Five Years Gone

by Marie Force

  As much as I’d never wish something like what he went through on anyone, it puts us on somewhat of a level playing field, even if he doesn’t know what happened to me, and never will if I have anything to say about it. Part of me feels like I'm being unfair to him, especially after he told me about Brittany. But I’m accustomed to not talking about John, and I prefer it that way.

  At the beginning of our relationship, John told me that due to the sensitive nature of his job, it would be better if I didn’t tell people about us. I gladly went along with that because I loved existing inside the bubble with him. I kept my family away by going home a few times a year so they wouldn’t feel the need to come visit me, and I didn’t talk about him with anyone.

  With hindsight and tons of research into the lives of Special Forces officers, I realize he was probably part of a unit that wasn’t supposed to have romantic entanglements, and that’s why he asked for my discretion. That’s just another reason to be infuriated with him and the web he drew me into, knowing it was possible he might have to disappear from my life, perhaps permanently. I wish I could hate him for that. It would make everything so much easier. But I don’t hate him. Quite the opposite.

  Eric nudges me out of my thoughts. “Where’d you go?”

  I look up to see we’ve walked ten blocks from my apartment. “Nowhere. I’m here.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Of course.” My new life is falling into place. I have no reason to be anything other than thrilled by my new apartment, new job and new friends, all of which were the goals when I left San Diego. But I’m learning that even though I left our old life behind, I brought John with me. There’s no leaving him behind, as much as I wish I could.

  “Sometimes you seem so sad, Ava,” Eric says, his voice low so he won’t be heard by anyone but me. “I wish I knew why.”

  His astute observation rattles me. “I…”

  “It’s okay.” He puts his arm around my shoulders. “You don’t have to explain yourself to anyone, least of all me.”

  I appreciate him more than he could ever know, and when he keeps his arm around me as we walk toward Times Square, I don’t try to shake him off. Why would I when I enjoy being around him so much?

  As always, Times Square is a mob scene, and we briefly get separated from the others. I’m trying to spot them in the crowd when my eye is drawn to a crawler with the day’s headlines. In bright red letters, I read, “David Dawkins, who lost his daughter and new son-in-law on Star of the High Seas, and family group file suit against the federal government as well as former National Security Advisor Kent Hartley and several other former government officials, claiming they ignored a terror threat in weeks before attack.”

  I stop walking so I can keep reading. “Dawkins, the outspoken leader of the SHS family group, says the suit is a class action that seeks answers on behalf of the more than fifteen thousand immediate family members impacted by the terrorist attack on the cruise ship that left four thousand people dead.”

  I’ve read about Dawkins. Three days before the ship was attacked, he walked his only child down the aisle at her wedding. From the beginning, his story and that of so many other family members touched me deeply and has stayed with me ever since.

  “Ava?”

  I look over at Eric and blink him into focus. I can’t believe I forgot where I am and who I’m with as the report about Dawkins takes me right back to day one of the nightmare.

  “Are you okay?” Eric’s brow furrows with concern as he takes note of what I’m staring at. “What did it say?”

  I force the emotion aside and try to sound matter-of-fact in my reply. “Dawkins and the other Star of the High Seas families are filing a class action against the government and several former federal officials.”

  “Oh, damn. On what grounds?”

  “They’ve been claiming for years that the government ignored a credible terror threat in the weeks before the attack. They’re going after people who would’ve been in the know at the time.”

  Eric’s deep sigh says it all. “Did you know anyone on the ship?”

  I shake my head. “Didn’t matter, though. I’ve been obsessed with it ever since it happened.”

  “My college roommate lost his brother-in-law and sister-in-law. It was so horrible for their family.”

  “So many people were affected by it. When we were kids, my parents took us on cruises all the time. And now…”

  “You wouldn’t step foot on a cruise ship if your life depended on it,” he says bluntly.

  “Right.”

  “Me either. I’ve only been on one, years ago with our grandparents. I felt confined and queasy the whole time. Never wanted to go again.”

  I tell myself that it doesn’t count as a lie, because what I’ve told him is true. We did go on cruises every year growing up. My mother is a travel agent who once specialized in cruise vacations and got freebies all the time from the various cruise lines. Her business was decimated by the attack, and she changed her focus to European and Asian vacation packages in the last few years.

  Eric doesn’t need to know I have a whole other reason for being devastated by the Star of the High Seas tragedy.

  Again, he puts his arm around me as we navigate the crowds in Times Square. I assume he knows where we’re going, so I let him lead me. It’s astounding to me that no matter what I do or where I go, the grief and sorrow still find me. All it took this time was seeing Dawkins’ name and the news of the lawsuit to interrupt what had been another good day.

  Will it always be this way? Is there no escaping it no matter what I do? Sometimes I feel like I’m inside a gilded cage as I lead my nice, quiet, safe life, but I’m surrounded by bars that keep the grief trapped with me. It’s always there, no matter what I’m doing, who I’m with or how desperately I wish to put the past behind me so I can get on with the future.

  John told me every day we were together that he loved me more than anything. If he truly loved me, how could he do this to me? Tears sting my eyes, and it takes everything I have to fight through the emotional overload. I’m done crying over him.

