“Once, I had to go retrieve a guy who went out in the middle of the night to take a piss. Suddenly, I was spinning in a circle from gunfire in the middle of the desert night. I was looking for cover. I was too groggy to decide which direction to run. I saw you, your blue eyes. You led me in the direction I was supposed to go. I was positive I was not dead when I saw you. It felt like your arms led me from hell and guided me to safety."
Jake is pacing back and forth across the grassy field.
"You stop believing in the goodness of people because someone smiles at you and then turns around and shoots at you. You even stop believing there is a God. So, if you have one thing that keeps you moving, you have to hang onto it. You were my thing, Liz. You were the picture of hope in my mind. Time and time again, you were it. Some guys have girlfriends, family, or even pictures. I had the hallucinations of you when I needed them most."
Jake points with intensity to his temples.
"The war hasn’t ended in my mind. I replay it over and over. I can’t press the stop button. I received therapy to work through all the shit I've seen in the Middle East. I've had countless numbers of cognitive therapy sessions, which sort of helped. I spent time in group therapy, listening to others’ experiences, which was worthless to me, but I guess I was there to help other people, so it wasn't a complete waste of time. I hated the side effects of anti-anxiety medication. They made me feel too numb. It just wasn't worth it. I tried it all. Counselors would reassure me it would all be fine, but you don't get over it. You never get over it."
When Jake was talking to me by his truck in the fields, when I went for a Sunday morning walk, is the moment he snapped. He had already hit a breaking point and found no other way to repair himself. Jake truly believed I was the remedy to the tragedies plaguing his thoughts. In his mind, he had no other choice. I was his last resort. In the blink of an eye, all of his logical reasoning went AWOL. He couldn’t wait forever. Now, I don’t feel like the victim here. I feel that one circumstance after another brought me here. It wasn’t fate, it wasn’t planned, and it wasn’t the act of a lunatic. It was just a last ditch effort to restore a state of sanity, his hasty remedy.
Jake continues, “With you being here with me now, I’m back to being me again. You redirect all my thoughts where they should be. Right here, right now. I’m sleeping again, eating, laughing. I’m even doing things just for the hell of it, all because of you. When I thought there was nowhere else to turn, I found you. The look of forgiveness in your eyes is the only thing that helps me forget how badly I treated you at first.”
Jake looks away from me; he turns back to admit more of himself.
"I chose to opt out of my last deployment. All the doctors said I would be fine, but I didn't want to put anyone else at risk. I've seen men lose it at the wrong time and the wrong place. They put other people in jeopardy. I have not been and do not want to be one of those guys. I can’t be the weakest link, ever."
Now, I understand why Jake said he was a Marine, that he was broken. He didn’t know how many more times he could endure it all. He didn’t trust himself to pull it off any longer as a Marine.
"Don't be sorry for me, Liz. I can tell you feel sorry for me by the way you are looking at me. I chose this for myself. I was raised to be a Marine, make my dad proud, and make my grandpap proud. I think I have done that much. I really don't know how to live like a civilian. It’s like I don’t fit in. I think it drives me more insane to live on my own. I know I will have to eventually, but not quite yet.”
"I thought I was broken and completely useless as a person and a Marine. Now, with you, I’m starting to feel like I might still have more in me before I become noncombatant or retired as a Marine."
Jake stands with his arms crooked at his waist.
"So, it is basically a matter of when you'll return, not if you'll ever return?” I ask gently.
“Yes. Like you said, Once a Marine, Always a Marine. I need to stop denying who I am and what I stand for. I need to stop thinking of myself as completely useless.”
I tilt my head to one side as I choose my words carefully. I don’t want to sound like just another counselor he has been required to talk to. I’m not going to pepper him with questions. I can’t say I know what he is going through. I don’t know how anyone could truly fathom the casualties of war, especially not the war he wages in the walls of his mind. I have not walked a mile in his boots; not many have and lived to tell about it. Jake baring his soul to me, after all this time, is blindingly beautiful.
“Jake, honestly, I'm sad you didn't tell me sooner and I painfully regret that I stopped running and didn't see you again sooner in the fields.”
I walk slowly toward him until I am below his chin. I grab hold of his T-shirt and pull him down to me. I stand on the tips of my toes and kiss him softly. In return, he embraces me with his strong arms and pulls me off the ground. I hang onto his broad shoulders and wrap my legs around his waist as our lips meet.
Jake buckles his knees, still keeping a hold of me in his arms. He lays me carefully on the grass until I am underneath the weight of him. He kisses my forehead, my cheeks, and my neck. Zeke begins to bark at Jake. We disconnect our gaze from one another as Zeke slithers in between us. Zeke lies on top as if to protect me from Jake.
Jake is baffled by what Zeke is doing. The canine is suffocating me.
I plead to Jake, "Get him off of me!”
Jake has to pry Zeke off. Zeke quickly returns his position, guarding me as if I need to be shielded. Jake scolds him and we laugh at Zeke’s innocent gesture. I definitely do not need protection from Jake. I never have.
I lie on the grass with Jake tenderly by my side, looking at the stars in the sky beginning to glisten above as the sun begins to set.
