comes flooding out anyway. I swear I must cry for a good ten minutes, and then I spend far too long trying to calm my blotchy skin so Spence won’t know I’ve been upset. I take an extra moment away to run down to the cafeteria and grab myself a coffee, and by the time I get back, Spence has a visitor.
“Are you gonna marry my mamma?” Spence says, as usual having no tact or awareness of social interaction whatsoever.
“Er . . .” Jake exhales loudly.
“Do you love her?”
“Spencer,” I admonish as I walk into the room, not willing to hear any more because I’m terrified of the answer. Last night was a mistake. I can’t fix Jake. Maybe the lesson here is that I was never meant to. We collided at a time when we needed one another most, but that don’t mean it was right. I already loved one man who destroyed me. I’m afraid if I let someone in again, if I give Jake my whole heart, he’ll break what’s left of it.
“There you are.” Jake gives me a stern look. “You left this morning without waking me.”
Spencer frowns. “Jake had a sleepover without me?”
“Someone had to keep your mamma company,” Jake says. “She was worried sick about you.”
My son’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree as he asks, “Can Jake have a sleepover when I get better?”
“I don’t know, Spence.” I glare at Jake and say through my teeth, “Can I talk to you?”
He nods, and turns to Spencer. “Be right back.”
I storm out of the room and down the hall, not stopping until we’re both inside the area they reserve for parents to take time out, shower, and make a coffee, or to sit and eat breakfast. I reel on him the second the door closes behind us. “What are you doing?”
Jake looks behind me. I turn and find a man at the table, sipping coffee from a paper cup and reading a newspaper. We both stare at him and he says, “I’ll just . . . go.”
I watch him leave and then turn my gaze back to Jake. “Why are you here?”
He reaches out to draw me into his waist, but I shrink back. “Elle?”
“I can’t do this with you. Not right now.” I run a hand through my hair. It’s probably as messy as my life right now. “I need to focus on my son, not be distracted by you.”
He takes a deep breath in through his nose, as if he’s internally schooling himself on the virtue of patience. “Right, so last night was a distraction? That why you ran out on me first thing?”
“I needed to be here for Spencer.”
Jake gives me a dark look. “If you’d have woken me we could have come together.”
“What kind of message do you think that sends to him? Telling him you slept over? How am I supposed to explain that?”
“I’m pretty sure I just did. The only one who seems to have a problem with it is you, which is funny, considering you’re the one who invited me into your bed last night.” His tone gets louder and a muscle in his jaw pops out. “So maybe you need to explain it to me.”
“Last night was a mistake, Jake.”
“Bullshit,” he hisses.
“I shouldn’t have invited you to stay.”
“I’m tryin’ real hard, real damn hard not to lose my shit here, but you’re making it near impossible, angel.”
“Please stop callin’ me that,” I say, and I wish I hadn’t because his blue eyes turn the darkest sapphire with his anger. “I don’t wanna do this here. I just need some time okay?”
“Why? So you can fill that pretty head of yours with more excuses about why givin’ yourself to me ain’t a good idea? It’s a little late for that. Several fuckin’ months too late.”
“Jake, please?”
“No, you got a good reason why we shouldn’t be together, you speak the fuck up right now. Short of that, I don’t see me giving you any time to sort through this bullshit.” He takes a step closer, and I move back several paces but he just keeps coming, until he pens me in against the refrigerator door. He leans in, and in a bitter whisper, he says, “You know for an intelligent woman you’re acting about as dumb as dog shit right now.”
“I don’t trust you,” I sneer, shoving him back a step. “That’s my reason.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? You don’t trust me, but you give me your body, you let me inside you when it’s convenient, when you need someone to hold you and take the hurt away? How exactly is that not trustin’ me?”
“I don’t trust that you won’t hurt us. I don’t trust that you won’t drink again and hurt me the way you did last week, and I don’t trust that you won’t
kill yourself and leave us both heartbroken,” I scream.
Jake reels back like I just dealt him a physical blow. I stalk by him, but he grabs my arm and yanks me back. “If I’m with you, I ain’t got nothing to put a bullet in my head for. I know that’s not fair of me to say, but it’s the truth. I’m trying real hard to be the kinda man you deserve, angel, but it takes time, and I need you to know that it ain’t gonna be easy. I seen and done a lotta shit that I wish I hadn’t, and you know the only thing I keep coming back to? It’s you and that boy in there. That’s all I got right now. That’s why I didn’t die in that godforsaken desert. Don’t take that away from me.”
