Back in the Soldier's Bed

Jonas put down the dishcloth and rested his hips against the counter so that they were facing each other in the contained space. “How can you ask that, after today?”

“I think today has shown you that we’re tougher than we look.” She stood straighter, her back coming off of the resting spot. Why couldn’t he see that it wasn’t she and Emma that needed to be protected here?

Jonas folded his arms. “Today taught me that it’s not fair for me to expect you to deal with my problems. Today it was a nightmare. A broken picture, an overturned table. What if it had been different? What if you’d come in and had shaken me to wake me up?

“I don’t trust myself, Shan. And I never want to see that look on Emma’s face again. I realized I’m unpredictable. I don’t know what will trigger a memory, a flash. Today is the worst day I’ve had. Twice at the airshow I lost time. I’ll admit it now. And then after all that, the nightmare. Until I know it’s okay, I don’t want to chance scaring her again.” His face softened. “Scaring you.”

“Going away is hurting us. Emma won’t understand.” She let her gaze skitter away, as she admitted, “I…I don’t understand. I thought I helped you. I thought…I thought we’d agreed that we’d be friends.” The idea sounded so odd from her lips. They meant more to each other than friends, yet somehow even friendship seemed elusive between them. They’d built a tenuous truce, that was all.

“You did help me. But you were right about one thing. I need more than time and a friendly shoulder. I promise I’ll make time for some contact. I’ll pick Emma up and we’ll go for an ice cream. I’ll come to a soccer game. But not…not a

scheduled, prolonged thing. Please try to understand. I need to do this. I need to get things clear and you…you complicate things.”

After what they’d been through together today, all she’d wanted was some quiet time for them to just be. To maybe sit quietly in the shade of the maple tree and unwind, to let the day settle and drift away on the evening breeze. To be held in his arms, secure. Safe. Instead he was talking about walking away. Putting more distance between them rather than drawing closer.

Shannyn felt the quiver in her stomach, a little sliver of fear. She’d already begun to rely on him, to get too involved. Even tonight she’d started to trust him again. Longings to be held in his arms indeed. He’d never given the impression he truly wanted more. A few kisses and a whole lot of arguments did not translate into rebuilding a relationship.

The last time she’d trusted him he’d gone away for good. Perhaps he was right. Maybe a little distance would let everyone regain their balance. Moving slower wouldn’t hurt. She was wrong about needing protection. Maybe she did need it, but not from him. From herself. From letting herself feel more than was prudent. It was for the best.

Except that it already hurt. Each time she felt them get closer, the fear that he’d eventually leave her again was like a crack that spread under pressure.

Emma’s footsteps came down the stairs. She was shiny-faced and in a blue and white nightdress, a brush in her hands.

“Mommy. I’m ready for you to brush my hair.”

Shannyn looked back at Jonas. “Do what you have to do,” she murmured, then moved to take the brush from Emma’s hand.

Jonas picked up the paper cups and opened the truck door with a finger. One year. Exactly one year had passed since they’d driven over the IED and it was time to face a few things.

He shut the truck door with a jut of his hip, holding the hot coffee in shaking hands. His therapist had said this would be a good idea. The doc had also said he was making progress. Right now, with his stomach churning and his body trembling, he wasn’t so sure of that. But he’d promised Shannyn he’d get help, and so here he was. Four hours from home in a small town in Nova Scotia.

He put one foot in front of the other until he reached the gate, swinging it open with a rusty creak.

It wasn’t hard to find the headstone. It was slightly larger than the others, with a maple leaf adorning the top. For a minute he stood staring at it, at the words carved in gray stone.

He took one of the coffees and put it down beside the monument. “I brought you a double double,” he said quietly, referring to the familiar term for two cream and two sugars from Timmy’s. Feeling awkward, he flipped back the plastic on his own cup to reveal the drinking spout and took a hesitant sip.

He’d been afraid that seeing Chris’s name here, seeing the date, he’d be inundated with memories and painful flashes. But there was none of it. Only a deep sorrow that he’d lost his best friend.

“I’m sorry, Park,” he whispered. He squatted down so he was at eye level with the epitaph. “I’m sorry. And I miss you.” He smiled a little. “That’s all.”

“Sergeant Kirkpatrick.”

He rose and spun, coffee flying out of the small hole in the lid.

“Nessa.”

She smiled sadly. “You know who I am.”

“Park carried your picture everywhere.” She was even more beautiful in person, he realized. Creamy skin, dark hair flowing around her shoulders, brown eyes that seemed to really see him and held a note of sorrow he recognized.

“How are you holding up, Sergeant?”

Jonas looked back at the headstone. “I’m here. I’m fine.”

She came forward, putting down a handful of mixed flowers. She caught sight of the cup and covered her mouth, suddenly laughing.

“Oh, how he loved his morning coffee with you. What a lovely tribute, Jonas.”