Word of Honor, Book 2 (34 page)

“I sure will.”

“If I come to the weddin’, Aaron, you payin’ for my airline ticket?” Joe-Joe asked sheepishly.

“Yes…Joe-Joe.” He grimaced and rolled his eyes. “I’ll pay for your plane ticket.”

“Alright, RSVP me then.”

“Un-fucking-believable.” Aaron bust out a laugh. “Cheap bastard. Alright you two, I’ll catch you later.”

“Okay, and Aaron?”

“Yeah, Amy?”

“I always knew you’d grow up and be somethin’ special. It feels real nice to have my brother, back… the
real
Aaron, not the one screamin’ all that hateful stuff… hurtin’ inside and lettin’ it all pour out. I like this one much better. The one that cares, that
loves
, that protects the people he gives a damn about… You’ve always taken care of us the best you could. My big brother is my hero, yesterday, today, and tomorrow…”

“
B
ABY, IT’S FOUR
in the morning. What are you doing?”

Mia stood behind him out in the cool air. The morning sky was still steeped in navy blue haze as he stood only a few feet away from the burning pile of wood on his land. The fire cracked and popped with a bit of this and a bit of that. He reached over his shoulder and took her hand. As he caressed her fingers, she nuzzled her chin into his shoulder and wrapped her other hand around his waist.

“I’m just doing a little spring cleaning is all…” The Confederate Flag was barely visible as sparks flew from the thick fabric. Alongside it sat framed photos of Hitler, Nazi memorabilia, and White Nationalist Movement T-shirts and music CDs. He’d gone through the entire house, scouring it for bits from his past life. The vast collection of things packed up by the movers at his old home in Alabama was far worse. A wave of shame flushed him down a proverbial toilet filled with the stinking waters of embarrassment as he contemplated what those men placing his items neatly in boxes were possibly thinking as they collected the hateful artifacts.

“Is that what I think it is?” She pointed towards the last remnants of the flag sticking up in the air before it, too, was engulfed in flames.

“Yes it is… It wasn’t enough in my mind for me to take it down. We did that right after we’d made love that first night; it was symbolic. I need to do this too, Mia. This is just as important.”

She squeezed him tighter. “It’s cathartic, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “I’ve been doing some other research, too.”

“Like what?”

“I need to get these tattoos taken care of, honey.”

They were silent for a few seconds.

“Tattoo removal can be painful, I’ve heard.”

“Ah, that don’t bother me none, baby. I have a high pain threshold and even if it is uncomfortable, something needs to be done about this. Actually,”—he looked down at her light brown fingers sprawled across his navel, then back into the fire—“I was thinking of having some cover-ups done. I like tattoos, always have, but these… they gotta go, Mia.”

She kissed the back of his neck, giving silent support. “That’s so funny you should mention this today.”

“Why’s that?”

“I caught up with an old friend of mine from college, Milan. She lives in Georgia. She just got married a couple of years ago, not long after her mother died. She has an adorable baby girl. Oh my God, Aaron, you should see her! Too cute. She emailed me some photos. Anyway, back to the reason I brought her up. Her husband owns a tattoo shop; he is nationally known, actually. I don’t know if he does cover-ups, but maybe I could ask.”

“Baby.” He chuckled. “I don’t need to go all the way to Georgia for tattoo work. I’ll find someone locally, but thanks for the offer.”

“You don’t understand.” She released him and stood in front of him, blocking part of the jumping flames. “Her husband has been on television, his shop featured on one of those reality tattoo shows. If anyone can turn your mess into a miracle, he can.”

He paused, checking out her face, finally catching her drift. “What’s his name?”

“Julian Savant.”

“Julian Savant? You’re kidding me?” He chuckled. “I saw that episode you are talking about. It was on ‘Inked.’ He’s in Athens, Georgia, right?”

“Yes, Athens. I have never met him but I’d like to, and like I said: I can visit my friend who I haven’t seen in five years and you can get a consultation with someone who knows what they’re doing.”

“Hmmmm, okay. Give her a call for me, okay? See if he does cover-up work and if he has an opening in his schedule any time soon. I’d be surprised if he did, but it’s worth a shot. I saw some of his work… he is incredible.”

“Okay, I will call her this afternoon and have her talk to him, explain the situation.” She moved away from the flames and wrapped her arm around his waist once again, reclaiming her original position. He caught her wrist in his hand, making sure she didn’t try to get away. He hadn’t told her, but every time he looked in the mirror after his showers… well, he couldn’t. He couldn’t stomach his own image with all the hateful graffiti that covered his anatomy.

