Keep Forever

by Alexa Kingaard

  Elizabeth was overtaken by a bittersweet, sick feeling, and found it difficult to speak or swallow. She fell silent as they slowly led the procession to the covered ceremony site for the service, where seven smart-looking young soldiers in dress blues waited motionless to carry out the twenty-one-gun salute. She peered at line after line of identical headstones, exact replicas of one another, thinking how inspiring the landscape was, despite the underlying reason for its beauty.

  “Almost there, Mama.” Rex touched his mother’s hand, breaking her trance.

  She uttered softly, “You deserve this, Paul.”

  Chapter 45

  Elizabeth visited the cemetery more frequently than she knew was healthy—at least three times during the week and every Sunday. Days, weeks, months were all the same, and every “first” was marked with sorrow and longing.

  “It’s been almost a year, Mama. Maybe you could visit Dad on special occasions, like his birthday and Christmas. We know you loved him. You don’t have anything to prove to us.”

  Rex did his best to console his mother, even though he was across the country and phone calls were no substitute for being readily available. Elizabeth was proud of their son for the job he was doing in Washington and the contribution he was making to the nation’s veterans. She never let on how much she missed him, Julia and Claire.

  “I know it sounds silly, but spending time with your dad is where I find peace, a little relief from the reality. I’m fine, honest.”

  Rex and Lily’s concerns didn’t stop Elizabeth from spending her free time at their father’s grave, and she often brought a hot cup of coffee, leaned against Paul’s marble headstone, and watched other visitors and caisson processions unfold in front of her. Out of place compared to the regimented color palette surrounding her, she would throw a splashy summer towel, ablaze with bright red hibiscus and golden yellow pineapples on the dirt above where Paul was resting. Depending on the day, her mood shifted from hopeless, to resigned, to comforted knowing that her Paul was no longer suffering.

  Paul’s resting place was front and center. The road before him carried every funeral procession to the ceremony site, and his view was feet away from the somber faces of family members, friends, and beautifully adorned young military men and women in their dress blues. The same procession she had witnessed first-hand was repeated almost daily, and the number of headstones grew with every passing month. There was no way to get any closer to the road that was destined to be the last path for so many. Paul’s row, which he shared with a handful of his comrades, was short compared to the rest. He and five other veterans held the front seats, while line after line of departed soldiers slept silently behind them. Elizabeth often mused that if this were a concert, Paul would have the best seat in the house.

  )

  Elizabeth’s behavior at the gravesite continued into the second year, and, with no end in sight to her mother’s frequent visits, Lily was prompted to take a firm hand in the matter. Even though her approach was gentle, her message was not.

  “Mama, you’re spending more time with the dead than the living. I’ve always known you to be able to tackle anything, but I’m worried about you now. Maybe you should see someone, or talk about it with others who have gone through the same thing. You know Rex and I are always here for you, but we’re starting to get anxious.”

  “I’m okay. Don’t concern yourselves about me.”

  “Why don’t you go out, find a friend to take to a concert, treat yourself to a glass of wine at a restaurant? Mama, you don’t have to stay inside every evening by yourself. We want you to be happy. Dad’s been gone for more than a year.”

  Elizabeth reached for Lily’s hand. “Sitting in the sunshine, leaning against your father’s headstone, spreading a towel, and enjoying an afternoon cup of coffee like we are still together makes me forget that he’s not here. For a few moments it anchors my soul. I know I shouldn’t be spending all my free time with your father. We’ll talk later. Tonight, I’m too tired.”

  In the quiet of her living room once again, Elizabeth couldn’t stop thinking about what Lily had said. She picked up the blanket that she kept draped over Paul’s lounge chair, wrapped herself inside his familiar smell, and curled into a ball on the couch. A little more time. I need a little more time before I try to socialize again. How am I supposed to do that? I’m sixty years old. I have no idea how to start over. Elizabeth reached for a magazine from the coffee table and hoped it would distract her from her racing thoughts. How am I supposed to erase decades of memories? How do I move past that, Paul?

  Elizabeth wished Paul were here so he could answer these questions. She knew he would have the solution. She plumped the pillows on the couch, too exhausted to move to the bedroom, and at the moment when wakefulness is overtaken by sleep, Paul answered her. “You don’t erase the old memories. You make new ones.”

