Bittersweet Melody

by Belinda Boring

  I’d lived for the letters he sent—ignoring the way my stomach seemed to plummet when weeks, sometimes months, went by without word. I wasn’t the only family member who diligently flirted with denial, either. Residing on base, I was blessed to make friends with the other wives. There’d been power in numbers, especially when it got particularly rough.

  Sometimes the only thing that kept me from falling over the edge into hysteria was the knowledge I also needed to be brave for the others. We all lived in fear. We all counted down the days until those we loved came home.

  That refusal to admit the truth was never more important than when we discovered someone had been killed. It was the knock at the door we all dreaded and the thing we prayed the hardest to be spared from. I couldn’t count how many times I’d battled with guilt when word spread someone had received “the visit” because instead of my first reaction being one of compassion and empathy, it was one of pure, selfish relief.

  My Owen was safe.

  He was still alive.

  I could continue to breathe and believe all was well.

  Until it wasn’t. Until it was my turn to open the door and see two officers standing on the step, remorse and regret clouding their eyes.

  I woke up one day with everything in my world in perfect balance, and then in one horrifying breath, it was laid to waste and ruin. I was born and raised with a deep love of country, and my patriotism matched Owen’s. I’d never once blinked or tried to convince him not to enlist, because we both believed in national defense and protecting freedom. What he did over in Afghanistan and the other places he’d been sent was important, gave him a sense of incredible pride, but in that moment—that conviction melted away.

  Gone was the proud American who would’ve done whatever it took to not only support her husband but all military, and in her place stood a very pissed off woman.

  As I stepped aside to let them in, knowing exactly what they were about to say, it had been on the tip of my tongue to rush out into the front yard, tip back my head, and scream at the sky—the world—to fuck off. Even now, whenever I heard someone belittle or criticize our troops, I had to bite my tongue.

  The freedom some took for granted had cost me the love of my life.

  He’d died.

  My Owen wouldn’t be able to enjoy that liberty.

  And as my thoughts often strayed lately, Cooper was still suffering because of it.

  Which made my annoyance grow even stronger at my car’s failure to start. After all this time, it would break my heart to miss my own way of honoring both their memories and sacrifices.

  I ignored the niggling thought that there was no need to panic; I could simply do it tomorrow or the next. It was the thought that counted. The church would be there tomorrow.

  But no matter how much sense that made, I couldn’t let it go. Rebecca was currently at work and would be unable to come pick me up for another four hours. Just the thought of going back inside the house and waiting had me rubbing my sweaty palms against my jeans, the interior in the car heating up.

  I couldn’t bide my time, twiddling my thumbs.

  So I called the only person I could think of.

  ****

  “You don’t have to come inside if you don’t want to. I totally understand if you’d rather sit in the car. I promise I won’t be too long. Fifteen minutes, tops!” Fingers gripping the door handle, I spoke quickly, already feeling bad for inconveniencing him. Cooper had answered after two rings and promptly agreed to come get me. I hadn’t given him too many details about why I needed to go to church, and he hadn’t asked.

  “I don’t mind coming in,” he said as he eyed the large, impressive Catholic cathedral.

  I loved coming to the gorgeous, old, stone building, with gothic style architecture, the tall spire with a cross a beacon of hope to those in need. I’d been drawn to the Immaculate Heart of Mary for more than just my need to worship. There was something about the history of the church that had stood for over a hundred years that intrigued me. I couldn’t help but wonder who had come before me and what worries they had laid at the altar in faith.

  God knew my heart, and he’d given me the strength to keep going when Owen had died. It was another reason why I kept my weekly ritual when I’d moved to Black Canyon. It would be one I’d keep for the rest of my life.

  “You sure?” The last thing I wanted was for him to be uncomfortable. I didn’t know his stance on religion—one of those hot topics that could get heated in a heartbeat.

