One Year Home

by Marie Force

  In my medicine cabinet are enough pain pills to kill a horse. It wouldn’t take much to kill a compromised one-hundred-and-eighty-pound man who weighed two twenty-five not that long ago. But then I think of Ava and the years she sacrificed waiting for me to come home and the happiness she’s found, even if she didn’t get the happy ending I pictured for her—and me. I just can’t take that away from her, because it would devastate her if I took my own life.

  I won’t do it, but I like to think about it a little too much. I think about the sweet relief it would provide from the torture of the last few months, not to mention all the months that lie ahead in which I’ll have to learn to live without the only woman I’ve ever loved. I can’t imagine ever loving anyone the way I loved Ava.

  I don’t even have a photograph of her. Everything I left behind when I deployed is in storage. I have only my memories of her and us and the happiest time in my life. Those memories sustain me. Happy is not a word I’d used to describe most of my life, but the years I spent with her were blissful. There’s no better way to describe it.

  All I have to do is close my eyes, and I’m right back in that life, living in the apartment we shared, rushing home to her after work so I wouldn’t miss a second with her. We did everything together—grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, laundry, hiking, bike riding. We would spend entire weekends in bed, calling for takeout to sustain us as we gorged on each other. God, I miss that. I miss doing everything and nothing with her.

  I don’t know what to do with myself without her, especially in this town where we lived together. This was our place, our home, and now I don’t know where my home is or how I’ll ever again feel at home with anyone else the way I did with her. I’d never had a true home until the one I had with her.

  In addition to my ongoing heartache, my missing leg aches like a son of a bitch, probably because of the short walk I took with Jules. Ruling out the treadmill, I drag myself up and out of the chair. Even that is an ordeal. I move to the bathroom and find the pills that take away the pain, for a short time, anyway. I stopped taking them when I was still in the hospital because I was afraid of becoming addicted to them. Propped on the crutches, I take two of the pills and wash them down by sticking my mouth under the faucet. They’re fucking horse pills, so it takes a couple of swallows to get them down, and they burn their way to my stomach.

  I hate taking pills, especially gigantic ones that make me gag and then make me fuzzy and unfocused, but the pain is significant. How, I wonder, can a leg that’s no longer there still hurt so badly? They call it phantom pain, in which my brain hasn’t yet figured out that the leg isn’t there anymore. I shuffle into the bedroom and sit on the bed, exhausted in every possible way. I can only hope that the meds will kick in soon and give me respite from the pain and some rest free of nightmares.

  I’m not a religious man, but if there’s a God up there somewhere, I hope he finds it in his heart to take some mercy on me.

  I’ve had enough pain. I can’t take any more.

  * * *

  JULIANNE

  Dinner with John was a huge mistake, especially with Amy watching my every move—and his. He brought a large envelope containing letters from Star of the High Seas families.

  “I don’t think I could do this on my own, so I was hoping you guys might be willing to help me.”

  “Of course.” In light of the other emotions I feel in his presence, I’m not sure I can handle taking on that additional minefield, but I’ll do it for him so he doesn’t have to do it alone.

  We’re at a steakhouse that he recalled being good from when he lived here before, and after we order, we dive into the letters.

  The first one I read shreds me.

  Dear Captain West,

  Please accept this note as a token of our sincere appreciation for the role you played in capturing the man who killed our daughter, son-in-law and three precious grandchildren.

  How does anyone ever get over something like that? They don’t, I suppose, but somehow they find a way to live with their terrible grief.

  The next one isn’t much better…

  Dear Captain West,

  The news that you and the others succeeded in the mission to find and arrest that monster Al Khad was the best thing that’s happened since that awful day when my parents were killed on board the Star of the High Seas.

  Amy gasps. “This one is from Miles!”

  John looks up from the letter he’s reading. “Who’s Miles?”

  “He’s Ava’s boss in New York. He lost his fiancée and her parents on the ship and has been very active in the family group. He was supposed to have been on the trip with them, but his father had a heart scare. Miles urged them to go without him.”

  “God.” John takes a big drink of water. He declined alcohol, saying he’d taken pain meds earlier. I want to know if he’s still in pain, but I can’t ask. “So many stories, many of which I’m hearing for the first time. I never got to see any of the coverage.”

  “It went on for months,” Amy says. “Twenty-four hours a day.”

  “I’ll never forget the heartbreak,” I add. “For months afterward, everyone I know walked around with this stricken look on their faces as we all came to realize that we weren’t safe anywhere. First 9/11, then this. It was almost too much for people.”

  Amy nods. “Yes, that’s exactly how it was. It was all people talked about at work, in social settings. Over and over again, I heard the same thing: I just hope they get the bastard who did this. Since you missed all that, you can’t possibly know what it means to people that you got him.”

  “This is perspective I really needed. Of course, I knew that people back home were pulling for us and hoping we’d get him, but hearing these stories from the families is a powerful reminder of what was lost that day.” He takes another drink of water. “Could I see the one from Ava’s boss?”

