Broken Road

by Mari Beck

  “Part of me is so angry at me, you know? Why did this surprise me? Why don’t I get it? He went over there and he fought and he saw other people get killed. What made me think that it couldn’t happen to him?”

  Mark said nothing.

  “I don’t want to go in there, Mark. I don’t. Please don’t make me.” She said and began to sob. He put his arms around her and she was sure he could feel her trembling.

  “I don’t want to either, Brenda, but the boys need to say goodbye to their dad and so do a lot of other good friends and family who loved him and cared about him.”

  “I don’t want to say goodbye, Mark. I’m not ready to let him go. I’m not.” She sobbed.

  “I don’t want to let him go either.” He said

  “Please, God. Please, make this go away.” She cried. Mark held her tighter.

  “I’ll help you, Brenda. I’ll be with you every step of the way, I promise. You just lean on me and we’ll go in there together. It’s not goodbye it doesn’t have to be like that. Let’s just go in and give thanks for Shane and the life he led, the person he was. We can do that, can’t we?” She was crying so hard that she couldn’t answer him.

  “Ok.” She nodded. Leaning on him she got to her feet slowly.

  “Are you sure?” He asked. She nodded again.

  “Do you have anymore tissues?” she asked wiping her eyes, “ I used all of mine up.”

  “Of course.” He said pulling another box out of a large desk drawer. He handed her a small pile of tissues. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

  “I’m not ready for this but I’ll go. Just don’t leave me, okay?”

  “Not a chance. I’ll be with you for the whole thing. You just hold onto me okay?” She nodded and felt another tear fall. She wiped it, stood up, smoothed down the folds of her dress and let him lead her toward the door. Mark looked at her and she felt the pain wash over her. She squeezed his hand tightly and he opened the door. When Brenda walked through the door and into the hallway her eyes scanned the crowd for her boys. As she took her first steps into the hallway outside Father Pat’s office she tried to focus only on Callan and Taylor but that became nearly impossible when out of the corner of her eye she spied the casket just a few feet away attended by the funeral director. There were many familiar faces among the stream of people going into the sanctuary including many of their friends and acquaintances from the base along with the soldiers,who were to serve as pall bearers,dressed in their formal uniforms all standing in a tight cluster and keeping to themselves in a corner of the room. Shane’s military escort was also there. But it was the moment she saw Jon Procter sitting not more than a few feet away that she thought she might truly pass out. Tightening her hold on Mark, she never made eye contact and looked straight ahead. As for anyone else sitting or standing nearby she avoided looking at them directly too. Dear God, if they only knew what she had done! What would they say? How could they ever understand? What would happen if Mark, her mother or God forbid, her boys ever learn the truth about Jon Procter and what had happened between them while their father was gone? She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to compose herself. It was difficult to catch her breath and she reached out for Mark. He steadied her.

