Before There Was You

by Denise A. Agnew

  Now you’re fucking things up for them again, bozo. Getting arrested and blemishing the family name. You’ve got to get a grip. They can’t take any more grief.

  Recrimination ran through him as his mother opened the front door on the large, older luxury home. She smiled, her loving expression always a comfort. At sixty-five she still had thick hair, though she’d gone gray a few years back after Craig’s death. She didn’t color her hair and kept it in a short pixie style she’d had for years. It used to be light brown just like his.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  She came down the steps and embraced him like she hadn’t seen him in months instead of a week. “Sweetie, it’s so good to see you.”

  She wore a simple white shirt and jeans on her slim, petite body. His sisters had taken after her, with delicate bone structure and big blue eyes. Aaron and Craig had taken after their father, with over six feet of intimidating looks.

  “Good to be here, Mom. Dad at work?”

  “Until five. Come on inside.”

  He entered the house and took in its homey interior. His mother had redecorated things here and there over the years, but she’d never strayed far from the dark antique look or the bright greens, reds, and blues mixed with gold. The house was five thousand square feet of good looks. People often wondered how an engineer and homemaker managed to live so well. His parents never disclosed that Aaron’s mother came from old money from way back. Frugality was the name of the game with the family, even if they had everything they needed. Aaron had grown up in this home, and every time he entered it, memories of the good times overwhelmed any bad.

  Yeah, you lived a charmed life. Time to remember that. You still do.

  Right.

  He realized he stood near the front door with the wine bottle in hand. “For dinner tonight.”

  “Thanks, this will be great. Are you okay, sweetie?” Mom asked as she gently took the bottle from his hand.

  “I’m good.”

  “Excellent. Have a seat and relax.”

  He followed her instead, wandering to the kitchen. The house had been built in an open plan when open plans were first popular, but his parents had upgraded the kitchen twice over their long ownership.

  “What’s for dinner?”

  “Simple steaks on the grill. Salad. Apple pie.”

  “Sounds great. I can help.”

  “No, no. Take a break and sit down.”

  He slid onto a bar stool at the long granite counter. “Put me to work.”

  Mom always seemed in motion, scurrying from here to there readying things in the kitchen. “No.” She made a waving away motion with her hand. “Shoo. Shoo.”

  “Okay, I won’t help. Can I sit here and talk?”

  Her small nose wrinkled. “Talk. You haven’t wanted to do that since…”

  Since the arrest. “I know. Is that a bad thing…I mean wanting to talk?”

  She stopped and put her hands flat on the wide counter. She looked small next to the new refrigerator and seriously tricked-out Viking stove. “Of course not. It’s a wonderful thing. I’m just surprised.” She put her hands together in a prayer fashion. “I’m glad anytime you want to talk, Aaron. You know that.”

  “Good.”

  “Speaking of good, I had excellent news from the Bakers. They’re rebuilding their house.”

  He’d grown up with Eddie Baker, a wild guy who’d done more smoking and drinking than learning. His parents’ house had burned in the Black Forest Fire two years after the Waldo Canyon Fire had threatened Aaron’s family home.

  “That’s great. I didn’t think they’d rebuild,” he said.

  “On the same plot of land too.”

  “In the same style as the old house?”

  “Not sure yet.”

  He switched subjects on a dime. “Mandy coming over?”

  “No, she’s got a case she’s working on and it’s keeping her busy, busy. She’s like you were in the marines. Driven.”

  Were. He knew she didn’t mean anything by the selection of that word, but his ego stung. “Good for her.”

  She rummaged in the refrigerator as she brought out some items. “As long as she doesn’t burn out.”

  “Like me?”

  She opened the freezer. She glanced around the open door, frosty air escaping. “You didn’t burn out. You retired.”

  “Yeah, well sometimes it feels like the same thing.”

  She closed the freezer. “You think you should have stayed in the marines?”

  His body suddenly felt heavy. “No.” He cleared his throat. “Mom?”

