by Joachim Jean
“What are these brown marks?” he asked, running his thumb over the envelope.
“His blood,” she said in a weary voice.
Mac stared at the letter then at her for a second before pulling her into his arms, holding her tight. She stayed in his embrace, sinking into his body, too tired, too overcome to speak or even to stand up.
“You should go to bed,” he said, picking her up in his arms.
He carried her into the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed. She rolled over and closed her eyes. Mac covered her with a blanket, kissed her and turned out the light.
In the living room, he sat down with a shot of scotch and read the letter. After getting to know Danny, listening to his and Callie’s stories, he felt he knew Kyle a little and the letter made him sad. He finally understood Callie’s inability to walk away from Kyle in her heart. He shared Kyle’s feelings for Callie. Maybe he and Kyle had something in common…maybe that’s why she loved Mac so quickly.
The phone rang.
“Hi, Eliza, sorry, Danny’s not here,” Mac said.
“He’s not answering his cell phone or land line.”
“Want me to check on him?”
“Would you? How is Callie?”
“Asleep. She’s traumatized…”
“Oh, God. Please make sure he’s okay.”
He hung up and drove to Danny’s and rang the bell. Danny answered the door drunk, pointing the subcompact Glock at him. Surprised, Mac stepped back and Danny put the gun on the table by the window.
“I thought you were my father,” Danny said.
“You’re not answering your phone.”
“I’m having a date with Johnny, Johnny Walker Red over there, but don’t tell Eliza. I don’t want her to get jealous,” Danny said pointing to the bottle and laughing.
“How long have you been drinking, Danny?” Mac asked.
“Not long enough. Come on in. Have a drink. Let’s drink to Kyle,” Danny said, taking Mac’s arm and pulling him into the house. He got another glass and poured scotch for him.
Mac felt he couldn’t refuse to drink to Danny’s departed brother so he sat down and raised his glass.
“To Kyle,” Mac said, taking a big swig.
“To the best brother in the world,” Danny said, following suit.
“To a brave warrior,” Mac added another toast.
“To a hero,” Danny said, tears forming in his eyes as he saluted his fallen brother.
“Put the gun away,” Mac said, staring at the shiny pistol.
“My father might come back.”
“I’m here.”
“What are you going to do, beat him to death with a slide rule?” Danny said, laughing.
“Please, Danny…” Mac shifted uncomfortably on the sofa.
“Okay, okay. If you get shot by accident Callie will kill me,” Danny said, returning to the bedroom briefly to put the gun back in the nightstand. “Let’s have a drink to her,” Danny said, walking into the living room, his glass in his hand.
“To Callie, prettiest girl in the East,” Mac said, taking a big drink.
“A tie…Callie and Eliza.”
“To Callie and Eliza,” Mac added on, raising his glass right behind Danny.
The phone rang and Mac answered. “He’s here. He’s not in any shape to talk to you right now, Eliza,” Mac said, but Danny grabbed the phone out of his hand.
“Eliza, Eliza, I love you Sweet pea. I do.”
Mac took the phone back.
“He’s had a few too many. See him tomorrow…he’ll be better,” Mac said and hung up the phone.
“We’re lucky guys, Mac. Kyle wasn’t lucky, but we’re lucky. We’ve got the best women in the world and we’re alive,” Danny said, choking up.
“I’ll drink to that.”
“I’ve slept with lots of girls, Mac. Lots of girls, pretty girls, nice girls. Lots of girls. Some with great bodies, some with crappy bodies. I loved them all. Have you slept with a lot of girls?”
“I’ve had my share.” Mac leaned back in his chair and plopped his feet on the coffee table.
“Yeah? I’ve had more…more than my share. I minored in sex in college. But no one wanted to commit to a guy going overseas. Nope. No girlfriend to write me love letters, like Callie. But then I met Eliza, wow, you know? She’s different, she’s something else.”
