Headfirst Falling

by Melissa Guinn

  He frowns. “No! Why would you say that?”

  “No reason.” I pop a potato chip into my mouth and shrug, deciding to let it drop. He said so himself. He’s not sick.

  After that, the others join us at the table. We chat as one big group, and I’m not sure if I stop laughing the entire time. Sitting around with them like this feels like being with family. It’s easy and my worries are forgotten...until Taylor starts handing out slices of her pie. It’s as bad as I imagined it would be. I chew and swallow with a forced smile. And I pray for my health.

  * * *

  Taylor, Devin, Jackson and I venture down to the boathouse after my dad excuses himself. Jackson and I sit on the dock, staring out over the water as the sun dips on the horizon, casting an orange reflection across the water.

  Taylor and Devin are by the boathouse, sitting beneath the spotlight above the door. He’s trying to teach her a chord on his acoustic guitar. He’s got to be the most patient person on the planet, because she’s bad—really bad. And she’s frustrated. If she gets up and smashes the instrument on the deck in a few seconds I won’t be surprised. I might actually get up and do it for her. She’s starting to hurt my ears.

  Jackson nudges me with his elbow and hands me a wine cooler.

  “What did you do for fun while you were in Iraq?” I ask as he twists the cap off for me.

  He turns the piece of aluminum over in his hand a few times and sighs. It’s long and a little sad. “We played cards and dominos...and a lot of pranks on each other.” He chuckles and continues on. “We had a gym on base, so I spent a lot of time working out. Sometimes we had TV or internet, other times we didn’t.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “We played football sometimes or basketball. Goofed around like a bunch of boys.” His fond smile grows weary. “We really didn’t have much downtime though. Our shifts were twelve, sometimes fourteen hours. Sometimes even longer than that.”

  We sit without speaking for a minute then I ask, “Are you still close with any of them...the men you served with?”

  He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again he’s a different Jackson. The one I was with in my room yesterday—the one who’s broken. “Yeah, a few. But I don’t really like talking about them.”

  “That’s okay.” A curtain of hair falls in my face as I divert my gaze to my hands.

  He tucks it back behind my ear. “If you just give me some time, maybe I can be more open about the subject.”

  The knot I have in my stomach gets bigger, because I wish I hadn’t asked the question in the first place. “I can do that.”

  “It’s all just still a little raw—and it’s hard to find the right words.” His small smile is sad, and it breaks my heart.

  I lay my hand over his. “It’s okay, really.”

  He turns his palm up, and our fingers interlace. He makes small, idle circles on the back of my hand with a thumb and goose bumps pebble my skin. The small gesture feels intimate, and I doubt he even realizes he’s doing it.

  I turn back toward the boathouse when I realize Taylor’s disruptive strumming has finally stopped. Devin is playing, and the melody is softer. Taylor is watching, completely enraptured. I like seeing her this way. Calm.

  I close my eyes and tilt my face up to feel the night breeze. Crickets stridulate in the distance, emitting a continuous echo of soft chirps. Waves from the lake crash into the embankment, swooshing as they come and go. The leaves in the trees at our backs rustle and stir. In this moment, I’m happy. Peaceful.

  * * *

  When we get to my house Jackson pulls into the drive and puts the car in Park. Then he reaches over and takes my hand. “I would walk you to the door, but then I would be too tempted to come inside.”

  “And I would invite you inside if I didn’t already know what your answer would be.”

  He brings my hand to his mouth and brushes his lips across my knuckles. “And I would love to come inside, but then I would be tempted to do something else.”

  I know there’s no convincing him so I sigh and say, “Night, Jackson.”

  He leans across the center console and plants a quick kiss on my lips. “Good night, Charlie.”

  I decide I need a cold shower.

  Chapter Ten

  My eyes rip open, and I jolt up in bed. I’m screaming, “No, no, no!” It’s not until I taste salt that I realize I’m crying. I know it’s the middle of the night without looking at the alarm clock. I had a nightmare, and my entire body is shaking because it wants to forget. It was one I’ve never had before.

