But it was all a lie. There’d been no enemy. There’d only been the absurdity of a self-absorbed man trying to woo a woman.
On the radio, the men chuckled, causing the woman to condemn their reaction. “A young soldier died, and the two of you are laughing like it’s a big joke.”
“You’re right,” the man with the deep voice conceded. “It’s just so unthinkable Williams got away with it.”
“Well,” the other man said, “had Lyla spoken up, he wouldn’t have.”
The female commentator came to Lyla’s defense. “Lyla corroborating Williams’s story is understandable when you consider her age at the time and the fact she’d just witnessed the horrendous death of a young soldier. She was probably in shock.”
My gut wrenched as I imagined what this news would do to Jillian and her family. What it would do to Anna and Travis.
Jillian’s father, of course, already knew. Years ago, Walter had discovered the inconsistencies in the official report. He’d asked me about it, and when I told him Lyla confirmed what I’d suspected, he’d wept.
And then he’d asked me to let the whole thing go. He’d told me pursuing justice was too painful. There was no evidence to convict Williams without Lyla’s testimony, so Walter just wanted to protect Anna, his wife, and the rest of his family from more pain.
I’d done what Walter asked, but it’d only increased my own pain. Feeling helpless, my drinking spiraled out of control and the distance between Jillian and I grew.
Now in my truck, I picked up the phone to call Jillian. I didn’t know what I would say, but I needed to hear her voice. Needed to comfort her. She didn’t answer, and as I dialed again, a neon sign down the street caught my eye.
I turned on my windshield wipers and realized I’d parked near the Alamo Bar, a place I used to frequent regularly. I thought of all the nights I’d come here when life had grown too intense. When I’d chosen to escape my demons instead of confront them.
I looked down at the map on my phone. My meeting was just a block away, but I’d have to pass the bar in order to reach it.
Or, I could forget about the meeting and abandon my vow to stay sober.
The neon light blinked again, beckoning me like a Siren’s call. I pushed open the truck door and stepped into the pouring rain. I had a choice to make, and at that moment, I honestly didn’t know what I would do.
Chapter 40
Jillian
Hot tears burned my eyes as I sat in front of my parents’ TV, trying to comprehend the news that Marcus had been shot by friendly fire. Anna was on the couch with Nick, quietly crying in his arms. They’d come to the house with their kids shortly after the news broke.
Reporters were parked outside the gate to the ranch, but nobody in my family was ready to speak to them.
“Ever since Marcus’s death,” Bianca began, “I imagined him sacrificing himself in order to save Lyla and Williams. I can’t believe that’s not true.”
Vicki shook her head. “I can’t either.”
Marcus’s military picture filled the screen again, and I swallowed back my pain. Seeing him so young and alive rekindled the hopelessness I’d felt after his death. My brother had joined the army to serve his country, not to die a pointless death because of some egotistical maniac showing off to his mistress.
I was grateful Anna and Nick’s kids had gone upstairs to play ping pong with my boys. I wouldn’t have wanted them to listen as political commentators on television tossed around words like misuse of power, military cover-up, and political agenda. Although the reporters agreed Williams’s actions had been misguided, some actually continued their support of him while others called for justice.
Fresh tears filled Anna’s eyes. “It shouldn’t matter, but finding out the truth all these years later is devastating.”
“Of course it is.” Nick rubbed her back. “But you have to remember how he died didn’t make him any less of a hero.”
She gave a brave smile and wiped her eyes. “Thank you for saying that.”
“It’s the truth,” Nick said.
Bianca looked at me. “Do you think Keith knew about this? You always thought he was hiding something.”
I nodded just as my phone rang with another call from Keith. He’d phoned about an hour ago when the news first broke, but I’d been too mad to answer.
“You should talk to him,” my father said.
I pressed decline. “He lied to me, Dad. He lied to all of us. He knew about Marcus, but he didn’t tell me even after I begged him to. Why would he keep something like this from me?”
My mom choked on a sob, and my dad slipped an arm over her shoulders. To my surprise, she pushed him away. “No, Walter. You need to tell them.”
“Tell us what?” An uneasy feeling settled in my stomach.
My father looked at me but said nothing.
“Tell us what?” Bianca demanded.
Dad directed his gaze at Anna, then at my sisters, and finally at me. “Okay.” He scooted to the edge of the loveseat. “Okay. After Marcus died, I read the official report. I knew something wasn’t right. To make a long story short, I became obsessed trying to figure out what exactly happened. I talked to Keith and he expressed his own suspicions.
“Then, on the night you were in the hospital, Lyla confided in Keith that Marcus had been accidentally killed by an American unit who was responding to the sounds of gunshots from Williams. I thought, okay, we’ve got it. Lyla can testify to what actually happened.”
“But she wouldn’t,” Bianca said.
“That’s right.” My father glanced at my mom. “At that point, I realized how much my quest for justice in Marcus’s death was hurting your mother. So, I stopped. I let it all go, and I asked Keith to do the same. At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing, protecting all of you from more pain. Marcus was gone and we’d just lost the baby. Nothing was going to change that.”
