Hasty Resolution

by Mullens, Sam Taylor

  "The Summer Triangle, made up of Deneb, Altair, and Vega, is more prominent now that it is August. Mars is a morning target and rises about an hour before the sun. It's a ruddy-colored star-like speck sitting in the horns of Taurus the Bull.”

  I am fascinated and alert to the astronomical facts as Jake’s hand swoops across the sky.

  “The Milky Way rises in the north and runs high across the sky to the southern horizon.”

  As I gaze above at the stars shining brightly, I feel as if I am putting things into perspective with clarity. In the night air, I have a keener sense of what is happening in front of me and around me, sharper eyes from what is not said. My body offers awareness through my own heightened senses. I turn to bury my face in Jake’s chest, his warm, strong chest. I blush in the darkness as a tingly sensation runs through my entire body.

  Jake wills me away from him to show me a shooting star. I am in complete awe over my first my first shooting star.

  “The one thing that is certain in life is no matter where you are in this crazy world, you always look to the same moon in the sky and the same stars at night. You wake to the same sun rising in the east. It makes you feel good to know these simple things do not change.” Jake whispers these comforting words in my ear as if he knows from his own experience, something he is not yet ready to share with me. Something I am not yet confident enough to ask.

  Chapter 18: Liz

  Zeke is restless after being in the cabin all morning. I take him outside to run in the field of wild grass growing next to the cabin while Jake stays inside.

  Zeke tires from retrieving the ball I repeatedly throw. I lead him back to the porch area. When we approach the cabin, I don't know who is more frightened by the noises escaping the cabin, Zeke or me. It sounds as if bombs are going off inside. Zeke curls into a ball underneath one of the lounge chairs. He stays behind on the porch, not moving an inch through the threshold, as I go in.

  Jake does not see or hear me as I open the front door. Everything in the cabin is shaking by means of oversized amplifiers. Boom! Boom! Crash! Boom! Boom! A black game controller is gripped tightly in Jake's hands. On the flatscreen TV is a warfare video game. The graphics are vivid and incredibly real. The game is bloody, gruesome, and violent. The bass on the speaker is on the maximum setting. With every blast Jake controls with the remote, the wrought-iron chandelier shakes above his head. Lamps are moving, windows are vibrating, and the pictures on the walls hang lopsided.

  Jake is physically, but not mentally present in the room. He's in some sort of zone. Interacting with the game is giving Jake some sort of release. I've seen teenagers play warfare games before, but not like this, not how Jake is. It is as if he is in the game, the actual soldier in the game. Jake is in some hypnotic state. His eyes peer keenly at the screen. I do not want be the one to break him out of this warfare game zone. I quietly close the door shut. When the door clicks, the game immediately turns off. Everything goes silent in the cabin.

  Jake flies through the front door after me.

  "Are you okay?" I asked, concerned.

  "Yeah, it’s nothing. I get too caught up in those games. I should stop playing them,” Jake tells me.

  "I was worried the wrought-iron chandelier was going to come down on you."

  Jake appears embarrassed that I observed him in his warfare game zone and quickly suggests we go out on the lake.

  “I’d love to go out,” I tell him.

  "Give me a minute to dock the ski boat," Jake says, grabbing his keys.

  He goes behind the garage to pull the tarp off the parked ski boat, then hitches the boat to the truck. As he is busy, I go into the cabin to move the lamps back into place and straighten frames of hanging pictures. I turn to the kitchen countertop where Jake’s laptop is open. I try to log on to his laptop while he is distracted. I can’t get past his password to access his network. I worry if I try and miss too many times, his laptop will lock. My tampering would be evident. I wonder to myself, why I am even trying? I feel my efforts to contact anyone through email or social media will be futile. It will only infuriate my husband if I post something on my social network accounts online for everyone to read. Perhaps all it would do is send my husband on a rampage. I give up trying to log on to the laptop, my hope vanishing. I don’t want to give Jake any reason to doubt me. I decide never again to try to log in to his network without him knowing. I will not attempt to make contact with anyone online. I need to leave that door closed.

