One Year Home

by Marie Force

  And what I need to be right now is in control so I can do my goddamned job. I’m taking the biggest client I’ll ever have in my life to appear on The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon, and I need to be on my game.

  I’m having this little conversation with myself on the short ride to Rockefeller Center, where the show tapes in the NBC building. The show sent a car for us—all the shows were asked to provide transport for my client, who is an amputee, not that I have to tell them that, but I asked for it anyway.

  We’re met outside and whisked into the building by one of the assistant producers, who is super professional even though I can tell she’s freaking out. Can’t say I blame her. He’s quite something. This is a woman who deals with celebrities for a living, and she can barely hold it together in John’s presence. That makes me wonder if I’ve underestimated just how huge this tour and his reception are going to be.

  Fallon himself greets us in the reception area, and even though I’ve never had a client do his show before, I suspect that’s unusual. John introduces him to me and to Muncie. Jimmy hugs John, his eyes brimming with emotion as he thanks him for his service, his sacrifice and for making us all safer.

  I can see that John is overwhelmed by Jimmy’s kind words. Hell, I’m overwhelmed by them, but he keeps his composure as he greets the rest of the staff with handshakes and a few more hugs from grateful Americans.

  I glance at Muncie and can see he’s as moved as I am by the reception.

  The staff rolls out the red carpet for us. We’re put in a room to wait and treated to a vast assortment of beverages, snacks and baked goods.

  John takes it all in, seeming stunned. “This is crazy.”

  “Get used to it, superstar.” Muncie helps himself to a Coke and grabs a bottle of water for John. “Jules? They’ve got iced tea.”

  “Sure, that sounds good.” I’m full from the late lunch we had in the suite and worn out from the battle I’ve been waging with my emotions. I’m not accustomed to feeling this way. Even when my fiancé called off our wedding, I didn’t feel quite like this, as if the world will end if I can’t have what I want.

  The show’s various producers come in to say hello, to thank John for his service and for making their show the first stop on his tour. A woman comes in to put some powder on John so he won’t be shiny under the lights.

  John scowls over the fuss she’s making. “This isn’t makeup, right?”

  She laughs. “Of course not. I’d never do that to you.” When she’s finished, she says we have ten minutes.

  Yet another assistant comes for us. “Show time.”

  Muncie and I are told where we can go to watch the taping. I’ve asked to be allowed to stay close to John, just in case. Of what, I don’t know, but I’ve made that request of all the places he’ll appear.

  Holding both crutches in one hand, John stands and gets his bearings. He turns to Muncie. “Everything look okay with the uniform?”

  Muncie stands, goes to take a closer look, straightens John’s tie and brushes a speck of lint from his sleeve. “You look great, sir.”

  “Thanks.” He glances at me, grimacing. “Well, here goes nothing.”

  I look up at him. “It won’t be nothing. Just keep breathing while you’re out there. Pretend you and Jimmy are hanging out in his living room chatting like old friends. That’s all this is.”

  He nods and graces me with one of those rare, full smiles that’ll have every woman in America wanting his number. After tonight, I’ll have to share him with the world, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.

  “Captain West.” The assistant producer signals to him. “We’re ready for you.”

  We follow her a short distance to the soundstage. John is told where to stand until he’s announced.

  He hands the crutches to Muncie.

  “Are you sure?” Muncie’s tone is full of trepidation.

  Thank God he asks, because I was going to.

  John nods. “I’m sure.”

  My stress level just went from nuclear to thermonuclear. If he falls in front of all these people, he’ll never get over it—and neither will I.

  Jimmy stands before his audience hands clasped, vibrating with excitement. “I’m so very honored tonight to have as our only guest someone who needs no introduction here, or anywhere in the world, for that matter. He and his SEAL team spent more than five years hunting down the most wanted man on earth, finally capturing him in a raid that cost our guest a leg and took the lives of his two closest friends. Ladies and gentlemen, please help me welcome a true American hero. Captain. John. West.”

  While I hold my breath, John takes a tentative step forward and then another and another. By the third step, he seems confident that his body isn’t going to betray him. I grasp Muncie’s arm because I need to hold on to something so I won’t pass out or vomit or do anything else that would embarrass myself and my client.

  Muncie covers my hand with his, both of us barely breathing as John walks out to thunderous applause. There’s simply no other word for the reception he receives. Tears fill Jimmy’s eyes, John’s eyes and those of many of the audience members. Hell, there’re tears in my eyes and Muncie’s.

  John is magnificent, gracious, humble and obviously overwhelmed as the applause continues unabated for many minutes.

  “He needs to sit,” Muncie whispers to me.

  My anxiety spikes once again, and I’m about to get the assistant producer’s attention when John subtly points to the sofa, and Jimmy gestures for him to go ahead.

  Once he’s seated, I release the breath I’ve been holding, but I still cling to Muncie.

  “I’m so happy you’re here,” Jimmy says. “Thank you for making us your first stop.”

  “It’s a pleasure to be here. I’m a big fan of the show. And thanks to everyone for that warm welcome.”

  Jimmy leans in toward John. “Do you have any idea how thankful people are for what you’ve done?”

