Page 23 of Eternally London

“See you next week, sir,” one of the newer guys says to me.

“See you next week,” I reply.

My attention goes to Tommy, who hasn’t moved since he arrived here an hour ago. He normally waits until most people have left before he navigates his wheelchair out. But his eyes seem even more vacant than usual today. He barely said two words during our meeting, which in itself isn’t any different than the other meetings he’s attended over the last seven months. Yet, still, something’s off today. It must be in his body language. I can’t quite figure out what it is though.

“Hey, Tommy. I’m starving. Want to go grab some lunch? I was thinking about hitting up that new barbeque place that just opened in town.”

None of that is in fact true. London made me a healthy lunch full of my favorites that I was planning on eating during my hour commute back home. Today is pregnancy test day—a day that I’ve now experienced with London two times. Today will be the third. I’ve grown to hate this day every month.

The negative pregnancy tests don’t really bother me because I know it will happen in time. It’s the devastation that London feels each time that damn negative line pops up on that plastic wand that really sucks. I’m running out of reassuring things to say to her. As each month passes with another negative result, she’s becoming more desperate and disheartened. It physically hurts me to see her in emotional pain like this. London’s always been so strong. It’s one of her many attributes that I love. This will technically be the fourth pregnancy result if we count the one at Sarah and Dixon’s wedding, and with each passing month, I see a little more light leave her eyes.

I know I should go home, yet I find myself asking Tommy to lunch because his eyes are haunted, and I have an unsettling feeling deep within my gut that tells me he shouldn’t be alone.

Tommy, aka Thomas Washington, joined my PTSD group a little over seven months ago, shortly after he arrived home from Walter Reed National Military Medical Center. For some reason, I’ve always addressed him by his first name. If he were anyone else in the military, I’d call him Washington. Maybe it’s because, at the age of nineteen, he looked so young and lost and broken. Tommy just fits him.

He’s staring at me, thinking.

“What do you say, man? Heard it is amazing,” I say.

Finally, he nods and simply says, “Okay.”

I shoot a text to London.

Hey, babe. Going to be a little late. Having lunch with Tommy.

Okay.

Please wait for me to get home before taking the test. I’ll try to be quick.

Okay.

I’m serious. Please wait for me. I love you.

Love you, too.

I’m sure she’s not thrilled, but I know she’ll understand. I’ve expressed my concern over Tommy in the past.

The part of Tommy’s recovery that is so difficult is that he has no one. His dad was a drunk who left when he was young. His mom died of breast cancer when he was eighteen, and he joined the military right after that. He doesn’t have siblings or family that he knows. I imagine he was a quiet kid in school and didn’t have any lasting friendships. Truthfully, he reminds me a lot of myself at that age. The difference is that he doesn’t have a Cooper in his life, and he really needs one. Everyone needs at least one person they can count on.

Even after I lost Cooper, I wasn’t alone. I had Maggie, Sarah, and Dixon, who were all determined not to let me drown in the darkness.

This poor kid just has me. I hope I’m enough.

I do most of the talking over lunch, which is our normal arrangement. I’m sure Cooper is looking down from heaven with his mouth hanging open in surprise. I’ve morphed into this Chatty Cathy. Hell, I barely recognize myself anymore. I’m so different from the closed-off, quiet person I used to be. Sitting on the other side of the table in Tommy’s position, sullen and silent, is where I’d feel more comfortable.

But I don’t have the luxury of silence anymore. My job is to reach as many soldiers as possible. Whether it comes naturally or not, I have to be their Cooper, their cheerleader, their confidant. I have to be their someone in the blackness of the night when their demons are screaming the loudest, and they feel like they can’t fight another day. I need them to remember that they have someone who will hold them up, someone who will fight for them until they can fight for themselves.

I’ve had to use every detective skill I possess to find anything that might interest Tommy. He’s pretty much a closed book. The other day though, when I was outside, he pulled up to the VA in his modified truck that allowed him to drive with just his hands, and I heard country music blaring from his truck. I’m personally not a fan of country music, but I took note of the lyrics I heard, and with a quick internet search, moments later, I figured out that he had been blasting Garth Brooks.

I wipe the barbeque sauce off my hands with a paper towel. “You know, I heard that Garth Brooks is finishing up his world tour. He has a couple of more stops within driving distance from here. Would you be interested in going to a concert with me?” I ask Tommy.

His head pops up from whatever he was staring at on his plate, and he wears an expression of surprise. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. London’s not really into country music, and I know you are. So, I thought you might want to go with me.” I drop the paper towel on my plate and lean back in my chair.

Tommy fiddles with his fork. “I’ve always wanted to see him in concert,” he states casually.

“So, you’ve never been?” I ask.

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