by Lila Felix
I didn’t use to. I used to love licorice until I got a huge tin can of it for Christmas and ate the entire thing in one sitting.
I learned to hate it.
Just like I learned to hate making my bed.
I growled in response since it looked like she was actually intent on making me do this.
We had gotten on a schedule–the woman thought she could save the entire world with a simple schedule.
I changed my sheets every morning since the night sweats nearly flooded my bedroom.
“Where’d all these sheets come from? Even drunk I wouldn’t buy sheets with roses and vines on them.”
Molly laughed a little, taking the dampened sheets and throwing them into the washer.
“Not sure. They were just in the closet. Well? Are you just gonna stare at it all day?”
Maybe. I took a look around the rest of the apartment–procrastinating. It was spotless. Molly was working day and night to try to save me. I thought, in the back of my head, that there was a good chance she was putting a dress on a bullfrog.
And this bullfrog didn’t like dresses.
“I guess.” It took me under three minutes to make the bed, and I stood back for a second just to look at it. I wouldn’t tell Molly but there was some semblance of satisfaction in seeing the place clean again.
Maybe there was something to her “everyday chores” things that were cathartic.
This crap went on for three days while I somehow managed to drag myself through the days–twenty-four hours at a time–sometimes second by second.
“I’m getting kind of sick of this place,” she said one day with a huff after folding yet another load of laundry.
“No one asked you to stay. I didn’t exactly advertise it as a five-star resort.”
She sighed. There was really no reason for me to continue to be nasty to her. She was here–helping me through all of my crap.
I hoped she didn’t think I started drinking because of her.
“What about Lake Gray? Does your uncle still have a cabin up there?”
I didn’t even know.
“I’d have to call. Why? Bringing your boyfriend up there?”
That didn’t even make sense. My head was foggy.
“Maybe we could go up there? Do some fishing? What do you think?”
I thought it was high time she bought me a six pack.
And a fifth of vodka.
“Let me call Mom before we start making plans.” The words felt foreign on my tongue. Making plans with Molly was a little too nostalgic for my liking. “I don’t think I have a phone.”
That was a lie. I knew I didn’t have a phone.
“I do. Here.”
I dialed the numbers on the keypad but the number came up. It was already in her contacts.
“Why is my mom’s number in your contacts?”
“Oh,” she said, sitting up and blushing. She was about to lie to me. Molly was so obvious. “When Jameson asked me to come down here, he gave it to me.”
If I really wanted to know, I would look at the history on her phone, but right then, I didn’t.
I called my mom and after ten minutes of making sure everything was okay with me, I finally got a word in edgewise and asked her about the cabin. Of course, she thought it was a wonderful idea and said it was empty.
“It’s there. And it’s empty today and tomorrow. The drive is about an hour or so. I don’t have a driver’s license or a car. They took that sucker from me a while ago.”
“I’ve got a car and a license. Let’s pack up and go. I’m getting cabin fever and some fresh air might be good for you.”
“Yeah, fresh air is going to cure this. Right.”
“I said do you good–not cure you. Cut me some slack here, Lars.”
She got up and started doing something loud in the back room where her stuff was. I assumed she was packing, despite my less than compliant attitude.
I went to my room and packed up a few things–just enough to last me but not enough to be able to stay more than a few days.
I didn’t want to encourage her to spend the entire week at that place.
At one time, that was our place.
Didn’t she care at all?
INSTEAD OF GETTING over myself, I chose not to speak to her the whole way. She knew how to get there, after all.
“Here we are.”
I heard her voice, but it sounded far away. As I looked at the cabin, a flurry of unresolved emotions and stress came down on me. It probably wasn’t the cabin at all. It was Molly. She was in my space again.
“It’s okay, Lars. Can you hear me? Here. Hold my hand. What can I do?” The anxiety in her tone practically screamed out “I have no clue how to help you”. It was fine. I didn’t even know how to help myself.
The car seemed like a steel cage, growing smaller and smaller by the second. I saw her get out of the car. Good. She was running. She should’ve run away as fast as she could a long time ago–I mean, other than the first time.
All of a sudden a whoosh of cool air hit the side of my face, and her voice called to me from the cave I was being buried in deeper, second by second.
It was the instant I needed to come out of it. I took the rope she handed me.
“Hey. There you are. I’m gonna start getting the stuff out of the trunk. Come on in when you get straight.”
If “getting straight” as she put it was the standard then I was royally screwed.
I was as crooked as they came.
Watching Molly come and go with the bags made me feel a little less than a man, but there was something mesmerizing about her pattern and pace. My breaths slowed as a chuckle rose in my throat, a chuckle I didn’t recognize.
“Stop laughing at me and come help, you big oaf. It’s good to see you laugh.” She stopped in her tracks, shocked by the admission as it was to hear it.
“It’s good to hear myself laugh. I’ll get the rest.”
It was such a simple act, getting bags and groceries from the trunk and putting them in the cabin. Just the act of something as normal as that rubbed a thin layer of balm across my chest.
