by Gina Azzi
In some small way, I've helped, aided, guided, cared for, gave to these soldiers.
I’ve achieved something I’ve always valued, albeit not in the way I used to imagine. I’ve always wanted to help others, that’s one of the reasons why I chose to study Psychology.
Why doesn’t it feel like enough then?
A sourness in my throat forces me to be honest with myself.
It’s because as much as I love being a part of the soldiers’ journeys as they heal, as they take tiny shuffles or giant leaps forward, I still want more.
Chewing the corner of my mouth, I mull this over. The physical therapy, my work at Morris, Jax's steady scrutiny and piercing gaze.
I think about my colleague from Morris who recently went to graduate school. I think about Lenny. Things didn’t turn out the way they once planned but they still found a way to pursue the futures they desired. That doesn't mean I can't ever achieve my dreams, right?
Pulling my laptop closer, I type "physical therapy degrees" into the search engine.
Scanning the various websites and university admission requirements, I click on several, noting prerequisites and course loads. Suddenly, I’m grateful for my Psychology studies since I’ve already completed most of the science pre-requisites.
A shiver of excitement runs through me, pushing lightly at my insecurities. A glimmer of hope sparks my heart, reminding me that I am still capable. That just because I've wasted years doesn't mean I must continue to sit and watch and wait.
Instead, it finally dawns on me, I can still become the person I once thought I would grow into. Someone seventeen-year-old me would be proud of. Someone current me can be proud of.
6
Jax
"Why didn't you tell me Evie works at Morris?" I question Carter as I step into the kitchen.
A dribble of milk slides off his chin as he lowers the carton and looks at me over his shoulder. "What?"
"Evie. She works at Morris. As a receptionist." Incredulity colors my tone because I'm shocked as shit. What happened to my Maywood? What happened to the beautiful, vibrant, and insanely motivated girl I kissed good-bye the day before I left for Fort Bragg?
The version of Evie I ran into at Raf’s and saw at Morris is distant and detached. She’s scarily thin, her eyes are almost empty, and she looks completely worn-out. A sadness I don’t understand clings to her.
When we stopped talking seven years ago, I never thought I’d come home and find her here again. I figured I’d walk into Raf’s and hear all about a future five-star general. But she’s nothing like the Evie I remember. My Maywood may have been reserved and polite in public but in private, she was sassy and spunky and confident as all hell—sometimes, downright argumentative and infuriating. What happened to that girl?
"Yeah," Carter agrees, shutting the refrigerator door and leaning against it, his arms folded over his chest. "So?"
"Why didn't you tell me? She never went to West Point, did she?"
"Not that I know of."
"And you didn't think that was information I should know? I mean, that girl, she was my world and—"
"Was. She was your world. And then you enlisted and—"
"So she could go to West Point without me holding her back. So I could have an actual career." I'm yelling now, indignation coursing through my veins, giving me the edge I need to confront my brother. "I thought,” I shake my head, the confession seems stupid now, “I thought we would work it out and end up together.”
Carter curses but his tone is softer.
“Why didn't you tell me that she didn't go?"
He pushes off the refrigerator, standing to his full height before dropping into a chair at the kitchen table. “You never asked, kid.” His voice holds a note of sympathy. “You got out. You were on your way to do things you never would have done if you stuck around here.” He chews his lower lip as if he’s carefully choosing his words, “If you knew she didn’t go, you would have tried to come back.”
I scrub a hand down my face. "So? Would that have been the worst thing?”
He’s quiet before he nods, “At the time, yeah, it could have been.”
“I don’t understand what the hell would make her not go to West Point? It was all she talked about, her family legacy, being an empowered woman like her mom, making a difference. It doesn't make any sense," I say aloud, even though I'm talking to myself.
"You'll have to ask her," Carter responds, standing from the table and walking toward the living room. Before the kitchen door swings closed behind him, he turns to me, “I’m sorry things didn’t work out the way you hoped.”
I nod at him but can’t help wondering that he knows more than he’s letting on. That other things stopped him from telling me about Evie.
"Yo." I smack my open palm against the hood of a Toyota Corolla as I walk up to stand beside Denver's feet.
He slides out from underneath the car, a wrench in his hand, and squints up at me. "What's up?" he asks before sliding back under the car. "Hand me a socket, will ya?"
I poke through his toolbox before finding the socket and passing it to him.
"How're you settling back in?" He asks, his voice muffled.
"All right, I guess. Being back is strange. It's like nothing and everything has changed."
"Yeah. Time away will do that."
I smirk knowing the only time away Denver ever spent was a stint up in Jackson Penitentiary.
"Why didn't you tell me Evie never left?"
The socket clatters to the asphalt, and I hear Denver let loose with a string of colorful profanities. He slides back out from under the Corolla, wiping his fingers on a greasy bandana. "You talk to her?"
I shake my head.
"You should."
"That's what Carter said."
Denver mutters another curse before sitting up, his heels biting into the ground as he slides back and forth on the creeper for a few beats. "He's right."
