Heartbreak Warfare

by Heather M. Orgeron

“I’ll be right there, buddy,” I yell back. Noah is the only thing we seem to have in common anymore, the only thing we seem to be doing right.

  Gavin walks over to me with his hands in his pockets and runs his teeth over his lip. “Your sass is back.”

  “Nice way of saying I’m bitchy.” We share a real smile, and I lean over and kiss him, and he kisses me back. “I’m going to freshen up.”

  “Okay,” he says standing at the bottom of the stairs. He’s still watching me when I get to the top.

  “How’s that ass of mine?”

  “Looking good,” he says with a chuckle.

  I can feel something coming. It’s either going to be another snap, or we’ll be able to tie it back together, but I know we’re down to our last thread. He’s losing his patience, and I came home without any.

  I’m the problem, and that’s the hardest part. Our marriage was completely different before I was deployed.

  Army spouses deserve fucking medals.

  “Katy, the guests are arriving,” Gavin shouts from our bedroom door. I’m in the bathroom, where I’ve been hiding with this flask for a while now.

  I take another swig of vodka, hoping it will numb my nerves and make the party bearable. “Coming!” I twist the lid back onto the flask, hiding it in my closet behind a shelf filled with purses. My eyes roll at the sight. Did I really use to be so shallow? Why the hell did I need fifty damn purses?

  On the way out, I visit the mirror, smoothing down my hair and passing the toothbrush over my teeth. Vodka isn’t supposed to have a smell, but you can’t be too careful when you’re always under scrutiny. Gavin wouldn’t take too kindly to knowing I’ve been drinking today of all days, but he doesn’t understand how hard crowds still are for me. A nip or two takes the edge off. Xanax turns me into a zombie. It’s all up to which devil I choose to numb me. But today, I want to be present.

  I’ve started resenting them—my family. Gavin most of all. It’d be so much easier if he were anything but absolutely perfect. I just want him to mess up and give me a reason to be so angry at him all the time.

  “What the hell are you doing in here?” Sammy shocks me when she’s waiting on the other side of the bathroom door once I pull it open. “I was about to bust in there and make sure you were okay.” She scours me in a thorough once-over. “You are okay, right?”

  “I’m fine,” I lie, brushing her off. “Just have a nervous stomach. You know how hard being in large crowds is for me.”

  Nodding, she reaches out to straighten my shirt, then runs her fingers through my hair. “Come on. Everyone’s dying to see you.”

  As I follow my big sister through the house, the panic continues to build. Her warm fingers link with my icy ones. She looks back at me over her shoulder with a reassuring smile before sliding the patio doors open and escorting me outside.

  “Mommy!” Noah rushes through the crowd of friends and family the moment he sees me, wrapping his arms around my waist.

  Was I really gone that long?

  “Hey, baby.” I crouch down to his level, smiling like a loon, as I spread kisses all over his sun-warmed cheeks. He always makes me feel better. “Sorry I took so long. Mommy had a tummy ache.” Rubbing my stomach, I groan for effect.

  “It’s okay.”

  But it’s not okay. Nothing about any of this is okay. Not that I have to get buzzed in order to tolerate my child’s birthday party. Or the fact that I feel more alone surrounded by friends and family that I’ve known all my life than I did trapped with a man I knew mere months in the middle of the desert.

  “Let’s get this party started, y’all!” My sister claps her hands above her head doing a little shimmy to take the attention off my arrival. She’s always looking out for me.

  My parents walk over to greet me as Noah runs off to play in the bouncy house we rented. Gavin did rock that part of the planning. Winter has just ended, and there’s still a bit of a chill in the air. There are at least a dozen little boys and girls climbing and tumbling down the massive red, yellow, and blue inflatable slide, most of them army brats from base.

  “Thanks for coming,” I say, playing hostess, my focus on the children so maybe they won’t engage too much. From the top of the slide, Noah waves his hand frantically in my direction, and my heart damn near bursts open with love for my little boy and the megawatt smile he has aimed my way.