“Too much information here.” Mac held up his hand, palm facing Danny and shook his head.
“You think I’m going to tell you about Eliza…in the sack? No way. This is love, man. A guy doesn’t talk about love,” he said, taking another swallow.
“Let’s drink to love.” Mac refilled his glass.
“Yeah, to love.” Danny said, taking a swig. “Let’s drink to the sack.”
“To the sack!” Mac said, laughing.
“You’re not going to tell me about Callie in the sack, are you?”
“No way. Guys don’t talk about love, remember.” Mac raised an eyebrow.
“Good... I don’t want to know, she’s my sister, man,” Danny said. “You know what Jack told me?”
“Jack who?”
“Jack Henderson, the guy we went to see, the guy Kyle died saving.”
“What?” Mac sat back in his chair.
“He told me Andy tracked down the bastard who killed Kyle and shot him. He massacred him. Then Andy took a bomb.”
“That’s terrible! I mean terrible Andy didn’t make it, but good he killed the bastard who killed Kyle.”
“Good and bad. ‘Cause that’s why I went to Iraq. I went to kill all the damn bastards who killed Kyle, and the son of a bitch was already dead.” Danny ran his hand through his hair.
“That’s why you went?” Mac raised his eyebrows.
“Yeah. Revenge. But ole Andy already got revenge. I coulda been killed. I got shot up for nothing,” Danny said, starting to cry.
Mac didn’t know what to do. He had never put his arm around a man before. He moved over to Danny and gave him a hug, which made him cry harder and now Mac was stuck hugging him.
“Have another drink, Danny,” Mac coaxed.
Danny dried his eyes with the back of his hand and poured more for himself and Mac.
“Not to change the subject, but did you ever want to sleep with Callie?”
“Are you still on that crap? Give it up, Mac. You’ve no reason to be jealous of me.”
“You didn’t answer the question.” Mac sat up straight.
“Okay, okay. Yeah. I tried to put the moves on her when she first hooked up with Kyle. I was a kid and stupid. Kyle took care of me.”
“How?”
“He beat the shit out of me,” Danny said, laughing. Mac laughed, too.
“That cured me. Now you’re doin’ her and its okay with me.”
“Don’t talk like that about Callie.” Mac’s lips thinned into a frown.
“Sorry. The service…guys talk like that all the time.”
Together they finished the bottle.
“There was a young girl from France…” Danny said.
“I know that one!” Mac said, picking his head up.
“You do? Good, because I can’t remember the rest.” Danny ran his hand over the stubble on his jaw.
“Uh, something about ‘pants’ or ‘no pants’…I can’t remember.”
“If she was hot the next line must be ‘no pants’.”
They were laughing so hard they slid out of their chairs and down on the floor. Lying on the floor, they told bad or dirty jokes, laughing until they cried.
“What’s your favorite song, Mac? Do you like the Beach Boys?” Danny asked, getting up to play a CD. They sang along at the top of their lungs. Danny tried to dance, but could hardly stand up.
At three, the neighbors called the police. When the patrolmen threatened to call Dave Williams, the chief of police, Mac turned off the CD player. Danny went into the bathroom and threw up, then passed out on his bed. Mac passed out on the sofa.
&n
bsp; Chapter Thirteen
Callie woke up with a jolt at seven on Sunday morning, wondering where Mac had spent the night as she looked at the empty bed. She called out and searched every room in the house but no Mac. Callie phoned the police and spoke to Dave Williams.
“Dave, Mac is missing,” Callie said, worried.
“Not to worry, Callie. He’s over at Danny Maine’s house. At least he was last night when the neighbors called my men about the racket at three.”
“A racket?”
“Music blasting. He might still be there.”
Callie packed up the children and got a ride from her neighbor to Danny’s house. She knocked on the door and knocked and knocked but no one answered, even though there were two cars in the driveway, one being her black SUV. Jason ran around to the side of the house and looked in the window.
