SEAL’s Fake Marriage

by Ivy Jordan

  “Thanks,” I offered. “I like doing what I do now, though. I help people, or, I try to. I feel like I am. That’s what I want to do first: help people. If they need medication after that, then I’ll prescribe it, but it’s a last resort for me.” Some people who had life-threatening disorders needed medication without much question, but most people could get away with lifestyle changes and someone to talk to.

  “Oh, you know, I think Stacy could really use someone like that,” Janet spoke and then tilted her head down, as if ashamed that she’d even brought her daughter up. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have a daughter and have what had happened, happen.

  I didn’t say anything, unsure of what exactly to say that wouldn’t be out of line or inappropriate. I wished I had made that cup of tea so I could sip. Anything to divert my attention from the awkwardness that hung in the air—or rather, that had been hanging in the air for ages whenever the name ‘Stacy’ came up.

  “She won’t, um, she won’t, though,” Janet clarified. I knew that she was doing it as a reassurance. I wouldn’t have to deal with Stacy and her set of issues. Janet wouldn’t have to face me knowing that I knew the extent of the problem. I liked to help people, though, and Stacy could be reconciled with in my opinion. Still, she didn’t say why she definitively stated that Stacy wouldn’t be getting help. I knew better than to pry.

  “Do you have any plans for this weekend?” I asked instead, hoping to change the topic.

  The effect was immediate. Janet’s face lit up like she was relieved at the change of pace. “Oh, yes! Actually, tomorrow, Saturday, we were thinking about having a little welcome home party for Sawyer. It’s kind of a surprise. We know he’s coming, but I don’t think he knows there’s going to be a party. Just a little thing in the backyard.”

  I raised my eyebrows a little. “You’re not upset with him?”

  “Upset?” Janet shook her head. “Maybe we were once. For a little bit there we were angry with everybody. Stacy, Sawyer… after everything that happened, it seemed everyone was a little bit to blame. But Sawyer got his head on straight. He joined the military and served well. From what I can tell, he’s back to being himself. Me and your uncle, we never could hate him. Especially not with his dad being the way he is…”

  I should have expected Janet to talk on and on. I loved her dearly, but she wasn’t the best possible person to have stop by my office before leaving work on a Friday. I wanted nothing more than to go home, although I was glad to hear that Sawyer was doing well. I’d only heard about him, bits and pieces from Janet and my Uncle Jesse. They spoke highly of him until shit had hit the fan with Stacy. But they stayed in touch with him and bragged about his accomplishments like they were their own. His dad, though, was a meaner person from what I understood.

  Part of me wanted to sit him down on the psychologist’s bench. There was always a part of me that wanted to do that with people I met. Now that I had the means to probe the inner workings of a person’s brain, I wanted to do it with everyone. Not everyone wanted to be psychoanalyzed. My best friend said so all the time. We’d have a conversation, and she’d proclaim, ‘Stop psychoanalyzing me!’

  “You can come if you want,” Janet said. I perked up, realizing that I’d tuned out of the conversation a little bit to drift into my own mind. It was something I tended to do: turn over the situation again and again. Sometimes I came to conclusions that made no sense because I decontextualized conversations from their happening.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose,” I said.

  “You wouldn’t be! It’s a family event; you’re family.” I got the feeling from her tone that Stacy wasn’t going to be there and Janet was once again reaching towards me to fill the role of ‘daughter.’ If she were my patient, I would have asked her about the implications of that.

  As it stood, I only nodded. “Yeah, sure. I have nothing to do tomorrow. How long do you think it’ll last?”

  “Not too long,” Janet said. “A few hours, probably. If you could bring a side or a dessert, that’d be lovely. Have you met Sawyer?”

  I twisted my mouth to the side in thought. I’d certainly heard of him. “I don’t know. Maybe in passing at some point, or on Stacy’s social media. Face doesn’t come to the name, though.”

  “Well, in any case, you can meet him tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see a friendly face after being gone so long. Can you believe it’s been six years?” Janet shook her head.

