Service and Sacrifice

by MariaLisa deMora

  Nothing that would help him connect with her any more than he had.

  This kernel of want had lodged in his chest. Lodged, found a place to take root, and was growing.

  Something he didn’t know what to do with.

  So Monk did what he’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t do anymore. He navigated to her limited pictures, pausing for long minutes over each, taking in Amanda’s expressions, those smiles that didn’t reach her eyes. He drained the beer, giving the bartender a nod for another. It didn’t help the burn, that ember of pain deep in his gut.

  He tried to ignore it, trusting his subconscious to keep picking at the problem until the solution would appear.

  He’d only known about her for a year; she shouldn’t be so important. One year, eight months, thirteen days. He shook his head.

  Fingers flicked at the screen as he navigated to the private group the club maintained and responded to questions from members, then back to his public profile to engage with family, and back to his timeline to see what else was going on. Under a wash of notifications for his account was one he nearly missed. There, buried between various tags by his brothers and memes shared by his family, was a single line that said Amanda Reynolds Stewart had liked and commented on an image he’d posted yesterday.

  Monk clicked on the picture, a closeup of him taken by Neptune’s flavor of the day. He hadn’t known she was taking pictures, so he hadn’t ducked away from the camera, wasn’t looking directly at it, either. His focus was farther out, somewhere out of frame, probably on something Blade was saying.

  There were dozens of comments, mostly ragging on him in the way brothers did, or statements of fondness by family. Added in the mix was a single line of text by Amanda, saying simply, “Thank you for your service.”

  He liked her comment.

  A moment later he came back and studied it again, finally touching the application to select a different response, one more fitting. He stared at the screen, the steady glow of the heart seeming to mock him.

  Still, he left it.

  Nine

  Monk

  The club was doing well. They’d grown in numbers, and Neptune had finally talked Monk into sponsoring a prospect, his first. The process had taken up more of Monk’s time than he’d expected but felt good. He liked the role of mentor, passing on his wisdom to a baby biker, just as he’d done for the newbies in the service. He’d changed apartments, going smaller, just a single efficiency this time, because all he did there was shit, shower, and sleep. The rest of his days were either spent at work or with the club.

  Monk took his duties as road captain seriously, wrenching side by side with members to get their bikes ready for a run. He’d personally knifed more tires in the first half of the year than he’d expected, because so many of the members just didn’t pay attention to the condition of their own bikes. Wolf had gotten him a deal with a local racer, and the club had a stock of take-offs in the shed out back now. Tires too slick to race on but with plenty of tread to last at least a season for most of the men in the club.

  So work and the club were both doing well, and if his personal life wasn’t anything to write home about, he wasn’t going to cry because his nights were spent alone.

  Two days before the anniversary, he opened the social media app, prepared to stalk Amanda’s profile as normal. He’d already planned what he wouldn’t do this year and had quietly arranged to be working on the day. Nothing good would come of feeding his obsession with this woman, not when she was still tied so tightly to a dead man.

  When he navigated to her page, instead of the three pictures, he found dozens. A wealth of images of her. Old and new, they tracked back to high school, and he smiled to see her as a teen standing awkwardly on a stage stuck inside a period costume that looked a mile too big. Her wedding picture was there, and the sight of it caught at his chest, leaving him aching inside to see her standing in white next to a man he assumed was Martin, her face shining with happiness.

  Documentation of the kind of graduation ceremony he well remembered was there, Amanda tucked in beside Martin, the man standing ramrod stiff in his dress uniform, a shiny single bar on the epaulets of his jacket. Butterbar. Monk smirked. He’d always hated that name. Another picture of just the man at some station overseas, his posture as casual as it ever got when surrounded by enemies, the mixed tans of the desert stretching for miles behind him, those damn dark mountains on the horizon.

  He blinked them away.

  She’d accepted.

  After a year, she’d finally accepted his friend request.

  He clicked through to read her posts, not overly surprised to find them sparse on real information. More a surface glossiness to keep family and friends at bay. A way to keep loved ones from asking too many questions, to satisfy their curiosity and dampen any inklings of concern. He recognized the tactic, because it was what he did, too.

  Day manager is way better. Winky face emoji. She’d tagged a local hotel and he grunted in shocked recognition. He’d stayed there a few years ago when his bike broke down in a nearby town. It had been the only American-owned place within a reasonable distance. At the time, he hadn’t been living in the area very long and didn’t feel comfortable asking his brothers for assistance. Suck it up and make do had been his motto back then.

  He frowned, following the thought of him then to his responsibilities in the present day. If his prospect had done the same, Monk would be pissed as hell, because it would show a lack of faith in his brothers. Dammit. He’d need to do a better job of modeling the behavior he wanted to see. Lesson learned.

  This movie is the best. Red heart emoji, thumbs-up emoji. There was an image accompanying that post, a selfie of her with a movie poster in the background. Monk sucked in a surprised breath and smiled. He’d been to see that movie on opening night, suffering through the shouts of “nerd” from his brothers as he drummed up company to go with him. She was alone, still smiling, but he thought he could see tiny cracks in the façade. They were there in the way her smile didn’t reach her eyes. In the forced quality of that smile. Compare it to that damned wedding photo, and it was clear that she was still hurting.

