by Laura Day
She put the folder down on the table and reached for her coffee. But just as her fingers wrapped around the handle, the phone inside the apartment began to ring. The breeze from the ocean, though more than a mile away turned suddenly cooler, as it picked up without warning, ruffling the papers inside the folder on the table, lifting up to flow through her hair, like a…
“Oh Angie no!”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Derrick Baker walked to the mess hall beaming. The earlier meeting with his commander had gone well, even better than he had even hoped. A Chief Petty Officer Second Class only 10 months, yet he was being promoted again. The E-6 classification his commander told him he would be receiving was coming at an already exciting time in his life. Everything was going according to plan, the Navy, the family, everything.
The sound of the helicopter landing on the deck above was not far enough out of line to cause any change in his day. Sure, they were still in the gulf, and it wasn’t overly common, but it happened. Since it wasn’t Wednesday, eliminating any chance of it being the mail, he continued about the business of filling his tray.
Another chopper on Friday would be different, as he was expecting a package from the States. While Angie would no doubt be sending some of her chocolate chip cookies, he was also expecting a CD full of pictures of Michael. It had been a few months, and Michael was growing fast, but for the last 30 days, the ship had been under radio silence. This meant no phone calls, no emails, nothing. He thought that it really was a damn shame it wasn’t Friday, yet.
He managed to keep himself from laughing as the line mate put the pork chop on his tray beside the potatoes. Angie wouldn’t know what to do if she ever saw how good they actually fed him out here these days. He hadn’t made it to the end of the line yet, and so he couldn’t argue with any certainty, but he was pretty damn sure he smelled peach cobbler down there somewhere. It was really top shelf, there was no denying.
His nose hadn’t fooled him. The cobbler looked as good as ever when they put it on his tray. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt at such an innocent pleasure, but it served him well when he was away. He’d gladly trade the best the galley had to offer for one of Angie’s burnt hamburgers, so long as he could eat it with her.
He fell into a seat, but had to stand back up long enough to take the book out of his back pocket. Slaughterhouse-Five, Kurt Vonnegut’s famed book, one of the top ones on the list whenever a school somewhere down south decided to save the kids from the evils of American Literature, made sitting a bit uncomfortable. He was almost finished with it he saw as he put it on the table beside his tray.
He had devoured Under the Dome in what could only be considered record time for him. While it had been a great read, he had been disappointed with the ending. It was almost a bit too easy, he reasoned. Why go through all that trouble only to get lazy at the end?
After finishing it, he had read the other book Angie had sent. He found out later that Richard Bachman was actually a name King had once used in some odd experiment. Sneaky fucker. More than usual, much more really, he was more interested in reading on this particular trip. It was either that or stand up on the deck looking at the darkness, wondering how Angie was doing and trying not to count the days.
Vonnegut was a harder read than King, or even Bachman, but the story was interesting. He had borrowed it from one of the other sailors and wanted to finish it so he could get it back to him. Of course, that meant he would just look for something else to read.
He finished cutting up the pork chop, enabling him to eat with one hand; so, he flipped the book open to where he had left off earlier. Son of a bitch was unstuck again, apparently. At least he was back in Germany this time. He thought about flipping forward, to see if Ol’ Billy might be back on Tralfamadore – he liked that part — but he decided against it. He’d get there sooner or later.
“Derrick, you gone deaf?”
He turned around to see Tom Hungle, as well as the guys at the table with him, apparently enjoying some joke he hadn’t heard. Although he appeared to be the butt of it.
“What?” he asked. The table laughed again.
“Squawk Box. They’re calling you to the Squawk Box.”
The antiquated communication device hung on the wall like a sore reminder the military wasn’t always as smart as they might be these days. Round, large, and ugly, the wired monstrosity was, at best, a relic.
“Figures,” he said, folding the page over in the book and crossing the mess hall. He did his best to hide the disdain in his voice as he was told, in loud crackling fashion for the entirety of the mess hall to hear, to report back to the commander’s office. He wondered if they changed their minds about the promotion already. It didn’t matter really if they had. He was in too good of a mood to let something as simple as waiting another three months before he got another stripe ruin his day.
He hung up the detachable hand piece and returned to his table. Pork be damned, he was going to eat that cobbler. If they had bad news, at least he wouldn’t have a bad taste in his mouth. His willful refusal to report immediately was welcomed with another round of laughter from the Hungle group. He just winked at them and went back to the cobbler.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sarah Donavan stepped out of the taxi disgusted. The driver’s erratic trek back to her sister’s house had done little to ease her troubled nerves. It had taken almost two days to get the word to Derrick of Angie’s car wreck. They had to send a chopper to pick him up, and then they flew him more than a thousand miles before he could make a call to her. The Navy had told him nothing, so she was the one who finally told him that Angie had died in the car wreck.
