by Faith Potts
Silence. Then one word. “No.” She quickly lifts her head from my shoulder, wet green eyes wide. “But that’s okay; you weren’t ready.”
I move my hand to her cheek and thumb away the damp hair that’s become attached to the tears on her face. “Well, I do. Love you, I mean.”
She smiles, slow and beautiful and true. “I know.”
“You know what else, Lex?”
She leans her face into my palm and gazes at me with what some might call adoration. “What?”
“I’m going to call Brenna and tell her I want to speak at the funeral. Someone there might need to hear about that hope.”
A cute grin graces her features even as fresh tears rim her eyes. “I’m so proud of you.”
With mixed feelings and a tinge of reluctance over curtailing this special moment, I pick up my Bible and slide out the end of the pew. With my girl at my side, we saunter through the emptying sanctuary and toward the back of the building.
“By the way…why did you never tell me you can sing?”
I smirk, amused that that’s all she can say. “I’m not sure it could be called singing. The real question is, why have you never told me you sing? You’re excellent, my dear.”
Ignoring the question, she smiles at me. “I think you’ve finally found a nickname I approve of.”
|| ~* || ~* || ~* ||
On Wednesday, I leave work at lunch and rush straight home. After explaining the delicate situation to my boss, I was able to take this afternoon off to attend Travis’s funeral. I want to be there, for James’s sake as well as the family’s.
Following a quick shower, I slip into a simple black dress and return to the bathroom vanity to fix my hair. Gaze lingering on my own reflection, I twirl a curling wand through my blonde locks as the gravity of what this day symbolizes sinks in. Squeezing my eyes shut, I whisper a prayer of thankfulness to God—selfish though it may be—that it’s not James’s funeral I’m about to attend.
Twenty minutes later, I pull into the funeral home’s tiered parking lot and follow the employee’s directions about where to park. I’m fifteen minutes early, but they’re already directing us into the field below for overflow parking.
Questioning the sanity of wearing heels, I traipse across the field where I parked the truck, through the parking lot, and into the building. Friends and family members alike are milling around throughout the lobby and visitation room, but I go straight toward the chapel. I don’t know any of these people, anyway.
The closed coffin sits at the front of the chapel, draped in the flag of the country he served and surrounded by summertime flowers. Blinking back tears, I scan the room for James. I spot Uncle Joe and Aunt Gloria, seated near the back along with Brian and Lester. They may not have known Travis that well, but they’re here to show their support and grieve a fallen brother.
I continue scouring the crowded room until I find James, seated nearer the front, with plenty of empty space next to him. When I reach him, he smiles bravely and stands to let me into the pew past him. Before edging past him, I wrap him in a hug and hold on a moment longer than usual. I don’t want to ever take him for granted.
“Thank you for being here,” he whispers as he pulls away. I only nod in reply, hearing everything he didn’t say through the few words he did.
By the time the family enters and the funeral begins, there are people standing around the back perimeter of the chapel because all the seats are taken. I blink back tears. Oh, Travis, you were loved by so many…
A song is sung as a beginning to the service, and a cousin speaks of happy childhood memories spent with Travis. Then it’s time for James to speak.
I brush his hand as he stands, carrying his Bible full of notes. “You can do this.”
He doesn’t answer, barely meeting my eyes as he steps out of the pew and walks to the front of the packed chapel, his gait uneven but confident.
Placing his Bible on the podium, he opens it before looking out over the room and speaking. “Most of you here today knew Travis for years, while I only knew him for a few short months. I wish I had gotten to know him better, to have made more memories with him. But that wasn’t meant to be.
“When Brenna asked me to speak today, I said no. A week ago, this is the absolute last place I thought I would be today. But this past weekend, I was reminded how I came to know Travis in the first place. And I knew I had to stand before y’all today, to share that story. You see, six months ago, I was planning my own suicide.”
A hushed murmur spreads through the room. “But in my search for purpose, I found Someone greater than all my troubles, pain, and fears. I found hope, a steadfast anchor in the turbulent sea of life.”
Gaining courage, James continues, telling his story, telling of his Hope. “As we gather today to mourn the loss of a brother, son, and friend, don’t consider Travis cowardly. Just because he finally gave in doesn’t mean that he was weak. He had been strong as long as he could on his own. The amazing truth is that we don’t have to be strong on our own. If we let Him, God will be strong for us. That’s the only reason I’m alive and standing before you today. Because I came to know a Savior greater than my struggles.”
He pauses for a second, then closes his Bible, tucks it under his arm, and descends the two steps from the podium. He said what he set out to say. Tears spill from my eyes, and I feel like clapping.
We follow the funeral procession to the cemetery, a small gathering of stones on a hilltop where Travis’s body will be laid to rest.
Gathered around the open ground, a guy Travis went to high school with stands to sing “Why.” If any dry eyes remained after James spoke, they’re now brimming with tears of heartache.
Across from us, Brenna leans on Justin’s supporting arms and Travis’s father holds his wife as she silently cries. My heart breaks in two yet again at the expression of their blatant, unrelieved grief.