  “Will you quit worrying? If I didn’t want to walk you inside, I’d tell you. I’m a big boy, remember?” His wink lessened the edge to his voice. Shrugging, I took him at his word. He was right—if he didn’t want to be there, he could simply leave and sit in the car or outside on one of the benches in the small garden. With an extra flourish, he grinned. “After you, Ms. Sawyer.”

  Crossing the street, we swiftly climbed the well-worn stairs, pushing on the heavy wooden doors. Cooper added his strength, but it wasn’t needed. They swung open easily.

  Instantly, I felt at home, the serenity and hushed tones skating over my skin and settling into my soul. My reaction was always the same. I didn’t know if it was just me, but I always left here feeling recharged and ready to face the world again.

  It gave me the chance to breathe. Although, with Cooper here, standing closely behind me, I wasn’t sure just how at ease I could be. I was acutely aware of his presence—my body somehow able to sense him, no matter where he was.

  There’d been one other person to have this kind of effect on me.

  Turning around, I caught him glancing around, his gaze tracing over the varnished pews to the beautifully crafted stained glass used for the large windows. I knew how he felt. My first time here was somewhat overwhelming, too. I could stand and study each pane for hours.

  “Okay, I’m heading up to the front, to where the table and candles are.” I pointed in the direction, and Cooper nodded.

  “Do you think they’ll mind if I walk around? Is that allowed? I’m not quite sure what the rules are here,” he answered sheepishly. He definitely appeared out of his element, sparking another surge of guilt.

  His response made me smile. “As long as you don’t disrupt anyone, and you don’t start yelling and being a nuisance, you’re fine.”

  “Okay, go do your thing. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

  “I shouldn’t be too long,” I repeated, needing him to know I was mindful of him.

  “Caylee.” Cooper grabbed my arm gently, stopping me. Just the sound of my name on his lips, here of all places, sent a shiver up my spine. I was praying for him as well—asking God’s mercy to help him. Having him here felt like somehow those petitions had been answered. That our friendship and whatever it was between us was part of some divine plan. “Take all the time you need. Trust me.”

  Without thinking, I threw my arms around him, grateful that he understood. He didn’t need to know all the details. To him, it was enough that I’d asked for his assistance.

  What was important to me was important to him.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, softly kissing his cheek. He froze at the contact, causing me to inwardly gasp. It had felt so natural. Muscles tensed beneath my touch before he eventually relaxed and hugged me back.

  “No worries,” he murmured. He wandered off, his way of saying he was fine. Now that I was here, that reverent excitement bubbled up again. This truly was my favorite part of each week.

  Walking quietly down the center aisle, a few familiar faces stood out. While we’d never spoken, other parishioners also enjoyed the open door policy of their church.

  “Good evening, Caylee,” Father Michaels said, the elderly priest sitting alone at the edge of one of the pews. “It’s good to see you tonight.”

  I stopped long enough to reply. “Thank you. I just came to light my candles.” When I’d first arrived in Black Canyon, we’d talked for a few hours, my life story pouring out me, follow
ed shortly by ragged, gut-wrenching sobs. He hadn’t interrupted, instead listening to me share my heart. When I told him about my tradition for my dead husband, Owen, and his best friend, Cooper, he’d shed his own tears.

  There was nothing like voiced grief and pain to bring two souls together. He’d become a great confidant since then, someone I knew I could talk to without fear or judgment.

  “Who’s that young man you came with?” Father Michaels missed nothing.

  “That’s Cooper,” I replied, looking back to where he was currently standing, his head tipped back as he observed one of my favorite pieces closer—the Savior amidst a chorus of angels, white fluffy clouds around them. It always made me think of Owen and what it would feel like being reunited with him—with all my loved ones who’d already passed on. It gave me hope. It helped me feel better.

  “My car wouldn’t start, so I asked him for a ride.”

  “Does he know why you’re here?” he asked curiously.

  “No,” I fired back quickly. “I didn’t want to embarrass him.” I didn’t add that I was worried he’d think I was being stupid, investing so much belief into what others might call superstition.

