With a hand on the small of her back, I lead Liz into the building and down the hall to my office, Hannah trailing like a sentry behind us. I think I like Hannah. She would have made a great Marine. I unlock the door to my office and hold the door open for both women to pass. Once they’ve settled into the chairs in front of my desk, I speak.
“Would either of you like a cup of coffee?” I ask them.
“Yes, please,” Liz says. I instantly regret not feeding her this morning.
“Me too,” Hannah answers. I head down the hallway and make a couple of cups of coffee. Carrying them back into my office. I set them on my desk and then start handing them out.
“Now, we wait for the Patriot Guard.” I tell them and that’s exactly what we do.
***
Fortunately, we don’t wait more than an hour. The leader of this unit stepped into my office to notify us of his presence, but it was unnecessary. The roar of the pipes was deafening as the bikes approached.
I push back from behind my desk and walk around, I hold my hand out to Liz and and help her from her seat. It was time.
CHAPTER 7
Aliza
“It’s time,” Holt tells me as he holds his hand out to me. I reach out and place my palm in his, letting him gently pull me up from my seat in front of his desk.
I’m not ready. I can’t be ready. Is anyone ever ready to watch the bodies of their entire family be moved from the morgue to the funeral home? No. The answer is no. What a dumb question. People used to say I was smart. Smart enough to get into a decent college. Smart enough to make bank as a web designer. Smart enough to marry Sam when he asked. But that’s where it ended. I feel like my days of smart decisions are over. Everything left is looking pretty bleak.
Holt opens the door for me and I step through it to wait for him as he locks his office door before placing his strong hand on my lower back, just above my backside, but not low enough to be in poor taste. Always a gentleman, our Sheriff Stone is. Never rude or inappropriate if he can help it. Such a gentleman that he didn’t tell his best friend he had previously stuck his tongue down my throat in the hall of the bar just outside the restrooms when I tripped on my ridiculous heels and fell right into his arms. Nope, our Holt never said one word about the chemistry we, well, I felt a mere ten minutes before his best friend met me at the bar and declared I would be his wife one day. Holt would never do anything to hurt his friend.
Will, however, saw every fucking thing. I still see the look in his eyes at night sometimes. But now, now all I can think about is Sam and how I was never as good a wife as I should have been.
Holt leads me down the stairs and towards the back doors where the hearses are waiting. I can’t help but gasp as we step out the doors into the bright light of day and see the sight before me. The street is lined on either side with motorcycles adorned with American flags and their riders whose cuts are emblazoned with Patriot Guard patches and the seals of the military branches they proudly served.
Holt’s arms tighten around me when my gasp turns into a sob. This is it. They’re really gone. My knees go weak and I know if it wasn’t for Holt, I would be a mess on the floor.
“Ma’am,” a tall man with a full head of red hair and a matching bushy beard greets me. “It is our honor to escort your husband and daughters this morning. You have our deepest condolences,” I can’t to anything but nod. I can’t even meet his eyes.
“Present honor.”
All riders stop what they are doing and salute the doors which have opened. A sob erupts from my chest and Holt’s arms tighten as a large casket which can only be carrying the body of my husband is walked out of the doors and lead to the lead hearse.
Two smaller caskets are rolled out behind Sam’s and are placed side by side in the second hearse. Just as they would have wanted it. Just as they always were. Sure, they had their fights, but they always stuck together.
The fact that there are caskets and not body bags leads me to believe I have Holt to thank for that mercy. As the doors of the cars close, the riders drop their arms and start their bikes. Two by two, they peel off from the curb and lead the way to the funeral home that has been designated to receive Sam and our girls.
“Ready?” Holt asks me.
“No,” I look into his eyes. “But take me home.”
CHAPTER 8
Holt
Til It’s Over
Itchy. Stiff. That’s how I would describe this uniform. I haven’t worn it in a few years and I honestly thought I wouldn’t wear it again. But you know what they say? “We plan and God Laughs.” Are you laughing, God? Because I’m not.
