Close to Home

by Liz Lee

  And even though she’d seen the reports from B’en Ai, she couldn’t know the full truth of what happened or his complicity in Anaj’s death. He could never tell her. She needed to let this go.

  “Listen to me, Kacie Jo. I’m not going to talk to you about this. This isn’t one of those problems you can fix and I’m not one of your students who needs help. B’en Ai is a part of my past, and it’s staying there.”

  “So you’re not going back?”

  He almost laughed at the relief in her voice. Funny that she was relieved at the one thing that proved his weakness. “No. I can’t.”

  “It might help. Being back there might help you deal with whatever it is….”

  The anger boiled over. “I’ve dealt with it, Kacie Jo. I don’t need to go back, and I need you to be my wife, not my therapist.”

  She didn't respond. Dammit, he wanted her to react. Wanted her to quit treating him like he was some sort of ticking time bomb.

  Instead, she turned around and started taking more clothes out of the closet. That’s when he spied the shirt, the shirt he barely remembered from childhood. Without thinking, without wondering what it was doing in her closet, he picked it up.

  “What’s this doing in here?”

  She looked at the shirt and a million emotions crossed her face. She held out her hand. “Give it back, Donovan. You know what it is. I’m not fighting with you.”

  Oh, yes, she was. Donovan didn’t know why that was important to him, why he wanted her angry enough to quit treating him like an invalid. He stood there looking at her and knew if she didn’t stop acting like he would break any second, he would do just that. So he held the shirt away and poked at what caused her pain.

  “Oh, I remember. You used to sleep in this shirt. I’m surprised it still exists.”

  Kacie Jo stood back and crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowed. “Stop it, Donovan. Just give me back the damn shirt.”

  Donovan looked at the blue and red striped Polo golf shirt with its four buttons and faded collar. A tiny rip had started on one of its frayed edges. The first night he’d spent at the Jenkins’, Kacie Jo’s mother had worn this shirt with jeans. She’d tucked him in and promised to make him smiley face pancakes the next morning.

  When she died, Kacie Jo’d taken to wearing the shirt to bed every night. Grady’d wondered if his sister was going crazy.

  “What’s this doing in your closet, Kacie Jo? What else do you have in there?”

  He moved toward the closet and Kacie Jo stepped in front of him. “Stop it, Donovan. Just stop. This is cruel, and you know it.”

  “Why’s it cruel, Kacie Jo?” He held the shirt out toward her. “Why’s it cruel for me to know why my wife still has her mother’s shirt hanging in her closet? Why is it cruel for me to know what other secrets you have hanging in there.”

  She turned away. “They’re not secrets. You know they’re not.”

  “They are, Kacie Jo. You make them secrets by hiding them away. I was there. I remember. Is that what you’re doing here? Avoiding them?”

  His brain screamed stop, but he couldn’t. Suddenly he needed her angry.

  “Stop it, Donovan. This isn’t about me.” No anger yet.

  He didn’t stop even though his words would hurt her. “I remember her funeral. I remember you holding on, begging them not to close the casket. I remember you wearing that shirt after that. And now you’ve got it in a closet. What’s that say, Kacie Jo?”

  Pity crossed her face.

  “It says you don’t have a monopoly on anguish, Donovan. That’s all it says.”

  She whispered the words then turned away.

  God, what was wrong with him? “Dammit, Kacie Jo, just scream at me. Tell me to quit being an ass. I can handle it. Tell me to leave your mother’s stuff alone. Tell me you don’t have to have a reason for keeping her shirt in the back of your closet and it’s none of my damn business. I understand. That’s what I’m saying. We all have stuff in our closets we don’t want to share.”

  She was crying now, silent sobs that shook her body, and Donovan hated himself more than ever. Jesus. He couldn’t even fight with his wife the right way.

  He handed her the shirt and she pulled it to her chest, held it to her face.

