The Life After War Collection

by Angela White

  Angie’s lower lip quivered and I braced for tears, but she didn’t shed one. I watched a V come on her chin, a mark of utter determination, and then the sadness was gone and she stared at me as if I was everything to her.

  I knew exactly how she felt.

  “Thanks for helping me.”

  “Won’t you be in trouble?”

  Angie shrugged. She didn’t say it was worth it to protect her mom from a second beating, but I knew. I gently reached out and held her hand. “Maybe it’ll get better.”

  She sighed unhappily. “There’s only darkness when I search.”

  Her fingers curled around mine and we stayed that way for a long time. My mind went over what Angie had done and already dragged me into, but I couldn’t find the fear with her skin against mine. It was as if I didn’t have any concerns at all. “Why is it like this?”

  She didn’t answer and I tried to be patient. “You know, don’t you?”

  Angie gave a single nod, but still didn’t speak.

  I let her off the hook for now. “Before I leave today, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  I slowly withdrew my hand from hers and instantly missed the contact. I knew she did too because her brows drew together in an effort that I assumed was her trying not to protest.

  It occurred to me right then that I was in over my head. If I was worried over her unhappiness already, I cared about her. I’d honestly never thought about a wife and children until she came into my life and I still hadn’t figured out how I would have her and be a Marine. For now, I was just Marc, walking through my life alone.

  She stared at my hair and face, not interrupting my thoughts, but she caught it all. How did it make her feel?

  “Scared for you,” she answered. “Be careful.”

  I knew that was sound advice. If my mother found out, we were doomed.

  “No one can know!” she insisted. “Georgie the most.”

  I understood. I’d once heard mother threaten to have Georgie locked up after he got into a fight. Georgie was the one who walked away. The other man was currently living in Florida, where he had to roll himself to church in his state-issued wheelchair. I still missed Uncle Ralph some days.

  “Am I bad?” I blurted. “Is that why I like you?”

  Angie reached out and placed her small hand over mine.

  “You’re all good.”

  I began to tell her that she didn’t know the secrets I was keeping, and felt my cheeks go red. She did know.

  “Some things,” Angie corrected. “I see what’s in front. I don’t snoop through the rest.”

  It was a relief to know and I pushed those thoughts from my mind. She was way too little for that stuff.

  Angie shoved away from me, glaring, and I didn’t know what I’d done wrong. She started tossing small rocks into the slowly greening canopy overtop us and I had to duck as leaves and sticks showered the area.

  “Hey!”

  She giggled and I joined her in the mirth, rubbing my shoulder. She had a good aim for not even trying.

  I jogged toward her, faking a roar, and her reaction stunned me.

  Angie cried out, backpedaling in terror.

  I froze. She was scared of me?

  Angie realized that I’d been playing and flushed, but I didn’t say anything yet. I couldn’t. I was too busy trying to recover. The thought of someone hitting this little girl, for any reason, made me furious.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I waved it off. “Don’t be. Let’s go swing, okay?”

  She stayed right behind me as I led the way through the field and to the top of the embankment. The tire on the rope was old and used. It had been there a long time, but neither of us hesitated to take turns swinging out over the thirty-foot drop.

  Angie squeals of delight filled the rest of the afternoon and we didn’t care when the bright sunlight faded. We worked on hand codes then. It wasn’t until she spotted the dusky shades of evening rolling over the sky that Angie became worried.

  “Should I drive you home?” I asked. Georgie might hear us now, but I didn’t want to leave her.

  “No, please.” Angie straightened her shorts and top, and then wiped the dust and weeds from her hair. She smoothed her wrinkles and tidied herself like an adult about to meet company, and I was struck again by the difference in her age and her mind. When she grew up, she would be…

  Angie looked over with glowing red orbs and I supplied the correct word with an uneasy feeling.

  Dangerous. Angie would be dangerous when she was older.

  “Will you still like me?” she asked quietly.

  “Of course,” I stated, positive that was true. “Friends stick by each other.”

  “Forever?” she asked, gazing up at me.

  “Yes,” I told her, smiling. “Forever, but not a minute longer.”

  She chuckled at my joke and came to my side with that V showing on her little chin again. She wanted something and she was determined to have it. What?

  “This.” Angie slid her arms around my waist and hugged me–quick and hard. “Thank you.”

  I hugged her back awkwardly, worried about being spotted now that all the kids were going home for the evening, but the feel of her holding me was too good to push her away.

  “That reminds me. You said you’d tell me before we left.”

  Angie turned toward the darkening path that would take her to the trailer park.

  “It’s like this because you’re mine,” she said in a hushed whisper, feet taking her away. “I asked for someone to love and fate sent you.”

  I couldn’t think of anything to say to that, not even a question. It was so sad, so pathetic, so utterly right, that I couldn’t fight it. Angie wanted me. Was there a better feeling in the world?

  I followed her most of the way to her home because I wanted to stare at her while I considered what she’d told me. As she climbed the small hill and dutifully trudged on, I realized she understood my life so completely because it was hers.

