Loving You Is Easy

by Wendy S. Marcus

She turned to see him limping in her direction.

  “I walked in and saw your hand pinned under Jillian’s shirt and my thoughts got all scrambled. You didn’t see the panicked expression on her face. I know now it was because she was scared of Charlotte finding out what’d happened at school. But at the time I thought…” He wiped a hand down his face and shook his head. “I love that kid. I reacted on emotion without taking the time to rationally think things through. Same as when Ma first mentioned you might be pregnant. I didn’t like the idea of you being pregnant with another man’s baby at all.”

  He reached out and set his palm on her right cheek, his big hand warm, his touch gentle as he stared into her eyes with a depth of feeling that touched her soul. This was the Shane she knew from his letters, the one she’d dreamed about.

  “I don’t believe you would ever mistreat a child in any way,” he said with an intense sincerity. “I don’t believe you’re the type of woman to be unfaithful. From the bottom of my heart I’m sorry for considering either possibility, even for a few seconds. It will never happen again. I promise.”

  She appreciated his words. “Thank you.” But they didn’t chase away the hurt, or soothe the raw, empty place inside where she’d held him dear for so long. In real life, her perfect boyfriend wasn’t so perfect after all. She turned back to the stairs.

  “At least finish your pie,” he said.

  She climbed the first step. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  “Thank you for not leaving,” he said quietly.

  “I didn’t stay for you.” She told him the truth then continued up to her room.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I didn’t stay for you.

  Shane awoke to the same words that’d been swirling around his mind before he’d fallen asleep sometime close to sunup. He should be pleased with himself, having inadvertently driven a wedge between them. For sure Brooke wasn’t thinking of him as her military boyfriend anymore. Problem solved.

  Except for some reason his morning aches and pains seemed more widespread this morning, deeper and more debilitating, the urge to stay in bed and never get out more profound.

  He opened his eye, fighting the initial panic of waking up to an unidentifiable blurred reality as he patted around the night table beside his bed until he found his eye patch and glasses.

  His vision functionally restored, he rolled onto his side, which is when he noticed someone had closed his door.

  Shit. He pushed up to a sitting position, groaning like an old man, feeling like an old man.

  He’d remained awake in his room next to Brooke’s, hour after hour, in the dark, listening and waiting, sure she’d try to sneak out. Maybe she had. He grabbed a pair of navy blue sweatpants from the foot of his bed, worked them over his feet up to his knees, got his cane from where it hung on his headboard, and stood.

  Fuck, his leg hurt.

  But no time for his usual stretches.

  He had to know.

  Pulling his pants up over his boxers with one hand, he walked to the dresser, yanked out the middle drawer, picked out a white tee and put it on, dislodging his glasses in his haste. Damn pain-in-the-ass things. He fought the initial urge to fling them across the room…since he couldn’t see without them.

  In the hallway the scent of coffee greeted him, making his mouth water. Even that didn’t lift his mood. He listened for Ma chatting with Brooke downstairs. All he heard was the blasted ringing in his ears. He popped his head into Brooke’s room to find the bed neatly made, her laptop no longer on Lucy’s desk, and the garbage bags that’d contained her clothes gone.

  He didn’t remember taking the stairs yet he somehow wound up in the kitchen. “Where is she?”

  Ma stopped washing the dishes. “Well, look at you. Downstairs in the morning before the clock’s reached double digits.”

  “Where is she?” he asked again, in no mood to play games.

  Ma removed her rubber gloves, took a cup from the mug tree on the counter, and filled it with coffee from a white carafe. She handed it to him, steaming hot, black, no sugar. “Relax. She’s outside with your father.”

  The flood of relief was short-lived. “Outside? She shouldn’t be outside.” Especially after the visit from the police last night. He limped toward the door. For sure all the neighbors would be in peak gossip-gathering mode this morning. “Someone might recognize her.”

  “Trust me, they won’t,” Ma said.

  As usual she was right.