  “Take it slowly.” He whispered. She took another step and then another. Soon she and Mark had made it over to one of the nearby couches located by a small room reserved for the family to the right of the sanctuary. There she found her boys. She sat next to Callan. He didn’t look up. He was staring down at his feet, fidgeting with the cord from his earbuds and clearly pretending that she wasn’t there. She couldn’t get over how much he resembled his father at that moment. He looked so grown up in his dark suit. She reached out and put one arm around him and held his hand with the other. He didn’t pull it away. She didn’t say anything to him and glanced around him to look at Taylor. He was snuggled up to his grandmother on the couch opposite them. Marlene had her arms around him and she was caressing his hair. Mark remained standing next to her, ready in case she needed him. Father Pat came out dressed in his robes. The procession was about to start. Mark placed a hand on her shoulder and she knew it was time to stand up. She gently nudged Callan, who barely looked up but stood up next to her. Marlene whispered something in Taylor’s ear and soon they were both standing. He held tightly onto her hand. He looked scared. Brenda’s heart felt like it was broken into a million pieces and each time she looked at her boys it felt as though the shards were stabbing her through and through. Soon enough Mark had managed to get them all lined up and before she knew it, the music had started and they were placing Shane’s casket at the head of the procession. The soldiers, faces somber, took their places behind Father Pat and the altar boys. She and Mark and then Marlene and the boys followed behind. Brenda could feel the stares and she avoided looking at anyone, focusing her eyes on the casket that went before them. It felt like a dream. No. It was nightmare. She was praying silently as she walked next to Mark, praying for a miracle. Let me wake up, Lord. Please. But nothing happened. They took their seats in the front pew and the service began. She went through the motions, said what she knew to say, kneeled, prayed and pretended that she knew what was happening. All the right songs were sung, including Shane’s favorite hymn “On Wings of Eagles” and then Father Pat said a few words before asking Mark to come up and address them. She found it difficult to concentrate on his words, even though she was certain they were heartfelt and wonderful. All she could do was stare at the casket, draped with its American flag, sitting next to a framed picture of Shane in his uniform. She couldn’t look away. She didn’t want to look away. Then it was all over and the procession started in reverse. She wasn’t sure at what point she realized that there were cameras, like the kind you would see at a news conference or a sporting event. It seemed strange. Then she let the thought pass. Everything else that followed came back to her in small chunks of memory. She vaguely remembered the ride to the cemetery, but did remember seeing people lining the sides of the street, holding signs and waving flags. Some people saluted the hearse as it went by and others yelled their words of sympathy as the cars went by. She was touched by their gesture but numbed by it too. When they arrived at the cemetery, she felt as though for a moment, she couldn’t breathe. The boys had been quiet the entire ride there and her mother didn’t make an effort to converse. Brenda was grateful for the silence, but she dreaded what she knew was coming. As they stepped out of the car, she could see the green tent in the distance and she had to stop the urge to scream when she saw it. She took hold of Callan and Taylor’s hands and walked forward. Mark was right behind her and her mother had hold of his arm. She knew that the hearse had arrived before them and she was sure that the funeral director had already instructed his staff to go ahead and set everything up. As they walked up the path, small droplets of rain began to fall. It wasn’t long before they reached the tent and she noticed that the military guard was already in place. They sat down in the chairs nearest the casket as all the mourners gathered round. Even though the burial was private, there were still more than a hundred people crowding around the small tent. She wondered if Jon was among them. Father Pat began the burial rites and again Brenda’s mind wandered but her eyes remained focused on the casket. Then the words were interrupted by the sound of a trumpet playing. It was the sad and forlorn sound of Taps. She thought she would faint and closed her eyes tightly. Soon after the trumpet stopped, she felt Mark nudge her and she focused on the uniformed soldier standing before her with a folded flag. He said words to her she couldn’t quite remember and then after another gentle nudge she stretched out her hands to receive the folded flag, clutching it to her chest. Then came the Honor Guard and the gun salute. Loud. Jarring. Painful. It felt as if each bullet had hit her in the chest. In the heart.Then she saw Mark place a hand on Callan’s shoulder and slowly her son stood up and reached for his little brother. Someone had given Taylor a red rose. Callan lifted Taylor up into his arms and he was carrying
him over to their father’s casket. Then, as if the pain of the whole ordeal hadn’t been torture enough, she watched as her small son, helped by his brother, leaned onto the top of the casket and placed a kiss on it and then left the rose on top of it. Did God not have a heart? Why was she forced to watch this heartbreaking moment? Callan put Taylor down and placed his own hand on the casket. He stared for a long, hard moment, tears glistening in his eyes and then taking Taylor’s hand walked back to their seats. Brenda remained in her chair. Were they expecting her to get up? Did they really think she was about to have the last intimate moment between herself and Shane in front of these people? No. She refused. As if sensing her refusal Mark merely placed a hand on her shoulder and she reached for his hand and held it. Father Pat closed the burial rites in prayers and then a line of people began to make their way toward the casket, flowers in hand. Some stopped by and offered words of sympathy to her, the boys, Mark and her mother. A few close friends offered hugs and promises to be there for them, to come by and check on them. Time passed quickly and soon it was all over. They would have to go on to the reception. It would be packed with well wishers, wondering where the grieving widow was no doubt. Let them wait. She stood near the casket but she wasn’t alone. Mark stood there too. He didn’t say anything to her and she didn’t offer any words in return. She stared at the casket. She was trying to picture Shane’s face, the face she had prepared herself to see lying in the casket, angelic and asleep. Instead she had to take Mr. Hanley’s word that closed casket was best. So who knew if Shane was in there or not? Maybe there had been a mistake, a horrible mistake. She’d fantasized about it many times since she had received the news. She had pictured standing in the church, at the funeral and just as Father Pat was about to give the final blessing, she pictured Shane, handsome in his uniform, a little ragged,limping,throwing open the doors, walking in and saying-wait, there’s been a mistake. I’m still here. She saw herself run to him, tears streaming down her face, running toward him and wrapping her arms around him, kissing him, asking his forgiveness. It was a mistake. I missed you. I was just lonely. But standing here now, she realized that the only mistake she had made was believing that she was worthy of a miracle like the one she had fantasized about. There was nothing here but the cold, ugly truth of her present reality. A sob escaped her and she covered her mouth with her hand in an effort to force it back in. Mark was there in an instant, his arms protective and strong. She closed her eyes and felt the hot sting of tears that would not be forced to stop. She let them come and felt the pain sweep over her again. It was deep, cavernous and gnawing. She placed her other hand over her heart as if to stop it from bursting out of her chest.