I am once again wearing the dress uniform of a Captain of the United States Marine Corps. Why? Because my best friend died and about a million years ago, in a world so far away from Texas, he made me promise to help carry his casket if he ever didn’t make it home. And how fucking lousy is it that he did make it home, from so many missions that he shouldn’t of, only to be killed by a drunk driver. Not that I can prove she was drunk.
So today, I took off the uniform of a Sheriff, and put on a different one to honor my friend. I called several men from our unit and was happy to hear that several of them would be here with me today to share this burden. I was hoping SCUBA would come, but he said he was busy. Really, I’m not surprised. He hasn’t been the same since Will died and I really can’t blame him. But I know he carries guilt over that and other promises he feels he didn’t keep.
I pull on the white gloves and cover and step outside to wait with brothers I haven’t seen in years for the hearse carrying the last of our fallen to this church. I offer a quiet nod to them. Then we wait in silence, standing guard one last time. And before I know it. Before I’m even ready, the long black cars pull up.
Without a word to each other, we gather in two rows, three men on one side, two men and a woman on the other. Regardless of gender, Mack is still a brother in arms. The doors open and we slide Sam’s flag covered coffin out in one smooth move. After a beat, we lift him up over our shoulders and show him the respect he deserves. It takes me back to a time and place I had long since put behind me.
***
“Hey, Holt.”
“Yeah, brother?”
I know where this is going, I have seen Sam stew on his feelings for days now this tour. Emotions are always magnified in the desert. This is the first mission Sam has left Liz home. Aliza. Just the thought of her name has my gut churning and jealousy burning in the pit of my stomach. But I have to push it away. Sam has saved my life more times than I can count. Would I be stupid enough to throw that all away over a girl? Fuck, I hope not.
“If something happens to me…” He starts.
“Nothing is going to happen to you,” I tell him. I swear it’s thoughts like those that get good men killed.
“But if something does happen,” he starts. “I want you to make the arrangements so Aliza and my mom don’t have to.”
I just listen to his request for a moment. I know he needs me to make him this promise and I will.
“Okay,” I tell him. “You have my word.”
“Nothing too fancy,” he tells me and I smirk. Knowing Sam he’s got a list of demands, the weirdo. “I just want a flag covered coffin, my closest brothers to carry me home, I want the horse drawn caisson, I want the church choir to sing ‘Eternal Father’, a bagpipe playing “Amazing Grace’ and taps. Like I said, nothing fancy.”
“Oh yeah, nothing fancy,” I laugh, but the thought of carrying Sam’s flag covered coffin sobers my mood. “I can do that for you, brother,” I tell him.
I wish I had known then what I know now, that one day I would fulfill his every last request.
***
The doors to the church open up and we start our slow march into the sanctuary. Behind me I hear the muffled sobs of other men I have known my whole life. Cody is really suffering. He and Sam were close growing up. I know he feels guilt for not taking Sam’s advice where Angie is concerned
while Sam was alive. But I know he is looking down on those two idiots and they’ll figure it out. Sam was stubborn enough to make it happen, even in the afterlife.
We carry them into a recording of the Marine Corps Hymn and lay the coffins on platforms in the front of the church where the pastor waits. Liz and Hannah sit in the front row. She leans into her friend like a lifeline as tears stream down her cheeks. Fuck, how I want to go to her, but I know that I can’t. The other Marines and I take our seats for the service, removing our covers and placing them over our knees.
The pastor talks about what a great man Sam was, how much he loved serving his country, his job, his wife and children. What wonderful children Harper and Sarah were. And every last word is true.
“As many of you know, Sam loved music. He would get stuck on a tune for days, weeks at a time, driving those close to him crazy every now and then.” We all laugh a little, because we know how true those words are. “Aliza has prepared a photo montage of Sam, Sarah, and Harper to one of his favorite songs. I think the words are fitting enough to close out this service. Burial will take place in one hour at the Hilltop Memorial Park.”
