by Angel Smits
She moved down the steps and across the walk. She stopped only when she reached Ryan’s side. She squared her shoulders and faced them both. “I don’t owe your father or anyone an explanation,” she said. “But I, we, owe you the truth. You want that, don’t you?”
Marcus could hear her. He didn’t move, but she knew she’d hit a nerve. She could tell, using his words against him. She turned to his—her—their son. “I gave you up because it was the best thing for you. And I’d do it again if I had to.”
Ryan’s eyes shone, and she prayed she could put the right words together. “I didn’t want to. Now that you’re back in my life, I don’t want you to ever go away again. But Marcus is your dad, Ryan. He loves you. You love him. I see it. I know it.”
She couldn’t hold back anymore. She reached out and engulfed the boy she’d last held as a baby in her arms. Ryan’s arms went around her, holding on.
“I’ve come to love you so much.” She didn’t analyze whom she was talking to right then. Finally, she pulled away and put space between them. “I’d never do anything to hurt you.” She met Marcus’s cold stare. “Either of you. I’ll never take Ryan from you.” She wanted to say it over and over again until Marcus believed her.
“But I hope you’ll at least let me have a piece of his life to be a part of.” She backed up, afraid she’d never be able to let go if she didn’t.
When she reached the steps, she spun around and hurried inside. The door slammed behind her. She didn’t open it again.
And no one came to knock.
* * *
MARCUS OPENED THE BOOK. Ryan hadn’t said anything about his visit with Addie and Marcus hadn’t asked. Not because he was angry or upset. They’d both grown in the last month. But he’d asked for time.
And Marcus had given it to him.
He’d needed some himself, especially after seeing Addie today.
He needed a distraction. So, he’d decided tonight was the night to start reading the book.
Except the words kept blurring in front of his eyes. He hadn’t slept much lately, and he rubbed his tired eyes now. Maybe tonight he’d sleep.
Not if he read this book, he wouldn’t. He closed the cover and shot to his feet. He paced over to the dining room window that overlooked the backyard. Ryan had come in a short while ago, leaving the back lights on. The big floodlights up under the eaves cast pools of gold over the lawn. Fairy lights scattered along the walk, and in the flower beds, softened their glow.
It was an inviting place, and he wondered for the millionth time what it must have been like growing up here, crowded into this four-bedroom house with seven other people.
Memories bombarded him as he gazed out at the detached garage where Addie’s father’s shop had been. The day he’d found her long-lost birthday present returned to haunt him.
So sweet. So wonderful. A lifetime ago.
He’d thought he’d found love again. Fool. And maybe... No, if there was one thing Marcus hated, it was secrets. He turned around and stared at the book. Wasn’t that what had started him on his entire career? His curiosity? All his father’s secrets?
His father had seldom been home, and they’d never known where he was or when he’d come back. If he’d come back. He remembered the tears his mother had shed when he’d been small. She’d missed him. Missed sharing a life with the man she loved. Lord, Marcus certainly understood that pain.
But eventually she’d stopped crying. She’d never told them why, and he’d hated that wall she’d built around herself.
His father’s secrets had driven him crazy. And he got the feeling that if Elizabeth hadn’t taken Ryan, if Ryan hadn’t decided to share the birth certificate, Addie wouldn’t have ever told him about her past, about the child she’d given up.
He smacked a palm against the counter. It wasn’t as if she’d lied to him. She’d been totally honest when he’d asked. But the sin of omission was just as bad as a lie, wasn’t it?
To him, it was. Perhaps worse because you intentionally hurt someone.
He stared out the window again, reaching over and turning off the lights, plunging the backyard into darkness. There was so much about Addie that he didn’t know, and he didn’t think he’d ever know.
But there was one secret he could solve.
His father hadn’t told him anything about his military life. That curiosity had driven Marcus to study all the events his father had been involved in. Vietnam had to be the biggest event.
