The next six months apart would take it to another level. But they would get through it. There was no other choice.
The Rangers deployed for shorter tours than the general army—six months versus nine or twelve. But they also spent less time stateside between deployments.
“But you spent some time in Washington State, right?”
“Yes. We didn’t know exactly when he would be deployed, so after Ranger School we rented an apartment near Fort Lewis.”
“Rory didn’t want to live on post?”
“He did. I didn’t. It was one compromise he made for me, though he kept insisting it would be better for me to be in a place where I could meet other wives, not be so isolated.”
“You didn’t want to?”
“No. Not at all.” Her stance on the issue, her “stubbornness,” was one of the few things that almost pushed them into an argument during that time.
She had a bad attitude, she knew. And she could barely hide it. She hated Seattle. The change in climate from Southern California was a shock to her system. Yes, she had grown up on the East Coast where winters were cold. So it wasn’t really the weather. It was that going from a sunny seventy-five degrees to damp, cold overcast days in the thirties seemed a representation of the dismal turn their life had taken.
As for the apartment itself, she couldn’t really complain. It was a lot of space for very little money, with a view of the Tacoma Narrows Bridge. Under other circumstances, she might have found it charming.
Their last night before his deployment, she woke up an hour after she’d fallen asleep, rain landing like pennies outside on the metal air-conditioning unit. It was hard to imagine ever needing air-conditioning in that climate, and that’s probably why the building wasn’t equipped with central air, just the clunky window units.
It wasn’t the first night she’d woken to the tinny clatter, but that night, she knew she wouldn’t fall asleep again.
Next to her, Rory lay still, his back to her, inches from her own listless body. They’d had sex before going to sleep, but she had been too much in her own head to enjoy it. She spent every second trying to memorize him, the way the crook of his neck smelled, the thrill—still!—of his hands on her hips, the first few heart-racing seconds when his body pierced hers. But was there any true pleasure in it that night? For her, no.
Maybe it was different for him. When he shuddered inside of her, his cry muffled in the long tangle of her hair over her shoulder, she felt very, very alone.
Now, with that weighted, emotionally overburdened act punctuated by some sleep, she reached for him.
He pulled her close, and she could feel his heart pounding through his T-shirt.
“Are you okay?” she whispered.
“Yeah,” he said. Then: “Laur, I’m sorry that this is hard on you.”
“It’s okay,” she said, because in that moment, in his arms, it was.
“I’ve made some mistakes,” he said. “I want you to know I’m sorry.”
She kissed him. “You make fewer mistakes than anyone I know.” Was this about the hockey stuff? Why was he so hard on himself? Or was the mistake he was referring to that very moment itself, the fact that they were awake in the middle of a rainy night, in Tacoma, Washington, getting ready to say good-bye for six months?
“Are you having second thoughts about this?” She didn’t want the answer to be yes. Then it would all be for nothing, because there was no turning back now.
“No,” he said, and the smooth directness of his voice told her he was being truthful.
“Okay, well, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
“I love you, Lauren,” he said.
She pulled back, ever so slightly, so he would not feel the sob catch in her chest.
“Are you okay?” Matt said.
Lauren looked at him, startled to be dragged back to the present.
“What? Yes, I’m fine.” She unclenched her hands.
“Tell me about when he came home.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
He came home to LA in August. I can’t even fully describe the excitement of knowing he would be back. It was different than any other time we’d been apart, not just because of how long it had been, but because of my relief. For the first time in half a year, that constant worry in the back of my mind was turned off. He was safe.”
“How much communication did you have while he was gone?” Matt said.
“We were in touch more than I’d thought we’d be. He e-mailed a lot—called when he was able. But I never knew exactly where he was or what he was doing.”
“When he came home, did you notice any changes?”
“I did. And I was prepared for it. At the end of deployment, family members had reintegration meetings. They told us about some challenges we could face, and with Rory, well, it was textbook. The insomnia. His detachment. How irritated he seemed most of the time. Snapping at me. But then, that had started back with the head injuries, so it wasn’t new.”
“How long was he home before he had to return to post?”
“He had thirty days’ leave.”
By the second day, he was drinking during the afternoon as he sat on the couch watching the news. Sometimes she made dinner, but more often she wanted to get him out of the house, tried to get him to drive to Santa Monica to eat by the water or go to a new place in Venice. But big, open spaces made him jumpy.
Lauren looked at Matt, the camera all but forgotten. His eyes, colored green and gray and gold, were steady on her. She grasped the arm of the chair, her hand slick with sweat.
“We argued a lot more,” she said. “We argued in a way that scared me.”
“Scared you…how?” Matt asked.
She heard him, but she didn’t. Her mind was completely locked in the summer of 2012. It was as if she were talking in her sleep. “I thought maybe we needed a change of scenery,” she said slowly. “Maybe a trip east would be good for him.”