I wrench out of his hands and walk to the door, pausing with my back to him. “We can’t be the reason you stick, Jake. That isn’t fair to Spence or to me, because what happens if you don’t? Don’t put that back on me. Don’t make me your reason to decide whether or not to stay on this earth.”
I leave and don’t look back, because I’m afraid if I do everything I just said to him will be for nothing. I don’t want to walk away, but he’s left me no choice. I love this man with all my heart, but he was right before—it was stupid. No matter which path I choose Jake Tucker is going to break my heart, because no matter how much we might want them to, some stories don’t end in a happily-ever-after.
35
Ellie
Spence and I are dressed in our finest, which sadly isn’t much. He wears a cheap navy blue suit that’s too small for him now. I fix the tie I bought him from Walmart and risk ruffling his golden curls. He quickly pulls away. I smooth my hands over the fitted black dress I bought for the occasion and we head toward the door. It isn’t raining, which just seems odd. It should rain the day you lay a loved one to rest. The sky should open up and weep with you.
Mr. Williams was a good person who did a bad thing. He had his problems; he was a cantankerous old bastard for one, and a terrible landlord because he never fixed a thing and he was too cheap to hire anyone else, but he’d have done anything for Spencer and me. He did everything for Spencer and me.
I stand too long on the front porch, staring at his empty one, and with a heavy heart I turn away and lock my front door. We file toward the car. Spencer eases into the front seat with his cast and crutches, which aren’t the easiest things to navigate with.
When we pull up to the cemetery, there’s only a handful of locals to see Mr. Williams off, which makes me angry. Williams wasn’t a liked man, but his service to our country should have been honored, even if he had shot a man in cold blood a little more than two weeks ago. There are several Marines in their navy blues, white hats, and white gloves, stationed around the cemetery. There’s the preacher, and Miss Maggie, and Miss Chelle who wears a widow’s veil, and whose eyes are as red and puffy as mine. I nod to the both of them as we take our seats. There isn’t anyone still alive from Mr. Williams’s platoon, they’d have been as old as him, but there is a first sergeant—as far as I can tell from the insignia on his sleeves—three seats down from us. He’s at least ten years younger than Mr. Williams was, and he smiles at me in greeting.
“If everyone is here, we’ll begin,” Pastor Dan says. I nod. A van pulls up and Olivia scrambles out, fixing her hair and her black shift dress as she walks. “Sorry,” she whispers to me apologetically as she sits beside Spence.
The pastor begins the sermon and I hold my breath. I’m waiting on him. I don’t mean to. I don’t want to, but a part of me thought that he would come. Stupid, I guess. It’s not fair to want him here when I know the firing of the volley shots would set him off. Not to mention how just being here, surrounded by brothers in arms, could stir up too much of the past, and on top of that, there’s the simple fact that I told him I didn’t trust him not to blow his brains out the way Mr. Williams had.
I should never have said those things to him. Still, it don’t mean they weren’t true. They were. They still are. I’m terrified that I’m going to answer my door one day to Officer Murphy tellin’ me that Jake died all alone in that big old, empty house. So while I regret saying those things, I still wouldn’t take them back.
A minute or two into the service, the seat next to me is filled with a warm body wearing navy blues. I don’t need to look to know who that peppery aftershave belongs to. I’m surprised to see him in full dress uniform. I wasn’t sure he even owned one—thought he might have torn it up when he returned home after all the war had cost him. Putting it on again today must have cost him dearly, too.
The first sergeant introduces himself and speaks for a short time about Mr. Williams, about his service and how he trained under him. He speaks fondly of my neighbor, but doesn’t talk as if he knew the man on a personal level. Then again, I wonder if anyone here really did.
It’s my turn, and even though there’s just fifteen of us assembled here—including the Marines holding their guns, and the two standing beside the casket draped in red, white and blue—my hands and legs shake as if I’m in a room filled with a thousand people. I step up to the small podium and do everything I can to avoid meeting those dark blue eyes that are equal parts my comfort and my distress.
