Broken Road (3 page)

“Thank you.” She said not knowing what else she could or should say. The escort offered his condolences once more before getting into the hearse that carried Shane. Before getting into the driver’s seat himself, Earl Hanley came back to them again.

“Father. Mrs. Jenner. I must get back but if you need anything please let me know. I’ll see you tomorrow night at the Rosary. Don’t worry about a thing,” he said gently patting her hands. “We’ll take care of everything. Until tomorrow.” Brenda nodded and her gaze went back to the casket.

“Thank you, Mr. Hanley.” Mark called.

"You're welcome, Father.” Earl Hanley climbed behind the wheel and as the hearse pulled away she knew that all of her hopes and dreams were going with him.

She hadn’t slept the night before and she was certain that she looked it during the Rosary. When Earl Hanley from the funeral home called to ask about additional pictures for that evening’s memorial slide show all she wanted do was scream and throw the phone across the room. Instead, she paused a moment, took a deep breath and told him she would have another look in the albums and call him back. It was a lie. She couldn’t bear to look at any pictures. She threw herself across her bed and stared at the wall. Hadn’t she done this already? She had a strong sense of déjà vu. How many hours would she spend lying here, staring, wondering about the past and a future that was gone just like that? Endless. Now there would be no second chances to make up for past mistakes. There was a soft rap at her door.

“Brenda?” It was her mother. At first, she didn’t respond. Maybe if her mother thought she was sleeping she would go away but there was another knock.

“Brenda, sweetheart. There’s someone here to see you from the base. He says he’s the counselor assigned to Shane’s unit?” Brenda bolted up. Jon? He wouldn’t she thought not after their phone call. A third knock. Brenda panicked. She thought she was going to be sick.
 

“Sweetheart, I think you should come down and talk to him. It might do you some good to talk to someone who’s worked with other families in situations like this. He says he knows you.”

It had to be Jon!
 
Brenda jumped up from the bed and ran to the bathroom. She looked in the mirror. She looked awful. There were deep, dark circles beneath her eyes mixed with smudges of eyeliner and mascara that had washed away with each new round of tears. There was a slight grayish undertone to her skin that made her look ill and her hair looked like a bird’s nest. She was wearing one of Shane’s old t-shirts smudged with old ketchup stains, a pair of yoga pants with a rip in the butt and two mismatched socks.
 
She was in no condition to see or be seen by anyone but the thought of Jon Procter in the house with Callan and Taylor terrified her. It wasn’t that they didn’t know who he was because they did. All of the FRG families knew the military staff members assigned to their soldiers but as a group run by volunteers, outside of preplanned events or activities on or off the base, there was little chance of running into them more than a few times. Callan and Taylor’s relationship with Jon was a professional one. He made efforts to meet with all family members, especially the children of deployed unit members assigned to a combat zone. Callan and Taylor fell into this category and met with Jon during the time their father had been assigned to the base. They wouldn’t be surprised to see him but would her mother be able to ignore the familiarity and maybe something more that she would sense or see between Jon and herself? Brenda wasn’t sure that she would be able to keep her anger in check at Jon’s intrusion or the sheer relief at seeing him that might compel her to run into his arms seeking comfort. Another knock.

“Brenda?” Her mother’s voice sounded anxious but Brenda couldn’t risk meeting with Jon here at the house.

“Mom, please tell him that I’ll call him to make an appointment to see him later on. Okay?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Mom. Thanks.”

“Ok, honey.” Brenda heard her mother’s reluctant footsteps on the stairs and the muffled sound of voices downstairs, followed by the opening and closing of the front door. She breathed a sigh of relief. The disaster had been averted for now but sooner or later she would have to meet with Jon and make it clear that their relationship was over. In the meantime, she would bide her time lying down again but this time instead of staring at the wall she stared at the ceiling. She stayed there until her mother knocked on the door and suggested she might want to take a shower before dressing to go to the Rosary. It took a long time but she finally dragged herself out of bed and stepped into the shower. She turned the water on as hot as it would go but somehow it couldn’t wash away the pain of her loss or the guilt of her betrayal.

