by Beth K. Vogt
How dare Stephen ask out loud the question that scared her the most? Had she loved Sam? A man who came and went at the will of the military? Who seemed so happy when he shouldered his duffel bag and joined his comrades and flew thousands of miles away from her? Was lasting love possible when you spent more nights cradling your pillow in your arms than resting in the warmth of your husband’s embrace?
She’d never know because Sam didn’t come home.
He hadn’t loved her enough to walk away from the military.
“. . . need to tell . . . something, Hal.” Static interrupted Sam’s words.
Haley pressed the phone closer to her ear. Wretched connection. “Okay, I’m listening.”
“I re-upped. Signed . . . papers yesterday.”
Haley closed her eyes, clenching the phone with her fist. What had he said? “But we agreed to talk about the decision some more—”
“The bonus . . . good to pass up, babe . . . you not see that?” His voice rumbled across the phone line. “We put it in the bank . . . when I get out, we can buy that house you’re always . . .”
She kept her eyes closed, unwilling to face the reality that she’d be renewing the lease on a ground-floor, 650-square-foot apartment with avocado-green carpeting and an upstairs neighbor who exercised at five in the morning and thought nothing of walking around in high heels at all hours of the day and night. And she could only hope the neighbors next door learned the meaning of the words vocal restraint.
“Hal, did I lose you?”
“No. No, I’m still here.”
“Don’t be mad . . . did it for us . . . our future.”
“I’m ready for you to get out, Sam. I’m tired—”
“We can do this . . . worth it in the end.” Sam’s voice took on his “attagirl” tone. “You’re the perfect army wife, Hal. I don’t have to worry about you when I’m over here.”
Haley’s hand rested on her stomach. All the joy she’d cherished, waiting to share with Sam when he called, evaporated with the cold splash of reality that, thanks to his decision, she’d be spending a lot of days and nights as a single mom.
If she really was pregnant. Maybe it would be better if her suspicions were wrong.
“You doing all right back there, Hal?”
“I’m good. Busy at the range.”
“Listen, I need to go. Stay safe, okay?”
“I will. You too, Sam.”
“Always. Love you, babe.”
The sound of Sam’s voice receded, replaced by her raspy sobs.
“You should have come home, Sam.” She scrubbed her hand across the tears on her face. “I’m not angry that you died . . . I understood the risk when I married you. But all those deployments . . . every single one . . . it was as if you never ever truly came home to me. Wasn’t I worth coming home to?”
Haley expected to find Stephen working in the backyard, Kit nearby in her bouncy chair. Painting the front porch. Or working on the stains in the driveway. One of the many projects outlined by Sterling’s continual stream of letters.
But instead he was stretched out on the couch, Kit nowhere in sight.
Haley walked into the room, hoping she sounded casual. At ease. That the red rimming her eyes had faded. “Hey. Everything okay?”
The sunlight from the bay window created shadows across his face. “I’ve had a wonderful time playing with my niece. She’s a charmer—and she’s having a much-needed nap.”
“Wear her out, did you? She loves her uncle Stephen.”
“Are you surprised?”
How was she supposed to answer that? Haley pulled her hair out of its ponytail, running her fingers through the loose strands. “I’m sorry I was gone longer than I expected.”
“Not a problem. I had everything I needed. Diapers and formula for Peanut. Junk food for me. I even started thawing some steak—thought I could make dinner tonight.” He pushed off from the couch and moved toward the kitchen.
Haley stopped him, forcing herself to look at him straight on. “Stephen.”
He stilled, his brown eyes searching hers.
“I’ve been thinking about the memorial service. I was wrong. What right do I have to say you can’t come to your brother’s memorial?” She paused, waiting for Stephen to respond. “I’ll call Miriam—your mom—and let her know you’re coming.”
“I can do that.”
“Whatever way you want to let her know. I’m sorry we argued about this.”