The song comes to an end and a solemn hush steals across the grassy expanse, dotted with grave markers. I look to the guy at my side, tears clogging my throat at the sight. With tears streaming from his eyes, James stands beside me with his face lifted to the sky. Sunlight filters through the oppressing clouds, shining golden light into our dark, broken souls.
Hope.
As we’re leaving the cemetery, Brenna grabs James by the arm. “I’ll be at your church on Sunday,” she says, her voice cracking and eyes glistening. “I need to know more about this hope.”
Chapter Nineteen || Alex
Where is he?
A few weeks after Travis’s passing—weeks during which Brenna came to church nearly every Sunday—I wait at my kitchen window for my boyfriend to show up. I halt my pacing and check the time on my phone screen for the seventeenth time in the last ninety seconds. James should have been here by now.
Usually, I drive when we go out or we meet somewhere. But a couple of hours ago, he called to say he was going to come by and pick me up. Which probably means Brian is going to be chauffeuring us. Or maybe it will be Uncle Joe. I’m not sure which would be better as self-appointed chaperone.
Maybe I’ll just wait on the porch for James and whoever is bringing him. He had a job interview this afternoon, and I’m dying to know how it went. Cramming a t-shirt in my bag and locking the door behind me, I step out onto my stoop of a porch and lean against the banister to watch the changing of lights all over the city.
A rattly old Jeep pulls into the parking area for the apartments, and I groan aloud. The girl next door has had some weird boyfriends in the past, but this one looks like a true winner.
The vehicle comes to a screeching halt at the bottom of the stairs, and I feign great interest in scrutinizing my fingernails. Anything to avoid talking to this dude.
“Good evening, fair maiden!”
My head jerks up in time to see my boyfriend hop out of the jeep, grinning ear-to-ear.
“James!” I clatter down the stairs faster than could be labeled safe and bound straight into his
arms. He laughs and grabs me in a tight one-armed hug. Funny how things like that are. When James hugs me it’s much less than what another’s two-armed hug would be. Yet I’ve never felt anything less than wholly loved and treasured in his embrace.
“You bought a car?” I manage when he releases me and I regain my balance and bearings.
“Yup. Got a job, too.” He grins, interlocking our fingers. “I had an interview at the auto parts store, and the guy hired me on the spot.”
“Oh my goodness, I’m so proud of you.” I hug him again, and he laughs it off—but it’s apparent how much this means to him as he draws me back to his side.
“Not exactly the kind of job kids dream about, but I’ll at least be making decent money until I figure out if I want to go back to school or whatever.”
“Sounds like a good plan.” And I plan to be here, while you figure it out and for whatever you decide.
“So…” He nods toward the Wrangler, which doesn’t look so rusty and broken-down now that I’m studying it up-close. “May I take you out to dinner to celebrate?”
|| ~* || ~* || ~* ||
“I, uh, found out about something today that I thought you might be interested in,” I say, seated across from James at the seafood restaurant on Portico Avenue. When I commented on the expense of this place in a roundabout way, James grinned and said tonight was special.
He lifts his gaze from his plate. “Yeah?”
I nod, stabbing my fork into a shrimp. “To be honest, I’m kind of hesitant to mention it, because I don’t want you to take it the wrong way. Or give me that pathetic ‘I can’t do that’ excuse. And I really don’t want to mess up our evening.”
His eyes cut my way, lips in a half-smirk. “Now I’m concerned.”
“Don’t worry, we’re not climbing Mount Everest.”
“I should hope not.”
I snicker, lay my fork beside my plate, and twist in my seat to access my crossover. With my fingers on the soft cotton fabric, I pause for a second before pulling it out into the light. Please, don’t let me do this if it’s not right…
Summoning courage, I yank out the wadded-up shirt and hand it to James. “What do you think?”
He wipes his mouth on the napkin and reaches to take the item. “What’s this?”
“Look and see,” I murmur.
He takes it and shakes it out, then lays it across the corner of the tabletop to see the whole front. His lips move as he reads the wording.
I bite my lip…and wait.
|| ~* || ~* || ~* ||
|| James
I study the front of the shirt Alex just handed me. The words “Hero Suicide Awareness 5k” march across the front under the somewhat smaller lettering of “#22aday.” I’m well aware of the staggering suicide statistics among service members, but the number still makes me sick.
I shake thoughts of Travis from my head and focus on the second line of words. Someone is holding a 5k for awareness? I’m glad someone cares that much in a society that oftentimes overlooks the broken.
“I like it.” I pass the wrinkled shirt back across the table to Alex and return to my shrimp. “But why are you showing it to me?”
Never looking away, she drops the shirt into the empty chair at her side. “Guess.”
“You started it?”
That earns me a sassy little eye roll. “A small-scale awareness organization over in Beaufort is hosting it in October.”
“What then?”
“I think you should run in it.”
I choke, lifting my napkin from my lap to make sure I’ve not spewed food all over my chin. “Um, in case you haven’t noticed, I—”
“Have a heart for suicidal former service members,” she finishes, pinning me with a look that dares me to argue.
