There were no more rocks nearby flat enough to skip. Mark listened to the gentle lap of the lake against the raft, the perpetual slapping sounds of water on wood. It was peaceful, but doubt assailed him now. He blamed himself. He should’ve known something was wrong.
Libby pulled herself into a sitting position, burying her feet in the soft sand as she wrapped her arms around her knees. “I kept hoping he would be as excited to come home as he was to leave. I guess I have to let go now, don’t I?”
He didn’t answer the rhetorical question. The silence lingered. Jon was a good soldier and a damn good man. Mark just couldn’t defend him. Not anymore.
“Hey.” She tossed a handful of sand at his bare feet. “I have a question for you.”
“Okay. Shoot.” He sighed. Good time to change the subject.
“I’ve always wondered why you were so quiet that night. I mean, there I was bragging like crazy about my family, telling you guys all my favorites stories and all the wacko things I’ve done over the years. Jon was complaining about being an only child, and how much he wanted to be a soldier, but you didn’t say anything. What’s up with that?”
Mark stared at the water. The three of them had been sprawled on the raft after a day of sunburns, fishing, and dancing on the beach. Libby and Jon lay together on one side of the raft; Mark kept his distance on the other. The night was full of stars in the heavens, and the reflection of star shine on the lake. It seemed he was sprawled between heaven and earth, bobbing along on some celestial stream —until Libby started talking about her family. She had so many good memories of early Christmas mornings, grade school programs, dance recitals, and singing in the choir. Heck, even simple Sunday chicken dinners with her family were a treat compared to the way he had grown up.
“Guess I was wondering what it was like to have a family to complain about,” he said softly.
“But you have a family, don’t you?” It was the same question she had asked a year ago, only he had never really answered.
“I guess.” He blew out a big breath, not wanting to answer it now. “There’s my old man, but he’d as soon I don’t go home anymore. He never got over my mom passing.”
“When was that?” She reached for his hand in the sand, intertwining her slender fingers in his. That gentle touch jumpstarted his heart. He looked to see if it had the same effect on her, but he couldn’t make out the details of her face in the dark. Only her eyes sparkled.
“I was eleven. He said it was my fault. Heck, I was just a pain in the neck kid. I didn’t know what cancer was. I couldn’t do anything right after that.”
“And you were an only child?” Her fingers wrapped tighter as she sat cross-legged and faced him.
“Yeah. He was a lot older than my Mom.” Mark turned his body to face her. “He never wanted kids. Mom had something wrong with her; she wasn’t supposed to be able to have kids, but she did. I don’t think he ever forgave me for being born. Guess I ruined everything.”
“I’m sorry, Mark.”
“Yeah, well, don’t be. It’s along time ago. No use in crying over spilled milk.” The quicker they got off this topic, the better. His mother’s death crushed him, even after all these years. Libby seemed to be listening, waiting for the rest of the story.
“I look like her,” he admitted. “At least, I’ve got her dark hair and eyes. She was pretty. Her name was Judith Jones before she married my Dad. She had four sisters. They always called her JayJay, like the two initials of her name, only spelled like the bird. JayJay.”
Somehow, Libby’s fingers had become a conduit of comfort to that sad little boy from so long ago, pulling the story out of the man he was now.
“Never could figure out why she married my old man. Always seemed like she got a raw deal, like she traded her big, loving family in Tennessee to live with a guy in Ohio who couldn’t carry on a civil conversation, much less ….” He left the words unsaid, ‘love his son.’
“How did she die?”
“Kidney cancer.” He blew out a deep breath. “She was doing dishes at the kitchen sink one night after supper. I was drying; she was washing. She was telling me about the first time she had ever stuffed a Thanksgiving turkey. All of a sudden, she dropped a plate. It shattered all over the floor, only ….”
Only I can’t talk about this anymore.
Mark looked down at her hand gently caressing his. No touch had ever felt as kind as Libby’s at that moment. Did she have any idea how much it affected him? How much it helped?
“I always kind of thought he killed her. The cancer gave her a way out of a bad situation. That’s all.”