  “Yes?” She kept busy at the counter, chopping vegetables.

  “I’m sorry that I didn’t…”

  She glanced up, her gaze serious. “Sorry for what?”

  “That day at the diner, when I flipped out, Dad told me something important.”

  “What’s that?” Now she did look a bit freaked.

  “He told me that you were worried about me and that you said I had an edge. That you were afraid to talk to me.”

  Her eyebrows went up for a second in surprise, but then her eyes clouded. “It’s true. You do have an edge. As a marine you’ve always had something about you that says you’re a warrior. But the edge you have now is different. The war changed you, and I could feel it. Maybe because I’m your mother.” She spoke faster. “But maybe not. Mandy said she could see it too. So when you blew up that day and hit that man, it just confirmed to me that you were on an edge. You fell over it, Aaron.”

  When her eyes shimmered with tears, it hit him like a roundhouse to the gut. He got up from the stool and came around the side of the counter. “I’m sorry, Mom. Yeah, I had an edge. I didn’t realize it…I’m still not sure I understand it. I shouldn’t have hit that moron in the diner. It was the wrong way to handle it. I’m not sure this group therapy thing is necessary but—”

  “Yes.” She went to him and gripped his shoulders, looking up at him from her petite height. “You can’t get out of the therapy since it’s court ordered. The judge could have thrown the book at you, but he understood what you’re going through. Things could have turned out much worse. You’ve got to find yourself again, Aaron.”

  A tear fell on her cheek and it broke his heart. “Ah, jeez, Mom. I’m sorry I’ve put you and Dad through this.”

  He gathered her into his arms for a hug. She threw her arms around his waist and held on.

  She drew back quickly. “It’s okay, sweetie. I’m not afraid of you. I know you wouldn’t hurt me or anyone in the family. I was just uneasy about what you’d do if someone else made you angry.”

  Shame mixed with regret, but before he could apologize again, she returned to her vegetables.

  He decided switching the subject off of him would be the best policy. “How are things going with you?”

  She perked up. “I’m loving the ladies’ club, enjoying the scrapbooking, and my charity work.”

  “Now who is running ragged?” He snatched a tortilla chip out of the bag she’d opened.

  “Where do you think you get that multi-tasking skill?”

  He laughed and returned to the stool. “Well, I’m chilling out these days.”

  “That’s not all bad.”

  “Sometimes I feel like I’ll never catch up to where I was.”

  “Maybe you’re not supposed to. Give yourself a chance to heal.”

  Heal?

  He’d never thought of it like that. “Dad wants me to get off my ass.”

  She stopped chopping veggies and looked up at him. “You know, at the end of the day this should be about what is healthy for you and what makes you happy. Not what I want or what your father wants. Your Dad has never been a fighter…not the way you and Craig…the way Craig was. I think you got that from my father. Anyway, your Dad loves you more than anything. You know that, right?”

  Ah, crap. He could feel a sudden surge of tears trying to choke him, threatening to block his breath. He drew in a shuddering bre
ath and looked away so Mom couldn’t see. “Yeah, I know.”

  A wave of love for his mother hit him. His parents, at the end of the day, were two of the most awesome people he knew. He’d put them through some hell, and the guilt punctured a hole in him.

  “Thanks, Mom. You’re the best.”

  She threw him a grin. “Yeah, yeah. You’re saying that because you want my famous apple pie for desert.”

  “How’d you guess?”

  They laughed.

  He scrubbed his hand over his face. “God, I’m tired all of a sudden.”

  She continued to chop. “Why don’t you lie down in the spare room?”

  “I’ll fall asleep.”

  “That’s okay.”

  He stood and headed for the big leather wrap-around couch. “I’ll just sit on the couch.”

  He almost staggered on his way to the couch. He settled on a cushion and reached for the remote. He turned on a sports channel but kept the volume low.

  “Sweetie, have you had a medical exam lately?” she asked.

