Captured(44)

“I hate all that. I know I signed up for it when I married a Marine. I knew from the very beginning that you’d go into combat. I knew it, and married you anyway. How could I not? I loved you so much from the very beginning, from the first time I saw you, all those years ago.”

Reagan is crying silently, staring at me. Neither of us looks away. She covers her mouth with her hands.

I continue: “You remember? I was visiting my brother at Twentynine Palms, and I saw you running with your unit. You looked right at me, and I knew in that very instant that we were going to be together forever. You dropped out of rank, ran over to me. You kissed me. Right there, the gunnery sergeant yelling at you, in front of half the damn base. You didn’t even ask my name. You just kissed me, and rejoined your unit. You got in a lot of trouble for that stunt. But you found me. You knew my brother, who was walking with me at the time. You asked him who I was a few days later. He said he’d let you have a shot if I was willing, but if you broke my heart, he’d break your face. You showed up at my hotel room dressed in civvies. You took me to Olive Garden, and we got drunk on red wine. We made love that night in my hotel room. You remember that night? I do. I remember every single moment. Just like I remember every other moment of our lives together. Eight years. Did you know that? You ship out tomorrow, and tomorrow is the eight-year anniversary—to the day—of the first time we met, when you kissed me. God, Tom. You know why I remember every single moment? Because for most of our ten years together, you’ve been deployed. Three tours in Iraq, about to ship out for your third in Afghanistan. I miss you, Tom. Every day, I miss you. Even when you’re home, I miss you, because I know you’re always about to leave again. But this time? This ship-out? It’s the hardest. So hard. I can’t take it. Can’t stand it. I can’t, Tom. I can’t watch you leave again, knowing you could die. You might not come back. You didn’t tell me much of what happened with your friend from your unit, Hunter, when he went MIA, but I know it was painful for everyone. He came back, thank god, but you were a mess. You called me from the base. You were going crazy with worry. You thought he was dead. Your friend Derek was injured, too. I remember all that. And I just…I don’t think I could handle it if that happened to you.”

I stop. Swallow hard. Force the admission out. “I—every time I read Tom the letter, I stopped there. I skipped to the very end. Where you said you love him. I read the letter to myself first, before I read it to him. He could barely move, and he couldn’t read it on his own. He was too weak. So I read it. And…when I saw” —my voice breaks— “when I read the news…about you being pregnant, I panicked. He was dying. I knew he was dying. He knew he was dying. And I just—I couldn’t tell him. Every time I read the letter, every time I got to that part, I couldn’t do it.”

She’s pale. Shaking. Eyes wide. “What? Derek, no. What are you saying?”

I squeeze my hands into fists. I say the hardest words I’ve ever spoken in my life. “Tom never knew. He died not knowing you…not knowing—” I clench my eyes shut. I can’t finish.

“He—he didn’t know?” She’s whispering. Her voice is thin, reedy. “He didn’t know about Tommy? He died…he—he didn’t know he was a daddy?” Tears, fat wet drops sliding down her cheeks.

“Yeah.” I can’t look at her. “I’m sorry, Reagan. I just…couldn’t.”

“How could you?” A whisper at first. Then she’s lunging at me. I’m standing, and she’s hitting me, slapping me. “How could you? He was a father! He deserved to know! God…god….”

I catch her hands. “He was f*cking DYING, Reagan!” I shout. “He had three bullets in his stomach. His stomach acid was eating his f*cking flesh from the inside out. We were in a hut in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by Taliban. I was wounded. We were getting beaten every other day. It took him f*cking weeks to die, and I had to watch! I watched my best f*cking friend die. I held him in my goddamn arms and fed him my own food, what little bit they gave us. He’d pass out, and when he woke up, he’d ask for the letter. ‘Read the letter, D. Read the letter, D. Derek, the letter.’ He could barely speak toward the end. He was in so much pain, and all he could think of was you. If I’d told him you were pregnant…? He held onto that letter, unopened, for months. He carried it on dozens of patrols. It was like a good luck charm for him. If he’d just read—just read the goddamn letter…but he didn’t. And I couldn’t tell him. I was too much of a coward. I was too scared. Too hurt. Too weak. I couldn’t handle how that would make him feel, when he couldn’t do a damned thing about it. All he could do was die.”

She’s sobbing, bawling, collapsing onto the floor and covering her face with her hands. I kneel beside her, touch her shoulder, but she shoves at me. “Leave me alone! Just…please. I need to be alone.”

“Okay.” I stand up. Turn away. “I’m sorry, Reagan.”

She ignores me, and I leave her there, crying on the floor of her kitchen.





CHAPTER 13





REAGAN





The house is silent when I wake up the next morning. I glance at my alarm clock: 9:30 a.m. I haven’t slept in this late…ever. I sobbed myself hoarse after Derek left. Crawled, literally crawled, up the stairs and into bed. I cried myself to sleep.