“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to come by, but with physical therapy and....”
“And what?” she demanded. “What has kept you so busy that you couldn’t even stop by to visit me? Andy talked about you all the time. He used to tell me that I didn’t need to worry because if anything ever happened you would be there to take care of me. But I guess that turned out not to be true. At least he didn’t live long enough to see his best friend betray him. Here’s a box of his shit. I don’t want it.” She kicked at the box and then turned and walked away.
“Patricia, wait!” he called out, following her. “Please, I’m sorry. Come inside. We’ll talk.’
“I can’t talk,” Patricia said, spinning around to face him. “I have three kids at my mother’s house and she has a hard time watching all of them at the same time. But you go ahead and enjoy all the free time you have.”
She stomped down the exterior stairs that led to his apartment, got in her car and tore out of the parking lot. Beckett looked down at the box in front of his door. It was big, but when he picked it up it was surprisingly light.
He brought the box inside and put it on his coffee table. He opened one of the flaps and looked inside. It was pictures, mostly. Pictures of him and Andy together. They were laughing at basic training, proud at graduation, excited for their first tour. They were younger, softer, unburdened. They looked so happy and free; the horrors of war had not yet marred their faces.
Beckett felt like he was going to be sick. His stomach churned as picture after picture passed through his hands. Pictures of a dead man. A man who had once lived and laughed and would never do either ever again. Andy was gone. Really gone. He was never coming back.
He threw the pictures back into the box and walked to his kitchen, needing a drink. There was no way he could look through those pictures sober. He couldn't handle it sober. Just as he was reaching for a glass his doorbell chimed, a far cry from the angry banging before.
It was probably Patricia again. He dropped his head and then forced himself to take a deep breath. He walked back through the door and opened it without looking through the peephole first.
It wasn’t Patricia standing there, it was Cecily. She looked stunning. Her hair was down and blowing around her head in the wind.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” he responded, and then he just continued to stare at her, unsure what to do next. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I thought we could talk,” Cecily said.
Beckett looked over his shoulder at the box on his coffee table. He didn’t want to talk. He couldn’t do it. He needed to get out and away from that box and all the false promises in there. There were no more happy memories with Andy. Only the bad ones were left. It was too confusing for him to see the earlier, happier pictures.
“I don’t want to talk,” Beckett said. He grabbed his jacket with his keys in the pocket. “I want to shoot something.”
“Well, I don’t,” Cecily said, and to his surprise she took a step towards him and was almost in his apartment. “I want to talk to you. Just you and me, no physical therapy. Just talking. You can talk to me, Beckett. You know that, right?”
It was suddenly hard to breathe. He leaned against the door, feeling slightly unstable. The box was behind him and he couldn’t stop looking over his shoulder at it.
“Is everything alright?” Cecily asked. “What are you looking at? Do you have a girl in there?” Beckett wasn’t sure if he actually heard the jealousy in her voice or if he was just imagining it.
“No, no girl. It’s just...the widow of one of my friends dropped some stuff off. Some mementos. It’s a lot to look at.”
“Why don’t I look at them with you?” she said. “Maybe it’ll be easier if someone else is there.” He looked down at this beautiful woman standing in front of him. He had made life so hard for her recently. He hadn’t taken her work seriously, but here she was anyway. She wanted to help him and they weren’t even sleeping together.
“OK,” Beckett said, stepping aside so she could slip past him and into the apartment. She looked around without judgment, then sat down on the edge of the couch and looked at the box.
“May I?” she asked.
“Sure,” Beckett said. He was nauseous again. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans as he sat down on the chair. Cecily lifted the photos out of the box and looked at them.
“Who is this?” she asked.
“My buddy, Andy,” he replied. “He died in the attack where I got my injury.” She nodded but said nothing else. The silence was ringing in his ears. It was overwhelming. He felt like he couldn't breathe. He was sweating like he had just run a marathon.
“What was he like?” Cecily asked.
“Funny,” Beckett said. “He was always cracking a joke or making some snide little comment. It got him beat up as a kid, but instead of biting his tongue, he just learned how to fight better.”
Cecily gave a quiet laugh at that and said, “You and he were friends for a long time.”
“We came up through basic training together,” he said. “It was crazy for me to ever think that we would both get through the war alive.”
“That’s not crazy,” Cecily said. “That’s hope. It’s a good thing.”
“It’s a useless thing,” he countered. “It doesn’t actually help.”
“Of course it helps,” she said. “It allows you to imagine a time when things will be better. It gives you something to dream of, something to keep you going through the dark times.”
“Except hope leaves you when you’re in the darkest times. It abandons you when you need it the most.”
“Hope will never abandon you. It’s just hard to find sometimes.” Cecily reached over and put her hand on his knee. “I’m here for you, Beckett. You aren’t alone. You don’t have to look for hope, you can just look to me. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Chapter Ten
Cecily glanced at Beckett out of the corner of her eyes as she flipped through the photos. Beckett looked so young in some of the photos. There were no lines on his face, his eyes seemed brighter, his hair longer. The war had taken all of his softness away. All that was left was the chisel-jawed soldier sitting in front of her, barely holding it together.