  “Just the one the VA gave me. They said I’m ripped. Healthy as a friggin’ horse.”

  “Haven’t you been sleeping?”

  Nightmares. “Most of the time.”

  His eyes slid closed. In the periphery, he heard Mom working in the kitchen. A moment later the door to the garage opened, and Aaron bolted upright. His heartbeat banged in his chest, his body tense.

  “Aaron,” his mother said, worry back in her voice. “It’s Dad.”

  Aaron sank back into the cushions, pissed that he’d reacted so strongly. What the hell, MacPherson? Are you a running, walking poster boy for PTSD? You’re a friggin’ stereotype.

  Dad walked into the living room from the back, and Aaron found himself shifting his mindset. He guarded against his father’s criticism, he knew that. He wasn’t proud of it. In fact, he hated the reaction. He wanted things to be like they were before this PTSD monster reared its ugly head. Figuring out how to get there, that was the problem.

  He stood. “Hey, Dad.”

  His father walked in, his suit jacket over his forearm and computer bag on his shoulder. His face held a smile, but it lacked something genuine.

  “Son,” Dad said.

  Conversation for the next few minutes ran to the mundane. Weather. Sports. News.

  Before dinner was ready, Dad took him out on the deck and they grilled the steaks. While Dad had wine, Aaron skipped it. He’d had don’t drink and drive drilled into his head by the military.

  “How is the therapy going?” Dad asked as he flipped the steak.

  Thunder rolled in the distance. They’d better get the steaks done soon.

  Aaron shrugged and took a swig of his water. He wanted to talk about something else. “Hard to say. I haven’t been in it long enough. There’s some interesting people in there, though.”

  “Interesting?”

  “You remember that woman who was kidnapped by those guys in Costa Rica and was rescued by SEALs?”

  “She’s in your group therapy?”

  “Yes. She’s a teacher…online high school.”

  Dad sighed and shook his head. “Poor thing went through hell. Then when she came back from Costa Rica, every damned news channel in the world was after her to tell her story, to write a book about it.”

  Aaron had imagined too many times already the type of hell she’d gone through, and it ate him up if he thought of it for long.

  “Now there’s someone who should have PTSD,” Dad said.

  In the back of his head, Aaron heard the recrimination colored in his own voice. Yeah, idiot. Lana has a good excuse to be fucked up. What’s yours? No good fuckin’ reason, sport.

  “Do you think it’s doing you any good?” Dad asked. “The group therapy, I mean.”

  “Like I said, it’s too early. I’m not sure I need—” Aaron winced as he saw his father’s face instantly change to irritated. “Group therapy is probably not the thing I need, but I’ve got to do it.”

  “Well, what do you need then?”

  “I don’t know. I need to sink my teeth into something, but maybe it’s not teaching people history. I’ll figure it out.” His father’s lips tightened, and Aaron knew he’d hit a nerve with Dad. He decided to switch topics. “Enough about me. How’s work?”

  They talked in pleasant tones, in an artificial way that made a hollow open up in Aaron’s stomach. Something was missing in the conversation, as if they danced around everything that mattered and avoided the truth. He knew if he told his father how he really felt, if he explained nightmares that plagued him a couple of times a week, if he told him that noise was irritating and sometimes too loud, Dad wouldn’t get it. His father couldn’t understand the itch in his mind that nagged him day and night and rarely gave him a break.

  “How many weeks is the group therapy, again?” his father asked.

  He’d told him before. “At least twelve weeks. If I need something longer, I’ll have to go back to the VA. I don’t plan to do that. That was a royal clusterfuck.”

  Dad gave him a quelling look, but Aaron didn’t apologize for the harsh language. Dad eyeballed him and then put the finished steaks on a plate. He turned off the grill. For a few seconds Aaron thought maybe Dad would say something more profound. More in tune with the affection he’d received from Mom.

  “It’ll work or you’ll be in trouble. The psychologist will report that it didn’t work,” Dad said.

