Promise Her

by Johnston, Andrea

  Pausing just inches from my desk chair, I shake my head. It’s an instant reaction when you think you’ve heard something wrong.

  “What? What did you say?”

  Maybe if he repeats it, I’ll understand. Maybe he’ll say something different and not what I heard.

  “It was an accident. He was just getting ice cream, man. One more deployment. That’s all. How could he survive it all only to have this happen?”

  My friend’s sobs fill the line, and I’m stunned. Blown away and confused.

  Henry Gilbert is dead. My best friend for most of my life died.

  Pulling the chair out, I settle behind my desk. Needing to understand, I cut him off. “Are you sure? I mean, maybe he’ll pull through. How’s Scarlett? She wasn’t with him, was she? The baby? Oh shit, Connor . . . man, tell me they’re okay.”

  “It’s not a mistake. Red was at home. She’s in shock, I think. Hell, we all are. Cap is with her now. The doctor gave her something to relax and get some rest. I have seen some fucked-up shit, Taylor, but this was an accident. He was just getting his wife ice cream. His pregnant wife.”

  I try to keep up with what he’s saying, but it’s more than I can handle. “Twig, I have to go. I’ll call you back.” Hanging up, I sit for a few minutes. My eyes focus on the calendar hanging on the wall. It’s still showing January, and I think for just a minute I should get up and change it. Yet, I can’t move. I’ve lost a lot of people in my life. Men in my unit, guys I grew up with. My parents.

  This is different. Henry was more than my friend. He was my brother in every way that mattered. His life was just beginning. Wiping the tears that have fallen from my eyes, I take in a deep breath, pull my cell phone from my pocket, and call my sister, Addison.

  “Little brother.”

  “Addy . . .” My voice breaks, and I suck back a new batch of emotion. “It’s Henry. There was an accident. He didn’t make it.”

  The line is quiet for a few minutes, her sniffles the only sound. “Are you sure?” Her voice is quiet like she’s afraid to speak the words.

  “Yeah.” It’s one word but all I can give her right now.

  I let her cry, wishing I could hold her and comfort her. Wishing we could comfort each other. For Addison, Henry and I were more than her annoying little brother and his friend. Sometimes we were her allies and others her defenders. She loved him as much as I did.

  “Addy, are you okay?”

  “I’m just numb, Tay. I don’t understand.”

  “I know, sis. I know. I’m going to settle things here and call Connor and Grant. I’ll keep you posted.”

  She whispers, “Okay” before ending the call.

  Not prepared to deal with this just yet, I set the phone down and rest my head in my hands. I don’t bother to hold in the emotions boiling inside of me; letting them pour from me like a faucet. I learned years ago it’s better to let the pain out. When you don’t, it will eat you up inside. What’s left is a shell filled with a new kind of pain.

  Chapter 2

  Scarlett

  When I was young, I hated washing dishes. I thought it was gross and didn’t understand how you could use the same water that dirty plates and cups sat in to make those same things clean. It made no sense to me. Looking into a sink full of lemon scented suds, I see a piece of food float to the top and cringe.

  Gross. It turns out I still don’t like washing dishes. But, putting them in the dishwasher gave me nothing to do. And I need to stay busy. If I stop then everyone sitting in my living room will want to talk to me. Or ask me questions I don’t want to answer. Again. Am I okay? Do I feel okay? Do I want to rest for a bit?

  Until last night, I never realized how little I like being the center of attention. I appreciate the concern, but I don’t have answers for their questions. So instead, I keep washing dishes and hope they leave me alone.

  Staring out my kitchen window, I watch a pair of small birds land on a branch. Their little wings flutter as they settle. I wonder if they’re a couple or just friends. Do they know each other, or are they strangers who happened upon the same tree branch?

  Random questions like that have been running through my head all day. When you stop talking and just listen, your mind wanders. Sometimes it ventures into a dark corner and other times it’s the bright sunlight. Looking at these birds is part of the sunlight. Maybe their story is just beginning. A hope for a new life together.