“It’s okay, Haley. All’s forgiven. About earlier—”
“I think it’s best if we don’t talk about what happened at the park.”
“We can’t ignore this, Haley.”
“Yes, we can.” One of them had to think straight. “I mean, even if there wasn’t the whole Sam situation, what about you and Elissa?”
“Me and Elissa?”
“Yes. Aren’t you hoping to get back together with her?”
Stephen’s burst of laughter contradicted how his ears turned the now-familiar red. “I went to talk to Elissa a few weeks back—to tell her about Sam and to get closure. I assure you, things are over between Elissa and me. She’s married.”
“What?”
“I guess the right guy proposed.”
“I’m sorry, Stephen.”
“Haley—I kissed you this afternoon. Believe me, I haven’t thought about any other woman but you in weeks.” Stephen reached out and traced a gentle line from Haley’s temple to the corner of her mouth, causing a shiver to course up her spine. “You may be able to forget those kisses, but I can’t. The truth is, I’ve thought about kissing you again all afternoon.”
As Stephen urged her closer, Haley put both hands against his chest, blocking the embrace. “I haven’t thought about kissing you.”
Stephen watched her for the space of a heartbeat. Then his hands slid down her arms, leaving a trail of warmth behind. When he leaned toward her, she refused to move away. The longing for another kiss from Stephen enticed her closer, and she allowed her eyes to close as his lips brushed over hers.
“Liar.” The word jolted through her.
“What?”
He released her, causing her to sway backward. “I called you a liar. At least I’m honest about how I feel about you.”
“What was that all about?”
“That, my dear Haley, was proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“Proof that you want to kiss me just as much as I want to kiss you. And when you’re willing to admit that—” He walked to the kitchen, tossing the words back over his shoulder. “—then I’m willing to kiss you again.”
thirty-one
It wasn’t the first time she’d celebrated Sam’s birthday without him.
But in the past, there was always a phone call or a Skype session to take the sting out of the separation.
Now she had a daughter with her daddy’s eyes. Their wedding bands stashed in an envelope next to his death certificate. And a single wedding photo on the bedside table, reminding her of their “until death do us part” promises.
If they’d known how soon they would be parted, would they have done things differently? Would Sam have decided not to volunteer for deployments? Would she have stopped always saying “I’m fine” and admitted to missing him more? But doing so would have tarnished her perfect army-wife persona.
Was a widow expected to visit her husband’s grave on days like today—birthdays, anniversaries, holidays? She’d never imagined sitting beside Sam’s grave—and do what? Talk to him? Pray? She couldn’t do any of that. She’d agreed to Miriam’s request to have Sam buried in Oklahoma because, as her mother-in-law said, “Who knows? You might not settle in Colorado forever—and I’m staying here.”
She finished swaddling Kit, fitting a tiny multicolored hat onto her head before cradling her daughter close. “You want to go outside for a little bit? It’s cold—but you’re a Colorado girl, aren’t you?”
She carried Kit to the red and white cathedral
-window quilt she’d spread beneath the tree in the backyard—a wedding present from one of her relatives. She eased to the ground, leaning back against the tree trunk and resting Kit against her raised knees.
“So. Today’s your daddy’s birthday.” Her daughter watched with solemn brown eyes. “I know. It kind of snuck up on me, too. Your daddy’s name was Samuel Wilson Ames—after a superhero. That’s why I named you Katherine Elizabeth—she’s a superhero, too. Family tradition and all that.”
One thing was sure: Kit was a good listener.
“Your daddy was in the army. He loved being in the military. He was a medic, which means he took care of other soldiers when they were wounded.”
Haley paused, unsure how to continue. Maybe if she practiced this next part now, when Kit was too young to understand, too young to ask questions, she’d be able to say it and face any questions her daughter had later. “You need to know there are good guys and bad guys in the world. Your daddy was a good guy. But . . . he died because . . . one of the bad guys . . . well, because there are bad guys in the world.”