This is the woman I’m going to marry. This is the woman I’m going to make some more babies with. We’re going to be a family. I can’t have this shit on me. What will my future children think? I’ve already messed up Laura, I’m certain… She got on the phone asking me if I was living with a nigger… and I could tell she had no clue that that was a horrible thing to say. I’ll have to attempt to undo that, to correct the mess I’ve made. She’ll be confused living with her mother who is still a part of the movement, though. How can you deprogram someone when they are still bein’ taught wrong? She won’t know who to believe. I have to walk the walk and talk the talk. Yeah, it’s time to make another move…

The flames continued to dance, crackle and pop as a slow, smoldering smoke rose from the blackened wood and debris. Nothing remained. The items were gone, perished in the fire, but their purpose, the memory and time in his presence could never be erased. He’d once cherished the relics and materials, showcased them as if they were prizes and one-of-a-kind awards. Now, they were up in smoke. And he hoped and prayed, the damage he’d done to so many would soon follow in their wake…

*A poem for my beautiful Mia*

Mia, tomorrow, we’re getting married. By the time you see this, you’ll be up and about, getting dressed and all pretty for our wedding. Let me just state something right at the bat. Because of you, I started writing again, and I haven’t stopped since. I wrote this poem the night that I met you, face to face. We’d just finished making love for the first time, and I felt emotions that I needed to express through pen and paper. You were asleep, and forgive me, but I dug in your purse and got out a pen and tore off a piece of paper from the notebook you had in there.

I didn’t want to wake or disturb you in any way. After I wrote it, I hid it like some dirty secret. I thought I’d never show you this poem, because I knew it revealed too much of me and I wasn’t sure if I was really ready for that. Dr. Owens let me know that my writing, even my speeches for the movement, had pieces of me in them. I think he’s right. This poem, however, has
all
of me in it… and after I wrote it, I tucked it away and kept it to myself. Tomorrow morning, you and I will go in different directions and get ready for our important day. In the afternoon, we will come together again; this time, as one under God. It will be the day that we promise to love each other in front of our families and friends. So, as one of my gifts to you, to my bride-to-be, my best half, Love of my life, I wanted to show you this, ’cause now, I’m ready, so here it goes…

WORD OF HONOR

I am lying here beside a naked angel…

Her body now smells like mine.

The scent of our lovemaking floats in the air

From our temples intertwined, now combined.

I’m lying here beside a naked angel…

And not only because she wears no clothes.

She exposed her heart to me, so that I could see,

That that’s the place true love grows.

I’ve fallen in love with an angel…

And her hair feels like stretched cotton.

She fell in love with a demon, a walking nightmare with nothing redeeming,

And has a soul that is rotten.

I’ve fallen in love with an angel…

It was love at first penmanship glance.

I’m a man that God almost gave up on.

So he sent her to me as my last chance.

I’ve given myself to an angel…

She owns me, and she doesn’t even know it.

She has the upper hand over this man,

But her modesty won’t dare let her show it.

I’ve given myself to an angel…

Because she gave herself to me.

As I look at her serene face, watching her sleep,

I know that this is for keeps.

I’m going to marry an angel…

Her copper skin glows like the words that she penned.

She’s worth more than gold, anything bought or sold,

She’s my beginning, middle, and end.

I’m going to marry an angel…

My secret cries she overheard.

And I’ve told her I love her, would do anything for her

And I’m a man of my honorable word.

I love you, Mia…

My beautiful angel…

You complete me.

Love,

Aaron

S
TANDING TUCKED AWAY
in the enclosure, only the slight opening in the tent’s drapes gave her a bird’s eye view of all that was to come. White and black rose petals layered the cream aisle runner as the partially cloudy day grabbed a hold of the easterly winds and distributed a slight breeze.

Mia gripped her bouquet of grateful red bearded irises a bit tighter. They had little to no distinguishable scent; however, the aesthetic uniqueness and elegant layers drew her eye the moment she’d stood in the quaint flower shop, choosing the ones she desired for her special day. Her veil fell against her face, blowing about, as Trudy stood to her right, and her family members sat in the white, distressed beach chairs placed evenly on the freshly cut grass.

The Resort at Glades Springs in Daniels, West Virginia proved to be not only a beautiful backdrop for the elegant and low-key wedding Mia had in mind, but the staff had exceeded her expectations, handling many details she’d decided to take on as self-appointed wedding planner. The busy weeks provided much stress, yet, much to her surprise, Aaron had kept his promise; he did what was needed without a fight or argument. He told her to do what she wished, that he did not care about the wedding, only the marriage. However, when asked for his judgment regarding dinner options, color schemes for the reception, and favors, he’d simply taken a deep breath, stifled his protests and complied – providing his opinion. He’d then gone on to do whatever it was she’d stolen him away from, and it tickled her so.