  “You still want to go?” Eric asks, tuned in to my struggle.

  I force a smile for him and curl my hand around his arm. “Of course. I’m celebrating a new apartment and a new job and your victory at work.”

  “You know,” he says tentatively, “I really hope we’re going to be very good friends, and friends are there for each other in good times and in bad. I’d hate to think you were suffering over something and didn’t feel that you could lean on your good friend Eric.”

  In five long, lonely years, I’ve never been more tempted to unload on anyone than I am with him in this moment. But something stops me… I’m so accustomed to keeping John to myself, and Eric’s brother is married to my sister. If Eric were to mention it to Rob… Within minutes, my entire family would be involved, and I just can’t have that.

  “I appreciate that more than you know.”

  “It’s a standing offer.”

  “You’re a good guy, Eric Tilden.”

  “Thanks,” he says with a small smile. “I’ve had reason to wonder if I’m as good as I think I am.”

  We arrive at our destination, a funky contemporary restaurant and bar with an A rating and a name I can’t pronounce.

  I stop him from going in with a hand to his arm. “Don’t let her do that to you. She’s not worth it.”

  “No, she certainly isn’t.” He holds the door and gestures for me to go in ahead of him. “Let’s drink.”

  * * *

  Hours later, Eric and I stumble back to Tribeca, laughing, singing off-key and generally acting like fools. Once again, I wonder why I didn’t turn to alcohol a long time ago, because it provides a temporary respite from my troubles. I’ve had the best time tonight. I’ve felt normal again, like I did at the wedding, and that’s due in large part to Eric and his thoughtful attention to me.

  That attention didn’t go unnotice
d by the others. Eric’s siblings are cautiously optimistic about what they see happening between us, whereas Camille is like a bull in a china shop, cornering me in the ladies’ room to ask if we’re officially seeing each other. I had to let her down easy and tell her we’re just friends, but I could tell she didn’t totally buy that.

  “He likes you,” she said. “A lot.”

  “I like him, too.”

  “Sooooo…”

  “Do me a huge favor, will you? Please leave us alone. If something is going to happen, it will. If everyone is on us about it, that makes me less interested in him.”

  “I don’t get why you have to be so private and hush-hush about everything.” Three vodka tonics loosened her tongue. “I know something happened to you in San Diego, but you never talk about it, not even to me. That kind of hurts me, Ava.”

  “I’m a private person. That’s the way I’ve always been, and it’s not intended to hurt you or anyone else.”

  “So, what’re you and Camille fighting about?” Eric asks as we walk arm in arm on the way home. He seems to know where we’re going, which is good, because I’m clueless.

  Surprised by the question, I say, “We aren’t fighting.”

  “Seemed that way to me, and Rob said something, too. You guys came back from the bathroom bringing obvious tension.”

  “Truthfully, she was bugging me about you, and I told her to cut it out.”

  “Ahhh, I wondered if she’d done that, because her husband was all over me while you were in the bathroom. Amy and Jules told him to back off and leave me alone.”

  “That’s basically what I said to Camille, and she didn’t take it well.”

  “Their intentions are good.”

  “I guess. I’m sure it’s exciting for them that we met at their wedding and have become friends, but they need to take a step back and give us room to breathe.” I no sooner say the words than I trip over a crack in the sidewalk.

  Eric stops me from taking a bad fall by wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into his embrace.

  I look up at him as he looks down at me with care and concern that I want to wallow in. He’s just so damned sweet.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Uh-huh. Sorry about that.”

  “I’m not.”

  For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. I hold my breath, not sure if I want him to. But the moment passes. He clears his throat and tightens one arm around me, directing me toward home. At least I think that’s where we’re going.

  A few blocks later, I see my building. At the bottom of the stairs, I turn to him. “Thanks for walking me home.”

  “My pleasure. You going to be all right, or do you need the emergency pizza cure?”

  “I’m totally stuffed from dinner.” We had sushi and delicious Asian-fusion cuisine.

  “Go out with me tonight.”

  For a second, I’m confused, but then I realize it’s after two in the morning.

  “Just us.” He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and caresses my cheek. His touch gives me goose bumps. “You promised me a celebration if I scored a win at work, so technically, you owe me.”

  “You’re calling me out on a technicality?” I ask, teasing.

  “Whatever it takes to get you to go out with me.” There’s nothing teasing about the intense way he looks at me.

  “I did promise to help you celebrate.”

  “Yes, you did. Tonight, then?”

  “What time?”

  “Eight?”

  “That works. What should I wear?”

  “Let’s get dressed up.”

  “Okay.”

  He leans in and kisses my cheek. “I’ll wait until you get inside.”

  As I go up the stairs, I’m breathless from the brush of his lips against my face. I greet the doorman as he lets me in.

  When I turn back, Eric waves from the sidewalk.

  In the elevator, I’m giddy from the alcohol and looking forward to seeing him again. It’s been so long since I had anything to look forward to, and now there’re so many things—my new job, my new city, my new friends. One new friend, in particular…

  Inside the apartment, I move around quietly so I won’t disturb Skylar. I use the bathroom, go into my room and close the door. I withdraw my phone to send a text to Camille.

