Los Angeles, Elizabeth, 2014
I look up at him from my place on the bench. He looks thoughtful. I finish gathering myself, a little preparation for the hours of conversation I have ahead. I rise from the bench and start walking slightly ahead of him, leading the way to my car. I've been afraid of this moment for years. Afraid of him, afraid of myself. The way I love him has always terrified me. He saw me in a way I was never able to see myself. I have missed him tremendously. But with him here now, knowing the truth, I have to finally face the consequences of what I did to him. Of what I did to our babies. His whole world was rocked today in way mine wasn't, at least I've had the benefit of knowing the truth. Maybe this is fate at work, doing something for me that I couldn't do for myself. I feel my confidence boost with every step. I can do this.
"This one?" He asks as I put my key in the driver's door to unlock it. I turn to look at him, the admiration evident on his face. He then checks out the car like it's a woman. To be fair to him, there are no better looking cars than the Cherry Red 1966 Mustang Convertible that I'm driving these days. I bought it for myself for Christmas last year. I wanted a car that I could feel free in. It really has helped my metal heath to drive it with the top down along the PCH. I gesture for him to get in, and he takes the long way around the car still admiring it. That is something most people don't know about fighter pilots, they are all super nerdy gearheads.
I don't yet know where I want to take him, so we can hash all of this out. If I take him to my apartment, I might feel too closed in, and that could be too triggering. But everywhere else I can think of isn't private enough. So I decide to do the brave thing for the first time since I woke up in Landsthul, and drive in the direction of my place.
Los Angeles, Henry, 2014
I get nervous as we're walking down the hall to her apartment. I'm suddenly unsure of whether or not I want to know the answers to all of my questions. I try to remember the woman I once knew. She had a reason for abandoning me and the kids, and I'm terrified of what that may be.
We walk into a decent sized studio in Long Beach. It's an industrial style, lots of exposed brick, and high ceilings. It has big windows along its exterior wall, which you can see the water through. It's crisp and clean, and smells of fresh laundry. The very few pieces of décor are impersonal and lacking color. I start to wonder what happened to her, and then sigh in a little relief, when I notice her workspace. A bookcase full of Political Science titles and Foreign Language poetry and Criminal Justice textbooks. A desk filled with messy piles of papers, chaotically organized in way only she would understand. Two LA County Court boxes stacked by her desk. She was always one to bring work home with her.
"Can I get you anything to drink? I have water, orange juice?" She asks from her small kitchen alcove, pouring herself a glass of water from a Brita pitcher.
"Something stronger?" I say sort of joking, but she flinches.
Los Angeles, Elizabeth, 2014
I want a drink too, I think. He has no idea how badly I want a drink, something stronger than a drink right now. But, God grant me the serenity, or whatever. I was never much into the higher power thing.
"I don't have anything stronger." A simple statement. I don't feel the need to elaborate. Not yet anyway.
"I will take a glass of water." I'm grateful that he isn't pushing this issue. I learned that addiction in the face of PTSD is much more common than one might think. Almost every addict I've met since I've been in recovery has also gone through trauma. But it's one thing to know that as a fact, and another to admit my short comings to the man whose heart I broke.
I pour him a glass of water and gesture for him to take a seat on the couch. As I sit down on the opposite end, the shock finally wears away to awkwardness. I look anywhere but at him. My focal point becomes the Pacific Ocean, it's as vast as the space between us.
Los Angeles, Henry, 2014
She's watching the water, lost in thought. Her eyes are sparkling blue as the sun shines on the water and reflects the beach light in through her windows. I take a moment, not ready to break the silence. Once broken, there will be questions to answer, sins to atone for, and plans to make. I will have a new world to navigate, one that hurts me. One that hurts my children, all five of them. It will upend Jessica's life too. But I'm not ready to consider the consequences just yet. I just want to look at her, in this moment. The golden sun of late afternoon reflecting over her face, her brows furrowed as her beautiful brain works in overdrive. Suddenly she takes a big breath from her belly and turns to meet my eyes.
"Where should we start?" Her voice is shaky, but her body language is strong. I take a moment to think about it.
"The day you died. March 4, 2005." She nods, then swallows. Her eyes fill with tears.
"There was an IED."