  Zeke follows me to the docking area to watch as Jake backs the ski boat into the lake. Jake unhitches the boat from its holding on the trailer and pushes it effortlessly into the water. He climbs into the boat, hoisting himself onto the front rail. Jake roars up the engine. The boat idles to the pier, away from the fishing boat.

  Zeke is jumping with excitement around the dock. Once Jake steps off the boat to help me on, Zeke impulsively jumps in the lake. I thought he was going to jump into the boat with Jake. I never guessed Zeke was going to plunge into the water. He is struggling. Jake dives in after him.

  I help pull Zeke out of the water and back onto the pier. I tie him to a nearby tree instead of bringing him on the boat with us. I understand why Jake didn’t allow Zeke onto the fishing boat last time we were out on the water; Zeke is not a swimmer. Zeke shakes off the water from his back and it sprays my eyes. I wipe my face. I may be a little wet from Zeke, but Jake is drenched!

  It is a warm day. Jake peels off his wet shirt and wrings it out over the side as I hand him a towel stored in the boat. He is patting off his muscle-ripped chest when his tattoo on his left shoulder catches my attention.

  Jake quickly wraps the towel around his shoulders. I stop him.

  "Wait a minute! Your tattoo!” I gasp.

  "What about it?” Jake is attempting to shake me off. He wraps the oversized towel tightly around his shoulder and arms to conceal his tattoo.

  I point to his left upper bicep. "That is not just any tattoo. It's not gang-related or a cool design from any tattoo parlor. That's the kind of ink a soldier would have. Let me see," I insist.

  Jake is hesitant to pull off his towel. I slowly peel the towel over his left shoulder, down his bicep. He looks away, staring off at the lake.

  The tattoo clearly has USMC inscribed in bold letters – United States Marine Corps. It has an eagle and a world globe along with the words Semper Fi. A rippling red, white, and blue flag is in the background.

  I run my fingers along the details of his ink. I stare at his gorgeous face. Jake is looking off in the distance.

  "This is one of those tattoos with significance, a deep meaning," I say softly.

  This tattoo has more than one story. Each stroke of the needle represents what has been seen, what cannot be undone and above all else…what cannot be forgotten.

  Jake remains silent; the nipples on his chest harden the longer I touch him. Either I’m pushing a boundary or he is extremely nervous with me touching his tattoo. It was obviously something he didn't want seen. I cannot hold myself back and Jake doesn’t push me away. Jake is strong enough to throw me to the other side of the boat instantly, yet he doesn’t.

  "You're not a Canadian like I thought you were. You're a U.S. Marine!”

  I should let this go, but I can’t.

  "Was a Marine," Jake corrects me.

  "No. ‘Once a Marine, always a Marine’. I have a neighbor who is a Marine; it’s the motto he lives and breathes by. I get it. You don't leave that stuff behind.”

  Jake rolls his eyes. "People say they get it, but they don't. No one really can."

  I tilt my head and ask Jake, "Aren't the Marines some of the first guys to go into combat areas, pave the way before other branches go into hostile areas?"

  "Yep," Jake says, not looking at me.

  “You’ve seen a lot, haven’t you?” I ask with concern in my voice.

  “Yes. I’ve seen more than you’ll ever know. I’ve also talked enough about it. I’m done talking about it!
” Jake says sternly.

  I’m frightened by the tone in his voice. I’m not satisfied with what he has said to me, but I have to be. Jake drives the boat in silence.

  After what seems like an eternity of silence between the two of us, I ask, "How many tours have you served?”

  "Four. I added to the tattoo after each tour."

  "That's not including training and being stationed overseas, does it?"

  "No, plus there's the Special Operation task forces. I stopped adding it all up."

  "Are you on a break, retired, awaiting your next tour?"

  "I'm not sure how to explain it." Jake cringes.

  "Did you abandon and now you're hiding up here in Canada?” My eyes widen.

  "Hell, no! I wish it were that simple," Jake roars.

  I flinch before gazing over the side of the boat. I slowly return my eyes to Jake.

  “Why would you say that you were a Marine? You’ll always be a Marine.”

  “Because I’m broken now,” Jake says softly.