  “Scarlett, honey?” A large warm hand grips my shoulder, pulling my attention from the window.

  Turning my head but not moving my hands from the dishwater, I turn to my friend. Grant Ellison has been a great friend to both Henry and me over the years and was the first person I called when the police arrived at my house following the accident. A former captain in the U.S. Army, he’s a strong presence with an absolute no-bullshit aura about him. He’s tried to be strong for me and I appreciate that. Grant is a good man. Kind and giving, it makes me sad he doesn’t have a partner in life. A woman to be cared for and loved by him. Children to be raised by a man with more integrity than most will ever know.

  “Hmm?” I ask, looking back at the dishes as I dip them in the clear water and place them in the dish rack.

  “Honey, you have been washing these dishes for over an hour.”

  “Oh.” I look into the sink and notice the suds are almost gone. The water is no longer warm, and my fingers have started to prune.

  Taking the offered dishtowel, I dry my hands and watch as Grant reaches into the sink and releases the plug. Water swirls down the drain, a strange gulping sound as the last bit leaves the sink. I feel like my life is just like that water, spinning and slowly draining until the last gurgle. Not the greatest metaphor but it’s the best I can do right now.

  “I spoke to Taylor, and he’ll be here in a couple of days. Mercy and Shane have left, but I’m worried about you. I know you haven’t eaten much today. Why don’t I make you something, and if you’re really nice, I’ll sit through one of those saccharine sweet movies you like so much.”

  Smiling, I lift my hand to his cheek and pat it once. “You’re too good to me. I do have a bit of a headache, so I’ll give you a pass on the movie.” Placing my hand on my baby bump, I sigh and close my eyes.

  “Have a seat and I’ll heat something up for you. We have like six casseroles and three pies. Any requests?”

  “Nothing too spicy. I feel a little sick.”

  “So no pie either?”

  “Let’s not get carried away. I know those are Vera’s pies, so don’t even think of holding out on me.” I point my finger at him to drive home my seriousness.

  Laughing, he rummages in the refrigerator and appears with a blue casserole dish. If memory serves, that’s from Mrs. Abbott. Shane’s mother is an amazing cook, and I sit up a little in my seat at the prospect of her food. While the microwave ticks, Grant pulls one of my fizzy waters from the refrigerator and flips the tab before placing the can in front of me.

  Taking a sip, I let the little bubbles pop on my tongue and a small smile appears on my lips. With just Grant and me here, I feel like I can finally relax a little. It’s been an overwhelming and horrifying twenty-four hours. Henry and I were settling into our new normal. Making plans for co-parenting and how we’d announce to our friends, who are actually our family, we were ending our marriage. Only, we didn’t have an opportunity. Instead, just weeks before he was set to deploy for the last time, he was struck by a drunk driver.

  And didn’t come home. The tears fall freely from my eyes, dropping on to my black shirt. Looking down, I see the bump and the tears turn to sobs instantly. Our son will never know his father. Henry will never see our child grow and learn to walk or swing a bat. Gone are his opportunities to share his knack for a good knock-knock joke and his love for fishing. Missed opportunities for us to find our new version of family.

  “Oh Red,” Grant says as he squats to eye level. His hand rests atop mine, and I smile through the tears.

 
; “I think I’m just going to lie down.”

  Rising from the table, I take my water and head for my bedroom. Not bothering to change, I simply kick off my shoes and crawl on top of the covers. Settling onto my left side, I run my hand along the opposite side of the bed. Henry’s side. It’s been months since he’s slept there, but tonight I wish I could reach out and touch him. To know he’s okay.

  I’ve loved Henry Gilbert for ten years and for each of those years, I prepared myself for his deployments and the possibility he may not return. What I didn’t know was that one senseless act would completely change everything I had prepared for.

  Chapter 3

  Taylor

  I always imagined bad news would come in the middle of the night. At least, that’s how it happens in the movies. Unfortunately, this isn’t a movie, and it isn’t often that life works out as you imagined.

