Chapter Twelve
January 2009—Eight months after
“Trevor, what—I thought we agreed this wasn’t a good idea.”
Trevor shut the front door, clutching the manila envelope he’d just signed for close to his chest. “I have to. I need to know how my child died.”
Carl came over to Trevor and took him by the shoulders. “You know how he died. Julian went over the after-action report with you paragraph by paragraph. I was there, remember?”
“Of course I remember. I’ll never forget,” Trevor snapped. “He wasn’t on patrol. He wasn’t in battle. He was sitting with his teammates, on his fucking base, and not one of them saw anything or heard it coming—” He broke off, the envelope crackling as his fingers tightened on it.
“Reading the excruciating details of the trauma his body went through isn’t going to change the outcome, so why, for God’s sake, would you put yourself through reading his autopsy report?” Carl reached for the envelope and tried to ease it away.
Trevor gripped it tighter. “Because I have to, Carl. I have to know.”
Carl gritted his teeth, giving Trevor a little shake. “No, you don’t have to. Just like you didn’t have to watch those YouTube videos from that embedded reporter that upset you so much.”
Trevor flinched, thinking of the jarring, chaotic combat footage shot by a photojournalist traveling with a platoon in the Korengal. It wasn’t Riley’s unit, but it was all Trevor could find, and he’d watched it over and over, the sights and sounds of battle, the faces of the young men fighting for their lives, seared into his brain. His voice rose. “That was my decision to make. Like not viewing him was. Like having him interred at Arlington was. These are all my fucking decisions I made regarding my son. If you can’t be supportive, then—” He bit off the words, wrenching out of Carl’s grip and turning away.
A beat of silence. “Then what, I can go to hell? Is that what you were going to say?”
Trevor shook his head mutely, unable to look at him.
“Because let me tell you something, Trevor. I’m already in hell.” Carl’s breathing was ragged. “I’m in hell watching you suffer. I’m in hell seeing you in so much pain, knowing there isn’t a fucking thing I can do to make it better. I’m in hell feeling so goddamn helpless—” He choked on a sob, burying his face in his hands.
Trevor wanted to go to him, to comfort him, but he couldn’t. All he could do was stand there and watch Carl struggle for control. At last Carl lifted his head. “It’s been eight months, Trevor. When are you going to stop this? When are you going to stop punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault? It’s like—it’s like you’re doing it deliberately, making little cuts that are never going to heal.”
Trevor didn’t answer, and at last Carl wiped his eyes on his pajama sleeve. “I’m going to get ready for work,” he said wearily.
“Carl—”
Carl brushed past without another word. Trevor let him go, trudging into the kitchen to make some coffee before sitting down to wait until Carl emerged, freshly showered and dressed in a tailored black suit. The silence was deafening as Carl pulled his khaki trench coat on, belting it with sharp, jerky motions.
“Carl, I—”
“We’ll talk when I get home, Trevor,” Carl interrupted, sounding tired and flat. “Okay?”
He didn’t wait for a reply, and Trevor moved to the window, listening to the garage door rumble twice, the whine of Carl’s engine as he backed down the driveway. “I’m sorry,” he said to the taillights disappearing into the distance, leaving behind a thick cloud of steamy exhaust.
Drained and heartsore, cup of coffee soon in hand, Trevor headed out to the back patio, shivering a little at the sharp chill in the air. He huddled in his favorite outdoor chair, sipping the hot brew and gazing out at the pool, now covered with a thick tarp and battened down for the season.
“Cowabunga, bitch!”
For just a moment the cold, silent backyard was drenched in sunshine again, echoing with the sounds of splashing and merriment. Trevor closed his eyes, letting the memories wash over him. It had been so much more than a party that night, so much more. He hadn’t known it at the time, but during those few precious hours he’d been given a glimpse—a tantalizing glimpse—of the man his son was on the verge of becoming. A man Trevor would have been proud to know.
He stared down at the envelope on his lap, wondering if Carl was right. Knowing what Riley’s body had gone through in the process of dying didn’t change the fact that he was dead. Whatever pain he’d suffered, it was over. Trevor ran a trembling hand along the envelope, feeling the edges of the papers inside.
Why was he doing this? He’d already said his goodbyes to Riley—over, and over, and over again. He’d stood in a room filled with flowers, separate from where Riley lay in his casket, those mourners choosing to view him able to do so before making their way next door to pay their condolences to Trevor. There’d been dozens and dozens of them—high school friends of Riley’s, people Trevor and Carl knew separately and together. A combat death in a military town brought people out in droves to pay their respects, and it was vastly comforting to see how much Riley was loved.
