Imperfect

by Cherry Shephard

  A son. I still can’t believe it.

  I lift a bottle of beer to my lips as I sit outside on the porch. It’s raining heavily and I’m only wearing a black tank top and blue jeans, but I barely feel the wind as it rips across my bare shoulders.

  It’d been difficult to watch Zeke and Gracie say goodbye. A man wouldn’t be human if he didn’t get a little choked up watching his dying wife say her final goodbye to their son. I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat as I think about Grace. We hadn’t been together very long, but we’d been married fourteen years. How had they been living all these years? Had they been happy? A pang of guilt slams into my chest, leaving me breathless. I should have been there.

  I swallow a mouthful of beer, glancing over my shoulder as the front screen door opens. I watch warily as Zeke steps outside, letting the screen slam shut behind him as he watches the steady downpour of rain. He hasn’t spoken a word since Grace left four hours ago, and he hasn’t said a word to me at all. “Hi, Zeke,” I say gruffly. He doesn’t look at me. “We don’t get too much rain here,” I continue, silently willing him to look at me. “But when it rains, it pours.” I chuckle at my little joke.

  Zeke still doesn’t speak, doesn’t move his head in my direction at all. I sigh and drop the empty beer bottle into the grass, pushing myself up to my feet. As I pass by Zeke, I put my hand on his shoulder. It’s meant to be comforting, but honestly, I’m not sure if he even notices. I open the screen door and walk inside, grabbing another bottle of beer from the fridge on my way past. I open it and take a long swallow as I pause, wincing as I survey the cluttered living room. I hate to admit it, but I’m embarrassed. It will be forever known that my son’s first impression of his father is that he’s a messy, alcoholic dickhead. I swallow another mouthful of beer as I walk back outside. Zeke has moved to the small, two-person porch swing. I’m tempted to join him, but somehow I think I wouldn’t be too welcome. I take my seat on the steps, trying to ignore the biting chill of the rain as it hits my hand. What am I going to say to him? What can I say to him? The boy has lost his home, his mother and everything he knows in just one day. I wish Shannon was here; she always seems to know what to do.

  Fresh guilt churns in my stomach. Shannon.

  I was so overwhelmed—first at seeing Grace, then finding out I was responsible for a son I never knew I had—that I’d barely given her a thought all night. She has no idea what’s going on, probably thinks I’m some kind of womanizing bastard. How the hell am I supposed to tell her? Will she ever look at me the same way again? I stand up so quickly I almost spill my beer. “I have to make a phone call,” I mutter to Zeke as I pass him. I know he won’t answer me, but right now I don’t care. I need to talk to Shannon, find out if she’s all right. I walk inside the house and place my beer on the coffee table as I sit on the couch. Impatiently, I ruffle through the papers strewn on the table, searching for one in particular. I find it and close my eyes in a quick, silent prayer of thanks that Keets thought to give me Shannon’s personal house number, just in case there were any issues at the club. I reach for my cell phone on the table and dial the number, waiting impatiently as it rings. And rings . . . and rings. Feeling hollow, I hang up and sink back against the cushions, rubbing my hands over my face. I’ve fucked up, again. I have to find a way to make it up to her, to prove I’m not the bad guy she thinks I am. My hands drop from my face as I hear the front door slam. I look up in time to see Zeke disappearing into his room, closing the door behind him. Great. Could things get any more complicated?

  I grab my beer from the coffee table and stand, moving out to the porch once more. It’s still raining heavily, but I can just make out the headlights of an approaching car. I recognize Keets’ truck as it pulls up in front of the house, and I chuckle in amusement as he and Ruth make a mad dash for the porch. “Wet enough?” I joke, slapping him on the back. The smile dies on my face when he pulls down the hood of his jacket and I see his eyes. “Shit, Keets, what’s wrong?” I ask, glancing over at Ruth. She’s deathly pale, her lips tinged blue from the cold. “It’s Shannon,” she says in a quiet voice, shaking her head. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and it’s suddenly very hard to breathe. “What about her?” I ask, hating the strangled sound of my voice.

  “We can’t find her,” Keets answers, his eyes wide with fright.