Well, no, that isn’t exactly what I was thinking… I shake my head. “I’m missing a couple limbs, you know. Not exactly Olympics material.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could take them back. Alex’s eyes darken as she glances away. “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that, James. Sometimes you’re joking—and I’m okay with that. But other times, like now, you sound bitter. I don’t want your injuries to come between us.”
I’ve got to do something about that melancholy look in her eyes. “Hey…” When she makes eye contact, I go on. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to come off as bitter. I’m just… a bit flabbergasted at your suggestion.”
At least she’s smiling at me now. “Apology accepted. Now give me one good reason why not.”
“I can’t—”
“I said reason, not excuse.” Her eyes are bright with mischief as she leans across the table to whack my shoulder. “C’mon, James, be serious. Why won’t you at least consider it? Other amputees have competed in stuff like this. And the media eats it up—it’s great for the awareness goal. Wasn’t it just last year when that Iraq veteran ran in the Boston Marathon?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I wasn’t in the States a year ago.”
“Or that amputee that was on Dancing with the Stars.”
She didn’t even hear me.
“What’s his name? Gangway? In fact, I just read an article the other day about a paralyzed woman who hiked over two thousand miles last year.”
I’m pretty sure she’s making half of this up in a free-fly attempt to convince me. I squint across the table, hoping I can sidetrack her with humor. “You watch Dancing with the Stars?”
“Not hardly. But I heard about it online or something. Point is…” She sighs, stacks her salad bowl on her plate, and pushes both to the end of the table to make room for her elbows on the table’s edge.
And I get the feeling this is about to get deeper than Dancing with the Stars references and inside jokes.
“James… There are people out there, right now, who are where you’ve been. They’re telling themselves that their lives have no purpose. They’re broken and hurting inside. And, you know, maybe they just need to know someone understands, someone cares.”
I look away, out the window to my left, and watch the cars drive by and pedestrians stop at the crosswalk. But my mind is soaking up her words, even as the memories rain down.
A hand slides into mine before she speaks again. “And there are families out there who’ve been torn apart by suicide. Like Brenna and Travis’s family. Maybe they’re too scared to speak up, afraid of what people will say or think of them. But if they saw you at that starting line, heard your story… It could encourage someone, James. Encourage them to stand up against the demons they’re facing, or encourage them to speak up.”
|| ~* || ~* || ~* ||
|| Alex
I sit quietly, rubbing my thumb across James’s knuckles and observing the working of his jaw. Our table is a silent oasis in the crowded, noisy restaurant.
He’s thinking about what I’ve said, I can tell. And I remain silent for fear of rushing him, forcing him into a decision or pushing him away.
Another moment passes. He turns to face me, then looks at our joined hands and smiles. Not the bright, life-filled James smile I like to see, but a small, distant smile that’s only there for my sake.
“Have I ever told you about the night I was injured?”
Not at all what I expected. “Um, no. You haven’t.”
“Do you want to hear it?” He meets my eyes, something there dark and…scared. This won’t be an easy tale to digest. Sometimes I overlook how much of a hold these memories still have on his mind.
“Yes. I mean, if you’re ready to share it with me.”
Without another word to me, James flags down the waiter and requests the check. I don’t miss the way his hand shakes as he digs his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans and sticks a few bills into the black folder with the restaurant’s logo emblazoned on the front.
The waiter returns to the table as we’re standing to leave. James hands the folder to him with the words, “The change is yours,” and falls in step behind me
across the dining room.
I pause outside the double doors to wait for his direction.
He stops beside me, rubbing his chin. “Let’s take the Jeep back to Joe’s and then I’ll walk you home. Unless you don’t want to walk that far, and then—”
“Nope, that’s fine.” It’s less than a mile to my house from the apartments, and something tells me this story will require longer than that.
James opens the passenger door for me and gives me a hand up into the Jeep. I don’t really need the assistance, but I let him give it. I sit in the tattered seat and watch him round the hood through the scratched, dusty windshield. Head down, face set, but I catch the way he glances at his stump before he reaches for the door handle. Lord, help him.
I look away before he climbs in, and all is quiet as he navigates the parking lot.
“I think I’ve found a downside to driving again,” he says as we roll through the traffic light and out onto the four-lane.
“What’s that?”
He shoots me a cocky grin—that doesn’t quite make it to his eyes. “I can’t hold your hand.”
I smile and lean back against the seat. “I’ll try to console myself, Semper Fi.”
We pull up in front of the apartments as hues of sunset colored light are reflecting off the glass panes of the windows. Sticking his keys in his pocket, James again comes around and gets my door. He retains his hold on my hand and starts down the sidewalk, walking back toward the city. When we come to the intersection, he turns left toward the park and the river, instead of right toward my place.
Fine by me. I wrap my free hand around his elbow and lean my head against his shoulder as we stroll along.
“I love you, Lex.”
I smile, rocking up and down on his shoulder in rhythm with the uneven gait his prosthesis brings. “I love you, too.”