The Ex

by Margaret Ferguson

  “Don’t you have to go find a chicken or goat to sacrifice or something?” When he didn’t budge, I crossed my arms as I exhaled and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know. I guess it never felt right.”

  “But it did with Mary Beth?”

  I hesitated, then nodded again.

  “And Emily,” he stated.

  I glanced away, then realizing my misstep, quickly looked back. “I love Emily.”

  “I believe you do, Eddie. But, I also think after all these years, you finally found the woman you wanted to spend the rest of your life with—only, she was taken.”

  I didn’t look away.

  “And when you found Emily again, you figured you’d come full circle, and there’d never be another Mary Beth, so—”

  “So, you’re saying I’m settling?”

  He shrugged. “You’re the only one who can answer that one, Captain.”

  I didn’t quite know how to respond. So, I told Bob the truth.

  “I’m meeting Mary Beth for lunch today.”

  Bob raised his eyebrows.

  “She’s in Texas. She asked if we could meet.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. It’s just lunch.”

  “And you agreed to it.”

  “You say it like it’s something sinful. What are you going to say next? Are you going to tell me how I’m an almost-engaged man and shouldn’t be meeting a married woman?” I could feel my anger rising. Or was it my guilt? I’m sure it counts against you, somewhere, if you punch a preacher.

  “I didn’t mean anything by it. However, I do question, since it’s just lunch, why you are so defensive. Secondly, I’d ask if you’ve told your soon-to-be fiancé where you were going and who you were meeting.”

  At that, my anger waned. I had not told Emily that I was having lunch with an old— God, I don’t even know what to call her since we weren’t intimate. We hadn’t even dated. What do you call someone you fall in love with under the most incredible circumstances? Somehow, girlfriend just doesn’t seem to fit.

  “And thirdly, I’d ask you why you agreed to meet her. To what end?”

  “Closure,” I answered, immediately.

  “For you? Or for her?”

  “Both,” I said, matter-of-factly.

  He pursed his lips and nodded. “I get that. But I’ll ask you again. Does Emily know?” When I didn’t answer right away, he added. “If everything about the meeting is innocent, then she would understand.”

  I looked down at my hands and chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Emily would never understand.”

  “Did you even try?”

  Laying out the sordid events of the morning before I left for training seemed so unnecessary at this point.

  “Starting out a marriage with secrets won’t fare well for either of you.”

  “You trying to shrink me, now, Preacher?”

  “Just encouraging you to be honest with your soon-to-be-wife. And, more than that, to be honest with yourself.”

  “You think I shouldn’t see her.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  I sat, ready to listen earnestly to his counsel.

  “Eddie, if your intentions are innocent and honorable, then you have nothing of which to be ashamed. I don’t expect you to bare your soul to me, unless you want to, of course. But, in the end, you’re a grown man. As long as you remember to consider that two others can be hurt, whether by omission or by secrecy.”

  “I’m not planning on having an affair,” I retorted, sarcastically.

  “You don’t have to have an affair, Captain, to damage a relationship. To damage the trust Emily has in you. How would you feel if the shoe were on the other foot?”

  “The shoe has been on the other foot.”

  “Then you already know, Eddie, what this can do to someone.”

  I nodded with embarrassment.

  “You can lie to Emily, and you can lie to yourself, but God knows your heart, Eddie. He knows your heart.”

  “It’s just lunch,” I said meekly.

  Bob stood and slapped my shoulder. “Then you have nothing to worry about, do you?” He grinned down at me. “Gotta go find me a chicken to sacrifice for the service tonight. Have a good one,” he added, before tossing a handful of ones onto the table and then walking away.

  I nodded, dumbfounded, my head still reeling from his words. You can lie to Emily, and you can lie to yourself, but God knows your heart. I felt my shoulders droop. Why was this such a difficult decision? Why was my heart suddenly conflicted?

  A kiss stolen in a dark cave, deep in the bowels of a mountain.

