by Anne Leigh
Copyright © 2017 Anne Leigh
This is an e-book property of Anne Leigh. All rights reserved, unless permitted by the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. This cannot be reproduced, stored, transmitted, or copied in any way, shape, or form, without the permission of the author.
This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, pigments, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination. The author is NOT affiliated with real life government organizations and entities.
The author respectfully acknowledges all registered trademarks and owners of trademarked products that may have been included in this work of fiction.
Cover: Mae I Design
Editing: KMS Editing
Formatting: Allusion Graphics, LLC
ISBN E-BOOK: 9781370449781
To my husband: Because you give me strength.
To my daughter: Because you teach me tenacity.
To my readers: Because you ask for my words.
To my brother: For your service to our country, thank you.
“There’s a reason for everything we do.
An explanation for events that happen to us -
Why we meet certain people,
Why our paths crossed with theirs.
Sometimes these reasons may not be evident right away.
Other times we may never find out why.
I don’t know about love.
But I know about life.
I’m not sure if this is a love story,
Or a journey through life –
With the man who put me first,
And placed me above his loyalties,
Valued me above all others…
Until he no longer could.”
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Books by Anne Leigh
Pop.
Pop.
The sounds coming out of the rifles were loud, breaking the hushed, muted silence.
Men and women were dressed in their full military regalia. Some with more medals than their dress uniforms could accommodate. Others with one or two ribbons, they were the ones who were slowly moving up the ranks.
I’d met most of them at dinners or galas celebrating military traditions. My mother made sure we went and attended on his behalf, even when he was halfway around the world.
Pop.
I’d stopped counting after I heard the ninth shot.
He would have loved it. The honor that his two and a half decades’ worth of service awarded him.
Then again, there was a side of him that would have hated it. He didn’t like to create fuss, to bring so much attention to himself, that it removed him from his regular duties.
I looked at the wide expanse of greens that surrounded our group, the headstones sticking out of the earth.
At one point, they were men and women who walked the ground that was now above them.
They were sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, mothers, fathers.
Father.
William Thomas Worthington
Lieutenant Colonel
US Marines
January 10, 1956 - May 5, 2007
Loving husband and father
Of all the honors he’d achieved, the last four words engraved on his headstone were his most prized.
I felt the weight leaning on my left shoulder start to get heavy. She had looked so composed, even kept herself together when everyone was offering their condolences.
I pressed my hand to her shoulder and hugged her tighter, the familiar scent of rosemary on her hair brought me comfort.
She’d removed the black feathered hat that covered her dark hair; her best friend, Lorrie, who was standing on her left helped her secure the pins that had gotten loose from the bun hairstyle she loved to wear.
It’d only been two weeks, but it seemed like a hundred yesterdays when I found her lying on the floor of our living room.
I’d just gotten home from a day of bumming it at the beach with Markus and Viggo. We were all looking forward to a summer filled with sand, surf, and girls. I’d just dropped off Viggo, who was too lazy to walk to his house that was three miles from La Jolla Shores. I’d planned on dropping off Markus, who lived five blocks away from me, after we got some grub at the house because my stomach was freaking rumbling. We’d come in through the back door so we wouldn’t disturb Mom who’d mentioned that she was going to be busy with musical arrangements. I was busy snatching the bread and turkey from the fridge when Markus said, “Dude, isn’t your mom working? Why’s your TV so fucking loud?” When Mom was working in her studio, the house was normally so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.
Markus was right so I quickly abandoned the sandwich and yelled, “Mom! I thought you were gonna be working? Are you watching that home shopping channel again?”
No answer.
As we neared the living room, I could hear the noises coming from the TV. They weren’t of the high-pitched and overly enthusiastic variety that made women call the station within minutes after introducing a product. Markus rounded the corner first and his face, sunburnt from being a beach bum who didn’t believe in sunscreen, started to pale, “Oh shit…”
I rushed ahead of him and adrenaline started to surge through my system – a male announcer from CNN was relaying the news, “We’re just receiving the report that there has been a series of suicide bombings in Fallujah...”
The news faded in the background when I saw her tiny form on the floor, a cellphone in her right hand.
“…Three major marine embankments were damaged, several injured…it’s a mess down here.”
“Mom! Mom!” I shook her body, my lifeguard skills kicking in. I checked the pulse by her neck. She had one, it was faint but regular. She didn’t need CPR, but Markus was already calling 911.
I picked her head up off the floor and laid her on my lap, she most likely just fainted. Granted, she had never fainted before. I looked at her face, willing her eyes to open, willing her to say something... To give me hope that maybe what I was thinking wasn’t true.
More often than not, media coverage was pervasively over-the-top, so far from the truth–
But my mother never watched the news.