Then came the interment at Arlington, Trevor sitting in front of a freshly dug grave, listening to horses’ hooves clopping along the paved street as a shiny black caisson bearing Riley’s flag-draped casket drew closer. The uniformed pallbearers slow-marched him to his final resting place, the minister saying the time-honored traditional words. A gun salute, followed by a man kneeling in front of Trevor, proffering him a folded flag “on behalf of a grateful nation.”
Yes, according to ritual, he’d said every goodbye that could be said to the Riley he knew—the helpless infant, the mischievous child, the sullen teenager. Trevor gazed through tear-filled eyes out at the lonely backyard. Those missing nine months, the months Riley was out of touch, out of reach...those months had shaped him into a man Trevor couldn’t possibly say goodbye to. He had no idea how to say goodbye to that man, except by trying to understand the forces that had taken him away—that had ripped him from Trevor’s life, leaving a bloody, gaping hole behind.
Trevor owed it to Riley to try to understand, so with shaking fingers he opened the envelope and read. When he was finished, and the waves of bitterness and grief dragged him back under, it wasn’t even because of the dry, clinical descriptions of the injuries inflicted on and inside Riley’s body...terrible injuries he’d had no hope of surviving. No, it was because of the nicotine stains noted on his right hand, the lung tissue consistent with a pack-a-day smoker. Riley’s great-aunt died after a long, protracted fight with lung cancer, and Riley had grown up despising the habit with every fiber of his being.
Why had he taken it up? What had he gone through that caused him to do something he’d sworn he’d never do?
When Trevor buried his face in his hands and wept, it was because in the end, he hadn’t known his son at all.
* * *
“Ah, Riles. What am I doing?”
Pulling to a stop at the curb in front of the sprawling, elegant house, Jesse sat for a moment gazing up at it. Eighteen months ago he’d driven away from here, angry and confused, knowing he’d made a colossal fool of himself. Never would he have imagined coming back, especially not in circumstances like these.
He glanced at the passenger seat, and the innocuous brown box sitting there. It wasn’t very big, scarcely larger than a shoebox, ragged on the corners with the flaps folded closed. Essentially worthless, yet to the man living in this house, it would be worth its weight in gold. That made facing him again bearable, no matter how much the thought made Jesse’s heart race and his palms sweat.
He took a deep breath and gathered his courage, picking the box up carefully before getting out of the truck and making his way across the driveway to the front door. His finger hovered over the bell for a moment before he decided to knock instead, giving the door three sharp raps.
While he waited Jesse shifted restlessly from foot to foot, the leaden gray skies overhead and smell of snow in the air contributing to his unease. The neighboring house to the left still winked with Christmas lights almost a month after the holiday, a sad sort of festiveness that seemed wildly out of place.
The sound of the dead bolt turning had Jesse snapping almost to attention, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.
“May I help you?” Trevor Estes’s voice was subdued but not impolite as he gazed at Jesse inquiringly. He was thinner than Jesse remembered, with the same narrow nose and strong jaw that Riley had inherited. Trevor’s eyes were gray, not green, thickly lashed, but currently rimmed with red and shadowed with exhaustion. As they looked each other over, a sense of déjà vu arced between them, and Trevor’s mouth fell open.
“It’s you!” he exclaimed. “Riley’s friend from the party.”
“Yes, sir. Jesse Byrne.”
“Jesse. Of course.” Trevor reached out to shake Jesse’s hand. “Please come in.”
I don’t want to.
“Thank you, sir.”
Jesse took a deep breath and stepped inside, listening to Trevor close the front door behind him with a soft chunk.
“Would you like a cup of coffee, Jesse? I was about to make a fresh pot.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
In the kitchen Jesse perched on a barstool at the island, resting the box on his lap. He glanced at the French doors leading to the backyard, then wished he hadn’t. He didn’t want to relive the memories, didn’t want to linger, just wanted to deliver his package and go. Trevor kept looking at him as he worked to brew the coffee, and Jesse could sense his curiosity about why he was there. At last Trevor set a steaming mug in front of him, along with some cream.
“Thank you, sir.”
“You’re very welcome. And, Jesse, please call me Trevor.” For a moment the sound of spoons clinking was loud in the quiet room until Trevor said, “I bet ‘sir-ing’ everyone is a hard Army habit to break.”
Jesse nodded, grateful for a neutral topic of conversation. “It is. I’ve been out for several months now, and obviously I still do it.”
Trevor raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You’re out of the Army?”
“Yes, sir—I mean, yeah.”
“What are you doing now that you’re out?” Trevor seemed sincerely interested.
“I, uh, I’m actually bartending at that new restaurant that just opened downtown, Jelly’s?” Jesse shrugged, mumbling, “It’s something, I guess, until I figure some stuff out.”
