Another Yesterday

by Angela Christina Archer

  “Are they sendin’ y’all to a bad place?” I asked.

  His jaw clenched, and he dropped his gaze from mine, hangin’ his head. “Every place is a bad place over there.”

  I rested my elbow on the table and withdrew one of my hands from his to cradle my forehead in my palm. “Are they really only givin’ y’all just a week? There must be a million things we have to do—packin’, orderin’ supplies . . . did they give ya any kind of instructions?”

  He yanked a few folded pieces of paper from his pocket. “I have a couple of to do lists, but I was able to get most of the stuff today, so you don’t really have to worry about anything.” He bit his lip. His eyes danced around the room.

  “What? What is it? What else could there possibly be?”

  “We have to fill this out tonight and I have to turn it in, in the morning.”

  With a groan from my lips, I ripped the papers from his grip. “Oh, what is it? Some sort of medical paperwork or some sort of agreement our bills will still be paid while the head of the household is gone away to war?”

  “Not exactly.” His voice deepened with a whisper of dread behind his words.

  I unfolded the parchment, bendin’ the creases with a bit more force in my buddin’ anger. The pages crinkled and crackled in my tremblin’ hands. Madder than a fox in a hen house, Daddy always called it—when my annoyance festered and boiled over. He always blamed the southern gal in me, just like my grandmomma. Sweet as could be, the tiny woman still had a hellcat temper when someone crossed her path at the wrong time. I’d only been on the other end of the old woman’s wooden spoon one time as a kid, but even with just that only time, she left a memory I could still feel on my backside if I thought about it hard enough.

  “Careful, Mags, those are important legal documents.”

  “What do you mean legal documents?”

  Not waiting for his answer, my eyes scanned along the headline of the page. The words ‘Last Will and Testament’ hit me as though an imaginary hand slapped across my face, leavin’ a proverbial red handprint on my skin. A punch to the gut, my stomach twisted upon itself, threatenin’ to lose the last remnants of what little food from lunch remained in it. The sheets of paper slipped from my fingertips, hittin’ the table with a high-pitched tap, the sound echoed in the silence of the room. I shoved the chair away from the table, leapin’ to my feet as the chair legs scraped along the floor. I fled toward the kitchen. My heels slapped with my forceful steps.

  “Oh hell no, we are not fillin’ that out. No, I won’t do it, Charlie. I won’t fill it out. I won’t sign it. I won’t—”

  “Listen to me, Mags, we have to fill it out. We have to have it in case . . .”

  “In case what?” I spun around to face him. “In case ya don’t come home? Or I suppose I should say in case ya do come home, but ya come home in a box?”

  My words resonated through his stiffened shoulders. They seemed to humble him while they angered me. He rose to his feet and moved toward me. I shook my head, raisin’ my hands in his face, and as he reached out for me, I backed away from him, retreatin’ until my backside hit the wall behind me.

  “Don’t ya dare come near me right now. Damn it, Charlie. I’m not fillin’ it out.”

  He followed me across the room, outstretchin’ for me again. I felt the slight brush of his fingertips and I slapped them away. Ever the persistent man he was, he tried to grasp me again, bracing against my fightin’ refusal as I continued to wave my arms around. After several attempts, he finally clutched my wrists; squeezin’ them so tight I couldn’t free myself.

  “Yes, you are filling it out,” he said. “And so am I. Mags. Mags! Look at me. Look at me!” His intonation rose to a shout. “Mags, we have a baby sleeping upstairs. Do you hear me? We have a baby upstairs. A baby, who, needs to be taken care of if something happens to her daddy.”

  “And don’t ya think I know that?” My eyes narrowed as I growled.

  “This document allows you the access to the life insurance money and death benefit money from the Army should anything happen to me. It’s not much, but it will take care of you and Rachel for a little while. I need to know you will have everything you need.”