  In the profile summary, he saw something that had him stumbling mentally, trying to find a foothold on his emotions. Then he was dialing his manager, asking for a favor and getting it. A last-minute schedule shuffle to give him an unexpected day off.

  Relationship: Single.

  Ten

  Amanda

  Heart in her throat, Amanda carefully steered her car into the parking lot she’d become so familiar with over the past seven years. It was empty, as was usually the case, and she tried not to let disappointment overwhelm her. She knew once the tears started, they wouldn’t stop until she was wrung dry, no matter what set her off.

  She killed the engine with a twist of the key, then sat with her head resting on the steering wheel for a moment. Just another anniversary, and no reason for her to believe it would be any different. On the one hand, she was kicking herself for waiting so long to accept his friend request, and on the other hand, she knew it didn’t matter that he’d remembered the day for the past two years. Martin hadn’t been a friend or served in the corps with Alex, so there was no reason for him to come here.

  Leaning over the seat, she gathered up her supplies. A new, thicker blanket this year, after a boisterous puppy she’d fostered had chewed holes in the previous one. A water bottle instead of a bottle of water, and she smiled slightly at the distinction she made in her own mind. Renewable was the new trend, and it made sense to her, so she’d stopped buying cases of water, instead depending on the filter she’d attached to her brand-new kitchen faucet.

  That was another change, bigger than most of the rest of them. She’d saved her money, and between the better pay at the hotel and help from an unexpected insurance payout, she’d signed papers and put a down payment on a little house at the edge of town. Nothing big or showy, just two bedrooms. Still, it was hers in a
way she’d never had before. Following their wedding, she’d moved straight from her childhood bedroom in her parents’ home into a garage apartment at Martin’s folks’, then into the house he’d wanted. She’d never had a space that felt like it was just hers, and she liked it. If she wanted to paint the kitchen, she could, and there was no one to tell her no.

  Of course, there was also no one to help, but she’d shoved that knowledge into a compartment deep in the back of her mind, ignoring the ping of hurt every time she muddled through something alone.

  Same scrapbook, with new pages in it to document her life. There was one with a newspaper ad for the job that had started her on the current path at the hotel. And another with a picture the real estate agent had taken of Amanda holding the keys to her new house, broad grin stretching her mouth.

  Amanda had talked about the scrapbook with another widow at a survivors group she’d started attending and thought the words given her had been profound. “Maybe it’s a way to remind yourself that keeping on, continuing to live, isn’t bad. Maybe it’s a way to find things to celebrate in your life now.” She’d reached out to touch Amanda’s arm, and for a moment, it was as if the woman’s tiny tattoo had glowed as bright as a supernova. Amanda had stared then turned her own arm over, showing the matching symbol etched into her skin. They’d clung together and wept, and exchanged numbers, the first time Amanda had done so since Martin died.

  Set apart from the rest of the pages were the things she’d done to document Alex’s life, too. And that was something she’d intentionally decided to not think about, why she felt the need to keep tabs on him and his friends.

  Two whole pages were taken up by the six front-page photos of his club escorting bullied kids to school. Another two pages had been dedicated to the club itself, everything she could find out about it. History, original members, their occasional brushes with the law balanced against the many donations from them to animal shelters and veterans’ memorials. Even the colorfully painted benches now scattered along the local nursing home sidewalks were a gift from his club.

  She’d drawn the line at including anything specific to Alex, but that hadn’t stopped her from stalking his social media, scouring every picture for a glimpse of his elusive significant other, that status of Married never changing.

  With a deep breath, she pushed open the car door and stepped out, arms filled with the items for her vigil. Head down, she trudged up the rise to where Martin’s grave was, each step harder than the one before. She’d never felt like this before, as if coming to see him on the anniversary of his death was a chore, something to get through. It was never pleasant, but she’d always believed it her duty. He was gone, and she was here, so she mourned him the only way she knew how. With tears and grief, and devotion.

  She’d never know what caused her to look up.

  One moment she was lost inside her own head, wallowing in grief for the death of someone she’d loved, and for the loss of so much of herself, and the next she was staring at Alex as he finished pouring something on the dirt beside Martin’s headstone. He lifted the flask and took a long drink, staring at the nearby flagpole where the American flag proudly flew. His bike sat where it had the first time he’d come here, and she stood where she’d been the first time she’d seen him here, and he was about where he’d been then, too. It was like a surreal overlay of the then and now, and she was dizzy with the idea that maybe she’d imagined these past two years.

  Then he turned and faced her, and she saw the differences he bore. His beard was thicker, darker and filled out along the jawline. There were lines on his face that hadn’t been there before, and when he smiled at her, she knew where they’d come from, because the creases exactly matched the expression of pleasure he immediately showed her. His smile was real, and honest, and something she hadn’t known she needed until she saw it.

  Alex had filled out in other ways, his shoulders even broader than before, and she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d had to get a new jacket just to fit all of him. She adjusted the blanket, too conscious of the fact she’d filled out, too, and not in ways she liked to think about. After Martin had died, she’d lost all the remnants of baby fat she’d carried through school. She hadn’t thought about the fact that the process had reversed until she’d recently had to retire her favorite pair of jeans when they’d gotten too tight everywhere.