  She’d probably never speak to him again. He deserved that. What kind of man tried to start a fight with his wife and chose something almost sacred as the ignition? The same kind of man too afraid to go back to B’en Ai. The same kind of man who slept with his best friend’s little sister and then cleared out of town, never planning on looking back. The same kind of man who let an innocent girl die and then couldn’t live with the nightmares.

  “It used to smell like her.” Kacie Jo’s voice surprised him, and he found her staring at the shirt wadded in her hands. “It doesn’t anymore, you know, but if I close my eyes, I can still imagine it does.”

  He swallowed the lump in his throat ashamed that he’d tried to use this as a way to fight with her. “Like Grape Koolaid and Vicks.”

  She shook her head and laughed, only it came out more like a sob. “And roses. She wore rose perfume every day. She used to say my daddy always ended his letters from deployment telling her he made it through each day by thinking of her and imagining her perfume. She said we had to thank God and the Avon lady that daddy made it back alive.”

  As he listened to her speak, Donovan remembered that scent. Remembered the way he’d wished his mother smelled like flowers instead of cigarette smoke.

  She hung the shirt in its place in the back of the closet. “See Donovan, that’s the difference. You want to keep everything hidden away, but I’ll share my pain with you. This is where I keep my treasures. The ones that hurt too much to see every day but mean too much to just let go.”

  He wished he could let go, but his pain was too great. Sharing it would kill him. “I’m sorry, Kacie Jo.”

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  When she answered, Donovan understood she was talking about more than the shirt and his stupidity. She was talking about them and where his refusal might land their relationship.

  Kacie Jo let Donovan hold her, let him make love to her with such sweet slowness, she almost cried. And she in turn made a point to memorize his every touch, his every kiss.

  But she didn’t for one minute think this was over. He’d struck out at her, and he probably would again. Since he refused to share his pain, she insisted on sharing her healing, all the while praying it reached the secret parts of his soul.

  Her phone showed two in the morning and she could hear Donovan pacing in the kitchen. He hadn’t slept all night. Had apologized for waking her, telling her it had been months since he’d had this problem.

  If she could just get him to talk, he’d be better.

  But what if he wasn’t?

  She lay on the bed and counted the brown water spots on her ceiling. What if he talked and got worse? She didn’t know what he’d been exposed to. He was a war reporter, he lived over six years smack dab in the middle of one nightmare after another.

  She knew to the depths of her soul that their relationship helped him. He’d relaxed, enjoyed life. They’d fallen in love.

  If he’d just talk, share, maybe she could help.

  When he started down the hall, she closed her eyes feigning sleep. She didn’t want him feeling guilty over her wakeful state.

  But he wasn’t fooled a minute. “I’m sorry, Kacie Jo.” As he spoke the words, the bed sank with his weight, then his cold leg slid next to hers.

  She turned to him and covered his chest with her arm. “Don’t be silly.” And she touched her lips to his letting him know it didn’t matter to her.

  He pushed her hand under the covers to touch his hard length at the same time he pulled off her nightgown.

  The rush of cool air on her back made her shiver. Somehow, everything would be okay. She pushed the boxers he slept in down to the bottom of the bed with her feet, laughing when he complained about
her cold toes.

  And then she straddled his hips with hers and they became one. She prayed he felt the same sense of rightness, the same release. She might not have the key to destroying his demons, but Kacie Jo firmly believed their love could conquer all.

  Somehow, Donovan found sleep. Maybe making love had relaxed him to the point sleep was possible. If the key to helping him was that simple, she’d be more than willing to make sure her husband stayed in a constant state of relaxation.

  Kacie Jo lay back against her pillow and let her hands rest on her belly. In her mind she spoke to the baby, told her everything would be okay, told her that her mother and daddy were there and loved her so much. That her family was safe and secure.

  That her momma had taken on her daddy’s demons and her momma had won. So take that. She smiled and let herself relax.

  Until the bed started shaking.

  With a start she sat up. She’d fallen asleep and something was wrong.

  Her hand reached out automatically, and came into contact with Donovan’s hard body. Sweat covered his chest and face, and she could feel his cry before she heard it.