  My dad approaches, and I know then I’m under attack. “Hi, Daddy,” I say as he gives me a bear hug. I’ve been turning down their dinner invitations, and I can feel the tension my absence is causing.

  “How are you?” he asks as he squeezes me hard before letting go.

  “I’m good. Getting a little better every day.” I give him a smile and squeeze his shoulder lovingly. “Thanks for checking in.”

  “You don’t look good, honey,” my mother says, blunt as ever. “You look like you haven’t been sleeping well. I bet Dr. Schmidt could put you on some sleeping pills.”

  “Can we just make today about Noah and not about me, for once?” I don’t want to get into the fact that I’ve tried multiple sleeping pills, and they do nothing to stop the nightmares. They only cause me to sleep deeper, and I have to suffer through it longer before I finally jerk awake. I’ve tried two types of antidepressants, and all they’ve done is make me feel a bit crazier. Nothing helps. It’s been four months now since the day we were rescued, and the longer I’m home, the more distant I feel from everyone. Everything. It’s like I’m fading away.

  The screams and peals of laughter from the gaggle of children are beginning to make me anxious. My flight instinct is kicking in. I have the strongest urge to run back inside and hide from it all before I make a fool of myself, but I want to be here to see my son’s party.

  What I want and what I need are rarely in line anymore.

  I want to be more present for my son. I want to be intimate with my husband. To crave him. To need him. But I physically can’t without forcing myself, and I’m so tired of fighting against the current. I’m drained.

  “Who’s ready for cake?” Gavin shouts, making his way from the porch with his arms full.

  Suddenly, all of the kids are bounding out of the house and over to the table where I’ve been trying to keep a low profile. Noah flies into my arms, which is a comfort to me.

  “Are you having fun?”

  “So much fun! Thank you for my party, Mom. I know you like the house quiet.” Guilt furrows his little brow.

  My eyes well with tears. I hate this for him. “Thank Daddy, okay? He’s the one who went through all this trouble for you.”

  “Okay,” he says before he shouts at his father, who’s just feet away, “Thank you, Daddy!”

  The small crowd around us laughs, and I cringe, knowing then they heard Noah’s comment about a quiet house.

  Mother of the year right here, folks.

  I lean down to whisper to my son as everyone talks in circles around us.

  “I’m sorry you think you have to be quiet.” He waves me off, my seven-year-old, before he whispers to me. “It’s just till you get better, Mommy. Soon we can have people over all the time like we used to.”

  I know the whispering has been learned; it’s the way everyone discusses me.

  Though I’m resentful, I give my boy a tight squeeze, wishing I could be as sure as he is. I breathe him in before releasing my grip. “Get your butt behind that cake so you can blow out those candles. I’ve been waiting all day for a piece!”

  He stands at attention and salutes. “Yes, ma’am.” Immediately, Gavin turns to me with an ‘oh fuck’ look on his face. I smile at him reassuringly. Even my own husband is afraid of me.

  I position myself on the other side of the table so I can video.

  I almost missed this.

  Gavin pulls out a lighter. “Y’all ready?” he asks, but he looks at me to make sure I’m prepared. I give him a discreet nod, and he lights the candles. “On three…One…Two…Three!”

  I’ve bee
n working with Dr. Schmidt for this moment over the last few weeks and shock myself when I’m able to sing along. Noah’s smile is everything good in this world. For the first time in such a long time, I feel hopeful.

  Then, it happens. A loud bang that sends me reeling, and instantly I’m screaming and on my ass, our camera tumbling to the deck. My body trembles. I can hardly breathe. I reach over the table and snatch my son in my arms. “Noah, are you okay?” I ask, running my hands over his face and chest.

  “Shhhh, Mommy,” he coos. “It was just a balloon. Mikey popped it behind my head to scare me. It’s okay, Mommy. Deep breaths,” he whispers, echoing his father.

  Humiliated, I hug my son for comfort and bury my face in his neck to apologize.

  “No,” he insists. “Mikey did it.” Before I can stop him, Noah is charging after the little boy in question.

