Page 82 of Because of Liam

Chapter Fifty-One

My hands are shakingand I feel cold despite the early Texas heat. There’s a car in the driveway. I assume it’s Hannah’s husband’s.

I glance at the closed door again and for a moment, I don’t know if I can do this. River laces her fingers with mine and squeezes. She nods at me. A silent confirmation that I can do it. I watch my free hand rise in slow motion and my finger touches the doorbell. It’s shaking so much, I miss the first try. River’s hand squeezes mine again. Tears burn my eyes, but I hold them in.

The door opens, and the air trapped in my lungs gets expelled all at once. I suck in another breath. The man on the other side of the door is Michael Russo. I recognize him from the many pictures Hannah showed me and from the few times I saw him while she talked to him via Skype.

His eyes fill with water the moment he recognizes me. I didn’t know what would happen but being pulled against his chest in a hug was not it. I expected him to be angry with me. To punch me. To hate me for not saving his wife, but I never expected this.

River lets go of my hand. And my arms wrap around him. This man I never met before but feel like I know because Hannah told me so much about him. Sweethearts from the first day of high school, she told me. They were together since they were both fourteen. Two people who were meant to be, broken apart by a stupid tragedy.

In this moment, as we hold each other, there’s so much shared. The pain, the love, and also the guilt. Hannah told me many times if anything happened to her, her husband would never forgive himself for not keeping her from going to Afghanistan. Her reason to go, a tragedy in itself. She lost her only brother to an IED. The closest unit with a medic was a hundred miles away. She was a doctor and she couldn’t save her brother because she was nowhere near him. Hannah wanted to make a difference, and she enlisted. Just one tour, she said. But saving lives is addictive and one tour turned into three. It was supposed to be her last. And it was, just not in the way she imagined it would be.

When he pulls away, both our faces are awash in tears and there’s no shame in it. I can hear River sniffling beside me and I know she’s crying as well.

“Dad?”

A voice comes from inside the house and when he steps aside, I can see a young girl coming down the stairs. She stops mid-step, and it’s like seeing a ghost. She looks exactly like her mother. A younger version of Hannah, a face not marred by the sights of war, and I imagine this is what Hannah looked like before she enlisted. I can see the confusion in her light blue eyes, the same color as her mother’s. There’s sadness in them but also hope.

“Dad?” Her voice is hesitant now. It cracks on the one syllable word.

“Sweetheart, this is Liam. He was your mother’s best friend in the marines.”

One of her hands covers her mouth as the other clasps her chest. Tears swim in her eyes. And I don’t know if I can do this. River must anticipate what’s going through my head because her hand touches my back, so softly it’s barely a touch. Just a reminder that she’s here with me. For me. Michael steps back into the house, a silent invitation for us to follow. We do.

The entryway is painted in a warm creamy yellow color. I know Hannah painted it herself because she told me. We talked a lot during the many hours we worked together. There are pictures on the walls, mostly of her daughter but a few of she and Michael as well. He waits for me by the opening that leads into their living room. This room too is warm and inviting. Light-colored furniture, splashes of red in pillows, and a blanket over one end of a lazy chair. It makes me want to smile. I know Hannah hated that chair, but it’s her husband’s favorite.

He gestures for us to sit and we do. River’s beside me. He’s on his favorite chair, his daughter perched on the side of it.

The silence that follows is heavy with unsaid words but not uncomfortable. There’s closeness in this moment, brought by our shared love for the same person. Theirs, the love of a husband and of a daughter, and mine, the love of a friend. He speaks first.

“I hoped you’d come.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long.”

He shakes his head in denial of my apology. “You can’t put a timer on these things. You came when the moment was right. I’m glad you made your way here.”

“I wish—” Words vanish. I don’t know how to convey to him and his daughter how sorry I am.

“I want to thank you,” he goes on as if I hadn’t tried to speak, tried to apologize again.

“They told me what happened. They told me about the ambush and how you tried to save my Hannah. How you tried to drag her to safety and shielded her with your body. They told me about the shrapnel you took and the explosion. They told me that…” His voice trembles. He clears his throat. “They told me that even after you blacked out, you had your arms and hands so tightly wrapped around her, trying to protect her still, that it took two men to pry your fingers from her and while you were in and out of consciousness, all you kept saying was, ‘Save Hannah, need to save Hannah,’ and for that I’m grateful.

“You tried, and she didn’t die alone. You had her. And she loved you like a son. If I couldn’t be there to spend her last breath with her, I’m grateful you were. I know she would have wanted that.”

Tears prick at my eyes. I didn’t know this. I didn’t know what happened when I blacked out. No one told me.

“Sir, she saved me. But I failed to save her. If I hadn’t run to get to her, the explosion that followed would have killed me. I didn’t save her, but she saved me.”

He nods in understanding. “We could spend hours, days talking about guilt. I feel that if I had asked her to stay, not to go back, she would be here now but then you might have died. I could have prevented her leaving, but I know this is something she had to do. Her brother was the only family she had left. They were very close. She felt the need to do something in honor of his memory. She did what she thought was best. We all did. We can’t blame ourselves for it.”

We talk for a couple of hours more. The rest of the conversation lighter, humorous even as we trade funny stories about Hannah and how caring and loving she was and how she loved practical jokes and played tricks on me all the time. I don’t know if Michael knows what Hannah did for me when I was a green pup still, but I suspect he does.

Before we say our goodbyes, I ask River for the package and she gets it out of her bag. I hand him the package, the same as it was handed to me. Inside the plastic bag still. He gives it to his daughter, and she opens it, looking through the envelopes inside and finding the small box too. She looks at her father then and shows him one of the envelopes. He takes it from her and hands it to me. My name is on it. Chills run down my spine. I never opened that bag. I had no idea it was there. Michael can see the surprise on my face.

He smiles. “I guess Hannah played one last trick on you.”

Yeah, I guess she did.

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