“What’s your father like?”
Damn. How do you explain a man like John Houston? Mark didn’t want to try. He pressed his other hand to the sudden pain in his temple and willed the image of his father away. “He was a hard man.”
Other pictures came. His mother’s tears when she found her lovely red songbirds filled with buckshot at the foot of the birdfeeder. Her tight lip when she wiped mud and muck off her freshly polished wooden floors. The way she forever tried to please a man who refused to be happy. The way he left her alone for days on end.
Yeah. It sucks to be me. End of story.
Needing to change the subject, Mark tossed a tiny pebble at Libby. It skimmed off the top of her head. “Gotcha.”
“Ouch.” Her eyes lit up at that not so gentle reminder of their friendship. For all her womanly ways, there was still a little girl inside who wanted to play. “Thanks for putting up with me tonight. Guess I needed to remember some good times again.”
“Well, aside from the fishy breakfast, it was the best vacation I’d ever had. But I’ve got a question for you now.” He lifted their hands out of the sand, still intertwined as if they belonged together. “You reached for my hand that night, just like this. I was right on the edge of the raft and you took hold of it like—”
“Like you were important?” She finished his sentence for him. Her knees brushed his. There was a light in those cobalt blues again. She scooted closer. Instantly, he felt the spark. His idling heart kicked into overdrive, thumping like a runaway engine.
“Well, I was going to say like you were afraid I might fall off the raft, but, yeah. I like what you said a lot better. So why did you do that? Why did you reach for me?”
He held his breath. For a moment they were just two happy-go-lucky kids again, the smell of sand and lake surrounding them in the memories of a better day.
She turned thoughtful. “You were so quiet. Jon sounded like he was telling me goodbye, like he couldn’t wait to get back, and his ten-day pass was a waste of time.” She clenched Mark’s hand. “But you seemed happy here, like you didn’t want to leave, and I didn’t want you to go.”
“Good answer.” Mark sighed.
She had said what he needed to hear. The heat from her touch radiated up his arm and straight to his heart. If ever there was a right moment, this was it. Wasn’t it? Desire beat a steady rhythm he instantly controlled. Was it too soon to hold her? Too late?
Closing his hands over hers, he muttered. “I think I’d better get you home. Your dad needs his rest.”
He said the correct words, the polite ones that maintained propriety at all cost. He had given her a way out. Did she want more? Was there any reason to hope?
Libby chuckled softly when he pulled her to her feet. Instantly, she fell into his arms. She radiated nothing but innocence and trust, her hands pressed against his bare chest to steady herself. His breath caught. Warmth for this tender woman flooded his core. He pulled her close. At last holding her in a real embrace, all of his male instincts commanded him. Kiss her. Taste her. Finally know the answers to your questions.
He gazed down into her lovely face, hoping for one glimmer of invitation. The night was dark. She had lowered her eyes. He couldn’t see how blue they were much less read come hither in them.
She leaned her head onto his chest. He held her carefully, tucked under his ch
in like she belonged there and let his fingers fill with the soft sweet tendrils of silky gold. The lake and stars fell away as the very real knowledge that he loved this woman filled his heart. Here was precisely where she belonged.
She sighed.
He held his breath. Just one word, that’s all he needed, and she was his.
“You’re the only friend I have right now, Mark.”
Not that! His heart dropped like a ton of bricks. That was the last thing he wanted to be.
A friend.
Five
Mark had to look twice.
Libby’d finally arrived, nearly late for Jon’s funeral, but what had happened since their impromptu swim? She looked visibly diminished. Smaller. More frail. Black shadows rimmed her eyes, hollowing her face. The black dress she wore enhanced her skeletal pallor. Gone was the flush on her cheeks, the smile in her eyes. Only grief showed through today.
“That her?” Lance Corporal Travis Jennings, another one of Jon’s closest friends, asked when Libby walked by.
“Yes,” Mark said quietly. She didn’t look up, didn’t see the men in uniform come to honor their buddy one last time. He didn’t blame her. Everything about this day was hard; meeting strangers with grace under fire even more so. She didn’t have strength enough for herself much less others.