  In the dream I’m a bystander, looking on as Adam and Jackson patrol a desolate street with unpopulated, damaged buildings flanking the sides. They’re suited in uniforms and in total combat mode. Moving like calculating machines, they progress down the street, clearing alleys, parked cars and buildings as they go. I follow blindly, the environment dark and unfamiliar.

  For the majority of the dream it’s as if I’m not present with them, only watching from above. They pay no attention to me, only to each other, moving in sync.

  Then an explosion rips through the street, and it’s suddenly very real. The gritty red sand fills my nostrils. I taste it in my mouth, and the roar rips through my eardrums, making them ring. Jackson and Adam are close, only ten steps from the spot where I stand, staring. Panic spikes in my chest, and I don’t know if I should run to them or away from them.

  They turn to me at the same time. Despite the dust and rubble swirling between us, my eyes lock with Adam’s. But some internal force pulls my gaze away from his, and I find Jackson’s eyes instead. I feel like I might be sick. My eyes dart back uncertainly between the two of them, increasing panic tightening in my throat. Jackson takes a step toward me, and for the few seconds my eyes are on him, I’m not paying attention to Adam. When my gaze returns to him, he’s falling to the ground, clutching his chest where bright red blood begins to soak his uniform. He reaches out for me, for Jackson, calling for help. He is still very much alive.

  I scream and reach for him. “Adam!” I want to move, to run to my brother, but my feet are stubborn and immobile. In all the chaos his eyes find mine. They’re scared, frantic and desperate, not my brother’s eyes.

  I scream again, my lungs searing in response to the volume I push from them. “Help him! Jackson, please.” My voice cracks with desperation.

  He doesn’t hear me. He doesn’t hear Adam. He doesn’t look back. He covers the steps between us purposefully. He picks me up and drags me away. He gives me no choice—he makes me leave my brother. His brother.

  I kick and scream and try to make it back to Adam, but he carries me for what seems like miles despite my struggle, his grip never wavering. He doesn’t speak to me, only continues to carry me to safety with calculated, dutiful steps.

  When I’m free of his grasp, I run back in the direction we came from. Jackson stands in the spot where I leave him, watching as I go with sad eyes.

  The street is strangely calm and dissonantly quiet when I get back to where I started. The only thing in sight is Adam, lying where we left him. I collapse at his side and turn him over.

  His body is cold, his face is blue, his eyes are empty. And he is gone.

  * * *

  Sometimes I feel like I’m starting to accept Adam’s death. But moments like this completely demolish any progress I’ve made. I miss him in a way that hurts. That’s never going to go away, ever.

  His death was just too unexpected. I won’t ever understand it. One minute he was living and breathing and being, and the next minute he wasn’t. I didn’t get any closure. And it doesn’t make sense. How did something so full of life suddenly end up so empty of life? How did I lose my brother?

  You lose your great-uncle, your distant grandfather, your childhood dog—not your brother.
Especially brothers like mine. It’s not fair. He’s gone, and I’m stuck here without him. I hate that. And I hate the way he was taken from me. I’ll never accept it.

  * * *

  “So how was your date?” I smile at Jessica, already aware that it must have gone well. Her dreamy eyes and buoyant smile are a dead giveaway.

  She sighs and bats her eyelashes. “It’s was amazing!” She pushes away from her desk and spins her chair in circles. “He’s perfect. It’s the best date I’ve ever been on! And we went out the next night too.”

  Her girlish grin is contagious. “I’m glad you like him. I knew you would.”

  She stops spinning and faces me, her eyes wide and serious. “I’ll be forever in debt to you. I can’t even begin to thank you enough for introducing us.”

  “Just make sure you mention me in the speech at your wedding.”

