by Liz K. Lorde
“Is he mine?”
There’s something in his voice I can’t place. Was it hope? Regret? Anticipation? It’s hard for me to answer.
What I really want to do is throw myself at him and bawl my eyes out. I want to kiss him and let my hands reacquaint themselves with his body. Instead of talking to him, I want to fuck him.
“It’s…I…after…” I stammer and curse myself for being unable to put a sentence together.
“I need to hear it from you,” Shawn mutters and looks me straight in the eye.
“When my period didn’t come, I thought it was because of hormonal imbalance, or stress. I didn’t worry at first. It had been a bit irregular over the previous months. Then, I received news that you were missing in action. I gave it a few more weeks and finally bit the bullet and did a pregnancy test. Sure enough. It showed that I was pregnant.”
I glance at him. He’s gone back to watching his whiskey.
To ease my shaking nerves, I take a sip. Fire erupts in my mouth and dances across my tongue and down my throat, until my insides are burning brightly.
“I still couldn’t believe it. Then, I had some spotting and I thought maybe the stress of knowing you could be dead might cause a miscarriage. I went to see my doctor. He did an ultrasound and found out that everything was fine.”
A lone tear rolls down my cheek. Telling him my story opens up old wounds, wounds I thought I’d buried.
“He sent me off to a counselor,” I swallow. These aren’t the things I want to relive or talk about. “But I only went a few times. In the end, I knew I had to be strong for our son or daughter.” I pause and take another sip. “And you, at that time, I just couldn’t accept that you wouldn’t be coming home.”
For a while, the only sound in the room is our breathing.
“What about James?” His voice, as well as his expression, is full of pain.
James.
What can I say?
“James returned before I gave birth. He,” I stop, part of me really doesn’t want to talk about James, “James came back and said you were dead.”
I see Shawn’s jaw grind from side to side.
“He said it’s not unusual for the military not to declare you dead without a body. Since he was your best friend, I accepted his help.”
“I’m sorry.”
It’s hard to know what he’s sorry for. But my voice isn’t strong enough to ask. All I can do is nod.
From his eyes, I can tell he wants to know more. Of course, I know the one question he really wants to ask, but I can’t bring myself to go there. As it is, I feel as if I’ve betrayed him.
Relying on another man for emotional support while your husband is missing in action can be seen as having an affair. I’ve read social media pages about this. Men and women feel strongly about it.
In the beginning, I was careful to keep my distance, but over time, I did find myself sharing more and more with James. But we never shared a bed, or a kiss. Even holding hands with him has been difficult for me.
Somehow, though, I can’t share this with Shawn, at least not right now.
Finally. He stops swirling his whiskey and brings the glass to his lips. He drinks it in one big gulp.
“I should go.”
Despite his words, he doesn’t stand up. His eyes pierce into mine. An internal wrestling match of gigantic proportions ensues. It’s more intense than the NFL final.
“You can have one of our guest rooms,” I say before I fully think my offer through.
Truth be told, I don’t want him to go. If he leaves now, how do I know when he’ll be back? What if he doesn’t? What if our meeting again is just a figment of my imagination?
“If you’re sure.”
We look at each other.
I nod.
Chapter 9
Shawn
“Let me give you a tour of the house.”
I watch her copy me and gulp down the rest of her whiskey before she takes both glasses off the table.
For a while, I stare at the table, not moving. I have so many questions.
Like, did we buy this table together? Or did James buy it for you, or did you buy it on your own? Why did you move here and sell our home?
Not that I remember the old home. The authorities gave me an address and told me that’s where I used to live. Sadly for me, the place was up for sale.
Evelyn sold it, and the couple who bought it were now selling again.
My memory doesn’t fucking help me in any way. Every step of my discovery tour is pieced together mainly by things I’m told by other people.
“You coming, or have you grown roots there?”
Evelyn’s voice rouses me out my navel-gazing, and I get to my feet to follow her.
“This is the kitchen. It’s the hub of the house. Most of our time is spent here.”
She didn’t have to tell me this. The room looks lived in, unlike the living room. I wonder why the living room is so sterile, but again, I don’t ask the question.
As she walks out of the kitchen, she passes me, and my senses are assaulted by her femininity. She smells sweet and homely. I inhale deeply to get maximum exposure to her scent.
Vague images try to get into my head, but they’re too faint to be of any significance.
It might be a surge of testosterone, but I think I can just about feel her raging hormones. It would be ever so easy to stop and kiss her, but I don’t.
I force myself to turn and follow her.
There’s still so much we haven’t talked about. Seven years is a long time.
Had she been with anyone during that time? The thought of Evelyn with someone else has rage pulsing through me like I haven’t known before. The thought of my Evy in the arms of James, my alleged best friend, leaves me with murderous thoughts.
“There are two guest rooms down here.” She opens the door to each one.
I only have eyes for one thing, though, and it’s not the rooms.
“And at the end, there’s a small bathroom with a toilet and shower.”