  I’m still reeling from the news I received two days ago. It’s been five years since I’ve felt the damn devastation that runs through my veins. The last time came in the form of an IED. It was a split-second swerve that changed the lives of so many. I lost a lot of my brothers that day, not even sure if I would make it home in one piece. Losing men in combat, saying my own goodbye to them, was something I learned to accept and work through over the years. That last deployment was when I knew I was done. Done facing mortality daily.

  This loss is different, more personal. Henry Gilbert has been my best friend since we were old enough to ride our bikes without training wheels. We grew up together, we became soldiers together, and somewhere along the way, we grew apart. No longer as close as siblings, our bond would never falter. Regardless of how much time we spent out of contact, he remained my brother by choice.

  And now he’s gone.

  Dead.

  It doesn’t seem possible. Yet, I know it is. I’ll never forget my pain as Connor’s words filled the line with the news. Memories of our life growing up together consumed my mind and kept me from sleeping all night. When you’re young, you never think of death. It’s something that happens to other people, never to you. Your best friend is supposed to be with you for life. Through good times and bad. Henry and I grew up in completely different homes, our home lives polar opposites. But it was through those differences that we bonded, and through it all we were always there for each other.

  When I enlisted, I was forced to alter the way I viewed death. It was no longer an unattainable notion but a reality. And still, I can’t believe this has happened to him. To us. At a time when he was venturing into a new phase of life as a father, all of it was stolen from him.

  Once, under the stars as we camped in my backyard, I promised I’d always be there for him. My family was a safe place for him to fall. I’ll keep that promise for his own family. For his wife and child, a safe place for them to escape if necessary.

  Pulling back on the throttle of my bike, I let the engine roar, the vibrations in my hands an anchor to the moment. I approach the sign in the distance at a rapid speed. A rest stop is in a few miles. Looking to the vast road ahead of me with nothing but my thoughts and the crisp air to keep me company, I have to stop and check in with my sister. Addy hated the day I bought my bike, and before I left this morning, she sent me a text making me promise I would check in through my drive. I’m sure the fact that Henry was out on a road similar to this when he had his accident is fresh in her mind.

  She hates this bike and everything it stands for. That’s likely attributed to the fact that the first time my nephew saw it, he thought it was cool as hell and told her when he was old enough, he’d have one just like it. Mason may look at this bike like it’s a cool piece of machinery, a means to get from point A to point B while looking badass, but it’s more for me.

  My bike and the open road have always been how I’ve dealt with the demons that lurk deep in my subconscious. A lot of men I served with, those who made it home, have found their solace in many forms. I’ve watched men self-destruct after suffering horrific injuries or were unable to let go of the memories. If I’ve learned anything in my dozen years in the Army, it’s that not all scars lie on the surface. Some of the worst scars rest below the surface and only those who bare them can fully understand their depth.

  I worked hard after each deployment to seek the help I needed to process through my feelings. To work the demons that haunted me each night as I closed my eyes. They may never completely go away, but if I can keep them to a dull whisper and not the roaring storm they once were, I’ll be okay. I’ll survive.

  The same can’t be said for others. Henry was one of those who refused to seek guidance and support when he needed it most. He needed that intervention long before he enlisted. Long before he was faced with some of the darkest days of his life.

  Our friendship was tested over the years, but nothing caused a rift between us, brothers by choice at a young age, until Scarlett. Henry’s inability to appreciate the gift he had at home pissed me off. The chip on his shoulder grew and festered with each deployment. By the time I accepted my discharge, he was bitter and angry. Angry at the world, at himself, and oddly enough, at me.

  And I was angry at him. Unlike me, or some of the other soldiers we were close to, Henry had someone waiting for him at home. A beautiful, loving, and patient woman who loved him with all her heart. A smile, the first I’ve allowed in days, appears at the thought of Scarlett.

