The Ex

by Margaret Ferguson

  As though hearing his thoughts, the soldier looked up and met Leo’s gaze. Leo looked into the man’s eyes and felt, albeit briefly, that he could see into the man’s very soul. Leo saw turmoil. He saw pain. But more than that, he saw something that he couldn’t quite explain.

  Arnold held the bartender’s gaze for many moments before looking away. Only, he made the mistake of glancing sideways, catching his reflection once again. Eyes once full of life and hope now seemed dead and distant. A fraction of a man. A stranger. A wanderer. A soldier lost.

  Chapter 4

  I rolled over in bed and stared at the mass of red hair on the pillow beside me. My hand instinctively reached for it, brushing it. I closed my eyes and inhaled the scents that I had so readily forgotten. I still couldn’t believe I was here—couldn’t believe she was here. What started as one night became two. Then three. Three amazing, earth-shattering days and nights of passion. Of rediscovering one another.

  We didn’t talk much at first. But when we did, we talked about our lives, filling in the details of the time missed together. We spoke of heartache and loss. We talked of love. When I told her being with her again was like stepping into an old comfortable shoe, she accused me of being less than romantic. However, I made it up to her multiple times. I’m pretty sure she forgave me.

  And when I told her I had to go, there were more tears. So, I kissed her and promised that I’d see her again soon. What began as a surreal weekend became a renewing of friendship. A love that I had left behind years before. Call it fate, call it a coincidence. Either way, I was sure I wanted to see her again. To be with her again.

  Needless to say, I was slightly distracted on my drive home. Rather, to my family home. If I left Waco without saying goodbye to my mother, she’d never forgive me. Yet, when I pulled along a stretch of the driveway leading to the circular gardens and parked beside the ornate fountain that was an anniversary gift from my stepfather, I cringed. There were five cars parked beside the garage representing all my family except for my baby brother, who was away at college. I had hoped to talk to my mother alone. Now, I would have to contend with the whole family. Great!

  Emily wasn’t my mother’s favorite of all my girlfriends by any means. In fact, she was her least favorite. Not that I’d had that many girlfriends. Emily, however, was my first. First girlfriend. First lover. Then there was Jessica, whom I dated briefly to get over Emily. And Erica, whom I dated to forget Jessica. And then there was Amanda, and—

  Hmm. I was beginning to see a pattern.

  Just as I drew in a breath for courage, the door opened, and I was met by my stepfather, Tomás , as he hurriedly exited, running right into me.

  “Edward! Good to see you, son,” he said, taking me by the hand and pulling me into a hug.

  “Good to see you, too, sir.”

  Tomás shook his head and patted my shoulder. “I leave them to you, my boy.”

  “You’re leaving? I just got here.”

  Tomás made a face. “Yeah, well, I’ve been with them all weekend. Too many hormones flying around for this old man.” When I looked at him, confused, he added. “They are planning your baby sister’s wedding.”

  “So, you’re just going to leave me here? On my own? To fend for myself?”

  “Son, you fought Al Queda in Iraq and the Taliban in Afghanistan. Somehow, I feel you can handle four women planning a wedding.”

  I thought for a moment. “You sure about that, sir?” I breathed out.

  He laughed aloud.

  “Tomás?” my mother’s voice called from beyond the door.

  He put his finger to his lips, winked, and hurried to his car. I grinned as he drove quickly away. When I turned, my mother was walking toward me.

  “Edward!” she exclaimed. “You are home!” Then she hugged me like she hadn’t seen me in years, though in reality, it had only been a week. Before she closed the door, she asked, “Have you seen Tomás?”

  With an exaggerated look of surprise, I shook my head.

  “Oh, well. Who can keep up with that man?” she added, taking my arm. “I’m just so excited you came to see us before you left.”

  “Of course, Mama. I would never leave without saying good-bye.”

  My sisters joined us a moment later, drawn by my mother’s excited tone. Hugging and kissing me as they, too, welcomed me home. They talked over one another without taking breaths, as they asked how I was, before proceeding to tell me how each of them was doing. Ten minutes later, before I even sat down, I was exhausted. Thankfully, the caterer arrived with menus and cake samples, and the group moved down the hallway into the sunroom to continue planning. I wanted to steal my mother away but figured I’d try another time after things calmed down.

  I grabbed a glass from the kitchen cabinet and was filling it with water from the door of the refrigerator when my eldest sister, Christina, popped her head around the corner.

  “So, where have you been all weekend?”

  “Around.” I gulped the entire glass, gasped, then refilled it.

  “Around, huh?” The question still hung in the air.

  “I went to my high school reunion,” I confessed.

  “Did you now?” she asked, her back to me as she refilled her own glass with ice. “Why in the world would you want to do that?”

  “Call it curiosity.”

  “Odd.” Christina furrowed her brow. “You don’t keep in touch with anyone from your old class, except for that Alan fellow.”

  “Adam,” I corrected her.

  “Whatever. You never ask about anyone else that we both knew. You skipped all the other reunions.”

  “I was overseas.”

  “Whatever,” she waved me off. “Why now, all of a sudden?”

  “Why not?”

