Royal Atlas

by HJ Bellus

  “You constipated, Hop?” Amos asks.

  “What!” I yell back at him.

  “Have you been pooping? You look like you’re all stopped up.”

  I cover my face in embarrassment.

  “Been hitting the cheese too much again? Remember when you were six and thought you were dying, but it was constipation.” He sings out the last word.

  I hear him grunt and look up in time to see Guy land an elbow to Amos’ ribs.

  “You’re an ass,” I say.

  “Seriously, you okay, Hop, you look really backed up.”

  I lie. “Hurt my back riding the other day. Just a pulled muscle, nothing big.”

  “Pulled muscle, constipation same same,” Amos chides.

  “Jerk.” I flip him the bird.

  “What happened?” Guy asks.

  I feel even shitter making up a damn lie about training a new colt and getting thrown off. I’m glad none of my other family is around to hear. They’d demand to know why I didn’t tell them.

  “Molly, I have to go.”

  I frown for the first time this conversation. “Okay. I miss you.”

  “Miss you, too, Molly. I hid a note in your bedroom the night I left. I didn’t want to tell you until I couldn’t handle not being with you. It’s in the top of your closet. Go read it.”

  “I will. Thank you.” I reach out my hand like I could cup his perfect face in my palm.

  “Bye, Molly.”

  “Bye, Guy.”

  I had no idea indeed how much that one simple good-bye would mean. If I’d known it was the last good-bye to the man I love I never would’ve said it.

  The top of the MacBook shuts and I make my way up to my bedroom. It’s a high reach up into the top of my closet. I imagine Guy not even having to strain to tuck the note up there. He towers over me.

  I pull down a single folded piece of paper and open it.

  Molly,

  That smile on your face. I swear I can see it as I write this note to you. The last two days of my life have been the best. I’ve been in love with you for years. I always thought it best to keep it tucked deep down. It was you that brought it out. Your braveness and courage fuel me.

  Our timing couldn’t be worse right now. You have no idea how incredibly hard it is to leave you. It’s selfish of me to ask you to wait for me, but it will be the one thing I look forward coming home to.

  I’m saving this letter for when I come to a time in Afghanistan where I can’t hold on anymore. I know the day will come where my mind, heart, and soul will miss you desperately.

  Love,

  G.

  The pain strikes once again low in my abdomen. I fall back on the bed clutching my gut. The pain is so intense I’m beyond tears. It’s a ripping sensation that I’ve never experienced before. I fight sleep due to the terror in my body. After several hours of trying, I finally creep down to the stairs and out to my truck. I don’t want to wake my parents. They have enough worry on their shoulders right now.

  I just need pain meds. I need this feeling gone. I feel a bit eased when the local ER isn’t busy at all. In the middle of the night it sits silently. The receptionist rushes me back to an ER room. The nurses ask all sorts of questions, but I can barely comprehend any of it. My blood is drawn and an IV put in. Whatever they pumped through the tubing of the IV has dulled the pain. I can barely feel it now. Instead of pain coursing through my body it’s now awful thoughts of what could possibly be wrong.

  The ER staff don’t seem to be in an urgent hurry to find out anytime soon. My eyelids grow heavy; the picture of Guy’s smiling face, and the way he makes me feel soon lulls me into a light slumber.

  A familiar face pulls open the curtain to my small ER room and I wake up to Mae. She’s the nurse on call and seems more than excited to take care of me even though she’s never been friendly to me.

  “How are you feeling?” She asks.

  I only shrug.

  “The doctor on call is now going over your results. He’ll be in soon.” She checks a few monitors before turning back to me. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No thanks.”

  I can tell there’s something else on the tip of her tongue. “Do you hear from Guy and Amos?”

  “I do.”

  “Um…how are they?”

  “Great. You don’t hear from them?” I know she’s doesn’t, but it’s a comment meant to gain ground with her.

  “Oh no. I’ve written a few times, but never get a response.”

  “Strange.” I twirl a piece of hair not liking the kind of mean girl I’m becoming.

