“No,” I snap. He looks over his shoulder, and the determination must be written all over my face because he spins around to face me. “Tell me what’s up.”
“I’m not really sure. Kendricks didn’t mention anything.” I don’t believe him, but I won’t try and press him for more. I’ve known Tavares long enough to understand he says what he wants to and nothing more. If there is one thing in this life I’ve mastered, it’s the ability to read people.
I follow Tavares to headquarters and the short walk is awkwardly quiet. He leads me inside to Captain Kendricks’s small office. Tapping on the door, he’s met with a deep grunt from the other side. Then he opens the door, motions for me step into the office and closes the door behind me. I take a seat, having absolutely no idea what’s going on, but my mind runs through a hundred different scenarios. Not one of them is good.
Kendricks continues to shuffle through papers without acknowledging my presence. He finds what he’s looking for and finally looks up. He has the same look of pity Tavares had, only his seemed forced, most likely out of habit. His conversations with the men below him are business, and only business.
“Well, Clay, I have some bad news.” He pauses, crossing his arms over his chest. I’m immediately grateful that he tells it like it is; I respect a man that can do that. “We got a Red Cross message tonight, and … well”—he clears his throat but keeps his eyes on mine—“your mother died two days ago.” He stops, presumably to let me process what he’s just said. My mind is numb as I fight to comprehend his words. “There’s not a lot of information there,” he says, handing me a stack of papers, “but there’s a number to call, and of course, we will have to get you on a plane out of here as soon as possible.” I grab the paper from his hand and notice that mine is trembling. My hand never fucking trembles.
My mother is … dead. Gone. A rush of breath pushes through my lips and I close my eyes, only instead of thinking of Josephine, my thoughts travel to Katie.
Will I get to see her? Will she come to Pennsylvania to see me?
I should feel bad that this is where my thoughts are going, but I don’t. Not after the hell my mother put me through.
“A plane, Sir?” I know what he’s saying, but in this moment, my mind isn’t here.
“Yes, we gotta get you out for the funeral. It says in the message—I mean, you can read it yourself—but the funeral is in three days. We will have to get you on a chopper and to the Green Zone in the morning, and our operations men have set up a flight for you out of the country tomorrow evening. You’ll be home by Friday,” he says, handing me another piece of paper. I glance at it and see my itinerary. He stops for a moment, and for the first time during this meeting, he has a genuine look of pity on his face. “I’m sorry for your loss, Sergeant Clay.”
“Thank you, Sir,” I mumble, my eyes drifting to his marble-topped desk as I mentally make plans to call Katie. I have to call her. I have to see her.
“Clay?” Captain Kendricks’s deep voice catches my attention, and I look up. He wants to say something else but stops himself and simply nods.
“Do you know when the chopper will be here, Sir?” I ask to fill the awkward silence that’s taken up the room.
“0600 the bird will be here, so get your stuff together tonight and be prepared at 0530.”
Nodding, I stand, the Red Cross message clenched in my hand. Without a word, I walk to the door before realizing how rude I must’ve come off. I spin back around.
“Sorry, Sir. I’ll be at the helipad at 0530.”
He nods, accepting my explanation. “I’m sorry again, Sergeant Clay.”
The walk back to the tent is almost like a dream. My senses have dulled and my mind struggles to understand. I wait for the urge to cry or feel an overwhelming sense of loss, but it never comes. I’m only numb.
The line rings several times and I wonder what they’re going to tell me, if anything. My desire to call Katie is growing by the second, but I have to find out what happened to my mom first. As foul as that woman could be, she was still my mother, and I hope at the very least she died peacefully, though at her age I know that’s impossible.
The line clicks and a woman’s voice comes through.
“Red Cross Emergency Communications Services. This is Sharon. How can I help you?”
