by Linnea Valle
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Playlist
About the Author
Like There’s No Tomorrow
Copyright ©2018 by Linnea Valle
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without the written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Please support Indie Authors by legally purchasing your own copy of this body of work.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, or incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by Rebecca Pau, The Final Wrap, www.thefinalwrap.com
Cover Photography by Jason Knade, http://jasonknade.com
Cover Model: Emblu, follow her on InstaGram @emblu
Poetry by M, follow on InstaGram @going.indigo
Editing by K.D. Carrillo, https://www.facebook.com/kdcarrilloauthor/
Interior Formatting by T.E. Black Designs, www.teblackdesigns.com
Public Relations thanks to Bex and E!
For Albert, my brother. Your time with us was too short. Your absence ever-present.
To the brave men and women who serve our country in the Armed Forces and the families who sacrifice by the service of their loved ones. Thank you.
On average 22 veterans a day commit suicide. This devastating number is more deadly than being actively deployed. Please look for ways to help our veterans. Two of my favorite organizations working with veterans and their families are:
Wounded Warrior Project – www.woundedwarriorproject.org
and
VETSport - www.vetsports.org
Veteran’s Crisis Line
The Veterans Crisis Line connects Veterans in crisis and their families and friends with qualified, caring Department of Veterans Affairs responders through a confidential toll-free hotline, online chat, or text. Veterans and their loved ones can call 1-800-273-8255 and Press 1, chat online, or send a text message to 838255 to receive confidential support 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. Support for deaf and hard of hearing individuals is available.
I wanted it more than anything.
Honestly, I don’t think I knew what wanting something was until I’d found you.
Or maybe that’s where I crossed the line from want to need – except I was familiar with the innate need of everything else.
I was born needing to breathe, to eat, drink and shelter myself.
In the same way I have to make myself aware that I’m even breathing, or how naturally it comes when in sleep, that I find myself alive in the morning and awake;
I needed you.
And what happens when your water is taken? The home around you, the breath within you
– what then?
M
Follow on InstraGram @going.indigo
I’m lying in the vastness of my bed, my body curled into the fetal position. The blankets are pulled up to my chin, in an attempt to keep the chill from invading. A pillow is under my head and another clutched into the curve of my stomach. As though I’ve been eviscerated and this will keep my guts from spilling out. I know better, it’s not like this is the first time I’ve been in this place. Far from it. Tonight, is the 357TH night to be exact. I used to think keeping count meant eventually there would be an end to this pain. I no longer believe that. Instead, I’ve grown used to resting my head on a pillow wet with tears, sleep eluding me once again. I’ve given up expecting anything.
It’s been eleven months and three weeks since the visit which took away half of my life. I will never be whole again. My mind drifts back to that day. I replay it in my mind, over and over, and suspect I will every day for the rest of my life.
Already worn out from the evening, I had just sat down in a tired heap. I was ready to turn on the TV when the knock on the door startled me. I heaved a sigh as I pushed myself to my feet, but even before I answered the door I knew my heart would be ripped in half.
The TV remote fell from my free hand as I opened the door. There stood two men and a woman. They were in their Class A dress uniforms and one appeared to be a Chaplain. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why they were here. The man with the most brass on his uniform spoke while the rest of his entourage stood straight and somber.
“Ma’am, are you Emily Jenkins?”
“Yes, I’m Emma.” My voice a flat line, just like my heart.
“Ma’am, may we come in?” He asked.
“No, what is it? What’s happened?” My voice rising in panic.
“It really would be best if we could come in and sit down, please, Ma’am,” again, he requested.
“No! Tell me what you have to say. Tell me, I’m not moving until you do.” I wanted to push him out of the way and close the door. Close off the news that I already knew was coming. If I had the strength to lift my arms, I might have, but all I could do was squeeze the door handle tighter.
Finally, with a resigned look, he spoke. “Ms. Jenkins, it is my duty to inform you that Edward Jenkins has been reported dead in the Chaparhar District in Afghanistan at 1520 hours on July 24th, 2014. He was on a routine security patrol when his unit encountered an Improvised Explosive Device. On behalf of the Secretary of Defense, I extend to you and your family my deepest sympathy in your great loss.” They all remained somber, taking in my reaction.
A scream tore through my lungs, past my throat and out of my mouth. My legs gave out, I sank to the floor in the doorway and the sobs wracked my body. I don’t remember how long I was there though. Time had no relevance. The two men helped me up and took me to the couch while the woman went in to the kitchen and brought back a glass of water for me. I went to reach out for it, but my hand was shaking so hard I couldn’t hold on to the glass. The woman knelt and held the glass to my lips, encouraging me to take a sip.