  I’ve always admired a woman who wears her confidence and independence like a badge of honor. The night Henry and Scarlett met, I knew she was that kind of woman. Strong, independent, and confident, Scarlett Gilbert is every man’s dream come true, and Henry was the lucky bastard she loved.

  As more memories of Henry flood my mind, I let off the throttle, slowing to pull into the rest stop. The stop is relatively deserted but there are a few families standing around talking and an older man walking a dog on the grass. Wanting a little privacy for my call, I drive to the far end of the parking lot near a large tree. Once I park and dismount, I pull off my gloves and helmet. Secured, I pull my phone from my saddle bag and press my sister’s number.

  “Hey,” she says quietly. This loss is hitting her hard, and I imagine it’s bringing with it the memories of losing our parents years ago.

  “Checking in as ordered.”

  “Thank you. How far out are you?”

  “Not too long. Couple of hours. You holding up okay?”

  Sniffling, she doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. I give her time and walk around a little. I’m not as young as I once was and not too proud to admit I’m a little stiff from the long drive.

  “Yeah. Landon has been great. Apparently, we’re going camping.”

  Barking out a laugh, I welcome the sound of her soft chuckles on the other side. “Do not laugh. It’s true. Be safe and I’ll see you in a few days.”

  “I’ll let you know when I get there.”

  We say our goodbyes, and I end the call. Before putting the phone away, I pull up Grant’s contact information and send off a quick text. When I first met Grant Ellison, he was a mean sonofabitch. Or at least I thought he was. I was a punk kid a little too arrogant and confident, certain I knew more than I really did. He not only put me in my place but saw something in me I never knew was there. Taking me under his wing, I learned a lot about being a soldier and leader from this man.

  Moving to Fayhill a few years after his retirement, he found a small community of like-minded ex-military men and women and easily transitioned to civilian life. It’s also how Henry and Scarlett found themselves settling there. Grant opened his life to them and I’m grateful he’s been the one to be there these last few days.

  Me: I’m about 2 hours out.

  The three dots jump and stop before jumping again with a response to follow.

  Grant: See you then. We’re at my house.

  Me: 10-4

  Slipping the phone in my pocket, I head for the large building housing the bathrooms before I head toward what I’m sure is going to
be an exhausting and intense few days.

  As I approach the town of Fayhill, I slow my bike to a reasonable speed and sit back a little, letting myself relax. A small diner catches my attention, and I contemplate stopping. Convenience store snacks don’t offer nearly enough nutritional value for the drive I just made. But a shower and a beer sound a lot more enticing. When I approach the end of Main Street, I spy a gas station and pull in to top off before heading to my destination. While I wait for the pump to click the tank is full, I tap out a quick text to Grant that I should be at his place in less than ten minutes.

  Placing my phone in my saddlebag, I cross my arms and wait. Taking in the town around me, I can see the draw. In the few minutes I’ve been standing here, I’ve only seen one or two cars, and only a handful of people roam the streets. It isn’t hard to imagine why so many ex-military settle in Fayhill and the surrounding towns. This town is the polar opposite of every aspect of deployment. There’s no shouting, gunfire, or explosions to be found.

  Once the pump clicks its completion, I return the nozzle to the cradle and strap on my helmet. Sliding on the bike, I cringe as the engine roars to life. Normally, the loud sound is more like white noise to me, but here it sounds ten times louder. “Sorry,” I mumble to myself as I exit the station and am back on the road to Cap’s house.

  Fayhill is the epitome of small town, so it only takes a few minutes to make it across town and to the neighborhood my friends live in. I’ve been here once or twice before and appreciate his home for what it is—small and temporary. The term “cookie cutter” comes to mind as I spy people gardening and mowing lawns, and kids shooting baskets in their driveways.

  The fact that a neighborhood like this exists in Fayhill is a surprise. The houses, while all very similar in appearance, are great starter homes. A lot of guys we know from our military days are looking for towns like this to start their families or to reconnect with civilian life without the overwhelming obstacles city life brings.