Captured(46)

She’s probably right. I cash out, head home, stopping in Hempstead for a few boxes of pizza.

When I finally park the truck under the tree, I see that the roof of the barn is almost done, and Derek, Hank, and his three grandsons are all sitting on the front porch, drinking bottles of water. They are all sweaty and laughing. I hand them the four boxes of pizza, watching in amazement as the first box is emptied within seconds, the second vanishing not long after. I shake my head and laugh.

At least until I catch Derek’s eye. He’s watching me, and I can see that he’s biding his time. Expecting something from me. A conversation? I don’t know.

I start carting the groceries into the house and find Derek helping me. We get the dozen or so bags inside, and he starts putting them away.

“S’posed to be a day off,” he points out.

I shrug. “It was, and it was amazing, actually, so thank you. But there was no reason to be out there and not pick up a few groceries while I was at it. We were getting low on a lot of things.”

He stacks the cans of soup in the pantry, puts the bread away, the milk and juice. Pasta, pasta sauce. Eggs. He gets to the pharmacy bag and quickly sets my carton of tampons aside, along with the aspirin and toothpaste. He holds up the box of condoms, finds my eye. Just stares at me, curious.

I shrug. “Can we…can we talk about it later?”

He sighs. “I packed. I thought…after last night, what I told you—” He sets the box back in the bag, along with the other pharmacy items, and sets the bag aside. “I figured you’d want me to leave.”

“I—”

Hank comes in at that moment, grandsons trailing behind him. “Well, that was a hell of a day’s work, wasn’t it, boys?” He slaps two of the boys on their backs. “Well, we’ll be heading back now, Reagan. Thanks for the pizza — it really hit the spot. Derek, we’ll see ya in the morning, finish that roof off.”

Derek nods. “Thanks for the help, y’all. Made it a hell of a lot quicker.”

Before I can grasp what’s happening, Hank and the gang are out the door, tromping down the porch steps. I set down the bag of frozen chicken and run after them. “Hank, wait! What about Tommy? Should I go and get him?”

Hank turns. “Didn’t Ida tell you? Lizzy and Kim want to do a sleepover. Tommy has spent enough time at our place that he’ll be fine. Figured you might as well finish the day off with a night off.” The boys are heading across the field, roughhousing as they walk like boys do.

Hank takes two steps back toward me. “Reagan, sweetie. I been where that boy in there is now, or close enough, and my Ida, she’s been where you are exactly. All’s I’ll say is, life ain’t meant to be lived lonely. You gotta move on. You don’t ever forget. Not totally.” Hank touches his left bicep in an unconscious gesture; I’ve seen that arm, seen the tattoo of his unit I.D.—battalion, company, platoon—surrounded by six military serial numbers. “True for him, true for you.”

“But what if—”

He shakes his head, speaks over me. “No. That never got anyone any-damn-where. You can ask ‘what if’ till you’re blue in the face. You won’t get anywhere with that. You either risk, or you don’t. Up to you.” He wraps me up in a bear hug and keeps going. “Nobody can tell you what Tom would have wanted, or would want. Nobody can tell you what you should or shouldn’t do. You don’t answer to anybody ’cept yourself. And little Tommy, maybe, when he’s older. But he’s a good boy. He’s loved. You’re loved.”

“Thank you, Hank. For all these years of…everything. Thank you.”

He clears his throat, speaks gruffly. “Family takes care of family.”

He lets me go, pats me gently on the arm. “Go on now.”

I go on. Derek is sitting at the kitchen table, the last box of pizza in front of him, two slices folded over together in his hand. I sit down opposite him and take a slice. We eat in silence, sharing a can of Coke. When the box is empty, Derek puts it with the other empties, washes his hands. Straightens the dishtowel. Fidgets.

He’s waiting for me, and I’m scared to open it all back up.

He waits another few heartbeats while I continue to chicken out, and then he does it for me. “I should’ve told him. I know that. Guilt over it has been eating me alive this whole time.” He rubs his forehead with his thumb, not looking at me. “All I can say is I’m sorry. It doesn’t change anything, but I’m sorry.”

“No one can fault you for it, Derek. I sure don’t.” He looks up at me, surprised. “I’m hurt, and I’m angry. But I’m not really angry at you. More at the world in general. But mostly I’m angry at Tom for just not reading the damn letter when I gave it to him. We talked on the phone, wrote other letters, and he never asked about it, never referenced it. I was scared he was…I don’t know. Mad at me for getting pregnant, maybe? It was an accident. We’d said we were waiting till his term ran out.

“I was so hurt, so confused as to why he never asked how I was doing with the pregnancy, how I felt, nothing. Not a word. So I never said anything, either. I didn’t want to make things harder for him, didn’t want to let him know I was upset. I didn’t want to distract him, you know? I figured he’d come home, and we’d sort it out. I loved him, he loved me, and we’d work the rest out. I was trying to be a supportive soldier’s wife. And then I got the news about the ambush, that you and he had gone missing, and…then they found his body.” I shrug, as if the rest is self-explanatory.