Page 8 of Service and Sacrifice
This movie is the best. Redheart emoji, thumbs-up emoji. There was an image accompanyingthat post, a selfie of her with a movie poster in the background.Monk sucked in a surprised breath and smiled. He’d been to see thatmovie on opening night, suffering through the shouts of “nerd” fromhis brothers as he drummed upcompanyto gowith him. She was alone, still smiling, but he thought he could seetiny cracks in the façade. They were there in the way her smiledidn’t reach her eyes. In the forced quality of that smile. Compareit to that damned wedding photo, and it was clear that she wasstill hurting.
In the profilesummary,he saw something that had him stumbling mentally, trying to find afoothold on his emotions. Then he was dialing his manager, askingfor a favor and getting it. A last-minute scheduleshuffleto give him an unexpected day off.
Relationship: Single.
Ten
Amanda
Heart in her throat, Amanda carefullysteered her car into the parking lot she’d become so familiar withover the past seven years. It was empty, as was usually the case,and she tried not to let disappointment overwhelm her. She knewonce the tears started, they wouldn’t stop until she was wrung dry,no matter what set her off.
She killed the engine with a twist of thekey, then sat with her head resting on the steering wheel for amoment. Just another anniversary, and no reason for her to believeit would be any different.On the one hand,she was kicking herself for waiting so long to accept his friendrequest, and on the otherhand,she knew itdidn’t matter that he’d remembered the day for the past two years.Martin hadn’t been a friend or served in the corps with Alex, sothere was no reason for him to come here.
Leaning over the seat, she gathered up hersupplies. A new, thicker blanket this year, after a boisterouspuppy she’dfosteredhad chewed holes in theprevious one. A water bottle instead of a bottle of water, and shesmiled slightly at the distinction she made in her own mind.Renewable was the new trend, and it made sense to her, so she’dstopped buying cases of water,insteaddepending on the filter she’d attached to her brand-new kitchenfaucet.
That was another change, bigger than most ofthe rest of them. She’d saved her money, and between the better payat the hotel and help from an unexpected insurance payout, she’dsigned papers and put a down payment on a little house at the edgeof town. Nothing big or showy, just two bedrooms. Still, it washers in a way she’d never had before. Following their wedding,she’d moved straight from her childhood bedroom in her parents’home into a garage apartment at Martin’s folks’, then into thehousehe’d wanted. She’d never had a spacethat felt like it was just hers, and she liked it. If she wanted topaint the kitchen, she could, and there was no one to tell herno.
Of course, there was also no one to help,but she’d shoved that knowledge into a compartment deep in the backof her mind, ignoring the ping of hurt every time she muddledthrough something alone.
Same scrapbook, with new pages in it todocument her life. There was one with a newspaper ad for the jobthat had started her on the current path at the hotel. And anotherwith a picture the real estate agent had taken of Amanda holdingthe keys to her new house, broad grin stretching her mouth.
Amanda had talked about the scrapbook withanother widow at a survivors group she’d started attending andthought the words given her had been profound. “Maybe it’s a way toremind yourself that keeping on, continuing to live, isn’t bad.Maybe it’s a way to find things to celebrate in your life now.”She’d reached out to touch Amanda’s arm, and for a moment, it wasas if the woman’s tiny tattoo had glowed as bright as a supernova.Amanda had stared then turned her own arm over, showing thematching symbol etched into her skin. They’d clung together andwept, and exchanged numbers, the first time Amanda had done sosince Martin died.
Set apart from the rest of the pages werethe things she’d done to document Alex’s life, too. And that wassomething she’d intentionally decided to not think about, why shefelt the need to keep tabs on him and his friends.
Two whole pages were taken up by the sixfront-pagephotos of his club escortingbullied kids to school. Another two pages had been dedicated to theclub itself, everything she could find out about it. History,original members, their occasional brushes with the law balancedagainst the many donations from them to animal shelters andveterans’ memorials. Even the colorfully painted benches nowscattered along the local nursing home sidewalks were a gift fromhis club.
