Page 44 of Mended Hearts

“Thank you for your service, soldier.” He gleams.

Brian straightens his posture and pushes his shoulders back, hiding the pain I know it’s inflicting. He takes a deep breath and passes his cane to his hand sticking out of the sling. He’s able to hold himself steady for a heartbeat as he lifts his hand in salute, mimicking the man as they face one another. Quickly, he returns his cane and shifts his weight before letting out a huge breath. The adoration and respect these two are showing one another cause tears to well up in the corner of my eyes.

THE CAR RIDE home is rather stagnant with silence. I want to ask what happened over there, but I don’t want to upset him. I seem to be doing a good job of that already. Opening the garage door, I pull in. The one step into the house from here should be much more accommodating than the five leading up our porch. I jump out and open the door leading to the kitchen, flipping the light on. Then make my way back to the car, opening his door.

“You don’t have to baby me,” he grumbles, swinging his legs out as he steadies his cane.

“Trying to help and make things easier for you isn’t babying.” I roll my eyes out of his view.

We make our way in, and he stops at the fridge. Opening the door, he assesses the contents.

“No beer,” he chastises, disappointment evident.

“Umm, sorry, alcohol was the last thing on my mind when I found out you were injured.” I drop his bag on the tan tile and walk off to regain my shit before I lose it.

I hear him mumble at my retreat but don’t bother asking for clarification. I hate that he’s been wounded, but it doesn’t give him the right to treat me like shit. Retreating to the master bedroom, I sit in the rocker near our bed. It offers me the same sense of peace the rocking gave Dylan as a baby. Once perspective returns to me, I sense a tinge of guilt, feeling I should be going above and beyond to cater to Brian. I can’t take his attitude personal. God knows what he saw and endured overseas. Knowing he needs to fully relax after being so cooped up on a plane, I walk to our bathroom and draw up a hot bath. I make my way back to where I left him, hoping my gesture will help.

“Baby,” I holler, heading down the hall. “I drew you a bath.” I round the corner to the open living room to see a fully reclined Brian…asleep.

Looks like I’ll be taking a bath.

I stay in the bath extra-long, making sure my skin is nice and wrinkly. I’m trying to relax and calm my thoughts, but they’re all over the place and all too consuming. I crawl into an empty bed, a tradition I’m all too familiar with, and wonder if I’m abandoning my husband by doing so. That thought pushes me out of bed as I grab the blanket draped at the end and head for the living room. I lay on the couch with my head facing the opposite end so I can keep an eye on Brian throughout the night. He’s still fully dressed in his fatigues, not even bothering to take his boots off. If I could do so without waking him, I would. But the idea of startling him in his sleep is something I take heed of. The last thing I want to do is jolt him awake.

The three pill bottles sitting on the end table next to him grab my attention, and I begin to wonder if the medication has a bearing on his mood, or if there’s something more controlling it.

GROANING, CURSING, AND the shaking of pill bottles awakens me, and I peek my eyes open right as Brian tosses something in his mouth, then chases it with a big gulp of water. It makes me thankful there isn’t any alcohol in the house. I can only imagine how that would worsen an already bleak situation.

“Do you need anything?” I ask, propping myself up, seeming to startle him as I do.

“What are you doing in here?” he questions as if it isn’t obvious.

“I wanted to be nearby in case you needed anything.” I offer with sincerity and a yawn.

“Go to bed, Echo. I’m fine.” He groans, shifting in the recliner. “Or I will be once the pain pill kicks in.”

I glance at my phone, see that it’s already 6:00 a.m., and decide to go ahead and get my day started. I had planned on playing nurse to Brian, but I’m under the impression that metaking care of him in any capacity is the last thing he wants. So I’ll just take care of me and wait for him to ask for help. I grab my blanket and fold it as I make my way back to our room. After sliding my feet into my sneakers, I braid my hair, push my headphones on, and start up my treadmill. No sense in me changing up the routine I’ve grown accustomed to. Thirty minutes into my intense walk, Brian shuffles in, eyeing me with suspicion. He mouths something and I’m unable to catch it before pushing my headphones down.

“Who you gettin’ fit for?” he repeats, causing me to blink at him in disbelief. I study his face for a hint of humor, and it’s void.

“Uh,” I stammer, “myself.”

“Yeah, sure.” He slowly moves toward the closet. “Where’s Dylan?”

I hit stop on the treadmill, letting it slow down beneath me.

“He’s at a friend’s house. I didn’t know how you’d be feeling.” I take my little towel and wipe the sweat off my forehead and the nape of my neck.

“And you didn’t think to consult with me about that.” He’s leaned against the closet door, arms crossed, and it’s as if I’m looking at a stranger. I’m unsure if he’s asking or accusing, and I can’t help but feel he’s trying to push me away.

“Since when have I consulted with you in regard to Dylan?” I huff, a bubble of my own anger appearing. His back is now to me as he shimmies out of his jacket, wincing every so often. I want to help him. I want to walk up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. I want to just touch him and push away whatever has him so angry. But then he speaks again, and it makes me want to throat punch him instead.

“Oh, that’s right. Why would you since he’s not my son.” He all but sneers with a laugh.

“Screw you.” I seethe, grabbing my phone and purse off the bedside table. I stop momentarily to give him the benefit ofthe doubt. I want to see if he still has a conscience or if that was left back in the war zone. My heart cracks a bit when he doesn’t acknowledge me as he keeps slowly stripping off his uniform. Something within urges me to push my luck. I walk to the entrance of the closet, standing inches away from him, and whisper, “I love you, Brian.” He slightly flinches before his body stiffens. “I don’t know what happened over there.” I let my fingertips trail down the exposed skin of his uninjured arm. His body sags, relaxing into mine, and I let out a breath of relief. “And maybe one day you’ll want to talk about it. But please don’t let whatever happened ruin us,” I plead.

“Okay,” he agrees with a nod, and I slowly wrap my arms around his waist, praying he doesn’t resist. He pulls away, only to turn and face me. His deep brown eyes are rimmed red, with a pain I’ve never seen before. I caress the side of his face, noticing the random scars intricately placed around his cheekbone and down the side of his neck. He closes his eyes, causing the pain to spill down his face. Just because he left the war zone doesn’t mean the war has left him, and I have a feeling the battle he’s now waging is even bigger.

I cup his face in my hands and whisper against his lips, “I’m going to fight this with you.” His body begins to tremble, and I push my lips to his, feeling such sadness and desperation. No way I’m going to let this man who has been there for me my entire life go through this alone. He has to know that. I let my arms fall and wrap them around his hips to keep him steady. I pull back and wait for his eyes to flicker open. The brown depths feel as if he’s staring into my soul as he holds my gaze and it’s the exact intensity I need from him. “It’s my turn to take care of you,” I admit. He attempts to pull away, but I tighten my grip. “You’ve been taking care of me ever since you sent that boy flying with his lunch tray.” I smile, and the memory causes his lip tocurl in a similar fashion. Boy, have I missed that boyish grin of his. “Please,” I beg. “Let me take care of you.”

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