It was what kept her sane and functioning when Dad was gone for months at a time.
Markus kept his eyes on the TV screen as the sounds of the sirens neared our house.
I held her hands as we waited for her to gain consciousness.
Markus unlocked the door so the paramedics could get in and he explained the situation.
One of the guys wearing a black uniform with a yellow striped band on his shirt said, “I need to take her vitals.”
I nodded my head and he proceeded to check her pulse, kept her head elevated, and as soon as he started moving her hand, mom stirred into consciousness.
Her blue eyes met mine and as the tears slowly began to fall from her eyes, I knew all of it was true.
Her mouth shook and her voice trembled as she said, “Wes stopped by, he was trying to call you...�
� Wes was my father’s second in command in Iraq. I’d heard he was home for two weeks then he was off to wherever Uncle Sam sent him.
I checked my shorts for my phone. Fuck, I must’ve left it in the car.
With the go-ahead from the EMT, I helped her sit on the couch. “He didn’t want to leave me… But I asked him to look for you. He brought Carson, too.” Carson was another soldier under my father’s wing. When you lived the Marine life as long as we had, you tended to know everyone on a first-name basis.
The EMT spoke up, “Her vitals are okay. I don’t think she needs any hospital treatment.”
I nodded. My mom held my hands tighter, her shoulders sank and her head bowed, my mother – a woman who commanded thousands of audiences in the world, was slowly fading away. For the first time, she didn’t want to address any other person except for me.
I thanked the EMTs and Markus led them out. Markus sat on the small chair adjacent to where my mom and I were situated.
His voice was low, “Mrs. W, I’m here for you and your family.”
My mom’s eyes slowly shifted to his and a tight smile appeared on her face, “Thank you, Markus.”
Her eyes, eyes that reflected mine, rounded on the screen, she tried to lift her shoulders, but it looked like she couldn’t, then she leaned her head onto my chest and I thought of all the times my dad talked to me about this. If this exact scenario were to ever happen. What I could and should do.
But no matter what preparations you took, no matter how much you think your mind and body could take, there was nothing anyone could ever do to get your ready for that.
My face in her hands.
My hands folded on the couch beneath me.
Tears clouded her blue eyes, her voice so gentle yet scared.
As if saying it out loud would make her nightmare become real, even when we both knew that it was already.
I closed my eyes because I couldn’t look at the misery in the eyes of the woman who brought me into this world, who’d served as the beacon that guided me from choosing right over wrong every single time.
I closed my eyes because maybe my hearing would be numbed as well, that maybe I wouldn’t be able to comprehend that what she was revealing was now the truth.
But even if it was only darkness I could see, I still heard her loud and clear when her shaky, defeated voice finally came to life.
“Lieber Sohn, your father’s gone.”
PRESENT DAY
Tonight I’m going to kiss a certain guy.
Err, correction.
Tonight I’m going to let this guy get to third base.
Fourth if possible.
“Hurry up, A!” my friend, Dyan, called out.
She was the only person in the world who called me A. My given name was Athena Isabelle and she’d baptized me as “A” on the spot the first time we met. She’d said Athena was too ancient-sounding and only one person was privileged enough to call me A.I.
She was giddy with excitement as she hurried up the steps to the dilapidated two story building. Was this place going to be able to stand a 2.0 earthquake? From the outside, it looked like the frame would crumble down with the slightest sneeze.
“Dy, are you sure we’re at the right place?” I asked, while trying to catch up with her which was proving to be quite difficult in the 3-inch black wedge sandals she’d let me borrow. I was on the up and up with attending my first ever frat party. I just didn’t know what the official attire would be so I had put on jeans and a sparkly top. When Dyan saw me come out of my room from the two-bedroom apartment we shared, she hustled me into her room and started rummaging through her closet. Clothes went flying and shoes went soaring and that was why I ended up wearing the shortest black skirt ever known to man.
“I’m sure. I’ve been here before you know.” Dyan glanced down to her phone and started typing. She was addicted to all types of social media – she usually fell asleep posting a selfie of some sort. “I’ve asked you many times to go with me…but you never do. What changed your mind tonight?”
“Nothing,” I shrugged, pulling on the hem on the skirt, it needed to be five inches longer.
“Will you stop that?” Dyan grabbed my hand and shook her head. “How are you going to ever get laid if you don’t show off those beauties?”
My boobs and my legs – she called them beauties.
For a 5 foot 5 woman, I didn’t have exceptional legs or anything, but Dyan always managed to make me feel good about them. She’d often said that I had gorgeous gams and although my push-up bra did all the work, my 36B’s were more than enough for me. Dyan had the Asian petite frame going for her, and she tried to overcompensate for her lack of height by buying shoes that could make Tom Cruise believe he was a solid six-footer.