As Marcus met vets and became involved in the academic piece of his father’s world, he heard rumblings of a mission. A mission gone horribly wrong. He had more questions than answers, and the one person who could give him those answers refused to discuss it.
Stalling, and knowing it could be a late night, he opened the cupboard where the coffee was stored. He’d make a pot. The bottle of wine Addie had innocently brought that first night he’d invited her over sat there. Had he put it there? He didn’t remember doing so. Had Ryan? Did it matter?
He stared at the dark bottle. It didn’t call his name. It didn’t even look enticing. He smiled and, with one swift move, grabbed it by the neck. He had a corkscrew around here somewhere. He remembered unpacking it. He didn’t remember putting it in any of the drawers.
He opened a couple where he thought it might be. Nope. He looked in the pantry. Nope, not much there anyway.
With the bottleneck fisted in his hand, Marcus moved through the kitchen. No luck finding the blasted thing. Finally, angry and frustrated, he stopped in the middle of the floor. Looking around. Did he have any other options?
“Dad?” Ryan’s voice was quiet, higher-pitched than normal. “What are you doing?”
Marcus laughed and looked down. He cursed. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Didn’t mean to upset you.”
“What’s that bottle for?”
“It’s the one Addie brought that night we grilled.”
“What...” Ryan swallowed hard. “What are you gonna do with it?”
“Well, I was going to do this civilized.” He looked at the hurt in his son’s eyes and knew he’d put it there. “Guess you’ll just have to help me.”
“Drink it?” The face he made almost made Marcus laugh, and while he was pretty sure that someday they’d be able to look back at this moment and laugh—not now.
“No. Come on. Come over here.” He walked to the sink, waiting until Ryan was right there beside him. “Put your hand here.” He pointed to the bottom of the bottle. Ryan grasped the thick glass. Marcus had his hand over the label. “Ready?”
“I—I guess.” Though the look on his face said he had no idea what he was ready for, he trusted his father. Marcus’s heart swelled with pride that he’d built a good relationship with his son. Nothing, absolutely nothing, was more important right now.
“Okay. And don’t ever do anything like this without me, okay?”
“Uh, sure?”
Marcus lifted his hand—Ryan’s and the bottle rising with it. He brought the neck of the bottle down hard on the corner of the marble counter. The top did exactly what he expected, sending droplets of wine over them both, a hunk of glass and some slivers fell into the sink. He upended the broken bottle and poured it straight down the drain.
Ryan’s laughter rang out, filling the bright warm kitchen. When the last drop had fallen down the drain, the acrid scent wafting up around them, Marcus turned on the water. There might be a few glass slivers, but if he had to replace anything, he’d gladly do it. That sound was worth it.
Marcus took the hunk of broken bottle and tossed it into the trash. He carefully grabbed the other broken pieces and they followed into the can. They stood there, silently staring at the sink.
Finally, Ryan stepped back. “You okay, Dad?”
“Yeah.” Marcus looked up from the sink where the water still ran. He turned it off. “I am. I
’m better than I’ve been in a long time.”
“I’m glad.”
“Me, too.” The silence stretched out. That was one down. He turned and looked back at the other. The book that he’d told himself he was going to read—eventually—sat there, the cover still closed.
“You going to read the book?” Ryan asked, his voice once again soft and higher-pitched, stressed.
“I need to.” He knew the information inside was important to him for his field of study—at least that’s what he’d told himself. And it was the key to who his father had become. Would he truly understand the older man once he’d read it? Once he knew the truth of the horrors his father had faced, and possibly done, in Vietnam?
“Maybe we could do the same thing.”
Marcus looked over at Ryan and frowned. “Do what?”
“Maybe we should do it together. You know, read it. Break it like we did the bottle.”
A shot of pain cut into Marcus’s chest. Addie’s reassurances that he’d raised a good kid echoed in his mind. Suddenly, he missed her, missed the woman his heart believed her to be. The one he knew he couldn’t face until he’d slayed all the demons.