  “I have a better idea after that welcome.” John strikes the perfect tone as he unleashes that potent smile. Dear God, that smile. I can almost hear every straight woman in America sighing and all the gay men giving praise to the Lord for the gift of John West. “But I want to say first and foremost that I didn’t do this alone. There were a lot of other people involved, people who sacrificed so many years of their lives for this mission. Especially Lieutenant Commander Daniel Jones and Lieutenant Commander Miguel Tito.”

  Per our request, their photos are displayed on the monitor when he mentions their names. He was adamant that they be given top billing on this tour, and I was happy to make sure his request was honored.

  Another round of applause follows.

  “They were your friends?” Jimmy asks.

  “My closest friends. We were like brothers.”

  “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. It’s been a tough blow for everyone on our team.”

  “What can you tell us about the effort to find him? I refuse to say his name.”

  “I don’t blame you. If I never hear his name again, that’d be fine with me. All I can say about the mission, which is still classified, is that it was a team effort involving all branches of the armed forces, the intelligence community and support from our allies. None of us do what we do for this kind of attention.” He gestures to include the audience and soundstage.

  “In fact, it goes against everything I’ve been taught to talk about my job in any kind of public forum.”

  “It must’ve been shocking to realize you’d been outed by the other side.”

  “It was. I woke up from a month-long coma to find out I was a household name in the US and around the world. Needless to say, that’s going to take some getting used to.”

  “People are so incredibly thankful.”

  “I know, and we appreciate that. Believe me. I’ve heard from family members of those who were lost on the Star of the High Seas. Their letters have touched me so deeply. To know that
we were able to give them some closure… That means everything to me and everyone else who was involved.”

  The audience applauds enthusiastically.

  “We have a surprise for you.” Jimmy is giddy with excitement.

  I glance at Muncie. “What’s this?”

  “I figured you’d know.”

  “Nope.”

  From the other side of the stage, I watch as Miles Ferguson walks out. “Captain West, meet Miles Ferguson, who lost his fiancée, Emerson Phillips, and her parents on the Star of the High Seas.”

  I’m frantic. “Is he going to be able to stand?”

  “Let me go help him.” Smooth as silk, Muncie appears behind John on the sofa and hands him the crutches.

  From where I’m standing, I see the grateful look John gives his faithful colleague. He hauls himself up to shake Miles’s hand.

  “Thank you.” Miles speaks after the crowd settles once again. “On behalf of all the Star of the High Seas families, thank you so much.”

  Tears stream down my face. Knowing both men and how terribly they’ve suffered, seeing them together is incredible. I thought I knew what to expect on this tour, but watching this first appearance, I realize I had no idea.

  Chapter Seventeen

  AVA

  After endless hours of travel, we arrive at Eric’s Tribeca apartment, which became ours when I moved in before the wedding. That feels like a lifetime ago, when it’s been only a month. While I boil water for tea, more to have something to do than because I want the tea, Eric disappears into the bedroom, taking both our suitcases with him.

  I’m stirring honey into the tea when he emerges, pulling the suitcase of his that he just took into the bedroom.

  My heartbeat slows to a crawl, and anxiety touches every part of me. I want to ask him what he’s doing, but I can’t form the words.

  “I’m going to stay with Rob for a while.”

  No! The single word is ripped from my soul, but I can’t get it past the enormous lump in my throat. I shake my head.

  “It’s not forever, and I’m not leaving you, Ava. I just need space and some time to think, and I can’t do that here.”

  I want to beg him to stay. We can’t work this out if we aren’t together. Tears roll down my face, but I still can’t speak over the panic and despair that hold me hostage.

  He comes to me, wipes the tears from my face and puts his arms around me. “I’m so sorry about this, Ava. I love you, and I’m not giving up on us. I swear to you I’m not.” He holds me for a long time before he kisses my forehead and lets go. “I’ll be in touch.”

  He’s gone before I can think of any way to stop him.

  I’m on my knees where he left me, sobbing and calling for him, but he can’t hear me because he’s gone. He said he isn’t leaving me, but he’s not here. And he went to stay with Rob, who’s married to my sister, so she’ll be descending in no time, I’m sure.

  I can’t do this. I just can’t. I thought I’d put all this shit behind me, and here I am, once again crumpled up in a ball on the floor, reeling from heartbreak. How many times can one heart break before it can’t be put back together again?

  I’m not sure if minutes, hours or days pass while I’m on the floor sobbing. I hear my phone ring, and I ignore it.

  It rings again, and I shut it off. The only person I want to hear from is not the one calling me. I don’t want anyone else. I finally pick myself up off the floor, stagger over to lock the door and go into the bedroom, where I fall into bed without removing the clothes I’ve had on for what feels like a week. The trip home was endless and awkward and largely silent.

  I don’t care about anything or anyone. I just want to be left alone. I want my own mind to leave me alone and stop making everything worse. I want to go back to the day before the Star of the High Seas was blown up, back to when my life made sense in a way it rarely has since then.

  I pray for sleep to take me, but I slept a lot on the plane, and my body has no idea what time it is. After tossing and turning, I get up for a glass of water and take some Advil for the massive headache brought on by all the crying.

