Chapter 3
"You Can Let Go" — Crystal Shawanda
"Break On Me" — Keith Urban
Greta looked out over the water, her feet buried in the sand. The beach was filled with a few families there to watch the fireworks, but from where she was sitting, she could be away from the crowds. There was a case of Michelob AmberBock on her right and a bottle of Pinnacle Citrus vodka on her left. All she had to do now was watch the sunset and she would have done everything on the list.
That morning, after letting the terror of her nightmare wash over her, she dressed in army pants and boots with a gray camo shirt, and then cooked herself a breakfast of her dad's favorite meal: eggs and kielbasa with hot sauce. She greeted her mom and the two sat down in the theater room to watch a few home movies.
The first tapes showed a few with Greta's parents before she was born. She watched the day her father proposed in the middle of Central Park with his whole battalion working to make it memorable. Then it jumped to two months later of her parents exiting the Court House as husband and wife, riding off in her father's jeep toward the airport. The next shot showed her dad sneaking up on her mother, surprising her as he returned home from Dessert Storm. Looking over, Greta spotted her mother dabbing her eyes.
The next tape showed her mother lying in a hospital bed. It was probably the worst Greta had ever seen Elsa. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her hair was plaster to her head with sweat. She looked on the brink of exhaustion while a hardy chuckle was heard in the background. The Elsa on the tape glared up at the camera as her husband began to narrate.
"Well, it's been forty-eight hours but you did it, Ellie."
"I swear, Greg," Elsa moaned. "Get that damn camera out of here. I'm tired, sore, and I look like hell, and I'm about ready to tear you balls off for doing this to me!"
"Still the most beautiful woman I ever saw." Greg chuckled. "And all the sexier when she shows that wild, hellcat side over Miss Prim and Proper." Elsa threw something at him but the camera caught her small smile. At that moment, the nurse walked in with a small pink bundle. Elsa features softened and she smiled as the nurse placed the baby in her arms. "Oh Greg, she looks just like you," she said with a smile full of tears.
The camera shook and suddenly Greg was in the shot. He sat down on the side of the bed, throwing one arm over Elsa's shoulder and placing a kiss to her forehead. He looked down at the baby in her arms.
"So, you ready to be a father?"
"Hell no!" He laughed, his eyes never leaving the baby. "But long as I have you two, I think I can wing it."
"Well, here." Elsa passed the baby over to him. "Might as well start by saying hello to your daughter."
Greta and Elsa watched as Greg took his daughter in his arms. Tears sprang to his eyes. "Hey baby girl. I know I ain't much to look at, but I'm your daddy. Now, I can make you a couple promises. One, I'll make sure you're momma doesn't turn you into a frilly daffodil." Greta and Elsa both laughed as the younger Elsa slapped her husband's arm.
"Okay, okay," he continued. "If that's what she wants, fine, but I'm hoping not." Greg turned back to his tiny bundle, a warm smile on his face. "And another thing I can promise is that no matter how far away I may be, or if you're embarrassed—cause I'm gonna embarrass you, especially in front of boys—I'm always gonna protect you, and love you so much."
From there the videos began to drift over the years. Most were of Greta: learning to ride a bike, her first (and only) pageant; the first time she handled a rifle, and another where her father won a pingpong ball tournament. Then they came to final video. Greta felt the tears sting her eyes when the video played of their last family trip. Her mom had made reservations at some formal restaurant, so of course they had to dress properly. Her father looked handsome in his tux while Elsa and Greta each wore a beautiful evening gown. Her dad managed to sneak in a camera, so the video had opened with both Elsa and Greta complaining while Greg denied everything. Then Greta watched as her father took the hand of her fourteen-year-old self and walked to the dance floor while "My Baby Girl" played in the background.
After that, Elsa went to her room with a large photo album in hand. Meanwhile, Greta took a bus down to the base and hung out with her dad's old buddies. They played a few rounds of Pool, Poker and Bullshit before the guys got out all the fixings for Greta to serve up some of her dad's famous brisket sandwiches. After that, she walked down to the shore to a place her dad always loved. It was his favorite spot to watch the boats and view the setting sun. It had also been the place where he had asked Elsa out the first time, and where they would watch fireworks as a family. And it was where his ashes were spread, five years ago.
Greta closed her eyes, the memory hurting like opening an old wound. She cracked open an AmberBock bottle and held it toward the sky.
"Happy V-day, Dad," she saluted before taking a long swig of the dark lager. It burned her tongue and throat, but she swallowed it.
She sat there watching the sky darken. It was not until she was finishing the third bottle when a load thunder interrupted her thoughts. Turning around, she spotted a black Harley park just a few feet away from her. She sneered as the rider got off and began walking toward her. She turned back toward the sky.
"Jut turn around and go back before I ruin that pretty bike."
"Thought you might be here," Steve said. He sat down beside her. "Best place to see the show. Even better at Stark's place. Thought you might wanna come."
"Sorry, Soldier, but I'm not really in a party mood."
"I noticed." He gently took the bottle from her hands, grateful when she didn't protest. "Do you want me to give you a ride back home, or should do you really want me to leave?" he asked. "I understand if you want to be alone."
Greta shrugged. "I'd say bullshit but you probably do," she replied. "Part of me also thinks I should cuss you out for coming here. Then I think this is karmic punishment for stepping on Molly's grave."