“Are you sure you’re up to it?” Marcus wasn’t going to have Ryan do anything that would harm him in any way, physically or emotionally.
“Yeah. If you’re there.”
“Okay. Let’s give this a shot.”
Slowly, Marcus walked over to the big kitchen table, thinking vaguely of the old wooden chairs that had sat there at one time. The one that sat in Addie’s kitchen where... He yanked his mind back from that path. He pulled out one of the new, straight-back chairs he’d bought.
The book hadn’t changed. The cover was still the hand-tooled leather that Sam had spent months creating. The hand-cut and printed pages were rough on the edges.
Ryan stood next to him and reached out his young hand. Instead of caressing the cover and appreciating its beauty, he did what Marcus hadn’t. He flipped it open. And started to read aloud. “Vietnam was a hell of a place.” Sam’s words filled the kitchen.
The words were stilted for the first chapter. The detailed descriptions of getting the draft notice, of the conversations Sam had had with his buddies and his family about going. About the idea of running to Canada. Of the details of boot camp and the long flight over the massive ocean that were distant and safe. After he’d gotten past the initial shock that Ryan was actually reading the book, Marcus sat back and listened.
“You want me to keep reading?” Ryan looked up at the end of the chapter.
Marcus smiled at his son. So damned proud. “If you don’t mind. But how about we go find a more comfortable seat in the living room?”
“Cool. Can I grab a soda?”
“Yeah, get me one, too.”
They settled in the big overstuffed couch that had taken nearly six months for Carolyn to talk him into buying. Now he felt her support in the room. Ryan flopped down beside him, kicking his tennis shoes off and propping his feet up on the coffee table. Carolyn definitely wouldn’t have liked that, but Marcus didn’t mind.
“You ready to hear more?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Marcus took a swig of his cola, hoping caffeine had the same protective powers alcohol had once had for him.
“The worst part of each day was the waking up.” Ryan read Sam’s description of the military jungle. “Waking up and remembering where you were and how far you were from home.” Ryan stopped and frowned. He looked over at Marcus. “That’d really suck.”
“Yeah, it would.” Marcus wasn’t seeing Sam’s face in his mind. He imagined his father’s face. The face he remembered from when he was a kid. The one that was in the black-and-white photos his mom still had.
Ryan turned the page. “Hey, listen to this. ‘I met a bunch of great guys in that first week. We were all from Chicago, and here that makes us neighbors, even though back home we were from totally different worlds. There was Timothy Harden. Matt Sutter and a guy from up on Lake Shore Drive. Never thought I’d meet anyone from up in that hoity-toity area. But here we were sharing beers every Friday night. James Skylar turned out to be a man I’m mighty glad I shared a jungle with.’ That’s Grandpa, ain’t it?”
“It...it is.” Marcus tried to swallow the fear in his throat. The soda just got lodged somewhere near his Adam’s apple, and he set it aside.
“Cool!”
Marcus’s heart hurt. What if the grandfather Ryan was so proud of turned out to be the evil monster Marcus was afraid he was? Would Marcus be able to see through his own pain to help his son deal with it? Dread settled over him.
Ryan kept reading for a while, with no further mention of James, though. The room grew darker as the sun set, and Marcus turned on the lights. At the midway point, he stopped and they ordered a pizza. While they waited for the delivery, Ryan read another chapter. The battalion Sam was with was moving location and the Chicago crew was splitting up. They were sad to leave each other and the connection to home behind, but the months had made them into responsible, hardened soldiers. “We’d become men without even realizing it.” Sam ended the chapter and they left off to answer the door for the pizza.
Halfway through the pepperoni, Marcus decided he needed to talk to his son, prepare him for where they were going with this story, that it might not be the hero-worship-worthy place he was expecting. “You know this book is about a war, right?” Marcus asked.
“Yeah. I know.” Ryan ran into the kitchen and grabbed another soda. “Wars suck. But Sam survived. Grandpa survived.” He shrugged and opened the book again. Before he read again, he looked at Marcus. “You should make us some popcorn.”