Lauren would be packing up and moving to Washington State with him until his next deployment. But at the midway point of his time home, she thought maybe a trip to Philly might lift him out of his funk. Rory’s mother hadn’t been able to visit because of recent hip-replacement surgery, and she knew if Emerson could also arrange to fly to Philly, Rory would agree to the trip. She didn’t particularly want to see the Kincaids—they hadn’t spoken at all during Rory’s deployment except for a few perfunctory check-ins. But she imagined taking a walk with Rory in Narberth Park, having pizza at Boston Style. Maybe they’d go for a run around the track at Arnold Field. Going home was a chance to remember who they had once been. Who he had been—still was.
She arranged for them to stay at her parents’ house. There was plenty of space, and she was more likely to be able to see little Ethan if Stephanie could just bring him by the house rather than Lauren having to wait for an invitation to go over to Stephanie’s. Her relationship with Stephanie had never recovered from whatever had derailed it years ago, and only her mother would be able to broker a temporary peace so Lauren could see the baby, who wasn’t so much of a baby anymore.
She never made it to Philadelphia.
“I’m not staying at your parents’,” Rory said.
“Why not? They’re never home and there’s so much space.”
“We can stay at my mother’s.”
“There’s no room, Rory. Emerson and Jane are coming with the kids.”
“We can sleep on the couch.”
“I’m not sleeping on your mother’s couch.”
“Why the hell not?”
“It’s ridiculous. We can have our own room—”
“Goddamn it, Lauren. The second you have to deal with the slightest bit of discomfort, you turn into a two-year-old.”
She couldn’t believe it. “The second I have to deal with…are you kidding me?”
“We’re staying with my family, and that’s it. I haven’t seen Emerson in eight months.”
“Well, whose fa
ult is that?” she muttered.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You wanted this—all of this. I’m living the life you picked for us, and you’re mad at me for suggesting we have our own bedroom for our two-week stay in Philly?”
“No, I’m mad at you for acting so victimized by everything.”
“Well, great. I’m sure you and your lovely brother will have lots to talk about, then.”
“So now you have an issue with my brother?”
“He has never been anything but a total dick to me!”
As soon as she said it, she saw his face change. It was like looking at a stranger.
She hadn’t realized how close he was to her, and the slap came quick and furious, a backhand to the jaw. It was hard enough to throw her off balance, and she stumbled and tripped over an end table. She fell backward and hit her head against the wooden leg of a wingback chair they’d found at an antique store in Silver Lake. Her phone slid out of her pocket, and she grabbed it, just that small motion dizzying to her.
“Jesus, Lauren—I’m sorry,” he said, reaching for her, trying to help her up. “I don’t even know—”
Lauren looked at Matt and took a deep breath.
“He hit me,” she said. She waited a beat. It was the first time she’d said it aloud. Surely, something would happen. Something bad would happen.
But if Matt was surprised by her revelation, he didn’t show it. “I was terrified. I knew that wives of soldiers were at greater risk of lethal domestic violence than any other demographic in the country. You know, Rory wanted me to be more involved, more informed as a military wife. The truth was, I knew more about what we were getting into than he thought. Maybe more than he knew.”
“Was this ever addressed in a formal way by the military, that it was something you should be prepared for, look out for?”
She nodded. “I got lots of information. And to cap it all off, the day he got back from deployment, as I was walking to the bleachers to wait for him, military personnel handed me a little American flag along with literature on suicide and domestic violence.”
“What did you think in that moment?”
“I mean, it put a damper on things. Let’s put it that way.”
“After he struck you, did you ask him to go to therapy?”
“Not at first. I was in shock, I think. And then he left for Philly without me. I don’t know what he told his mother and Emerson, but they left me all sorts of crazy voice mails. They wanted me to come to Philly, to be, quote, supportive of him. I never answered my phone. I didn’t want to tell them that he’d hit me if they didn’t know, and if they did know and were still leaving me those messages? I mean, that actually wouldn’t have surprised me.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
She shook her head. “No. I just couldn’t. It felt like I’d be betraying him. He was such a private person and had so much pride. And what would it have helped? I wasn’t trying to punish him by keeping my distance; I really was trying to figure it out. And the only answer was therapy. It seemed obvious to me, but I knew it would be a tough sell to Rory.”
“But you suggested it?”
She nodded. “Yes. He returned to LA three days before flying back to Washington. I said he couldn’t come to the house, so he stayed with Dean Wade. I agreed to meet him for coffee and prepped my whole speech on why we needed therapy. I knew he would resist the idea, but I thought that ultimately he would come around. I truly believed that.”
“So you were optimistic?”
“Yes. I was optimistic. And before he was due to fly back to Washington State, we met to talk.”
Rory was already sitting at a table near the back when she arrived at the coffee shop. Their greeting was awkward. Her impulse was to hug him, but she held herself back and he kissed her on the cheek.
“How are Dean and Ashley?” she asked.
“Great. They say hi.”