We’ve reached the end of the corridor, and she turns around.
I’m standing in her way.
I feel her eyes upon me. Mine are studying her in minute detail, moving over her face, her neck, her chest until they move all the way down to her legs.
She hasn’t changed a bit. If anything, she’s more exquisite than ever. Having a baby obviously was good for her.
It’s dangerous times, with my cock threatening to take over and sending my brain on vacation. If I’m not careful, I’ll just grab her and have my way with her.
“After you,” she mumbles.
I take a step to the side and invite her to pass by me. This way, I get to check out her cute ass without her knowing.
“I’ll show you upstairs,” she whispers and just about runs past me like a frightened gazelle.
“You’ve seen Tanner’s room. Mine is here.” She doesn’t invite me in, only gestures in the general direction. “There’s a larger bathroom and toilet down there, and at the very end is our music-slash-playroom, where we also spend a lot of time.”
I nod but don’t move.
“Ehem,” she starts and stops, “and there’s another guest room here.”
Evelyn turns to her left and opens the door.
As we both enter, our bodies brush against one another. I feel electric sparks jump between us. She moves away as if she’s received an electric jolt. I pretend not to notice, but her actions leave me wondering.
When she turns on the light, I see this room is larger than the ones downstairs. It’s painted off white with a space gray ceiling. On the walls are photographs of lizards and frogs.
“Tanner likes reptiles, and he chose them for the guest room.”
I’m tempted to ask if James sleeps in here, but then again, I don’t think I’m ready for the answer just yet. If she tells me James sleeps with her, I don’t know what I’ll do.
A murder charge on top of my other t
roubles would not bode well for me, that much I know.
Better not tempt fate. Sometimes, knowledge can be highly overrated.
“I didn’t bring an overnight bag,” I say this just to say something as I continue to look at the room. Dark blue sheets are on the bed, and dark blue curtains hide a window. There’s a mahogany chest and matching bedside tables.
All of the furniture looks new.
I glance down to check out the carpet. Dark blue, age unknown. It occurs to me she hasn’t said how long she has lived here, when has she sold our place, and why she moved in the first place.
Did James have a hand in all of this?
From what I can see, he doesn’t spend a lot of time here. So far, I haven’t noticed any men’s shoes or clothing lying around.
But if he’s a one-night man here and there, there wouldn’t be any evidence of him here, would there? Maybe a toothbrush in the bathroom and his slippers under the bed—her bed—would be all the evidence of his occasional sleepovers.
Again, the thought nearly has me frothing at the mouth.
“I can lend you one of your old shirts to sleep in,” she offers.
“Sounds great.” I don’t let on how the news she’s still got one of my old shirts fills my heart with glee.
“I’ll just get it for you.”
My gaze follows her as she leaves the room.
While I wait for her return, I sit on the bed and take my shoes off. Then I pick them up and put them by the door. An army habit—always keep your shoes by the doorway or tent entrance so you know where they are and can put them on quickly when you need to.
Old habits die hard.
When she comes back, I was just straightening up. The door hits me in the head, and she gasps in shock.
“Sorry,” she mumbles and takes a step to the side.
“It’s okay,” I assure her. “The last knock on the head brought back some memory. You never know; it might work again.”
There’s the hint of a smile around her lips.
“Here,” she holds out one of my old shirts. It’s olive green and extra-large. Briefly, I imagine her petite body in it. Fucking gorgeous is how she’d look in it.
As I take it, our fingers touch. Sparks fly between us. My skin burns where our flesh connects.
“I’ve worn it to bed every night since you’ve left. I guess I’ll be left with nothing to wear tonight.” There’s a sparkle in her eyes—a sparkle I’ve seen before, I’m sure of it.
I hold the shirt and grin. “I could always share,” I wink at Evelyn.
My words leave her blushing. Her cheeks redden a little, and she drops her gaze.
“Or I could come and keep you warm,” I offer.
She doesn’t have a comeback.
I reach for her hand and squeeze it. My thumb strokes the top of it. I had forgotten how soft her skin feels, how smooth it feels beneath my rough hands.
“Good night,” she mumbles as we stare at each other.
I feel as if I’m walking on a knife’s edge. Put one foot wrong, and I’ll tumble downwards, to possible ruin and disaster.
The urge to pull her toward me is so strong, it’s fucking hard to resist. But what if she pushes me away in disgust? How will I handle rejection?
And who could blame her?
I mean, fuck, what have I got to offer? I’m a broken man with enough baggage to fill an entire jumbo jet.
James, on the other hand…no, I can’t compare myself to James. It’s wrong, and it won’t do me any good.
“Good night, Evy.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have used her nickname. But trouble is, she’s my Evy—the woman I fell in love with, married, and planned to grow old with.
I continue to stare at the spot where she stood, long after she has left the room, almost willing her to come back.
Chapter 10
Evelyn
I’m tempted to strip off all my clothes so that I could feel much needed cool air against my skin. Had someone turned up the temperature?