“Jon had it made,” Travis muttered, his eyes on Libby.
“He did.” Mark had to agree.
“Everyone ready?” Chaplain Kenny asked, his hand on Travis’s shoulder. “Will you men be okay?”
“Yes, sir,” Travis nodded. “We’re a ready as we’re going to get.”
Mark turned to his men. Sergeant Rick Buckley, Corporal Greg Padgett, Lance Corporal Chris Dixon, and Gunnery Sergeant Gil Swanson, all from the Twenty-fourth Marine Expeditionary Unit headquartered out of Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. Each had travelled on his own dime to pay final homage to their friend. He was proud to stand with them, to honor Jon. And Libby.
They stood as the priest entered the side door and proceeded to the altar. “You may be seated,” he said to the congregation.
Mark took his place, but words were just words. He couldn’t focus, and he didn’t feel Jon with him, not here in this austere place of worship. Something felt wrong. His eyes drifted to Libby.
Oh yeah. I’m a traitor to my friend. I want his girl. No wonder Jon’s spirit isn’t here.
He scrubbed a hand over his eyes and focused on the funeral mass with its readings and gospel excerpts.
She’s unreachable. Give it up.
Faith cried through her reciting of the obituary, and Marie sang a touching rendition of Amazing Grace. His eyes sought after Libby. Even with her mother and father’s arms around her, she seemed alone in her grief.
It wasn’t until the end of the service that she turned and locked eyes with him. It seemed she knew right where to look. A sad smile tugged at her lips. He nodded to acknowledge her, but his heart leapt. I see you, he mouthed across the pews full of people.
She nodded once and looked away.
When the service concluded, the honor guard rose, and marched to the front of the chapel to remove the casket to the waiting hearse for transport to the West Spencer Cemetery. Mark kept careful track of Libby as she sank onto her appointed chair at the gravesite. It should have been a position of strength and support to be seated between her parents and Jon’s, but she seemed more alone than ever between the strong couples. Lost. Betrayed.
She looked like a woman who had been lied to, proclaimed to be the lover of a man who had chosen something else over her. Her words from the lake struck true. He’d already found what was important to him. It wasn’t me.
Mark drew his attention back to the somber proceedings as the Honor Guard reverently transferred the coffin from the hearse to the gravesite. It was times like this that made him damn proud to be a Marine. These rough and ready men, these forward-deployed and rapid-response warriors proved themselves all over again in times of the greatest need.
Once Jon’s comrades-in-arms and poker buddies, now they moved with precision slowness and tender care, each man acutely aware of their fallen friend. The weight of the coffin was more than just a wooden box to them. It was Jon’s quick smile, his practical jokes and funny faces, his loyalty and patriotism. These Marine Corps brethren knew Jon literally rested in the palms of their hands on this final journey.
At last, the coffin rested in place. The honor guard took their position opposite the family, and the seven members of the Reserve rifle guard readied their weapons.
“Ready. Aim. Fire.”
Libby jumped at the first seven shot volley that rang across the grassy lawn.
“Ready. Aim. Fire.”
Mark braced himself for the final salute.
“Ready. Aim. Fire.”
As the echo of those loud reports faded, the Marine Corps bugler stepped forward. Taps. Mark blocked the hymn; it always hurt. Libby wept openly, her soft cries mingling with the plaintiff twenty-four notes of sorrow pouring from the trumpet’s golden throat.
Day is done; gone the sun; from the hills; from the lake; from the sky.
All is well. Safely rest. God is nigh.
God is nigh ….
A light summer breeze played with her hair as if someone from the spirit world had reached into the real world to comfort her.
Unexpected anger welled up inside of Mark. He wanted to slap that spirit away. Too late, Jon. You’re too damn late. Let her be.
The notes faded. Chris Dixon and Travis Jennings removed the flag that draped Jon’s coffin. After they folded it lengthwise two times, they stretched thirteen folds, one after another in crisp formation. Mark slipped the twenty-one shells from the rifle salute into the folds of red, white, and blue. At last the proud flag was wrapped into a snug triangle, its position of honor after the battle was won.
