“And this is Carolyn. She’s the oldest...and this one, this is Bobby. He just turned seven...”
She’s sweet. I mean, she reminds me of my grandmother and normally I’d be a lot more talkative, tell her about my family back home. Tell her I’ve married the most amazing girl and that we’re trying for a baby.
But I can’t tell her that.
The past eight months are a blur, and I pushed most of the rough shit out so I could focus on doing my job, because lives depended on it. I had fun though, kicking the crap out of those bastards in Afghanistan, getting to the bottom of shit that needed to be resolved. I’m a muscle guy. At least, that’s the slang term. They bring me along for intimidation mostly. Sarge does the talking, me and Vance usually just stand there and look intimidating with our guns until our services are required. I don’t like scaring people, of course, but I do it to make a difference in the lives of innocent people.
I wish those people could just settle their differences so we didn’t have to, but then...I would have been home all this time, dealing with things.
And I didn’t want to deal with them.
I still don’t, but it looks like I don’t have a choice. I came home because I was asked, since there was nobody else that knew Vance like I did, cared about him like I did, considered him as much of a brother as I did. Mostly, I think I did it for Tay and her family, to give them peace of mind, and so I could support them during this really difficult time.
Or maybe it’s just the guilt that got to me, and I feel obligated to make things right.
He tells me I shouldn’t blame myself, that there was nothing I could have done. I was in charge though. I was in charge and I led us right into a trap. Two more hours and I know they would have found us, killed us or taken us hostage...attempted to barter our lives for some holy crusade. If it hadn’t been for Vance, I know I wouldn’t be sitting here right now, talking about this lady’s grandkids and hoping like hell that the house doesn’t still smell like Livy.
Am I happy that I survived? I’m not so sure. Vance is a mess, more of mess than Taylor even realizes, and I’m not so sure what’s going to happen once he’s home and settled. It’s going to take a long time, lots of surgeries and physical therapy before he’ll be able to function properly again. Even when he does, he’ll never look the same. There’s too much damage, and no amount of plastic surgery can help reconstruct his face into what it used to be.
I feel for the guy, and if it could have been me, I would have made it so. But it wasn’t...and I regret it. I keep thinking, what if I hadn’t made it? Would I be able to see her again? It’s enough to make me do something drastic once I’m home, tie some rope around my neck, kick out a chair from underneath me but...Olivia, wherever she is, I doubt she would forgive me for giving up. She was never a quitter and neither was the guy she married.
But fuck, I miss the hell out of her, and if it meant I could see her tomorrow, I’d kill myself today.
“You goin’ home to someone special dear?”
I look over at the old lady again, and try my best to flash her a calm, professional smile. It’s the one I show to terrified women and children out in the field, and I’m sure it’s working with her too. “Family,” I nod.
“Well your wife must be excited to see you. If you ask me, they keep you boys overseas for far too long.”
For a second I wonder how she can tell that I had a wife at all, but then I remember the gold ring on my left hand. I haven’t taken it off, at all, since she passed away. I’ve been too afraid that I’ll lose it or something. Before, I would take it off all the time...at work, when I was overseas. Sometimes I’d just forget to wear it, and Liv would be at the door when I got home from work, hands on her hips, scowling at me.
“You’re not supposed to forget this,” she would snap at me. “Justin...”
“I’m sorry, baby. You know I’d forget my head if it wasn’t for you.”
I’d take the ring from her, and slip it on my finger, causing her to smile. She’d forgive me after that, always.
I never forget it anymore. It’s the biggest part of her that I have left. At home, in the bedroom, a box sits on the dresser with the engagement ring and wedding band that I gave to her five years ago. I couldn’t bury her with them...couldn’t let that part of her go. My mother in law told me that someday, if I get remarried and have a daughter I can pass them down.
But I’ll never do any of that. I’m definitely done with finding somebody, because the only person I’ll ever be able to love, is Liv.
It was a beautiful day...that day. A Saturday morning that I’d taken off from the dealership so we could find some paint for the nursery. It was no secret to anybody in the family that we were trying for a baby. Liv and I were so excited that we decided to start on the nursery before we even conceived, the idea of starting our family making us fall deeper in love with each other. I remember...we went for coffee downtown that morning. She had a...bagel, and I didn’t eat anything. If I had known it would be the last time I would sit with her like that, I probably would have picked a different place, and talked about something a little more meaningful than paint chips.
Then we went to the hardware store, and took some time picking out a neutral color, because we decided not to find out what we were having, if she were to get pregnant, until the baby came. We found this simple light tan color, bought a few cans and carted them back to the house.
She went in, and I unloaded the cans of paint.
When I got inside, she was sprawled out on the floor. I remember dropping the paint. A can exploded open and spilled on the newly installed hardwood floor, but at the time, I couldn’t even focus on it. I was too busy holding her in my arms, trying to shake her awake, but she wouldn’t wake.
She just wouldn’t.
They told me it was a brain aneurism. Very sudden and without warning, it had taken her life. It was just one of those things, they told me. Something that they probably wouldn’t have been able to detect. I tried to think, to remember if she told me she hadn’t been feeling well. I couldn’t though. I couldn’t remember her ever telling me, because if she had, I know I would have forced her to go to the doctor.
To this day, I’m still not sure if she kept it from me, because she was too stubborn to accept something might be wrong.
Now she’s gone though. Gone, and it’s too late to help her.
I got called up for duty two weeks after she passed. We had already buried her, and even though our families told me I shouldn’t go, I went anyway. It was easier. Easier to just...push the pain away and focus on what I had to do.
Going home, I know, is going to make it all rush back to me, and I don’t know if I can handle it.
The stewardess says the fasten seatbelt light has been turned on, and that we’re beginning our decent into Memphis. I fasten myself into the seat and close my eyes, waiting for the plane to touch ground, knowing that when it does my life will start all over again, even if I don’t want it to.
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