  )

  The restaurant was five minutes away and Elizabeth got the last parking space available. The courtyard bar was crowded with locals and tourists alike. Some were dancing, others were talking in small groups around the fire pit. It was evident that many were single and close to Elizabeth’s age, but she was only there to observe, enjoy the music, and have a glass of wine like Lily suggested. The tape in her head kept playing—you’re too old, no one will talk to you, you look miserable all by yourself, it’s too late. She wondered why she had gone out on a Saturday night by herself. She found a chair in the corner and pulled it closer to the fire.

  The more Elizabeth tried to act nonchalant, the more anxious and out of place she felt. Her hands started to sweat and she felt clammy all over. She took a deep breath and a sip of wine and told herself, Thirty minutes. I’ll stay thirty minutes, tops, then I can leave.

  She kept her head down, pretending to fish something from her purse, and when she looked up, saw a gentleman inching toward her, making his way through the crowd. He assumed the empty chair next to her was a silent invitation and casually sat down. After a few, awkward moments, he leaned in. “Hi, my name’s Steven. What’s yours?” He held his hand out for Elizabeth to shake. Shocked, she returned the gesture.

  “My name’s Elizabeth. Pleased to meet you, Steven.” They sat in silence and pretended they were listening to the band. It was uncomfortable, and as quickly as he had appeared, Steven walked off to join another group.

  Elizabeth focused on the guitarist, and tried to look disinterested in the people and couples who had started to fill the empty spaces. She didn’t want anyone else to notice her, or attempt to start a conversation. Her discomfort grew by the moment and as she finished the last of her wine, saw another man walk towards her. Brash and confident, he sat down in the seat that Steven had vacated, without an introduction or any indication he might be interested in anything but listening to the music.

  She dragged her chair to one side, making an awful scraping noise on the concrete. Elizabeth cringed. Legs crossed, purse underneath her feet, Elizabeth was taken by surprise when he leaned over and said, “I know you. I’ve seen you somewhere and I can’t quite figure it out. Did we work together, go to school together? By the way, my name is Tyler.” He extended his hand, and though she felt somewhat intimidated, Elizabeth shook it.

  Tyler was charming and had a smile to match. His body was lean, his thick head of gray hair was neatly cropped, and his smoky-gray eyes brimmed with enthusiasm. It had been a long time since Elizabeth had been in this situation, but there was something about this man that seemed oddly familiar to her, too.

  “Oh, you caught me off guard. I’m sorry. My name’s Elizabeth. My maiden name was Sutton. Could be we did go to school together. I grew up mostly in Boston but moved to Southern California my senior year.”

  She played the game with Tyler, not knowing where it was headed. Whatever he might be up to, Elizabeth started to relax. The wine appeared to be working.

  “Okay, okay, I got it.” Tyler was adamant. “Class of sixty-eight, Reseda Vall
ey High School, Senior English, Mr. Williams! I was famous for being too loud and caused all sorts of grief, not only for Mr. Williams, but all my teachers. You were the quiet, studious, new girl with the thick Boston accent. You always sat in the back of the room. I knew it, I knew it! Some faces never change. Tyler Hamilton. I’m Tyler Hamilton.”

  Elizabeth studied his face and he continued to talk as she tried to recall her senior year in high school. Time had changed him somewhat. She wasn’t even sure if her recollection was correct, but she shot back, “No way! Were you that goofy boy I met in the hall first day of class when I couldn’t find Senior English?”

  “And that, folks, is how I am best remembered.” Tyler let out a hearty laugh. “Can I get you another glass of wine?”

  “No, I’m fine, thank you. I have to drive home.”

  “I can’t believe I ran into you like this. It’s so bitchin.”

  “You still say bitchin’? I haven’t heard that in so long.” Elizabeth recalled the first time she heard that word and smiled. Paul never let her forget how silly she sounded whenever she said it.

  “Surfer slang. Once a surfer, always a surfer.”

  “You still surf? I thought we might be a little too old for those tricks.”

  “Never too old. I’m not as nimble as I used to be, but I still get out there in the beautiful blue on my longboard when the waves are decent and the sun is shining. What about you? What happened to the Boston accent?”

  “Oh, that was drilled out of me a long time ago. I never went back to Boston to live.”

  “Family, husband?”

  “Widowed, two grown children and two grandchildren. You?”

  “Divorced ten years ago. Three girls, in their forties already. Geesh, where did the time go?”

  They talked into the night, catching up on five decades, acting like long-lost friends. When the last set ended and the seating area started to empty, Elizabeth stood up to leave.

  “Would you mind if I asked for your phone number or e-mail address? If you don’t want to share with me, that’s cool.”