  “Yeah, that is a while.” When Sawyer had left, I was merely dreaming of becoming a psychologist. Or, at least, I’d only just signed up to take the classes required. Now I had a degree, a license, and a business. I wondered what had changed about him; I wouldn’t know, I supposed, since I didn’t know him very well to begin with.

  “Usually they come home on shore leave, and he stayed,” Janet mused. She shook her head. “Well, no matter. He’s coming home tomorrow, and that’s good enough for me.”

  “I’ll be there,” I assured her. With that, we said our goodbyes, and she made her way out of my office. I decided to stay a moment, not really ready to go back to the loudness of my house and face the rest of the evening.

  I didn’t know what to expect when I saw Sawyer. Now that I’d been thinking about it for a while, I could remember something. I silhouette, sort of, a muscly figure with dark hair and bright eyes. I could remember a smile. Mostly I associated him with Stacy, though I was certain that they’d broken up. How they hadn’t broken up before was beyond me. From what little I could glean of a memory from Sawyer—and I wasn’t honestly sure that I wasn’t imagining things because I didn’t remember—he didn’t seem the sort to get involved with the nonsense Stacy got herself involved with.

  So I couldn’t remember him, but I had the opportunity to get to know him better. I leaned back in my chair a bit and turned on the automatic tea kettle. I looked forward to the opportunity.

  Chapter Three

  SAWYER

  I drove up to the airport a good three hours before my flight. Despite my efforts, I couldn’t seem to pass out in my seat. It wasn’t a very long flight from where I was to Austin, and I probably could have driven it—in fact, part of me would have preferred that to leaving my truck in the parking garage at the airport. But my mother had bought the ticket before I really had much say in anything.

  When I got off the plane and made my way down to baggage claim, I could see her scarlet-red, roller-curled hair before I even saw her face. She’d come to pick me up; part of me had expected to get a taxi. I worried about whether she’d gone to any trouble. When she turned to face me, her face lit up into a smile. She looked a little older, she dyed her hair to keep out the gray, but the wrinkles around her mouth from years of smiling were more pronounced. Still, there was no denying the happiness in her eyes.

  “Sawyer! Oh, Sawyer, you’re home!” She threw her arms around me and pulled me down in a vicelike grip.

  “Hey, Mom. Hey.” I returned her hug and attempted to straighten myself, not wanting to make too big a scene at the airport. I’d missed her; at least a part of me had. The SEALs didn’t want me to miss anyone, let alone the comfort Mom brought; it was difficult for me to reconcile that with seeing her now.

  “Oh, my baby boy. Look at you; you’re so strong!” She squeezed my arm, and I couldn’t help but redden.

  “Mom,” I insisted, and I couldn’t help but notice how childish I sounded, protesting her affection in the airport. It made me grin to think after a few seconds we’d already devolved to the days that I told her to drop me off away from the school. Six years later, and she still didn’t seem to know how to separate me from being her little boy.

  “Did you have a good flight? Did you get any sleep?” she parroted motherly questions at me while we walked together to the car.

  I answered her patiently. Yes, I’d had a good flight, no, I hadn’t slept, but there wasn’t any need. Yes, I’d gotten all my things. No, I hadn’t eaten lunch. I supposed that a part of h
er wanted to keep asking questions so that she wouldn’t have to face any horrifying thing that I might say about my experience. Of course, I had no intention of burdening my mother with that sort of problem.

  It wasn’t until we got into the car that I posed the question: “Where’s Dad?”

  Mom’s smile faltered, fingers still around the key. I’d asked the forbidden question, the one that always hung in the air but dared not be spoken out loud. “He had to do some things at the house, honey,” she explained to me. She started to back out of her parking space. “Neighbors said they’d file a complaint if we didn’t trim up the tree in the backyard, so he’s doing that before they can get a word in with the committee.”

  Our neighborhood didn’t have a committee of that sort. I knew that she was lying; Dad had skipped out as he always did. I knew in my gut that he’d always be disappointed in me, but a part of me had hoped that after all of these years working and training and doing good by myself and the family, he’d be alright with me. No such luck.

