Yours Always

by Rhonda Dennis

  Not a single tear has been shed since visiting the cemetery, and I feel a little guilty about it. Shouldn’t I be a huge sobbing mess right now? I just lost my grandfather—my only living relative. My advocate. My savior. I want to cry so badly, but the tears refuse to surface. All of them are reserved for the days I visit my son.

  Tired of moping in bed, I shower, then rummage through my drawers for a tank top and a pair of shorts. I’m running a comb through my damp hair when Fletcher knocks on the front door. I don’t even offer a “hello” before jumping straight to the point.

  “I’m fine. I really don’t need a babysitter.”

  Fletcher scratches his beard. “Oh, so I should just leave, right?”

  “Yep. I’m good.”

  Fletcher nods, but remains in the doorway. “So, you have plenty of food to eat?”

  My eyes roll up in my head as I do a quick mental inventory of what’s in my fridge. Zilch. “I’ll have something delivered.”

  He purses his lips and shifts them to the side. “Do you have movies to watch, books to read… things like that to help distract you some?”

  “I have cable, and I have plenty of magazines thanks to you.”

  His tone changes to one more serious, “You shouldn’t be alone.”

  “I’m usually alone. It’s not something that’s new to me.”

  “That needs to change,” he says, propping his arm against the door jamb.

  “Why? It’s worked just fine all of these years.”

  “Because you’re missing out on a lot, Savannah.”

  “Like what? Some big, strong, handsome guy hugging me and telling me that everything is going to be okay? I already know that everything is going to be okay. I’ve almost died twice, lost a child, survived an abusive relationship, buried both of my parents, and now I’ll be burying my grandfather. It sucks, but I know that when it’s all said and done, it’s just another day. I’ll wake up tomorrow, I’ll go to work, and I’ll continue to function, just like I’ve always done—until the day that I don’t. And I refuse worry about that day until it comes. It might be sixty years from now, or it might be five years down the road. Who knows? So, I’m definitely okay to stay in my apartment by myself.”

  “Wow, I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. I appreciate that you stopped by. Goodnight.”

  He shoves his hand against the door. “Wait. Savannah, every bit of me is saying that I shouldn’t leave you alone tonight.”

  “Hoping for bereavement sex?”

  Fletcher flushes. “What? No! I assure you, I’m not that guy.”

  “Then what do you want from me? You don’t even know me.”

  “That’s just it. I don’t want anything from you. I just want to be there for you.”

  I open the door fully so he can enter. “I don’t get it. Why?”

  “Just because,” he says with a hint of frustration, “I can’t put it into words. It’s a feeling.”

  “I hope you don’t expect me to entertain you. I’m not feeling very sociable right now.”

  “I’m not,” he affirms.

  “Fine. Have a seat. What would you like for dinner, pizza or Chinese?”

  “Chinese,” Fletcher volunteers. I dig around the kitchen junk drawer until I find the menu I’m searching for. “I don’t need that,” he says when I try handing it to him. “Hunan shrimp, extra spicy.”

  Give him a perplexed stare.

  “What?” he self-consciously asks.

  “Have you been talking to Lizzy?”

  “Only to find out where you were last night. Why?”

  I let out a hhmmmph. “That’s what I usually order. Spring rolls or egg rolls?”

  “Spring,” he answers without hesitation.

  “Sweet and sour or duck sauce?”

  “Sweet and sour.”

  “Egg drop soup or wonton soup?”

  “Egg drop. Is this some sort of test?” he asks with a chuckle.

  “Are you sure you haven’t talked to Lizzy?”

  “About Chinese food? No, I assure you, I haven’t.”

  “I guess it’s just coincidental that you like all the same things that I like?”

  “Obviously it is.”

  I shrug my shoulders before dialing the number. It’s almost embarrassing that they don’t even ask for my name or address anymore: however, it’s somewhat entertaining to hear the surprise in the order taker’s voice when I ask for two of everything.