  He stood out of sight, peering around the curtain, through the corner of the glass panel. Skin-tight black spandex running pants clung to Brooke’s perfect legs and butt, well-worn sneakers covered her feet, and a tight-fitting white long-sleeved shirt showed off her slender figure and two small but nonetheless enticing breasts. He remembered how they felt in his hands. His body reacted in a bold show of appreciation.

  Get control of yourself.

  He shifted so his mother wouldn’t notice and tried to distract himself by focusing on the bright pink knit mittens she wore, the matching hat that somehow contained all of her hair, and the black reflective sunglasses covering her eyes.

  No, no one would recognize her. But any man with a heart beating in his chest would notice her. And want her…as much as he did.

  Brooke knelt on the front walk, holding the hose to a tire valve while his dad worked the pump. “Why do they have the bikes out?”

  Ma joined him at the door, peering out beside him. “Jillian decided to start exercising. She called last night and invited Brooke to go bike riding this morning.”

  I didn’t stay for you.

  At this point it didn’t matter why she’d stayed, as long as she didn’t leave.

  Brooke smiled then said something to his dad. They looked at each other and both laughed. Dad liked her, Shane could tell. “How was she this morning?”

  “Fine. Seems to have her appetite back. I made her an egg-white omelet for breakfast, and she ate the whole thing. Luckily I have lots of baking to do this afternoon so the yolks won’t go to waste.”

  “In case you’re still worried Brooke might be pregnant, she’s not. She’s Jewish.”

  Ma looked up at him with the strangest expression on her face so he reminded her: “Yesterday, when she said she was feeling queasy and left the dinner table. You accused me of getting her pregnant. She’s not. She’s Jewish.”

  “What on earth does her being Jewish have to do with anything?”

  “Brooke follows a kosher diet.” Which he’d looked up on the Internet last night to learn all he could about it. “She doesn’t eat pork or shellfish and she doesn’t mix dairy and meat.”

  “Of all nights to serve a pork roast.” Ma whacked him with her towel. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

  He defended against the attack. “I forgot.”

  She looked out the window. “How come she didn’t say anything?”

  He explained what Brooke had told him last night.

  Ma smiled. “She’s such a sweetheart. I like her. Maybe—”

  “No.” Shane cut her off.

  “You don’t even know what I was going to say,” Ma protested, staring up at him with her hands on her generous hips.

  “Whatever it was the answer is no.” He stared right back at her. “Brooke’s here for a couple of days, then she’s leaving.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. Shit.” He turned to look back outside just as Charlotte’s little red car pulled up to the curb.

  Ma pushed him out of the way. “That girl never listens. I told her Dad would pick up Jillian. I promised Brooke—”

  Shane didn’t hear the rest because he was already out the door, pounding toward his pain-in-the-ass sister. “Get back in the car,” he yelled, barely noticing the crisp bite in the air, except where his bare feet made contact with the cold cement of their front walk.

  Charlotte ignored him on her way toward Brooke.

  Dad, a man of few words, said, “Stop.”

  Cha
rlotte did.

  Seeming oblivious to the adult tension on the lawn, Jillian ran up wearing a pink sweat suit, a pair of new or very clean white sneakers, and a huge smile. “Hi, Grandpa.” She gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  Dad smiled and hugged her back.

  “Hi, Brooke.” Jillian went in to give her a hug but Brooke stepped back, holding up her hand.

  “Um, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She looked awkward and uncomfortable and Shane felt horrible.

  “It’s okay,” Charlotte said, coming closer.

  Ma walked over. “Of course it is.”

  “Thank you,” Brooke said quietly. “But I think, for the time being, I should avoid touching or hugging or any close physical contact with children that could be misconstrued in any way.” She turned to Jillian. “It has nothing to do with you personally. It’s just I’m in…”

  “Uncle Shane told us,” Jillian said seriously. “I think those kids who are making up lies about you should be put in jail.”

  The smile Brooke gave Jillian came to an abrupt end when Charlotte joined their little group. Brooke stepped back, bumping into Shane’s chest. He wrapped his arm around her, resting his palm on her flat, firm waist, holding her steady, holding her close, thankful she made no attempt to move away from him.