  Still, I enjoyed the ride home. I was home, after all. I remembered my conversation with John and how unsure I’d been about where I was supposed to go. I forgot, sometimes, that I had a home here. Even if I’d made mistakes in the past, these people would still be here for me. Now at least I could relax, take a break, and maybe get a good sleep in a bed that didn’t smell like Febreze and shoeshine.

  When we reached the house, a strange feeling of déjà vu settled over me. I began to feel that there had never been any war, and I had never gone anywhere. I merely had a long, disturbing dream, and now I’d woken up again. The house remained unchanged, save for a few decorations swapped out for others. I walked up to the front door with my mother; my luggage could wait a little while.

  She stayed oddly quiet behind me, and I worried that something might be behind the door. When I opened the door, a cacophony of noise hit my ears.

  “Surprise!”

  All I registered was the sound. My hand began to reach for a gun that wasn’t there, and my eyes widened to find the enemy hiding behind the couch, or maybe curled up against the wall. The moment I registered Janet’s expression, Jesse’s face, I began to slack. I must not have reacted too violently because they all kept their smiles up.

  “Hey, Janet. It’s good to see you.” I returned the hug that she enveloped me in and turned to shake Jesse’s hand. “Jesse, it’s been too long.”

  “Entirely too long. You look like a house!” Jesse declared. His voice shook from age.

  “Oh, I haven’t changed much,” I assured him. That was a bald-faced lie, of course. I didn’t know who I’d been when I left. I knew who I was now, of course, and didn’t like him very much.

  “Did you make it home alright? Oh, goodness, it’s been ages!” Janet set a hand on her heart.

  “I did, it was an easy flight. It’s been a long time,” I confirmed. Most people went on shore leave; I’d chosen to stay overseas, where I was needed. A lot of people thought that my actions were hugely patriotic and selfless. It was guilt, in reality, that caused them: a guilt that I certainly couldn’t impart onto anyone here.

  It was only then that I noticed the living room and kitchen had been transformed into some kind of Party City spectacle. Shiny streamers hung from the ceiling fan and the kitchen counters, all in red white and blue. I saw confetti on the tables, and some food spread out, with plates made to look like the American flag.

  “It looks good in here,” I said. “You didn’t do all this just for me?” I didn’t want this party. I wanted to go to my room and take a nap and never to be bothered again. I wanted a drink, maybe, maybe some drugs, but definitely not to explain myself to person after person that I didn’t know anymore. Still, I couldn’t help but feel gratitude at the gesture, and I knew better than to be an ass.

  “Oh, of course! We’re just happy to have you back.” Another family friend whose name I honestly couldn’t remember appeared from the shadows and I shook his hand.

  It only took a few moments of shaking hands and pretending to be engaged to remember why I’d gone to the Navy in the first place. I’d forgotten how trapped I felt in Austin, and how little these people cared about me. They asked about my service, sure, and they would be sad if I’d died, but I knew that they wouldn’t have done the same if I’d been talking to them before my tours. I felt the overwhelming need to explain myself, and I hated that. I’d joined the Navy to get away from that.

  At some point, I stole away to the backyard to catch a breath. A cup of lemonade had found its way into my hand, and I took a sip. Good, sweet, home. Real home, not people that pretended to care because they felt bad about what I’d been through. I couldn’t stomach the artificial sympathy that came from these people. At the same time, I loved these people. The conflict burned in my stomach.

  I took a breath of the spring air. That was healing, at least.

  “Sawyer? Sawyer, you bastard, you slipped right by me!”

  I jerked my head towards the speaker. My old friend, Pete, stood by the door. He had a beer in his hand and that damn crooked smile across his face. He looked largely unchanged, with his squat nose and sweaty forehead fixed as features on his face seemingly forever. He pushed his cap down on his forehead and widened his grin.

  “Don’t tell me you forgot about me!”

  I shook my head. “I couldn’t forget you, Pete. No matter how hard I tried.” I clasped my friend’s shoulder, and he pulled me into a bit of a hug. He was the only person besides my mother I was genuinely happy on any level to see.

  “Jesus, it’s been years.”