Travis nodded with somber eyes when he passed it into Mark’s gloved hands. He offered his friend a brief nod, cradled the flag reverently with one palm under, the other over and turned to face the families. It was time. With the careful steps of a military drill, he carried the flag of glory to Libby, exactly as Jon’s mother and father had requested.
She raised her fingers to her mouth. Their eyes locked. Tears blurred his path for this sweet woman left behind in life as much as in death. With his jaw set in fierce determination, he performed his final duty. Mark placed the flag in her trembling fingers.
“Libby Clifton.” His strong voice faltered. He blew out a deep breath. There was so much more he wanted to say. Not this. His heart screamed to take hold of her, to shelter her and never let her go. His soul ached to love her like she should have been loved all along, to make up for Jon’s failure every day for the rest of her life. But Mark couldn’t. Now was not the time or the place. Besides, he was brother and friend, not lover.
He bowed his head, drew in another calming breath, and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Libby Clifton.” He whispered the words he’d memorized instead. “This flag is presented to you on behalf of a grateful nation and the United States Marine Corps. There are no words to express my love and appreciation for Jon’s honorable and faithful service. He was my best friend. My faithful comrade. My brother.”
He opened his eyes as he finished, and Libby stood. With a silent nod, she accepted the flag, and cradled it against her heart. Very quietly, she whispered, “He’s gone.”
“Yes,” Mark choked at the pain in those two words. “He’s gone.”
“I can’t do this anymore,” she whined, one glance to the side as if someone might over hear.
He heard the crescendo of grief in her words. His own heart wrung out with sorrow, and he wanted her in his arms. Maybe then he would find comfort, too.
“I’m with you every step of the way,” he rasped.
“I’m supposed to be getting … married. Remember?” She pressed her forehead into his uniformed chest.
“I remember.” The hurt of all that was ha
ppening sucked the life out of Mark. He had already lost Jon. Now he was losing Libby, too. As he cradled her blond head against him, Mark struggled with his thoughts. Did Jon ever truly love her? Was his death a blessing in disguise? Would their marriage have ended in divorce with Jon forever away on some mission for the Corps, doing what he really wanted to do instead of loving her?
Mark let her cry while his tears fell into her hair. He didn’t care who watched or what they thought. The tenderness of the moment overwhelmed him. She fit perfectly inside his arms, the same way she already fit in his heart. He stifled his feelings to keep from doing anything more foolish—like kissing her tears away.
The other mourners walked away from the grave and back to their cars. Jerry nodded as he passed by, his arm around Rosemary on one side, Marie on the other. Faith tagged behind. Mark caught her furtive glance in his direction. He closed his eyes and shut her out. She meant well. He just did not have room in his heart for anyone else.
Mark held Libby lightly until the storm subsided. By then they stood alone in an empty graveyard.
With a sniff, she took a step back. “What should I do?” she asked timidly. “I mean everyone’s watching me. What am I supposed to do now?”
“Whatever you want.” He searched for the right thing to say. “I’ll take you to the church, your house or out to the lake again. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. People will understand.”
“Anywhere?” She looked up at him, her blue eyes awash with sadness.
He pulled the tender woman into his side, content to be nothing more than her friend for now. “Listen, girlfriend. Anywhere. Anytime. You jump; I’ll jump. You say when.”
She smiled through her tears.
For a moment, Mark glimpsed something else shining back at him. At least he hoped.
“Come on, Junior Agent.”
Mark looked up. Ember had just emphasized his new-kid-on-the-block job title as she and Mother walked past his workspace on their way to the morning meeting. Ember and Mother were the two administrative assistants in the office. Known for their genius with anything IT related, they kept the office software and hardware updated, monitored nearly every other federal agency’s chatter, and a wealth of other techie-type things Mark didn’t exactly understand or care to know about.
Mark (In the Company of Snipers Book 2) Page 4