Service and Sacrifice

by MariaLisa deMora

  “Oh, Alex. I’m so sorry.” She patted his chest gently and he nodded, the movements rough and jerky.

  “I don’t know what was hardest on my folks. Knowing she’d been dead for so long, or the fact they didn’t know she was already gone. Mom kept saying things like a good mother should have known.” He shook his head. “Took the whole family a long time to come to grips with the fact sometimes bad things happen to good people.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she repeated, and he ducked his chin to stare into her eyes. Red and swollen, they were welling with tears again. “So, so sorry.”

  “Sounds trite, I know.” He shook his head. “Trust me, I know how it sounds, because I’ve bitchslapped myself for saying it to my folks, to mothers and fathers of men and women who served with me, but it’s true. We can’t control the bad things that happen, but we can work to get to a place where that acceptance doesn’t tear us apart.” He stroked the fall of her hair, smoothing out the tangles from when she’d been pulling and yanking at it. “You aren’t there yet, but you gotta do the work and get there. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

  She moved back, and his lap felt emptier than he expected. There was a biting chill all along his front, even in the heat of the evening. “I can’t. I miss him so much.”

  He pushed up from the ground and dusted off his ass, then looked at the gravestone with the single name, no room for a spouse, and he wondered if she understood what that had meant when she’d purchased it. “You will, because you deserve to.”

  The rumble of his bike’s engine and pipes was loud in the cemetery, and he sat for a moment fiddling with his glasses and bandana, settling everything comfortably into place. Numbing routine helped when the memories threatened to overwhelm.

  Alex took a deep breath and turned to look at Amanda, still seated on the blanket beside her husband’s grave, loss and confusion on her features. He offered her a brief two-fingered wave and idled out to the road. A different car than the one she’d driven yesterday sat in the parking lot, listing to one side on a low tire.

  He pulled out onto the road and rolled the throttle, easing into the first gear change before laying into it and rocketing through the rest. He told himself that even with the glasses, it was the speed and wind that teased tears from his eyes, and he blinked hard.

  Five

  Amanda

  She braked to a stop and looked around at the empty lot as she parked the car. Her gaze flicked towards the crest of the hill, searching, and she didn’t know if she should be relieved or disappointed when no one waited for her there, either.

  Blanket, water, and scrapbook in hand, she closed the door and shoved the keys into her pocket. Same car, different story this year. She’d gotten an anonymous gift certificate in the mail about six months ago for the local repair shop, and it had been more than enough to cover the work needed. No more half-done fixes; everything was running smoothly now. She just wished she knew who to thank.

  At Martin’s grave, she’d already spread her blanket and gotten set up before she noticed the addition. A crisp, new American flag had been placed next to the headstone, and the granite looked wet. She touched it with her fingers and lifted them to her nose, sniffing delicately. The liquid held the distinctive odor of whiskey.

  Amanda looked around again, hopeful, even knowing she was alone. Tears slid down her cheeks. For today, this one day, she’d allow herself to feel the grief that never seemed to truly leave.

  “I miss you.”

  She did, probably always would. But as the biker had promised, the past few months had crept around a corner somehow, and life had gotten easier.

  “I got a new job. Did I tell you?” An opening had been posted on social media for a night manager at a local hotel. She’d stared for a long time at the pile of bills that never seemed to get any smaller and had called the next day to begin the application process. “Started last month.”

  She wiped both cheeks before picking up the scrapbook, and she flipped towards the back. As her fingers worked through the pages, she quietly told him, “That’s why I haven’t been here as much.” The night shift hours were wrecking her head, but after nearly six weeks into it, she felt like she was finally in the groove. The first time she’d slept through her normal visit to the graveyard, however, she’d lost it, climbing into the shower in her pajamas and huddling under the spray, crying until the water ran cold. I can’t tell him that. The illogical nature of her thoughts didn’t matter, because on this anniversary of his death, for this span of time, these hours spent here one day a year, it was all his.