“Are you okay? Did you want to jump right in and go fishing or do you need a rest?” she asked.
Like I was a toddler needing a nap so I didn’t throw a fit after two o’clock.
“No, I’m good. I’ll bring the poles and the bait. You did get bait at the store back there, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Did you make the kid at the counter put it in the bag for you?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to touch any of the fish you catch?”
“No.”
“Chicken.”
“Proud of it.”
Even when she was a kid, Molly never touched fish or worms. Her dad claimed it was something about their eyes.
I never asked.
As her boyfriend and then husband, it was like free entertainment to bait her hooks and then wait for the squeal when she caught one. It was so loud, you were guaranteed not to catch another fish until they calmed down from the noise.
I always thought it was adorable.
“Let’s go then.”
For the rest of the afternoon, we fished. I did more baiting and netting and throwing fish back than actually fishing, but it was worth it. There was something in that simplicity she was reintroducing me to.
Making beds. Washing dishes. Cleaning windows. Fishing.
Somehow she knew it was just what I needed.
Chapter Seven
Molly
I WATCHED HIM tie up the boat at the end of the dock. He looked as if he was having a good time and I hoped it helped him. He wasn’t one who liked being cooped up in one spot for long. I knew it too.
“Want to sit on the back porch for a bit?” I suggested. “It’s a beautiful day.” I pointed up to the cloudless sky.
“Sure.” He shrugged.
I took a seat on the porch swing and he sat next to me.
Slightly swinging, we stared out at the lake. It was quiet and peaceful. It was a perfect end to a perfect day. I liked fishing, just not touching the fish or any of the mechanics of baiting them either. Those parts are gross.
I glanced over at Lars. His eyes were closed, and he was leaning his head back as we continued to swing slowly. He looked sweet and content.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a large motor boat came tearing through the lake. It was the loudest noise I’d ever heard.
“No!” Lars screamed and jumped to the floor covering his head. He continued to scream over and over.
I fell to my knees and he covered my body with his.
“They’re coming! They’re coming!” he yelled.
He was having a flashback.
“They’re going to kill us! We have to move.” Lars leaped to his feet, knocking me over. He grabbed my wrist, yanked me up and began to run toward the wooded area next to the cabin.
“Lars, it’s me. Stop, please.” I begged. I could barely keep up with him. “Lars. Listen.”
He then stopped, pulled me behind a large tree and whispered, “They’re coming.”
“Look at me.” I commanded.
“Be quiet.” His eyes darted around.
“Baby, nobody is coming. It was a loud boat. You’re here with me. Alone.” I tried to keep my voice in an even tone. I knew when people had flashbacks it could be dangerous for both parties. I had to bring him back to reality. “Baby, look at me. Look in my eyes.” Calling him baby was something I’d done since the day we dated until the day our divorce was finalized. “Look at me.” I repeated until his eyes were on mine.
He was frantic, and I could see he was in survivor mode. He was back in the war, and he was in danger.
“It’s just you and me. We’re safe.” I cupped his face in my hands. “There’s no one here. Remember, we went fishing today. Don’t you remember netting the fish, baiting my hook?” I softly rubbed my thumb along his cheekbones.
He glanced all around him. “Fishing?”
“Right. It’s me. Molly. We’re at your uncle’s cabin and we went fishing today.”
His knees gave way, and he collapsed. He held tightly around my waist and began to sob. My heart broke listening to his tears.
“Please, give me a drink. I need the memories to go away.” He pleaded. “I can’t live with them.”
I moved until I was face-to-face with him. “You don’t need to drink. You’re strong and we can get through this together.” I kissed his forehead. “I’m right here next to you. We’re going to get through this.”
He continued to cry, and I held him close. I rubbed his back, rocking back and forth. I told him over and over it’d be okay and I was here for him. I never saw Lars cry before, not like this. He may have teared up, but this was a whole other level of emotions. He needed to get into therapy and have a professional help him through this. I was strong, but I didn’t know if I was this strong. Especially as much as I loved him.
Once he calmed down I got him back to the cabin and sat him on the couch. I went to the kitchen and made him a hot cup of tea and a small bowl of soup. He hadn’t eaten all day and I knew it would help him. He wasn’t asleep. He was staring into space–lost in his own thoughts.
“Here.”
I brought the spoon to his mouth and he opened it. It was a robotic move, but he did it. I continued to feed him. He didn’t move, just had a blank stare. When the soup was gone, I took his hands to hold onto the cup of tea.
“It’s hot,” I said cautioning him. “Sip slowly.” He didn’t move. With my hands covering his, I helped him bring the cup to his lips. “Slowly,” I said again.
It took several moments to get the tea down. He was still in a trance, but I needed to get him up and into the bedroom. I removed his shoes and covered him with a blanket. I didn’t want to leave him until I was certain he was asleep so I laid on the other side of the bed for a few moments.