The Chaplain spoke next, “Ms. Jenkins? Do you have someone you’d like to call?”
My first thought was to call Zach, I needed to tell Zach. But, of course calling him wouldn’t be possible. Zach was with Eddie. In fact, his family may very well be getting this same news right now. Oh God, not Zach too! Panic rose in me, forcing me to stand and face the group. Was Zach alright? I couldn’t lose both. I would shrivel up and die if I lost them both.
“What about the rest of the Unit? What about Zach Peters?” My voice was hoarse from screaming and crying. My windpipe pinched so tigh
t I could barely get the words out. And then I held my breath, waiting for what seemed like an eternity. I looked from one face to the next willing someone to speak.
The woman, who had still been kneeling, stood, set the glass on the coffee table, and smoothed her skirt. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but we are not at liberty to divulge any information about the Unit or the people in it at this time. Family notifications have not been completed. We can check on his status for you in the morning.” She truly looked pained having to deny me answers.
I slowly sank back to the couch, curled my legs underneath me and again began sobbing, this time thinking not one, but both men in my life, the two men I loved, were dead. Zach wouldn’t have been far from Eddie, I knew the two were inseparable. So, in my own mind, if Eddie was dead, Zach probably was too.
I rocked back and forth in rhythm with my gasps for breath. I felt like my chest was caving in. Why shouldn’t it? My heart was wrenched out leaving a chasm where it used to be. I felt the woman’s hand on my back, rubbing in circles attempting to comfort me, but I didn’t want comfort. I didn’t want anything except Eddie and Zach, here, with me. Alive and telling me this was all some cruel joke. But, the joke was on me. This hideous, cruel joke was to be my burden.
It must have been at least an hour before the tears started to dry up. The coffee table was littered with used tissues the woman brought to me. Funny thing, I felt like I was still crying, even though the tears were dry now. Again, the Chaplain asked if I had anyone I wanted to call. I simply nodded, stood, and went to my room to call my stepfather, Charlie.
I dialed his number and waited. He didn’t answer at the house, so I called his cell phone. He picked up on the third ring.
“Charlie,” my voice cracked on his name as my mind raced ahead and tried to form the words I needed to say. I cleared my throat slightly and tried again. “Charlie, there are some Army officers here at the house…” I trailed off, hoping beyond hope he would understand and not make me say the words out loud. I waited and waited, willing Charlie to hear my unspoken words, but he didn’t. After an awkward pause, I was forced to continue, “Charlie, they told me Eddie was killed over in Afghanistan.”
“Fuck! No, no, no! It has to be a mistake Emma,” Charlie’s voice rose with each denial, but I knew in my heart there was no mistake. Nothing would ever be the same for me.
“Charlie, do you think you could come over?” My voice sounded small, even to me. Sounded like I was a little girl pleading to have a kitten. “Charlie, I don’t have anyone else to call.” Again, the begging tone resounded in my ears.
“Of course; I’ll come Emma, it will take me about a half an hour to get there. I am at the bowling alley, but I’ll leave right away.” I couldn’t read anything in Charlie’s voice, it was as though he had sold a car and was telling the new owners when they could expect to receive the title from the state. No emotion whatsoever. He was probably in disbelief.
“Thanks, we’ll be waiting for you.” I sounded like a robot myself. Numb from the news and although I understood perfectly, I knew I was in shock and the reality hadn’t fully hit me yet. I hung up. I sat on my bed for some time. I looked around my room, my gaze landing on a picture shoved in the crack around a mirror’s frame. I stared numbly at it, unable to take in anything else. The picture had followed me from home, one of the few I had displayed in my bedroom. I stared at it until I couldn’t focus, my eyes blurring with more unshed tears.
I finally stood and made my way back out to the living room, where the men stood up as I entered. I looked from face to face and finally landed on the woman’s. She was probably in her late thirties, a pleasant looking woman, but it was her eyes which caught mine, I could see she was trying to read me. She had stayed seated when I came in the room, and as the men sat back down, she stood up and took a couple of steps toward me, but stopped when I started to speak.
“I called my stepfather. He will be here within a half an hour or so. You don’t need to stay. I’ll be fine until he gets here.”
“Ms. Jenkins, Emily,” she began, her tone was cautious, but warm, “We’ll stay, please, sit down. If you’d like, I could go start some coffee or tea?” Her statement ended in a question, and I knew she was feeling uncomfortable and helpless. “Tomorrow a Casualty Assistance Officer will be here to help with everything.”