“What’s she like?” Cecily asked. She was staring at a picture of Andy on his wedding day. He was standing next to a pretty girl in a poufy wedding gown. Cecily guessed that she must be the widow. Beckett was in the picture too, looking sharp in his black tux.
She spoke slowly and quietly, as if Beckett were a small, frightened animal. She was worried that if she spoke too quickly or too loudly he would run away and she would never find him again.
“Mad,” Beckett answered. Cecily forced herself to say nothing. She knew that if she waited, he would speak. She looked at another photo. It was a picture of Andy with a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. There was a dry and arid landscape behind him. Afghanistan, she would guess.
“Andy and I had this agreement. If he died first I would look after his wife and kids, help her with them.” His voice sounded distant and far away. He was staring off into space, not looking at Cecily at all. “I haven’t done it,” he continued. “I haven't gone to see her once. She was at a parking lot the other day and I ran, like a coward.”
“Why did you run?” Cecily ask.
“I can’t face her,” Beckett whispered.
“Why not?” Cecily asked.
“She thinks Andy was a hero. She thinks he died defending his country.” Cecily remained perfectly still as he spoke. “And he did, for a long time he did. He was a great soldier. But he was at war too long. He got stressed. He started getting mad at everyone all the time. There was no talking him down, no reasoning with him.
“Something was wrong with him that day. I thought he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. But all morning he kept shaking his head and saying he couldn’t do this anymore. I thought it was
nothing. He complained all the time. I thought he just needed to vent, get it off his chest.” He spoke like a man in his dreams. Beckett stared into the middle distance as the words tumbled out of his mouth.
“We were sent to this burned-out building. Reports had come in of insurgent activity in the area. So me, Andy, Mike and Tommy headed to the building. We checked it out, it looked all clear and so we started checking out the inside.
“I should have sent Andy home. He was so mad. He was muttering to himself and he was so jumpy. Anytime there was a noise - even something like a sheep bleating - he would jump and have his finger on the trigger, pointing his gun at everything. But I thought he would be ok. I thought it was just a bad mood and it would pass.
“We went inside. It was this big, empty building. There was a sort of landing on the second floor. We all went up there. We were spread out, checking the rooms, when there was a shot from outside. I looked out a window and saw a couple of kids outside with firecrackers. I reached for my radio, and just as I was about to call it in as a non-threat Andy came on the radio.
“He started screaming, ‘I’m under fire, I’m under fire.’ Mike and I ran out to find him. He was standing on this landing, screaming, with his gun on his hip. He turned towards us, his eyes were so wide and white. He screamed and then he shot. He hit Mike right in the chest. The bullet tore through his uniform, and then he was falling over the side of the landing. I grabbed his arm, trying to hold onto him, but he was already dead. I held on as long as I could.” He massaged his shoulder and stopped for a moment.
“Tommy came out from another door and I watched as Andy hit him too. There were more soldiers outside, they were coming in. I had to do something. I had to stop him. He was crazy. He was laughing and screaming and crying. He was pumping rounds into Tommy and so I let go of Mike. He fell to the ground below, already dead, and I got to Andy and I pushed him.
“I pushed him right over the edge. I remember he turned his head. He looked at me as he fell. He looked horrified and scared all the way to the ground. His neck snapped. He was dead instantly.”
“Oh my God,” Cecily said. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He swallowed heavily and angrily wiped the tears from his eyes.
“What am I supposed to tell Patricia? That her husband killed two soldiers and I had to take him out before he killed me too? How am I supposed to look her in the eye and agree when she says her husband’s a hero? Am I supposed to argue with her? Tell her the truth?
“No one can know what happened that day. If they did it would take away every good thing Andy ever did. Patricia and the kids would lose their benefits. You have to promise me, you have to swear to me, that you won’t ever tell anyone. You can’t, Cecily.”
“I’ll never tell a soul.”
He got up and walked away from her. He kept wiping at his eyes, each time surprised and angry to find tears there. Cecily got up and slowly followed him. He was staring out of a window and she stopped a few feet away from him.
“Get out,” he said, without turning around.
“No,” she whispered. “I’m not going to leave you.” She took another step to him and then wrapped her arms around him. He was taller than her, and she rested her forehead on his shoulder as he let out a stuttering breath.
“Come here,” she whispered. She turned him around and then wrapped him up in her arms. His head fell on her shoulder as he let out a painful sob. She held him tightly and rubbed his back. “It’s ok,” she whispered, over and over, as he cried.
Behind her she saw his bedroom, and she took him by the hand and led him inside. Sitting back on the bed, he lay down, and she put his head in her lap. He cried and cried, months’ worth of tears all coming out at the same time. Cecily rubbed his back. It was worse than she ever could have imagined. The things Andy had done. The secrets Beckett was forced to keep.
Finally, there were no tears left. “I’m sorry,” he said, sitting up.
“Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I shouldn’t cry in front of a woman.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” Cecily said. “Besides, crying is good for you. It relieves stress, clears the pores and lowers your blood pressure.”
“Thanks, doc,” Beckett said. “Jeez, it’s late.” The clock next to them read 12:13, and Cecily could barely keep her eyes open. “You could stay if you wanted to,” Beckett said.