  “Everythin’ I need? Ya think I’ll have everythin’ I need with that paper?” I relaxed my arms for a second, lettin’ them rest on his chest. His fingers were still wrapped around my wrists as I shook my head slightly, and I dropped my voice. “But don’t ya see, I won’t have everythin’ I need, Charlie. Documents or no documents, I won’t have everythin’ because I won’t have you.” My voice broke.

  As hard as I tried to stop them, my strength dwindled, and tears streamed down my cheeks like water over a damn. Through my utter heartbreak, my anger bubbled once more, and I clenched my hands into tight fists and banged on his chest several times before he drew me into him, wrappin’ his arms around me.

  “I know. I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for asking you to do this. I know it’s selfish, but I have to know you will be able to take care of yourself and Rachel. I need for you to do this for me, for you, and for her.”

  I met his gaze, but only for a second as I nodded.

  “And hey.” He clutched my chin between his forefinger and thumb, drawin’ my attention back to him. “Who says anything is going to happen to me anyways? When I’m finally home and this war is over and we are sitting on our back porch, old and gray, watching our grandchildren run around the yard, all we’re going to do is look back and laugh about the time we fought over a stupid Will we didn’t even need.”

  “Well, you will be old and gray. I’ll still have my weekly color rinses at the salon to keep me lookin’ young.”

  Laughter burst from his lips. “Oh, Mags, I do love you. I don’t think God could have picked a better woman for me than you.”

  I buried my face in the cotton of his button up, smellin’ the scent of the musky fragrance I’d bought him over the Christmas holiday last year. A time when the only stress in our lives was tellin’ my parents—my southern, Christ-lovin’ parents—their only daughter was pregnant, leavin’ the expensive art college, givin’ up on my degree in photography, and gettin’ married at the young age of just eighteen years old.

  I longed for those days for the first time in a long time. Longed for the innocence of lazy Sundays never leavin’ the bed. Longed for the days of livin’ with Charlie’s parents while we saved what little income he made down at the docks and I made waitin’ tables at a café. Sure, he came home smellin’ to the high-heavens of somethin’ awful, but at least he came home. Every night.

  And now he was leavin’ me in a week for who knows how long.

  Maybe even forever if that was God’s will.

  He can’t. He can’t do this to me. He can’t take him.

  Charlie’s lips brushed against mine. “Please just sign it. Do it for me.”

  I closed my eyes, exhalin’ a deep breath. “I need a pen.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  Maggie

  September 24, 1966

  Dear Journal,

  The days had blurred together. Mornin’, night, mornin’, night, no matter the hour, my mind failed to focus. Of course, any new mother knew my pain, however, my fog had nothin’ to do with takin’ care of a baby. Surely, Rachel still woke me with her shrill screams from down the hallway more times a night than I cared to admit, but for once since the doctor placed her in my arms, she wasn’t the cause of my daze.

  In the dreaded last hours, I laid next to Charlie, who also tossed and turned next to me. I prayed for each and every minute of sleep he got. Even if it meant each precious one was also taken away from me and given to him. Knowin’ my own anxiousness, however, I couldn’t imagine his.

  Headed off to God only knew what, he faced a situation much worse than mine. I knew this. I understood this. While I only feared his death, he actually faced it. What would happen over there? What would happen to him? What would he see? What would he do? What horrible storie
s would he come home with? If he came home.

  No, he had to come home. He would come home.

  We didn’t have such a fateful meetin’ for us not to live the rest of our lives together, enjoyin’ our love and marriage. We didn’t have Rachel after such little time spent with one another for her to grow up not knowin’ her daddy. We weren’t this happy if we were meant for such a fate.

  I had to hold on to such notions.

  And never let them go . . .

  The honkin’ sound from the alarm clock blared through the silence of the darkness in our bedroom. Charlie stirred next to me, rubbin’ his eyes as he slammed his hand on the button and picked up the clock in his hand to check the time. With a soft groan, he rolled over.

  “Why aren’t you asleep?” he asked, his voice nothin’ more than a whisper. Moonlight flecked through the curtains, shinin’ down upon him with a soft grey color that made his eyes brighter.

