by Skye Taylor
But this morning she’d showed up in the kitchen an hour before the parade was to start decked out in her class A uniform looking even more remote than usual. She’d left ahead of Ben and the boys to leave herself enough time to find out where she needed to be. She had not offered any explanation for her change of plan.
So, here he was, standing in the midst of the cheering crowd, trying not to be crushed by the festive atmosphere. Trying not to think about Chuck. Trying not to worry about Meg.
Evan had wormed his way to the front of the crowd dragging Ben with him so as not to miss a single thing. Evan had a small American flag which he waved with vigor as the high school band approached. Rick, older and more aware of the events of the day before, had been more subdued. But he’d still been excited to be marching with his Cub Scout pack, decked out in his freshly ironed uniform with his Progress Toward Ranks patch dangling from his right pocket button.
It was small as parades go, but Tide’s Way was small. Patriotic to the core, but small. Flags flew on more than half the lawns in town, and there was a higher than average percentage of citizens who’d served at one time or another. Today every single flag was at half-staff, and Ben wondered how many people had raised their flags on this particular Veterans Day with the holiday in mind and how many had lowered the colors to mark Chuck’s passing.
Evan yanked on his jeans. Caught unaware, with his thoughts far away, Ben was jerked back to the here and now.
“There’s Mom!” Evan jumped up and down and waved his little flag even harder. “Mom!” he shouted over the noise of the crowd and the lingering sound of drums. “Mommy.”
Behind the row of military flags, Meg turned and smiled at them, then waved briefly at her son before facing forward again. She was trim and sharp. The best looking Marine ever in Ben’s opinion. But Chuck had looked sharp in his uniform, too. Outside, all squared away and looking as formidable as any soldier who had ever worn a Special Forces beret. But inside, crushed by the things he’d seen and done.
Did those same self-destructive seeds lurk in Meg? Was the strangeness he’d felt in the last weeks a part of that pit of despair that had claimed Chuck? The concern Ben had been feeling for weeks intensified. Chuck had been hiding the worst of his depression so well that even those who knew him best had not seen his suicide coming. Was it possible Meg could be doing the same thing? Hiding it even from the man who loved her the most?
Ben hadn’t exaggerated when he told Meg she was his life. She had no idea how hellish the last year had been for him. Or how afraid he’d been that she might be wounded. Or worse. But the relief he’d felt watching her walk toward him the day she’d returned had been eroded with worry every day since.
How many times had he asked her what was wrong, only to be sidetracked by sex or told that she needed time to sort things out? But she hadn’t sorted it out or confided in him.
Just be there for her and let her know you are hurting too. That had been his father’s advice. But it was easier said than done. Last night was a perfect example of how effectively she’d managed to avoid discussion of any issues she might have.
He watched the back of Meg’s head until it disappeared from sight.
THE WEEK PASSED in a blur. Classmates Ben hadn’t seen in years began arriving from all over the country. They stopped by the house alone or in groups. Will seemed to be there any time he was not on duty or sleeping. They talked about the good old days. Remembered Chuck from high school and before. They talked about the pranks the Three Musketeers had pulled. Almost no one mentioned the many citations and awards Chuck had earned as a soldier.
It was a struggle to stay dry-eyed through the funeral. Ben had been asked to give the eulogy, and it was one of the hardest things he’d ever done in his life. But it was the only thing he had left that he could do for the friend he felt he’d failed.
The gathering back at the Royko home after the burial was even harder. Ben sensed that Meg was struggling with something, and he desperately wanted to be with her. He wanted to be alone with her and beg her to tell him everything. Instead, it seemed that Anne Royko had decided Ben was the support she needed to get through it all. She clung to him at every possible moment, until, in spite of his sincere sympathy for her loss, he wanted to tell her to get lost and leave him the hell alone. He’d never been so angry with a woman in his life. And since it seemed so inappropriate, he was disgusted with himself for feeling that way.