  “Another local boy died a few months ago during his deployment. We went to school with his older brother.” She flipped the pages until she found the one with the clipping. “There was a big honor ride, just like with you.” Gently, reverently, she smoothed out the edges of the newsprint. “Alex was there. I didn’t see him myself, but he’s in this picture.” She touched the image, careful to keep away from his face. She had two spare papers stashed in a crate at home in case she needed to replace the article inserted into the scrapbook, but she wanted to keep it as pristine as possible. “You remember him. He was here with me for a while last year.”

  After he’d left, riding away into the sunset, she’d curled up on the blanket and wept more, sobbing herself to sleep, awakened by the calls of coyotes in nearby fields. Cold and stiff, she’d gathered up everything and trekked back to the car. Alone.

  She glanced at the flag. “Was he here before me?” He hadn’t wanted to intrude, she remembered him saying that.

  She remembered everything he’d said.

  For the first month after meeting him, her dreams had seemed evenly split between Martin and him.

  Martin’s were always the same, movie reels of the milestones in their lives. High school prom, graduation, wedding, officer school graduation, first deployment. Known events, ones that made her smile upon waking, until she remembered and the reality of her life came crashing back in on her.

  The ones featuring Alex had been different, more like an old Technicolor movie where the hero was a swashbuckling larger-than-life character, always setting out to save the damsel in distress. She was consistently cast as the damsel, and as weeks went on, her swooning reactions to his appearance became more and more erotic. She’d woken just yesterday morning with her hand in her panties, shocked to find an unfamiliar slippery wetness there when she changed her underwear.

  Cheeks flaming hot, she ignored those thoughts as she flipped more pages in the scrapbook. This was part of the ritual she’d missed last year, and Amanda was determined to stay on track today. She began the familiar recital of all the things that made up their lives. “Do you remember when…”

  A couple of hours later she was back beside the car, blanket held high in the air as she folded it into manageable squares. She heard motorcycles in the distance, coming closer, and clutched the material to her in anticipation. Nerves she didn’t know she still had zinged through her chest and belly, and she turned to catch the first glimpse of the riders.

  There, at the very front of the line of bikes, was Alex. His head turned and he gave her a graceful wave with his free hand. The riders behind him looked at her, heads swiveling to match Alex’s, and a few hands rose in a similar wave. She lifted her hand in response, holding her breath until they’d completely passed by, the roar and thunder of their pipes fading just as quickly as it had swelled.

  Hands shaking, she finished folding the blanket and tucked it away, then climbed into the car. Amanda sat there a moment, fingers tight around the steering wheel.

  He’d remembered.

  Six

  Monk

  The cemetery disappeared into the distance, and Monk settled deeper into the seat of his bike. Even without the reminder on his calendar this morning, he’d known he would be detouring the planned ride to pass by the place where Amanda’s husband lay.

  The past year had started out as a shitstorm of epic proportions. Blad
e had wrecked out, and for a couple of days it hadn’t looked like he’d make it at all. Then the docs weren’t sure if he’d be the same if he woke up. He’d proven them wrong, and Monk had been there beside him every step of the way, his arms the first to help his brother stand, his voice the loudest one arguing with the man when Blade wanted to give up.

  There’d been plenty of that, too. In quick succession, he’d attended funerals of three men he’d served with overseas. Gun, drugs, and a bridge abutment had been their exits of choice, and he’d stood at the foot of each grave, back straight, chin lifted, trying not to see the faces of the family they’d left behind.

  Just yesterday, Blade had thanked him, his tersely spoken, “Don’t know what I’d’a done without you, brother,” music to Monk’s ears.

  A year ago today, his brothers had asked where he’d been, and Monk hadn’t offered the real story, instead giving out winks and nods that let them draw their own conclusions, all of them wrong.