  “I can’t. My mind keeps thinkin’ and I can’t shut it off.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “At least you got some though. I’m sure it’s important for you to get what you can.”

  “I suppose so.” He wiped his hands down his face and blinked several times. “Man, I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave you and I don’t want to leave Rachel. Hell, I don’t want to leave this house, no matter how much I don’t like it.”

  “I don’t want you to leave either.” I rolled onto my side and slid my hand up his bare chest, my fingers traced along his lean muscles.

  He shifted his body toward me. His hand cradled my cheek and he leaned in to kiss me. The touch of his lips on mine, soft at first, deepened. I ran my hands down his torso and over his hips. A gentle tug pulsed through my fingertips. Obeyin’ my hint, he moved on top of me, and as my legs wrapped around his waist, his lips began kissin’ my neck and collar bone.

  “How much time do ya have before ya have to leave?” I asked, my words stuttered through gasped breaths.

  “Enough.”

  No matter the minutes, we didn’t care. One, two, five, ten, what did any of them even matter? My only regret was it took us until the alarm soundin’ off for us to even touch each other.

  I wanted to soak in every moment from now until he walked out the door dressed in his uniform with his pack strapped to his back and his gun in his arms. Every sight, every sound, and every movement he made, I wanted it all branded into my memory and stored in a place in my mind where I would never forget. I wanted to bathe in the way his body moved with mine. The way he touched me, and the way he responded to my touch. The way his eyes closed when he smiled. The lines of his oval face with his crooked grin and perfectly straight teeth, and the slenderness of his shoulders that drew down into his chest, waist, and hips, never overly husky he still had gained weight from boot camp. He had come back looking so different, and yet, still the man I’d fallen in love with.

  Out of breath as he finished, he clung to me, his grip tight against my own hold on him. “I love you, Mags,” he whispered.

  “I love you, too.”

  “Do you remember the night after we met and we drove out to the park overlookin’ the bridge?”

  I snorted. “You mean the first night we made love in your car?”

  “And my foot got stuck between the seat and the console.”

  “And I honked the horn with my butt?”

  We both laughed for a moment, settlin’ as we both stared at each other. “I was so nervous and yet not at the same time. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that night. No matter how many we’ve had since then, that one tops my memory.”

  We both fell silent in the stillness of the dark while our memories swam through our minds. The nights and days of a long time ago blurred together, and yet didn’t. Each of them played out as different adventures. Different, and ones I would forever remember.

  “I should get ready to go.” He heaved a deep groan as he rolled off of me, sat up, and slid from under the sheets. His footsteps thumped the floor, the hollow sound thumped in my chest. He stumbled into the bathroom and flipped on the light, checkin’ his reflection in the mirror while he turned on the faucet.

  I rolled over too, slidin’ the blanket up over my chest as my eyes fell upon a picture of us sittin’ on the bedside table. It was our weddin’ day, down at the San Francisco courthouse with him in one of his dad’s suits and me in a little dress I bought at Macy’s Department Store. Rachel was just the size of a bean tucked away in my stomach and I was more often than not on my knees in the bathroom huggin’ the porcelain, as Daddy called it once.

  I slipped from the covers, slidin’ my arms into my robe before I tiptoed after him. I closed my eyes, grittin’ my teeth with each moan from the wood. The last thing I needed right now was to wake up Rachel. I needed calm. I needed quiet.

  “Do ya know your itinerary?” I asked.

  “Not all of it. Classified, remember.” He squirted a thick glop of toothpaste on his toothbrush and began scrubbin’ his teeth in a circular motion.

  I squeezed by him and leaned my backside up against the counter, my back to the mirror while he faced it. “I can’t believe you’re gonna be gone a year. Rachel will be walkin’ and even talkin’ by the time ya get back. You’re gonna miss everythin’.”