  Amy hands it to him.

  I’m sitting next to him, so I lean in to read it with him.

  Dear Captain West,

  I’m writing to you the day after the video of the raid on the Al Khad compound went public and the world learned your name. My beautiful, smart, talented, funny fiancée, Emerson Phillips, and her parents, Gary and Margaret Phillips, were killed in the attack on the Star of the High Seas. I was supposed to be with them, you see, but days before we were due to leave on the trip we’d been looking forward to for months, my father suffered what we thought was a heart attack at first. I immediately changed my plans to go home to Minnesota to be with my family. I kissed Emmie goodbye, told her to have a wonderful time with her folks and never saw her again.

  There are, simply, no words to describe the devastation of losing your soul mate.

  Visibly moved by Miles’s heartfelt words, John rubs at the stubble on his jaw. I wonder if he’s thinking of the soul mate he lost to Al Khad.

  Since that awful day, I, like so many other family members and friends of those killed in such a horrible, senseless, cowardly attack, have struggled to carry on without the loved ones we lost. The first few years were a blur of grief and disbelief, that something like this could even happen. After that, the rage set in, along with a burning need for retribution in whatever form that might take. You and the others who sacrificed so much to bring this terrorist to justice have given us that, finally, and for that we shall be forever grateful.

  I can only hope that in the days and weeks to come, you will take comfort in knowing you brought closure to thousands of people who badly needed it.

  With my sincere thanks and lifelong appreciation,

  Miles Ferguson

  New York City

  I use a napkin to dab at the tears in my eyes. I know Miles, have heard his story many times before, but hearing it in his own stark words stirs all my emotions.

  John continues to rub at his jaw, where a pulse of tension ticks.

  I wish I had the right to reach out and touch him, to put my hand on his shoulder to offer whatever comfort I
can. If Amy wasn’t here, I’d do it, whether I have the right to or not. But I can’t. Not with her tuned in to my complicated feelings for this man, which are becoming more so with every minute I spend in his presence. “I hope it helps to know that what you did meant so much to people,” I say softly.

  “It does help.” His voice is gruff with emotion that he’s working hard to keep in check. “Doesn’t bring back my friends or my leg, but it helps to know it wasn’t for nothing.”

  The waiter arrives with our salads, the interruption jolting us from the intense moment and thrusting us back to reality.

  I glance across the table to find Amy watching me with those eyes that see far too much, and though I know it’s wrong to be emotionally engaged with this man, I can’t seem to help myself. In my own defense, I’d have to be a heartless monster not to feel for him, and I’m anything but heartless. I’m the opposite of heartless, which is why my siblings are constantly on me about being too open with people I barely know. They fear for my physical safety, but right now, I’m far more concerned for my emotional well-being. After reading those letters and seeing John’s reaction to them, my heart feels like it’s been put through a meat grinder.

  I force myself to eat the Caesar salad, the petite filet mignon and the scalloped potatoes, but the food may as well be coal for all I can taste over the hammering beat of my heart, the rush of blood in my veins and the overwhelming desire for more of him that can no longer be denied.

  I want him in a way I’ve never wanted anyone, and of course, he’s the last man on earth who I should want.

  Chapter Twelve

  ERIC

  It takes a couple of days to arrange a time when Jessica can Skype with us. When we finally connect with her, it’s the middle of the night in Spain. That’s fine with us, since neither of us has gotten much sleep since Ava confessed her torment to me. I offered her privacy, but Ava asks me to stay. She holds on tightly to my hand as she says hello to Jessica.

  Jessica’s expression is full of empathy. “You look rough, sweetheart.”

  Ava blinks back tears. “It’s been a rough few days.”

  That’s putting it mildly. What was supposed to have been the happiest time of our lives has been the worst stretch of our relationship as we tiptoe around the grenade that threatens to blow everything between us to bits.

  I suppose I was a fool to hope that once we said “I do,” the issues that have been with us from the beginning would suddenly go away, leaving us to pursue our happily ever after unimpeded by the past. Yeah, right. That’s not going to happen, as much as we both might’ve hoped otherwise.

  Ava has brought the deep scars left by her relationship with John into our marriage, and just as he did before the wedding, he sits squarely in the middle of our relationship.

  “Tell me what’s going on. Your text mentioned dreams you’ve had?”

  Ava nods, her misery palpable. “They’re so vivid,” she says softly. “And I remember every detail, which is unusual for me. I hardly ever remember my dreams.”

  “Oh dear. That explains why you look so ravaged when you’re supposed to be having fun and celebrating.”

  “There hasn’t been much celebrating the last few days.”

  Isn’t that the truth? We’ve barely touched each other in the torturous days since she confessed to dreaming about him. She can hardly bring herself to look at me, and I’m freaking out, even as I try to stay calm for her sake. I keep telling myself she married me, but I can’t forget that he’s still out there—wounded and still very much in love with my wife. It doesn’t help that his face and his story are everywhere I look online.