***

When Mark found her, Brenda was sitting alone in Father Pat’s office. She was staring out the window, eyes red, nose running, dressed in the flattering fitted black sheath dress with a matching cardigan she’d bought for the occasion and a string of heirloom pearls around her neck. The day was cloudy and rain was already beginning to fall.
 
She had a wad of tissues in between her hands.
 
He approached her quietly and placed a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t look up. She kept staring out the window.
 

“Brenda, “ He said in a whisper, “it’s time.” Her eyes were red, still glistening with tears.
 

“Give me a minute, okay?” She said.
 
He nodded and took a seat in the chair next to her.
 

“Are the boys with Mom?” She asked.
 

“Yes.” He said. She nodded and turned to look out the window again.

“Mark?”

“Yes?”
 

“I don’t know if I can do this.” She said and he took her hand in his.

“I just keep waiting.”
 

“For what?” He asked.

“For the moment the alarm goes off and I wake up.” She said and a fresh tear made its way down her face.

“I wish I could make this better, Brenda. I do.”
 

“I know, Mark. “

“I prayed so hard from the moment they told us he was missing. I’ve never prayed so hard for someone in my whole life. I think I’m going to need a new set of rosary beads.”
 

“That’s saying something, Father.” She said and managed a weak smile. She could see there were tears in his eyes too.

“I wish I could understand why this was happening but I can’t seem to get it through my head, not even when I saw the casket at the airport or when I went to the funeral home.
 
I know they keep telling me that it’s Shane in there.
 
I hear the words.
 
I see all of these people and they’re crying too and hugging me. They’re saying they’re so sorry but I just don’t feel it in my heart, that he’s gone, I mean.”

“It’s okay if you don’t.”

“ But it’s true isn’t it, Mark? That’s my husband in there. ” She nodded in the direction of the sanctuary.

“Yes, Brenda, it is.”
 

“Part of me is so angry at
me
, you know?
 
Why did this surprise me?
 
Why don’t I get it?
 
He went over there and he fought and he saw other people get killed.
 
What made me think that it couldn’t happen to him?”
 

Mark said nothing.
 

“I don’t want to go in there, Mark.
 
I don’t. Please don’t make me.” She said and began to sob. He put his arms around her and she was sure he could feel her trembling.

“I don’t want to either, Brenda, but the boys need to say goodbye to their dad and so do a lot of other good friends and family who loved him and cared about him.”

“I don’t want to say goodbye, Mark. I’m not ready to let him go.
 
I’m not.” She sobbed.

“I don’t want to let him go either.” He said

“Please, God.
 
Please, make this go away.” She cried.
 
Mark held her tighter.

“I’ll help you, Brenda. I’ll be with you every step of the way, I promise. You just lean on me and we’ll go in there together.
 
It’s not goodbye it doesn’t have to be like that.
 
Let’s just go in and give thanks for Shane and the life he led, the person he was. We can do that, can’t we?” She was crying so hard that she couldn’t answer him.
 

“Ok.” She nodded. Leaning on him she got to her feet slowly.

“Are you sure?” He asked.
 
She nodded again.

“Do you have anymore tissues?” she asked wiping her eyes, “ I used all of mine up.”

“Of course.” He said pulling another box out of a large desk drawer. He handed her a small pile of tissues.
 
She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
 

“I’m not ready for this but I’ll go. Just don’t leave me, okay?”

“Not a chance. I’ll be with you for the whole thing. You just hold onto me okay?” She nodded and felt another tear fall.
 
She wiped it, stood up, smoothed down the folds of her dress and let him lead her toward the door.
 
Mark looked at her and she felt the pain wash over her. She squeezed his hand tightly and he opened the door. When Brenda walked through the door and into the hallway her eyes scanned the crowd for her boys. As she took her first steps into the hallway outside Father Pat’s office she tried to focus only on Callan and Taylor but that became nearly impossible when out of the corner of her eye she spied the casket just a few feet away attended by the funeral director.
 