  “I can’t. . .”she murmured and grabbed onto his hand, squeezing it tightly. Mark said nothing. He let her cry, then after a moment she heard him say something, barely audible, in a whisper and she realized he was praying. She didn’t make an effort to hear exactly what he was saying. She didn’t care, but the sound of his voice, practiced and soothing seemed to help a little. Finally, she stepped forward and placed both hands on the casket. Then she pressed her cheek to the cold, dark wood. Her tears spilled onto its surface and ran down like raindrops on a windowsill.

  “Shane. . .”she whispered,“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She let the tears flow letting herself feel the emptiness and longing.

  “I’m not saying goodbye, okay? I can’t. I can’t do that. But I promise I’ll take care of the boys, just like we planned. I promise to do everything just like you said. I won’t forget. I promise.” She placed a kiss on the dark wood and then willed herself to step away. She took a long, last look and finally turned to Mark, who stood there with tears in his own eyes.

  “Okay. Let’s go.” She said and started to walk toward the path leading to the car. Mark nodded and took her arm. Each step she took away from the casket seemed eternal and utterly excruciating. As she followed Mark, she saw Jon Procter standing off to the side among a small group of mourners. Suddenly, he stepped out in front of the path and offered her his hand. It felt as though everyone were staring at them, as if everyone knew the truth. She could scarcely breathe.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” His voice was neutral. There didn’t seem to be a hint of warmth or recognition that was out of place for the situation. But when she looked into his eyes she thought she could discern the slightest flicker of something that caused her even more pain. Would she really pretend she didn’t know him? They locked eyes for a moment before she took his hand. The decision had been made.

  “Thank you.” She replied trying to keep any trace of familiarity out of it. He squeezed her hand ever so slightly before releasing it. Then he stepped back and watched her go. She could feel his eyes following her up the path and though her heart was screaming at her to turn around, she knew she could not bear to see the flag-draped casket sitting on one side of the path and Jon Procter standing on the other.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Affair

