by Leah Atwood
They broke into laughter.
He waved a hand the length of her body. “You look good.”
“Thanks.” She shoved a hand in her pocket and rocked on her heels. “You, too.”
“Should we sit?” He tipped his chin toward a bench.
“Sure.”
Twigs and pine needles crunched under her feet on the path to the bench. Crickets resumed their nightly song. With their melody playing, and Wyatt at her side in a place that took her back to a time of innocence, all was right in her world.
Illusion or not, she’d take the respite while she could. Reality would strike again soon enough.
She sat down on the bench. The metal slats had a mild chill from spending its days in the shadows of tall pines and hickory trees.
Wyatt sat beside her, leaving only inches between them—and a good foot of open bench on either side of them.
“Thanks for coming.” She wrung her hands in her lap. “I appreciate it.”
“It’s the least I could do.”
“I wasn’t sure I should have asked you.” Stilling her hands, she dared a glance at him.
He held her gaze. “I’m glad you did.”
For the first time that night she looked into his eyes. Really saw them and searched them for the link to his soul. What she saw shocked her. She wasn’t the only one hurting. “How are you?”
“Fine.”
She coughed loudly. “Yeah, just as fine as I am.”
“It’s been a rough year, and a lot of changes are ahead.” His gaze traveled to the North Star then back again. “The big question is, how are you?”
Was he going to play that game? All right. She’d let it drop for now. “Not good.”
“I’m sorry, Megs. I know I told you on the phone, but I am.” A distant expression washed over his eyes. “It’s not easy losing someone you love.”
Who had he lost? Someone he served with? She remembered the news reporting a fatality in the crash, but she’d been too relieved Wyatt was safe to pay attention to the other individuals. She wanted to ask, but he’d let her know it was off limits. “I find myself asking if it would have been easier had it not been such a shock, but that’s ridiculous. No matter how it happened, it’s crushing.”
“Death is rarely expected in the deepest part of our beings. Even when it’s inevitable, we tend to hold out hope for a miracle—so we aren’t prepared.”
She furrowed her brows. “Is there any way to prepare for death? What else in life is so finite?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s what makes it difficult. Knowing I’ll never see her again this side of heaven.”
He leaned against the back of the bench. “And you feel guilty because you want to go to heaven and be with her, but you don’t want to die to get there?”
“Yes.” She nearly gasped. “How do you know?”
“I’m the master of guilt lately.”
“Need to talk about it?” She tilted her head, offering him a smile. “A wise man once told me I’m a good listener.”
A quiet chuckle reverberated off his lips. “He was right, but I doubt he was all that wise.”
Instinct told her to prod. “What aren’t you telling me, Wyatt?”
He shook his head. “I’m here for you, remember?”
“There’s no reason I can’t also be here for you.” She touched his arm with the tips of two fingers. “It will help me get my mind off my problems.”
“Whatever happened to small talk between people catching up?” His laugh echoed uncomfortably against the dark.
The abrupt awkwardness comforted her in an odd way. If the reunion had gone smoothly, it would have been too easy, and she’d learned the hard way, easy was rarely right. Their marriage had been undemanding, and look where that got them. They hadn’t learned to fight for what mattered, and when problems arose, they crumbled.
Work built strong relationships. Obstacles strengthened resolve.
Rather than answering his question, she asked one of her own. “How long are you here for?”
“As long you need me.”
His declaration filled a part of the hole in her heart. He’d be strong for her as she faced the next few days.
She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he slid an arm around her.
Just like that, they’d found their pace again.
Chapter Five
The moon hung low in the sky when Wyatt woke up. Mind alert, the little sleep he’d gotten refreshed him. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and checked the time. 5:34. Early mornings were routine, and he couldn’t break the habit even on vacation. Not that this was a vacation, but it wasn’t work. He couldn’t think of a way to describe it other than limbo.
He’d never been able to lounge in bed once he woke up, a habit that had driven Meg crazy when they were married. She loved lazy weekend mornings, staying in bed to watch a movie. Cuddle.
He cut off that train of thought—it was a dangerous road of memories to travel down.
Oscar roused and stuck his snout over the bed’s edge, begging for attention.
“Morning, Oscar. Need to go out?”
A ball of white spun in excited circles and barked.
“Want to go for a run?”
Oscar ran to the bedroom door.
“Give me a minute to get ready.” He rolled out of bed and dug in his suitcase for his running clothes—track pants and a USMC sweatshirt.
Once he was dressed and had shoes on, he grabbed the leash from the dresser and hooked it to the collar. “Let’s go.”
Oscar didn’t need help to find his way outside. He pulled Wyatt through the hallway, down the steps, and toward the front door.
“You’re up early.”
His mom’s voice startled him. He followed her voice into the living room to see her sitting with an open Bible in her lap. “It’s a habit.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“Yes. You got a new mattress on the guest bed since I was home last, didn’t you?”
“Yes, one of those memory foam ones. Your dad and I got one for us and loved it.” She closed the Bible and set it aside. “How is Meg holding up?”
“As you’d expect.” He shortened the length of the leash to keep Oscar from jumping. “I’m not sure it’s hit her yet.”
