After the wedding, our lives fell into a sort of pattern. We'd both go to work during the weekdays, come home to eat dinner, spend time with our friends or go walk around the neighborhood or the beach or the city. Every Saturday and Sunday we'd spend the whole day together. We would go out to the beach (something we both enjoyed with great fiber), or go to the cinema for a movie that was playing. We saw one movie called The Postman Always Rings Twice and afterwards Joe ranted to me about if I ever decided to kill him like how Cora killed her own husband so she could run off with another man.
"I will haunt you if you ever decide to kill me," Joe said, pointing a finger at me and waving it around. "I will haunt you and you will never be able to bring another man into our home."
I caught his finger and held it. "Why the hell would I want to bring another man home? I got you and that's all I need." Joe laughed at that and kissed my forehead, and we continued down the street to our usual spot on the beach.
Life was, for the most part, peaceful. But there were still times where our PTSD hit us hard, giving us both nightmares or anxiety attacks. There was a riot in Alcatraz prison that lasted for a few days. The San Francisco harbor was put on a lock down, refusing any ship or boat of any kind. By the end of it, five people died, two of them guards while the other three were prisoners. Afterwards, Joe and I walked down to where we could see the prison.
"How many men are out there?" I asked Joe, not really expecting an answer. He shrugged, not really knowing either.
"News broadcast said that some eleven people got hurt," Joe said. "So, it's at least fourteen." I laughed at that, and Joe smirked.
I got a call from Malarkey some time in June, telling me that he was taking a train to New York to meet Faye Tanner in July. I also got a letter from Faye, confirming Malarkey meeting her and how she wanted to meet me as well. So Joe and I bought tickets for a train to take us to Tonawanda, New York. Over the phone, Malarkey confirmed that he did the same and that was that.
On July first, Joe and I left for the train station. The train powered through the Midwest in a few days, and soon we were back in New York, where we had originally separated from Easy Company. One night, as the train rumbled ahead, I couldn't get to sleep. Joe was asleep beside me, his legs sprawled out in front of him and he had his head leaning back against the seat.
Joe's face when he was asleep was truly relaxation. His eyelids would flutter every now and then, and his mouth would occasionally move as he whispered in his sleep. I watched him sleep, the rising sun just beginning to fade into our train compartment. Our curtains caught the light and kept the small area dark, for which I was grateful.
I remembered how I met Joe officially, approaching him with caution to ask if he could cut my hair. Now, about four years later, we were newlyweds and living in our house in San Francisco of all places. This man, once a stranger who had made me nervous, was now my husband. He was the man who I fell in love with while the world was tearing itself apart.
How the hell did I end up here?
What were the chances I'd ever meet someone like Joe? Someone I could love no matter what, someone who would love me back? And what did you do when that someone was born thousands of miles away? It all seemed impossible. How did Joe and I get lucky? We hadn't felt lucky when we first fell. I had been reprimanded and had to keep an eye out in case someone assumed anything.
And yet through all of that, we made it. We survived the war and were able to run away together. I smiled to myself, thinking that I must have someone up in heaven looking out for me. My dad? Possibly. I had to believe that my brothers who didn't make it out of Easy were keeping an eye out for me, for everyone. Whether someone up there was watching out for me, whether it was all apart of some sort of plan, or whether it was just sheer blind luck, I had found Joe.
At the end of the fifth day, we finally arrived in the Tonawanda train station. Joe and I got off the train and we were supposed to meet Malarkey there. Joe was scanning the crowd, looking for him milling about the dozens of faces surrounding us.
"Well, isn't it the Liebgott family?" Malarkey's voice rang from a ways away and he hurried forward until he reached us. He hugged me and shook Joe's hand, looking happy to see the pair of us. He had shaven his face again and must've splashed water on his face because he looked to be freshly showered. His freckles seemed more noticeable today. I pointed it out to him and he shrugged.
The three of us stayed at the same motel, but Joe decided to stay behind. "I think this is something you and Malark need to do." So that afternoon, Malarkey and I took a cab to the address Faye had given the pair of us. The cab stopped outside a bungalow, a white picket fence in the front yard with vines twisting around it. Faye Tanner had a big garden underneath her house's windows, filled with roses, daisies, and what looked like marigold.
"This would've been Skip's house," I whispered to myself, not really thinking. Malarkey gave me a sad look, but he didn't say anything. We got out of the cab and approached the house with caution. Faye should be expecting us, but that didn't stop me from feeling like I was intruding on someone's life as I rang the doorbell.