  He’s a national hero. How, I wonder once again, can I possibly compete with that?

  “Tell me about the dreams,” Jessica says.

  “Uh…” Ava glances at me, visibly stricken.

  “Go ahead,” I tell her. “She can’t help us if she doesn’t know what’s going on.”

  She’s devastated to have to discuss it in front of me. It occurs to me that she looks the same way she did that dreadful day in San Diego when she had to tell John she’d fallen in love with me and we were engaged. I’d hoped to never again see that haunted, shattered version of her, but here we are.

  I can’t sit still for this, as much as I want to be there for her. I release her hand and stand, needing to move or do something with the energy pulsing through me. God forbid I should throw the desk chair through the sliding door the way I’d like to. Smashing something might make me feel better, but it won’t do a damned thing to help her.

  Ava is rattled by my abrupt withdrawal, but I can’t bring myself to rejoin her. I can’t comfort her through this. I just can’t.

  “I, um… I dream that we’re back in our apartment in San Diego, living together.” Every word costs her something dear while driving spikes through my heart. “Some of it is stuff that actually happened, but a lot of it is new.”

  “Let’s talk about the new stuff.”

  Oh God, do we have to? I’m not sure I can hear this.

  “I, ah…” Ava glances at me before looking back at Jessica on the screen of my laptop.

  I wish now that I hadn’t brought it, but I’ve got a big deal pending at work, and I need to check in every couple of days.

  “Should we ask Eric to step out while we discuss this?” Jess asks.

  “No,” Ava says in that panicked tone that’s become familiar to me in the last few days. “I want him here. I want him to know…” Her voice breaks.

  This is unbearable.

  “What do you want him to know, Ava?” Jess asks gently.

  “How much I love him.” Ava drops her head into her hands. “I love him so much. I don’t want to be dreaming about anyone but him.”

  “Do you remember when we discussed the concept of unfinished business in regard to John and his role in your life?”

  Ava nods and wipes away tears that gut me.

  “We didn’t dwell on it, but we talked about how things with John might feel unfinished because of how it ended between you—not because either of you didn’t care about the other anymore, but due to circumstances outside your control.”

  “Won’t that business always be unfinished in light of the way things happened?” I can’t stay quiet when I feel like I’m fighting for my life in a battle I thought I’d already won.

  “Possibly,” Jess concedes.

  Awesome.

  “I… I want to move on from him,” Ava says. “I thought I had, but then I started having these dreams that are so vivid and real, it’s like he’s right here in the room.”

  “Are you having sex with him in the dreams?”

  My mouth goes dry, and my hands are sweaty. This is almost as excruciating as the day I had to wait for her to see him. No, this is worse. It’s much worse, because I’d hoped we were past all this. I should’ve known better.

  “Yeah,” Ava says, breaking my heart and her own.

  I can hear her heartbreak in the single word. I believe her when she says she doesn’t want this. Who would, after everything she’s already been through where he’s concerned?

  “Why is this happening, Jess?” Ava asks between sobs. “I thought I’d put this behind me. I don’t understand.”

  “The brain is a strange and complicated beast,” Jessica replies, sighing. “It’s so hard to know the why of it, but I suspect he’s on your mind, and this is a manifestation of your subconscious.”

  “He’s not on my mind!”

  “Really? You’re not wondering how he’s doing since you had to break his heart? Or how he’s recovering from his injuries or dealing with life without one of his legs or curious about how he’s handling the intense media interest in his story? You’re not thinking about any of those things? Because I’ve wondered about them, and I was never in love with him.”

  Ava wipes away the tears that stream down her cheeks. “Of course I wonder how he’s doing, but only in passing. I certainly don’t dwell on it.”r />
  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Ava, because I’m not saying this to make anything worse, but how is it possible that you don’t dwell on the last time you saw him?”

  “I don’t know! I just don’t. Maybe that makes me a bad person, but I can’t think about that or…”

  “Or what?” Jess asks in the gentle tone that is so effective.

  Ava shakes her head. “Nothing.”

  “Ava, honey, you have to say it, or you’ll never be able to really move past this.”

  “I can’t,” she says, weeping silently as if she’s afraid to let me see the full extent of her torment.

  I want to howl as I realize just how hard she’s worked to keep it hidden from me and everyone else. If she hadn’t met me, she’d be with him right now and not in Spain with me. Maybe I’ve been in my own form of denial, but that’s the first time it’s occurred to me in such stark terms. If there was no Eric, she and John would be back together.

  I have to sit on the sofa because I’m fearful that my legs won’t hold me if I remain standing.

  “Tell me why you can’t think about John, Ava.”

  “Because! It wouldn’t be right. I married Eric. I love him, and I want a life with him. I don’t want to be living in the past anymore.”

  “When you say it wouldn’t be right to think about John, what do you mean by that?”

  Ava runs shaking hands through her long, dark hair. “It would be like cheating.”

  “You know that’s not true, right? It wouldn’t count as cheating if you allow yourself to wonder how he’s doing.”