  “Okay, food will be here in about twenty minutes,” I say, taking a seat next to Fletcher. I stare ahead silently as thousands of questions come to mind, but not one of them has me curious enough to actually verbalize it. Through my peripheral vision, I know that Fletcher is looking in my direction, and after a while, I give in to the urge to face him.

  “What?” I ask, raising my eyebrows to make him aware of my observation.

  “I just… you kind of let it slip earlier that you almost died twice, and I can’t help but notice the scars on your legs…”

  Dammit! I’m so used to being by myself or with Lizzy that I completely messed up and put on shorts. Pants or jeans keep the questions at bay.

  “How is it that I’ve managed to avoid discussing my personal life with anyone for as long as I can remember, yet you pop into my life and all of my secrets suddenly surface?”

  “When is the last time you socialized with someone other than Lizzy or your grandfather?”

  “I socialize daily, thank you very much,” I assert.

  “Random calls from Pole Co. customers do not count.”

  I look to the floor. “Oh, well then I don’t know.”

  “Sounds to me like it’s long overdue.”

  I rise from the sofa. “Well, no one asked you.”

  Fletcher laughs, and I’m miffed because it’s not the reaction I want. He needs to get angry, hurt, or upset, then storm off into the night never to be heard from again. Ah, who am I kidding? What is it that makes him so different from everyone else? Why do I feel drawn to him? Compelled to confide in him? Unable to speak clearly when he’s near? I really don’t want him to go, but it’s against my nature to relent.

  “No, I wasn’t asked, but it needed to be said.”

  I spin around to face Fletcher. Ever the cynic, I blatantly interrogate him. “What do you get out of this? What’s your motive for trying to wriggle your way into my life? I’m broke. Every penny I had went to help Grampy. I’m boring. As you well know, I’m not a social butterfly. I’m not easy. I can’t even remember the last time I had sex. So what? What is it? Why is it so important for you to be here with me?”

  His eyes darken, and his face softens somewhat. He slowly closes the distance between us, and I start to back away. When he reaches to touch my cheek, I instinctively jerk my head to the side, but it doesn’t stop him. He gently moves his hand so that I’m forced to look into his eyes. “I want to make this perfectly clear. My only motive is to be able to spend time with you. I hate that you’ve been hurt so much. You’re a beautiful woman who has so much to offer, and I’m not talking about money, entertainment, or sex. You’ve cocooned yourself away for so long that you don’t even realize you’re already a butterfly. I see it plain as day. I want to be around you because you’re intriguing, and frankly, being around you makes me happy. Look, I know where you are because I was there not long ago. Let me show you something.”

  He slowly raises the hem of his shirt to expose a wondrous six pack and a hard, chiseled chest. I have no clue where he’s going with it until he turns around. His broad shoulders are just as rock solid as the rest of him, but they are heavily scarred from what must have been a horrific injury. The thickened tissue, colors ranging from brilliant white to near maroon, trail down his back, and disappear beneath his waist band.

  Sucking in deeply, I bite my lower lip to stop the gasp that wants to come. “Fletcher, I…”

  “You want to know what happened, right?” he asks, slowly pul
ling the shirt down.

  “Yes, I do,” I shyly admit.

  “The same way I want to know about your scars. I think we can help each other out, Savannah.”

  “But, I don’t need help? I’m okay with my life. Why do people keep telling me that okay is bad?”

  “Okay is just that—okay. It isn’t extraordinary or spectacular. Life should never be described as simply okay.”

  “If you say so. Are you going to tell me what happened, or are you going to continue with the impromptu therapy session you promised we wouldn’t have?” I demand in a bit bitchier tone than I intend.

  Fletcher raises his hands. “You’re right.” He takes a moment before he begins, “It happened when I was overseas, and I’m not going to draw out all of the gory details. Long story short, an IED explosion ignited our patrol vehicle, and I was trapped inside.”

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that. The pain must’ve been excruciating.”

  “You have no idea,” he mumbles under his breath.