  Angie disappeared into her trailer without a wave, and I slowly went home, walking the bike to be quiet and to have more time to think. I considered the things we’d talked about and the way being around her made the rest of the world just disappear, but underneath, I was also making plans. My mother wouldn’t keep me away from Angie. I wouldn’t let her.

  Chapter Five

  Forever

  July to December

  Marc

  The 4th of July was a big deal for us. My mother insisted on having the entire town draped in red, white, and blue. From store curtains to painted awnings, Mary wanted the world to know our town was patriotic. I would have supported that fully if she hadn’t also used the holiday as an excuse to raise money for her private causes.

  In the summer of 1990, I decided I didn’t want to ride in the parade and wave at the town people who hated me because of my last name. As soon as mother was out of sight, I grabbed a few things and jogged to the cornfield. Most of the town kids had to participate in the festivities. Their parents owed mine money. Mary would make me pay later for skipping out, but it would be worth it to have the entire day with Angie. I was hoping her parents didn’t care about patriotic duty. I was almost certain that neither of them knew what it meant and I was counting on her being free.

  Angie was already at the cornfield, waiting for me with a powerful glow of happiness that said she didn’t want to be anywhere else. When she hugged me quickly and then retreated, I felt like the world was right. This was what I wanted, what I needed.

  Catching my thought, she smiled again, bright enough to make the summer sun fade and my heart thump in a rhythm that I suspected no one else would ever cause. I still didn’t know why we were such fast friends or had this bond, but I no longer questioned my need for it.

  “I brought something,” I told her, digging in my bag. “I swiped some sweets and a decoration.”

  Angie took the shiny flag with another smile, but this one hurt. In it was
an almost fanatical glint that I knew might be a problem when she was older. We had skinheads and rednecks here, along with Christians, Indians, and a few remaining gypsies, but there were also the people who only came to town for their basic supplies. They lived off the land and left the town to its own devices. I respected those hard men and women, but I didn’t want Angie to become like them. All they ever talked about was their guns and their god.

  “I just love America,” Angie informed me, twirling the flag. “And it’s pretty!”

  I chuckled at her innocence, but she didn’t. I wondered how old she was now, mentally.

  “The witch says I don’t need to be measured by years,” Angie stated, moving toward our place in the corn. “Come on. Let’s plant our flag.”

  “Plant? A flag?”

  Angie laughed and I followed the sound, sweating. It would be hot today.

  “The farmer’s plow will tear it up if you put it in here,” I stated as I joined her in the field.

  “Can we get one that it won’t?” Angie asked. “I like having our own flag.”

  “Me too. It’s not a clubhouse without a flag.”

  She waited patiently with those beautiful eyes and I had to say, “We’ll figure something out for next year.”

  Happy with that, Angie ‘planted’ the flag between the rows. It would be harvested with the corn, but I didn’t tell her that. It was too much fun watching her dig. She used the animal method, sending wild sprays of dirt sailing through the air.

  After she was satisfied the flag would stay up, we went to the creek. It was nice here–cooler–and we lingered, wading in the ankle deep water that ran clear and was sweet to drink. This was where all the kids came during the hot weather. Many of their parents were like Angie’s and the neighborhood was always running with dirty, hungry, thirsty children searching for something fun to do. Most of the time, they found it here. Today, they were in town and we had it all to ourselves.

  “Hey!”

  I swiveled to catch a splash in the face and a war immediately broke out that left us both drenched. As we played, I was careful not to splash too hard. I would do the same with any snowball fights we had. She was so small! She needed to be protected and I couldn’t understand how she or anyone else could come to any other conclusion.

  “Wanna go get an ice cream?” I asked, trying to avoid thinking about our family.

  Angie’s good mood vanished. “No thanks.”

  I knew what the problem was, but I had it covered. “Come on.”

  Angie followed slowly, pulling at her shorts and top until she appeared to have dried. I had no idea how she could do that, but it was great. We now appeared as if we’d been in different places, doing different things. Perfect.

  Angie blushed under my mental awe. She was so cute. It was hard to imagine a time when I wouldn’t be happy with her.

  The ice cream truck came around almost daily during the warm weather and sometimes even into fall if nature was slow sending the chill. The loud music was audible from the other end of the park and it brought kids running from all the streets.

  Angie stayed hidden as I strode forward and took a place in the line. I wished I’d asked her what she liked. Hoping it was right, I chose two Strawberry Crunches and vanished into the trees that lined the road toward my home.

  I quickly circled back and found her waiting for me nearby. Angie took the treat with a red face that I assumed was embarrassment at not having her own money yet. I thought about telling her that would get better when she was older, but her sigh caught my attention.

  “Is it wrong?” I asked, disappointed I’d chosen the wrong flavor.

  “No. I’ve never had one,” she confessed. “Thank you.”

  She tore off the wrapper and bit into it without hesitation, face lighting up at the sweet taste.

  “Vis is goov!” she said around the bite, making me chuckle again.

  We strolled back toward the creek, enjoying the ice cream and company. What we didn’t do, was keep an eye out for anyone who might be spying on us. No one was, as far as I knew, but deep down, I was aware that I would have to be more careful during my visits. If my parent found out, life might end for us both.

