Liam's List (11 page)

“
Whoa, boy!” Liam sank to
his knees and playfully wrestled the hundred-pound German shepherd
to the ground, scratching him behind his neck and across his belly,
just where he liked it.

In return, Atticus greeted Liam with big
sloppy kisses. “I’ve missed you too, bud.” Liam’s voice was muffled
as he buried his face in Atticus’s dense and rugged coat.

I toed out of my shoes and crossed the living
room. “Now, while the two of you get reacquainted, I’ll be in the
kitchen,” I called over my shoulder. “I’ve got a little surprise
for you.”

When I emerged from the kitchen a few minutes
later, carrying a large cheesecake, Liam was still in the foyer. He
was clutching Atticus to his chest, all hunched over and gathered
into himself like he was in a cocoon, or he wanted to be in a
cocoon.

I froze.
Is Liam okay? Is he crying?

Eventually, I worked up the nerve to say
something. “It’s your favorite,” I said cheerily. “Raspberry
cheesecake.”

He didn’t say anything.

I worried my lower lip between my teeth. “Um…
I grated my finger, so there’s a little bit of me in the
cheesecake,” I added lamely.

Liam looked up and nodded at me, just
once.

I smiled, but he didn’t return the gesture.
And he didn’t acknowledge the fact that I’d baked him his favorite
cake.

My own smile faltered, and I realized Liam
hadn’t smiled once since he got home. Not at the airport, not
during the drive home, not now.

I watched him closely as he pulled himself to
his feet. He paced toward the large bay windows and stared out at
the dark night, refusing to even look at me.

“
Don’t you want some
cake?” I suppressed a nervous laugh. “It’s light. It’s fluffy. It’s
airy, and look! You can even see the air bubble craters on
top!”

Nothing. He didn’t do anything except stare
out the window.

Even Atticus tried. He trotted across the
living room and goosed Liam from behind with his wet nose.

Liam didn’t even react. His shoulders were
tensed as he stood staring out the window—at what, I didn’t
know.

“
Um…” I cleared my throat.
“The cake doesn’t have that heavy quality that most cheesecakes
have. You know what I mean? It doesn’t coat your mouth in an
uncomfortable
I need a glass of water
after I eat this
sort of way. But just in
case you need a glass of water, let me get you one.” I knew I was
rambling on, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. His silences were
unnerving.

With my heart in my throat, I turned around
and disappeared into the kitchen.

And that was when he finally spoke. “I should
probably go to bed now.”

He didn’t speak particularly loudly, but his
words carried up to me quite clearly.

I knew right then that I had been summarily
dismissed.”

When we used to lie in bed, Liam would spoon
me from behind, one hand cupping my breast, my back cradled against
the strength of his hard chest and his powerful thighs… our bodies
intertwined, interwoven.

I guess I was ready to resume where we’d left
off.

But it was clear he wasn’t.

Now there was this huge gap. It almost felt
as if the ghosts of the war were sleeping between us. There was
something so out of reach about him, and I wasn’t sure how to deal
with this sullen and detached Liam, all curled up in a fetal
position.

I looked at his expressionless gaze, and I
didn’t know what to say.

I didn’t know what to do to bridge that gap
between us.

An eternity seemed to have revolved between
us before he stretched a hand out toward the bedside lamp and
switched it off.

Then he turned on his side and faced the
wall.

In the darkness, he lay there, a dark shape
on the other side of the mattress.

I listened to his labored breathing. Here he
was, in bed next to me, yet he seemed a thousand miles away.
“Liam,” I said softly. “Are you okay?”

“
Yeah, I’m okay.” His tone
was detached and
he addressed his words to
the wall in a voice so low I had to strain to hear it.

“
If…”

“
I said I’m
okay.”

“
But—” I persisted. “You
don’t seem all right. What’s bothering you?”

My question was met with silence.

I tried again. “Will you tell me how you got
hurt in Iraq?”

“
I don’t want to talk
about it,” he said in that cold, steady voice that seemed so alien
to me.

A sharp knot cinched in my chest.

Now that Liam was back home, I found myself
still missing him… missing him when he was right next to me.

Something was pulling him inward, away from
me, away from the world, and toward some place dark and deep and
lonely.

I wanted to reach out to him, to let him know
I was here for him, to let him know he wasn’t alone. “I missed you
while you were gone,” I whispered into the darkness.

The silence thickened between us, broken only
by the sound of his ragged breathing.

I could tell he wasn’t asleep and just when I
thought he hadn’t heard me, he said quietly, “I missed you,
too.”

Chapter Twelve

Vivian

“
Sleep well, young
soldier, my son,

Your job is now done

Your war is over and your battle won

No armor now to weigh you down

Cast it off into the sandy ground

Lay down your weapon for you need it not

No more bullets need be shot

Take off your helmet, look to the sky

For, my son, it is your turn to die

Have courage now, go rest in peace

For the fighting here will never cease

You fought bravely and with honor died

You leave your family so full of pride

Sleep well, my soldier, my son,

Your job is now done

Your war is over and your battle won.”

As Camille Garcia finished her emotional
eulogy with that moving poem, she lost her battle against
tears.

“
My son may not have been
an important person.” She spoke through the tears, her voice
choking with so much grief and sorrow. “But he was important to
me…” She paused and I sensed the painful effort those words
required from her. “He was important to us.”

Then she took slow steps toward her son’s
flag-draped casket. “You were the light of my life.” She lowered
her head and pressed a kiss to the casket. “I love you so much,
Mattie.”

Liam’s eyes were red and rimmed with tears,
and I saw a kind of torment in them.