  When my heart began to race at the memory, I shook my head. Stop it! She’s married. You are about to be.

  If everything about the meeting is innocent, then Emily would understand.

  “Please help me to do the right thing,” I voiced in a small prayer. Then, I reached into my pocket, retrieved my phone, and nervously redialed Emily’s number.

  God, please let her understand.

  Chapter 11

  The man stumbled down the alleyway in the same direction he did every day about this time. His clothes were torn and smelled of sweat and beer and urine. Hair unkempt. Looking like he hadn’t washed it, much less combed it in months. The man’s distended stomach rumbled, whether from hunger or the cirrhosis that was eating away at the lining of his gut, the culmination of years of abusing himself with alcohol. The sun was now at its brightest in the sky. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and he was famished. Suddenly lightheaded.

  Something caught his eye, and he stopped, glancing down the narrow street lined with dumpsters and trash cans. He squinted—his glimpse of an American flag flying high on the post office flagpole, distorted through the glare. Silver grommets banged rhythmically against the metal in the warm afternoon wind, the sound echoing between the old buildings that walled the alleyway. Its colorful linen waved majestically against the clear blue sky. He stopped for a moment and stared at it, vaguely remembering a time when that particular symbol meant something more to him. He recollected rice paddies and machine guns and blood, though he couldn’t put all the pictures together in his mind anymore. Somehow when he thought of that time so very long ago, he always saw blood. And he was deathly afraid of blood, so he kept the memories buried there.

  It was a place he’d long forgotten, not much unlike how the country he’d come back to had forgotten him. He didn’t even think about it anymore. Much. Hadn’t really, for a long, long while. The alcohol helped. Helped him get by. Helped him forget—the wife that left him some years ago, taking his kids with her. His sons now so ashamed of him that they told everyone he was dead. He leaned against the brown, beat-up dumpster, and urinated onto the street, glancing up at the flag again as he peed. Hell, it still meant something to him. He just couldn’t remember what it was, exactly.

  He shook before tucking himself back into the pants he’d worn for the past six weeks. An old white truck with a utility bed slowly crept past him and stopped in front of the doorway where he had been heading. The cook at Franklin’s was a friend, always giving him something to eat if he happened to stop by. And he always stopped by. Only, the truck parked right in front of the kitchen door, blocking it.

  He tilted his head curiously, watching as two men exited the vehicle and began setting up cones at its four corners. The shorter one, wearing an orange mesh safety vest and hard hat, stopped when their eyes met. He nodded to the old drunk, who slowly nodded in return, his hands busy in his pockets, fidgeting with the change he’d earned that morning standing at the corner under the bridge.

  In all the months he’d come through here, he’d never seen them working on anything, but he supposed, it was bound to happen. The cracks and potholes had been growing deeper through the years, from overfilled garbage trucks and delivery vehicles. But, who the hell cared about an alley?

  The men worked hurriedly, securing gadgets and movin
g sawhorses. He watched curiously as they strung wires and even mixed and poured Sakrete around the exit door beyond the truck. Slowly, wobbly, he made his way to the two whose vehicle was blocking his source of nourishment for the day. His stomach grumbled at the reminder.

  “Hey,” he slurred as he neared the truck. The older of the two men walked around the vehicle and stopped him.

  “I’m sorry, sir.” The worker held out his hand to deter the old drunk. “But we need you to leave.”

  “Leave?” he made a face.

  “Yes, sir.” The two workmen exchanged glances. “We are about to block off the street to begin some construction. Within the hour, there will be more vehicles back here, and it will be off-limits to the public until we are finished.”

  “But,” the beggar began, grabbing his head in confusion. “But,” he tried again.

  The drunkard’s stomach growled loudly enough that the older of the two men in hardhats suddenly understood. “You hungry?” he asked.

  The pitiful-looking man glanced at the blocked door and nodded.