The looks of sympathy across the faces before me, reminded me they weren’t here for a social visit. The last thing they wanted was a cup of coffee or tea. The idea of putting anything in my stomach made it turn over and made me sick. I think that water was about all I was going to be able swallow. I doubt anything would take away the rawness in my throat any more than it would soothe my raw emotions.
“I go by Emma,” was the only response I could give.
I turned and made my way back to the living room couch to wait for Charlie to arrive. Thus, started my new life. The life without Eddie and with only half of my very being. How would I be able to survive without him, who would make me a whole person when my other half was gone? And I still didn’t know if Zach was alive or not. The whole situation was beyond my grasp making it an effort just to take a breath.
“Emma, were you and Edward close?” The female officer asked.
“We are twins.” I stumbled a bit on the words, then stuttering, I corrected myself. “Uh, we were twins.”
Persistent pounding on my apartment door jerked me out of my thoughts and back to the present where I lay in bed, curled in a ball. My head still resting on the same soaking wet pillowcase. I get up to go answer the door without much thought. I always felt like I just operated on autopilot after remembering that day.
Emma
Eddie was only older than me by twenty-four minutes, but he always made sure he was the consummate big brother. We both had the same red hair and the same lightly freckled face and arms. We even shared the same eyes. They were hard to describe; they were a unique color, a bluish-green. Growing up in a small Mid-Western town, most town folk knew of the Jenkins twins.
Our father and mom weren’t married and had only been dating a few months when she got pregnant. When she told our father, he moved away and mom never heard from him again. She refused to give us his last name and never spoke of him.
Mom was rather distant. Maybe it was simply the kind of person she was. Maybe it was because she hadn’t planned us, or because when her parents found out she was pregnant at seventeen, they kicked her out of the house and she moved away. She never spoke to them again. She mentioned that her mom died of cancer a few years after she left and her dad from a heart attack a year after her mother. Mom did her best to provide the basics for us, which must have been difficult. It was just mom, Eddie, and me. Mom worked two jobs to pay the bills. That left Eddie and me alone a lot. We left for school and came home alone. We took care of each other.
In school, the teachers tried to split us up and put us in different classrooms, but we both threw such fits, they soon figured out it was in everyone’s best interest to keep us together. Eddie and I were inseparable.
One of the moms was really nice to Eddie and me when she was working as a teacher’s aide. She invited us to come over and play with her son, Zach. I don’t remember everything since we were in Kindergarten, but I’ll never forget that first day when mom dropped us off to play. Zach’s mom smelled like flowers instead of the hairspray our mom smelled like. The house smelled like fresh baked cookies and Zach’s mom wore a pretty, flowered apron and a huge smile. That was the start of our lifelong friendship and the trio of Eddie, Emma and Zach.
Mrs. Peters was a stay at home mom. She had us come home with Zach at least twice a week. She always had cookies or some sort of homemade snack. Often on those days, we’d stay for dinner as well. The Peters’ house felt more like a home to Eddie and me than our own home did.
“Hey you three, I have some brownies, still warm from the oven if you’re hungry,” Carol Peters would greet us at the kitchen door. We pushed and shoved each other out of
the way in our haste to rush into the kitchen. Her chuckles followed us inside.
“Don’t forget the milk,” She’d remind us as the smell of something delicious cooking would hit our noses.
“We’re having roasted chicken and mashed potatoes if you two want to stay for dinner, Eddie and Emily. I’m sure your mama wouldn’t mind. Would you like me to check with her?” She’d ask, already knowing mom would jump at the offer. “Get your snack and start in on your homework and I’ll give her a call.”
Mrs. Peters was a slender woman of average height with dark hair that she always had slicked back in a bun, a few tendrils always having escaped. I can’t recall many times at the house when Mrs. Peters wasn’t wearing a floral apron. She’d use it to wipe her hands clean as she worked in the kitchen, humming, and chopping or mixing something for dinner. She always had the faint smell of some perfume, or maybe it was just her shampoo, but whatever it was, she smelled good and I never saw her without a smile on her face, the kind of smile that reached her dark eyes and made me feel happy inside and loved. Whenever I walked in their house, it always seemed warm and clean with lots of windows. There was always a homemade treat waiting for us which fragranced the whole house.
Mrs. Peters would sit between Eddie and I helping us with our homework, math, spelling or reading. In my mind, she was the perfect mom and this was the perfect home. I looked up to her. I hoped that one day, I’d be able to be a mom just like her. Zach was so lucky.