Page 29 of Beckon

A whispered,thank you, from his best friend, was his number two of seven.

As the meeting dispersed, Mark approached them. They both were still seated and silent. Processing the night. It was both heavy and light.

“Tate,” Mark greeted.

Tate nodded. “This is Chandler,” his friend volunteered when he realized Mark was waiting.

“Chandler. I wanted to thank you both for your service. Did twenty-three years myself. Jumped straight into Desert Storm out of AIT. I also wanted to thank you for sharing. You may not realize it, but George, who lost his wife to cancer? Vietnam. I know your words impacted him in a positive way. He’s been coming to these meetings for as long as I can remember, and he always talks about Betsy, but I know that’s not his biggest hurdle.” Mark didn’t continue, but Chandler got it. Anytime you didn’t feel alone in your guilt and grief that couldn’t be a bad thing, right?

“Anyway, I wanted to let you both know that. Take care.”

After Mark walked off, Tate stood. “You wanna grab a drink?” That was a first coming from the man who thought Chandler drank too much. But he knew Tate needed it. Chandler hadn’t drunk to excess since he met Tami. He’d have a drink or two but mostly, he just let the pain come. It would wash over him but he’d push back against it. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t. It also didn’t hurt the amount of time they’d spent together. Chandler saw her every chance he got.

Most nights she worked, so he would order a ride through the app and spend time with her that way. Every time he beckoned, she came.

“Sure.” They left Tate’s motorcycle at the meeting and took Chandler’s car. He would have one drink but that was it. Tate had been right to point out his drinking. Had he continued on the trajectory he had been on, he wouldn’t have been able to stop. He’d have moved past drinking to dull the pain straight into alcoholism.

And he wouldn’t have Tami.

They’d each ordered a drink, but Tate had finished his before either spoke. “Thanks for coming to these meetings with me, man. And for… well, you know. You may not realize how much I needed to hear that, needed to know. It was chipping away at my soul.”

Tate downed his second beer and ordered another. “I mean, I’d accepted that you weren’t in a place to—”

Chandler clapped him on the back. Words weren’t needed. He completely understood. Tate had forgotten key details in his suffering, and that led to more. Chandler also recognized the weight he hadn’t realized Tate carried around had lifted. So much made sense now. Another realization came to him, by sharing what he needed to share to alleviate some of his friend’s guilt, it had done the same for him as well.

A few key details he himself had forgotten led to a lot of what was dragging him down.

“We helped each other and that’s all that matters. Everything else was noise, right? We did the right thing, what had to be done and we have no more reason to feel shame for that, right?” Those words sat heavy in Chandler’s stomach when Tate nodded and donned a semblance of a smile.

“You’re right. And now it’s over.” Chandler tasted the bitterness of the lie on his tongue. “And us drinking or fighting our way to an early grave won’t bring them back.”

Tate raised his beer. “I’ll drink to that.” It was the lightness they both needed.

They each finished their drink—Chandler’s only to Tate’s fourth in a half hour—and laid bills on the bar. “I’ll drop you off at home and we can grab your bike tomorrow.”

Tate opened the passenger door but didn’t get in. Instead he tapped the roof to catch Chandler’s attention across the top. “Hey, Sarge.” Chandler didn’t wince nearly as hard at the greeting as he usually did.

“You didn’t ask me about that driver. It’s been over a month. I thought for sure you’d be foaming at the mouth for her name. To be honest, I half expected you to bail at the month mark. I’m glad you didn’t.”

Chandler leaned over the roof and studied his friend. “I’m that predictable, huh?”

The only answer he got was a raised eyebrow. “And if I did ask about her, would you give me her name?”

“Nope,” Tate answered and dropped to his seat before closing the door.

Chandler joined him in the car, putting the key in the ignition before turning to Tate. He didn’t ask, he just waited for Tate to answer. As much as he was predictable, so was his friend.

“Because I liked having you at the meetings. I know you only agreed so you could have her info, so… if I give you that, you might not come with me again.”

Tate’s word hit him square in the chest. His friend needed him more than he realized. He’d assumed Tate was burdened with him and his brooding guilt and that wasn’t the case.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like I didn’t care about you or want to spend time. I thought… well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. Actions matter and just so you know, I came tonight and every other night except maybe the first, because I wanted to.”

“Yeah, you wanted to so you could hunt down some unsuspecting chick and force your grumpy presence on her. Seems unfair for anyone to have to stare at that ugly mug over dinner.”

“She actually likes my grumpy presence. And she doesn’t think I’m bad to look at.”

Tate’s wide-eyed look was comical. But what wasn’t comical was when he turned the key and nothing happened.

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