“Yes, ma’am, my name is Sergeant Devin Clay. I’m a U.S. Army soldier deployed to Iraq, and I just received a Red Cross message about my mother’s death.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that, Sergeant Clay, and I must say, thank you so much for the sacrifices you and your family are making.” Her words are saccharine sweet, but I have a feeling she does these sorts of calls entirely too often and her words are merely a script that runs through her head. I hear her typing away on the keyboard.
“Thank you very much, ma’am. Do you have any information for me?” I ask as she continues to type.
“Just … one … second … yep, here we go. Josephine Clay, myocardial infarction, died April 18, 2006. The funeral is on April 23rd.” She types again before continuing, “Now, Sergeant Clay, did your Command give you all of the funeral and travel information?”
“Yes, ma’am. Is there anything else I should know?”
“That should be it. Please give us a call if you have any problems with your travel arrangements. We are here to serve you, and again, if you don’t have any further questions, thank you so much for what you’re doing over there.” Her words barely register because my mind is on one thing and one thing only.
It’s been ten long years, and I’m ready to get my girl.
“No, I think I’m okay. Thank you, ma’am.” I quickly hang up the phone and snatch it back up again, dialing Katie’s number as fast as I can. With each ring, my heart pulses rapidly through my veins, a warm buzz sitting just under my skin. The excitement over seeing her is almost too much to comprehend, the thought of my mother no longer being on this earth, at least for the moment, being pushed beneath the surface.
“Devin?” Katie’s voice crackles over the line and I can’t help but smile. And then, without warning, an image of my mother and father holding each of my hands and swinging me in the air flashes in my head, bringing reality crashing down on me. Katie says my name again, but before I can answer, another memory comes barreling in. This time we’re walking through Cedar Point, looking for rides suitable for an eight-year-old. I’ve got a snowcone in one hand and a stuffed bear in the other.
My legs go weak and I yank out a chair before dropping onto it.
“Devin? Are you there?”
My chest tightens and nose burns, and when I open my mouth to talk, my voice is choked with tears. “Katie.”
“Carry On”—fun
“WYATT—”
“Come on, Katie,” he says, cutting me off, “I’ve been your best friend for years. And I was your fiancé, for cryin’ out loud!” Doesn’t he realize that this isn’t going to change anything?
Looking at my watch, I notice the time. “Wyatt,” I say, sighing, “can we talk about this later? I’m going to be late for my appointment.” Pushing the driver’s side door open, I step out of my car, shut the door behind me and click the lock before heading toward Dr. Perry’s office.
“Just say yes,” he says before giving a muffled apology for raising his voice. “Hell, you’ve already said yes, you just haven’t followed through yet. It’s dinner. One dinner. Give this to me, please.”
“Fine,” I relent, mostly because I’m getting tired of hearing him beg, and I’m hoping that I’ll be able to prove to him—once and for all—that we are over.
“Really?” I almost laugh at the shock in his voice. “Okay then. How about Friday night?”
“Friday night is fine.” Pulling on the door to the building, a gust of wind catches it and I grunt, trying to get it open.
“What time should I pick you up?”
Blowing a chunk of hair out of my face, I shrug out of my jacket and drape it over my arm. “You ar
en’t picking me up. This isn’t a date. I’ll meet you at Bobby’s at six.”
“Bobby’s?”
“Yes, Bobby’s.” I knew he wouldn’t like that. Bobby’s is a bustling café that is usually packed full of college students. It’s not a good place at all for someone who wants to have a nice, intimate dinner—which is exactly what Wyatt wants. “Now I have to go. I’ll see you then.” I hang up before he finishes saying goodbye.
Walking up to the building, I pull open the door and step into Dr. Perry’s waiting room.
“Good morning, Katie.”
“Morning.” I smile, signing in at the front desk before taking a seat against the wall.
“You can actually head on back. Dr. Perry is ready for you.”
“Thank you.” I drop the magazine I had just picked up and weave my way to Dr. Perry’s office. She’s already sitting in her plush chair, waiting for me with a giant smile on her face.
“Long time, no see, Miss Devora.”