My mother clenched her fists. “I wanted you to stop your investigation because it seemed pointless. You should’ve told me when Keith confirmed your suspicions. You had no right to hide that from me.”
“I was trying to protect you,” my dad repeated.
Mom shook her head. “We’re strong women, Walter. Every one of us.” She looked around the room at Anna, Bianca, Vicki, and me. “We could’ve handled knowing.”
My dad nodded in agreement. “You’re right.”
Although he didn’t cry, my father’s bottom lip trembled, and it was more than I could handle. I came to my feet, crossed the room, and hugged him. “It’s okay, Dad.”
He held me tight for a long time, then I felt my mom’s hand on my shoulder. I turned to hug her, and the three of us embraced. When we parted, my father apologized to Anna, but she shook her head insisting there was nothing to be sorry about.
“I was a mess after Marcus died,” she said. “I couldn’t go to work, let alone imagine a life without him. You did what you thought was right. I just feel horrible what this did to Keith. He’s lived with the guilt for so long. No wonder he changed. I always thought it was guilt from not being able to protect Marcus, but it was more than that. He was caught between keeping the secret and telling the truth.”
My father pressed a hand to his head. “I never should’ve asked for Keith’s silence.”
My mom reached out and squeezed my father’s hand.
Part of me wanted to protest that Keith could’ve defied my dad’s wishes, but I knew that wasn’t fair. Keith loved my dad and looked to him as a father figure.
Plus, my depression and anger hadn’t really given Keith any other choice but to keep the silence. Like my father, I’d been part of the problem, too.
The question now was what was I going to do about it?
Chapter 41
Keith
I managed to trudge through the rain, past the bar without entering. When I reached the meeting, however, there was a note on the door saying AA would be starting an hour late due to inclement weather. I r
an back down the sidewalk, past the bar, to my truck.
For the next hour, I vacillated between wanting to talk to Jillian, wanting to go to the bar, wanting to drive home, and wanting the hour to pass so I could attend my meeting. During this time, the rain continued to beat down on my truck, holding me captive from making a decision.
“You have to be strong for your family,” I told myself. “Even if you can’t be strong for yourself, you have to be strong for Matt, Drew, and Jillian.”
There was a saying I’d learned in rehab, “You don’t have to be strong all the time, just when you’re tempted.” Stay strong until the desire passes, then you can relax.
But I didn’t want to be strong. I wanted a drink.
I can’t do this on my own. Save me from myself. From my destructive desires. Take away my need for alcohol. Show me the light, Lord. Please.
One of the guys at AA said when tempted, he always fast-forwarded his thoughts to two hours in the future. How he would feel if he actually succumbed to temptation?
Weak, horrible, a complete failure. That’s how I’d feel if I went into the bar. In the end, drinking wouldn’t change anything.
Yet, I wanted a drink. Would there ever come a time when I wouldn’t want a drink?
“No,” I said aloud. “You’re always going to want a drink. Just accept it and move on!”
Finally, the hour passed and the rain lifted. I stepped out of my truck and walked past the bar, back to the meeting. Stopping this habit of turning to alcohol when things grew bad wasn’t easy, but I was determined to succeed this time.
The meeting began as usual with the secretary—someone I was very familiar with—introducing herself. “Hello, everyone. This is the regular meeting of the Fort Xavier group of Alcoholics Anonymous. My name is Sonya Tuskaloski, and I’m an alcoholic.”
When I first woke up in the hospital all those weeks ago, I never imagined the redheaded nurse with the thick Slavic accent would eventually play a role in my journey to sobriety. At that time, I hadn’t even realized I was an alcoholic.
Sonya led us in the recitation of the serenity prayer.
God, Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
and Wisdom to know the difference.
Next, she explained AA’s mission statement and how the only requirement for membership was a desire to stop drinking.
As she read the lesson from the AA Big Book, the back door opened, causing a stream of sunshine to seep into our dark gathering. Instead of turning around to check on the latecomer, I kept my focus forward, knowing today I would share my story.
During the discussion portion of our meeting, I raised my hand and Sonya called on me.
“Hi. My name is Keith, and I’m an alcoholic.”
“Hi, Keith,” the group said.
I smirked, still incredulous that the well-known greeting wasn’t something just said on TV. People actually said that in real life.
“I’m struggling today,” I began. “I thought my struggle was over, but it’s back, greater than ever.”
Sonya gave me an encouraging nod, and I told the group about parking in front of the Alamo Bar and wanting to go inside. “But I’m here, and I know that counts for something.”
They responded with nods and murmurs, and I told them about my marriage. “I fell in love with my wife at first sight when we were in college. She was walking across the quad, and I could only see the back of her, but the back of her was good enough for me.”
They laughed and I waited for it to grow quiet before continuing. “When I caught up with her, she turned around and smiled at me. That’s when I knew I’d love her forever.”
There were some knowing smiles, and one woman wiped her eyes as though already anticipating my sad ending.
“My wife used to write me letters whenever I was gone. She’d tell me how much she loved me. How she believed in me. Those letters made me feel invincible, and I honestly thought nothing could tear us apart.”