  Hesitant at first, Elizabeth pulled out her business card, the one with the twelve-year-old photo, and offered it to Tyler. He walked her to the car and gave her a spontaneous hug before he opened the door. Elizabeth instinctively pulled away, but smiled as she waved goodbye. By the time she reached her driveway, her heart was pounding. These were feelings she hadn’t experienced in years and wasn’t sure if she wanted to resurrect them now or anytime in the future.

  As soon as Tyler got home, he sent Elizabeth an e-mail.

  Hello, Elizabeth. It was great running into you tonight, and if I didn’t tell you already, I thought you looked great. I was very comfortable talking to you. Maybe we could get together again. What do you think? Good night for now. Tyler Hamilton

  As soon as he pressed ‘send,’ he regretted it and thought it sounded like a sixth grader. Cursing the technology that made it impossible to retract words sent in haste, he fell asleep, hoping one day she might respond.

  )

  By the time Elizabeth was ready for bed, the light on her phone was blinking. It was late, and she couldn’t think of a soul who would need her at this hour of the night. In the past, she would have reached for the phone immediately, knowing it was probably Paul, desperate for late-night conversation or asking her how to make chicken. Her eyes stung with the memory.

  Hoping it wasn’t an emergency with Lily or Rex, she pressed the middle button and saw the new e-mail. Relieved it wasn’t from either of her children, but stunned to see a message from Tyler, her heart froze. She wasn’t used to the attention. Reading it and rereading it, she glanced at the time it was sent, how he signed his name and thought about what he might mean by ‘comfortable.’ For every reason she created to respond immediately, she came up with another, equally compelling reason for why she shouldn’t. She had to decide if she should get it over with and send a quick note, or wait for another day.

  Elizabeth pulled back the covers, felt the cool, white sheets envelop her tired body, and with a satisfied smile, placed the phone back on the nightstand. A glimpse of a new life beckoned. She would get back to Tyler in the morning.

  Acknowledgments

  )

  Inspired by the life we lived, complete with mistakes, joys, sorrows, pain and fulfillment, KEEP FOREVER was written. I am not Elizabeth, but she is my mea culpa, my relief from my guilt for not doing it right or understanding the impact of PTSD at the time we were in the middle of our own private war. Hindsight is useless, unless it can benefit the future. This second edition of KEEP FOREVER is a fine-tuned version of the first that was written and self-published in 2018. I have been given an assignment and found a voice that I never knew I had.

  Thank you to our children, Christopher and Erin. They did it again—stood by me and supported my desire to republish this book that is reminiscent of their father. I know that they are proud of the words, of the message, of the meaning behind KEEP FOREVER, and the inspiration that beckoned the creation of this novel.

  A special thanks to the Veteran’s Writing Group in Oceanside, California. In February, 2012, they gave me shelter from the storm, literally and figuratively. As I fictionalized my experiences living with and tragically losing my Vietnam Veteran, I realized that I had but one story to share. They will never be done, and continue to reveal their countless stories of combat and conflict, on foreign soil and at home Thank you, one and all, for being there for me.

  For every Veteran, Active Duty serviceman and woman, and family member touched by the heroics of their loved one who has defended and continues to defend our country. Thank you.

  To Acorn Publishing for helping me achieve the skills necessary to re-release this novel that is my heart. With their expertise and encouragement, I hope to complete my mission this time by providing an up-close and accurate account of the lingering effects of combat—a journey shared by military families for decades, and who will continue to experience well into the future. Thank you Holly, Jessica, and Lacey!

  To Holly Kammier, my wonderful editor, who understood my message and helped me dig deeper into characters and sub-plots. There is nothing like an editor who realizes the genesis of a story and how it will affect the reader and author.

  To Debra Kennedy, my talented formatter and line editor. We worked together like a well-oiled machine to produce the most professional visual experience for my reading audience.

  To Damonza for another fabulous, emotional cover!

  And oh—those beta readers of mine! Hanging in there to perfect the manuscript, noticing the errors, small and large. It warms my heart to know that so many of my friends and readers are willing to take the time out of their busy lives to assist me with mine. Writing is not a singular effort!

  To every reader who reads KEEP FOREVER and finds the story relatable or enlightening. I am always appreciative of your comments and willingness to follow my progress as an author. I hope you will never be disappointed.

  If you haven’t read it yet

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  MY NAME IS ROSE

  ALEXA KINGAARD’S BEST-SELLING,

  AWARD-WINNING SECOND NOVEL

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