“Marcus Williams wasn’t always the easiest man to be around. If he had a problem, he told you as he saw fit. He was angry a lot of the time, abrasive and even rude, especially to his postman, who in turn was no doubt terrified of Mr. Williams. He wasn’t loved by his town; in fact, he was all but forgotten by them, but for those of us lucky enough to be deemed worthy of his time, he was a guardian angel, albeit a cantankerous one.”
Titters of laughter follow my words, and I choke on what I’m about to say next and pause for a beat to catch my breath. “Four years ago, I came to town with nothing but the clothes on my back and my little boy in tow. He didn’t have to help me. He didn’t have to offer up his second home as a refuge, but he did. As far as landlords go, he was terrible, but he taught my son so much. He taught me so much.” I pat the folded edge of my Kleenex beneath my eyes, careful not to disturb my mascara.
“Marcus Williams was not a vengeful man, but he was a Marine first and foremost, and he protected what was his, whether it was right or wrong. For that I’ll always be grateful. So, Mr. Williams, if you’re watching over us now, I see your sacrifice, and I thank you for your service. Sempre fi.”
As I step away from the podium, my eyes meet Jake’s and my breath catches. Seeing him there in his dress blues, sitting so tall, so unshakable, it makes my heart beat faster. His eyes soften, and I close mine because it hurts. Everything about him hurts.
I take my seat beside him as the Marines several yards away fire the volley shots. Jake flinches, his gloved hands fisted tightly against his thighs. He knew this would happen, and he came anyway. I place my hand over his, and I feel a little of the tension drain out of him.
Spencer scoots a little closer to me, though his hands don’t leave his ears. I can tell he’s torn between his fear of the sound and his desire to see this firsthand. I sit between the two most important men in my life and turn my anger toward their illnesses, this constant war we wage every day against autism and PTSD. And as much as it pains me at times, as much as I give of myself and as much as sometimes it feels as if I’m getting nothing back in return, I realize I’ll always be doing this. If I let Jake in again, I’ll always be feeling the need to comfort him too, but who’s there to comfort me?
I’ve often wanted to scream at God, at the universe, at anything and everything for making Spence this way, and now I feel the same way about war. I want to run through those battlefields shouting at everyone to put down their weapons, because it isn’t just the enemy you kill—it’s the soul, and it’s the ability to trust, and it’s the families who pay in the end.
I watch absentmindedly as they play the “Taps” and the two Marines by the casket fold the flag and salute one another. The closest man marches off and the one holding the flag marches toward us and stops right in front of me. I look at Jake, not knowing what to do. He squeezes my hand an
d lets it go.
The Marine bends low before me and offers me the flag. “On behalf of the President of the United States, the Commandant of the Marine Corps, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one’s service to Country and Corps. My condolences.”
“Thank you.” I lay it on my lap and fight back tears. This should have gone to someone else. It should have gone to . . . but as I stroke the heavy fabric with my hands, I try to come up with any number of names of relatives or friends survived by Mr. Williams, and I realize that we are it. A single mother and an eight-year-old boy are the only family he had.
That just seems so wrong, and before long, I’m sobbing. Jake reaches out and puts an arm around my shoulder, drawing me into him. He kisses the top of my head, and I want to melt into his embrace but I can’t. I won’t let myself, because he might be here right at this very moment, but what about in two days’ time? Hell, what about in two hours’ time? What about when those black thoughts come creepin’ back in and he puts a gun in his mouth and I’m not there to talk him out of pulling the trigger? What about when I wind up sitting in this very same position, being handed a folded flag that I never wanted, while the man I love is laid out in a casket? Who comforts me then?
I pull back and Olivia draws Spence away with her, leading him over to the Marine who spoke such nice words about our neighbor. No doubt my son is asking the man endless questions about his association with Mr. Williams.
“Will you be okay?” Jake says. “To drive home, I mean?”
“Are any of us really okay Jake?” I fish another Kleenex from my purse and blot at my eyes. I probably look like a raccoon right now after falling apart the way I did. “When was the last time you felt okay?”
“When I came a scratching at your door during a rainstorm that night and you let me in. When you lay with me on my living room floor; when I had you in your bed; when I saw you sittin’ here today; when you took my hand as the volleys were fired. Anytime I’m with you, I’m okay.” With his soft white gloves, he takes my hand and brings it to his lips. I close my eyes, wincing in pain. “I’m better than okay. I’m whole again.”