“It’s good you came home.” Mom glanced at Oscar’s eager movements. “Go take care of the dog. I’ll have breakfast waiting for you when you get back.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Nonsense.” She smiled, and he was certain if she’d been closer, she would have pinched his cheek.
“I’m not sure how long we’ll be. Depends on how the dog cooperates.”
“Take your time.”
Outside, Oscar sniffed the yard and several trees before doing his business.
“At least you're housebroken.” Of all the stray dogs he could have picked up, he seemed to have chosen a good one, well-suited for him.
He led him to the sidewalk on the front perimeter of his parents’ property, then broke into a jog. Oscar broke into a run, tugging Wyatt along.
Wyatt picked up his pace, keeping in step with Oscar. His new dog was full of energy and showed no signs of exhaustion after doing the three-mile lap around the subdivision. Used to longer runs, Wyatt continued, paying attention to Oscar for any signs of distress.
The dog had been great since he’d taken him in yesterday. A perfect companion. Perhaps God had placed him in his life for a purpose. There was a reason dogs were used as therapy animals, and goodness knew he needed something.
Too bad he couldn’t run all the time. When his feet pounded against the pavement, and his lungs burned, his mind cleared and the memories faded. In constant, rhythmic motion was the only time he was free.
Except for last night, holding Meg.
But that wasn’t to be. For the second time in an hour, he denied himself further contemplation of Meg. He’d be there for her throughout the funeral and days after, then
focus on his family, spend time with them.
Before long, he’d return to Jacksonville—fill out more applications and pray for a phone call.
What if he found a job here in Lilston? Could he return home and avoid Meg indefinitely? Maybe he didn’t have to. Last night had proven they could still be friends. There had been a few moments where they’d struggled for conversation, but their connection hadn’t disappeared. They weren’t meant to be husband and wife, but they possessed an unbreakable bond of friendship. Unbroken by divorce or years of separation.
Oscar interrupted his concentration. His well-behaved-so-far dog jerked to the left, using all his weight and force to drag Wyatt with him.
“Halt.”
“Stop.”
“Sit.”
He went through every command he could think of, but none made Oscar obey. The dog sprinted toward a tree, chasing a squirrel.
“No, Oscar,” he said in the voice he used for junior Marines.
Still no response, and he had to pull hard on the leash to stop Oscar’s chase. The squirrel ran into a tree, but the dog wouldn’t give up.
“Perseverance is a good trait if you channel it correctly.” He rolled his eyes. Now he sounded like his commanding officer.
Oscar finally stopped and stared at him like he’d lost his mind.
“Oh, really? I’m the crazy one?” Like Oscar had any idea what he was saying. “Let’s get back to the house.”
He walked a panting Oscar back to the house. The impromptu race against the squirrel wore out the dog, and he trailed behind Wyatt in defeat.
“You win some, you lose some.”
Maybe he had lost it. He was having an entirely one-sided conversation with a dog. People talked about crazy cat ladies. Was he going to turn into the crazy dog man?
The wonderful scent of bacon greeted him before he entered the house. He’d gladly go for another run later to enjoy a few strips of bacon now. Some foods were worth the sacrifice. Bacon rated at the top of that list.
When he went inside, he went to the laundry room where two plastic storage bowls served as temporary food dishes for Oscar. He filled one with water, and the other with dog chow his dad had brought home from the store last night. “Eat up, Oscar.”
Oscar didn’t need to be told twice. He laid on the floor, surrounding the bowl with his oversized paws, and ate greedily.
Wyatt left him and went to the kitchen.
Dad had come downstairs and sat at the counter, reading the newspaper. He looked up when Wyatt entered the kitchen. “What are your plans for the day, Son?”
He fought the urge to squirm under his father’s gaze. It was too early in the morning to field questions and speculations. “Meg wants me with her while they go through photos for the funeral.”
The idea made him queasy. He, Evan, and Jared had helped Janie do the same for Mike’s funeral. The experience was intensely intimate, and not only did he not care to repeat it so soon—or ever—he couldn’t help feeling like an intruder. True, Mrs. Beth had been his mother-in-law for two years, and he’d cared for Meg’s mom as a mother figure, but she wasn’t a relation when she died.
He’d protested last night when Meg asked, but one glimpse at the sadness lurking in her eyes gave him pause. He’d agreed to go if, and only if, her sister and dad didn’t have a problem with him being there. Which meant he’d be there. The Bailey family had a “the more, the merrier” philosophy of life. They wouldn’t dream of turning him out when Meg wanted him there.
“The funeral is Monday, right?” Dad shook the newspaper flat then folded its pages closed.
“Yes. There’s a viewing from nine to eleven and four to six, followed by the service.” He hated funerals. Sometimes he wished Janie had held Mike’s before they’d come home, but he understood why she’d waited. They had all needed each other—it was crucial to their recovery to experience the closure together.
Dad glanced at Mom. “We plan to attend the second viewing and service.”
“Dad and I ordered flowers sent to the church, and we also donated to the cancer center as requested.” Mom flipped a fried egg onto a platter. “We added your name to the card. I hope you don’t mind.”