  “Are you starting Jr. High in August?” she asked, trying not to drip down her blue dress.

  “Yeah. My brother will be in 10th.”

  “You looking forward to it or scared?”

  As soon as she said scared, my shoulders stiffened. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “I am,” she whispered, sounding her age.

  “You’re a girl,” I reminded her, squeezing water from my t-shirt.

  “So? Girls can be brave.”

  “But they don’t have to. That’s what men do.”

  “I guess.”

  I studied her, attempting to be serious. “Do you want to be a hero? When you grow up?”

  Angie shook her head, ebony curls swaying. “No. I just want to be able to fight.”

  I didn’t ask her why. We all had bullies.

  “The other girls don’t like me,” she whispered, ice cream dripping, forgotten, over her hand. “It’s the way I look.”

  As soon as she said it, I understood. The other girls knew Angie was prettier and they suspected that when she was older, she would outshine them by miles.

  “I don’t want to,” she complained miserably. “I just want to be normal.”

  Again, I understood. To ease her mind and distract her, I said, “I’ll bet the boys like you, right?”

  She frowned darkly. “Yes.”

  Her tone suggested she’d had a problem and I felt the anger rise. My rage was a side of me that I didn’t like. I was old enough to know it was from the bitterness over my life, but I was careful to control it. Usually I had to be repeatedly provoked and even then, I only let the steam vent in small bursts. Now, I could kill without blinking at the thought of her having trouble with a boy.

  “Yuck!” Angie slung the melted cream from her hand, along with the spider that had come down from the branch over us.

  She stepped on it angrily for ruining her treat. When she washed off in the creek, bent over instead of kneeling down, I automatically turned my back. Where Angie was concerned, I knew I could be dangerous, but I wasn’t around enough to protect her. I needed someone we could trust.

  “No.”

  I didn’t argue with her denial of my decision to find her a friend for when I was away. It made me feel good to know that she didn’t want a substitute.

  “Do you smell smoke?”

  I sniffed the air. “Smells like wood burning.”

  We scanned the sky and found a black geyser rising over the town. That much smoke meant a fire.

  The town siren began to wail as we stood there trying to decide what to do. As it blared from speakers all over the neighborhood, we took off running. That alarm was a call for people to come and help. We were used to it happening about once a year. Last time, the clothing shop had been totally gone, with not even a frame left. The shop owner had been killed trying to save the register that had held her monthly balance. Brea hadn’t trusted the bank or Mary Brady to hold her cash. She thought her dog was enough, but the Doberman had run off during the fire.

  People flooded toward town, and Angie and I split up to keep our cover. Picking different paths, we rushed toward the town well, where people were lining up to pass buckets. Our town hadn’t acquired a firetruck yet. The small ambulance that had been purchased with town funds a few years ago glinted condescendingly from the corner by the clinic as the café burned.

  The café was directly across from the restaurant Georgie owned. It was already without glass, tiny shards scattered all over the sidewalk and road. Flames shot from the roof and out of the two front windows, keeping anyone from going inside. If the owners or any customers were still in there, it would be bad news for them.

  I got into the line to pass the buckets now coming down the row, scanning the growing crowd for my mother. Whenev
er there was a crisis, she usually showed up to organize and direct help. As I had the thought, I spotted her car flying through dimming day to stop by the line of vehicles that were being moved off the street and away from the fire.

  The café suddenly let out a horrible popping noise, making some residents duck as if they were under attack. Fresh flames shot out of the cellar door, spitting heat and fear onto those trying to reach the structure with dripping buckets. The people pushed forward anyway, tossing water that was clearly not going to help, but we kept trying, as we would have wanted our neighbors to do for us.

  Two hours later, the fire was down to a smoldering, resentful pile of what had once been a lively shop. Groups of people stood around, muttering and murmuring, sitting in depressed silence on the curbs and car hoods. The owners still hadn’t been spotted and everyone was assuming they had perished inside. A few of the more grisly people were even claiming they could smell burning flesh.

  The town holiday celebrations had been cancelled out of respect, but with main street clogged and debris covered, and the entire area now dusted in ash, we wouldn’t have had a place to hold the ceremony and parade anyway. At a loss as to what to do with themselves, most people stayed to witness the bodies being brought out. My sister, with her bruised arms and her tattooed husband, lingered with them, but I didn’t. I also didn’t join my brothers near the door to Georgie’s restaurant, where there was free beer for those who had helped.

  My mother was busy collecting names to find out who all might have been inside. She’d been pleased that I was already on the water line when she arrived and she wouldn’t care where I was now, so long as it didn’t embarrass her or distract her from the attention that she craved. I had no intentions of it. I hadn’t seen Angie since I’d gotten in the bucket line and it had finally occurred to me that she wasn’t big enough to be able to help that way. I’d searched, but hadn’t spotted her in the milling crowd that had slowly grown to over three hundred. Five times as many people would be celebrating their holiday at home and I was certain that there would be fireworks tonight from those who didn’t know there had been a fire.