I told the group about Iraq, Marcus, and the death of our baby girl. I explained how my guilt led to my drinking and emotional withdrawal from Jillian. Exposing myself like that wasn’t easy, but rehab and Dr. Jacobs had taught me the importance of sharing my wounds with an understanding group. Not to mention the verbiage used when talking about recovery.
I went on to explain how my amnesia led me back to my family. “Nothing like getting shot to put things into perspective,” I said with a sarcastic grin. “It’s been a fight every day. Praying, going to rehab, and finding AA has helped, but it’s tough, you know?”
People nodded, and I looked down at my hands. “I used to think admitting you needed help was a sign of weakness. I’m here to tell you that asking for help is the most difficult thing you can do, but it’s the only way you can heal. The struggle is too hard to accomplish on your own. You need God, your family, and people who can understand what you’re going through. So, thank you for being that group for me today.”
The audience applauded and Sonya gave me a curt, approving nod. A familiar voice from the back of the room spoke. “This is my first time here, and I was just wondering if I could ask a question.”
I came to my feet and spun around as Jillian walked toward me. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nodded.
“Well, my question is . . . what are you going to do about your wife?”
The air around me grew still, and my heart gave a loud thump. “I’m going to tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I love her and—”
“I love you, too.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I love you, Keith, and I’m sorry I pushed you away. If you can forgive me, I—”
Instead of letting her finish, I closed the distance between us and engulfed her in my arms. I held her tight, barely able to control the overwhelming emotions washing through me. She loved me! She loved me! My wife, Jillian, still loved me!
Everyone around us clapped as though we were the stars of a sappy romance movie, but I didn’t care. With Jillian in my arms, nothing else mattered. Lowering my head, I pressed my mouth to hers and kissed her. More applause and whistles came from the crowd.
“Yes, well done,” Sonya said, wiping away a tear.
Jillian and I smiled at each other, then I took my wife by the hand and led her outside into the sunshine.
Chapter 42
Lyla
Several months later
Lyla carried the last box from the moving van into her new apartment. Collapsing onto the couch, she propped her feet on the coffee table and leaned against the cushions. “That should be the last of it. I’m officially moved. Now the fun part begins.”
Justine wiped her brow and joined Lyla on the couch. “Do you want to start on the kitchen? I could help you unpack your dishes?”
“Thank you, but you’ve helped me enough already. Besides, I think your husband and baby are ready to go home.”
Madison’s cries grew louder as her father carried her into the apartment. “What makes you think that?” Justine asked, with a sarcastic smile.
Caleb motioned to his screaming daughter. “Someone’s tired and hungry. Are you ready to go home, honey?”
“Sure.”
Both women stood and hugged good-bye. Lyla thanked Caleb and Justine for coming, but Justine waved a dismissive hand through the air. “That’s what neighbors do—even neighbors who live across town from each other.”
Lyla gave a bittersweet smile. She would miss living downtown and being neighbors with Justine, but the generous offer she’d received on her house had given her the opportunity for a fresh start.
After Justine and Caleb left, Lyla looked around the humble apartment filled with boxes and the few pieces of furniture she hadn’t sold with the house. Leaving her beautiful home had been difficult, but not nearly as difficult as answering Avery’s questions about Ronnie.
In exchange for immunity, Lyla had cooperated with the prosecutor on Ronnie’s case. To everyone’s su
rprise, the governor had chosen not to fight the charges against him. Instead, he’d withdrawn from the election, pleaded guilty, and was currently serving a three-year sentence in a military prison.
“Daddy made a really bad mistake, so going to jail is the right thing to do,” he’d written in one of his weekly letters to Avery. Lyla allowed him to write to their daughter for the same reason she and Avery made the long trip to the prison once a month.
Redemption.
Her desire for Ronnie no longer existed, but Avery loved him. Lyla had grown up without a father, and she wasn’t going to deny her daughter that relationship. Besides, one day Ronnie would get out of jail. Wouldn’t it benefit society if he had an incentive to do the right thing because of his daughter?
Despite all this, Justine insisted Lyla was too forgiving and should just let Ronnie rot in jail. While Lyla appreciated Justine’s unwavering support, she disagreed with her friend.
People weren’t all evil or all good. Lyla, after all, had been involved with a married man for years. Did that make her evil? She didn’t believe so.
In college, she’d written a report on Martin Luther King, Jr. who’d once said, “There is some good in the worst of us and some evil in the best of us. When we discover this, we are less prone to hate our enemies.”
Lyla tried to remember this whenever she thought of the former first lady who was serving a ten-year sentence for unrelated money laundering and extortion charges. While investigating Ronnie’s case, the first lady’s issues had come to light. Apparently, she’d been using her power for illegal personal gain.
Avery still kept the whelk shell Mrs. Williams had entrusted to her. Lyla wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that. She certainly didn’t want to encourage Avery to despise the woman who’d threatened to fight Lyla for custody, yet, locating the shell in all these boxes might prove impossible.
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