Steve barely withheld a smile at the memory. Greta was not laughing though, reminding him that she needed support if she wouldn't even smile at her own zinger. "Death isn't easy to deal with, especially when it's someone you were close to. I felt the same way when I lost Bucky. He was my best friend. He followed my lead, and I led him right to his death. Then I find that one day I've woken up in a whole new time, only to find out everyone I know is either old or dead."
"But that's totally different!" Greta argued. "You were on a mission. In battle, you can never predict the outcome, no matter how much you plan and prepare. All you can do is give it all you got and then some more, just praying the Man Upstairs lets you come home."
"That doesn't stop the guilt."
"No, but you can't take the blame for what happened," Greta said. "Would Bucky let you talk like that?"
"No." Steve smiled thinking of his old friend. "He'd say something like 'Get over it. I'm with you to the end of the line, like always,' and then he'd punch my shoulder."
"See? So quit beating yourself up for it. That emotional scar is seventy years old, Soldier. Time to let it be."
"What about you, Greta?" Steve said, turning to look her in the eye. "What about your scars?"
Greta turned her eyes to the sea. "That's a little harder for me. I know, I'm probably being hypocritical or whatever, but it's still difficult. Dad was the strongest man I'd ever known. He was tough, brave, and whipped his battalion into shape." She smiled. "Funny. You were his inspiration."
"Me?"
"Well, yeah." Greta laughed. "Sorry Steve, but remember? You were around when my dad's dad was in the military. Actually, Granddad was part of the group you rescued from Hydra. He got caught in the crossfire during your breakout, and was sent home with a Purple Heart."
"Really?"
"Really. I remember how Granddad would tell it." Greta cleared her throat and covered one eye. "Quite a sight, little nipper," she began, picking up one of the empty bottles and swinging it around. "This son of a gun goes jumping into fire in these red and blue pajamas carrying some sort of fancy shield like some kind a loon. He was nuttier than a Christmas fruitcake, and dressed like it too, but that crazed fool got every single one of us out of that hellhole."
Steve actually laughed. "I always knew that outfit made me look like a performing monkey. Though it made the bad guys hesitate, making it easier to knock them out."
She smiled, setting the bottle aside. "See? It was because of you Granddad could come home to my grandma just as my dad was born," Greta continued. "He always wanted to thank you, but he never got the chance. So he'd tell that story to Dad every night. And when Dad heard how you pulled off that rescue, he wanted to be just like you. You know, minus the costume. He preferred wearing the uniform with the rest of his men."
"No complaints there," Steve said. He was glad she seemed to be happy again.
Greta smiled as she recalled some memories of her dad. "I remember when he would come home and tell us all about training, or whatever he had to do while he was away. But no matter what, he always made time for me. Teaching me how ride a bike and hand-to-hand combat. Showing me how to use a gun, how to dance and enjoy it, and how to drink without getting hungover. He was the kind of man a daughter feels so lucky to have, and who loves so much it hurts…"
"You know, I don't think I've ever heard you talk this much about your dad before," Steve said. "It's nice. I feel like I'm getting to know him a little better."
"Yeah…" She took off her glasses and wiped a tear from her eye. "H-He was great. You and him, you would've gotten along. I wish you could've met him before he…he…"
"Greta?" Steve moved closer to her. He tried to place a hand on her shoulder, but she pushed him away.
"It was supposed to be our day," she said, hooking her glasses onto her shirt. "Dad thought it'd be great to take the bike because it was real nice out. We were on our way to a museum and there was construction going on, making the roads hard to navigate for the cars. Then some idiots drag racing try to beat a red light. I remember the car hitting us in the side and Dad reaching for me. The next thing I know, I'm waking up in an ambulance with a heart monitor beeping in my ear. I could see the EMT's working on my dad, and I cried out for him, but I was strapped down. His face was covered in gauze, his whole body soaked in blood, and he…he just…"
Greta sighed and leaned back to prevent the tears from falling. She took a breath to calm herself, but it was a struggle for her to talk. "The fire was gone from his eyes," she choked out. "He just looked at me and…and h-he…" She covered her eyes as her teeth bit into her lip. Darn it, she thought. Why'd he have to be here when I'm at my breaking point?
"The doctor said I lived because Dad threw me before the bike rolled. But he got pinned when the car…" Greta stood. She grabbed one of the empty bottles and chucked it into the ocean. She screamed, tears streaming down her face. "My dad was a fighter! He shouldn't have gone out like that! I was in that accident too! But he's gone and I'm still here. I-It's not fair!"
Steve walked over to her but he didn't touch her. Greta wiped at her eyes, but the tears continued to fall anyway. She was trembling at this point.
"I-I didn't even get to say goodbye, you know? The last thing he said to me was, '…love you baby girl…' Like, he knew he wasn't gonna make it, but…but he wanted to let me know I was going to be okay. H-He was still trying to be-to be strong…f-for me… And I couldn't even, I couldn't…"
"Greta?"
She opened one eye just as Steve pulled her into his embrace. She struggled as he pressed her to his chest, keeping one hand on the back of her head and the other on her back. His arms held her tightly. The steady beating of his heart become a rhythmic sound in her ear. Finally, she stopped. She couldn't fight it any longer. Her arms came around him and Steve had to tighten his hold as her legs gave out.
"I miss him so much," she whispered, tears now soaking his shirt.
Steve didn't say a word or even look at her. He just let her cry.