  She came to him because she could not risk him coming to the house again and after the scene at the cemetery, she couldn’t be sure that Jon wouldn’t make another attempt. So, she forced herself to dial his number. Please don’t answer. He answered on the first ring. He sounded relieved when she asked if they could meet and suggested an intimate setting so they could talk things over. She declined, choosing the most public place she could think of, his office on the base. He didn’t argue and she thanked him quickly, ending the call before he could say anything else. The best time to see Jon, she decided was a Monday afternoon in the middle of the day, while the boys were at school and her mother had to run out to do a few errands. She had taken an indefinite leave of absence from her job as the director of the assisted living community in town and rarely went out any more if she could avoid it. But the situation with Jon had to be taken care of as quickly as possible. When she arrived, his assistant told her she could take a seat inside his office and that he’d be back shortly, so she passed the time examining the frames on his wall containing his degrees and several commendations. As she paced the short length of the room, her eyes were drawn to the cluster of pictures of Jon and the units to which he had been assigned. Her heart skipped a beat the moment she saw Shane’s face looking out at her from among the group of soldiers in one of the pictures. Shane and Jon were standing only a few feet apart from each other, each man smiling at the camera but to her knowledge they had never really known each other that well. Shane didn’t believe in therapy or talking out problems with strangers especially strangers with letters behind their names. As far as she knew, Shane had only briefly spoken to Jon once after his first deployment from the base and that wasn’t by choice. His unit’s commanding officer had ordered everyone on the team to meet with Jon. There had been concern in the media and up the chain of command about soldier’s having ‘issues’ after returning from their deployments. It was ironic that she was drawn to Jon for the same reasons Shane seemed to be repulsed by him and others in his profession. She wished so many times she could understand it but after a while Brenda was convinced that even though Shane wasn’t talking to her about what happened to him or what he saw during his deployments, at least he wasn’t talking to anyone else. It had brought her a sad sort of comfort at the time. Now, it was a festering wound that was reopened every time she was with Jon. It hurt too much. She looked away from the pictures, studying the metal shelves that took up the opposite wall, full of books and binders of every color all neatly labeled. Apart from those there wasn’t much else to look at but a tidy desk, his own chair, one for visitors and a large metal filing cabinet standing in the corner. There was a larger conference room that he used for consultations and counseling just a few doors down the hallway. She remembered it from her own family’s visits when Shane was first assigned to the base and they came in for the meetings that were meant to prepare them for the upcoming deployments. It was during these meetings that she found reassurance, comfort and friendship with the other f
amilies facing the same uncertainty. Jon, of course, had played an important part in making the kids feel at ease in the group. His easy going manner and tendency to participate and laugh at their silliness not only gave him a youthful air but it also cemented their trust in him. It was his willingness to stand in as a protective older brother, rather than a substitute father to the kids in the group that made the difference, especially when the group suffered its first casualties. He didn’t talk down to the kids or fill the painful silence with useless words of comfort after the family first received the news but rather sat with them, or simply sipped a cup of coffee and kept them company in the terrible hours that followed. Once, she saw him shooting baskets with the son of a staff sergeant, who had been killed shortly after deployment and couldn’t help but watch as he stood on the court with the boy, dressed in his full uniform, shooting and handing him balls but never bringing attention to the tears streaming down the child’s face. At first, she had few encounters with him outside of the monthly get-togethers held for the families by the FRG volunteers but after Shane sent an email that alluded to a close call he’d experienced and how it had left him shaken, she panicked and sought Jon out on the recommendation of another of the unit wives. Shane could never tell her where he was or what he was doing and while she thought she had accepted it, this last message had left her scared for him and for their family. She wanted answers so she went to the base and burst into his office crying and hysterical with his assistant right on her heels demanding she stop or be escorted out. Instead of turning her away or calling for security he led her by the hand to a chair, asked her to sit and offered her a tissue from the nearby box on his desk. Then, without saying a word, he pulled up an adjacent chair and waited for her to compose herself long enough to speak and that’s what she did. She talked and he listened. She felt better and thought it would be a one-time thing, instead it had become so much more. How could this have happened? It was a question they had both asked themselves over the past year of their involvement, but regardless of the answers they came to, that it just happened, that she was just lonely, that he loved her. There never seemed to be a clear answer. Even the fact that he would forfeit his career, be forced to take a dishonorable discharge and that she was risking her marriage and her family, couldn’t make them walk away. Now here she was, forced to consider that what she had done might have gotten her husband killed. Did he know? Did he volunteer for that mission? She would never know. She had to know! There would be no opportunity to talk it out, to say I’m sorry or to ask for forgiveness. The only thing she could do was make sure that she ended it. She hoped she had the courage to do it.