  We’re giggling when the phone rings, and she jumps to answer it. She waves as I head for my office.

  Jackson’s office door is closed, but I can hear the hum of his voice behind it. He’s on the phone, already busy with the day’s work. An annoying pang of disappointment registers in my stomach. I can’t shake the awful dream I had, and I want to see him. But I busy myself with the work that has accumulated over the weekend instead.

  When I glance up at the clock again the morning has passed, and I’ve barely put a dent in my work for the day. I resolve to work through lunch. Sometime later there’s a timid knock at my door.

  Jessica peeks her head in. “I’m going to grab some lunch from the deli across the street. You want anything?”

  My eyes skim to the clock. It’s three o’clock. I’m not the only one who’s worked through lunch. Her hair is disheveled and her cheeks pink and flustered.

  “A turkey sandwich would be great. But take your time. Seriously. I’ll cover the phones for the hour.”

  “Thanks.” She smiles and retreats.

  My computer alerts me of a message as I’m in the middle of scheduling an appointment for one of the field technicians.

  Jackson Stiles: Good morning.

  Jackson Stiles: Good afternoon.

  Jackson Stiles: You look beautiful today.

  Jackson Stiles: All things I’ve wanted to say today. Sorry I’ve been so busy.

  I grin at the screen.

  Charlie Day: All very sweet. But you haven’t even seen me today...how would you know what I look like?

  Jackson Stiles: I’ve got an active imagination—you’d be surprised. You feel like grabbing some dinner after work?

  Normally, I wouldn’t, especially after having such a late lunch. But I’m not going to pass up any face time with him.

  Charlie Day: That sounds great.

  The day continues to fly by. By the time Jackson appears in my office it’s six o’clock, and we’ve both worked late. He tugs at his tie, loosening it around his neck. “You ready to call it a day?”

  I shut down my computer and pull my purse from beneath the desk. “Ready.”

  * * *

  Jackson drives us a few blocks uptown and valets the car. The restaurant is intimate, quiet and dimly lit, very relaxing.

  “You want wine?” he asks, glancing over the wine list.

  “I’m just gonna have water.” Wine is usually something I reserve for nights with Taylor. Alcohol, period, is something I usually reserve for nights with Taylor.

  He puts the list down and smiles. “I’ve got some exciting news.”

  I arch a brow. “Oh, yeah?”

  He nods and his smile gets wider. “I found a place downtown. Only a few blocks from here.”

  “That’s great!”

  “It’s been in the works for a while. I wanted to make sure I got it before I said anything.” He looks his age for once, a twenty-three-year-old, handsome with excitement.

  I grin back at him. “That’s awesome.”

  “I get the keys on Friday,” he says. “So I’ll spend most of the weekend moving.”

  I take a sip of my water, swallowing back the disappointment that comes when I realize moving means not spending time with me. “Let me know if there’s anything I can help with.” My offer sounds casual, but I would be more than happy to carry a few boxes if it means watching him carry the heavier ones.

  “I may take you up on that.” His knee brushes mine beneath the table. “What’s your schedule look like next weekend?”

  Instead of telling him it’s completely open, I shrug and say, “I could probably pencil you in.”

  His knee bumps mine again. “Good. That means you can take me on a date.”

  I nod my head. “I could do that.”

  * * *

  As Jackson walks me to my car, the awful dream of Adam comes to mind. Before I know it, I’m opening my mouth and blurting, “What happened with Adam?”

  He freezes for a second, and his entire body gets stiff. “What do you mean, ‘what happened with Adam’?”

  He starts walking again, and I follow. “What I mean is, what happened in Iraq? I’ve been having these awful nightmares. I just think—I don’t know, that maybe knowing what happened to him might help me understand.”

  “He was killed by enemy fire. You know that.”

  “Of course I know that,” I say, “but how was he killed? And what were you doing? What about the building collapsing—what was the squad doing in there?”