  I settle back in the white leather chair on the boat. I force myself to stop asking questions. I sense Jake is relieved I am silent. I look out over the lake as I take in everything Jake has revealed to me, as if I am privy to a secret he never wanted to tell. Reprieve runs through me, knowing I have been under the care of a U.S. Marine. No wonder Jake is so strong.

  Jake gradually increases the throttle of the boat. He steers the boat to the other side of the lake to an alcove where a rope swing hangs. Jake eagerly redirects my attention to the area.

  “Let me guess, your grandpap put up that rope too,” I say, trying to lighten things between us.

  “Yes.” Jake winks at me.

  Jake’s wink brings me a sense of relief. I feel as if he is going to be all right after revealing his secret. Perhaps I needed to stumble upon his tattoo and accidentally discover who he really is, where he has been, and the untold truth of what he has endured. No wonder he feels as if he is being ambushed in a rainstorm, has night terrors, or feels like he is not thinking clearly. He’s seen a lot of shit, and now I see it in his broken eyes and a sense of lucidity overwhelms me.

  “It’s easiest if I park the boat here, swim over to the rocks, and climb to where we can hold onto the rope for each other,” he explains. “That is, if you want to.”

  I look around. “Oh, I’d love to, but I don’t have a swimsuit.”

  Chapter 19: Jake

  “No one is here. No one cares. You can jump off in your clothes, your tank, completely in the buff. Here, I’ll go first; you can follow me however you’d like or you can just watch from the boat. I’ll leave it up to you.”

  I step out of my shorts. I peer out the corner of my eye and notice Liz staring at me as I take my shorts off. I dive off the back of the stern in my jockey shorts.

  I don’t know what feels better, treading in the water or Liz knowing who I really am. It’s all right she discovered my tattoo. I needed her to ask, needed her to pry. I would not have volunteered all that information on my own. I can tell by the look of understanding in her eyes that Liz can imagine what I have done as a Marine. She’s not naive. However, I’m not certain she will understand that my eyes are like the reels of an old movie projector, replaying horrific memories behind my eyelids or that my ears ring with the sound of cries of pain and moans of despair from thousands of wounded bodies. I don’t feel as if I need to describe it all for her, not now, not today.

  I take twenty breaststrokes before looking back at Liz. She jumps off the back of the boat, wearing her tank undershirt and lace briefs. She looks cute. I want this sight of Liz burned in my memory forever. I’m glad she is coming with me and choosing not to be weighed down by her clothes. I idly tread water so she can catch up to where I am. Liz was telling me the truth. She can swim, and well.

  “Water isn’t too cold,” I say.

  “No, not really,” Liz says, swaying back and forth in the water.

  I climb out of the water first. I pull Liz to the rocks and see her up close. I bitterly remind myself of the bruises I imposed. Liz doesn’t have a few; rather, her body is speckled with them like a Dalmatian.

  “Okay, now it’s cold with that breeze,” Liz admits as she wraps her wet arms around herself. Her nipples harden under her white tank. Goose bumps rise on her skin. I go hard and turn away from Liz in hopes that she does not see my reaction to her.

  “I’m going to hurry and jump back in,” Liz says through chattering teeth. Looking at the swinging rope, she adds, “Hang onto the rope for me.”

  I tug hard on the rope to make certain it is holding securely in place.

  “You surprise me, Liz,” I say, holding onto the rope.

  “Yeah, why is that?” she asks.

  “Most girls wouldn’t initiate jumping off a rope swing or volunteer to go first.”

  “Well, lucky for you, I’m not like most girls.” Liz smiles with a devilish smirk on her face. I like that Liz is not like most girls.

  Liz takes hold of the rope, wraps her legs around it, and pushes off the ledge of the large rock. She flies over the still water, letting go of the rope at the precise time. Her squeal ricochets off the water. I nervously wait for her to return to the surface, hoping she didn’t hit anything under the water. Liz’s head bobs out of the water. She swims further away from the shore and then treads water, waiting for me to take my turn.

  The rope swings back. I grab hold of it, swing myself, and plunge into the water. Once I emerge from the water, Liz splashes me and giggles. “I knew you’d go farther on the rope than I would.”