  Our pointless conversation and ensuing pissing match is interrupted by the doctor who joins the room. He gives Mae a nod and she takes it as her cue to leave.

  “Would you like to have your parents or someone come in?”

  “No.” I sit up taller in bed.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” I grit out between my teeth.

  “You’re pregnant.”

  The two words take all the oxygen from my lungs. It’s impossible. Can’t be.

  “I’m…I’m on birth control.”

  “I saw that in your charts. There’s an error in the birth control, however, I’m more concerned about your pregnancy right now.”

  Why does he keep telling me that I’m pregnant? It can’t be. There’s no possible fucking way. Anger boils up in the back of my throat.

  “Your HCG levels are low and coupled with the pain I’m suspecting it’s a tubal pregnancy. It’ll take an ultrasound to determine this.”

  I remain silent. I don’t comprehend one word he’s speaking.

  “Would you like someone here, Molly?” He asks again.

  I shake my head no and lie back on the uncomfortable bed. I stare at the ceiling tiles as I’m rolled down the hallway into a dark room. I keep everything at bay not thinking or focusing on one thing as the cold gel is applied to my lower abdomen.

  The minutes float by and the silence of the hospital is oddly comforting. I’m sad, hurt, and scared, but can’t react to anything. I finally cover my abdomen touching the one piece of Guy he left with me. The tears finally begin to roll. I pick up my cellphone and call the one person I want to be with me.

  “Hello.”

  “Grandpa, I need you.”

  “Hop?”

  “I’m at the hospital and need you. Don’t tell Mom or Dad.”

  “I’ll be right there, sweetie.”

  I push end on the phone then place both of my hands on my womb. It’s all so frustrating and confusing, but just for the moment I feel Guy inside me. And it’s the warmest feeling I’ve felt in a long time.

  I close my eyes and try to imagine Guy’s eyes lighting up when I share the news with him. It’s not planned and is terrible timing, but it’s ours and I know he’d be ecstatic.

  My grandpa enters the room the same time as the ER doctor. I give the doctor permission to share the results with my grandpa in the room. My hand in my grandpa’s I begin to cry knowing what is about to happen will be the worse day of my life.

  “Molly, you have an ectopic pregnancy.”

  “What does that mean?” My grandpa asks.

  “It’s a tubal pregnancy and requires a procedure.”

  “The baby?” I ask.

  “Can’t survive in this situation. Your pregnancy is typically further along and I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long pain wise.” He scratches his head. “When do you think it was conceived?”

  “Second weekend in June.”

  The emotions hit me like a brick wall. Everything pours out of me as I cling to my grandpa and cry waiting to be prepped for surgery.

  10

  Molly

  The world is black and white. A dismal black and white scene consumes my soul on a daily basis. There haven’t been any more calls from the boys and I find it harder to get through each day. I need Guy. Grandpa’s been there for me, but it just hasn’t been enough.

  It’s be
en six long months with hardly any communication from our men. It’s pain like I’ve never experienced before.

  I wasn’t able to work with the horses for three weeks. But I spent long hours out in the barn to avoid the questions from my parents. Grandpa hasn’t told a soul about the long night in the hospital. I spend most of my time in Guy’s bed like I am today.

  His scent is gone. Not one lingering ounce of evidence left of him here with me. I fight to remember his touch and how it felt. Or even struggle to remember his large smile or shining pools of deep whiskey eyes, but nothing ever comes. It’s all just a blank slate of nothingness. It’s what I’ve turned in to.

  A loud slam draws my attention from my spiraling thoughts. I sit up in Guy’s bed and throw the covers off me. My fingers splay between the white blinds and I peer out to see a shiny police car. I freeze. My blood runs cold when two uniformed service men step out of the car followed by the sheriff.

  The slamming of the front door draws my attention to the porch. My mother falls to her knees and begins wailing, seeing their presence. It takes my body a few seconds to react. I sprint from the room, out of the barn, and across the front yard. The one service man hands my father an envelope.