There were
 
many familiar faces among the stream of people going into the sanctuary including many of their friends and acquaintances from the base along with the soldiers,who were to serve as pall bearers,dressed in their formal uniforms all standing in a tight cluster and keeping to themselves in a corner of the room. Shane’s military escort was also there. But it was the moment she saw Jon Procter sitting not more than a few feet away that she thought she might truly pass out. Tightening her hold on Mark, she never made eye contact and looked straight ahead. As for anyone else sitting or standing nearby she avoided looking at them directly too.
Dear God, if they only knew what she had done!
What would they say? How could they ever understand? What would happen if Mark, her mother or God forbid, her boys ever learn the truth about Jon Procter and what had happened between them while their father was gone? She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to compose herself.
 
It was difficult to catch her breath and she reached out for Mark. He steadied her.

“Take it slowly.” He whispered.
 
She took another step and then another.
 
Soon she and Mark had made it over to one of the nearby couches located by a small room reserved for the family to the right of the sanctuary. There she found her boys. She sat next to Callan. He didn’t look up. He was staring down at his feet, fidgeting with the cord from his earbuds and clearly pretending that she wasn’t there. She couldn’t get over how much he resembled his father at that moment.
 
He looked so grown up in his dark suit.
 
She reached out and put one arm around him and held his hand with the other.
 
He didn’t pull it away.
 
She didn’t say anything to him and glanced around him to look at Taylor.
 
He was snuggled up to his grandmother on the couch opposite them.
 
Marlene had her arms around him and she was caressing his hair. Mark remained standing next to her, ready in case she needed him.
 
Father Pat came out dressed in his robes. The procession was about to start.
 
Mark placed a hand on her shoulder and she knew it was time to stand up.
 
She gently nudged Callan, who barely looked up but stood up next to her.
 
Marlene whispered something in Taylor’s ear and soon they were both standing.
 
He held tightly onto her hand.
 
He looked scared.
 
Brenda’s heart felt like it was broken into a million pieces and each time she looked at her boys it felt as though the shards were stabbing her through and through.
 
Soon enough Mark had managed to get them all lined up and before she knew it, the music had started and they were placing Shane’s casket at the head of the procession.
 
The soldiers, faces somber, took their places behind Father Pat and the altar boys.
 
She and Mark and then Marlene and the boys followed behind.
 
Brenda could feel the stares and she avoided looking at anyone, focusing her eyes on the casket that went before them.
 
It felt like a dream.
 
No.
 
It was nightmare.
 
She was praying silently as she walked next to Mark, praying for a miracle.
 
Let me wake up, Lord. Please
. But nothing happened. They took their seats in the front pew and the service began.
 
She went through the motions, said what she knew to say, kneeled, prayed and pretended that she knew what was happening.
 
All the right songs were sung, including Shane’s favorite hymn “On Wings of Eagles” and then Father Pat said a few words before asking Mark to come up and address them.
 
She found it difficult to concentrate on his words, even though she was certain they were heartfelt and wonderful.
 
All she could do was stare at the casket, draped with its American flag, sitting next to a framed picture of Shane in his uniform.
 
She couldn’t look away.
 
She didn’t
want
to look away.
 
Then it was all over and the procession started in reverse.
 
She wasn’t sure at what point she realized that there were cameras, like the kind you would see at a news conference or a sporting event.
 
It seemed strange.
 
Then she let the thought pass. Everything else that followed came back to her in small chunks of memory. She vaguely remembered the ride to the cemetery, but did remember seeing people lining the sides of the street, holding signs and waving flags.
 
Some people saluted the hearse as it went by and others yelled their words of sympathy as the cars went by.
 
She was touched by their gesture but numbed by it too.
 
When they arrived at the cemetery, she felt as though for a moment, she couldn’t breathe. The boys had been quiet the entire ride there and her mother didn’t make an effort to converse.
 
Brenda was grateful for the silence, but she dreaded what she knew was coming. As they stepped out of the car, she could see the green tent in the distance and she had to stop the urge to scream when she saw it.
 