  He spit out the suds in his mouth. “It’s not like I’m missing her whole life, Mags. It’s just a year. One single year in all the ones she has on this earth.”

  “I know. I guess I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

  “Besides, I might miss those things for her, but I won’t for our other children.”

  “Other children?”

  He cocked a sideways smile and rubbed my belly while he mustered up the thickest southern accent he could. “It is my full intention, Mrs. Wilson, to knock ya up the minute I walk back through that door.”

  I laughed. “Oh, it is, is it?”

  He leaned in and kissed me. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, how do ya know ya haven’t already done it?”

  He jerked his head back. His smile vanished and he blinked at me several times.

  “I’m only jokin’,” I said.

  “You about gave me a heart attack.” He tossed the toothbrush onto the counter and wiped the water from his lips with a towel. He grabbed my waist, drawin’ me into him. “When I get home, then?”

  I nodded. “When you get home.”

  He winked and left the bathroom, makin’ his way over to the dresser where he fetched a pair of underwear, his pants, and an undershirt.

  I followed him. “Exactly how many children were ya thinkin’ we would have?”

  He shrugged. “Five or six?”

  “Are ya crazy?”

  He laughed and shoved one leg into his pants and then the other. He yanked them up his thighs and over his butt and hips, securin’ the button and zipper with a few flicks of his wrist. “Do you mean to say you don’t want five or six children?”

  “I’m barely survivin’ havin’ one right now.”

  “They won’t all be like Rachel. Every baby is different.”

  “How about we settle on three for now?”

  He raised one eyebrow as he slid his arms into the sleeves of his undershirt and readied it to go over his head. “A negotiation, huh? All right, I’ll bite. How about four? Two boys and two girls.”

  I rested my hands on both hips. “But ya can’t just choose what ya get.”

  “So you say three and I say four. Which is it going to be?”

  I settled on the bed, the mattress bounced under my weight. “Why don’t we just start with havin’ one more . . . when ya get home?”

  He tugged his undershirt over his head then pointed his finger at me before grabbing his uniform shirt and slipping it on too. “Deal.”

  I laid down on the soft comforter, and propped myself up on one arm while his fingers slid each button through the hole before he tucked the bottom into his pants and stepped each foot into his black boots. He lac
ed them with precision, takin’ his time.

  “How am I supposed to go on each day without ya here with me?” I finally asked.

  “The same way I’m supposed to go on each day without you there.” He made his way over to the bed and stood over me. “We’re just going to have to get through it.”

  “I knew with ya goin’ in the army this day might come. But now that it’s here, I don’t know what to do.” I bit my lip, fightin’ tears.

  “I know. I feel the same way.” He held out his hand to help me to my feet. “I want to see Rachel before I go.”

  I followed him down the hallway to her bedroom and we snuck in while she slept in her crib, blissfully unaware of what was goin’ on. I almost envied her, envied her ignorance to the heartbreak her parents were facin’ and to the fact that she would never remember this. Once Charlie returned, it would be like nothin’ happened and he hadn’t left for a year of her life. While she would look at him and smile now, her brain couldn’t comprehend the thought he wasn’t around and it certainly couldn’t question where he was. She would go on with her days and nights as though nothin’ in her life was amiss. She would eat her meals, enjoy her baths, scream her head off when she was tired or needed a changin’, and would fall asleep in my arms without a care or concern of where her daddy was or why she hadn’t seen the funny man in a while.

  I should be so lucky.

  Charlie tiptoed over to the crib and placed his hand on her chest. He watched her for a moment, feelin’ her breath under his palm. Her face scrunched a few times, but she didn’t stir or wake. She merely sucked on her lip and continued to sleep under his protective hand.

  “Goodbye, my sweet Rachel. Do me a favor, would you? Take it easy on your momma while I’m gone. Be a good girl and don’t make her life harder than it is. I know you can do it.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry I’m going to miss you crawling and walking and even saying your first word. I’m also going to miss your first birthday. But I promise when I get home, I won’t miss anything else.”