  “Are you stupid or something? Why’d you do that? Huh? Why?” He shoves at his friend, and I’m so pathetic that all I can do is watch my husband pull my son away.

  “Noah, stop it. He didn’t know. It’s okay.”

  “No. It’s not okay. Mommy worked so hard for today and now look at her!” Every eye that wasn’t already trained on me, is now. “Our life is never gonna be normal!”

  “Noah Walsh,” Gavin barks, “you need to apologize to your friend.”

  I glance over to the little boy, who’s got the most bewildered look on his face. His mother is crouched behind him, whispering something in his ear, and I know it’s about me. The whispers are always about me. Mikey and Noah shake hands and make up, and then Mikey starts to move in my direction.

  Oh, God.

  “I’m sorry for scaring you,” the little boy says, his voice shaking and his lips trembling. “I was just trying to be funny.”

  Deep breaths.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, honey,” I tell him, still trying to calm my nerves. “It’s okay.”

  Careful to avoid prodding eyes, I cower away because I can’t handle another second.

  “I’m so sorry,” I announce to a crowd full of friends and family. “I’m going to step inside for a bit. Please enjoy the party.”

  Noah pipes up on my behalf to reassure me and the sea of concerned faces that surround us.

  “It’s okay, Mommy,” Noah says, giving me a stoic face. “You just need a nap. Go to your closet.”

  Gavin’s eyes find mine, and in them I see murder.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Katy

  Later that night, Gavin and I are cleaning up after the party, and for the first time since I got home, I know the tables have turned. He’s avoiding me at all costs to keep his explosion within. I have zero defense and won’t bother coming up with one. My son has just exposed one of my secrets and inadvertently humiliated us both. The words ‘I’m sorry’ won’t matter to Gavin; they’ve lost their worth. He wants his wife back. He wants to be able to talk to her without getting his head bitten off. He wants her to put dinner on the table without incident. He wants to fuck her without worrying about breaking her. He wants to wake up next to her with a smile on his face instead of fear in his heart. He brushes past me with a bag full of trash, and I catch a whiff of his cologne. Despite everything, his scent is still comforting.

  He pauses at our back door, trash bags in hand, and apparently thinks better of what he’s about to say before he walks out.

  I’m losing him.

  I take Noah upstairs to the bathroom and help him into his pajamas. I watch as he brushes his teeth on his step stool. He leans over and spits. It lands all over the countertop and mirror.

  His eyes widen as he looks over at me. “Whoops. Sorry, Mommy.”

  I grab a towel and wipe up the mess, tossing the rag into his hamper. “No big deal,” I say.

  Noah’s little eyes widen in surprise when he doesn’t get corrected and then a huge grin lights his entire face.

  I’m still not her.

  And I think maybe that’s not such a bad thing because the idea of riding him for something as minor as spitting toothpaste on a mirror is ridiculous.

  I may be failing everyone else, but I will not fail my son.

  We climb into his bed together facing each other, his head resting on my outstretched arm. I pull him close, burying my nose in his hair. “I love you so much, Noah, and I want you to know something.”

  I pull away to make sure I have his attention, and he looks over to me with eyes identical to mine.

  “What?”

  “You know Mommy hasn’t been the same since she’s been home.”

  “You’re sick.” It’s a statement and hurts so much worse when it comes out of his mouth.

  “Yes, but with this kind of sickness, I have to try a lot of medicines to see which one works.”

  “But you will get better?”

  “Yes,” I say, praying it’s not a lie.

  Tears threaten, and for the first time in months I feel like I could let them flow, but I pray hard to keep them inside. For my son, I will not let the levee break. That’s not the point of this conversation. He’s been strong and will get nothing less than the same from me. His little hand lifts to rub my cheek. “Why are you sad? Didn’t you want to come home?”

  My heart. “Oh, Noah. That’s all I wanted.”

  “Oh…okay,” he says, deep in thought, “Daddy is sad too.”

  “I’ve hurt his feelings, but I’m going to try so hard to find the right medicine to get better for you both. I swear to you, I’ll do everything I can. And I don’t want you to ever be afraid to tell me anything, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  I’m losing it. His fingers tug on my hair like they did when he was little as his eyes start to get heavy.