  I shake his shoulders, hard. “What the hell do you mean, you can’t find her?” I yell.

  “We went to her house to see how she was doing,” Ruth explains. I glance over at her, not releasing Keets from my firm grip. “She wasn’t there.”

  “Did you check the bar?” I grind out.

  Keets nods. “Yeah, her car was there, and this,” she holds out Shannon’s purse. “We think something’s happened to her.”

  I curse savagely and shove Keets away from me, running a hand over my head. This is all my fault. I should’ve known she couldn’t handle the crap from this afternoon. I never should have left her.

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Keets says. I glance up at him in surprise. How can he possibly know what I’m thinking? He smiles gently and places a comforting hand on my arm. “We’ve been friends a long time,” he reminds me. I smile back, but it fades as I think about Shannon. Where can she be? “I have to find her,” I state out loud, glancing at Zeke as he comes outside, a curious expression on his face. “Ruth,” I start, looking at her desperately. She holds up her hand, halting my question before I even ask it. “Say no more,” she says with a smile. “I’ll stay with him for as long as it takes.” I nod gratefully as I turn and race back inside. I stop long enough to grab a flashlight and two dry jackets before rejoining them on the porch. Keets is already in the truck, headlights on as he guns the engine. I jump in and hand him one of the jackets, tossing mine in the back as I slam the door and lift my hand in a brief wave to Ruth and Zeke as Keets pulls away from the house.

  “Where to first?” I ask, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. I know from all my Army training how important it is to keep a clear head. But it’s all I can do to stop from grinding my teeth together in frustration.

  “I don’t know,” Keets admits. “Ruth and I already checked her house.”

  “Could she have gone back into town?” I ask.

  Keets ponders for a moment. “It’s possible,” he agrees. “But I doubt it. She only went back to town with us because Ruth asked her to.”

  I know he’s right, but I’m prepared to try anything. “Town,” I order, sitting back in my seat and staring out at the wet road. The rain has increased, and with it the wind. I’m sure we’ll blow right off the road if we’re not careful. We drive for some time, and I’m almost dozing off in my seat when I hear Keets muttering to himself. “What is it?” I ask, sitting up straight and peering at him in the dark truck.

  Keets shakes his head. “The lights are on at the stables,” he says. “There’s only one person I know crazy enough to go up there on a night like this.”

  “Shannon,” I say, dropping back in my seat, sighing with relief.

  Keets nods as he turns the truck down a small narrow lane. It’s dark, the high beams of the headlights the only light. A small animal darts out from behind a tree and Keets slams on the brakes, slowly inching forward. “Sorry.” He grins as he glances over at me.

  I nod, my heart still in my throat. We approach the stables and Keets cuts the engine. We both slip on our dry jackets, and I grab my flashlight as I step out of the truck. I follow Keets into the stables, my eyebrows arching as he bypasses all the stalls. Clearly, he knows exactly where he’s going. He pauses at the last stable on the right and by the time I make it to his side, I can’t contain my grin. He’s leaning over the rail, stroking the nose of a large horse and speaking softly to it.

  “A friend of yours?” I joke, reaching out to pat its side. The horse is silky soft, and a beautiful strawberry-blonde color. It’s clearly owned and loved.

  “This is Lady.” Keets grins, glancing at me as he con
tinues stroking her long nose. “She’s Shannon’s.” I didn’t think my eyebrows could move any higher, but I’ve just been proven wrong.

  “Shannon has a horse?” I ask in disbelief.

  Keets laughs. “Maybe if you left your house even once, you’d know that already.”

  “It seems there’s a lot I’m missing,” I mutter, glancing around. “So, where’s Shannon?”

  “I don’t know,” Keets admits, his brow furrowing in worry. “I thought for sure she’d be here.”

  “Maybe she did go into town,” I say, running the beam of my flashlight along the walls as I search for any sign of her presence.

  Keets shakes his head. “I just don’t believe that,” he says quietly. “Why would she leave her car behind?”

  “Well.” I sigh. “She’s definitely not here.”

  “Come on,” Keets says, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Let’s check her house again before we go into town. I just hope the road’s not flooded.”