“Shh...”
“Watcha shooshin’ for? You know our main objective is for you to get over the frights of achieving an orgasm…” She snickered, the poor street lighting made her green eyes look black and her red lips darker. She was boisterous, hilarious, and never seemed to run out of energy. The minute my mom and I saw her ad while we were hunting for an apartment close to the university’s premises on RoommateFinder.com, I just had a feeling she was going to be a riot. The power search offered by the site matched me with another roommate, but when I saw Dyan’s photo profile and her likes/dislikes, I took an instant liking to her. On her profile, she’d mentioned she liked lots of colors, hated cats, and abhorred boring people. I considered myself pretty boring so that short statement made me wish to be on her side. She’d also captioned herself as “a girl who took one for the road and three for the adventure.” I had no clue what she meant, but I craved that – the road, the adventure, and whatever she was taking. And even though my father could afford to lease an apartment for me so close to school, I wanted to live as a normal college student would.
“I’m not frightened.” I rolled my eyes, “I just haven’t felt like doing it with any guy.” Knowing her for over a year made me feel like I’d known her all my life. She called me out on my “boring habits” which were sitting on our apartment’s patio overlooking L.A.’s smoggy skyline for hours, and collecting the sample perfume ads from magazines. She didn’t hesitate to wake me up by blowing the vuvuzuela, creating a super loud monotone note in my room during exam days. She’d received the vuvuzuela as a gift from her ex-boyfriend who had traveled from South Africa to watch a soccer match.
“Until tonight.”
“Yep. Until tonight,” I agreed, my heart blossoming in exhilaration and the anticipation to see him was spreading through all of my pores.
He was going to be there.
He invited me to be there.
During class, he’d asked his friend, Mario, who was my seatmate, to pass me notes. He usually came in late for class and would walk up to the seat reserved by his friend since the class was full and most of the time, if you didn’t have a seat reserved, you’d end up sitting in the corner of the room where Professor Wallaby’s eyes frequented and asked you for your opinion. It wasn’t the fact that the professor was asking for your opinion that mattered, the thing was that if you didn’t read the hundred page assignments, there was no way you could answer his questions without looking stupid and stupidity was something you couldn’t afford in a roomful of over-achievers.
Anyways, his note was like his other notes… All written on torn sheets of white filler paper and he’d talk about how boring the class was which made me giggle. He could text me, but Professor Wallaby made us shut our phones off during class or we’d get docked a couple of points, worth a quiz or two, if it went off or if he saw us texting. The room was pretty big and the professor had superhuman vision because he’d had ten offenders this week, all sitting in the back row. When one of the offenders protested, he got docked an extra two points. Trust me, you need all the points you can scrounge up to pass his class with a low B.
The note today was different…he’d written it neatly and it had a question, “Go with me? Tonigh
t?” I’d looked to his side and gave him a quizzical look, and he passed another note to Mario, to which the poor guy had drawn on with something that looked like a big hairy penis.
I ignored the vulgar drawing, and zoned in on the words, “Frat party. With me. Please?”
We’d been flirting back and forth since the beginning of the semester. We’d gone out for coffee twice after class. We’d planned to go out a few times too, but since he was the school’s star basketball player, he had to go to tons of practices and was out of town a lot. We’d been texting non-stop since he’d asked for my number right after the second week of class. He seemed like a nice guy and from what I’d heard from Dyan, he had more than 100K followers on Twitter. If I tweeted, I’d be stalking him all day too.
For some reason, he found me attractive and he didn’t hide it. Our class together was once a week, but he’d always manage to walk across from one side of the campus to the other so he could catch me before class and carry my heavy journalism books.
Denton Holmes.
My green-eyed dream guy. The one I’d been waiting for to show up for all of my twenty years of existence. He was the perfect blend of sweet and sexy. The one who I was giving up my virginity to. And one day, I would bear his children.
“Hey ladddiieezzz, watcha gonna do? Watcha gonna do when all this fine-ness comes at ya?” A skinny guy in a blue torn up shirt, metal chains hanging down his neck, and with the hideous smell of a dozen beers and twice the amount of whiskey breathed into me.
The minute we stepped inside the house, I had all my suspicions confirmed.
The place was going to go down like cardboard with the slightest tectonic action.
The EXIT was nowhere to be found.
And men were such pigs.
I’d been groped three times. My hair had become the Kleenex for a few uncovered coughing fits. My armpits had become the well of never-ending sweat and I had yet to find him.
How could I? When this place was filled with hormonal college students who were either making out like it was their last day on earth, grinding on the dance floor, which was basically any surface of this rotting house, and my ears had been bleeding for the last half hour with the thumping and grating sounds these people called music.