  We reach the car and Jackson pulls my door open. He looks uncomfortable. “You don’t want to know the details.”

  “I do,” I persist, standing beside my open door. “I want to know the details, Jackson. I need to know them. We’re talking about my brother.”

  He sighs. “We were ordered to survey the building, and it was structurally sound when we entered. While we were inside, a shell hit it. Chaos ensued.”

  “And Adam?” I know I need to stop, but I just can’t stop pressing for some reason. “Was he close to you?”

  He closes his eyes and shakes his head like he’s trying to chase away the images. “He was next to me. Taking cover to fire at the enemy, like everyone else.”

  “And?”

  He’s gripping the edge of my door like it’s the only thing keeping him on the ground. “He got shot.”

  “Where?” I hear myself say.

  “Charlie. Please, just don’t.” His voice is a desperate whisper.

  “Where?” What is wrong with me?

  We’re both quiet and still. Then he finally gives me the answer I pushed so hard for. “The head. He was shot in the head.”

  “Oh.” My voice cracks. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have asked.”

  One look at Jackson’s pained face sends me into tears. Sobs rattle through my chest and my shoulders heave. I’m aware of his arms around me, comforting me, but my thoughts are a million miles away. They’re in Iraq...where I lost my brother.

  I don’t know how much time has passed when he takes me by the elbow and leads me around to the passenger door. “I’ll drive you home.”

  I cry the entire way.

  * * *

  “You okay?” Jackson asks. We’re lying on my bed, facing each other.

  I pull the duvet to my chest tighter, sniffling a few times. “Will you stay?”

  He leans forward and presses his lips against mine. “Of course.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “For asking.”

  “Me too.” He smiles but there’s no sunshine. “Let’s not talk about it anymore, okay? I’m not ready to.”

  I nod numbly.

  Neither am I.

  I don’t think I ever will be.

  * * *

  The week passes quickly. Before I know it I’m sitting behind my desk and feeling uneasy because it’s Friday. Today i
s the day, the day that my dad’s firing Stewart. The feeling in my gut tells me that this won’t go well.

  At ten o’clock my dad calls Stewart into his office. They’re ten minutes into the meeting when Stewart starts to yell. I leave my office, and when I see that Jackson’s door is open I slip through it. He’s standing still in the middle of the room, clearly listening to the commotion as well.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  I nod. But Stewart starts yelling louder and it makes my hands shake. “Actually, I’m not okay.” Jackson crosses the room and drags me into a hug. We stand together, his arms around me, my arms around him, as we listen. “Do you think my dad’s okay?”

  “I’m sure he’s fine,” he reassures. “He asked Donald to sit in on the meeting.”

  Donald is another one of our sales reps, a big, burly guy. He’s always friendly, but I don’t think he’d mind throwing Stewart out on his ass if he had to.

  After another five minutes of muffled shouts I hear my dad’s door open. Jackson lets me go and crosses the room. He steps out of the door frame to watch. Then he pushes away from the spot and strides toward the shouts.

  I know I shouldn’t look. But worry gets the best of me and I peek my head through the door frame. Donald has Stewart’s hands pinned behind his back, and Jackson is helping him push Stewart toward the exit. My dad is watching with his hands balled into fists. His entire body is rigid.

  Stewart’s eyes lock with mine and narrow. Jackson shoves him from behind, but for a moment he doesn’t budge. His eyes stay locked with mine. There’s a cold hostility in them that sends a shiver down my spine. He’s finally snapping, and it’s scary. I step back into the office and take a deep breath. I remind myself that after this he’ll be gone. Out of our lives forever.

  * * *

  Jackson leaves after lunch because Devin is meeting him to help move his things from storage. My dad left shortly after that. He said he wasn’t feeling well, but I’m worried it’s because he’s shaken up over firing Stewart. I decide to stop by his place before meeting Taylor for dinner. So I stop at a diner and pick up a cheeseburger and a milkshake after work.