Michael had stayed at the babysitter’s until she could get there, and when she picked him up, he looked a bit concerned. She tried to tell herself that a child of 14 months couldn’t possibly know something was wrong, but she knew differently as soon as she looked at him. He had his father’s eyes, blue and deep, and they seemed to see more than they probably should. She found herself wondering if the boy knew she was as clueless as the teenaged babysitter had been. She hoped not.
Before she moved in with Angie, she had seen pictures of the boy, but they had never met. Her time before the move had always been consumed with a steady stream of jobs, none lasting long and never anything she enjoyed. She had no idea what she wanted to be, even at 28, but it was starting to seem like she was going to be alone. If only someone would pay her for that. Now, even her sister was gone, deepening her feeling of loneliness.
Unable to bring herself to tell Michael of the tragedy, she simply told him his parents would be home the next morning and that she was just going to watch him until they got there. Sure, it might make it worse when his mother didn’t arrive with his father, but Derrick needed to be the one to tell him anyway.
Derrick was always gone, shipped off to one war-torn part of the world or another. She wondered if that was one of the reasons they had kids, so Angie wouldn’t be lonely. Truth be told, she really didn’t know Derrick at all. They had only met twice, at the wedding and then again when Angie and Sarah’s mother had passed. But here she was, taking care of his son and waiting for him to get home so they could bury Angie. As bad as this was, it was nothing more than the next level of the fucked-up hell she had come to know as her life.
What was even worse than the look in that kid’s eyes was the lingering question about whether or not to tell Derrick about the stories Angie had written. She also wasn’t sure whether she should tell him that the stories seemed to be some crazy prophetic dreams or whatever the fuck they were. Right now, they were fucking scary, more than anything else. Either way, it was going to be a complete mind fuck for all of them.
She could hear Michael playing in his room as she sat at the kitchen table. Derrick would be home soon if the all of the flight plans had gone the way she had been told. She didn’t know how the hell she was supposed to handle that at all. She knew she looked enough like Angie that it was
going to hurt him just to see her there, but she couldn’t leave, not yet. Truth be told, even if there was no Derrick or no Michael, she would still be stuck there for quite some time. The apartment screamed of Angie, smelled of her perfume, and testified to her tastes.
However, there was a Derrick and a Michael. No doubt, Derrick wouldn’t be in any shape to take care of the boy, not at first. Hell, she doubted he’d be able to take care of himself. She wasn’t sure how she was going to do the same for herself. But for now, the only thing that mattered was taking care of the men that meant so much to Angie. She could heal later, when they were ready to be on their own. It would be her turn when she knew they’d be ok, assuming that was possible.
Yet, the bagging trepidation remained. What if he didn’t want her here? What if seeing her was too much for him to deal with or made things worse rather than easier? She didn’t know the answer to that one, but she was pretty sure she couldn’t leave. If she didn’t stick around for them or even for her, she would for Angie.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Derrick held his face in his hands, still rocked by the news of the death of Angie and their unborn daughter, while the C-130 made its final approach into Miramar. It had been a racking flight, as the miles couldn’t go by fast enough on the plane, not to mention the helicopter ride before it. And now, he was landing at the base.
They had done everything they could to get him home as quickly as possible, breaking some sort of helicopter speed record. They were trying to get him to an already scheduled Marine Corps flight out of Anchorage to San Diego. Of course, being a jarhead flight, it went to Miramar instead of the Navy base or the civilian airport. But none of that mattered to Derrick, his entire world had crashed landed through a world of shit.
Sarah had offered to come and get him at the base, but he had refused. It was only later, about the time he was landing in a helicopter in front of a waiting C-130 that he had wondered if she even had a car. He was pretty sure Angie had told him that she had sold hers when she came out to San Diego. He hadn’t wanted her to come anyway and had said he would have transport. What that meant was that he’d take a fucking cab.
Angie had been on her way to pick up Michael and had lost control of the car. From what Sarah had told him, she had died instantly. The car slammed into one of the concrete pillars supporting the overpass, as she travelled underneath it. There hadn’t been too many details, as both he and his sister-in-law had both fumbled through the call, barely able to make complete sentences. The baby hadn’t survived, either. He knew at least that much. He somehow found himself able to be comforted in the knowledge that if it had happened an hour later Michael would have been in the car, as well. Then, he really would be alone.
He made the transition from plane to taxi in automatic motions, really unaware of what he was doing at any given point in time. Rational thought came and went during this trip. One minute he was on a ship, then a chopper, then a plane. Now, he found himself in a taxi on his way to an empty apartment. Well, wasn’t life just fucking grand.