Til It’s Over by Old Dominion plays through the system in the church. God, how he loved that song. He danced around every time it came on the radio and requested Katy to sing it every Friday night at Father’s. On the big screen that was rolled down we see pictures of Sam as a baby, a little kid playing flag football in the mud, graduating high school, his enlistment picture, pictures of him with Liz at our favorite bar, Sam and my brother, Will. Sam and Liz’s wedding, that was a tough day to get through. The day Sarah was born, her chubby baby pictures, learning to walk, to play soccer. The day Harper was born and the proud face Sam wore. Always. Her face covered in peas while her parents laughed. Her sitting naked on a baby potty shaped like a frog. Cheesy birthday grins. Their team pictures from all the seasons of soccer they ever play. Sam coached every one.
I feel hot tears burn down my cheeks and like the man that I am, I do not acknowledge them. I just let them burn me. For Eternity. The slideshow reaches its completion and freezes on a picture of Sam and Liz each with their arms wrapped around one of the girls. Sam has his head thrown back laughing, the girls are both laughing too, but Liz, she’s smiling right at the camera. Her gaze burns me right down to my soul, all while Old Dominion sings about loving and living in the minute until it’s over.
CHAPTER 9
Aliza
There are no words to describe the feeling of attending the funeral of your thirty something husband and children. No one should ever have to sit through it. Painful doesn’t even begin to describe it. I’m numb.
Hannah holds my hand as we walk behind the horse drawn caisson carrying Sam’s coffin, followed by the hearse that carries my children. Babies that I once carried in my body. No, no one should ever have to feel like this. No mother, should ever have to bury their own children like this. It’s not natural to outlive your children.
Our friends and family walk behind us. The last person in this sad march is a bagpipe player playing “Amazing Grace.” One of the guys told me it was Sam’s request which made me laugh, because only my husband would have the audacity to make so many last requests at the ripe old age of twenty-one, and then cry my eyes out because he is gone from this world--My world--forever.
We arrive at the burial site and the military honors are rightfully given. I sit with Hannah silently by my side. She has been amazing. Something is off about her, but I’m too needy, too selfish to stop and ask her about it. I jump when the first rifle volley is shot and a strong hand, a familiar hand, clamps down on my shoulder giving me comfort and guiding me through the next two. Three shots total to signify my fallen Marine.
“Oorah!” is shouted all around me making my stomach clench.
“We now invite all service members, to join us in laying our Marine to rest,” the representative from the Marine Corps tells us.
I watch as they all stand. Holt moves to stand beside me in the aisle. Holt and the others, Holt’s dad and grandfather, and several other members of our community as they raise their arms and salute my husband as taps is played. He really is truly gone.
The honor guard steps forward and surrounds his coffin, a shiny box, that is all that my big, strong man has been reduced to. I can’t help but think how very sad that is. They lift the flag up off of his coffin by the corners and as one unit, seamlessly step to the side. Then they begin to fold the flag, turning it so it faces this way and that. The young Marine then steps forward. Holt takes a step up towards him. The folded flag is then turned once more, one hand on top, one hand on bottom, and Holt reaches for it, slipping the rifle shells from the three volleys into the final fold, and then places his hands on the flag, mirroring the movements of the young Marine.
I watch with rapt attention as Holt sticks the toe of his very shiny shoe into the ground and flawlessly pivots to face me. Oh, shit. This is it. Of all the years I was married to Sam, I knew this day might come. I had watched Katy with my own eyes in a moment eerily similar. I know she’s here somewhere, does she feel the magnitude of this moment? I can’t take my eyes off of Holt as he takes another step towards me and turns the flag in his hands to face me. I’m not ready. One hand on top, the other on the bottom. He drops to one knee before me.
One time, so long ago, in a crowded smoky bar, I had a flash of Holt on his knee in front of me his hands extended offering me up a future, but it wasn’t the folded flag of my dead husband I saw him offering me in that vision. And with words once spoken, that can never be taken back, Holt gives me a new future. One I know I do not want.