"Jake," I say softly. "Do you have to go back? Back into combat, I mean, or can you do something else?”
"Well, you are either active, in the reserves, or retired. You do what they need you to do. You go where they tell you to go. If all troops are pulled from the Middle East, there will always be an embassy somewhere to guard. America will always be the big brother to someone. A sniper will always be placed in the far distance as a backup. With all my training and experience, it’s not always up to me."
We nestle against each other in the tall grass.
"Do you get a little rusty when you’re not constantly in training?”
"It's like water skiing for you, Liz; it comes back to you pretty fast. You have no other choice," Jake explains. “The rest of getting ready to return is much more difficult.”
I know what the most difficult part is: battling the demons in his mind.
“Jake, what did Doug whisper in your ear before he got back into his truck and drove away?”
I hear him swallow the lump in his throat.
“To call if you have chest pains or difficulty breathing and he will send a helicopter to get you,” he tells me solemnly.
“By the way, Liz,” Jake adds. “I should have told you everything sooner.”
Jake pecks my temple with a kiss and pulls me closer to him. I gaze up at Jake in understanding. Everything must have been so painful to articulate. I melt into the warmth of his arms as I reflect on everything he has revealed. Jake finally broached the truth he was avoiding. I feel him relax as we breathe in the warm night air together.
Chapter 28: Liz
“Do you have a pair of scissors?” I ask Jake as I tromp down the stairs.
“Yeah, they’re in my bathroom in the top righthand drawer; help yourself.” Jake pauses. “Hey, wait a minute. What do you need with a pair of scissors?”
“I need to trim my bangs. They’re bugging me. I can trim your hair so you don't have to buzz your head any time soon. Do you have clippers somewhere in the cabin?”
He points. “They're in the bottom drawer of my bathroom.”
I retrieve the scissors from the drawer, then find a box, which contains a pair of clippers. When I walk to the porch with s
cissors, clippers, and a towel in hand, I have Jake pull a chair near an outside outlet.
"Did you go to cosmetology school or something?”
"No. I have sisters who needed trims at the last minute for dates. I also have a couple of sons who needed trims on a Saturday night when it was too late to make hair appointments. Oh, and I have a daughter who liked to play with scissors when she was little, which required some late night repairs,” I clarify.
I wrap the towel around Jake’s shoulders and ask him to hold the towel on his neck. His hair is still slightly damp from a recent shower. It is easy to grasp between my fingers and snip with scissors. I start at the top of his head, only trimming the ends slightly. I like how his hair is starting to get wavy.
“The next person who cuts your hair will whack you upside the head with a comb and tell you not to have anyone touch your hair again. I’m not going to do much; just nip off the edges."
"Do you miss them?”
"Who? My kids? Of course I do! They are the biggest pain, but I adore each one. It’s indescribable how once you have children; they are always a part of you whether they are by your side or far away. They are always on your mind and you always keep a prayer for them in your heart.”
I do not think Jake believes what I just said about moms and their children, but I keep rambling as I snip around his ears.
“The thing about boys, that is, my boys anyway, they have always loved their mom. They were rambunctious babies, toddlers, and preschoolers. Now that they are older, they are much easier, just tremendous slobs. They are not as meticulous as you are. If the outside door remained unlocked when they were little, they bolted out of it. Sending them to kindergarten was a nightmare.”
I cringe over the memory. Those were some tough years.
“I’m sorry I took you away from them,” Jake says solemnly with deep remorse.
“I stressed about it at first until I came to the realization that my sisters are most likely helping out while I am away. Beds left unmade, furniture caked with dust, and an accumulation of dropped snacks under the couch large enough to feed a small army. It's not going anywhere. It will all be there for me when I return, unless someone hires a cleaning company to come in while I'm gone. No one notices what I do until I don't do it, so maybe they are feeling the sting of me not being home. My kids are probably enjoying a break from me, their dictator mother, as I am from them. It’ll be good for my husband to take on more responsibilities. Besides, my husband gave up on me, remember?”
I blow the trimmed hairs off Jake’s neck. Chills shiver down his spine. He has goose pimples where I still need to touch up with the clippers. I rub his neck to warm his skin.
"Do you have any kids?" I ask.
"After my second deployment, I came home to my wife being seven months pregnant," Jake tells me.
"That must have been a fun surprise.”
"Fun? Not exactly what I would call a fun surprise. I was gone over a year," he adds with viciousness.
I could do the math. "Ouch!"
"While everyone around me was having these joyous homecomings, she had divorce papers and a pen in hand. I signed where it was earmarked, handed the papers back, and haven't seen her since."
"Sorry," I say as I brush his neckline with my fingers.
"I'm not. I shouldn't have married her in the first place. She was a tag chaser who just loved any man in a uniform. That woman could not love a man in the uniform or outside of a uniform." Jake’s voice is sullen.
"Did you see anything in her when you first fell in love with her?”
"I was never in love with her. She was just a poor imitation of you.”
Jake has a sparkle in his eyes when he looks at me. I cup his cheeks, smiling, and kiss him on the forehead. I feel his nose nuzzle into my cleavage. I whip the towel off his shoulders. I shake the hair out of the towel and brush off the rest of his shirt.