  Reaching over she touched his shoulder. “Wake up, Donovan. Wake up.”

  But he was lost in a nightmare so real, it terrified her. His words were unintelligible. But his fear was obvious.

  She shook him again. “Wake up, dammit. Donovan, wake up.”

  God, what should she do? Would waking him hurt him? Should she hit him or throw water on him? Or what? Dear Lord, what should she do?

  She grabbed his hand and begged him to wake up, but that didn’t work, so she did the only thing she could.

  She leaned into him, her tears silently falling and wrapped him in her arms.

  Donovan woke with a start as the strange arms wrapped around his chest. He didn’t let himself think. Couldn’t if he wanted to survive.

  Flashes of light and explosions warred for his attention, but first, he had to get away from this place. This prison.

  The arms tightened around him and he struck out the way he’d been taught. Quick, to the throat, the face.

  His fist connected with a pillow and he cursed. That miss could mean his life. At least the attacker had let him go.

  He reached back to throw a second punch, and scrambled out of the unknown bed at the same time a voice reached through his mind. A cry.

  “Donovan. Donovan. Wake up. Jesus, Donovan wake up.”

  Outside the window he didn’t recognize twilight fell, snuffing out the stars one by one in that way it did before dawn broke. He wrinkled his nose, but he didn’t feel any dust, didn’t smell any smoke.

  His eyes adjusted to the darkness and everything in him stopped. His pulse pounded in his ears as he stared at a terrified Kacie Jo. Confusion hit hard as moonlight streamed over her face and hand. The wedding ring. His ring. This was Kacie Jo. And they were married. And she was pregnant with his child. And he loved her.

  A red mark marred her cheek where he must’ve connected.

  Holy shit. Holy...

  “Oh my God, Kacie Jo. Oh my God.”

  Kacie Jo dropped the pillow she’d grabbed for protection and threw herself into his arms. Her nightgown fluttered around his feet as she rubbed her hands over his arms.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered over and over. “It was a nightmare. Just a godawful nightmare. It’s okay. You’re here. I’m here. It’s okay.”

  Only it wasn’t. It wasn’t okay at all. He reached out and brushed a finger over her cheek.

  “Kacie Jo, I...Jesus. I hit you.”

  Her hair fell in soft waves over his hand as she shook her head. “No, no. When you jumped out of the bed, I grabbed the pillow and hit myself like a klutz. You didn’t. You didn’t hurt me at all. Scared the crap out of me, but you didn’t hurt me.”

  He didn’t know if she was telling the truth or not. It didn’t matter. He would’ve hit her. Would’ve done worse.

  Chills covered him followed by a hard sweat, and he couldn’t stop shaking. He could have hurt her. Could have killed her. He’d been ready.

  Inside something screamed, roared. It took everything in him to keep from giving it voice.

  He knew what he had to do.

  “Kacie Jo...” his voice cracked, and he realized he was crying when she reached up and wiped the tears from his cheeks.

  “Donovan, it’s okay. Nightmares do that. Just come back to bed. It’ll be alright.”

  Like the coward he knew himself to be, he climbed into the bed and let her hold him, tell him she loved him.

  And like the coward he was he kissed her temples and let her believe the lie that everything would be okay in the morning.

  The next morning the telephone woke Kacie Jo. She reached her hand out to touch Donovan and found nothing but the cold sheets where he’d fitfully slept the night before.

  That niggling feeling that something wasn’t quite right hit her first. Then apprehension. The phone continued ringing and she blinked, rubbed her eyes and tried to clear the fuzziness from her mind, and that’s when she saw.

  Donovan’s bag, the one he’d left packed beside the closet door was gone.

  The phone finally fell silent, and she collapsed back against the pillow and tried to think.

  For the second time, Donovan had walked away from her. For the second time, she wasn’t surprised. What would the talk show psychiatrists say about that? Not a good sign when you took someone leaving as a normal part of a relationship.

