Letters from War (16 page)

Some men and women see fireworks year round. They get to hear louder explosions—some actually get to be in those very explosions.

Beth remembers holding James on her lap and sitting in one of those lawn chairs. He would wave his flag and rush into the street after it got littered with candy by one of the clowns. She would cover his ears when the fire trucks blasted their sirens. She would wipe his mouth once he got finished with his purple sucker. She would carry him back after he fell asleep in her arms.

She wants him to fall asleep in her arms, just one more
time. She wants to feel that big body of his crushing her own. He could scoop her up with one arm, that is how strong he is now. But it doesn't matter, because he will forever be her little boy, just like the freckled faces that glance at her as she passes and waves.

The music and the grins and the saluting and the flags and the red, white, and blue feel like a vise against her head and her heart. Tightening, squeezing, pounding, beating away.

This is supposed to be a holiday but for her it is becoming a cross to bear. She knows what she is supposed to do with that, where she is supposed to go with that.

So tell me, God, how much longer is this parade going to last? How much farther do I have to go in this float?

Beth is good at staying strong. But on this muggy July Fourth, she suddenly realizes that appearing good at something doesn't necessarily mean you are.

I don't know how much longer I can be strong. The ground beneath is giving way and shaking and I'm starting to crumble and fall over.

“Hi, Beth!” a voice calls out.

She sees Leah and waves and smiles back.

She's feeling this way because this is what her life the last two years has been like: surrounded and applauded and cheered, but from a distance. Seen by spectators who try but don't truly understand. Those who understand
are marching with her. They are carrying the flags and driving the cars and marching in the parade.

I need to get out of this parade and back on the curb. I need to start living again even if it's without that little boy sitting on my lap.

Because somewhere, there's a little girl who's gotten lost in the parade.

The smile is as refreshing as a cup of lemonade on a scorching summer day.

“You look as pretty as you did when you were on the homecoming court.”

“Shush,” Beth jokes with Joel. “I don't want anybody knowing we're the same age.”

“They wouldn't believe me if I tried. This bald head has always made me look ten years older.”

“That earns you respect, though. You need it when you're coaching.”

“Anything to get high school boys' attention is welcome. How're you doing today?”

“Fine. Thanks.”

“You're still such an actress. Even after all these years.”

“And you're still a flirt. That's why Richard never liked you.”

“Smart man, that Richard. He was wise.”

Joel Stirling barks out to one of his four kids as he
stands next to Beth. They both graduated from Science Hill High School, where Joel has coached varsity football for the last ten years.

“Man, I miss James,” Joel says.

“Thanks.”

“No, I mean really miss him. Our team could use a fullback like him. They don't make kids like that anymore. That tough.”

“We bought him that way,” Beth jokes. “A little more expensive but worth it.”

“I'm serious. I tell my boys about James, about how he used to catch a ball and go looking for someone to ram into. Some kids try to sneak off the sidelines. James wanted to hit somebody. All the time.”

“That's my boy.”

Joel looks at her and smiles. “That strength isn't something you inherit from just one parent, you know.”

“So I've been told.”

“Hanging in there?”

“Well—I am wanting to tackle a few people. Would sure feel good.”

“We could arrange that,” Joel says with a chuckle.

As his family begins to head toward the parked car, Joel invites Beth over to their house for lunch.

“Thanks. That's very kind of you.”

“I'm not just asking because I'm the only other
widower. I just thought you might like the company. Emily and you.”

“I have to go find her. She's disappeared.”

Joel looks toward his children. “Looks like mine are about to do the same.”

Beth knows that he's a good father, especially after having to take care of the family when his wife passed away several years ago.

“You better go,” she says.

“Offer is open all day. For fireworks, too.”

“Thanks.”

“And hey—if you need someone to tackle, well, I
am
a football coach.”

“You also never change.”

“Emily?”

The only sound that greets her is a breeze coming through the kitchen window.

She walks upstairs and finds Emily's room empty.

It shouldn't surprise her, yet it does.

There is a note on her dresser.
Mom—heading to see the fireworks with some friends. Don't wait up. Emily.

She puts the note back on the dresser and then sits at the edge of her bed. She's not surprised.

She knows what this means.

It will be the first time she can remember that Emily won't be with her for the fireworks celebration. They always went as a family, even when it was just the three of them. They continued the tradition when it was just the two of them.