  Sorry to be bitchy earlier. I know you’re just curious, and that’s ok, but give us a little room, please? If there’s anything to tell you, I will. When I can.

  It’s late, and the text goes unread for now. I’m sure she’ll reply when she sees it. We don’t usually let shit fester between us, and I want to be closer to her now that we live near each other for the first time in a decade.

  In bed, I scroll through my Twitter feed and gasp at the sight of an AP headline: SEAL Team Ambushed in Pakistan. I click on the link and devour every word of the story, which includes the dreadful news that two US service members have been killed. My heart sinks, and I’m filled with sadness, knowing that two families will soon receive dreaded news. It’ll be ten to twelve hours, if not longer, before their names and photos are released to the public after their families are notified. I know this because I’ve had to endure that wait every time I’ve read about a dead American service member overseas for five long years now.

  I know I’d be better off to avoid the news, and I’ve tried many times in the past to quit my obsessive scouring of the headlines. The most I’ve lasted is a full day before I’m back at it, watching, surfing, reading, devouring anything and everything about the ongoing effort to bring down Mohammad Al Khad, elusive mastermind behind the attack, and his terrorist organization.

  I know more about US Special Forces and Special Operations than most civilians ever will. I’ve thoroughly researched Navy SEALs as well as Army Green Berets, Rangers and Night Stalkers. I’ve discovered a dazzling number of units John could’ve been attached to but have narrowed his branch to the Marines or Navy, as both have units that deploy out of San Diego. I know it’s somewhat unbelievable that I don’t know which branch of the service he was in or that he didn’t tell me, but we never talked about his work. And by never, I do mean never. The only time I saw him in uniform was the night we met, and the details of the fatigues he wore that night have grown fuzzy over the years. I don’t know if they were Navy fatigues or Marine Corps.

  This is another thing I’ve realized with hindsight was strategic on his part. The less I knew, the better as far as he was concerned. It was fine by me, because I didn’t like to think about the possibility of him having to deploy for longer than a week or two here and there, which happened frequently during our two years together.

  My research has also yielded hints of groups within the military so secret that there’s literally no information anywhere about them, which has me thinking John is involved at that level. I have no way to know if he’s still alive, or if he’s attached to one of these top-secret units. A long time ago, I had to accept that I may never know for sure. After years of scouring the internet, Pentagon websites and other military-related sites, I’ve never gotten the first clue as to what these groups are called, let alone how to find a military member who might be attached to one of them.

  I’ve learned that service members are fiercely loyal to their branches, and that if John was a Marine, he might’ve had a Semper Fi tattoo or sticker on his truck. He had neither. I didn’t hear the term Semper Fi until long after he was gone.

  I blame myself for not paying closer attention, but mostly I blame him for leaving me in this torturous state of limbo. And as I pass a sleepless night, waiting for the Pentagon to identify the latest fallen service members, it’s clear to me that while I might’ve changed my address, I’ve brought the nightmare with me, and I’ll never be able to fully escape it.

  Chapter Six

  AVA

  I wake to my phone buzzing under my face. I fell asleep on top of the covers, and the air conditioning has me shivering. Pulling a blanket up and over me, I rea
ch for the phone and read a text from Camille in response to mine from last night.

  It’s okay. Rob is worried about Eric bc he seems to really like you. He’s been through a lot…

  I shouldn’t encourage this friendship or flirtation or whatever it is with Eric. Camille is right—after what happened with his ex, the last thing he needs is to get involved with me when my life is such a mess. Except being with him is fun and easy, and his obvious interest in me makes me feel special after being alone for such a long time. I like him. I like him a lot.

  Staring up at the ceiling, I think about the time I’ve spent with Eric and how he makes me laugh. I remember the way he cared for me when I had too much to drink at the wedding and stayed with me, risking gossip from his family, to make sure I was okay during the night. After witnessing the way his mother reacted to us being together at the brunch, I have a new appreciation for the sacrifice he made to spend that night with me.

  I ought to text him and tell him I can’t go out with him tonight, that it wouldn’t be fair for me to allow him to get involved with someone who’s as messed up as I am. But as the day progresses, I never send that text. I want to see him. I want to feel the way I do when I’m with him. I like the attention he gives me, the way he listens when I speak and how he watches over me. Maybe it’s wrong to allow this to happen, but I’m so tired of being alone. Eric makes me feel again, and God help me, I don’t have the strength to turn my back on him.

  During that torturous day, I decide it may finally be time to seek out therapy to deal with everything that’s happened. I haven’t done that before now because it was too painful to think about, let alone talk about to a stranger. But last night made me see that the only thing that’s changed since I left San Diego is my address. If I’m truly to have a chance at a whole new life here, I need help.

  As I straighten my hair, I study the reflection of the woman staring back at me. Her eyes are haunted, her brows furrowed and her mouth pinched by the strain of grief that’s taken an awful toll. It would’ve been easier, I know, if John had been killed. At least then I’d have answers. But this endless purgatory has added years to my face that weren’t there when I met him.