Dishing Up Love

“See, that just boggles my mind. You’d think that being in those conditions for that long would’ve been awful. Wouldn’t it have triggered Zack’s PTSD in some way, essentially living like the people he saw while he was deployed?” Curtis questions.

“Everyone handles their diagnosis differently. In Zack’s case, he thrived in those conditions. He had a sense of purpose, felt at home helping in ways he knew how,” I explain, and he nods. “Zack wasn’t triggered until the military vehicles moved in and the destruction Katrina left was finally revealed around the rest of the city. His PTSD was in full force then, and with the natural high of the hurricane gone, they had to look elsewhere for their next high. And unfortunately, violent fights erupted, and the couple began to drift apart. Their only solution to reignite their passion was to get a new apartment together and start over from scratch. That apartment just so happened to be above a famed Voodoo temple and was available immediately. The crazy thing was, though, reported later by the landlord, was they had barely even moved in when Addie came to him and asked that the lease be in her name only. Turns out, she discovered Zack was cheating on her, and that was the final straw. The landlord wrote a handwritten contract and asked Addie to sort it all out, hoping they would get back together. But once Zack learned of her deception, he became… let’s just say really, really angry.”

“Understatement of the century if this is where Ronnie’s version of the story picked up.” Curtis snorts.

“Yep,” I say, popping the P. “That’s when ole Zacky decided to strangle Addie, dabble in a little necrophilia, and go all Hannibal Lector on her ass.”

“Oh fuck. He ate her?” Curtis grimaces.

“Well… actually no. I take that back. He put parts of her in the fridge, and other parts of her in pots on the stove and in the oven. But there was no actual evidence of him being a cannibal. I can’t remember if he put it in his suicide letter to the police or if it was their assumption later on once they looked at all the evidence that he was actually trying to get rid of her body by cooking it, but the smell was so bad he gave up, just turned the AC on crazy high and got his ass out of there. Twelve days later, he jumped from the seventh floor of the Omni Royal Orleans Hotel.”

“They never stood a chance. So sad,” he murmurs, taking the last sip of coffee in the glass mug before pulling the paper cup full toward him to fix with sugar.

When he hands over the dispenser, I stir with one hand while pouring with the other, focusing on the swirling vortex the spoon creates. “Do you…? Ah, never mind.”

“No, what? Do I what?” He leans forward, eagerness filling his every feature.

I pooch out my lips, contemplating my words first. “Do you believe in fate? Do you believe everything happens for a reason, is all part of some predetermined plan?”

He narrows his eyes a moment before answering. “I do. I suppose I always have.” He nods.

“Then what do you suppose was Zack and Addie’s purpose? Like, nothing good came from any of that. Their entire lives were nothing but tragic,” I murmur, something that’s always bothered me about their story.

He tilts his head. “Well, that’s hard to say. But it could be tons of things. Zack’s only purpose could’ve been to father those two kids. One of them could end up being the sole person to like… end cancer, or world hunger. Maybe Addie’s art fell into the perfect customer’s hands that inspired them in some world-changing way. Like, look how infamous their story is. Maybe it sparked a fire under someone’s ass and could one day change the way veterans with PTSD are cared for. Or…” The way he breathes the word in excitement pulls my eyes to his, and I see the ah-ha in his features.

“What?” I can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.

“What if their purpose was for little Elizabeth to hear their story one day from the very tour guide whose friend is a psychologist, who would then, a decade later, fund her scholarship to college? What if little Elizabeth in turn becomes that person in the future who changes mental healthcare for all veterans in the years to come? That, sweet sugar, could be fate’s plan. The whole reason for their tragedy,” he tells me, and not even seven words into his explanation, my throat grows tight and my eyes fill with tears at such a beautiful thought.

I give a short laugh even as a tear spills onto my cheek, and I flip it away as I nod vigorously. “Yeah,” I breathe. “Let’s go with that.”