  Gazing with a soft focus, the priest studied Cooper, his lips slightly parted. “Something tells me I don’t think he’d mind. In fact, he might surprise you and be flattered. Regardless of where your religious beliefs fall, we all appreciate the thoughtful actions of others.”

  His words touched my heart, their truthfulness easing my concern. “I hope so. I know how much it’s helped me heal doing this. It makes me feel like God hears me better, that he can see how serious I am.”

  Father Michaels’s gaze returned to me. “Sweet girl, don’t you know God loves you, no matter what? You are his child. He listens, even when we doubt our voices break through the ceiling. He knows your heart and those of your friend there. Don’t ever be embarrassed for showing the world your gentle spirit. You’d be surprised how often you inspire others.”

  His compliments sent a heated flush over my cheeks. I was fine with giving out praise. I just sucked at receiving it. “I hope so, Father. I hope so.”

  Nodding, his message delivered, he smiled once more, removing his hand from my arm. “Go talk with God. Light your candles. It was wonderful speaking with you tonight.” And like the cheeky man he was, he winked, revealing that, despite his solemn appearance in his priestly garb, he had a great sense of humor.

  “You, too,” I murmured, watching long enough to see him head back up the aisle toward Cooper. Just the sight made me fidget. Although Father Michaels talked to everyone who entered, even if it was to say hello, I hoped Cooper wouldn’t be offended. Letting out a low sigh, I decided not to overthink it.

  Like he said, he was a big boy. I couldn’t panic every time he was faced with something different.

  Caylee, you’re acting like his mother. It’s not your job to protect him.

  It was my job to be his friend, plain and simple.

  Picking up a long taper, I dipped the end into an already burning flame, smiling as it lit.

  Heavenly Father, it’s me again. I know you’re aware of why I’m here and who I’m here for. Please bless my sweet Owen. Let him know how much I love and miss him. Let him know I’m safe and happy.

  That last word caused my thoughts to hitch momentarily, making me wonder just how much Owen was seeing from his place in Heaven. I believed that once we died, we returned to Heaven to enjoy an eternity surrounded by those we met and loved here on earth. There, we could be with our families, continuing those relationships we’d cherished so dearly. For a long time, I’d also held the faith that they were watching us, whispering guidance and support into our ears as we slept.

  The past few months, however, I’d been unable to shake the small flicker of anxiety I felt over Owen seeing my growing feelings for Cooper. Most of me knew he’d be okay with it—accepting it wholeheartedly. He knew I’d mourned his passing and would forever hold him in my heart. No one and nothing would change that, not even falling in love with someone else. He’d want me to be happy. He’d want to me live without regrets.

  But there was still that sliver that panicked and thought he was furious that my traitorous heart was betraying him.

  It was the part of me I squashed, hoping that, sooner or later, it would resolve itself.

  Please hold him for me. Give him one of my smiles. Pausing, I took in a deep breath. And help him understand my feelings for Cooper.

  There was no stopping the tears that fell from my eyes, splattering onto the edge of the candle’s stand. How many others had stood here doing the same thing, their own emotions choking all thought from their minds. Wiping at my cheeks, it wasn’t sadness that overcame me. No, it was something much more powerful.

  Peace.

  Glorious, soul-deep peace.

  The kind that came from knowing what I was doing was not only the right thing, but that I didn’t need to feel bad. Whether it was simply my imagination or a divine message from a loving Father, I didn’t question it. I took that tranquility and buried it deep in my heart, letting it wash over me until there was nothing left but stillness.

  It made the next bit easier—more genuine and heartfelt.

  Father, please bless Cooper. Be there for him even if he doesn’t know how to ask. Even if he doesn’t believe he needs you. He is such an incredible man, and I know that he hurts. Help me be the friend he needs. Help me show him the love he doesn’t think he deserves.

  Gently pressing the lit taper end to two new wicks, I murmured a faint amen. With my weekly tradition complete, I closed my eyes, offering up my thanks and gratitude.

  I could conquer the world now.

  I could go on.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Cooper

  I wouldn’t really call myself religious.

