Consolation (Consolation Duet #1)(3)

I can’t do this.

I start to shift, but Mark’s hands hold tight. Before I can think, Liam steps forward. His crystal blue eyes are bloodshot as he tries to hold it together. It’s obvious he’s shaken. The bond between Aaron and Liam was unbreakable. “Lee, I . . .” He stops and swallows. I place my hand on his giving him a sign that I don’t need his words. I know what he’s feeling. The loss is evident in his eyes.

“I know,” I say softly. His head bows forward and touches my hand. I place my other hand on the back of his head and I feel him shake.

“He was my brother,” Liam says as another tear falls from my cheek.

“I-I . . .” The stuttering of my words are all I can get out while he looks at me.

He takes a second and draws a deep breath, stands, and walks over to the box. Initially, Liam refused to accept Aaron’s death, since there was very little to identify him. He wanted to believe he was alive somewhere, but I knew. I felt it once I came to accept it.

I glance at my daughter once more. She lies cooing in her grandfather’s arms, completely unaware that she’ll never have the comfort of a father. I’m fortunate to have the man who rocked me and held me when I was in pain hold her now. If I could go back in time and ask my daddy to hold me as his little girl and tell me it’ll be okay, I would. She’s safe and secure, while I feel open and exposed.

Gazing at the sailor who stands before the memorial, I close my eyes and try to dispel the thoughts that assault me. I’ve lost him after all this time. The years of worry and dread while he was active duty I’d endured. Only to have a false sense of security descend once he left the Navy. Now look where all that comfort landed me.

Finally the last pin enters the box and I look up to see Jackson with his head hanging. The guilt he carries for sending Aaron to his death is insurmountable, but I know Aaron wouldn’t have had it any other way. He wanted to die with valor and honor. If it were Jackson or Mark who’d died, he would’ve wished it were him. But now my daughter and I pay the price for his choices.

Glancing around, I acknowledge the others who grieve the loss of this amazing man. I look at the crowd and see the faces of his friends and family. His mother who sobs uncontrollably next to his father. She’s drowning in her anguish as she buries her only son. Former sailors who served beside him and friends from Cole Security Forces sit grief-stricken over his loss.

There are a few faces I don’t recognize. A pretty blonde stands to the side, wiping her eyes. A brunette, who I assume is Catherine, mourns in Jackson’s arms. There are so many people, so many uniforms. It’s a black sea of mourning. Aaron was a loved man, so I’m not surprised, but no one loved him more than me.

Today is the last day I will allow myself to feel sorrow, the last day I will shed tears, because tears don’t change anything. I need to harvest whatever strength I have and hold it tight. I’m a mother who has an infant that needs me to be both mom and dad.

One day, they say. One day this will stop hurting.

Lies.

This will never be okay or stop hurting.

I’ll never be the same. The woman I was before died the minute the knock on the door came. I’m a shell of the woman I was. The woman who was loving, open, and full of hope is gone. Hope is a weak bitch who couldn’t give two f*cks about what you want. So I rely on faith. Faith that I’ll make it through this and find my heart again.





Time passes. Hours become days, days turn to weeks, months pass in a blur, and I continue to live. But am I living? I breathe, I get up and get dressed, but I’m numb. Sure I smile and throw on a happy face, but it’s all an illusion. Inside I’m lost in the abyss of grief.

It’s been three months since Aaron’s funeral. Same shit different day. My daughter is growing and I have no one to share it with. Thankfully she’s sleeping through the night, so I’m not a complete mess. Those first few months were enough to put me over the edge, but at the same time, she kept me going.

Loneliness consumes me, but I don’t let anyone know.

“No, Mom. I’m fine,” I huff and put the phone to my shoulder, trying to assure her for the millionth time. If it’s not her, it’s Mark calling to check on me.

“Lee, you’re not fine. You’re barely functioning. I’m getting on a plane,” she chides.

That’s the last thing I want. She stayed with me for a month after Aarabelle was born, and I thought I was going to lose my mind. Her nagging and forcing me out of the house was enough to make me question my decision to let her come at all.

“Jesus, I’m fine. I’m living and Dad needs you at home. Aarabelle and I are doing great even,” I lie. I stopped letting anyone know what my life is like six months ago. Apparently there’s a time limit on grieving before people start talking. My friends are still concerned that I haven’t really done anything. I don’t go out, and I refused to go back to my old job as a reporter. I don’t want to be on the air and talking to families going through tragedy. I’m going through it now.

She gives a short laugh, “Liar.”

“I’m not lying.” I grab the baby monitor and head out on the deck. Which is the best thing about this house. When Aaron and I found this place, I fell in love. It backs to the Chesapeake Bay and the deck is where I spend most of my day. I feel close to him here. I can feel him in the wind—which is crazy, but when I close my eyes, it’s like his hands are touching me. His breath glides across my neck, pushing the hair off my face. The sun warms me and I can pretend. I can allow myself the illusion that he’s here. He’s just out on a mission and will be home soon. I hold on to the feeling as long as I can because it’s so much better to pretend than face the fact that my husband is dead.