"I feel like everyone knows something that I don’t. Like there's some big secret about Evie that I'm in the dark about.”
"Then you'd be right. But you still need to talk to Evie about it. It's for her to tell you... or not. Toss me that bottle." He points to a water bottle to the left of my sneaker.
I tug on the skin at the back of my neck. I know there's nothing I can do to make Denver talk. He does everything on his own time, his own terms, always. Reaching down, I pick up the water bottle and throw it at him a little harder than necessary.
He chuckles as he catches it easily, giving me a glimpse of the new piece inking his inner bicep. Uncapping the top, he takes a long swig. "You ever think we're doing you a favor?" he asks, peering at me over the water bottle.
"What do you mean?"
"The secret... not telling you. Letting all this time pass. You ever think that maybe it's because Carter and I are looking out for you? Trying to protect you?"
"Protect me from what?"
"Regret," he says, a heaviness weighing the one word down, so it takes on new meaning. "Talk to Evie." He lies back and slides under the car, ending our conversation.
I stand still for several seconds, listening to Denver's tinkering and swearing. The heat from the sun blazes down on us. The cracks in the asphalt are larger than I remember, weeds poking up in patches. Our old house looks shittier now, more dilapidated. Old pop cans and gum wrappers decorate the front lawn. All of that is the same, more now, but the same as always. My brothers are the same but not.
It's like nothing has changed at all. Except me.
And because of that one alteration, everything around me seems different.
The heat of the blaze permeates my gear, stinging my skin like the burn of a jellyfish. Except I feel it everywhere, even in my blood.
"Ethan?" I yell over the rush of blood in my ears. "Ethan!" He was right next to me. I know he was. I reach out blindly, my fingers catching air as I search for him.
Gunshots ring out around me, whizzing past in rapid spurts
, their nearness chafing my skin, even through all my gear, even as they miss. Sand kicks up, blinding me. It's everywhere: clogging my ears, filling my nose, lodging in between my teeth.
"Ethan! Answer me," I spit out, crouching low and shuffling two paces to the right where I collide with something. Someone. Him.
A groan.
"Willis." I drop to my knees, my hands quickly searching Ethan's chest and arms, trying to find the source of his pain.
"Jax." It's a wheezy breath like he got kidney punched. Or his lungs are punctured. Or...
"I'm not gonna make it, man."
"Don't say that." I find the hit, my fingers colliding with the hot stream of blood pouring from Ethan's chest. "You're going to be fine. Look at me," I demand, staring at him through the dust of sand and the consistent staccato of rounds piercing the air. Desperate screams of devastating ends and the eerily calm call of commands swirl around us. I add pressure to his wound and stem the bleeding. Ethan’s life seeps through my fingers like the sand that chokes me.
"Tell Amy. Tell her... tell her I love her. I've always loved her." His breathing is shallow, his voice faint.
"Tell her yourself. You're gonna see her soon, man. They'll fly you to Germany, and Amy will be there. She'll be all over you, let you eat as many burgers as you want."
"Tell her. Please. Promise me." His eyes bore into mine with the desperation of a man who knows he's about to die.
"I promise."
"Tell her she was it for me. She's it."
"I will."
"Tell her she’s going to be an incredible mom. The best."
I swallow thickly, nodding. "Ethan? Ethan!"
The heavy blades of a chopper beating the air sound overhead.
"Ethan, please."
"Grab him." Another voice interrupts my frantic thoughts. A body pushes me aside, hauling Ethan up. Moving him away from me. "Drop back."
What? I reach for Ethan. But he's already on the move. He's leaving. He's gone.
And all I have is his blood on my hands.
I jolt awake, the realness of the nightmare consuming me. I taste the hot air, can chew the sand. My hands are outstretched, my fingers reaching for my best friend. My body is hopped up on adrenaline.
Jesus.
I gasp, my chest heaving; I can't suck the oxygen in fast enough. It's like it's about to be cut off.
"Jax? You okay?" Denver's voice calls out as his knuckles rap against my bedroom door before his head pops around.
"Yeah," I wheeze out.
Denver's eyes narrow as he watches me for several seconds before entering my room and walking toward me. “It’s almost nine.”
"What?" I ask sharply, my hands dropping to my bed. My fingers collide with the sweat spots soaking through my sheets.
"Bad dream?"
I nod.
"Ethan?"
I nod again.
"Fuck." He whistles between his front teeth. "You all right?"
"Yeah."
He sinks to the edge of my bed. "I thought I saw a bunch of fucked up shit in prison, but I doubt it compares to anything you've been through."
"I don't know." I reach up to touch my shoulder, massaging the tender spots around the scarring. Thank God I start PT this week.
He fixes me with a look I don't want to acknowledge. "You gotta talk to someone man. Anyone."
"I'm okay. I'm handling it."
"This is the third time you've woken up screaming in your sleep. This week."
"You keeping count?" I shove the blankets off and swing my legs to the side of my bed. Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees and try to regulate my breathing.
"We're just worried about you."