Haley adjusted the brim of Kit’s hat. Stroked her cheek, causing her daughter to offer her a lopsided smile that reminded her of Sam’s teasing half smile. “Your daddy would have loved you very much. He would have taught you to ride a bike—probably skipped right over training wheels. And you would have been his hiking buddy. He knew how to juggle—socks and fruit and golf balls. He would have taught you that, too. He liked chocolate chip cookies dipped in milk for breakfast, and he liked to stay up late watching movies and then sleep in the next day.”
Haley’s reminisces pulled her back in time.
“Come here, Hal.” Sam clasped her wrist, tugging her toward where he sat on the couch, wearing a pair of cut-off jeans and a gray sweatshirt.
“I don’t feel like watching a movie.” Haley pulled against his hand.
“Then we’ll just sit and talk.”
“I don’t want to ‘talk,’ either.”
He released her, settling against the couch as she sat in the chair she’d bought from a friend when they moved. “You mad at me?”
About time he caught on.
“I don’t understand why you had to volunteer for a deployment.”
“Come on, Hal. I told you. The other guy just got married—”
“And so did we.”
“We’ve been married over a year—”
“And you deployed right after we got married—”
“You knew who you were marrying when you said yes.”
Yes, she did. And she hadn’t expected to take first place before the army—but she hadn’t expected to feel as if she was in last place.
Sam switched on the television. She left the room, crawling into bed. No tears. Keep up. She cradled Sam’s pillow in her arms. He came in hours later, waking her as he wrapped his arms around her and whispered he loved her, kissing her until he coaxed a response from her.
The sigh of something soft against her cheek focused Haley back to the present. She touched the tiny spot of cold, looking up in the sky. What? Sparkles of white drifted down—a glitter here, there, and there. Was it snowing? She watched a minute snowflake land on Kit’s face. May in Colorado, and it was snowing. Springtime in the Rockies.
“Time to go, Peanut.” She stood, holding Kit in one arm and gathering the quilt up in the other. “We need to make a phone call, anyway.”
In her bedroom, she positioned Kit on the bed before lying down alongside her so she could see her wedding photo. Then she put her phone on speaker and dialed Stephen.
“This is Stephen Ames.”
“I should warn you, Rogers, that you are on speakerphone.”
“Because?”
“Your niece wants to wish you happy birthday.”
His chuckle threatened to invade something locked away in Haley’s heart.
“All right, Kit, say happy birthday to Uncle Stephen.” Silence—and then a soft coo as Kit squirmed on the bed. “Did you catch that?”
“Absolutely. Thank you, Peanut. That’s my favorite birthday wish ever.”
“And happy birthday from me, too.”
“Thank you, Haley.”
“Are you having a good day?” Haley patted Kit’s tummy, rocking her back and forth.
“Pretty low-key. But I like it that way.”
“Me, too.”
“When is your birthday, anyway?”
“September.”
“You’re not one of those women who lies about her age, are you?”
Haley rubbed slow circles on Kit’s tummy. “No. I’m the age I am, and lying doesn’t change that.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“So no special plans, then?”
“Nope. Just kicking back. I’m good.”
“Well, I’ll let you get back to your perfect do-nothing birthday.” Because, really, what more was there to say? “Take care.”
“You, too.”
Stephen stood holding the phone after Haley hung up. His hand hovered over the keypad. Why not call her back? Suggest he drive down to the Springs and make dinner for them? Knowing Haley, she would scrounge up a bowl of Cap’n Crunch.
Anything was better than sitting in his apartment, sifting through the too-few memories of Sam. Sketching and resketching a tree house.
How did he celebrate his birthday—their birthday—without Sam? He’d done it for a dozen years, but then he’d known Sam was somewhere, eating a slice of cake and a huge serving of ice cream, celebrating his birthday without him, too.
But now . . . now he couldn’t reach his brother if he wanted to.
