Unwanted Fate
A
.
G
ORMAN
B
OOKS BY
A
.
G
ORMAN
T
HEIR
S
INS
S
ERIES
Rules of Her Sins
Blackmailed
S
TANDALONE
Love, With All My Heart
C
OMING SOON
A Gentle Touch (novella)
Unwanted Love
The Weekend
Copyright © 2016, A. Gorman.
Cover design by Donna Dull of Sharp Cover Design.
Edited by Connie Gorman.
Proofread by Marnie Warren.
Formatting/Interior text design by Victoria Escobar of TE Formats.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
This work of fiction is protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author, A. Gorman, except where permitted by law.
The author acknowledges the trademarks status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks are not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
An application to register this book for cataloging has been submitted to the Library of Congress.
PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
To Delisa Lynn, thank you for not giving up on my words when I wanted to delete them all.
To everyone else, be the change the world needs. —A.
R
ain drips off the canopy I’m standing under in a steady staccato rhythm, and my mother’s quiet weeping breaks my heart piece by piece. I don’t know if it will ever heal from the pain that I’m feeling at this moment. The American flag on the large dark oak casket gently ripples in the humid breeze, and in the brief moment of silence, I swear I hear his laughter in the wind.
“Attention. Standby. Ready,” yells the officer in charge of the members of the Honor Guard. I can hear their rifles click into the loaded position. “Ready. Aim. Fire.”
Rifle shots echo through the cemetery, vibrating the air around us. A light haze of smoke makes its way into the canopy, surrounding us. “Ready. Aim. Fire.” Seven more shots ring out, making me jump into my mother, and the final seven rounds blast out, leaving my already frazzled nerves raw.
“Present arms,” the officer calls out as the last echoes of the shots fade out, and a lone trumpeter begins mournfully playing “Taps”. My mother’s unable to stand up by herself anymore, and I grab her around the waist, pulling her into me, holding her up until the minister tells us to take our seats. The song concludes, and I can’t stop the chills running down my spine or the goose bumps rising on my exposed skin.
“Order arms. Port arms. Right face forward march,” bellows out the officer again and the men, except for one, march away from the canopy, and go behind us where I can’t see them.
“You may be seated,” the graying older gentleman tells everyone.
Mom falls into the padded folding chair, but I don’t let go of her because I don’t know if she is capable of sitting up on her own. The six officers move into place, picking up the flag that’s rippling in the wind and initiate their tedious job of folding the flag with precision.
I look away, willing myself to stay strong for my mother, but I see my brother standing under a weeping willow in the distance. I wipe my eyes, allowing them to focus, and I look again. The man standing there is older than he first appeared, and sadly, is not my brother. Although by just glancing at the man, he would easily pass as a relative of mine.
The stranger looks up right as I’m about to return my focus on the flag folding and our eyes meet. Something familiar about him clicks in my mind. Have I met him before? Surely not, because why is he standing over there and not here?
I look at my mom who is still in my right arm and start to say something, but all thoughts of the man under the tree fade from my mind as an officer bends down on his knee in front of my mother. With meticulousness, he presents the flag from Nate’s casket to her. Mom’s hands shake with grief and isn’t able to hold on to the flag, and I take it from her. I hold it close to my heart while still supporting her with my other arm as the officers’ march off.
“That concludes the service,” the older gentleman speaks out to everyone in attendance.
We want some private time to say good-bye to Nate before they put him in his final resting place and as soon as everyone has said their good-byes, we will too.
The condolences and kind words seem to be never ending, but soon it’s the chaplain, the funeral director, Mom, and me left by the gravesite. I don’t know if I’m prepared to do this. I don’t know if I can ever say good-bye to my best friend, my protector, my twin brother.
Mom seems to have calmed herself and is beside Nate’s casket telling him everything she thinks he needs to know. A strong gust of wind blows through the canopy, threatening to blow it over, and I see my mother is lying over the casket with tears running down her face as she softly strokes the wood. I can’t leave her up there anymore.
“Mom. It’s time.” I have to force the words out of my mouth.
“I can’t. No parent should have to bury their child,” she weeps.
“I know, but Nate wouldn’t want us to mourn for him like this.” I pull her into my arms, and the gentlemen from the cemetery lower the casket into its final resting place.
My mom looks up at me, and trembles out, “Emily, I hope know how much I love you and your brother.”
“I know, Mom. And I’m sure Nate knew too.” She pulls me into a tight hug as the casket reaches the bottom of the grave.
“I don’t know why it had to be him.”
“Me either, but he died doing what he wanted to do.”
“I wish he never would have reenlisted.”
“I know, but we can’t change the past. We can only honor his memory, his heroic sacrifice, his love for our country…his job of keeping us safe.”
She doesn’t answer me, but she bends down, picks up some dirt from the previously hidden pile, and throws it on the casket. I do the same, mirroring her gesture of saying good-bye. As if they were waiting on me, the workers cover the casket with the remaining dirt.
“Ladies, are you ready?” the younger funeral director asks.
“Yes, Mr. Hanes,” I reply, needing to get Mom settled in at home.
I look at the willow tree, hoping the man would still be standing there, but he is no longer there. Wonder if he was attending Nate’s funeral, or if he was just paying his respects since it was a military funeral? I don’t remember him walking through the calling line at the funeral home. If he was attending, why was he so far away? He could have come to the grave site, but it was almost as if he was trying to stay out of the public eye. There was a familiarity about him. Maybe I’ve briefly met him at a family reunion—I’m sure that’s it.
“Emily,” my mom asks, pulling my attention to her. “Are you staying with me?”
“Yes, I’ll stay with you. I don’t have to return to work until Monday.”