Cecily looked at Beckett’s red-rimmed eyes. He looked exhausted, and she nodded. The lights were off in the room, and Cecily slid out of her jeans and bra as Beckett removed everything but his boxer shorts, and they both climbed back into Beckett’s soft bed. She pulled the blankets up and curled underneath them as Beckett joined her. She lay on her side and felt his warm arms wrap around her. She held onto his hand as he nestled behind her. They fit so well together, like two puzzle pieces locking into place. She could feel him fall asleep. His legs twitched and then his breathing grew deep and even. She fell asleep not long after he did.
She slept wonderfully, a deep, uninterrupted sleep. She woke up the next morning to feel Beckett’s hand running up and down her back.
“Good morning,” he whispered, as he leaned down and kissed the back of her neck.
“Good morning,” she whispered back.
“I was right,” he whispered, as his hand snuck under her shirt. “It is very nice to wake up next to you.”
Cecily couldn’t hide the smile that came to her lips. They made love that morning. It was different from their quickie tryst in the parking lot. They knew more about each other now. They shared a connection that went deeper than physical attraction. Their movements were slow and patient as they explored each other’s bodies and the sun rose in the sky.
Chapter Eleven
“You have to go?” Beckett asked. He was laid out in bed. He felt tired and energized all at the same time. Yesterday had been a lot. It had been the first time Beckett had cried in front of someone in probably ten years.
It was all thanks to Cecily. She had come to his house; she had sought him out to make him feel better. She didn’t want anything from him. There was nothing in this for her. She was just the kind of person who knew when someone needed her, and then she came. She was the kind of woman who showed up.
“Believe it or not, you are not my only patient and, after tonight, you can’t be my patient anymore.”
“Why not?” He asked.
“Because doctors and patients can’t sleep together and that’s a good rule,” she said, before he could interrupt her. “Your doctor is the person who prescribes your medication. That relationship needs to remain professional. It’s too easy for it to be abused. Besides, if you’re not my patient anymore then we can do this more,” she said.
“I do very much want to keep doing this,” he said, and he lunged across the bed and grabbed her by the hips, pulling her back onto the bed. “It’s gonna be even harder to go to physical therapy without being able to check you out in all those mirrors.”
“I’ll still be there,” she said, giving him a kiss. “You can still check me out. I’ll just be with another patient.”
With every step she took to the door he kissed her. He held onto her, kissing her all the way to her motorcycle. He finally had to pull away when she put her helmet on. Watching her get on her bike was the hottest thing he had ever seen. She gave him a wave and then expertly pulled out of the parking lot and headed towards the hospital.
Beckett walked back up to his apartment. He felt lighter. He hadn’t even realized the weight he had been holding. Andy’s mental illness and his attack on his own brothers had been a planet-sized weight, and like Atlas Beckett had been carrying it on his shoulders.
Cecily had saved him. She had lifted the weight and put it aside. He didn’t need to carry it anymore. Andy was dead, so were Tommy and Mike, and no amount of punishing himself would ever bring them back. He had to let them go. As hard as it was, he had to leave them behind.
Beckett
was still alive. He still had his life to live. Tommy, Mike and Andy would never forgive him if he ruined his life because of their deaths. They had been friends, and if Beckett had died he wouldn’t have wanted any of them to spend their lives in mourning. He would have wanted them to find beautiful women, ride their bikes, watch the sunset and live a great life. That was what he had to do now.
The box of mementos was still on the table and he took his time looking through them. There were no tears left in him. He had cried for the last time over Andy. He looked through the box and took out a few pictures from when he and Andy were young, before the war scarred them.
He put the pictures up on his fridge and put the box back in his closet. Andy would always be there for him. Anytime Beckett needed to see his old friend he only needed to look in his closet. But he doubted he would that often. He wasn’t going to spend his life looking to the past. He was going to focus on the future and the things he could change, not the past and the things he couldn’t.
***
“I want an ice cream cone!”
“I want an ice pop!”
“Then we’ll get both,” Patricia said. Beckett kept his eye on Sam. The little boy was a runner. At any time, he was likely to see some shiny thing that caught his eye and go running after it. It was Beckett’s job to go and catch him when he did.
“I want an ice cream cone, too,” Cecily said. “Let’s go.” She took Patricia’s two daughters by the hand and led them to the ice cream stand, and they came back with the cones already dripping in the heat.
“I wanna ride the log flume again!” Sam shouted. Beckett still wasn’t quite used to being around kids. They shouted every word and had way too much energy, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought. Andy’s kids were funny and smart and curious and never, ever boring.
Cecily shared her ice cream cone with Beckett and he took a grateful lick. He took her hand in his and they led the way to the log flume.
“Ooooooh,” the girls echoed. “Cecily and Beckett sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G.” They screamed the chant out and smiling heads turned as they passed. The girls made kissing noises behind them until Beckett finally let go of Cecily’s hand and started chasing them.
ROMANCE: Older Man Younger Woman Romance: Daddy’s Business Friend (First Time Virgin Pregnancy Taboo Romance) (Alpha Male Contemporary Romance Short Stories) Page 19