  “Hmm,” she hummed, wagging her finger. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “There’s a lot I don’t tell you,” I corrected.

  Christina laughed, chewing on a piece of ice. “You’re being cryptic.”

  “And you’re being nosy.”

  When she looked at me and narrowed her eyes, I blew it. I looked away.

  “Ah! There you go.”

  “What?”

  “You’re avoiding me.” Christina sat across from me.

  “Am not.”

  She crunched on the ice, unapologetic. “Are too.”

  I wrinkled my face. “You’re so way off base.”

  “Mom!” she called out, without taking her eyes off mine. “Eddie’s got some news for us!”

  I cut my eyes at her. “Stop!” I reprimanded in a low voice, before glancing down the hallway, my mother and other two sisters in plain view.

  “What, honey?” Mama yelled from the other room.

  I glared at Christina and mouthed again, “Stop.”

  She grinned devilishly and then announced in a loud whisper, “Mom, Eddie’s got a secret he doesn’t want to tell us.”

  “What are we, twelve?”

  “Did you say something, dear?” Mama replied.

  My sister smiled smugly, so I gave her a sharp look. “Fine,” I conceded.

  “Never-mind!” she called back, all the while staring me down. “Be there in a couple of minutes.”

  With a quick turn of the head, thankfully, I could see no one moving our direction.

  “So, spill it.”

  “It’s no big deal, really.” I hesitated, knowing how my news would be met. “I ran into Emily at the reunion.”

  “Emily, huh?” she asked slyly. When I didn’t respond, she prodded me. “And?”

  “And,” I exhaled. “We hung out, that’s all,” I said sheepishly.

  “Please tell me you spent the last three days driving to the coast or going to movies.” When I looked up at her without responding, she shook her head. “Oh, that’s just great!”

  “Everything okay in there?” Mama asked from afar.

  Our eyes locked on one another’s, each of us waiting for the other to
speak.

  “We’re fine, Mama,” Christina finally replied. “I’ll be right there.” Then she leaned over the table and got in my face. “Oh, my God. You slept with her, didn’t you?” Her head never stopped shaking with disapproval. “Emily? Really? Are you crazy?” she added in a loud whisper just before stepping away from the table and pacing around the kitchen. “You must be. Either that or you hit your head over there.” Christina pointed at nowhere in particular. “Because I can’t believe for a second you forgot what she did to you just two weeks before your wedding.”

  Now, I’m almost six-two and weigh two and a quarter. But, somehow, when my sister looked at me the way she was right now, I felt ten years old and five-foot-nothing. I stared down at my glass, still reeling from my scolding. “So, how am I gonna tell Mama?”

  “What do you mean? Why would you tell Mama? Tell her what?” she paced, confused. Immediately, she stopped and stared at me. “It’s okay,” she quickly added, talking to herself. “Just because you slept with her, doesn’t mean you have to marry her.”

  This time it was I who gave her a reprimanding glance. “Really? Does Mama know you were four weeks pregnant when you and Abel got married? Do you really think the ‘he came early’ story still holds water?”

  “Now, now. Let’s not make this personal.”

  “This is very personal.”

  “Christ. You’ve fallen for her again.”

  “It’s different this time.”

  “Three days, and you suddenly know her.”

  “I’ve known her since we were ten.”

  “Eddie, that was forever ago.”

  “And?”

  Christina continued to pace. Every time my big sister started to say something, she would stop and shake her head before walking in circles again.

  “Look, I didn’t come here to ask anyone’s permission.”

  “No, you just came to break our mother’s heart by telling her you’re back with—with—”

  “Emily.”

  “I know her name.”

  Resolved not to let this escalate, I stood and stepped toward my sister, taking her by the arms. “Tina. I still love her.” When she tried to move away from me, I held her in place. “Maybe I never stopped loving her.”

  “Maybe?” Christina exhaled dramatically. My sister’s demeanor softened as she looked into my eyes. “Well, I would definitely wait until after the wedding to tell her.”

  “Annabelle’s or mine?” I quipped.

  “Not funny.”

  I grinned. “It was a little funny.”

  “What’s funny?” Mama asked as she walked back into the room.

  My sister and I looked at each other again, before Christina replied. “Eddie was just telling me a joke,” she said, flatly. “A really bad joke.”

  “Well, Christina,” Mama began, looking between us. “Your sister is having a hard time deciding on the cake. Would you mind giving us your opinion?”

  “Not at all, Mama.” Christina smiled smugly at me, then hugged me close. “Don’t you dare tell her,” she whispered into my ear. “Not just yet.” When we parted, I grinned and nodded in agreement.

  “Later,” I added.

  Christina cut her eyes at me, more disapproving than playful, just before walking away.

  “Mama, I gotta go.” I took her into my arms. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Edward. Please call me when you get home, okay?”

  “Sure, Mama,” I nodded.

  “Promise?”

  “Promise,” I assured her.

  As my mother left the room, I fell against the counter, emotionally exhausted, and rubbed my face in frustration. Saddam had nothing on this family, I thought. Then, with a shake of the head and a self-mocking smile, I walked out the door and headed back to Adam’s.