  “Six of ‘em.” I sat down on a chair looking out at the small pool. I didn’t remember us having a pool, but I couldn’t fault my mother for having one installed. She was always buzzing with ideas for house renovations. “What the hell have you been up to, man?”

  “More of the same,” Pete admitted. He sat down, setting his cap on his knee and leaning back like he was surveying the land. “I got a few new rows of crops in the ground. Beets, mostly, but some corn, too. The bastards across the street won’t give up the next three acres I’d need to get some wheat in, but I’m working with what I got. Not turnin’ much of a profit, but I’m damn happy.”

  “I’m glad,” I said. We couldn’t all be happy sitting out in Central Texas and gardening for a living, but Pete was happy. He’d never wanted much for his own life. Some called him simple, and perhaps they were right about that, but I admired him for it. Instead of needing some grand schematic for his life, he was happy doing good, honest work. Part of me wished I could be the same way.

  “But come on, we’re not gonna talk about fuckin’ beets. What’d you get up to overseas?” Pete asked.

  I raised my eyebrows a little, wondering how exactly I was supposed to narrow that down. “Well… shit. A lot and then some.”

  “We’ll go out for drinks sometime,” Pete agreed. “I don’t mean to take up your time. There’s a whole party in there.”

  “Ah, I don’t care for… well, you know.” I shook my head. “I appreciate the party. But I didn’t want it. Honestly, between you and me, I’d do fine with a nap. Maybe any word from my father.”

  Pete laughed. “That’s the Sawyer I know. I’m telling you, you’d do great on the farm. You worried about Stacy? She’s not here, is she?”

  “No, no.” I shook my head. Even though I didn’t know for sure whether she was at the party, I got the feeling that she wasn’t. “I haven’t heard from her in years.”

  The door opened, and a few people came out, probably to sit by the pool. My mother sat at the edge and plunged her toes in the water, grinning at me with a wave. I waved back.

  “Probably for the best,” Pete said. “But we’ll talk about it later. Does that mean y’all broke up?”

  “Yeah,” I said. It was so long ago now that it felt like a waste of time even bringing it up. “I’m not torn up about it.”

  “Shouldn’t be,” Pete said, and took a swig of his bee
r. I wondered where he got it; Mom didn’t keep alcohol around the house. “Tell you somethin’, Gains.”

  “All ears.”

  “See that lady over there?” Pete gestured with his beer to a woman standing near a table, holding a glass of water in her hand. I’d never seen her before. “You know her?”

  “No,” I said. I would have remembered. I’d always had a thing for blondes, and this woman looked like the physical manifestation of what every soldier overseas dreamed to come home to. Long, blonde hair, a pristine figure, and I could see the blue in her eyes from across the yard—oh, I’d made eye contact.

  “Looks like she’s comin’ over, soldier,” Pete said, and he gave me a nudge.

  “Shit. Shit, Pete, don’t…” My friend had already up and left, which was probably for the best. From what I remembered of our partying together before I’d left, he was a horrible wingman.

  The woman began to walk over, and I stood up like it was disrespectful to sit in her presence. Oh, fuck.

  Chapter Four

  QUINN

  I realized when I stepped into the backyard that I’d seen Sawyer before. For the big ‘surprise’ I’d been in the bathroom and hadn’t gotten a chance at seeing the returning soldier. I mulled around getting snacks and a glass of water until finally someone suggested going outside, which, in the cramped room, sounded like a delightful idea. I’d started to wonder if Sawyer was really there at all until I saw him.

  A lot of girls from my high school used to fantasize about soldiers. The military was a big deal for people out of my town; I’d been raised in small city just outside of Austin where girls were expected to marry, and men were expected to leave their new wives for the war. JROTC was a big deal, and boys would line up on the days that the army recruited. Us girls used to dream about the perfect man, and ‘soldier’ always fell into that description.

  Despite my insistence that I was separate from them, better, more sophisticated—after all, I wanted to go to college—I had a soft spot for the look. When I met Sawyer’s gaze, that only bolstered in my mind. He had a dignified way of carrying himself, a uniform way of looking at things, and I couldn’t pretend not to appreciate his physique. Flawless, really; something I wouldn’t mind getting to know better.