  My own personal hero ages right in front of me as he slides open the envelope. He pulls one piece of paper from it and begins to read it. Silent tears fall from his eyes down to the earth. I step closer and hear my mother’s wails. With each step, I feel the solid ground underneath begin to crack and hollow out. The Beartooth ranch holds us all steady absorbing our grief.

  “The United States Army is sorry for your loss, sir.” The service man nods and then turns to stroll back to the car.

  I watch their movements. Once back at the car, they stand facing the house with solemn faces.

  “No. No. No. No. No.” My mother screams in a huddled mess on the ground.

  “Dad.” I finally find my voice.

  He doesn’t respond to me. He falls back on the step and buries his face in the palms of his hands. His sobs begin to match my mother’s. I step up and grab the notice.

  Amos was killed in the line of duty.

  My legs weaken underneath. My black and white world, the one thing I had left, begins to slowly fade away morphing into a dizzying effect. I crumble to the ground and cover my mother and cry with her for our loss.

  It took a couple weeks for Amos’ remains to be delivered to the ranch. There’s a huge group at the top of the hill gathered for his burial. Everyone is up there waiting to lay the beloved brother, soldier, and hometown hero to rest. I remain curled up on his bed.

  The tears have never stopped flowing since the news hit the ranch. I keep waiting for the next stage of grief, but it never comes because the heartache is too powerful and real in the moment. The signs he taped so many times on his door lies on his desk.

  Molly Marshall you stink. Molly Marshall you are annoying. Everyone allowed, but Molly Stinky Annoying Marshall.

  I smooth my fingers over the paper with his written words on it and find myself smiling. It’s the first genuine smile since the awful news was delivered to our front porch. I can practically hear him singing those words to me. Pestering me was by far Amos’ favorite pastime. Growing up, I hated him, but the older I got it became evident that Amos was my partner in crime.

  I toss out my crumpled piece of paper that contains my speech and pick up the note on his desk. It’s all I need to get through this. The sun is hidden behind big, black clouds. There’re no birds chirping or any happiness in the air on the ranch. Everyone and everything is mourning the death of Amos Marshall. He was part of this ranch and always will be.

  I stop by the barn on my way to the top of the hill. I pause in front of his favorite stall and bow my head. I whisper a prayer to God and then to Amos. I pray for both of them to bring Guy back to me and a wave of peace to wash over this family.

  I step back and wipe away the tears from my face. The backs of my hands are covered in the sadness. I wipe them down my black dress. A squawking bird startles me then I feel wetness hit the tip of my nose. I’m stunned and step back to only feel another plop of wet liquid on the top of my head.

  I wipe it away to only realize a bird shit on my head and face. I look up to the roof of the barn and laugh like a lunatic.

  “Well played, brother, well played.”

  Walking up to the top of the hill, I feel lighter than I have in days. There’s hope. Hope that Amos will constantly remind me of him. His spirit will never leave us. There’s standing room only left at the top of the grassy hill. Several familiar faces stare at me as I walk down the aisle to sit by my mother.

  I keep my gaze forward staring at the blown-up picture of Amos in his uniform smiling brightly. There are sprays of flowers and some of his trophies sitting proudly on an old oak bookcase he built in high school. The brass frame where his casket will sit shines on the gloomy day. My breathing hitches when everything falls into place. We are laying my brother six feet under. He died in battle defending this country. But now this country feels so lonely with his presence no longer in it.

  There’s a chorus of hushed awes that garner my attention. I turn to see what is so impressive. I come eye to eye with Guy Webb in his dress blues in a wheel chair. Nothing about him is familiar. His face is healing and his eyes dark. He makes no attempt to make eye contact with anyone.

  The pallbearers step up to the casket at their respective positions. I knew his name was on the program, but hadn’t heard a word from him. Our family was informed that he was in the same accident and sent by air to a hospital. His injuries were severe and would take him out of combat.

  It’s been a lonely feeling knowing he was out there hurt somewhere and healing. I also know my father has shielded me from him. He knew where Guy was and protected that fact. My life has been turned upside down.