  “I feel so bad about today,” I tell him honestly. I’m done skirting the issues around my child. He deserves some safe honesty.

  “It’s okay, Mommy.” He smiles. “Did you see how many presents I got?”

  “Sooo many,” I say with wide eyes.

  “Can I play with them after school tomorrow?”

  “Of course.”

  “Okay.” I kiss his forehead as I slide out of bed. “Hey, you know this day is still my favorite day ever, right?”

  “Our day,” he says with a nod.

  “That’s right. Night, baby.”

  “I’m not a baby anymore, Mommy.”

  So everyone keeps reminding me.

  I pull his door closed to see Gavin standing outside of it with his arms crossed, wearing an expression I can’t read.

  I give him the useless words. “I’m sorry.”

  He’s still furious and doesn’t trust himself to speak. My hand reaches for his, and he steps away, turns the corner, and heads down the stairs.

  Racing through the hall, I’m safely behind my bedroom door before the levee finally breaks.

  Gavin left for work early this morning. The sting of his absence stays with me as I take Noah to school. Even though I know I look like hell, I feel a little less heavy. I cried all night when Gavin never came back upstairs. It was cleansing, to say the least. As we pull into the circular driveway, I reach back, giving his knee a squeeze.

  “Okay, buddy, we’re here.”

  I watch as some of the moms walk the younger kids to the door, and it does nothing for my confidence. Most of them are in full dress and makeup with smiles on their faces.

  They have their shit together.

  A knock on my window has me rolling it down. I greet Noah’s teacher.

  “Hi.” I’m embarrassed by my appearance. I try and tuck some of my wide curls behind my ears to make myself more presentable, but I know it’s pointless. Her three-second assessment of my state tells me so.

  “Just wanted to remind you that it’s Noah’s turn to bring a treat to school this Friday.”

  “Thank you, I’ll make sure he’s got something good. Maybe a little less sugary?”

  She smiles. “That’s always appreciated.”

  “How many
in the class?”

  Apparently, that’s the wrong question, because she looks at me accusingly.

  A horn blares behind us, and I startle at the sound.

  “Seventeen,” she answers in a sympathetic tone.

  “Thank you.” I look past her as anger simmers; I’m over her judgment. “Have a good day, buddy.”

  “Bye!” he says, already in tune with two of his classmates running toward him.

  On the way home, I make a mental list of goals that I want to accomplish today. Yesterday was a breaking point for me, and I no longer want to live my life being a survivor. Noah’s reaction and Gavin’s avoidance have slapped me back into my present. The idea of getting my hair done occurs to me as I make my way home. Maybe a little pampering is exactly what I need. It’s an effort, and I can only hope feeling better on the outside may stir up what I need to bridge the intimacy gap between Gavin and me.

  When I pull up to the drive, I see a car I don’t recognize parked in front of my house. I pray it’s not another reporter. The calls have mostly died down in the last two months, but the threat still remains as long as we haven’t agreed to any interviews. Briggs hasn’t agreed to any either, as far as I know.

  No one is on the front porch, which raises my suspicions. Typically, this would scare me, but as I study the truck with Texas plates, a little hope sparks inside of me. That hope is dashed as I walk down the small grass alley between our house and the neighbors’ and spot a woman on my back porch, peering through our window.

  “Excuse me,” I snap. “Can I ask what the hell you’re doing here?”

  The woman freezes before she turns in my direction.

  The instant I recognize her, all the blood drains from my face. In her eyes, I see her loss mixed with a hint of anger.

  Alicia Mullins looks me over before the loss wins out, and an uncontrollable sob escapes her.

  “I came to ask you what happened to my daughter, Katy.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Katy

  “Jesus, Katy. What the hell?”

  The room starts spinning as Sammy slips an arm behind my back, hoisting me up to a sitting position on the floor of my closet. Instantly, my stomach revolts. Hot lava burns its way up my esophagus to the back of my throat.