  I’m uncertain of how to respond, so a twinge of relief courses through me when the delivery man knocks at the door. Fletcher is on his feet, and before I can protest, he’s paid for the food and tipped the driver. He sends him on his way.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I say.

  “No, I didn’t. I’m starved; let’s eat.”

  “That’s it?” I ask.

  Fletcher gives me a strange look. “What more do you want?”

  “I figured there would be some long lecture about how my allowing you to pay for dinner equates to me overcoming my control issues, or something equally ridiculous.”

  Fletcher holds his chopsticks like drumsticks. “I’m offended by your assumption, but intrigued by your hypothesis. Perhaps it’s a step in the right direction?”

  “Perhaps you should start filling your mouth with food instead of observations.”

  “Ooooo, feisty. Nice.”

  I crack a smile. “Thanks for dinner.” He returns the smile then hungrily digs into his carton of Hunan shrimp. I place my carton on the coffee table.

  “Is something wrong with your food?” Fletcher inquires.

  “No, the food is great. It was stupid.”

  “What was stupid?” he asks, swallowing his mouthful.

  “The way I got the scars on my legs.”

  “Why don’t you let me judge that for myself?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “I was stupid and naïve as a kid.”

  Fletcher shakes his hand, so I pause my story. “Isn’t that what kids are supposed to be? Well, not stupid, but naïve and carefree?”

  “Probably, but raising yourself kind of makes you grow up pretty quickly. You know that my mom started leaving me alone at an early age, so I used to cry the entire time she was gone. I was terrified being alone in that huge house; I was barely in preschool, and the threat of the boogeyman or ghosts coming to get me haunted my every thought. The first few times she came home to find me a cried out, sobbing mess, she gave me butt whippings, but that didn’t work. My fear was so intense that it outweighed the physical pain of her punishment.

  “Once she realized this, she tried a different strategy—lying and manipulation. She told me that it was another one of our special secrets, and I couldn’t share with anyone, not even Dad.” I stop long enough to sigh. “If only I’d confessed everything to him way back when… Anyway, Mom came up with this elaborate story about how she and I were actually superheroes, and how she couldn’t use her powers since she got married, but I still had mine. Supposedly, I needed to figure out which powers I was given because she wasn’t even sure what they were. That said, she did know for certain that courage and bravery were two main traits I’d carry,” I say in an exaggerated superhero voice.

  Fletcher remains quiet even though his body language indicates that he wants to interrupt the story.

  “I was still scared, but it did get easier. The boredom was replaced with me trying everything I could to get my superpowers to work. One day I tried to fly, and I did just that. I flew off of our sofa and belly flopped right onto our glass coffee table.”

  Fletcher lets out a wince, and I nod.

  “Yeah, it wasn’t pretty. Luckily, I waited until just before she got home to take flight. If not, I’d have likely bled to death. She stayed home with me for about a week after I was released from the hospital, but she was so mean and cantankerous that I couldn’t wait to be alone again. Anyway, that’s the story behind the scars. Stupid, huh?”

  “The only thing stupid about that story is the fact that you were abandoned, lied to, and unjustly punished. My God, Savannah, how old were you?”

  “Four or five. Somewhere in that range.”

  “Why didn’t you tell someone? I can’t even fathom being in that situation.”

  “I grew up learning that I shouldn’t bother Daddy with anything because he worked so much. I was told doing so would preoccupy his mind and that he could get hurt or killed because of it. I was supposed to keep the bad stuff to myself and only tell Daddy the good things.”

  Fletcher slowly shakes his head. “Whoa. I… I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything. It’s all in the past, and I’ve turned out okay. See, I’m still here. I’m a survivor.”

  “But you’re still not living a real life, and now I know why. You probably don’t have a clue what normal is.”

  “Hey!” I snap, “I’m introverted, not a freak.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” Fletcher insists.

  “Then what did you mean?” I ask, upset with myself because I broke my nondisclosure rule.