  Chapter 5

  Arnold stared at the shadow box set on a dusty shelf, just below the fifty-two-inch plasma screen attached to the bar’s red brick wall. Within it was a perfectly folded American flag, dutifully preserved and protected. He squinted, trying to make out the words on the plaque, but couldn’t. Did it really matter? Some unlucky soul from some fool war he fought and died in.

  Blah, blah, blah.

  Just someone else, like himself, that had been stupid enough to believe what he did made a difference. Another, fool enough to think that the country he had fought and died for even cared.

  When Arnold left the service, just a few short years ago, he thought he’d left the war behind. Only, it followed him home. The night terrors and flashbacks. The nightmares. The bedwetting. The things you avoid talking about when the doctors or anyone else asks how you’re doing.

  Of course, some knew.

  The buddies he came back with knew. The ones he kept up with. The ones that didn’t talk about what they were going through, either, but you knew they were because you could see it in their eyes. Then, his best friend, Danny, committed suicide. At the funeral, everyone said he was such a good man, and questioned what could have possibly happened that he would take his own life. Only, when Arnold looked into his widow’s eyes, he knew. Because she knew.

  Just like his own wife, Barbara, had known. She had witnessed the terror first hand. Lived it first-hand. At the beginning, of course, she was compassionate and supportive—until she became afraid. For him. Of him. A distance had grown between them, a chasm that no promise of change could ever breach. The promise of not hurting her, of not hurting AJ. She left him a year after his last tour, taking their teenage son with her.

  And now, they had taken his son.

  Arnold looked at the flag again. He had sacrificed so much, given up so much. Lost so much. And, now, he was eaten up with cancer. Oh, he’d had it before. Only, this time, they used the word terminal. He’d always been prepared to die. Hell, he'd been dying little by little since coming home. Between diabetes and heart disease, which the VA fought tying to his father’s chemical weapon exposure for years, not to mention the two feet of colon they took out of him back in 2016—there wasn’t much of him left. Now, his days were numbered. And Arnold was tired. Tired of fighting the war in his mind. Tired of fighting the system and those whose job it was to keep him and others from getting what was due them.

  Arnold stared at the flag and thought of AJ. His only son had taken up arms the year he laid his down. Arnold knew that one day, he might have to accept the flag draped over his son’s casket, as his mother would weep for their loss. He was prepared for everything, except for the shell of a man that they sent back to him. PTSD, they called it. All Arnold knew was he had been robbed of burying his son with military honors.

  It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.

  Suddenly, something caught his attention, distracting him. The news ticker scrolled across the bottom of the screen, “In January, Procopio gave a major victory for tens of thousands of Vietnam War veterans,” it read.

  “Turn it up,” Arnold insisted, pointing at the television as Leo pressed the volume control, both of them looking upward.

  “Today, the VA Secretary issued a stay effective until January on all Blue Water veteran disability benefits,” the local anchor proclaimed at the tail-end of the nightly news. Like a random juicy morsel, thrown in to fill the broadcast. The announcement, ignored by most—as it had been fifty years since the war had been fought—was now all but forgotten. By those who may have read about it somewhere. Or, by those related to someone they didn’t even know had been affected by it.

  “Discouraging news to the ninety-plus thousand veterans who’ve waited so long to finally see compensation for their exposure to herbicides used during the Vietnam War. More specifically, Agent Orange, and the fourteen presumptive diseases associated with it,” he continued, trying to sound sorrowful before concluding his report, which lasted less than two minutes and cutting to commercial.

  Presumptive? Arnold glared at the screen, his face hot. His heart racing. Liars! All of them. He made himself look away. “Liars,” he breathed ou
t, then looked back at his bartender. “Every one of them.”

  “Yup,” Leo agreed, turning the soldier’s direction, spying him fixated once more on the flag.

  Arnold glanced up at the television when he heard them tease the ten pm newscast with an abbreviated version of the VA announcement. “Someone should have to pay,” he muttered under his breath. “Someone should be made to pay!” He looked back at the shadow box on the shelf.

  A fraction of a moment later, the anguished man suddenly removed a pistol from the back of his waistband. Instinctively, Leo hollered “gun” to warn others in the bar, before himself ducking. Arnold raised the weapon, aiming above Leo’s head, firing several shots into the television and the shelf beneath it. Shattered glass and wood rained down on the startled barkeep.

  Leo cautiously glanced over the counter as the screams and cries subsided. The emergency exit siren blared around them. Patrons sheltered under tables and on the floors of booths. But Arnold was already gone.

  Typically, Leo would have tended to his customers first and made sure everyone was okay, but he was rattled to the core. Instead, he knelt down to pick up the tattered and torn flag at his feet. He stood, turning, meeting his own eyes in the broken mirror behind the bar. Leo gripped his father’s flag tightly to his chest, tears welling in his eyes. He, too, had survived war. Then he’d been a beat cop for twenty years. He’d been robbed at gunpoint here at his family-owned bar. He’d witnessed first-hand what men can do to one another. But, as he stared at his reflection, Leo felt something he never imagined he’d feel again in his lifetime—

  Fear.