She’d drawn the line at including anythingspecific to Alex, but thathadn’tstopped herfrom stalking his social media, scouring every picture for aglimpse of his elusive significant other, that status of Marriednever changing.
With a deepbreath,shepushed open the car door and stepped out, arms filled with theitems for her vigil. Head down, she trudged up the rise to whereMartin’s grave was, each step harder than the one before. She’dnever felt like thisbefore,as if coming tosee him on the anniversary of his death was a chore, something toget through. It was never pleasant, but she’d always believed ither duty. He was gone, and she was here, so she mourned him theonly way she knew how. With tears and grief, and devotion.
She’d never know what caused her to lookup.
One moment she was lost inside her own head,wallowing in grief for the death of someone she’d loved, and forthe loss of so much of herself, and the next she was staring atAlex as he finished pouring something on the dirt beside Martin’sheadstone. He lifted the flask and took a long drink, staring atthe nearby flagpole where the American flag proudly flew. His bikesat where it had the first time he’d come here, and she stood whereshe’d been the first time she’d seen him here, and he was aboutwhere he’d been then, too. It was like a surreal overlay of thethen and now, and she was dizzy with the idea that maybe she’dimagined these past two years.
Then he turned and faced her, and she sawthe differences he bore. His beard was thicker, darker and filledout along the jawline. There were lines on his face that hadn’tbeen there before, and when he smiled ather,she knew where they’d come from, because the creases exactlymatched the expression of pleasure he immediately showed her. Hissmile was real, and honest, and something she hadn’t known sheneeded until she saw it.
Alex had filled out in other ways, hisshoulders even broader than before, and she wouldn’t have beensurprised if he’d had to get a new jacket just to fit all of him.She adjusted the blanket, too conscious of the fact she’d filledout, too, and not in ways she liked to think about. After Martinhad died, she’d lost all the remnants of baby fat she’d carriedthrough school. She hadn’t thought about the fact that theprocesshad reversed until she’d recently hadto retire her favorite pair of jeans when they’d gotten too tighteverywhere.
“Hey,” he called, voice low andrasping,as if he’d been here awhile withoutspeaking.
She nodded, not sure her mouth would workright now.Why is this so awkward?
He gestured towards the grass where they’dsat last time. “Here okay?” Another nod was her only response,andhe looked at her intently, head cocked toone side. “Amanda, if you’d rather be alone, I can go. I…” Hetrailed off, and then laughed softly. “Honestly, I’m notrealsure why I’m here.”
“Please, stay.” He smiled at her again, andher breath caught in her throat. “I’m glad you’re here.” She dippedher gaze to his boots, then back up to his face in time to see asatisfied smirk cross his face. “You look good, Alex.”
“You do, too.” He made a show of inspectingher as he reached for the blanket. They juggled things for amoment. Then he had the material spread smoothly on the grass. “I’mglad you accepted my request.”
Amanda paused in midcrouch, one hand andknee on the blanket, and looked up at him. “I’m sorry I took solong.”Is he flirting with me?
“All good things take time.” He made himselfcomfortable on one corner, feet stretched out to the side, armlocked behind him as he leaned back. He held out the flask. “Want adrink?”
She shook her head. “It was you, last year,too, wasn’t it?” He didn’t respond, just looked at her. “It wasstill wet when I got here. I couldn’t have missed you by much.” Shegestured towards the dark spot on the dirt where he’d dampened itwith the whiskey from the flask. “What does that mean?”
“Libations for the fallen.” He lifted theclosed flask. “Drinks for those who can no longer imbibe, thosegone ahead to Valhalla. It’s an old tradition and for some reasonfelt right when I was here. We might not have served together, buttogether weserved,if that makes any sense.”His shoulders made a small movement, a stretching roll that exposeddiscomfort. “A brothers-in-arms thing, I guess.”
Amanda hurried to reassure him he hadn’toverstepped, hadn’t offended. “I think it’stouching,and very fitting.” She reached out and laid herhand over his for a moment. “Thank you.”