  Aaron smiled through irritation. “I get that. Don’t worry. It’ll work.”

  As they walked back into the house with steaks in hand, a revelation came to him he hadn’t expected. His relationship with his father had been damned good all his life until his brother had died. After that, something in his father had gone to pieces. The load of his dreams and wishes for his oldest son had fallen to the second son. Now Aaron was hosing up the plan. Why the hell had it taken him so long to see it? Could he ever rediscover a solid relationship with his father, or was it doomed?

  Dinner conversation was pleasant enough, but when he went home that night, Aaron walked into his lonely apartment and felt the icy edge of sadness. He changed into his sweats and banged out some sit ups and pushups until he lay on the floor panting. He did more and more until he’d worked out the crazy sadness.

  While he lay in bed, he thought of how happy Lana had looked after he’d helped her with her driving. Yeah, that had felt good. Damned good. He wanted more of that feeling, and he thought he knew just how to get it.

  Chapter 6

  “What’s the point in having a therapy group if it doesn’t solve our problems?” Roxanne asked as she stood outside, waiting for the medical building to open Thursday.

  Lana listened to the woman’s grating voice with a patience she didn’t have. “We haven’t been in the group long enough. We have to give it some time.”

  Lana was saying this to remind herself as much as Roxanne.

  “I need to be fixed now,” Roxanne said.

  Lana almost made a sound of impatience but halted herself just in time. No one but you is going to fix you. Yes, that’s what she wanted to say to the woman, but she wouldn’t. Not in this way.

  Roxanne huffed. Today Lana had arrived at the building a bit too early because Jillie had to attend a summer soccer camp with her kids.

  The security guard opened the front door, and Roxanne started up the stairs.

  “Evening ladies,” the older gentleman guard said.

  Roxanne and Lana uttered greetings just as Lana saw Aaron’s SUV enter the parking lot.

  She smiled at Roxanne and the guard. “I’ll be in shortly.”

  Roxanne’s gaze darted to Aaron’s vehicle and a knowing smile crossed her face. “You’re starting something with him, aren’t you?”

  The question came out of left field. Lana’s mouth opened, but for a few seconds she couldn’t think how to reply.

  “No,” Lana said.

  Roxanne looked doubtful as she turned to wa
lk up the stairs and into the building. “Right.”

  Rude. Lana’s mind whispered the condemnation. She couldn’t believe the things people said. In this group everyone’s politeness was hijacked by brutal honesty. She’d heard that frankness in group therapy often helped. So far she’d found the smack down attitude as disturbing as she’d found it useful. But as she’d said to Roxanne, they hadn’t been in the group that long. As she waited for Aaron to leave his vehicle and come toward the building, she felt two things. Anticipation and apprehension. Anticipation—she felt it every time she saw him now. Was that a good thing? Maybe not. Apprehension because despite the fact she trusted Aaron, she didn’t plan on being more than friends with him. She’d have to make that clear.

  “Hi,” he said with a grin as he trotted up the stairs toward her. “Waiting for me?”

  “Yes.”

  His grin grew wider. “I think I like that.”

  She noticed a thing about him she couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen before. The first day she’d met him, he’d scared her with his bristling intensity and warrior looks. Now she almost found him comforting. How had that happened in such a short time? And how foolish was it? Today he wore jeans and athletic shoes and a red polo that he didn’t tuck into the jeans. Everything about him seemed less intimidating than that first day. Casual and accepting. Yet she wasn’t fooled. Despite feeling safe with him, she still felt his intensity, the low hum of a man who’d seen danger. Had been the danger himself.

  When he reached the top step, she said softly, “I’d like to stay out here. I mean, I’m not saying you have to stay out here with me. So if you’d like to…”

  She waved one hand, feeling ten kinds of awkward. She’d made a mash of that statement.

  He did his usual leaning against the railing. “This is getting to be a habit for us.”