"I didn't realize you learned how to talk about your feelings and shit in lock up. You could be a professional shrink now."
Denver laughs, a quick bark, as he smacks me upside the head. "Fuck off. I'm just here to give you a heads up."
"'Bout what?"
"Daisy's coming home for spring break."
My head snaps up, and I find Denver watching me closely. I can't stop the smile that breaks out on my face, even as my heart continues to gallop from the fading reminders of Iraq. Daisy's coming home. I missed my little sister almost as much as I missed Evie these past seven years. Sure, I did a hell of lot better at keeping in touch with her, sending emails, FaceTiming when I could, mailing off postcards whenever I was someplace interesting that had a functional postal service. But I missed out on so much of her life. She was just fourteen when I left, a kid. And seeing her in random cities whenever I had leave isn’t a substitute for all the time I missed while she grew up. "I can't wait to see her."
"I know, man. We all can't wait to see her. Daisy," he says, his lips curling up into a grin, "she's the glue that holds this family together. Always has been."
"When does she fly in?"
"Two weeks from now. Thursday after next. She lands at two pm."
"I'll grab her from the airport."
"I figured." Denver pushes off my bed and tosses me a pair of jeans that are hanging off the chair in the corner of my room. "Get dressed. I'll make you some eggs for breakfast." He closes the door to my bedroom behind him.
I sit still for several seconds, staring at the closed door. It's been forever since Denver made me breakfast; at one time, he did it nearly every morning. My brothers and I were more than just siblings; we were best friends. We've always had each other's backs, looked out for one another, and covered for one another. But deep down, I think we all knew we had to be more because if we weren't, it would mess shit up for Daisy. She didn't deserve that; she already lost too much when she was just a kid. Dad pretty much disappeared after Mom passed and after he got life, we stopped relying on him for anything. Denver, Carter, and I just made it work.
But now Daisy is grown up. I'm back. Denver's moving forward. Carter's... still Carter. But we're all going to be together again, under the same roof, as adults.
And for the strangest reason, I'm really excited about that. It's like all the puzzle pieces are just starting to fit together. And I never realized how much I need the puzzle to be whole.
7
Evie
Clean soap and mint wrap around me as his shadow hovers over my desk.
I inhale, knowing that when I raise my head, my eyes will fall straight into the moss-green depths of Jax's. He doesn't say anything, just lets me take my time as I come to terms with the fact that he really is back. And will now be a permanent fixture in my life, whether I want him to be or not.
"Good morning, Jax," I finally say, raising my head and letting myself free fall into his eyes for a moment that I wish could stretch an eternity.
"Evie." He smiles at me, laid-back. He rests a hand on my desk, shifting his weight in a casual stance. "How was your weekend?" As he chitchats, he reminds me more of the high school football player from my past than the decorated soldier he's grown into.
"Quiet. Yours?"
"Busy."
"Good."
"Come on, Evie. That's all you're going to give me?" He raises a hand to his chest as if I've wounded him somehow. His smirk is playful; he's always been aware of how irresistible he is.
I raise an eyebrow.
"I think this is fate."
"What is?
"You and me. Both back here. Seeing each other all the time. Meeting on the regular."
I can't stop the smile that plays across my lips. "Jax. You're back here; I never left. And we aren't 'meeting on the regular.' You are a client at my place of employment. That's not fate. That's life in a small town."
"You always were a city girl at heart. This small town could never satisfy dreams as big as yours, Maywood. You could always see past life in our small corner of the country."
"Can I help you with anything?" I shuffle through the folders on my desk, his words piercing a part of me I try to suppress, until I find the one with his name neatly printed across the top in my handwriting. "Do you need a c
opy of the exercises Peters wants you to start with?"
"Nope, I'm all set." He heaves his gym bag higher on his shoulder, leaning closer to me. "I'm still going with fate," he whispers, before walking toward the locker room without turning around.
I take a deep breath, partly to steady my nerves and partly to inhale his scent one more time.
I'm a masochist like that.
My palms are sweaty as I stand outside of Peters’ office. I've been researching PT programs all week, and I know this is what I want to do. It's perfect for me. The opportunity to work with the military and supporting veterans is what I was born to do, if not actually serving the Army myself. But going the PT route through Baylor's program means I could serve, if I still wanted to.
Just the thought causes my heart to gallop. Of course I want to; it's been my dream since childhood. But can I deal with the scrutiny all over again? If I’m fortunate enough to receive an admissions interview for a PT program, especially the program at Baylor-Army, the interviewer will definitely question why I didn’t attend West Point after I accepted and enrolled at the academy. Can I handle having to answer the type of questions I’ve spent the past seven years avoiding?
I close my eyes. Right now, I should focus on talking to Peters. I can worry about the rest later. Still, my Mom’s face the morning I told her I wasn’t going to attend West Point flickers through my mind.
She stares at me, her mouth half-open in confusion. Concern tightens the corners of her mouth as she places a hand over mine. “Evie, are you being serious?”
I nod, taking a step closer to her chair at the kitchen table.