Page 19 of Very Special Forces

"Twoweeks ago."

"Oh! Ididn't know. Where is it? I didn't see a suit bag."

"Hangingin the closet at home." Solomon paused, then clarified, "TheChilton house."

For abrief moment, I felt like all the air had been sucked out of me.The Chilton house, Solomon's house, until very recently had beenour home but that all changed the day Solomon was shot in thedoorway. After being rushed to hospital for surgery and then in acoma for several days, leaving me uncertain about whether he wouldlive or die, he woke up. With help from everyone we knew, theassailants were swiftly apprehended and the mystery about whySolomon was targeted was solved.

I'dbarely been back to the house since that day. I couldn't return.Every time I closed my eyes, I could see him slumped in thedoorway. Even when that image started to fade, every so often, itwould pop into my head again, unbidden and unwelcome, leaving menauseous and reeling. I couldn't face crossing that threshold everyday, reliving the trauma multiple times a day, so we moved into thepretty, yellow bungalow I owned since I hadn't made a decision toeither sell or rent it.

It wassmaller than Solomon's house, and although it was in a nice area,much less well-heeled than the Chilton neighborhood. Yet, thesecurity was top of the line because Solomon had installed itpreviously. Crucially, for me, he'd never been shot in my doorwayand I didn't have to visualize finding his slumped body there. Ifelt safe and comfortable in the yellow bungalow and no one couldtrack Solomon to my house. No one could hurt him there. I wasn'tsure Solomon felt the same, but as he'd said to me on the day weofficially moved in, "I was unconscious and don't remember most ofit. You're the one who had to see me like that so we'll move." Itwas a temporary thing but we'd been living there two months andneither of us ever mentioned moving back to the Chiltonhouse.

"Ididn't realize you'd been there recently," I said.

"I dropin every few days and check on the place. Occasionally, I need topick something up."

"Oh." Iwasn't sure what else to say.

"Youdon't have to come with me," he said.

"Hurrah." My voice was flat.

"It'sjust a house."

"Iknow."

"No badguys."

"Iknow."

"We haveto go back one day," he said.

I knewthis was coming but I wasn't sure when. Part of me thought he wasright: it was just a house, and although it had been the scene ofan awful crime, that was in the past and every successive day tookit a little further away. Eventually, I would rarely think about itat all.

Solomonlaid his fork on his plate and reached for my hand, intertwininghis fingers with mine, warm and comforting. "We don't have to goback there yet but at some point, we need to move on from whathappened and just live. No fear of the past. No letting it decideour future. We own what we want to do."

"Youshould be a fridge magnet," I told him as I toyed with hisfingers.

"We'lltalk about this another time," said Solomon. "We need to decidewhere our marital home is going to be anyway."

"Ithought we'd stay at my house."

"Forever? Sweetheart, we won't fit."

"We fitnow."

"Whatabout having a family? A dog?"

"Youwant a dog?"

"Maybe.Not one of those tiny ones. I can't walk a chihuahua or adachshund."

"Whynot? Is it because they're not manly?"

"The dogdoesn't need to be manly. I am manly enough. I'm just not surethose little legs can keep up with me."

"Youcould get a stroller for it." I held back a smile at theimage.

"I couldmake that look manly too. Anyway, the only time we're getting astroller is when we have something with two legs to put init."

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