  I start to follow Keets back down the row of stalls, but a flash of lightning lights up the stables and I catch a movement out of the corner of my eye and I turn my head toward it. I shine the flashlight out into the corral, feeling my heart beat faster as I see movement again. “Keets!” I yell, breaking out into a run. “She’s out here.” I reach her before he does. Skidding to a stop beside her, my heart feels like it’s been ripped in half as I see her badly bruised leg. I kneel beside her, not caring about the mud on my jeans as I carefully lift her head, cradling it on my lap. “Shan,” I say in a loud voice, leaning over her as my trembling fingers brush away strands of her hair that have come loose and are stuck to her cheek. “Shannon, can you hear me? Come on, babe, open your eyes.”

  I’m back on the field, nursing my friend Jackson as he dies in my arms.

  “Stone,” he says, grabbing the sleeve of my jacket desperately, blood pooling beneath him and sinking into the hot, dry sand. “Help me.”

  Hot tears burn the back of my eyelids as I close my eyes. We’re miles away from any kind of help. There’s nothing I can do but stay with him until the end. “It’s okay,” I reply gruffly, holding him close as I stare into his terrified eyes. I feel so fucking helpless. One of my best friends is dying right in front of me, and I can’t do a damn thing to stop it. Jackson makes a strange gurgling sound in the back of his throat, and I wince as blood bubbles out of his mouth. He starts to shake, his face much too pale. It won’t be long now.Tears pour down both our faces as we lie in the sand.

  “Stone,” Jackson says. His voice is quiet now, barely above a whisper. I have to lean close to him to hear what he says.

  “Tell my wife I-I—”

  “Shh,” I soothe, holding him tightly. “Save your strength. I know, I’ll tell her. You have my word.”

  I feel his body go limp, and I throw my head back. A wail tears from my chest; it sounds inhuman. It’s the wail of a man who’s lost his friend . . . his sanity.

  “Her leg’s hurt,” Keets says, kneeling beside me and touching it gently. She cries out and her face screws up in pain, but her eyes remain closed. “She’s passed out.” He leans forward, scrunching his nose. “She reeks of alcohol.”

  “So call an ambulance,” I respond gruffly.

  Keets pulls out his cell phone and shakes his head. “No reception. Storm must be screwing it up.”

  “We can’t just leave her here,” I tell him, gently stroking her hair.

  “Come on,” he says, getting to his feet. “Help me get her to the truck.”

  I gently place her head down on the ground and stand. The grass is slippery, but between the two of us, we get her into the back seat of the truck. Thankfully, she stays passed out the whole time. I climb into the back of the truck with her, cradling her head on my lap. Keets starts the engine and slowly backs away from the stables. I’m overcome with guilt. This is all my fault. I never should have left her alone in the bar. I should have told her about Grace. I stroke Shannon’s hair off her pale face, willing her to be okay. “The road’s blocked,” Keets calls over his shoulder. “We can’t get into town to get to the hospital.” I look up and out the windshield. Keets is right—the road is completely flooded.

  “Take us back to my place,” I say in a gruff voice. “We’ll call the doctor.”

  Keets maneuvers the truck around and heads back toward my house. My eyes never stray from Shannon’s face as my trembling fingers brush her cheek, shocked by the cold. I carefully fumble around on the floor of the truck until I find a well-worn, dark blue blanket. I carefully tuck it around her and lean my head back against the seat. Today has been such a long day. I feel drained, exhausted. But more than anything, I’m worried. I’m so fucking worried. How do I begin to help Grace? How do I get through to my son? I feel as though the weight of the world is settling squarely on my shoulders, and I have no idea how to solve my problems. I wish Grandma were here. That tough old bird would’ve known exactly what to say, what to do. I could really use her advice right now.

  But I’m alone. It’s a cold, empty feeling that settles in the pit of my stomach, making me nauseous. I find myself second-guessing everything. Am I doing the right thing, bringing a woman and child into my fucked-up life? I need help, but who can help me? Certainly not my friends. The only person who knows everything is Keets, and that’s only because he was there in Afghanistan with me. He knows all of my inner demons. He knows the source of my nightmares.