  I hate feeling this way, shattered, heartbroken, despondent, afraid. I worked so hard to put my pieces back together, only to end up right back where I started, as if all the hard work never happened. I think about reaching out to Jess, but it’s late in New York, and she has kids.

  After refilling my water glass, I go back to bed and flip on the TV out of desperation, anything to take my mind off the new disaster imploding inside my life. I want Eric to come home and tell me everything will be okay, the way he has from the beginning. He made me feel safe and secure and happy again, until I ruined it by obsessing, albeit subconsciously, about my ex.

  I wish I better understood how the mind works. Then I might be able to explain how it’s possible for thoughts I’ve never actually had to ruin my brand-new marriage.

  With the remote in hand, I keep flipping mindlessly, barely paying attention to what I’m seeing until I land on the one face I can’t forget.

  John is on Fallon tonight.

  I sit up in bed and adjust the volume so I can hear the commercial about tonight’s show. He’s talking about the men he served with and the many people involved in bringing the terrorist to justice. He’s humble, gracious, gorgeous in his uniform and on the cusp of becoming a massive star, although that reality probably hasn’t registered with him yet. It will after this. I hope Jules is prepared for what’s going to happen.

  Fallon, who interacts with celebrities on a daily basis, is obviously starstruck by John, and rightfully so. The commercial is no more than thirty seconds, but it’s enough to rattle me even more than I already am.

  After spending nearly six years wondering what’d become of this man, seeing him on TV, alive and well and smiling as he banters with Jimmy Fallon, makes me feel seared by what could’ve been, what should’ve been and what is.

  He’s no longer my concern. I told him we were over the day I saw him in San Diego. I told him I was in love with Eric, engaged to marry him and planning to go forward with the wedding, despite his reappearance. I saw his devastation, tasted the salt of his tears and carried his heartbreak with me back home to New York, where I apparently did a piss-poor job of trying to carry on as if the ground beneath me hadn’t suddenly disappeared, leaving me free-falling through space.

  I still love him.

  Of course I still love him. He never did anything to make me stop loving him. Did he keep things from me, things I had a right to know? Yes, he did, but only because he had to, not because he wanted to.

  I still love him, and I still love Eric. He’s the one who got down on one knee and asked me to be his, which John never did. Eric is the one who stood before our family and friends and promised to love me forever. John never did that. I made the best possible decision I could in an unbearable situation, and I have no regrets.

  I did the right thing marrying Eric, even if I still have feelings for John. I’ll always have feelings for him, my first love. But Eric is the one I want a life with, and somehow, I have to convince him of that. I can’t let this happen. I can’t let our marriage fall apart before it ever has a chance to get started. I’d never get over that, and Eric wouldn’t either.

  I get out of bed and run for the shower, tearing off my clothes as I go. Standing under the hot water, I wash off the trip, the turmoil, the tears and emerge prepared to do battle for my marriage. I don’t want to spend a single night without him.

  At the curb, I grab a cab and give my sister’s address. “Please hurry. It’s an emergency.”

  The cab driver floors it, and we arrive at Rob and Camille’s place ten minutes later. I give the driver a twenty for a nine-dollar fare. “Thank you.”

  I run up the stairs to the vestibule and push the number for their apartment.

  Camille answers.

  “It’s me. Let me in.”

  The buzzer sounds, and I go inside, running up the stairs t
o their apartment, where my sister greets me outside the door.

  “You shouldn’t have come here, Ava,” she whispers.

  “I need to see him.”

  “He said not tonight.”

  “But—”

  “Ava.” Her eyes convey her torment. “He said no.”

  This can’t be happening. He won’t even see me? This is worse than I thought. He really has left me, despite what he said. Nodding to my sister, I turn and go back down the stairs, ignoring Camille, who calls out to me. I end up back outside and begin to walk toward the home that’s not really mine. It’s his.

  If we break up, I’ll have to move. Again. I’ll have to start over. Again.

  I don’t know if I can do either of those things again.

  For some reason, I think about a girl I knew in middle school who took her own life because she thought the boy she liked had made fun of her. We later found out he’d been talking about someone else entirely. I haven’t thought about her in years, but for some reason, she’s on my mind tonight. Maybe because I finally understand how she must’ve felt to know that the guy she wanted most didn’t want her. I’ve never been in that position before.

  I know… Cry me a river, right? I’ve been in love only twice, and both times, they wanted me the same way I wanted them.

  But Eric doesn’t want me anymore. I ruined us, and for the first time, I get why that thirteen-year-old girl couldn’t handle the pain. Why it was too much for her to bear. It’s not like your love for him goes away when he stops loving you. What’re you supposed to do with all those feelings that you no longer need? Do they dry up like breast milk does once the baby stops needing it? Or are they with you forever, tormenting you with what you had and what you lost?

  I walk for a long time, well past home and up toward the chaos of Times Square, where I blend into the madness of lights and people and traffic. In front of the Marriott Marquis, I look up, and my gaze snags on the giant picture of John in a promo for The Tonight Show. I stand there and stare at him for the longest time, drinking in the details of the face I never forgot and wondering where he is tonight. Is he close by?