Sarah was taking care of Michael for the time being. It was something he really wasn’t overly thrilled about, given his loss of the rest of his family, but he really saw no other alternative. So, when she had mentioned it, he hadn’t said anything. Besides, according to Angie she had proven to be quite the little helper around the house. And right now, he couldn’t halfway think. Besides, maybe she needed to be doing something to get her through this, as well. She and Angie were as close as sisters could possibly be, given they had lived so far apart for so long. He couldn’t help but notice just how happy Angie really had been, since Sarah agreed to come into town. It was like she was a new person again, so wrapped up in the pregnancy and hanging out with her sister. It had made him feel a lot better about missing the birth and a lot better about Sarah being there altogether.
Like Billy Pilgrim, one minute he was at Miramar; the next minute, the taxi was pulling into the apartment complex. Unfortunately, he was not at peace, and he would have preferred to have been forever stuck in a different time. The day he had left for this last deployment would have worked, assuming it was before he left for the ship. His wedding night with Angie would have made an even better choice, if given one.
But no, he was stuck now in a taxi, trying to find the courage to get out and walk up to that damn apartment. The welcome home celebration that he once envisioned would never happen for him. There was nothing left up there to be excited about or to care about. His wife, the reason he breathed, was gone. There was nothing left for him but darkness. He got out of the taxi knowing he was never going back. He had been in long enough that they would undoubtedly let him resign, considering the circumstances. Then, he would be there with Michael, never leaving him again.
He made his way up the stairs, stopping in front of his apartment door. He steadied himself and summoned the strength to actually turn the knob and walk through the door. His hand trembled, as it remained frozen in front of him, halfway to the doorknob, but unable to go any further.
Inside the apartment, he could hear the radio playing. It wasn’t loud, but he could hear it just the same. He wanted to grasp some slim glimmer of delusional hope that he had imagined it all. He wished with all his being that when he opened the door, he would see her dancing in the living room or sitting at the desk working on some story. But, he knew it was real. It hurt too fucking much to be anything but real. He took in a last deep breath and opened the door.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The two sat across the kitchen table from each other, no more aware of the other’s presence than they were of the time that had lapsed in silence. Each held conversations with the other, with themselves, and even with Angie, without ever opening their mouths. When Derrick finally did speak, the sound of his own voice caused him to jump as much as it did Sarah. The silence had held some overlooked comfort within its quiet presence that was only felt in its departure.
“I really wanted to thank you for coming out here,” he said, pausing momentarily to prevent the emotion from escaping in his next words. “She was really happy these last few months.”
Sarah felt the warm sting of the tears just behind her eyes, threatening to burst forward at any moment. Like Derrick, she had no choice but to wait for the words to carefully climb over the jagged cliffs of emotion and emerge on the other side, baring scars of their journey.
“Thank you,” she managed, “but you were the one who made her so happy all this time. I should be thanking you.”
They both, finally free of the obligatory, though genuinely felt sentiments, retreated back to the safety of the silence. Each allowed the hypnotic ticking of the clock to again render their thoughts involuntary. Each searched for some way to grasp some sort of peace, some sort of sense of the entire ordeal in which they were entwined. But, neither succeeded. Instead, they hopelessly flailed, as they sank deeper into the darkness which threatened to consume them.
It is often said that silence is worth more than a thousand wrong words. While social norm dictated that the words needed to be said, in truth, each was now worse for hearing them. A nagging guilt clawed inside each of them, threatening to spring forth into the air between them. The guilt worked to shatter any weakly held sense of decency or innocence. Each had entertained the improbable, the unspeakable, all the while unconditionally loving the same person. Her absence revealed an insatiable fear that now she would know their thoughts. Her own death appeared tragically necessary for the union of the two conspirators.
On the wall, the clock continued its monotonous ticking, incessantly pounding inside their heads and tracing their thoughts. As it flowed through their minds, it became the truth exposing the deception. As every minute passed, each considered blurting out the dreadful nature of their sins, a confession to both the other and the truth they believed to somehow still be among them. But the silence remained, save only the infernal ticking of the fucking clock.
Secrets whispered across an endless sea
, carried wordless on the rolling waves, now threatened to find their voice and shatter the silence. Suspended in the air above them, the words remained hushed. However, they screaming inaudibly at them to confess or, in the least, admit their weaknesses. The words seemed to know that they were too frail to withstand the weight they carried.
What was the favor she wanted to ask? What lay hidden in the words of her stories, the ones he had never read? An accusation, a forgiveness? If she could have known her time was quickly ending, was she blaming them? Or was she the unseen force pushing them together? The questions screamed for answers neither of them dared attempt. However, they ignored the questions, hoping they would lose their strength and quickly fade. If that could happen, then they could be allowed to find a peace somewhere in the darkness of their own hell.
Neither were aware of the other’s ordeal; so, they each struggled for some reasoning behind the burning need to justify their guilt. Each hoped beyond all hope that somewhere in the tangled chaos of the moment, they would find some graspable belief that Angie would understand their helplessness.