Once I was satisfied he wasn’t going to wake up for a little while, I went across the hall to my room. I pulled out all my medications and began to take out my pills. I’ve been trying to hide these from Lars, but I wasn’t sure how long I could keep up the ruse. The pills have been making me sicker in the morning, and it was getting harder and harder to be quiet.
I went down to the kitchen and took all the pills with one gulp of water. I sat at the breakfast bar with my head in my hands. Jameson was the only one who knew the truth, and I wanted it kept that way. My focus would be on Lars until I left. He needed someone strong to lean on and everyone else had a life but me.
I was still using my sick time from the hospital and I was hoping my next doctor’s visit would give me the timeline of when I could go back to work. I missed my job. Actually I missed working with the babies more, but it became too hard once the doctors delivered the news to me. It was a little easier with older people. Not less sad, just easier than seeing tiny, beautiful babies every day.
I fixed myself some soup because I didn’t want to dry heave tonight. It was gross to think of how much easier it was to throw up liquids, but it was easier. I sat on the couch and watched old sitcoms as I finished my food.
I went and checked on Lars again, and he was still sound asleep. I laid next to him and remembered all the nights I would watch him. I knew it was creepy, but I loved looking at him knowing he was all mine. He was forever going to be mine.
I STROKED HIS hair, letting it flow through my fingers. He was peacefully asleep. It was our first night in our own home. We used my inheritance from my dad’s passing to buy it. It was a huge step, but we were married, and it was the next step. However, we didn’t have any furniture and were sleeping on the floor with every blanket we were given.
“Why are you staring at me?” He mumbled and slowly opened his eyes. “It’s creepy.”
“No it’s not. I’m studying my husband.” I smirked.
“I like my new title, wife.” He grinned.
“I like mine as well.” I stroked his cheek. “You’re leaving soon.”
“I’m just going to basic training. It will be over before you know it.” He reassured me. “This is my career.”
“I know. I’m proud of you.”
“I love you, Molly, but you have to stop watching me sleep.”
“I will if I want to. I’m your wife.” I narrowed my eyes but couldn’t help the smile growing on my face. “I will do it forever.”
UNTIL IT ALL changed.
I felt the first jerk in my stomach, and I knew what was coming. I carefully but quickly moved to the bathroom further away from Lars and lost the contents of my stomach. It hurt, but I kept my sobbing as low as I possibly could. I took a cold, wet washcloth in case I couldn’t be quiet. It would muffle the sounds.
I didn’t know how long I was there, but I must have fainted or passed out because I woke up looking up at the ceiling. I did feel slightly better. At least well enough to stand and not throw up again. I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and took several deep breaths. I needed to check on Lars and figure out how much time had passed.
When I opened the door, I was face-to-face with him, glaring at me.
“Want to tell me what’s going on?”
I swallow back the lump in my throat. “What do you mean?” Over the years I’ve perfected the words, I’m fine, nothing’s wrong, and don’t worry about me.
“Why are you sick?” He narrowed his eyes.
“I think I ate some bad ham or cheese. I threw it all away. I’m fine you don’t need to worry about me. Nothing’s wrong.” I give him a small smile. It was enough to throw him off for the moment. “What about you? Are you feeling ill as well?”
He shook his head. “No, I was just thirsty and couldn’t find you. I was hoping you were gone.”
His words stabbed me in my soul, but I played it off as a best actress would. “Too bad so sad for you, Russian Rocket.” I patted his arm and went into the kitchen.
It wouldn’t be long before I was gone
and I could get back to doing what I do best. Pretending it was all okay.
Chapter Eight
Lars
AS MUCH AS Molly thought she knew me, I knew her twice as well. I loved her first and longest, not that I was keeping score, but it was true nonetheless.
I loved her for two years before she even knew my name.
When she said yes to dating me, I made it my job to know everything about her.
It was really the only thing I knew how to do well.
I hadn’t really been good at school. I was one of nine children and sometimes fell through the cracks. But I loved my big family more than anything.
I always thought I’d have that with Molly.
“Want some soup?”
There was only one way to tell her what I really needed to tell her.
“If you give me any more soup, I’m gonna have a problem that even alcohol can’t fix.”
She bunched her eyebrows right above her nose.
“What I’m trying to say is that I think I’m ready for something a little more solid.”
“Oh, I thought your stomach was upset. I thought it might help.”
“It did until it started to give me the runs. How about we go to town and get a burger.”
I felt the stink eye she gave me down in my marrow.
“I’m not sure that’s the best idea, Lars.”
“Give me a break, Molly. One more can of soup and you’ll be more worried about me suffering an Oregon Trail fate than dying from alcohol.”
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. That was the first time I noticed she wasn’t really allowing herself to smile. Every time she did, she stopped it almost before it started.
Her clothes were baggy.
Even her socks slouched around her ankles.
Her ponytail was straw-like.
“I’m not gonna get a drink if that’s what you’re jabbing at.”
“I’m not jabbing at it at all, Lars. I’m sure of it. I know for a fact the only place that serves burgers is also a bar.”