  The older worker walked to his truck, opened the door, took out a Yeti lunch bag, and handed it to the transient. “Here ya’ go,” he said as the man stood there, perplexed. The worker furrowed his brow. “You a veteran?” he asked. When the drifter just stared at him, confused, he dug into his pocket, took out a wad of twenties, and placed it into the unwashed hand.

  The man stared at the cash in his dirty palm, then closed his fingers around it. He hadn’t seen this much money in a very long time. His hand gripped the lunchbox tightly as he blinked with bewilderment.

  “It’s okay,” the kind worker said. “But you’ll need to leave the alley. Right now,” he added with a sense of urgency. Then he smiled and lowered his voice. “We wouldn’t want you to get hurt by any of the big equipment coming through here soon.”

  The old drunkard nodded compliantly. “Sure.” He turned and began shuffling away. “And, thank you,” he mumbled with a quick turn of his head. He continued on from where he came, ignoring the men observing him carefully until he disappeared around the corner.

  When he was gone entirely, the younger man called out. “Apron poured and setting, sir.”

  “Good job, AJ.”

  “Ten minutes, maybe fifteen.”

  Arnold checked his watch, his eyes continuing to dart from one end of the alleyway to the other. “Set time to thirty minutes. Now.”

  “Roger that,” AJ replied, stepping to the back of the truck and removing two large canvas bags. Immediately, he carried them to and placed one into the concrete he’d just poured. The new concrete would set almost two inches above the bottom of the exit door, thus sealing it closed. When the mechanism was emplaced, AJ covered it from above with the brown feed sack. He then carried the second bag to the truck, setting it down gently, before carefully unzipping it and taking out a different device. One he had built mere weeks before. A sophisticated gadget with five components: activator, body, battery, fuse, and most obviously—a charge.

  Arnold finished disabling the old work truck, then allowed his son to place the device carefully within the walled wooden box he’d prepared for it, just around the motor. His son was still young and agile enough to be able to crawl under the vehicle and do what needed to be done. When he walked past the truck, suddenly something caught his eye. He turned and found himself staring at an American flag a hundred yards away at the end of the alley. He drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. A moment later, he breathed out slowly before pressing his earbud. “AJ, do you copy?”

  “Yes, sir,” came the response from under the truck.

  And then he spoke the words that he knew there was no coming back from. “Rig IED.”

  Chapter 12

  I kept my booth, or rather, Bob’s booth, as it had a perfect view of the entire diner. When she walked through the doorway, a half-hour later, my heart leaped. Regrettably. She spied me, and suddenly, her smile grew with every step as she walked my direction. I slid from the booth, and we stood there, looking at each other before stepping into one another’s arms for an awkward hug. I was the first to let go, stepping back and waiting for Mary Beth to slide across from me onto the red vinyl before I slipped into the seat opposite her. She casually looked around.

  Painted brick partitions with nostalgic memorabilia and neon beer signs strewn across them separated seating areas of retro red diner booths from vintage chrome and colorful Formica tables surrounded by dated vinyl chairs. Flat screens were anchored high on the walls to assure no one missed their favorite game while old black and white televisions hung menacingly in the corners, playing doo-wop videos on a loop. And, since it was Veteran’s Day, small American flags had been placed on every table, with a few patriotic banners hung throughout.

  The waitress handed us each a menu and offered Mary Beth a beverage. I held my hand over my coffee cup, signaling that I was through before ordering water.

  “Thank you,” Mary Beth said. She began casually studying the selections, as our server walked away. I felt her deliberately avoid my gaze as I watched her.

  “Quit,” she scolded, without looking up.

  “What?”

  “Staring.”

  “Can’t help it,” I replied, toying with the salt shaker, leaning forward onto the table. Mary Beth was just as I remembered.

  She held the single laminated sheet higher so that I could no longer see her. The first thing I noticed was her wedding band.

  …innocent lunch.

  “At some point, you’ll have to order, and then you’ll have to look at me.”