Meg stood on the far side of the room chatting with two of Chuck’s fellow soldiers. She glanced up, and Ben caught her gaze. Wordlessly, he pleaded with her to come to his rescue. But it wasn’t Meg who saved him from saying something he shouldn’t.
Two women, well-dressed and vaguely familiar, approached and pulled Anne into their embrace. Anne let go of Ben with reluctance and turned to her friends from the city. Ben beat a hasty and totally undignified retreat.
It didn’t seem right to leave so soon, but he desperately wanted to gather his family up and take them home. He found Mrs. Royko and gave her a hug. He made her promise to call him if there was anything he could do. He edged into the group where Meg was still chatting with the two soldiers and tapped her on the shoulder, then jerked his head in the direction of the door. Now he just needed to say goodbye to Mr. Royko and Donald, if he could find them, and round up Evan and Rick.
All of the people he sought were out in the backyard.
By the time he’d finished his goodbyes and had his sons corralled, Meg appeared.
She didn’t question the early departure, but she did give him a hug before leading the way around the house and down the drive to her car.
They were halfway home before Evan spoke up. “Is it wrong if I laughed at something?”
Meg was driving and kept her eyes on the road, but Ben turned in his seat and looked at his son. “Of course, it’s not wrong.”
“Kevin said we shouldn’t be laughing because his uncle was dead. But it was funny, Daddy. Cooper put Mrs. Royko’s little kitten on top of the dog’s head, and the dog was trying to lick it.”
“Well, I don’t think Kevin’s the authority here. God made people to enjoy life and gave them things to laugh about. Besides, Uncle Chuck would have been laughing too.”
“Kevin said Uncle Chuck wasn’t really my uncle either. Rick said so, too.” Evan frowned at his brother. “But he is. Right, Daddy?”
“He was an honorary uncle. He was your godfather, and he loved you. And he loved to laugh.”
“See? I told you.” Evan turned to stick his tongue out at Rick.
Meg looked at Ben and rolled her eyes. Suddenly Ben felt like laughing too. He’d been too solemn all week. Too burdened with all the ways he might have failed as a friend. And grieving because he’d never be able to put them right. And Evan, with five-year-old logic, zoomed right in on one of the important things in life. To enjoy every moment that one was given because no one ever knew how many moments they were going to get.
“DO YOU MISS IT?”
“Miss what?” Meg looked at her husband, completely confused about his meaning.
“Being over there.”
“Being over where? At the Roykos’? Hardly!”
Meg had been more than ready to leave the reception at the Royko home. Watching Anne cling to Ben had been bad enough. Watching Ben let her cling had been worse. She had wanted to march over and peel the woman off her husband and tell her to find someone else to weep all over. But that would have created a scene to end all scenes.
Ben didn’t need her irrational jealously. He didn’t need her making scenes. He was grieving his friend, and that was enough to cope with.
“I didn’t mean the Roykos’,” Ben said softly. He wasn’t looking at her. He was watching the boys playing about in the small waves lapping at the shore and managing to get their jeans wet in spite of the chilly ocean water a
nd Meg’s admonitions to the contrary.
Meg didn’t say anything.
“I meant Iraq.”
Meg shook her head, then because he still wasn’t looking at her, she said, “No. I don’t miss Iraq.”
She began gathering up the remains of their picnic supper and stowed them in the cooler.
Ben’s hand closed around her wrist with surprising force. “Stop shutting me out.”
Meg let go of the potato chip bag and sat back on her heels. Ben let go of her wrist. “I’m not shutting you out.”
Ben closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them again. His jaw tightened, and a pulse jumped in his temple. He was clearly upset, but she wasn’t sure why.
“So, if you don’t miss Iraq, what are you missing?”
Meg stared at Ben, not sure where to begin. Not prepared to begin a difficult discussion with her sons playing close by.
“Chuck said he missed it. He said that he wished he could go back. Is that what you really want? To go back to the war?”