  Charlotte stared down at Brooke, her hands stuffed in the back pockets of her jeans. “Last night my daughter informed me she would not speak to me again until I apologized.” She looked more put out than apologetic. “So I’m sorry for overreacting and going crazy and hitting you.” She turned to Jillian. “Okay? We good?”

  As far as apologies went, that one sucked. However, coming from Charlotte, who, as far as he knew, had never apologized to anyone in her life, it was a big deal. Based on the wide bulge of Ma’s eyes, she thought so, too.

  “Do you accept?” Jillian asked Brooke hopefully.

  “Yes,” she answered, while avoiding eye contact with Charlotte.

  “Then okay,” Jillian said to her mom.

  Charlotte raised her hands and tilted her face up to the sky. “Thank the good Lord.” Then she said, “I’ve got to get Matt from basketball practice and take him to a birthday party.” She kissed Jillian on the cheek. “I’ll be back to get you later. And if, by chance, I am welcome back into my childhood home,” she glared at Ma, “maybe we’ll stay for dinner.”

  Ma glanced at Brooke. For her approval?

  Charlotte saw the glance, let out an angry huff, and stormed off.

  Hearing Brooke accept Charlotte’s apology, Shane lowered his head and whispered in her ear. “What about me? Do you forgive me, too?”

  Without hesitation, she nodded, her soft hat tickling his cheek.

  Kernels of relief and joy popped like corn in his belly.

  She tried to turn, which is when he realized he still held her close, her back tightly pressed to his front. Oops. He let her go, albeit reluctantly.

  When she faced him she looked him directly in the eye and said, “I gave it a lot of thought last night, and once I calmed down enough to think rationally, I realized you were right not to trust me.”

  He opened his mouth to disagree, but she covered it with her soft mitten.

  “As much as we think we know each other, it’s impossible to learn everything there is to know about a person through long-distance correspondence and communication. I can only imagine how upsetting it must have been for you to see me on the bed with Jillian.” She gave him a little smile. “I’m thankful you didn’t go after me, too.”

  “Never,” he said. “I would never lift a hand to harm you, ever. I swear.” But deep down he worried. He was so big, strong, and physical compared to Brooke’s petite, delicate, and gentle nature. What if he hurt her by accident? He’d never forgive himself.

  Dad nudged a kickstand and began rolling one of the bikes in the direction of his old car. “Come on, girls. Let’s load these into my trunk. I’ll drive you to the park.”

  Like Shane would let Brooke out of his sight, in his neighborhood, looking like she did. Not a chance. “Give me five minutes. I’ll go with them.”

  She looked up. “That’s not necessary.”

  Her words sounded more like she didn’t want to inconvenience him than she didn’t want him to tag along. A positive sign. Not that it mattered, because he’d be heading to the park regardless. “Yes. It is.” Before she could say anything else he turned and limped back into the house.

  —

  An hour later Shane lay on his back, the old blanket Ma had insisted he bring separating him from the cold, damp grass. The sun warmed his face. The cool, fresh morning air cleansed his lungs. It felt good to be outside after so many months cooped up inside, to feel totally relaxed for the first time in…maybe years.

  From his spot on top of a small hill he looked for Brooke and Jillian, spotting them riding together on the paved path that surrounded a small pond, talking and smiling. Both of them free to do as they pleased, to attend school and work, or spend time outside on a beautiful day, without fear of being shot at or blown to bits by a buried IED.

  One of the reasons he’d joined the army. He laid back and closed his eye. To protect and serve the country he loved. So his friends and family would never have to experience the ravages of war firsthand. Like he and his buddies had. Gonzo, Smitty, Poindexter, Sniper G, Woody, Shnaz, Egghead, Shep…and so…so many others who would never again be able to lie in the sun or watch kids playing in the park, enjoying the freedom they gave their lives to protect.

  Eighteen-, nineteen-, and twenty-year-old kids, killed in action.

  Fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, brothers, and sisters, killed on foreign soil.

  Families torn apart.

  It made him sick.

  And despite all the fighting and hardship, all the suffering, loss, and grieving going on at that very moment, here he was, hanging at the park, taking in some sun, without a care in the world. He should be back with his unit, damn it, with his buddies, keeping an eye out, covering their asses so they’d make it home safely. So he didn’t lose one more friend to a war it seemed couldn’t be won.

  Like Tommy.

  Something in his chest contracted, squeezing his heart. Tommy. His eye felt wet. He lifted his glasses and wiped it with the back of his hand, trying to get rid of the image of Tommy’s torn-up body locked in a flag-draped coffin as it was lowered into the ground, buried under shovel after shovel after shovel of dirt. Then Shane was there, experiencing it with Tommy. The darkness. The confinement. The thump of the dirt burying him. Trapping him deep underground. Can’t move. No air. Can’t breathe. Need to get out.

  A presence came in fast on his left side; something touched him. He reacted on instinct, rolling away from danger, ready to fight, reaching for his weapon…which wasn’t there.

  “I’m tired of riding bikes.” Jillian’s voice penetrated his mind.

  He opened his eye. He wasn’t buried at Arlington National Cemetery—wasn’t at war. He was at the park. The fucking park. His heart pounded in his chest as the realization hit. If he’d had a gun close by he likely would have shot his niece.

  He was a mess, didn’t deserve to be around civilized people. He wiped his hand down his face and gulped some air, trying to pull himself together.

  Luckily, Jillian didn’t seem to notice how close to crazy her uncle was. “Can I go play on the swings?”

  He nodded. “Just stay where I can see you,” he forced out as she ran off.

  A much more observant Brooke parked her bike and asked, “You okay?”

  No, he wasn’t. Not by a long shot. He’d been dreaming about being buried with his best friend. He regularly dreamed of Brooke beside him getting her head blown off. He could have killed his niece. He wished he’d died instead of Tommy, instead of so many others who had wives, husbands, and children who needed them, when no one needed Shane.

  Without a word, she knelt down, reached into the bag of snacks Ma had put together, an
d handed him a bottle of water. “You want to talk about it?”

  He unscrewed the top. “Nope.” He took a few long, cool swigs.

  She sat down, wrapping her arms around her knees, watching him, waiting.

  “I’m fine,” he lied, lying back down, closing his eye. End of discussion.

  “Okay, then.” It sounded like she slapped her mitten-covered hands against her thighs. “Since you’re fine and Jillian’s occupied, I’m going to run a few laps.”

  Shane wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he ached to join her, to push his body past its limit, to exhaust himself and quiet his mind. He missed the rhythmic tap of his sneakers against the ground, the sense of accomplishment when he’d finished a ten-mile run, matching or beating his best time.

  He turned on his side and propped his head on his hand to watch Brooke run, just like a bunch of other guys scattered around the park who made no attempt to hide their interest, like he knew they wouldn’t. She had excellent form, a wide stride, and a fast pace that would have matched his perfectly.

  Another opportunity lost.

  At night or during his downtime he used to think about them taking long runs together, talking and laughing like a real couple. Even though they were from different worlds, in some aspects of their lives they were a perfect match. Or would have been, had he still been able to run, or hike, or go on long walks, or participate in any of the outdoor activities Brooke loved.

  Three guys in their mid- to late twenties approached the path and fell in step a few feet behind her. A rag-tag group he’d seen on the basketball courts when he’d done an initial scan of the area, dressed in cutoff sweatpants and baggy T-shirts with oversized armholes. Shane sat up, hoping Brooke would outrun them.

  She did.

  In about half a lap they stopped, bent over, their lungs heaving.

  Amateurs.

  But they hung out on the grass, waiting for her to come back around.

  Shane eyed the distance between him and Brooke. No way he’d get to her in time.

  She must have noticed them, too, because she reached into the front pocket of her shirt, took out her earbuds, and placed them in her ears. Then she moved to the inside lane closest to the water.