  She looked at the black lace veil sitting on her dresser and wondered why she wasn’t crying. Why she wasn’t even looking to make sure he was really gone.

  But for the life of her, she couldn’t force her legs to move. She didn’t want to make them move. She wanted to lay in bed and think about what could have been.

  So she stayed there under the sheet, waiting for the pain of rejection to slam into her. It didn’t. For the longest time, all she felt was numb.

  Until the baby woke and fluttered against her stomach and she realized Donovan had chosen to abandon them both. He’d never be there to share any of the experiences or fears or joys of this pregnancy. His words of love had been nothing but a farce.

  Instead of the expected heartache, anger hit hard and fast. She threw the covers off and grabbed the veil he’d given her, tossed it in the bag she’d used to store her high school softball mitt, tied the bag off and kicked it to the back of the closet. She yanked the classic rock t-shirts she’d collected over the years off the hangars and threw them across the room. She tore the sheets and pillowcases off her bed, wadded them into a ball and started toward the washing machine but changed her mind. She never wanted to see them again. She never wanted to see him again. She hoped he went back to B’en Ai and stayed away from her and her baby because she wasn’t letting him invade her heart ever as long as she lived.

  That ass. That insufferable, selfish, despicable coward.

  She thought about burning the sheets, changed her mind, marched to the Dumpster, bare feet sizzling on the heated concrete even this early in the morning, cotton robe flying in the wind. She threw the Dumpster open, tossed the sheets and slammed the lid down so loud it echoed, then marched back into the house, shut and locked her door with a thud and a click. And then she sat in her kitchen and cried tears of fury.

  Her phone rang again, but she ignored it. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She didn’t trust the words she’d say to Donovan and no one else mattered.

  If he showed up on TV in B’en Ai, she’d probably throw her TV out the window. She’d have to block the news from the Internet. Donovan Nelson, darling of the industry. God, she was such a fool. Such an idiot. How had she let herself fall in love with him?

  One nightmare and he checks out? He could enjoy B’en Ai and everywhere else he ran away to. Jerk. Asinine, selfish, coward.

  How dare he?

  Sobs wracked her body and she couldn’t breathe. She threw the silverware still in the dishwasher across the room. The
clang it made falling to the floor matched the emotions roaring through her heart. She picked up a plate and threw it too. It shattered and something in her rejoiced, so she grabbed another and another until only one plate remained.

  And then she sunk to the floor, holding the plate to her chest, weeping for lost love.

  The phone started ringing again and she knew whomever it was would be at her door soon if she didn’t answer, and she couldn’t let anyone see her like this.

  Standing Kacie Jo looked around the disaster she’d made of the kitchen and tried to stop the sobs. No luck.

  She couldn’t get to the phone without stepping on glass and her shoes were in the bedroom. Dumb. Stupid. Insane. Just like falling for Donovan, turning him into something real instead of a fantasy. But that wasn’t right, was it? The person he’d pretended to be the last two weeks was a fantasy as much as the person she’d thought she wanted to seduce.

  Grabbing a dishtowel off the back of a chair she pushed a path through the glass to the phone and tried to make herself breathe. The caller ID read Daddy.

  She wished more than anything he were there to hold her and lie to her, tell her it would be okay.

  Her voice cracked when she said “Daddy.”

  Ike Jenkins was no fool.

  “He’s gone.” Not a question.

  At first, Kacie Jo nodded, but then she realized this was a phone call. “Yes.”

  For a few seconds, her father was silent on the line and then he coughed before speaking. “I’m on my way over. If you want, call Grady and see if he knows anything.”

  Then the line went dead. Kacie Jo didn’t want to call Grady. She didn’t want to know what her brother did or did not know concerning her husband. She hung up the phone, and pushed the towel until she reached tile not covered in glass, then she rushed to put on shoes and sweep up the mess she’d made before her father could see how foolish she’d been.

  The work gave her something to focus on other than her anger, and she was thankful for that.

  At least she was until she swept the shards into the waste basket and one of them punctured her palm.