Wings Over Poppies (Over #2) (25 page)

“Do you want some coffee? Or how about a sandwich? I could make you a grilled ham and cheese just like I used to.” My mom leaps up from the table and flings open the refrigerator door, doing her best to make her idle hands useful. Her nervous energy is palpable, and guilt grips me knowing I’m to blame.

“Mom, please, I’m fine. Just come sit down, okay?” I tap the seat of her chair in invitation and keep my voice gentle and even, hoping the calm will transfer to her.

This is the first time I’ve come to visit her in Shreveport, and I’m an asshole for waiting this long. There are so many feelings I’ve kept pent up, refused to share, or completely ignored, and it’s time to face all of them. It’s time to face her and Lucy.

Every time a tour ended, I made up an excuse to stay away from home. I tagged along with a bunkmate on a backpacking trip through Europe. I helped a buddy at his dad’s cattle ranch in Montana for extra money. The one thing I refused to do was visit my family who missed me and meet my mom’s new husband.

Mom and Lucy visited me in San Antonio several times, never with great success. I was a short-tempered dick who couldn’t see past my circumstances. It didn’t take long for me to demand my mom stop visiting, and I’ll never forget the look on her face when I did. But, at the time, that’s who I was—my leg was gone, my head was a mess, and my words flowed like poison from my lips.

Once I moved to Providence, she made several visits with slightly better results. I made a conscious effort to be pleasant, but it was always forced and unbearably tense. Lucy never came once I left San Antonio. I’m not sure if Mom made that decision or if Lucy did. I don’t blame either one of them. She was too young to understand any of this. Fuck, I didn’t understand it at the time. It’s taken a long time for me to come to terms with my feelings … my guilt … my misplaced resentment.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get here, Mom. It’s been a long time coming…”

She reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers, squeezing gently. Her smile is placating, and she shakes her head in denial. “Don’t you worry about that for one second, West. The important thing is you’re here now. I don’t want to waste one second of my time with you worrying about apologies.”

I shift uncomfortably in my chair and force myself to meet her gaze. “The thing is, Mom, I owe you some explanations, and I need you to hear me out.”

She nods her head and smiles grimly. “If you say so, West, but I don’t know why you want to rehash the past. I just want my son back.”

I wince at the tears I see building in her eyes. I’m humbled by the forgiveness she’s so willing to offer without a word of explanation or apology. I don’t know how she can pardon years of bad behavior with the blink of an eye, but I’m grateful for it. However, I still need to own up to what I’ve done. “We need to do this because I need to apologize to you.” I hesitate for a moment and stare absently at the swirling pattern of the granite countertops. They’re a far cry from the cracked formica of our rental home, that’s for sure, and although I hate to admit it, it stings a little. I meet her eyes again, determined to get the words out. “I never set out to hurt you, Mom. I need you to know that, but I know that’s what happened all the same. I should have called when I was deployed. I should have come home in between tours. I was so selfish. But once you met Alan, I didn’t feel like I had a place anymore.”

“Why would you say that, West? You’re my son! You’re Lucy’s brother. My marrying Alan doesn’t change that.” She’s obviously confused, and I can understand why. She doesn’t share my warped sense of logic.

“I felt a great deal of resentment when you married Alan, Mom. I’m ashamed to admit it, but it’s the truth. I worked so hard to pick up the extra slack, to have extra money to help with the medical bills, and in one fell swoop, Alan wiped all the problems away. He was the hero, flying in to save the day. You didn’t need me anymore; Lucy didn’t need me anymore. When you started refusing my paychecks, I felt so useless.”

She can’t hide the dumbstruck look on her face, and I hesitate. As much as I want to stop, as much as I wish I didn’t have to own up to my feelings, I know it’s time to come clean.

“I hated Alan,” I whisper, my eyes closing in embarrassment.

A sob escapes her lips, and she covers her mouth. I hear the metal chair legs dragging the floor, and her arms wrap around me in an instant.

“My sweet boy, you always bore the weight of the world on your shoulders, didn’t you? Even if Lucy and I didn’t need your money, we still needed you to take care of us. Can’t you see that? We’ll always need you, West.”

My shoulders heave as I struggle to remain in control of my emotions. “I need you too, Mom. So much more than you know. I’ve been so angry for so long, I didn’t know how to be anything else. I’m done pushing away the people I love.”

We hold each other for a long while, just soaking in the acceptance. My mother lets out a humorless chuckle.

“Life is so ironic. When I married Alan, it was the first time in a long time that I could look you in the eye and feel proud of myself. I no longer needed to rely on my son to financially help me. You should have never carried such a heavy burden, West. How could that same moment be the reason you stayed away?”

I shake my head in wonder. “How utterly appropriate. Irony seems to be my lifelong companion.”

She smiles and pats my cheek. “All is forgiven, son. Don’t say another word.” She checks her watch and squints her eyes at me. “Now, Lucy, on the other hand, she may be a tougher nut to crack. She’ll be home in about thirty minutes, and let me warn you, you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

I don’t doubt her for one second. But I packed enough clothes for three nights, so I’m more than willing to wait Lucy out.