It feels stiflingly hot. Maybe I should just have a cold shower. Although if I’m not careful, I might melt into a puddle of water on the floor.
Thoughts are racing through my head faster than a whirlwind. With so much going on inside my mind, it’s difficult to make sense of anything.
But holy shit.
Shawn Tucker is in my guest room, across the hall from me. He’s within easy reach. If I wanted to, I could just go over to him and touch him—if I wanted to.
Trouble is, I haven’t got a clue what I want to do right now. To say I’m torn is the understatement of the year. Possibly the century.
Images come and go. Thoughts tumble over each other. I gnaw on my bottom lip and plop down on the bed.
It’s a king-sized bed and would be big enough for the two of us. Heck, it would be big enough for the two of us with room to spare.
What am I thinking?
I shouldn’t be having these thoughts.
At the end of the day, I’m engaged to another man.
But here’s the problem: do I really want to be engaged to that man? I mean, James had to ask three times before I finally agreed.
If he hadn’t asked in such a public place, I doubt if I would’ve agreed.
I roll over and stare at my bedside table. Had it really been seven years since the man in uniform brought that terrible news to me?
There are times when it feels like it happened last week, and then there are days when it feels like it happened a long time ago.
My hand trembles as I reach out and grasp the handle of the top drawer. Slowly, I pull it open and rummage around until my fingers find what I’m looking for.
I pull it out and stare at it.
It’s Shawn and me on our wedding day.
Everyone told me to put it away so that I can move on. But I couldn’t. As a compromise, I keep it in this special place.
This way, it’s close to me always.
We’re both smiling at each other. Our eyes are filled with love and devotion.
It’s my absolute favorite of all the photos taken on that glorious day. It had been the happiest day of my life.
I sigh and feel a tear roll down my cheek.
Life sucks.
Why can’t he come back, and then we’ll automatically have everything back to normal? Why was he the one who got injured in that bloody war? And why did he have to come back damaged goods?
It’s still unclear to me exactly how damaged he is.
For all I know, it won’t take him long to recover, and he’ll back to his old self.
Is he really all that different, anyway?
From the little time we spent together tonight, he seems nearly the same.
Although…there is something about him that’s different. And yet I’ve not pinpointed exactly what that something is. It could be the fact he’s trying to remember all the time he’s forgotten, or it could be the wounds and scars that he’s carrying with him.
Wounds are meant to heal, but what about scars? Were scars meant to fade, even those in our psyche? Did he have scars that ran too deep?
So many fucking questions, and so few answers.
Unable to lie still any longer, I get up again. I start pacing the room, careful not to make too much noise.
The last thing I want to do is wake Tanner. Tanner needs his sleep. If my little boy gets awakened and thus becomes sleep-deprived, he won’t be pleasant company in the morning.
Another sigh. Tanner no longer is just my little boy. Tanner is now our boy.
It sounds foreign, yet I let the words our boy roll of my tongue a few times.
A different thought occurs to me. So far, Shawn hasn’t actually said why he’s back. I mean, he may just have come back to find some missing pieces of the puzzle called his life.
I may be jumping the gun to think that he wants to get back together with me. Reuniting with his ex-wife may be the farthest thing on his mind.
Am I his ex-wife? What
am I?
My thoughts drift again.
He asked me about James, but I certainly didn’t ask about his past.
Did I want to know? I don’t think so. No, I definitely don’t want to know—or do I?
I run my hands through my long hair and take deep breaths. It’s all so messed up. The whole thing is one big mess from beginning to end.
In a way, it was almost easier when he was missing in action.
Had I done wrong?
Of course, I have, my inner voice screams at me loud and clear. I should have never let James into my life the way I had. And I should have never accepted his marriage proposal.
If I had been strong, there would be one less problem to solve right now.
And what of the legality of all this, anyway?
I never did lodge the paper work to have Shawn declared dead. So technically, I guess I’m still married. Would that mean I actually can’t marry James and need to divorce Shawn first?
My head is aching, and I’m starting to feel nauseous.
Near my bedroom door, I hover.
Shall I go and speak to him? What will I say? ‘Please tell me more?’
It’s obvious he doesn’t remember more than what he had already told me.
But…what if he wants to have a shower?
Yes. I should go and give him a towel. It’s a perfectly good reason to knock on his door. To have a shower, he’ll need a towel.
Better I knock on his door now to give it to him than to have him knock on my door later when I’m in bed already.
With a slightly shaking hand, I pick up a dark blue bath sheet and tiptoe across the hallway.
I knock and open the door.
“I thought you might want to have a shower. You’ll need a …” The last words die on my lips.
Shawn is standing in the middle of the room with no clothes on at all.
To my horror, I feel an instant desire to go over and touch him, kiss him, and run my fingers over those scars.
There are several scars across his chest. I’ve not seen those before.
Prior to his tour of duty to Afghanistan, he had no scars. Now, he sports a few of them.
So, not only did he have mental scars, he also bore physical ones. Did they still hurt? They didn’t look red and angry.