“That’s great. Thank you.” And that’s why I still need my parents. The thought to send flowers never crossed his mind. He’d been on his own for a decade, had seen horrors no one should ever witness, and was aged beyond his years, but not too old to learn from his mom and dad.
Mom served breakfast without making any veiled suggestions toward reconciliation between him and Meg. Neither did Dad. He wasn’t naïve enough to believe they’d given up trying, but he held just enough optimism to believe they’d taken his request to heart. Perhaps the gravity of his visit had convinced them to back off for the time being.
Breakfast was a leisurely affair. Dad asked where all he’d applied to, and Mom asked about his life in North Carolina. He didn’t miss their avoidance of certain topics.
Like the helicopter crash and its aftermath.
They’d come to see him when he returned to North Carolina and stayed two weeks. He’d showed them the left side of his body where physical scars marred the athletic build he’d worked hard to maintain. Puckered skin on his thigh stood out in an atrocious pink shade where he’d been burned. An ugly, jagged scar ran the length of his waist to his upper chest. Smaller scars dotted his body.
When his parents encouraged him to talk about what happened, he told them he couldn’t—that if ever a time came when he could, then he’d share the nightmare with them. They’d sensed his desperation and hadn’t pushed.
He’d been lucky.
His physical wounds healed quickly. He went home with the rest of his squadron, unlike Evan who’d been sent to a hospital in Germany. Unlike Mike, who’d been sent home under a flag.
“What time is Corie coming home?” He missed his baby sister. He hadn’t seen her since before the deployment.
When he’d come back from Afghanistan, Corie had classes, which their parents were willing to allow her to her miss, but he’d requested she not come. He was the oldest brother whom she looked up to. What would she have thought to see him in the condition he’d been in? Corie was young, with her life wide open ahead of her. A loss of innocence would come soon enough.
“Usually comes home around ten.” Mom gathered the dishes. “But I’ll call her at eight and tell her she needs to come home. She’ll fuss, but be happy when she sees why.”
He pushed away from the table and offered to help with dishes.
“Not a chance. Relax while you can.” She made a shooing motion with one hand. “If you need the Internet, the password is under the modem.”
“Thanks.” He switched attention to his dad. “What are you doing this morning?”
“Preparing tomorrow’s Sunday school lesson.”
Of course. Hadn’t he done that every Saturday morning since Wyatt could remember? Next would be the lawn. On the hottest days, he’d reverse order. “I can mow the yard for you.”
“I appreciate the offer, but like your mom said, enjoy the time off while you have it.” Dad drank his coffee then filled his cup again.
Free time was the kiss of death. He wanted to stay busy. “What’s Corie into these days?”
“Sports, church, art, fashion.” A proud smile spread on Dad’s face. Corie was the baby of the family and the only daughter, guaranteeing her a special spot in Dad’s heart. “She’s started designing clothes. She’s very talented.”
“Is that what she’s going to college for in the fall?”
“No. Right now, she claims it’s only a hobby.” Mom loaded a plate into the dishwasher. “She still plans on going for a mechanical engineering degree.”
A better brother would have known that already. He’d let his problems black out the lives of his family. “She’ll do great no matter what she chooses.”
He’d think of a special activity they could do together before he went to Meg’s. Quality tim
e with his sister was long overdue.
“Will you be attending church with us tomorrow?”
Before raising his defenses, Wyatt appraised his dad’s expression and decided he wasn’t pushing, only asking a question. He started to answer no—he hadn’t stepped foot in a church for a Sunday service since Mike’s death—but for reasons he couldn’t explain, changed his mind. “I plan to. Did they finish the annex?”
Dad beamed. That was a subject he could talk about for hours. “Almost. It’s far enough along the classrooms can be used, but the official dedication is scheduled for next month.”
“That’s great that it’s finally happening.” He poured a glass of orange juice. “I was still in high school when Pastor George started the fundraising efforts for it.”
“If you’d like, we can drive over, and I’ll show you all the changes.” Excitement filled Dad’s voice. “I’ll get you back before Corie’s home.”
“Sure. Let me take a shower, then we can head over.”
“Great. Meet me back here when you’re ready.”
Chapter Six
Meg heard boxes moving around in the attic. Her conscience told her to climb the stairs and help her dad find the boxes of photos, but she ignored the voice. She hated attics on a normal basis. Their musty, rodent-friendly environment did nothing to endear them to her, so she especially didn’t care to search around up there for such a depressing reason.
Another thump.
All right, all right. I’ll go. Dad shouldn’t have to do it on his own, and Kelly hadn’t shown up yet. Not that Kelly would have helped with this part of the task. In addition to sharing Meg’s views on attics, Kelly also had a terrible fear of heights and an irrational fear that she’d step on a wrong beam and fall through the ceiling.
She climbed the rickety ladder, counting each rung as she stepped on it. Why were attic ladders always so flimsy? Upon reaching the top, she stepped on the attic floor and breathed a sigh of relief. “Need some help?”
Her dad stood from a hunched position. “Do you know where all the home videos went? I thought it would be nice to have some playing.”