“Yes, well, it’s been a long week,” I say, hanging my jacket on her coat rack before walking over to that beautiful floral-print couch that I love so damn much. Not.
“Tell me about it.”
I can’t stifle the laugh as I drop onto the worn cushion. “How did I know you were going to say that?” Dr. Perry laughs too, and without a second thought, I tell her absolutely everything that’s happened. We talk about Devin, and how I not only forgave him but let him back into my heart. We talk about Bailey and Wyatt and Mama, and when I’m finally done telling her everything about everything, she leans back in her chair and simply stares at me with a huge grin plastered to her face.
“What? What’s that look for?”
“I’m speechless.” She laughs again. “I don’t really even know where to go with all that.”
“Well, you could start with Devin. Do you think I’m stupid for letting him back in?”
“Do you think you’re stupid for letting him back in?”
“Nice deflection.”
“Thank you.” She nods, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
“I think it feels right. I think it’s the most right I’ve felt since before my dad died … hell, it’s probably the most right I’ve felt since before Devin left ten years ago. It’s like as soon as I opened my heart up to the possibility of letting him back in, all the remaining resentment and sadness over what happened with him just went away. Suddenly, the gaping hole in my heart wasn’t so empty anymore, and I like that feeling.” My shoulders relax as though I needed to get those words out.
“Sometimes in life, we have to go with our heart instead of our head,” Dr. Perry says, offering me a gentle smile “We have to trust that our heart will lead us on the right path, even if it’s not the path we originally expected to be on.” I nod, waiting for her to continue, waiting for her to give me the confirmation that I’ve already given myself. She smirks and shakes her head. “You’re not stupid, you’re human, and you’re in love.”
I suck in a sharp breath.
In love?
Am I in love?
Don’t get me wrong, my feelings are still strong … but in love?
“Don’t think too hard about that.” Dr. Perry scribbles something on her notepad before dropping it on the table between us. “It’s just an observation and not something you should be scared of. You’re an incredibly intelligent woman, Katie. You just managed to get off track, but I’m not really worried about you.”
“You’re not?” Really? Because I’m sort of worried about me.
“No.” Dr. Perry shakes her head and pushes a chunk of hair behind her ear. “You’ve got an amazing support system. I’ve watched you grow stronger every single time you’ve come in, and you’re starting to make tough choices without getting overwhelmed. Plus, when you walked in here earlier, you looked lighter than I’ve ever seen you look. You looked happy.”
“I am happy.”
“Good.”
“Can we talk about Wyatt now?”
Dr. Perry tosses her head back and laughs. “Absolutely! Let’s talk about Wyatt.”
“Am I leading him on by going to dinner with him?”
“No,” she states firmly. “You know what you want, and that’s Devin. What you’re giving Wyatt is closure, and I think it’s something that he deserves.”
Well, I didn’t think of it that way. “Closure, huh?”
“You didn’t get closure when Devin left you. He just took off, and you were stuck behind to pick up your own pieces.” I cringe when her words bring up an onslaught of memories—bad ones—but I get where she’s coming from. “It seems Wyatt still needs closure, and maybe one last dinner will help drill home the fact that you haven’t changed your mind.”
“Alright.” I nod. “How about Bailey?”
“Who’s asking the questions here?”
“You are,” I say, grinning.
“More than likely, Bailey feels guilty for the way she’s been pushing you on top of everything you’ve gone through. Cut her some slack. She’s your sister.”
“So next time I see her, I just hug her and tell her I love her?” Because that’s really what I want to do.
“I bet she would love that.”
“I bet you’re right.”
“Now it’s my turn.” Dr. Perry folds her hands in her lap, and the smile slowly falls. “Let’s talk about Andrew Drexler.”
The first thing I notice is that when she says his name, I don’t instantly panic. My body doesn’t freeze up and my blood doesn’t start to boil. “What about him?”
“Have you read his letter yet?”
It’s sitting on my dresser at home. “Nope.”
“Is there a reason why you haven’t?”