"Do you think moms ever forget their sons?" Jake asks.
"No, I really don't know how they could. Not even the really selfish mothers."
"After my dad was killed in combat in the Gulf War, my mom desperately looked for love. Every summer, she found a new man. Each year, she spent time coaxing a new man into her life. They never worked out, not one. My grandpap started taking me every summer break. My mom was always too busy with a new man. The last man she fell for was a stupid drunk. He drove off a cliff in the middle of the night when he was driving home after an evening at the bars. The car careened, spun, and swerved off the road. There was no way either one of them could have survived the wreckage once the car caught on fire. There was no foul play; it was just a stupid drunk behind the wheel. The coroner’s report remained unquestioned. We had no reason to interrogate. This happened after I graduated from high school. I always wonder if she thought of me as they flew off the edge of the cliff with their wheels spinning in the middle of the night."
"I'm sure she did, Jake. You were probably all she saw in her final moments that night. She probably prayed harder for you than she did for herself. I know I would have.”
Jake doesn’t believe my words. His mom must have hurt him for many years by always making him take a back seat to her relationships. Once again, I can’t help but feel remorse for him.
Jake wraps his arms around my waist. I lean in to kiss him on the lips. I straddle his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck. He hangs onto my waist, pulling me in gently. I feel so close to him right now. I feel goose pimples reforming on his neck. I nuzzle his neck and the goose pimples multiply. I kiss them and nibble on his earlobe and he nibbles on mine. I love the way he smells as I breathe him in. I run my fingers along his freshly shaven chin. His hands are in my hair, willing me to stay close to him. So I do.
Chapter 29: Jake
The gas supply stored to operate all the small engines is bone dry. Liz offers to help at the gas station, even though it’s a slow, bumpy haul with the boat. Liz lines the truck bed with empty five-gallon gas cans from the garage as I hitch the boat to the truck. I make certain the wiring on the trailer is properly connected. I adore working side by side with Liz. Having her next to me is invigorating. She is always asking to do something, to help, or to make herself useful. It’s become second nature to ask her to do simple tasks I could do myself.
I carelessly ask Liz to lock up the cabin while I retrieve a pair of work gloves. Zeke comes running full sprint to leap into the passenger side door, left open as Liz hops down the front porch stairs. She is wearing one of my old denim jackets I haven’t seen since high school.
“Liz, you don’t have to come.”
I don’t want Liz to feel as if she is being forced to work or to feel dominated by me.
Liz gives me a quizzical glare.
I stumble over my words. “It’s not that you can’t come… I don’t expect you to come… I just assumed you didn’t want to stay behind while the guy comes to top off the propane tanks.”
Liz’s mouth begins to turn upward.
“What I mean to say is I should have asked if you wanted to come into town with me to gas up the boat.” I clear my throat. “Liz, do you want to come with me to fill up on gas?”
Liz nods her head, then stands on her tiptoes to place her hands on my shoulders. She gives me a peck on the cheek as if to say she wouldn’t have it any other way. I help her into the truck and shut the door. I love that she is coming with me. She fits so comfortably next to me in the truck. As I drive, all I can imagine is this being the first of a hundred trips we will make together to gas the boat.
When we pull into the gas station with an attached convenience store, Liz notices it is barren of people. She examines the stores, the small engine repair shop, and bungalow cabins nearby. They look abandoned as they await the next snowfall.
“This is a winter retreat. It gets busier here during snowmobile season,” I explain as I turn off the truck and engage the parking brake.
As I begin pumping fuel into the boat, I suggest to Liz that she might l
ike the trail mix inside the store. She takes me up on the idea and steps across the asphalt that is lined with gas pumps. Liz is friendly, smiles, and says hello to the two people she passes. However, they do not return any pleasantries. She is a little peeved by their distant mannerisms.
I join Liz in the convenience store once the boat, gas cans, and the truck are topped off with fuel. I find Liz where I thought she would be, in the alcove in the back of the store.
There are shelves from the floor to the ceiling with glass epoxy jars filled with a variety of nuts, chocolates, dried fruits; everything to customize a trail mix to your liking. Liz is having the young girl working the counter pull every jar off the shelf.
Liz blushes in embarrassment when she notices me.
“I haven’t seen this many varieties of yogurt-covered fruit and nuts before. The chocolate! Well, I can’t pass that up.”
Liz gestures to the shelves stacked high with glass jars.
“The girl asked if I wanted to try a sample. Then I thought I would get a little bit of this and a little bit of that…and then I just ended up getting a tiny scoop of everything they carry. She said it was no bother.”
I chuckle. “I thought you would enjoy this.”
As the girl continues to pull jar after jar of the shelf, I point out to Liz the baked goods sold on a rack near the register. They’re individually wrapped in packages and tied off with decorative bows.
I suggest, “You could do something like this.”
Liz raises her left eyebrow. “Bake things and sell them? Not that I don’t want to turn your cabin kitchen into a mini bakery. I would love to spend my days mixing and baking, but I think someone already has cornered the market on selling their goods in this small country store.”
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