“I’ve heard good things about that place.”
“I like it. We get a pretty good crowd.” It was a good crowd...young, attractive people with a hip, fun vibe. Too bad Jesse couldn’t relate to any of them, finding most of them shallow and unbearably silly. “It’s something,” he repeated.
Trevor sipped his coffee, then put his mug down. “It means a lot that you came to see me, Jesse.”
His nervousness spiked again. Guess we’re done with the small talk. “Have—have any of the other guys come to visit?”
Trevor shook his head. “No. My casualty assistance officer forwarded me some nice emails from a couple of them, sending me their condolences and wishing they could’ve been here for the funeral.”
Jesse bit his lip, getting up and wandering over to stare out at the backyard. A light snow was starting to fall, dry flakes that didn’t drift, but skittered across the patio and pool decking in the wind. “It was really hard on all of us, that we couldn’t be here for him. Really hard.”
Trevor’s stool scraped along the floor as he came to stand next to him. “I know, Jesse. You all had two more months of a job to do, and I totally understood that.” He hesitated. “Will you...tell the other guys that for me when you talk to them?”
“Of course,” Jesse said gently, and Trevor’s shoulders straightened a little, as if one small burden that had been weighing him down was lifted.
Jesse took a deep breath, turning back to the island and the box he’d placed on an empty stool. He lifted it to the counter and laid his hand on top of it. “Trevor, one of the reasons I came today was to bring you this.” At Trevor’s inquiring look, Jesse went on, his voice soft, “These are some of Riley’s things.”
Trevor froze, staring first at Jesse, then at the box.
“What? I thought—” he croaked, clearing his throat and trying again. “I thought I’d gotten all of his belongings by now. The Army sent me two huge boxes a while ago.” Trevor’s face was pale, his gray eyes stark. “And Riley brought everything home from the barracks before he deployed. How did—”
“I put all my stuff in storage before we left,” Jesse said, “and when I went through it last weekend, I—well, I found some of Riley’s things mixed in with mine. It’s not much, little odds and ends, but I thought you might want them.” He paused, a sudden fear clenching his gut. “Should I not have—”
“No, no, I want them. Thank you, Jesse.” Despite his words, Trevor looked distressed, and he made no move to open the box, staring at it like it was a snake about to bite him. Jesse didn’t understand, and suddenly a long-forgotten memory welled up, of his mom being confronted with a package arriving addressed to his dad sometime after his death. Her face had looked exactly like Trevor’s did now.
Jesse reached out to touch Trevor’s arm. “Would you like me to put that somewhere for you? In his room, or up in a closet somewhere out of sight? Just until you’re ready to go through it.”
Relief seemed to engulf Trevor’s entire body, and he slumped for a moment. “Jesse, I would appreciate that more than you know.” Jesse patted his arm before picking up the box and tucking it close to his side. Trevor led him down a short hallway and into a warm, beautifully appointed office. It was bright and airy, the desk positioned so he could look out over the backyard. Some wooden file cabinets lined one wall, and green plants were everywhere.
Trevor waved his hand at a stack of something tucked away in one corner of the room, covered by a sheet. “Can you just put it with those, please?”
Jesse glanced at Trevor, walking over to lift the sheet and noticing Trevor quickly turning his head away while he did so. There were two large boxes underneath, and Jesse could see the address label: From the Department of the Army. To PFC Riley J. Estes, C/O Trevor Estes...
“When those were delivered, I was here alone. The doorbell. I couldn’t deal—” Trevor looked at Jesse, his eyes bone dry but shadowed with pain. “Unexpected visitors ringing the doorbell sometimes sends me into a panic attack, so I just stuck them in here...”
Fiercely glad he’d chosen to knock instead of ring the bell, Jesse nodded. “Well, let me take care of them now,” he said calmly. “While I do, would you mind making us another pot of coffee? I’d love a fresh cup.”
The expression on Trevor’s face was conflicted, a mix of gratitude and an unwillingness to be a burden. Jesse gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, Trevor. I remember where his room is, and I’ll just put them in there. For someday.”
Trevor sucked in a shaky breath. “Yeah, for someday,” he whispered. “Okay.” He turned and fled to the kitchen. When he was gone, Jesse carefully lifted the first big box, the smaller one he’d brought balanced on top of it. A short walk down the hallway to the last door on the left, a twist of the doorknob, and Jesse was in Riley’s room.
He stood still for a moment, closing his eyes and letting the memories brush along his skin and take root in his chest, making his heart ache.
“Rawr!”
Riley leaped out of his closet wearing an evil clown mask, waving his arms. Everyone jumped, but Smitty let out a piercing shriek, much to Riley’s vast amusement. “You scream like a ten-year-old girl, Smits. Jesus.”