  Not that he would have minded their versions. Not at all, and his body had reinforced the idea since his cock stood at half-mast whenever he thought about Amanda. Not even needing one of the little blue pills he hoarded like a miser. Amanda in his lap? Boom, stiffy. Amanda smiling at him as she said the ridiculous word “ixnay” and yeap, stiffy. Amanda touching him, palm to his chest as she offered heartfelt condolences over the death of a woman she’d never met? Wham, stiffy. That one he’d acted on, and found the orgasm easier to chase, the ending more satisfying than any he could remember.

  The BFMC had a support club in her town, and he’d used those contacts to keep track of her. When his man reported in that her car hadn’t moved in days, he’d gone down to check it himself. The engine had a cracked head, and the tranny was trashed, all a result of hard driving in the vehicle’s past he attributed to her dead husband. A quick recommendation by his man had Monk conducting a transaction at a local mechanic shop.

  He’d slipped the envelope with the gift certificate into her mailbox himself, heart racing as he rang the doorbell like a kid doing ding-dong-ditch and sidled around the corner of the building. He’d held his breath as the door opened and closed, then opened again, and he’d heard the rattle of the mailbox.

  He hadn’t stayed after that. Made his way back to his bike and headed out of town, mission accomplished.

  In the distance, he saw the diner he’d targeted for their meal stop and held up a closed fist in warning. A quick glance down gave him a glimpse of the still-white fabric of his new officer patch, and Monk’s chin lifted as a swell of pride rose in him. Wonder what Amanda would think, he thought, as he turned on his indicator and patted the air in a “slow down” motion. When he’d met her at the gas station, she’d been terrified of him and his brothers. From what she’d shared graveside, her life had been tame and staid in comparison to his, and he smiled as he angled onto the blacktop of the diner’s parking lot. She’d gotten over her fear—of him, at least.

  Rumbling exhausts surrounded him, and he blinked away the shadows of nonexistent mountains, forcing his shoulders upright. Their road captain shouldn’t be afraid, and he wouldn’t let his brothers down. He parked and got off the bike, stretching as he watched the lot fill with all the bikes he’d led on today’s ride. Blade and Neptune stood nearby, and he saw Wolf walking their way, an easy smile on his lips. All my brothers.

  “Monk, hey Monk.” He looked over to Blade and lifted his chin in response. “Was that the widow back there?” His chest burned and he opened his mouth to retort then closed it tight, unsure what this flare of anger and jealousy meant. She’s supposed to be just mine, not for him. He shook his head and saw confusion on Blade’s face. “No? You sure? It looked like her, man.” His hands passed through the air, tracing an hourglass shape that had Monk gritting his teeth. “She seemed to know you.”

  He stared a moment, then dipped his chin and looked away. “Yeah, that’s Martin Stewart’s widow.” Maybe if he didn’t say her name, he could get through whatever his brothers would be throwing at him over the next few minutes without decking one of them. His mouth had other ideas, because it kept talking. “Today marks six years for him. I figured Amanda would be at the cemetery.” Jesus.

  “Amanda?” Neptune drawled her name slowly. “That’s the widow?”

  Monk pushed through their little group and angled towards the front door of the diner. “I’m gonna get a table before it fills up.” They had enough men on the ride today that some would have to eat in shifts or get their food to go and have their meal outside. He glanced up at the sun, still high in the sky. It was hotter today than last year, and he wondered if she’d remembered to drink any water. She’d been leaving the graveside earlier than last year, and he thought that was good. Jesus. Here he was in the middle of a ride with his brothers, and Amanda still consumed every thought. “See you inside.”

  “Monk, hey Monk.” He glanced over his shoulder at Blade, who was standing there with his hands out to his sides, looking more confused than before. “I piss you off or something, brother?”

  With a sigh, he turned back and shook his head. “No, man. It’s all good. Just hungry, you know?” At Blade’s reluctant nod, he returned it and then made his way inside, ordering a drink and a burger.