“Mommy, look. Daddy had a sleepover at Uncle Danny’s house.”
Callie went to the side window and saw Mac on the sofa. She banged on the glass until he stirred. Disoriented and seriously hung over, he opened the front door.
“Where were you last night? What happened here?”
“Not so loud, please. Danny and I had a few drinks.”
“A few? Where’s Danny?” she asked, picking up the empty scotch bottle.
“Isn’t he in the bedroom?”
Callie went into the bedroom and found Danny passed out on the bed. She shook him until he started to move.
“Get up. Get up,” she ordered.
Mac washed up first, then Danny.
Callie made coffee and turned on the TV in the living room for the kids. The two men dragged their hung over bodies into the kitchen and guzzled coffee.
“What happened here last night?”
“We had a few drinks. We drank to Kyle,” Danny said, putting his mug down on the table.
“I thought you called Eliza and were going over there when we got home,” she said.
“Not Eliza, Dr. Weiss. She couldn’t see me last night. I’m due there in an hour. Don’t know how I’m going to be there on time.”
“Did you know the neighbors called the police on you two last night?”
“They did? Mac, were the police here?” Danny asked.
“I don’t remember. Maybe, maybe they were. Must be when I turned off the CD player and we went to sleep, I think,” Mac said, rubbing his stubbly face.
“Went to sleep? Passed out is more accurate,” Callie said, arching an eyebrow.
“So? So what? Mac came over and we got drunk in honor of my brother. Is that a crime, Callie?” Danny asked, color rising in his face.
“You’re right. But when I woke up this morning and couldn’t find Mac, I panicked,” she said.
“That’s my fault, Callie. I’m sorry,” Mac said, placing his hand on her shoulder.
“I’ve never had a night without you,” she said, touching his hand.
“In my defense, I planned to come home. You were sound asleep and Eliza called, worried about Danny. So I said I’d check on him. Then we lifted a few in Kyle’s honor…then your honor…then Eliza’s…”
“I get the picture. Leave a note or something next time,” Callie said.
Mac leaned over and kissed her. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
* * * *
Danny got in the shower after Mac, Callie and the children piled into their car and went home. At nine-thirty, he showed up at Dr. Weiss’ office, sober and ready to talk. She gave him a double session because of what happened the day before. When his time with her ended his eyes were red and swollen from crying, but he felt better. Dr. Weiss handed him a spiral ring notebook.
“Danny, I want you to take this notebook and keep a journal. Write about your experiences in Iraq. Write about Kyle. Write about Eliza. Jot down your feelings. You can keep your thoughts private or show them to me if you want to.”
He thanked her and drove home. Although he still felt confused and angry, he hoped the therapy would help him find a way out of his emotional morass.
When he turned on his cell phone he discovered six calls from Eliza.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Can I come over?” he asked, pulling his car keys out of his pocket.
“Of course.”
Danny drove over to her house on automatic pilot. When Eliza opened the door he stepped into the house, closed the door, put his arms around her and pulled her close to him. He inhaled the sweet scent of her gardenia perfume as he buried his face in her neck and closed his eyes. He needed a human connection, he needed to feel alive, not numb, he needed to touch and be touched by someone he loved.
They stood silently in their embrace until Danny’s mouth descended on hers with a needy kiss. He pulled her T-shirt over her head and stroked her skin, her smooth ivory skin, so alive, so soft. He kissed her shoulder, her neck and her shoulder again.
“I need you,” he whispered and continued to undress her.
Before long they were making love. Danny was wounded and vulnerable, instead of cool and confident, tears formed in his eyes as he gazed at her. He touched her breast, stroked her cheek and gently squeezed the flesh of her arm—he needed to keep feeling the warmth of her skin and the life in her body. She kissed and caressed his unshaven face gently. Neither one spoke, Eliza lay there looking at him, her eyes quizzical.
“Not ready to talk about yesterday.” He cast his gaze down at his hand.