  Guy stands to his feet. The pain is evident on his face as he fights to make it to the casket. He stumbles, but catches himself. I’m up and on my feet before thinking of my action. I need to get to him, hold him, and tell him how desperately I love him.

  My dad catches my elbow. “Let me go to him, Hop.”

  “Dad,” I plead with familiar tears filling my eyes.

  “He needs time, honey, give it to him.”

  I watch my dad in his starched Wranglers, dress coat, and black Stetson cowboy hat walk down the aisle to Guy’s side. He reacts to Guy in the polar opposite of how I would. He doesn’t wrap him in a hug or even talk. My dad simply just stands by him offering his crooked arm. Guy takes it while limping the rest of the way to the casket.

  He lets go of my dad’s arm once he’s in place with the rest of the pallbearers. My dad remains at his side as the casket is brought down the aisle. A local Bluegrass group begins playing Amazing Grace with a fiddle and the guitar. It’s simply the most beautiful rendition of the song I’ve ever heard.

  My mother falls apart standing next to me. My grandpa holds one side of her up while she falls onto me. Her sobs wrack my own body. All the Marshall hearts are shattering in unison.

  My bottom lip trembles as I fight back the tears of sadness. The casket is perfect for Amos. It’s a rich red wood with our Beartooth’s ranch brand on the side. An American flag adorns the top of it. When Guy walks by me, he’s so close I could reach out and touch him, but I don’t.

  I don’t know him anymore. He’s a different guy, a soldier, laying his best friend and brother to rest in the rich soil of the land. Once the casket is set on the stand the soldiers walk to the side and stand guard. My dad makes sure Guy makes it to his position before returning to my mother. He wraps her in a tight hug and lets his own tears finally fall from under his cowboy hat.

  Our childhood pastor begins the service with a prayer and then jumps into a life sketch about Amos. The mourners enjoy a well-needed laugh when he tells the story of Amos tying firecrackers to his cat’s tail and coaxing me into lighting it. I’ve never seen a damn cat run so fast and it’s also the one tim
e I’ve seen my momma so pissed she was red-faced.

  “Molly.” The pastor finally nods to me.

  I clutch the damn Molly hating sign in my hands and walk up to the microphone. When I look out to the group gathered all their faces blur together. I wipe the tears from my eyes, steady my voice, and gear up for the hardest speech of my life. I start out with a line that my mother would approve of.

  “Our family would like to thank all of you for coming here today. It’s been the darkest of days since the news was delivered.” I pause for a beat. “It’s no secret that Amos lived to torment me.”

  That garners laughter from the crowd.

  “I had a speech all ready to go. But when I was lying in his bed earlier I found this lovely piece of paper on his desk. Molly Marshall you stink. Molly Marshall you are annoying. Everyone allowed, but Molly Stinky Annoying Marshall.”

  I fold the piece of paper with my brother’s handwriting on it and clutch it in my fist.

  “That was us.” I glance over to Guy who is staring right through me. “We fought, we loved, and we fought even more. I remember the one and only time I had a friend over for a sleepover. She was from town and not use to ranch life or older annoying brothers. We were jumping on the trampoline and Amos must have been bored because he came after me with a piece of leather and thought it a good idea to whip at my legs while I jumped. I ended up with four lovely welts and he also ended up with a welt on his butt from Dad’s hand.

  It never mattered to him how much trouble he’d get into; the boy loved to torment me every chance he got. But more than that he loved me more than anybody. My big brother was always there to protect me. He loved to embarrass me, ridicule me, but he loved me. Amos taught me not to take life so seriously and that mistakes are okay. Because let’s be honest he made a lot of them.

  My heart has never hurt like it does today.”

  I choke on the words. I’ve remained strong up until this point. My hands tremble and my legs go weak. It’s happening for real. I’m saying good-bye to one of the men I love hard. The tears come like they never have before and I’m forced to drop my head and sob. I bite down on my bottom lip trying to control one part of my convulsing body.