And he did.
The difficulty in life is the choice.
He’d stumbled across the quote by Irish novelist George Moore several years ago, typing it in the yellow virtual notepad on his iPhone.
Was the difficulty in making the choice—or living with the consequences of the choice? Being estranged from Sam was some bizarre emotional version of a phantom limb. How did doctors explain it? A leg or arm is amputated—but a person feels as if the limb is still a part of the body. But it’s not. An itch—with nothing to scratch. Pain that can’t be eased.
He may have stopped talking about Sam for a dozen years—but he’d never stopped thinking about him. There was the ache of missing his brother—the knowing that Sam was still there. Somewhere. Even believing he’d made the right choice—though he sometimes mourned the cost.
Memories skulked around the edges of his mind, but Stephen ignored them. He would not remember birthdays of the past, filled with shared laughter, shared presents, shared cake and ice cream. Which left him with the stark, unrelenting solitude of this birthday. He’d let his dad’s phone call go to voice mail and left his mother’s annual birthday card unopened on his desk. He might as well open it, read the usual “Happy birthday, love, Mom” inscription, and then let it get lost in a pile of papers on his desk, until he found it several weeks later and threw it out.
When he retrieved the envelope and settled into his chair, Stephen noticed it felt heavier than her usual birthday cards. What had his mother sent him? He slit the envelope open with the edge of his silver letter opener, pulling the contents out and depositing them onto his desktop. A birthday card. A couple of photographs. And a piece of folded, lined school paper. What was all this?
He opened the card first, surprised that his mother had actually written a message inside the front cover. He’d left a brief voice mail saying he would be attending Sam’s memorial—but hadn’t heard back from her.
Dear Stephen,
I was going through some old books the other day, putting together things to give to the church garage sale. I found something tucked into a copy of My Side of the Mountain that I thought you should see.
Happy birthday.
Love,
Mom
Stephen picked up the first picture, recognizing the photo of him and Sam sitting with their dad around the campfire during one of their
family vacations. Curls of smoke obscured their faces. They’d enjoyed learning how to build a fire and lighting it with one match. Roasting marshmallows for s’mores. Falling asleep in the tent after hiking and swimming.
In the second photo he and Sam were standing, arms slung across each other’s shoulders, celebrating winning some of their middle school wrestling matches. Same height. Same grin. Same dark hair slick with sweat. Those were fun times. Exhaustion and elation, all shared with Sam.
On to the piece of paper.
Would he see a penciled math equation? An English essay? When he unfolded the paper, he read the words Dear Stephen.
His brother wrote him? When? There was no date at the top of the page. Stephen skimmed the scrawled lines that filled only about a fourth of the page.
Dear Stephen,
I’ve thought about writing you a few times. While I was at basic training. When I graduated from army medic school. But I didn’t know what to say. It’s hard to figure out how to get past the silence. It’s not that I don’t want things to change. I just don’t know how to change them.
Stephen heard his brother’s voice as he reread the too-few lines of the letter. There was no way to determine when during the estrangement Sam had written to him. He stared at the words until they blurred.
He’d written Sam a letter.
Sam had written to him.
Both letters went missing. Stephen had no idea if Sam ever received the letter he wrote, and now he held Sam’s partial message. And there was nothing he could do about either one.
Both of them wanted to fix the problem that separated them—and both of them failed at figuring out how to get past the invisible barrier.
He teetered somewhere between regret and acceptance. Somehow he had to learn to shoulder his choices—the good and the bad—and keep living. He’d gotten what he’d wanted so long ago: he was just Stephen Ames. No and. But he’d never imagined the so-called freedom costing this much.
Stephen folded the letter, holding it in his hands. “Happy birthday, Sam—and thanks.” Maybe if they’d had more time, he and Sam would have figured out a way back to each other. He had to believe that. They had both wanted to—they would have found each other again . . . and forgiven one another.