  “Do you just want to swim around here?” I ask.

  “Nah, I’ll give the rope swing another try,” she says coyly. “And then, maybe another.”

  Liz gives the rope swing another dozen tries. I swim ahead of her to lift her out of the water. We swim aimlessly around the lake together after each drop. Liz pulls on the band of my shorts, playfully holding me back in an attempt to beat me back to the rocks and I tug on her tank, teasing her. I could continue jumping off the rope a thousand more times with her laughing and squealing with delight in the air with each plunge. Every time she bobs out of the water, she wipes water from her face and smiles with those ocean blue eyes and that unforgettable smile. Oh, what they do for me, what they have done for me, what they will do for me from this day on. I love that Liz is smiling.

  I forgot how fun this rope swing can be. It’s been many years since I have been on it. It’s been a few years since I climbed out of the cave. No one has touched my tattooed shoulder. I can’t remember the last time I laughed in such a carefree way. I want to stay in the water with Liz forever and I can tell by the great time we are having together that Liz feels the same.

  The sun is touching the western tip of the mountains when we decide to climb back into the boat. I climb in first, then pull Liz out of the water. I grab a dry towel and wrap it around her dripping wet body before she starts to shiver.

  With the towel bound around Liz, I clasp her towel at the top of her chest. I can’t help but gently pull her into me. My intentions are to pat her dry and rub her arms to warm her, but instead, I keep pulling her closer. Liz doesn’t shrink away; she lets me pull her in closer. It feels right to have her close to me. I keep pulling her closer and closer until our lips meet. We kiss with the sun setting in an orange blaze behind us. Liz doesn’t pull back when our lips meet. She lets me kiss her. This is when my heart starts to race and flutter. My heart does not race, ever. With her lips pressed against mine, I fall hard into her essence.

  I turn on the lights on the ski boat as we troll back. I keep the engine throttling low to avoid jarring Liz around the boat. Hitting the surface of the water while jumping off the rope must have been too much already and my heart is still thumping louder than the waves we were splashing. My eyes stay glued on Liz.

  She pulls another towel over her legs to keep them warm. “I bruise easily. They always take a long time to heal, but I told you that alrea
dy, so stop counting. I can tell you are staring at all my bruises.”

  She keeps her legs tightly wrapped and concealed from the scrutiny of my eyes. I am counting them. I keep staring at them. I regret every one of them more than she’ll ever know.

  “I predict they’ll vanish by tomorrow,” she adds.

  I turn off the engine and tie the boat to the dock. Liz takes all the wet towels out of the boat to lie on the dock to dry. She gathers rocks to weigh each one down. Snapping the cover in place, I leave the boat in the water and tie it to the dock instead of pulling it out with the trailer. Liz runs to attend to Zeke, who is anxiously awaiting our arrival.

  “Is it okay to leave the boat out like this?” Liz asks as she surveys the docked boat.

  I look around the lake. “Yeah, there’s no one else who needs to use the dock, so it’s fine.”

  Chapter 20: Liz

  I sit up abruptly in bed when I hear the pitter patter of raindrops on the roof overhead. I rub sleep out of my eyes. The vivid memory of Jake in a rainstorm races into my memory. I clamber out of bed as I listen to the front door slam, followed by the heavy thud of boots running rapidly across the lacquered hardwood floor below. I rationalize in my head it is safer to stay locked in the loft bedroom. I know a simple lock on the bedroom door will not keep Jake out if the upheaval below intensifies. I attempt to move the ornate armoire. I budge the piece of furniture half an inch when I retreat my efforts. It’s too heavy to move. Barricading the door with the armoire turns futile.

  Hiding in the bedroom, I listen to the tromping of boots pacing the main living area. The boots stomp back and forth, back and forth. Doors open and slam below me.

  There is an elongated pause in the commotion. I unlock the bedroom door to peek over the banister. Jake has retreated to his room. As I scan the silent room, I see muddy boot prints covering the hardwood floors and rugs.

  I slink down the staircase, calling Jake’s name. He doesn’t answer. I keep calling for him in a calm, singsong-like voice. I creep down the hallway to his bedroom, finding the door is closed, but unlocked.