  “I mean that you didn’t grow up traditionally.”

  I cock my eyebrow in his direction. “If you consider being raised traditionally as having a mom and dad who constantly dote over you and such, then no, I didn’t grow up traditionally. And you know what? Neither did the majority of the people who inhabit this vast planet. It happened. It sucked. I don’t dwell on it. I don’t roll around in self pity begging others to feel sorry for me or give me things just because I had it tough once upon a time. Those incidents were simply events that occurred. I got over them, and I moved on. Why is that so hard for you to comprehend?”

  “How did you do it? How did you continue to function after going through losing your parents—your child?”

  I shrug. “What’s the alternative? Shrivel up in a ball and become a burden on society? Kill myself to end it all? Don’t think I haven’t thought about those options, but only briefly. No matter how small, I always find something that pushes me forward. For instance, I just lost my grandfather. I’m heartbroken over losing him, and rightfully so being that he was my only living relative. My job is to keep his memory alive, so his life and death won’t be in vain. Same with Lucas. It felt like I couldn’t breathe for months after he died, but if I give up, his memory will be lost. I live for them. I live to protect their memories.”

  “But you don’t live for yourself, Savannah. If you keep being so isolated, who will be there to preserve your memory or to keep the memories alive once you’re gone?”

  I should be upset with his constant challenging. Instead I smile. “That’s what I have Lizzy for.”

  Fletcher smiles. “Touche. But seriously, you trust your life story in the hands of a woman who dresses up her car?”

  “Absolutely,” I say, pulling my carton of Hunan shrimp closer as I kick my heels up onto the coffee table.

  Fletcher laughs. “You two certainly qualify as the odd couple.”

  “You think?” I ask, casting a coy look in his direction. “What about you and Ben? What are your thoughts on the upcoming nuptials?”

  “I’m not sure what to think, but I know that Ben is one of the most level-headed people around. If he thinks this is right then it must be.”

  “Lizzy said they’re supposed to be getting married at his lake house? That in itself has me uncertain about all of this. Lizzy is not the outdoorsy, roughing
it type of person.”

  “Maybe she’s found her inner adventurer?”

  I shrug. “Maybe. Tell me about Ben.”

  “We met while playing high school football and have been best friends ever since. When I joined the army, he went to culinary school. Ben gained a lot of experience working in several different kitchens, and now he owns his own restaurant here in town. He’s looking to expand in the near future.”

  “I’m impressed,” I say. “Maybe I’ve been there. What’s it called?”

  “Triceratops.”

  “Home of the Bronto Burger,” we say together.

  “I love their food! That’s Ben’s place!”

  “Yep,” Fletcher answers with a smile.

  “I’ve always wondered how they came up with the dinosaur concept. You have to be in the know. Spill.”

  “I know all about it. Remember how I said we met while playing high school football?”

  I nod.

  “There were actually three of us who, for lack of a better term, ruled the school.”

  “So you were that guy?”

  Fletcher laughs. “Yeah, I guess I was. Ben, Brody, and I were beasts on the football field, so as an inside joke, we started calling ourselves the triceratops. Yes, I know that it wasn’t the best nickname, but at the time, we sure thought it was. I’m not sure how, but it spread, and before long, everyone referred to our trio as the triceratops. Fast forward a bunch of years, and Ben decided he could use it as a marketing scheme for his new restaurant. It worked better than anyone ever imagined.”

  “I’d say. The place is packed every time I visit.”

  “Yeah, he’s a natural when it comes to that kind of stuff. What about Lizzy? Tell me about her.”

  “We also met in school. It started simply enough. We shared a couple of classes, and she’d ask me all of these random questions the entire class period. I ignored most of them, but she still kept at it, day after day. Then she started sitting with me at lunch. I told her that I wasn’t the friendly type, and that she needed to sit somewhere else, but she didn’t care. Nothing I did would stop her from seeking me out so she could bombard me with her cheer and enthusiasm.”

  “Obviously, she wore you down.”