Page 71 of The Darkness Within

“Violet would like to have you over to fix some things. I spoke with her at length, and I made her agree not to coddle you. She is to let you work. Then, if she wants to feed you and fuss over you, that’s up to her, but you have a job to do.”

“Good, I want to help her. But I’m not taking a dime from her in payment. You have to understand that I could never accept money from her.”

“I do understand that, and I explained that to her. Hopefully she won’t even offer. Are you prepared to talk about Victor? I can’t promise she’ll ask, but if she does, will you be okay?”

“I think I need to. We’ve undergone three EMDR sessions and my flashbacks have become less severe and less frequent. I’m never going to find closure if I keep running from it. I think Violet is the closure that I need.”

“Do you think you’re ever going to accept that it’s over? Is there such a thing as closure when it continues to haunt you every day?”

“Probably not, but there are things I need to tell her. Maybe they can help her find closure, or at least some measure of peace.”

“Do you need me to go with you?”

Yes. “I think I need to do this on my own, even though having you there would make it easier. Sometimes, I need to do the hard thing, not the easy thing.”

I just had to pick the hard thing, didn’t I? Since when do I know what’s best for me? Why would anybody listen to me?

Violet and I dance around each other in awkward steps as she runs through her list of things that need fixing. It’s a long fucking list. My guilt multiplies with every item she ticks off. She needs help and whether she knows it or not, she needs my help.

After fixing the latch on the gate in the backyard, I move on to the back patio. It’s screened in, and the screen is torn and needs replacing. Then I move inside to change the batteries in her smoke detectors.

Violet wrings her hands in the kitchen, trying not to hover, but I can feel her presence as if she’s holding the step stool steady for me.

“Let me help, Sergeant.” Then she’s actually behind me, holding the damn thing steady. Probably because of my bum leg.

“Please don’t call me Sergeant, Mrs. G. Just Nash.”

“Could I convince you to call me Violet?”

“Not a chance,” I chuckle, “and thank you for sending the pastries. They were delicious.”

“I have more for you to take home today.”

Of course she does. “They tasted just like…” Old times.

“I know. I remember how you boys devoured them.”

The word boys makes my heart squeeze painfully. Before we deployed, that’s what we were, just boys, green and dumb. But the desert changed us, changed me, and I came home a man. A broken, fucked in the head, haunted man.

What I wouldn’t give to go back to being naïve boys again, playing video games and drinking beer with my buddy. If only.

“I wish you would let me pay you, but Brewer said not to ask.”

“Then don’t ask,” I tease with a laugh.

“Can I pay you with food?”

“I won’t ever say no to your cooking, Mrs. G.”

When I’m finished with the last detector, I climb down and fold up the stool. “Anything else?”

“Now you sit with me and let me feed you.”

As good as that sounds, I know she wants to talk, and as much as I know we need to, I also know it’s gonna hurt.

Taking a seat at her kitchen table, I try to imagine the family dinners that took place here with G and his mom and dad. Laughter, conversation, love—so different from the kitchen I grew up in. Violet sets about making me a sandwich, not just any sandwich, though. One of those monsters like G used to make. He called them Medianoche, a midnight sandwich. A thick sweet, doughy roll, roasted pork and sweet ham, spicy mustard, sweet pickles, and cheese, toasted and squished flat so the melted cheese and mustard ooze together into an epicurean dream.

“Did you retire yet?”

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