There was no missing the pain in Ben’s question.
“I don’t wish I could go back,” she assured him. “Of that I am very sure.”
He pulled his knees to his chest, laced his fingers together, and hugged his legs. He studied her face.
“Some guys do miss the action,” Meg admitted. “A lot of guys. Maybe Chuck did, too. It’s hard to explain if you haven’t been there.” Meg sat back down and scooted closer to Ben’s side. She glanced toward the water where the boys were getting increasingly wet but were still cavorting safely in shallow water.
“You miss missiles screaming into your little outpost in the night. You miss getting woken up a dozen times. Sleep is fitful enough without all the noise. You miss the constant threat of explosive devices erupting under the vehicles or worse, under your feet. Guys that are really out there miss the hellish nightmare even more, but you miss it all in a good way. It just takes a while to become comfortable with being safe again. That’s why I’m jumpy. It’s why that stack of books falling off the counter had me in a cold sweat the other day. It’s why I bolt out of bed when something wakes me up unexpectedly. So, I miss it, but I don’t. I’m not sure if I’m making any sense.”
Ben unlaced his fingers where they were wrapped about his knees and reached over to gather her hand into his. “I get that part. But Chuck said he missed his life there, and now I’m afraid that’s what you were trying to tell me when you said that you didn’t feel like you fit in here at home anymore.”
Meg shook her head once, then stopped. “Well, maybe a little,” she admitted. “There’s a camaraderie that’s hard to describe. The band of brothers thing. It goes deep. It becomes part of who you are. It’s why soldiers will jump on grenades to save their buddies’ lives. It’s why some soldiers expose themselves to enemy fire to drag a downed comrade to safety or administer first aid. Then you come home, and it’s gone. That closeness is gone. And you feel a little lost. I think that’s what Chuck might have been trying to explain. It’s why so many men go back in again even after getting out. They try civilian life, and it doesn’t work. They feel like they’ll never fit in. Like no one will ever understand. And they want that other thing back. That place where they felt like they made a difference. But Chuck couldn’t go back because of his injuries.”
“But you’re not injured. You could go back.” Ben’s hand gripped hers until her fingers hurt, as if by holding on tight enough he could keep her from wanting to go back. His thumb drew frantic little circles on the back of her hand.
“I’ve already submitted all the paperwork to resign my commission.”
Ben’s thumb ceased circling, but the tightness of his grip didn’t lessen. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“I’m—” Meg tried to return the pressure of his grip. “I’m sure.”
He relaxed, but not completely. “You won’t miss it? The camaraderie, I mean?”
Meg started to shrug but stopped herself. “I’ll—yes, I’ll miss it. But not enough.”
“Not enough for what?”
Shrieks of laughter erupted from the water’s edge. Evan was now completely soaked, and his brother was not far from it. They were scooping handfuls of water and flinging them at each other.
“We’ll have to go home soon, or they’ll be freezing.” Meg started to get up.
Ben didn’t let go of her hand. “Not enough for what?”
“Not enough to go back,” Meg said, leaning toward him. “Not enough to leave my boys motherless.” She kissed him. “Or you a widower.”
Chapter 23
WILL CAMERON WALKED into the kitchen without knocking. “Hey, Kip. How’re they hanging?” Rick bounded in behind him, the shirt of his scout uniform half out of his trousers and his hair full of leaves. “Hit the shower, young man,” Will called after Rick as he skipped through the kitchen and down the hall.
Ben snorted and turned back to the pizza dough he was rolling out. “Some watch dog you are, Kip. You didn’t even growl to announce we had company.”
“He knows me. I’m not company.” Will squatted to the dog’s level and scratched behind his ears. “Right, Kip? I told Rick to leave his muddy shoes on the porch. Yeah, you like that, don’tcha, big guy?” Will finished giving Kip a thorough scratch and stood.