She took hold of Callan and Taylor’s hands and walked forward.
 
Mark was right behind her and her mother had hold of his arm. She knew that the hearse had arrived before them and she was sure that the funeral director had already instructed his staff to go ahead and set everything up.
 
As they walked up the path, small droplets of rain began to fall. It wasn’t long before they reached the tent and she noticed that the military guard was already in place.
 
They sat down in the chairs nearest the casket as all the mourners gathered round.
 
Even though the burial was private, there were still more than a hundred people crowding around the small tent. She wondered if Jon was among them. Father Pat began the burial rites and again Brenda’s mind wandered but her eyes remained focused on the casket. Then the words were interrupted by the sound of a trumpet playing. It was the sad and forlorn sound of Taps. She thought she would faint and closed her eyes tightly. Soon after the trumpet stopped, she felt Mark nudge her and she focused on the uniformed soldier standing before her with a folded flag.
 
He said words to her she couldn’t quite remember and then after another gentle nudge she stretched out her hands to receive the folded flag, clutching it to her chest.
 
Then came the Honor Guard and the gun salute. Loud. Jarring. Painful.
 
It felt as if each bullet had hit her in the chest.
In the heart
.Then she saw Mark place a hand on Callan’s shoulder and slowly her son stood up and reached for his little brother.
 
Someone had given Taylor a red rose.
 
Callan lifted Taylor up into his arms and he was carrying him over to their father’s casket.
 
Then, as if the pain of the whole ordeal hadn’t been torture enough, she watched as her small son, helped by his brother, leaned onto the top of the casket and placed a kiss on it and then left the rose on top of it.
 
Did God not have a heart?
 
Why was she forced to watch this heartbreaking moment?
 
Callan put Taylor down and placed his own hand on the casket.
 
He stared for a long, hard moment, tears glistening in his eyes and then taking Taylor’s hand walked back to their seats.
 
Brenda remained in her chair. Were they expecting her to get up?
 
Did they really think she was about to have the last intimate moment between herself and Shane in front of these people? No. She refused.
 
As if sensing her refusal Mark merely placed a hand on her shoulder and she reached for his hand and held it. Father Pat closed the burial rites in prayers and then a line of people began to make their way toward the casket, flowers in hand. Some stopped by and offered words of sympathy to her, the boys, Mark and her mother. A few close friends offered hugs and promises to be there for them, to come by and check on them.
 
Time passed quickly and soon it was all over.
 
They would have to go on to the reception. It would be packed with well wishers, wondering where the grieving widow was no doubt.
 
Let them wait.
 
She stood near the casket but she wasn’t alone.
 
Mark stood there too.
 
He didn’t say anything to her and she didn’t offer any words in return.
 
She stared at the casket.
 
She was trying to picture Shane’s face, the face she had prepared herself to see lying in the casket, angelic and asleep.
 
Instead she had to take Mr. Hanley’s word that closed casket was best.
 
So who knew if Shane was in there or not? Maybe there had been a mistake, a horrible mistake.
 
She’d fantasized about it many times since she had received the news.
 
She had pictured standing in the church, at the funeral and just as Father Pat was about to give the final blessing, she pictured Shane, handsome in his uniform, a little ragged,limping,throwing open the doors, walking in and saying-
wait, there’s been a mistake. I’m still here.
She saw herself run to him, tears streaming down her face, running toward him and wrapping her arms around him, kissing him, asking his forgiveness.
It was a mistake.
I missed you. I was just lonely.
But standing here now, she realized that the only mistake she had made was believing that she was worthy of a miracle like the one she had fantasized about.
 
There was nothing here but the cold, ugly truth of her present reality.
 
A sob escaped her and she covered her mouth with her hand in an effort to force it back in.
 
Mark was there in an instant, his arms protective and strong.
 
She closed her eyes and felt the hot sting of tears that would not be forced to stop.
 
She let them come and felt the pain sweep over her again.
 
It was deep, cavernous and gnawing.
 
She placed her other hand over her heart as if to stop it from bursting out of her chest.