“On behalf of the President of the United States, the Commandant of the Marine Corps, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one’s service to Country and Corps,” he tells me as he extends to me the flag. “God bless you and this family, and God bless the United States of America.” I know what I am supposed to do and in a brief flash of panic, I’m not sure that I can. But with one look into Holt’s warm eyes I know that he is protecting me. He always has. So I do what I need to do.
“I do,” I tell him reaching for the flag. “Thank you,” I say as I hug it to my chest.
***
Everyone disperses with plans of refreshments and whiskey in honor of Sam and the girls, our girls, at Father’s. I won’t go. As much as Sam would have loved it. There is not one ounce of revelry I can sum up today.
“Go ahead and go,” I tell Hannah. “I’ll be fine. I need to see them put in the ground.” She knows there is nothing to say to that so Hannah just nods her head and leaves behind the rest of the crowd.
“We’re ready when you are,” the man from the memorial park tells me. I’m not ready and I never will be. Unwilling to muster up the courage to lie, I just nod.
I sit there in my folding chair, hugging a flag, while they lower the coffins of my family into the ground. I am overcome with the feeling of being left behind.
I sit there for what feels like hours, when I feel a presence behind me. I know without looking that it’s Holt. Holt is always there, always looking out for me. He says not one word. Just silently standing sentry over me and my family. Holt is there. Holt is always there.
***
I walk into my house. My empty god damned house, and think it used to be so full of life. So lived in with toys and sneakers scattered around. Laughter everywhere. There is no laughter here. There is no life here.
I walk over to the bar in the corner of the living room and pull Sam’s favorite bottle of whiskey from the shelf. It had cost him so much money and I was so fucking mad. He said he was saving it for a special occasion. But now he never would. Never tasted it. It just sits there, waiting, taunting me that he won’t be back to drink it. So I will.
With the decision made, I snatch the bottle and a glass and pour two fingers. Neat. I shoot it back, and fuck, does it burn all the way down but in it’s wake is a numbn
ess I have never felt before. A numbness that I greatly welcome. So, I pour another two fingers and shoot it back. Then another and another. Until it doesn’t hurt as much. But it hurts. It still hurts. I keep pouring until the blackness takes me over and I just can’t bother to care.
CHAPTER 10
Aliza
June
June brings nothing but darkness. Hannah begs me to come outside with her but I’m not interested. She cooks meals but I don’t eat them. The whiskey is the only one that I want to keep me company. Not the summer sunshine, just whiskey and Sam’s ghost….
CHAPTER 11
July
CHAPTER 12
Aliza
End of August...
I walk into Father’s. I have been walking for hours. Through the woods. Through town. I was supposed to go to the market, but I just kept going. I have nowhere to be. Nowhere to go. No one needs me.
This morning, I got up when I felt like it. I didn’t work, but I haven’t since the day Holt told me my life was over. The beauty of being a web designer. You work when you have work. I currently choose not to take on new work. I don’t need it. Sam left me with the house paid for, a large life insurance policy, and his Service Member Group Life Insurance or SGLI. He also bought those stupid life insurance plans on the kids that the baby food company sells. Sam thought the girls would get a nice college fund with 25k in it, I got to buy coffins for everyone I love. I guess we don’t always get what we want.
I came home from the funeral late in the evening and walked to Sam’s bar in the dining room. I opened his favorite bottle of whiskey and fell in. It dulls the pain at night and helps me sleep. Otherwise, when I close my eyes at night, my life flashes before my eyes, only I wake up and I’m still living. Sort of.
Five weeks later, I’m still in that bottle. I would say I’m ashamed, but I’m past the point of caring. Holt comes over almost every day to check on me. Nothing has changed. Nothing will change. Everyone is dead. Apparently, Hannah is tired of living like this. Well, that’s just fine, get out of my house.
Whiskey Lullabye (Southern Heartbeats, Vol. 2) Page 4