“You’re staying for pizza night, right?” Ben slopped sauce over the last of the dough, then started in with the cheese.
“Have I ever declined a meal I didn’t have to cook for myself?” Will shucked his own not-so-muddy boots and parked them beside the door.
“You need to find yourself a wife and settle down.” Ben tore off the top of a package of pepperoni slices and winked at his twin.
Will glanced around the kitchen, then looked back toward Ben. “You have one, but you’re still cooking.”
“It’s my pizza night. My choice.”
“Where is Meg?”
“Out with the girls. Margie picked her up to go to a baby shower for Jenny Crawford out at that fancy new place by the bridge.” With the last of the pepperoni arranged to his satisfaction, Ben opened the oven and slid the pans onto the racks.
“That’s Beau’s wife, isn’t it?”
“You know any other Jenny Crawfords?”
“No. But I didn’t know Beau was going to be a daddy finally. I’ll have to rag on him a little next time I run into him.”
“Your day will come, and you know what they say about who laughs last.” Ben set the timer and began collecting napkins, plates, and glasses to put on the table. “Grab a couple beers,” he told Will as he headed into the dining room.
Will collected two bottles from the fridge and popped the caps off, then followed Ben. “How are you doing?”
Ben glanced up from setting the table. He didn’t pretend not to know what Will referred to with the sudden change of subject. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“Okay, I guess. It’s still a shock. I still have a hard time believing he did it.”
Ben sat down and reached to take one of the bottles from Will’s hand. “I still can’t help feeling guilty I didn’t suspect he was in trouble.”
“Makes two of us,” Will agreed, taking a chair across from Ben. “I’ve been busy lately. But not so busy that I couldn’t have made time to check on him.”
“I wish . . .” Ben began, then hesitated. He hadn’t told Will about Meg and the dog issue.
“You wish what?” Will folded his arms on the table edge and leaned closer.
“If we were already training dogs for vets here, Chuck might have agreed to participate.”
Will shrugged. “Might have. Might not have. You can’t fix what you don’t know.”
“But I might have made a point of asking. Which means, I’d have paid more attention to just
how desperate he must have been. He might have agreed just to help me get the program off the ground even if he didn’t think it would make any difference.” He might have been a skeptic like Meg. But even so—
“How’s Meg handling it?”
“Are you reading my mind?”
“Not so good, huh?” Will took a swallow of beer and set the bottle carefully back into the wet ring it had made on the polished wooden surface.
“I’m scared, Will. She won’t talk about any of it. At least not about herself.”
“Did she talk about Chuck?”
“We took the boys to the beach for a picnic after we got back from the funeral. I was wallowing in guilt and feeling bad for myself. I think she thought the picnic would take my mind off it, but it didn’t. We talked some, and she tried to explain why some guys wish they could go back into the fighting. But when I asked her what she felt, she shut off like someone pinched a hose.”
“She’s not getting deployed again right away, is she?”
“She’s getting out. And she says she’s okay with that. But she’s not. She just says she doesn’t want to make me a widower and the boys motherless, but she won’t say what she really feels about getting out.
“The dogs bother her, too. She told me she felt guilty about one of the bomb dogs getting blown to kingdom come, but even then she didn’t tell me all of it. She hasn’t been out to help in the kennels since she got back, and Kip gave her the creeps when he first came.”
“But you said she was over that. I thought she was good with Kip now.”
The dog heard his name and got up from the hall doorway and came to stand by Ben’s chair. He patted the dog’s head then began to scratch his favorite place at the base of his ears. Kip leaned into him, enjoying the attention.
“She says she feels useless. Like I don’t need her anymore.” The all-too-familiar feeling of despair began to ease into Ben’s chest.
Will snorted. “Hah! I need to take that woman out for a drink some night and fill her in on just what a big basket case you were while she was gone. Not to say you’re less of a man or anything, but when she’s not around, you’re just not yourself. She needs to know that.”