We stood there for a few seconds before the door opened, revealing Faye Tanner to us for the first time. I found myself staring into the face of a woman with soft brown hair and wide blue eyes. Her makeup looked like it had taken several long minutes to perfect and her floral dress looked pristine. She was everything Skip had described.
Faye broke into a wide smile when she looked us over and invited us into her home. Malarkey was walking stiffly, looking around. I got the feeling that he was still thinking about what I had said outside the cab. This would've been Skip's house with Faye. In a different life, Malarkey and I would still be visiting this house, but Skip would already be here and waiting for us. The circumstances would've been so much more happier.
The inside of Faye's house was just as pretty as the outside. Malarkey and I were strolling around her living room (Faye had gone in the kitchen for coffee) when I stopped short, staring at the fireplace mantle. On it were pictures of Skip, and tiny knick knacks. I got closer looking at them. One picture was of Skip and Faye at the beach, another was the picture Skip had taken when he had first become a paratrooper. Malarkey followed me and started looking at the pictures too, a sad look in his face.
"I've kept almost everything of his," Faye said from the doorway. Malarkey and I turned to face her. Faye looked sad too, looking past us to occasionally glance at the pictures of Skip. "A lot of his stuff went back to his folks, but his mom wanted me to have some part of him." She cut herself off, emotion rising to her face.
Malarkey huffed slightly, reaching into his pocket. "Good thing I brought this then." He pulled out something small, and I felt goosebumps cross my body when I recognized the broken crucifix Lipton had found in Skip and Penkala's foxhole. I remembered when that tiny crucifix was whole, when Skip was wrap the rosary beads around his fingers, either praying or just so that his hands had something to do. I had given it to Malarkey, after Lipton had given it to me. The small cross was still a bad memory of finding that foxhole, of losing two great friends.
Malarkey handed the broken crucifix to Faye, who took it carefully. Her eyes started to water as she took in the singed wood, the cracked and missing beads from the chain. I had a feeling she knew what this tiny cross had gone through to get here. "He'd want you to have it," Malarkey said softly, letting Faye have this moment. She closed her eyes and held the crucifix to her heart.
"I remember when I first saw this," Faye said quietly. "He was, uh, spinning it around. Showing off. He'd throw it into the air as high as he could and then he run after it, trying to catch it before it hit the ground. He was seventeen, so of course he was a little immature with it. But he never had it far from him; Skip always had it on hand whenever he wanted something to toss around."
I tried to picture Skip when he was seventeen, and the image was harder to imagine. In my mind, Skip would always be twenty-two, sitting with me and Malarkey in the snow with snowflakes falling into his hair. Or laying on his bed in Aldbourne with me on the next bed, smoking a cigarette and talking to me about Faye and Tonawanda and what it'd be like to go back home. Tears came to my eyes unwillingly and I wiped them away. Malarkey brushed his shoulder against mine.
Faye, Malarkey, and I sat around her living room. We drank coffee and talked about Skip, how we all met him and how that man had touched our lives. By the time Malarkey and I had to leave, both Faye and I had cried while Malarkey sat between us, patting our backs and looking just as sad as we felt. On the drive back to the motel, Malarkey and I were both quiet.
"She's just like Skip said," Malarkey said when we were almost at the motel.
"She really is," I agreed. When we got to the motel, we said goodnight and went to our rooms. Joe was sprawled on the bed, reading a paperback book. He folded the corner of the page down when I entered and he sat up straight.
"How'd it go?" Joe asked. I told him everything, from her fireplace mantle filled with pieces of Skip to when Malarkey gave her that broken crucifix. I laid down on the bed next to him, staring up at the ceiling. He watched me for a moment before laying down next to me. "You still glad you came all the way out here?"
I nodded without hesitating. "I needed to meet her, to see what might've happened with Skip." I paused. "I wish I could do that for every man who didn't make it." Joe put his hand on my thigh, resting it there. "It just got me thinking: what would've everyone been like if they got out." I glanced at Joe, his eyes clouded with memories.
"I've thought about that," Joe said. "But I think we would've ended up pretty much the same. You know?" I nodded along with him, trying to imagine what men like Skip, Penkala, Jackson, Hoobler, and all the others would have done with themselves when Easy finally got themselves out of Europe.