The soldiers seated in the front pews were
sobbing, tears running heavy against their faces.

And it dawned on me.

They weren’t just soldiers.

They were young boys.

And the fallen soldier resting in the
casket—Matt Garcia—he was somebody’s son, somebody’s brother,
somebody’s husband, somebody’s father, somebody’s uncle, and
somebody’s friend.

He was Liam’s friend.

My throat ached with unshed tears, but I
managed to hold it together for Liam.

I reached for his hand, but he jerked it away
and closed his eyes, refusing to look at me, refusing to need
me.

With an effort of will, I took his hand
anyway, holding it tightly until the memorial service came to a
close.

Then, gently, he freed his hand from mine and
stepped out of the pew, striding toward the flag-draped casket.

It wasn’t long before the chaplain led in
exiting the chapel, followed by the volunteer pallbearers—one of
whom was Liam.

Soldiers and honor guards formed a line from
the entrance of the chapel all the way to the hearse, each saluting
as the casket passed, hands coming crisply to the corner of their
brows.

By the time the hearse arrived at the
cemetery, dark clouds had blanketed the sky and a chilly breeze
carried hints of a storm to come.

After the chaplain had said his final words,
the honor guards held the American flag taut over the casket.

In the next moment, seven riflemen fired a
three-volley salute.

Then I heard the somber farewell tune… the
sound of “Taps” played on a bugle.

The air seemed to quiver with mourning, and
my gaze settled on Liam.

He and the rest of the soldiers stood on
guard, creating a perimeter around their fallen brother.

Lightning streaked across the sky, followed
by a clap of thunder.

Liam remained stoic, standing at rigid
attention, his eyes hollowed and shadowed.

Soon the heavens opened up and rain began to
pour, but no one flinched despite the cold and chill it
brought.

And no one moved except for the honor guards
with gloved fingers. With slow precision and meticulous attention,
they folded the flag thirteen times.

I’d learned about the symbolism behind the
thirteen folds.

The
first
fold was a symbol of
life.

The
second
fold was a symbol of our
belief in eternal life.

The
third
fold was made in honor and
remembrance of the veteran, Matt Garcia, who gave a portion of his
life for the defense of our country to attain peace throughout the
world.

The
fourth
fold represented our weaker
nature.

The
fifth
fold was a tribute to our
country.

The
sixth
fold was for where our hearts
lie.

The
seventh
fold was a tribute to our
armed forces.

The
eighth
fold was a tribute to the
ones who had entered into the valley of the shadow of
death.

The
ninth
fold was a tribute to
womanhood, for it had been through their faith, love, loyalty, and
devotion that the character of the men and women who had made this
country great had been molded.

The
tenth
fold was a tribute to the
father, for he, too, had given his sons and daughters for the
defense of our country.

The
eleventh
fold, in the eyes of Hebrew
citizens, represented the lower portion of the seal of King David
and King Solomon and glorified, in their eyes, the God of Abraham,
Isaac, and Jacob.

The
twelfth
fold, in the eyes of
Christian citizens, represented an emblem of eternity and
glorified, in their eyes, God the Father, the Son, and the Holy
Ghost.

When the flag was completely folded, the
stars were uppermost, reminding us of our national motto, “In God
We Trust.”

The entire flag-folding ceremony was marked
by silence.

Now the wind grew stronger, whipping up a
miniature tornado of leaves as one of the honor guards moved
forward and presented the tri-cornered flag to Camille Garcia.

“
As a representative of
the United States Army,”—the strength of his voice rent the air—
“it is my high privilege to present you this flag. Let it be a
symbol of the grateful appreciation this nation feels for the
distinguished service rendered to our country and our flag by your
son.”

Shortly afterward, the crowd began to quietly
slip away, disappearing into a thick wall of rain.

Soaked to the skin, I stood in the rain,
waiting for Liam to come to me.

It was moments before he approached, striding
toward me with purpose. “I want to see a friend of mine.” His voice
was strained. “He was buried here, too.”

Then his breath caught and for a moment I
thought I heard him weep, but the driving sheets of rain made it
hard to be certain.

Without waiting for a reply, Liam turned his
back to me and started eastward, seeming to know exactly where he
was going. He set a vigorous pace, but my conscience, my heart,
wouldn’t let me ask him to slow down.

I hung back, trailing closely behind him in
silence, sensing he wanted to be alone with his thoughts.

Finally, he came to a stop at a grave marker
and bowed his head. As he closed his eyes, a spasm of grief
contorted his face and his hands clenched into fists.

I knew I should look away, let him grieve in
private, but I couldn’t.

He dropped to his knees, running his fingers
across the smooth surface of the marble.

When I came to stand beside him, I stared at
the name etched into the grave marker. The hurt that welled up in
my throat was unexpected.

Jim H. Shelby

Liam’s fingers shook as he traced the name of
his friend, the grief on his face twisting my soul and wringing it
dry.

Another fallen soldier.

Back when Liam was still talking to me, he’d
told me about Jim Shelby.

And I knew they’d been close. Very close.

Now Liam was no longer talking to me.

Now he looked so lost… so broken.

He was the walking wounded.

And some days to me he seemed dead
inside.

I had mourned the death of my parents.

But Liam… he didn’t die.

He lived to carry the casket of his fallen
brother.

He lived to trace the name of his good
friend, Jim Shelby, etched in marble.

The man I loved was still alive.

The reality should have been cause for
happiness and hope, not grief and not this overwhelming sense of
loss and despair.

I felt like I was mourning like I had the
death of my parents.