No matter what, I’m here to reclaim my family, and that’s what I’m going to do.

The dew from the grass soaks through my running shoes as I trudge up the hill of Caddo Cemetery. It’s only eight in the morning, but the Louisiana heat and humidity leave a thin sheen of moisture on my skin. In all fairness, the sweat is partly from the heat, but also from my nerves.

I traipse around the headstones, gripping my grocery bag, looking for the familiar name, wishing to God it wasn’t here—that he was still alive.

I see the American flag and an overflow of flowers several rows away, and I know without even reading the tombstone I’m almost there. I stop cold and run my hand over my face, squashing the urge to run in the other direction, hating myself for my weakness.

My approach is slow, but deliberate. I keep my eyes on the worn path, the fresh flowers in various stages of wilting, the plastic ones losing their color at the edges. I look at anything and everything to keep my eyes from seeing his name etched on that marble stone.

I open the grocery bag and remove the contents one by one, placing each of them on top of the tombstone. A pack of American Spirit green cigarettes, a bag of Jack Links beef jerky, a bottle of Heineken, and the latest edition
Playboy
magazine—all of Red’s favorite things.

I step back and run my fingers along the grooves of his name.
Barry Christopher Redman.
The dates below his name gut me, knowing it should just say, “way too fucking soon.”

I met Red early on in my service, two Louisiana boys dropped into the hot as fuck desert. We initially bonded over our mutual affection of gumbo and cracklins, and basically anything that reminded us of home. But our friendship grew over the years and became so much more than that. Red was my best friend, my brother.

I clear my throat and ball up the grocery bag in my fists. “Hey Red.” I stand in silence, the words too heavy, the hurt behind them just as fresh as the day we were hit.

“Fuck, I don’t know what to say to you right now. I guess I’ll start out by apologizing. Jesus knows I have more than enough to be sorry for. I’m sorry I haven’t come to see you, sorry for what your family’s been through, sorry you were the one driving that day, and I’m sorry I’ve been letting you down every day for the last two fucking years.”

It kills me to admit it, but I know it’s true. I press my lips together and close my eyes, drinking in the silence, wishing he’d answer me back. If Red could tell me anything right now, I know exactly what he’d say. “Wake the fuck up and start living. Stop wasting your second chance.”

I sit in the wet grass, draw up my knees, and wrap my arms around them. I’m not sure how long I stay there—remembering Red and paying my respect to the best man I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing—but when I stand up, my knees are stiff and my jeans are soaked through. I lay my hand on top of the tombstone and bow my head.

“I’m gonna make you proud, brother. I miss the fuck outta you.”

And with those final words, I walk out of the cemetery, the gaping wound in my gut closer to being healed, but forever scarred.

“
One Grain of Sand
” by Ron Pope

“
Skyscraper
” by Demi Lovato

I TIP MY head to the sky, close my eyes, and breathe in, the smell of freshly cut grass invading my senses. I let the sun’s warmth wash over me as a gentle wind rolls through the courtyard. I hear the crack of a club colliding with a golf ball in the distance, and I smile at the familiar sound. Sometimes, the oddest things comfort me. My parents’ courtyard has always been the perfect place to linger over breakfast and coffee, and this morning is no different.

“There she is. The woman in hiding.”

I reluctantly open my eyes and turn in my chair, bursting into laughter at the sight of Tripp McNeal in a three-piece suit. His hair is perfectly coifed, and his shoes are polished to a mirrored shine.

“My goodness, Tripp McNeal. You are either the most distinguished man I’ve ever seen, or you’re here to sell me snake oil. Taking into account your past indiscretions, I’m leaning toward snake oil.” I stand and hug him tightly, straightening his suit as I release him.

“I guess I deserve that.” He chuckles. “But you know I’d never sell snake oil … at least not to you.”

I snicker as I sit back down and grab my mug of tea. “I appreciate that. How’s the firm? I’m sure you’re kicking ass and taking names. Am I right?”

“It’s good. Great, actually. I never thought I’d follow in the old man’s footsteps. I bucked him at every turn, but it feels right.” He unbuttons his suit jacket and takes a seat at the table. “My dad mentioned you’ve been in town for a few weeks. I had a feeling you’d leave without a word.” He lays his hand over his heart, acting crushed.

“Well, I haven’t done much visiting this go ‘round. I’m mostly keeping to myself.”

“Hiding out?” he asks with an eyebrow lift.

“No, I’m not hiding out. I’m … repurposing. Recharging.”

Tripp stays quiet and watches me intently. When I don’t take the bait, he shakes his head and laughs. “I guess we’ll leave it alone, then. If that’s what you want…”

“That’s what I want.”

He looks out over the ninth hole, his expression growing serious and his jaw twitching nervously. “So she’s really gonna marry that douchebag, isn’t she?”