Now I'm by myself.

Yet she has only herself to blame.

Before the parade there had been an argument. Beth had been so stressed that she hadn't really paid Emily much attention. Emily said to call her later and Beth forgot.

I deserve to be on my own.

She thinks of calling Emily now but then stops herself. Her daughter is old enough to be with friends and make her own decisions. She's not a baby anymore.

And Mom doesn't need babysitting either.

Beth closes her eyes. Her face is sore from smiling so much. She doesn't know how celebrities and politicians do it all the time.

She stands back up and heads downstairs. She puts some dirty cups and bowls in the dishwasher, then takes some leftovers out of the refrigerator and throws them away. She opens a bottle of water and takes it out to her backyard.

It's the time of day on a summer evening when the oranges and the reds seem to be blooming in the sky. She smells the scent of a barbecue and can hear the
sounds of neighborhood kids laughing and calling out in the background. The tree limbs jostle gently like the wave of a queen.

Her glance goes above the trees to the sky.

Can you see me, Richard?

She normally doesn't do this because it feels so pointless to wonder and worry. But all the suppressed feelings of the day—all the smiles and thank-yous and the small talk and the appreciation she didn't really ask for—are now starting to seep out of her pores.

She sips her bottle of water and feels like having a glass of wine instead.

Am I doing something wrong? What should I be doing? More? Less?

Silence is a hard thing to get used to. There were times when both of the kids would be crying, or later, as they got older, fighting. Those were times when the sweet sound of silence felt like an illusion, something sacred and impossible to find. She and Richard sometimes felt as if they were in a marathon that was never over.

Richard and I.

He was always there. They were a team. And that's what is different now. The band is broken up and she is going solo. It wasn't in any of their plans except God's. There has to be a reason why but she doesn't know and won't know until she gets to heaven.

People always do better when they're working in a team. That's the beauty of marriage.

A loud explosion goes off in the distance. She can't help but think of James.

So many things are reminders. The obvious and the not so obvious.

“Lord, help me find the words with Emily. Help me to know what to do and what to say.”

As she glances at a patch of clouds in the distance, she wonders if her daughter is doing the same.

The cracks and pops of fireworks continue to go off even though it's around eleven. Emily hasn't come home, and Beth knows that it's probably best to talk in the morning. As she gets ready for bed, going through her regular routine, she stops as she holds the cream-colored stationery in her hand.

No.

She puts it away and turns off the light.

Enough.

Nothing is going to happen to him if she doesn't write a letter. Nothing is going to change if she doesn't put a stamp on it and mail it out. Nothing is going to be any different—nothing whatsoever—if she decides to simply go to bed.

She still prays but she finds herself having a hard time doing it.

This house feels so big. This bed so big. Everything so big and myself so small.

Why have I been writing for so long? All these wasted words for what? Written for whom? I might as well have written to Santa Claus.

She tries to sleep but she can't.

The thoughts continue to rage inside her, mocking her, telling her she's a fool to believe.

A blast outside reminds her of the date.

This is a time for families to be together. To celebrate. Holidays are for families.

She feels her body shake.

She does not know why God has left her alone like this.

Emily is grown and soon the summer will be over and she'll be heading back to school.

Richard will continue to be a memory. A shadow of a man she loved and married. Footprints in the sand on the beach of their honeymoon. Tracks in the snow on the grounds of the first army base they lived at.

Soon, James will be the same. A memory. A name and an image and ten thousand memories. But that's all.

I'm not strong enough.

She feels a tear edge out and fall down onto her pillow.

Why today and why now she doesn't know. It's happened before and will surely happen again.

She knows she needs to talk to others. To family and friends. To the “family readiness group” that she's done a great job of avoiding. She can't keep everything inside and can't keep up this image of strength.

The sound of the door opening gives her a small measure of peace.

Not tonight and not now.

She needs to talk to Emily but needs to find the right time and the right words. If such things exist.

Beth knows that all of them—Richard, James, Emily, herself—have found themselves at crucial points in their lives. Beth is at one of them the same way her daughter is.

She thinks back and remembers when James came home after his time in Iraq. He was just as they are, someone needing to find his place in life.

Eventually, sooner or later, we all come to that fork in the road of life. We all get there and have to look in the mirror in order to figure out which way to go.