  Right now, though, my focus is on the woman still passed out in my arms. I don’t know how she came to be this way, but I know that somehow it’s my fault. A plan starts formulating in my mind, one I know she’ll hate. Shannon is strong, independent. The last thing she’s going to want is to stay with Zeke and me until her leg is healed.

  Unfortunately for Shannon, I can be just as stubborn when I have to be. She’s about to learn that the hard way.

  My head is killing me, and there’s an intense burning sensation in my right leg.

  I let a small groan escape my lips as I slowly crack open my eyes. I’m in Stone’s room. How the hell did I end up here? I know I drank a lot last night, but surely I’d remember hooking up with the handsome soldier again. I try to sit up, but it’s difficult. My right leg is completely immobilized in a tight bandage that stops just below my knee. What the fuck?

  I carefully ease my left leg over the edge of the bed and sit up slowly. My hand goes immediately to my forehead as I feel the blood rush to my temples. The headache intensifies, and I stifle a small sob. I quickly give up trying to stand and settle back against the headboard, staring at the opposite wall.

  Bits and pieces of last night start coming back to me: Effie and the Monopoly Man in the bar, Daddy’s debt, Grace and Zeke . . . Stone.

  Stone’s married. I groan as I close my eyes. A part of me had hoped it was all just a bad dream, that I’d wake up and things would be back to normal. Unfortunately, the daylight only makes it worse. Stone is married to a dying woman, and I slept with him. Could it get any worse than this? I feel like such a bitch. I like to think Grace was quickly becoming someone I might have called a friend, and I royally screwed her over. I slept with her husband. And what about their son? Zeke had no part in this, but I still slept with his father. Great, I’m nothing more than a miserable home wrecker.

  The bedroom door opens and I open my eyes, narrowing them as Stone cautiously pokes his head around the corner. Anger bubbles inside me like a volcano, ready to erupt.

  “Hey, Shan,” he says softly, a sheepish smile on his handsome face. Somehow, that makes me even angrier. My hand reaches down and grabs the first thing I feel. It’s a lamp on the bedside table. I yank the cord out and throw it as hard as I can at the door, narrowly missing his head as he ducks back around the corner. “What the hell?” he shouts from his hiding place, but I’m in no mood for his shit.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I yell as he opens the door and cautiously steps into the room. Tears immediately start to pour down my cheeks, and
I angrily dash them away.

  “I don’t know,” he admits. But that’s not a good enough reason.

  “You’re married!” I scream, not caring if anyone else hears me. “You’re fucking married.”

  “I know,” he says, his features pinched.

  “How could you not tell me you’re married?”

  “I forgot, okay?” he yells. He sounds tired.

  “You forgot?” I laugh in a strange, high-pitched voice. “What the hell do you mean, you forgot? I suppose you forgot you had a son, too.”

  “I didn’t know about him,” Stone says, holding his hands out helplessly.

  “How convenient,” I snort.

  “Look,” he starts, sitting on the edge of the bed. I cross my arms and turn my head away. I can’t even look at him right now. “Listen to me,” he says. “I was barely married before I enlisted in the Army. My daddy served, and his daddy before him. It’s in my blood. But Grace didn’t see it that way. She gave me an ultimatum: The Army or her.”

  I don’t look at him, but I’m listening.

  “I tried to curb my desire for battle.” I see him stand out of the corner of my eye, start pacing back and forth across the room. “For a while it worked,” he continues. “I was a doting husband and a hard worker. But then the World Trade Center was attacked. That morning, I was too far away to help, but I saw it. I sat glued to the TV, my hands clenched into fists by my sides, my blood boiling. I’m a proud American, damnit; I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing while innocent people were being killed right in front of me.”

  My heart aches as I remember that day so vividly. Troy was passed out on the floor as I sat on the couch, my knees pulled up to my chest as day-old mascara streaked across my cheeks, cutting through the tears as I watched the men and women jumping out of the burning buildings to escape the hot flames . . . only to be greeted by the cold, hard pavement below. For the rest of my life, I will never forget the sight of that one falling man. The one who has never been officially identified, but who became a beacon of peace among the chaos. The man who’d accepted his fate, almost greeting death like an old friend.