She nodded, remembering Ashley’s words: “They all get nasty when they hit their heads.”
She could feel other women in the café looking at them. Did they recognize him or were they just checking out a gorgeous guy?
“Lauren, I’m sorry. I fucked up. There’s no excuse, but you have to know that’s not who I am.” He reached for her hand. She let him take it but she couldn’t look him in the eye.
“I know that’s not who you are. That’s why we’re having this conversation.”
He smiled, and she knew he thought that it was going to be that easy, because in so many ways, it always had been with her. But that was over. She couldn’t afford to be that person anymore.
“I need you,” he said. “I need you to get on that plane with me to Washington.”
She nodded, swallowing hard, resisting the urge to take the easy way out, to say, Yes, yes, that’s what I want to. I need you, I want you, I miss you!
Instead, she said, “The only way that can happen is if you agree to counseling.”
He pulled his hand away, sitting back in his seat. “Come on, Lauren. You know I don’t go in for that crap.”
“Well, I don’t go in for domestic violence. So clearly we have a problem.”
He looked at her like Come on. As if she were being dramatic. But she didn’t waver, and he finally said, “That will never happen again.”
“You don’t know that.”
“This is me you’re talking to, Lauren. You’ve known me since I was sixteen years old.”
She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m afraid that person is gone.”
“He’s not.”
“Well, that person, the man I fell in love with—the boy I fell in love with—would be saying therapy is not ideal, but okay. He would be saying he would never let me down again. Isn’t that what you told me?”
He reached for her hand. “There’s an adjustment period, Lauren. If you’d gone to any of the wife groups, if you weren’t so intent on pushing this part of our life away, holding your breath until it’s over—”
“Do you know that soldiers with PTSD are three times more likely to be violent toward their spouses?”
“Now you’re a therapist, diagnosing me with PTSD?”
“I don’t know what’s going on, Rory! That’s why we need a professional.”
He stood up, dropping money on the table.
“Lauren, I love you. I want to be your husband. If you decide you still want that too, you know where to find me.”
Was he kidding? After everything he’d asked of her the past few years, after every life decision she’d made had been based on his career, his injuries, his needs and impulses—he wouldn’t even see a counselor after hitting her? She had friends in couples therapy because they didn’t like doing the same things on weekends.
She followed him outside onto Melrose Avenue. He had no idea she was behind him until she was two steps away from him yelling, “I can’t believe you! What, in the past ten years, have I ever asked of you? Ever?”
He said nothing and looked at her with something close to indifference. Without thinking, in a gesture of pure, impotent rage, she grabbed the heart necklace, tore it off, and threw it at him.
It bounced off his shoulder and landed on the ground with barely a sound.
She sobbed, unable to go further.
“What happened after that?” Matt prompted gently.
“There was nothing after that. He left for Washington; I refused to go with him.” She’d forgotten about the camera. In some ways, she’d forgotten about Matt. She was talking to herself, going through the scenarios she had rehashed endlessly in her mind over the years.
“He called me a few times. Always insisting he loved me but never acknowledging that anything needed to change. After a while, I sent his calls straight to voice mail. I didn’t know what to do.”
She touched her necklace.
“A week or so after the argument, I got a package in the mail. It was this necklace. The chain was repaired.” And Rory had incl
uded a note. I still love you, it read. “Then the calls stopped. I only found out he was redeployed from some routine paperwork that arrived at the house,” she said. “I never saw him again.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The weight of her words hung heavily. It seemed a long time passed before Matt asked, “How did you learn about his death?”
“I was at work. I was writing for an entertainment blog.” The receptionist had appeared at her cubicle.
“Some men are here to see you,” she’d said, wide-eyed. “I put them in the conference room.”
Some men.
Her stomach had turned to stone. The walk from the cubicle to the conference room felt like it happened in slow motion.
The conference room was glass. Two officers stood inside.
“Mrs. Kincaid?”
One of the officers drew the opaque shades down for privacy.
It took Lauren seconds to process the fact that they were wearing Class A dress uniforms. She had learned about this scenario in a family-readiness meeting before Rory’s deployment. Battle-dress uniform: injured. Class A dress uniform: killed.
Now, remembering it, Lauren broke down in sobs and looked around for tissues.
“Lauren,” Matt said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Can you get me a—”
“I’ll be right back.” He disappeared into the hallway and returned with a box of Kleenex. She wiped her nose, trying to calm herself from outright hysterics to a reasonable cry.
“I’m just surprised they came to talk to you at work. Why not wait until you were home? In private?”
She nodded. It was a good question. “They were afraid, because of Rory’s fame, that the news would leak out before they could reach me. They couldn’t risk waiting.”
She sagged with exhaustion, her entire body weighted.
Matt moved close, unclipped her mic, and took the sound pack from her waist. She felt like collapsing against him. He steered her away from the camera and over to the bed.
The Husband Hour Page 21