“The meeting must have been pretty awful,” she said.
“Can we get back to us and forget about Kyle and Iraq for a while?” he asked, his fingers closing over her shoulder.
She nodded, cuddling up to him, stroking his chest, her brows knitted.
They lay together in silence for a long time while Danny gathered strength from Eliza’s presence and affection. He suspected he faced a long road back to normal.
“Callie said you and Mac had some drunken night together last night,” Eliza said, finally breaking the silence.
“Yeah. What a night! Mac is all right.”
* * * *
Mac spent most of Sunday recuperating with Callie keeping the children busy and happy. By seven o’clock the kids were in bed asleep. Callie sat on the sofa with a glass of wine and offered one to Mac, who winced at the offer of alcohol.
“Do you want to talk about yesterday? Danny told me some things last night, but they’re mostly a blur,” Mac said, turning to face Callie.
“I don’t want to talk about blood, death, and killing anymore.”
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
“Be with you, make love, get back to our life, get away from the horror and pain,” Callie said, standing up. She took him by the hand and led him into the bedroom.
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately, his tongue seeking hers, his body pressing against her.
“I love you so much, baby,” he whispered.
She responded to his kiss and began to undress him, removing his shirt and running her hands up his strong chest. Then she unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. He pulled her T-shirt over her head and snapped open her bra, moving his hands around to capture her breasts. An intense sexual fire ignited between them, they could barely get undressed fast enough. Their urgent lovemaking peaked almost as quickly as their passion had flamed.
Satisfied, Callie buried herself in Mac’s arms but sleep would not come. Two hours later, Mac rolled over and threw his arm over her. She snuggled up to him and put his hand on her breast.
He woke up.
“Did I …?”
“No, I put your hand there,” Callie said.
“Do you want to…?”
“Yes. Do you?”
“I’m there,” Mac said kissing her shoulder and caressing her breast. She rolled over and let her hands wander over his body, enjoying touching him, the feel of his smooth skin, furry places and the power of his solid muscles. He stroked her sensitive spots with his long fingers and kissed her all over, slowly…waiting to
hear her moan before moving to a new spot.
They made love more slowly this time. Callie felt her emotional numbness thaw from the heat of their desire as she found physical and emotional release with Mac. Afterward, she buried her face in his chest and sobbed giving vent to feelings she had stuffed down inside after her visit to Jack Henderson. Mac didn’t understand but he held her and kissed her head until she calmed down enough to speak.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked softly, his deep voice cutting through the silence of the night.
Callie shook her head and continued to cry.
“Are you okay?” he asked, fishing for a handkerchief in his nightstand.
“Please don’t leave me,” she sobbed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Promise me. Promise I won’t lose you. Ever.”
“I promise. I could never leave you, baby. You are my life. We’ll be together forever,” he said, stroking her hair and her back while she clung to him. His tenderness helped her to calm down, as she expressed the last of her deep feelings about losing Kyle. Finally spent, she lay next to him quietly, gently tracing the outline of his lips and his jaw with her finger, and then, through the shadows, her eyes connected with his.
“I love you so much. I could never survive losing you,” she whispered, trying not to disturb the quiet of the night. She ran her hand along his unshaven cheek and he kissed the palm, then smiled at her.
“I love you, too, baby, now and forever,” he whispered, gently moving her hair back from her face.
He kissed her neck and pulled her body up against his, restful sleep followed.
Chapter Fourteen
Life returned to normal with Danny delivering his lectures and grading papers, Mac and Eliza solving problems at the university, and Callie taking care of her children. Mac and Callie planned to attend the fall play, Seems Like Old Crimes, a murder mystery written by Diana Finegold, a drama professor.
They went to the first performance and were home in bed by ten-thirty. At eleven Callie awoke to the sound of tinkling glass. It took her a few seconds to realize the sound was the window in the kitchen door being smashed. She sat up in bed and jostled Mac.