  Neptune was the first to join him, sliding onto the seat facing him with a low grunt. “Blade didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “I know. It’s no big deal.” Phone in hand, he saw he’d missed a text from his mother, thumbing a quick reply as the other two men claimed their seats. “I got a burger,” he muttered quietly as he flipped over to his social media. He did his best to maintain a low profile because of the club but used it to keep track of his family doings.

  As he scrolled through his oldest brother’s pictures of a recent picnic with the family, a friend request popped up, the bright, white number one flashing at him briefly. Blade and Wolf were debating the wisdom of a couple of prospects apparently ordering Mexican before getting back on the bikes for the last hundred miles planned for today, and he idly snorted a laugh at Wolf’s graphic description of the mistake he saw happening right in front of him. At the phrase “exploding pants,” he tuned the pair out and tapped the request.

  Amanda Reynolds Stewart.

  Reynolds must be her maiden name.

  Clicking on her profile, he found few things were public. An old picture of her with a dog, an image of her husband’s headstone, and an American flag posted last Veterans Day, thanking the troops for their service. He shifted uneasily when he read her relationship status still said married. Uncertain if he should accept, he was staring at her picture when the request went away, a message flashing across that it had been withdrawn.

  She’d looked him up, and requested it, then backed out. Scared, maybe? If he hadn’t been looking at the app, he might not have ever known it happened. She wasn’t afraid of me when I saw her last. There was no reason for her to have changed her mind. Dammit. He punched the friend request button and watched the pending status for a moment, then locked the phone. It’s up to her, now.

  Seven

  Amanda

  An instant after hitting the button, she’d had second thoughts and retracted her request.

  Now, she stared at the status on the screen with a frown drawing her brows together. It had changed again, so fast she nearly hadn’t seen it happen. She’d just fallen to her doubts and canceled the friend request when it popped back up, but this one said decline instead of cancel, which meant Alex had noticed what she’d done and issued another request from his end.

  She still had his profile page on the screen, and the pictures he’d been tagged in went on and on. Rows upon rows of family and friends who’d laid claim to him as theirs. Either a brother or son, an uncle in a couple of cases, or a good friend—most of those had motorcycles in the background.

  His relationship status said married. There was no name, and nothing in the images spoke to a significant other, but the status definitely said married.
>
  He hadn’t spoken about a spouse, someone special in his life, but to be fair, the single day a year ago that he’d spent with her had been entirely focused on her and what she’d needed to get through the hours spent at the graveside. He’d talked about the tragedy of his younger sister and how it impacted his folks. He’d shared a few memories of his time in the service, but nothing more personal than that.

  Of course he’s married.

  A man that handsome, sensitive, and self-confident?

  Of course he’d be taken.

  She left the friend request where it was and closed the laptop, setting it aside.

  Eight

  Monk

  Ass propped on a stool at the corner of the bar, Monk pulled out his phone. He was waiting on his brothers Blade, Neptune, and Wolf. Checking the time, he saw he was nearly half an hour early for their plans, which meant he’d be sitting by himself for a while.

  “Hey, Monk. Want your usual?” He nodded, and it struck him then that he had a usual. He’d been here often enough to be recognized and known, his preferences marked and noted by the staff. He grinned when a line from an old sitcom theme song ran through his head. “Here you go.” The full glass thumped onto the bar in front of him.

  Monk grinned wider and lifted it, tipping the rim towards the bartender. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers, Monk.” The man grabbed a bar rag and walked away, swiping at rings of condensation left where patrons had missed the coasters.

  Transaction completed, he brought the glass of beer to his mouth and sipped, savoring the bite and chill after a long day working. Then he settled deeper into the seat and thumbed over to the social media app. Amanda’s profile looked the same, but he found himself trolling her info, just in case. Nothing new, he thought, clicking into her friends list, cruising past portraits and avatars, images of kids, dogs, houses, cars, pausing on the rare motorcycle.