  She dropped her arms onto the table, exhaling and batting her eyes dramatically.

  “So,” I began, my hands fidgeting nervously with my cutlery. “Who are you visiting down here in Army country?”

  “My Great Aunt Lucy,” she explained. “For the past four years, she and her church have been so faithful in sending care packages, not to mention weekly letters and cards of encouragement to our team. This trip was an excuse to thank them in person.” She stared down at her hands. “Plus, she’s ninety-one, and her health is starting to deteriorate.”

  “I’ll bet she was excited to see you.”

  “Yeah.” Mary Beth glanced around, wriggling. Obviously, a little uncomfortable, herself. “She was.”

  We were interrupted long enough for our server to leave our water, then take our orders.

  When we were alone again, I opened my mouth to speak, but the waiters broke out into song a couple of tables away. A young soldier, who looked like he'd just graduated from high school, was surrounded by those I assumed were friends and coworkers, singing along. Our waitress handed him a bowl heaped with brownies, layered in hot fudge and topped with ice cream, whipped topping, and a cherry. We watched until he blew out the candle.

  When I turned back to Mary Beth, as though reading my mind, she answered my question. “The nurse at the hospital. You gave her your cell phone number, just in case. Remember?”

  I furrowed my brow, a playful smirk on my face. “What happened to my right to privacy?”

  “She didn’t think you’d mind.”

  I studied her as she spoke. It had been about a year since I had last seen her, on the other side of the world.

  “I kind of had to talk her into it.”

  It felt—odd. That’s the best word I can think of to describe seeing the missionary in street clothes after weeks of seeing her draped in clothing meant to hide her features and frame.

  “She couldn’t believe our story when I told her.”

  Our story?

  “What’s there to tell?” I sat back; arms crossed. “A soldier got stranded in your village until he was rescued,” I shrugged. “End of story.”

  Mary Beth grinned. “Well, I guess I went into a little more detail than that.”

  “Hmm.” My eyes tried not to focus on her perfect features or her dark, entrancing eyes. Or the curls twisted loosely into a single braid that fell across h
er shoulder. I leaned forward onto my arms again, waiting for her to continue.

  “I told her about a rogue soldier, injured in a helicopter crash, rescued by our village. I explained how he was stubborn and arrogant and demanding.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “I told her how I—we—cared for him. That he became part of our lives. The villagers’ lives. Of my life.” Her eyes met mine. “How I fell in love with him.” And they held me there.

  “And then the damned fool went and rescued her husband.”

  Mary Beth chuckled softly. When I leaned forward onto the table, she casually leaned back. “I had no idea you were in Texas until I called.”

  “Must be a God thing,” I said.

  “I believe it was,” she deflected my usual sarcasm. “You know,” she began, then stopped as suddenly as she’d started. “Abraham really missed you after you left.”

  “Just Abraham?” I asked coyly. When Mary Beth didn’t respond, I added, “How’s he doing?”

  “He’s good. The whole village is good. They still all talk about the soldier that fell from the sky, rebuilt their walls out of trash, and taught them how to use an outhouse.”

  My smirk turned to a smile upon remembering. “So, how’s the rest of the team?”

  “Denice and Teddy are still there, with another doctor and his wife from South Korea.”

  I breathed out as I watched her nervously fidget with her wedding ring. “So, how is old Henry?”

  Her smile looked forced as she averted her eyes. “Henry’s good,” she hesitated, then added under her breath, “I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  Mary Beth quit playing with her ring, her hands disappearing beneath the table. She looked up sadly. “When we got back to the states, we separated.”

  Her words took my breath away. I struggled for what to say. “I’m really sorry to hear that,” I added, sincerely. “You okay?”

  She shrugged weakly, the sadness heavy on her heart and weighing on her drooping shoulders as she spoke.

  “So, what happened?”

  Slowly, Mary Beth looked into my eyes. “You did.”