  I hadn't prayed to God since that day. I'd begged for Him to spare Owen, to take my life and save him. Over and over, in the midst of agony, I’d pleaded.

  Only to be ignored.

  That was the day I decided that God and me were done. He obviously wasn't listening, and I refused to acknowledge a being who would allow my best friend to die—a hero serving his country. People referred to him as benevolent, loving, invested in the success of his children. Everyone had some kind of story to confirm his mercy and his divine intervention.

  Well, fuck him. Fuck him and anyone who tried to convince me it was just a part of life and that it would make me stronger. That this was all part of some sadistic plan.

  I was beyond reasoning, and frankly, I was just fine continuing on in my heathen behaviors. I had no time for God or religion.

  I hadn't stepped foot inside a church until today, and only Caylee could convince me to do so. She'd been right to hedge and give me a way out. Had she been witness to the anger I'd unleashed in that last heartbroken prayer, she'd never have asked.

  But here I was, not only inside the cathedral, but walking about, curious.

  I wasn't looking for answers—it was too late for those. I wasn't looking for forgiveness, either. The only one who could absolve my guilt was dead. No stranger, no minister of the cloth, had any right talking to me about it.

  Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't know where to start. Eyeing the confessional, there'd been a microscopic second where I'd contemplated entering it and baring my soul—giving it one last college try to reconcile with the Big Guy Upstairs. Maybe he'd been on lunch break or something, his attention diverted while all hell broke out in that street. Or maybe he was busy, too busy to come heal me and my brothers there in that hospital in Germany. Surely, he knew we were dying, broken, desperate for relief.

  Or maybe he was simply an asshole who had overestimated his ability to parent.

  Call it blasphemous or whatever, it was how I felt. Even now, should he come down from his throne wanting to chat, I'd punch him. I’d cock back my arm and let loose. I wouldn’t hold back in some profound gesture of devotion.

 
; So, no confessional. No "how many Hail Mary's to absolve myself from killing someone?" Or even worse, "How many for coveting my dead best friend’s widow?"

  Hell, I was surprised the building didn't crumble down around me, lightning bolts aimed with the sole purpose of wiping me from the face of the earth. I wouldn’t have blamed God, either.

  I was just as big of an asshole as he was. And I was just about to prove that, spying the resident priest heading my way.

  “Manners, Cooper,” I muttered below my breath. Think of Caylee.

  “Evening,” the mild speaking gentleman said, a warm smile gracing his features.

  It was on the tip of my tongue to respond with something snarky and inappropriate. It wasn’t the thought of Caylee that stopped me, but the look of disappointment on my mother’s face if I did. If there was one thing she took pride in, it was raising her children to have good manners—regardless of who the conversation was with. It was also something drilled into us during my time with the Marines. We were taught to never forget who we were and who we represented, that my integrity must be safeguarded at all costs.

  My word was my bond—my solemn oath. It spoke volumes about who I was as a man. It didn’t matter that I bore a grudge against God, or whoever. In order to receive respect, I must also extend it to others. While there were things I fought hard to forget and bury under a pile of heavy denial, there were some expects of my service I would never be able to escape.

  “Evening,” I murmured back, holding the man’s gaze with my own. Truth be told, I hoped that my willingness to acknowledge him would cause him to continue on, having done his part to greet a stranger.

  I had no such luck.

  “I noticed you inspecting our stained glass windows. Is there one that stands out to you?” His tone was conversational, like there was nothing amiss in striking up a discussion with me. Like he didn’t care that all I wanted to do was leave, but I couldn’t. Caylee was still up front, lighting her candles, doing whatever it was she did.

  Shrugging, I kept my voice light and free of annoyance. “I think if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.” I’d hope that would put an end to it, but it seemed like he wanted a deeper answer. Averting his keen stare, I tugged on my ear as I pointed to the one I’d been looking up to for the past few minutes. “This one’s . . .” I struggled for the right words. “Pretty. I bet when the sun shines through it, the different colors all but glow.”