Page 40 of August Kind of Love

I turned.

The Colonel stepped forward, his uniform perfect, his manner intimidating. Sylvester backed up a step, but it didn’t keep the Colonel from moving close.

“This woman,” the Colonel continued, “is the widow of a marine who died in the line of duty. As such, she is not only entitled to the utmost respect, but she is protected by the United States government. Harassing her can land you in prison for up to one year and a ten thousand dollar fine. You do not wish to harass her. Is that understood?”

“I was—”

“Is that understood?” The Colonel’s command could not be misinterpreted.

“Yes…sir.”

“Good. The United States government and the Marine Corps have a special interest in this woman and her family. To that end, we will periodically visit and review her position in the community. You do not want her to report a problem with you. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then, you’re dismissed.”

Sylvester didn’t need to be told twice. He fairly ran to his house. The Colonel faced me.

“I regret having to inform you of your husband’s death in such a manner,” he said. “I thought the situation called for a command decision.”

“It…did. Thank you. Wayne…”

“I’m very sorry for your loss. Let’s go inside.”

Emily sat with me on the couch while the Colonel informed us of what was known about his death. It seemed he was wounded and taken prisoner. He did not live long as a prisoner. His body was buried not far from a local village. It was only after the bad guys moved away, that the villagers exhumed the body and offered it to the United States. A special team retrieved the remains that were identified as your husband. What was left would be buried in Arlington National Cemetery, per the rights of those who lost their lives defending the country.

“That will be next spring,” the Colonel said. “You will be informed of the date. Transportation and housing will be provided. Please give us the names of anyone you wish to attend. We will issue invitations.”

There were some forms to sign. The Colonel asked if there was anyone I wished to be called. I did not have to grieve alone. I said I had Emily, and that was enough for the moment. The Colonel didn’t tarry. After I had contacted the family and a few friends, I packed up Emily, and we went out for lunch and a movie. She needed to laugh. In the dark, tears could seep out, and no one would notice. With Emily by my side, I could cope. When she went to sleep? I didn’t have an answer to that question.

Emily slept in the big bed again. There was sadness in her, but she was not overwhelmed. Wayne had been gone for so long, and she had come to a place where she didn’t remember all that much. I remembered all too well. I went to work because work was a refuge. There was no funeral to plan, no wake to perform. Those events would come in the spring when the remains were to be buried. I felt that, in a way, my grief was mitigated. Wayne had been gone for a long time. I had steeled myself to his death. Although I always prayed for his safe return, I was no dummy. I understood the odds. When the need to cry rose inside me, I cried. There was no lamenting. My work helped distract me.

Saturday was a long day. I made it as normal as possible, which was impossible. I put Emily to bed early and poured myself a glass of wine. The doorbell surprised me.

“Come in, Codrin,” I said. “Before you freeze.”

Codrin carried a large box into the house and set it on the dining room table.

“I tried to complete your work,” he said. “These are all the files you had already flagged, as well as any I thought you should vet.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“You’re still a member of the team. We need your expertise.”

“I bailed,” I said. “I’m just waiting to get fired.”

“Not a chance. Look, I acted poorly. I told myself it was the pressure of the merger, but that’s not true. I was the team leader. I should have recognized your priorities and encouraged you to go home. All I accomplished was to prove that I shouldn’t be a team leader.”

“You did a great job. I was a little over the top because, well, because of circumstances. I let my fear cloud my judgment. You were right. Children have short memories.”

“She’s all right then?”

“A little ice cream and an afternoon at the movies helped.”

“I’m very happy for you.” He half smiled, and I felt that familiar rush. It was subdued, but it was there.

“Where are my manners,” I said. “Glass of wine? Beer?”

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