“You just had half a pizza.”
“Yeah, but there’s no crunch. We need crunch.”
Marcus shook his head and took the opening his son gave him. The familiar, modern hum of the microwave was a welcome respite from the images the book filled his head with of his father’s oddly black-and-white image, the jungle and—what was that feeling in his chest? Anticipation? Anxiety? Curiosity?
“Dad, you coming back anytime soon?” Ryan yelled.
“Hey, microwaves are fast, but not instantaneous.” Just then, the familiar ding sounded and, after a few stray pops, the snack was done. He took his time splitting the popcorn into two bowls before returning to his side of the couch. “Okay, read on. Unless you want me to.”
“No. I’m good.” He paused and looked at Marcus. “I like doing this.” Then he turned back to the book and turned the next page. The paper scraped on the edge of Ryan’s jeans, loud in the quiet room. Quiet until Ryan dug into the popcorn and munched.
“We headed north. We didn’t know where we were headed, just followed the directions. Just followed orders.”
Marcus listened as Ryan read, enjoying the sound of his voice. He closed his eyes, picturing the jungles. For the first time since they’d started reading, Marcus felt the change in Sam’s writing. It grew more vivid. More emotional. “We were on the edge of the delta. We had no idea what people at home were hearing, though later I learned what Mom and Dad were hearing each night on the news. Sometimes I think they had it worse. We were there, just getting through each minute. They were in the kitchen back home, worrying, unable to do anything but worry.”
Ryan looked up and fell silent. “Did you know Grandpa’s parents? Were they like that?”
“I do remember them.” Marcus cast his mind back to his own grandparents. They suddenly seemed so distant, so old-fashioned in comparison from this world, even the world Marcus knew of before he was born. “We’ll have to ask Dad about them.”
Ryan nodded and returned to reading. From here, Marcus could see they were nearing the end of the book. Nothing in this book answered the questions Marcus had always lived with. And then Ryan started the next page.
“We were pinned down in those
rice paddies. I’ll never want to step in standing water again as long as I live.” Sam’s grimace came through in the words. “But that day, we were sure we were standing in our watery graves. Bullets flew at us from every direction. The enemy was close, and we weren’t sure where to turn. Then we saw the bellies of those flyboys and started cheering. We were gonna make it. We were gonna see another Friday night beer. But then those bombs came too close. Butch and Hack were hit first—by our guys.”
Ryan stopped reading. He looked over at Marcus, his eyes wide. “How does that happen?”
Marcus didn’t want to explain friendly fire right now. He’d studied it plenty, how it happened and how it affected those who faced it, and who lived with the haunting. There was a long silence.
Ryan turned the page and resumed reading. “And then it stopped. Suddenly, steered around us like the hand of God was guiding that plane. It was a sight to see. We didn’t know what happened until we got back to the base.
“That first day, we saw all of them Chicago boys. Only a couple were missing. We didn’t do much talking about them. But we drank a beer to each one. And then that Lake Shore Drive fella came strolling in. When he saw us, he came over and pert’near hugged us all. And then he told us about that day in the rice paddy.”
Marcus stood and paced the room. He couldn’t sit. Did he want to listen?
“Dad, you okay?” Ryan looked up, a frown on his face. “I can stop reading.”
“No. We’ve come this far.” He was committed. If he didn’t read it now, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to do it again.
“Okay, but if it’s too rough, let me know.” Ryan’s eyes sparkled, similar to when Marcus used to read bedtime stories to Ryan.
“Yeah, I’ll be sure and do that.”
Ryan laughed and looked down at the book. “Here we go. We’re finishing this tonight. ‘Skylar was up in that bird. He told us about the surveillance they were doing, and as he talked, some other guy stepped up and let us know that Skylar was the reason we were able to drink those beers that night. He’d realized the coordinates were off. From what this other fella was telling us, he saved our sorry asses that day.”