I’m scared. “I haven’t had time.” My words come out more like a question and less like the statement I was going for.
Dr. Perry notices. “Haven’t had time or haven’t made time?”
“I’ve just come really far … at least I feel like I have.”
“You have,” she confirms.
“And I don’t want him to set me back. I don’t want to go back to that place.”
Dr. Perry cocks her head to the side, her eyebrows furrowing. “You won’t.” Her words are laced with so much conviction that I almost believe her.
“How do you know?”
“Trust yourself, Katie. You’re ready for this, and I think it’s the closure that you need.”
She’s right.
I’ve felt so good these past couple of days, but something is still off—something that feels unresolved. Maybe it’s this. “Okay,” I say, pushing up from the couch. “But I better go do it now before I talk myself out of it.”
“By all means”—Dr. Perry stands and motions toward the door—“go get your closure.”
I slip on my coat, grab my purse and pull open the door, and then I turn back to Dr. Perry. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Katie.” The look of pride on her face is unmistakable, and it gives me that extra push I need. “I’ll see you next week.”
No goodbye is needed. I simply give her a smile and step out of her office, determined to get home so I can read that letter.
My arms hang loosely at my sides before I shake them out as though I’m preparing to go for a run. Everything inside of me is screaming to do this, to get this over with, but the blood pumping in my ears is making it difficult to concentrate.
Closing my eyes, I count to ten while taking several slow, deep breaths. When I open my eyes, they instantly land on a photo of Devin and me that I found in a shoebox tucked away in my closet. We were probably about ten years old. His arm is draped around my shoulders, mine wrapped around his back. We both have mud caked to our faces and he’s holding up a catfish. I’m not sure what it is, but there’s something about that picture—that memory—that gives me courage.
Pulling open the top drawer of my dresser, I pull out the letter that my mom gave me several days ago. The envelope is star
k white but worn around the edges, a telltale sign that it’s been passed around and most likely opened numerous times.
Slipping my finger under the flap, I open the envelope and pull out the letter. My hands shake as I unfold it, and when I see handwriting scribbled across the paper, my heart nearly pounds out of my chest.
With the letter gripped in one hand, I situate myself on the bed, propping up on the pillows.
“Come on, Katie,” I whisper, giving myself one last pep talk. “You’ve got this.”
Dear Brenda,
I’m sorry doesn’t seem like enough, but I’ll say it anyway. I’ll repeat those words over and over again for as long as you need. I don’t expect your forgiveness, and it’s not something I’ll ever ask for, because I don’t deserve it. I hurt you in a way that no human being should ever hurt another human being, and for that I’m truly sorry.
There’s no excuse for my actions that night. I made a stupid decision and I got behind the wheel drunk. My lawyer tried to play it off that I’m scarred from my time served overseas, but I insisted that he stop. I didn’t allow him to play the same card that so many other soldiers use as an excuse. What I’ve witnessed and gone through while at war holds no bearing over my actions that night.
But I do want to tell you what happened because you deserve to hear. My buddy Tom and I went out for dinner. I hadn’t seen him since high school graduation and we were enjoying our time catching up. One beer led to another and then another, and before I knew it, I’d had close to seven beers. At the time, I thought I was good. Hell, I used to drink way more than that in college. But what I didn’t take into consideration was that I hadn’t had a lick of alcohol in over two years. Again, not an excuse, but I really want you to know what happened and why.
Anyway, I left the restaurant that evening knowing I shouldn’t drive, but I didn’t have anyone else to call. Tom had had more to drink than I did, so I decided to drive home. The house I was renting was only a mile down the road, so no big deal, right?
A half a mile from home I crossed the center line, and in the blink of an eye, I took someone’s life—someone who, from what I’ve been told, was a loving husband, devoted father, and one hell of a farmer. But I know I didn’t just take one life that night, I took four. I recognize that, in losing your husband, I managed to destroy not only your life but also the lives of your two daughters.
A Lover's Lament Page 23