  “Hey,” he called, voice low and rasping, as if he’d been here awhile without speaking.

  She nodded, not sure her mouth would work right now. Why is this so awkward?

  He gestured towards the grass where they’d sat last time. “Here okay?” Another nod was her only response, and he looked at her intently, head cocked to one side. “Amanda, if you’d rather be alone, I can go. I…” He trailed off, and then laughed softly. “Honestly, I’m not real sure why I’m here.”

  “Please, stay.” He smiled at her again, and her breath caught in her throat. “I’m glad you’re here.” She dipped her gaze to his boots, then back up to his face in time to see a satisfied smirk cross his face. “You look good, Alex.”

  “You do, too.” He made a show of inspecting her as he reached for the blanket. They juggled things for a moment. Then he had the material spread smoothly on the grass. “I’m glad you accepted my request.”

  Amanda paused in midcrouch, one hand and knee on the blanket, and looked up at him. “I’m sorry I took so long.” Is he flirting with me?

  “All good things take time.” He made himself comfortable on one corner, feet stretched out to the side, arm locked behind him as he leaned back. He held out the flask. “Want a drink?”

  She shook her head. “It was you, last year, too, wasn’t it?” He didn’t respond, just looked at her. “It was still wet when I got here. I couldn’t have missed you by much.” She gestured towards the dark spot on the dirt where he’d dampened it with the whiskey from the flask. “What does that mean?”

  “Libations for the fallen.” He lifted the closed flask. “Drinks for those who can no longer imbibe, those gone ahead to Valhalla. It’s an old tradition and for some reason felt right when I was here. We might not have served together, but together we served, if that makes any sense.” His shoulders made a small movement, a stretching roll that exposed discomfort. “A brothers-in-arms thing, I guess.”

  Amanda hurried to reassure him he hadn’t overstepped, hadn’t offended. “I think it’s touching, and very fitting.” She reached out and laid her hand over his for a moment. “Thank you.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, the sun growing more intense overhead and baking through her thin shirt. She could only imagine how hot he had to be in the jacket, but he didn’t move, didn’t give any indication of discomfort.

  “It’s weird, you know?” She didn’t look at him. “There’s a grasshopper, right there on your toe, and it didn’t exist last year when I was here. That bird”—she gestured towards a starling hopping along two rows over—“probably didn’t either. Not last year, much less the last time Martin was breathing and home.” She sighed. “I lost the house he bought. Did I tell you that?” He made a sound and she nodded in embarrassed admission. “He loved it a lot, had all these plans in his head. It was okay, not my dream home, but it sure was his. He would have been so mad at me.”

  “Why would he have been pissed?” She glanced at him to see his head back, closed eyes aimed towards the sky. “Gonna be blunt here, Amanda. He’s the one dead, not you. You had to make decisions that were right for you. Keeping a house that you didn’t want in the first place would have been stupid.” His head rolled to the side, and he cracked open one eye, his gaze cutting. “You don’t strike me as a stupid woman.”

  She stared at him as he resumed his sunbathing. “Aren’t you hot?”

  “Yeah, but I ain’t got no shirt on under the jacket. Figured it was the least of bad choices to just keep it on.” The same head roll, same cracked eye, and he was staring at her again. “If it won’t bother you, then I’
ll lose the jacket for now.”

  “It won’t bother me.” She laughed softly. “I appreciate your consideration, but I’d rather know you were comfortable.”

  “Alrighty then.” He sat up and shrugged, the worn leather falling easily down his arms, and she stared, and stared, drinking in the sight of him. He was covered in tattoos. Front, back, arms, neck, everything she could see had ink either on or adjacent. The one on the side of his neck she’d seen before, a glimpse that first day at the gas station, a moment so far in the past it seemed surreal that it had brought them here. He had a winged eagle that spanned his shoulders, talons reaching far down his spine, the head wrapping cunningly around one scapula. His arms were a mixed canvas of tiny tattoos and larger pieces, all intertwined with vines and words and colors that probably meant something to him but looked like beautiful chaos to her. One pec held a replica of the emblem from the back of the jacket, and she noted how it was reverently separate from other tattoos. Set apart somehow by being isolated, and she liked that he gave it a place of honor. His abs flexed, and she tried to read the words arching over his bellybutton in between his stuttering breaths, finally giving up as she realized he was laughing. “Woman, you get your fill of lookin’ yet?”

  She stared at his face because his smile was blindingly bright, eyes twinkling at her as he gently poked fun at her scrutiny of his body.

  “Oh, God. I’m sorry.” She turned to face the headstone as he got to his feet, then cast a glance over her shoulder at a sound, afraid it was him leaving, but he’d just draped the jacket across the seat. Folded so the symbol for his club was hidden from view, he took a moment to ensure it was stable and wouldn’t fall on the ground. “Is it like the flag?” He glanced back at her with a question in his eyes. “The jacket. It’s your club insignia, right? Are you not supposed to put it on the ground?”