Smitty whacked him on the arm, yanking the mask off Riley’s head and throwing it back in his face. “Fuck you, Estes,” he said shakily. “I fuckin’ hate clowns.” His face was white as a sheet, his forehead clammy.
Riley tossed the mask into the middle of his bed, making a few more joking remarks, but as Jesse changed out of his swimsuit into a dry pair of shorts, Riley and Smitty huddled in the corner, Riley’s arm around Smitty’s shoulders as he murmured to him.
Jesse opened his eyes, and tears rushed into them at the sight of the mask, still on the bed where Riley’d tossed it. The room was immaculate, dust free, and Jesse imagined Trevor had a housekeeper in periodically to keep it so, most likely with a request not to touch or change anything from the way Riley left it that night.
Jesse put the two boxes down next to the dresser before going to get the last one, covering the whole thing up again with the sheet. He turned in a slow circle, taking one last look around, a few lone tears escaping.
“Miss you, Riles.”
Jesse trailed his fingers along the top of the dresser, then left the room, closing the door softly behind him.
* * *
Trevor dumped the stale coffee down the sink, scrubbed out the mugs and started the pot going again, beyond grateful for the mundane task keeping him occupied. By the time he finished, Jesse was back.
“I put them all in his room, Trevor, on the floor next to the dresser.” He was a bit pale but composed.
Trevor touched his arm. “Are you okay? I haven’t been able to go in his room since—well, since.”
Jesse dashed the back of his hand over his eyes. “Yeah, I’m okay. It’s just this stupid clown mask—” He told Trevor about a prank Riley played the night of the party, and Trevor was surprised into a chuckle.
“Oh, my God, he’s had that thing forever. Once, when we lived in our old apartment, I pulled back the shower curtain and he was in there wearing it. The neighbors heard me screaming and came to investigate.”
Jesse snorted. “Over there he’d make tarantulas out of pipe cleaners, and hide them in guys’ sleeping bags.”
“Oh God.” Trevor covered his mouth with his hand. “Rubber snakes in my bed.”
They shared a laugh. “Good ol’ Riles.”
There were tears in Trevor’s eyes, but they were fond tears, and it felt good to wallow in a happy memory with someone who knew Riley. Amazingly good. So many people were afraid to mention him to Trevor anymore, and if they did, usually rushed to apologize right after. With Jesse it felt natural, and right, to talk about him like he—like he’d actually existed.
Jesse glanced at him. “Hey, do you have a stepladder and a screwdriver?”
Mystified, Trevor said he did and led Jesse to the garage, watching in disbelief as Jesse lugged the items into the hallway, then proceeded to climb the ladder and disconnect the doorbell wiring at the little box near the ceiling. When he was finished, he climbed down and rested his hand briefly on Trevor’s shoulder.
“It’s okay to remove your PTSD triggers,” was all he said before disappearing into the garage to put everything back.
Trevor stood frozen, shocked to his core. PTSD? In a million years he never would have given his reaction to the doorbell a name, other than weakness or an inability to cope. With thirty seconds and a screwdriver, along with a healthy dose of understanding, Jesse had solved a problem that sometimes sent Trevor fleeing to his room to huddle in bed, hyperventilating from the rush of adrenaline and fear.
When he came back into the house, Trevor wanted to hug him, restraining himself just in time. Instead he invited him to have more coffee, digging out a box of biscotti sticks to go with it. For the next half hour they shared Riley stories, Trevor talking about how he loved to camp, and Jesse making Trevor laugh again picturing Riley sledding down a slope in Afghanistan on a big piece of cardboard.
“He told me how mountainous it was there,” Trevor said, “but when I think about the Middle East, I always think about desert.”
“Where we were, the eastern part bordering Pakistan, it was really beautiful in a lot of ways. Definitely got cold and snowy in the winter.” Jesse chuckled. “It was so funny, because he and this guy named Watkins almost got in a fight over Christmas decorations of all things. Watty got this string of lights in a care package from home, and he wanted to hang them up. Riley wouldn’t let him string them over his rack until December twenty-third. Everywhere else was fine, but not over his rack, not until the twenty-third.” Jesse shook his head. “Made no fuckin’ sense since those lights were about the only cheery thing in that shithole.”
Trevor was amused at Jesse’s slips into unconscious profanity, probably how he was used to talking with his Army buddies, and Trevor thought it suited him better than the oh-so-careful formality he’d shown up to now.
“Well, Riley had a thing about Christmas. He hated that his birthday was so close to it, so the twenty-second was always ‘Anti-Christmas Day.’ Nobody could mention the C-word, and we never decorated the house until the twenty-third. As soon as it was midnight and the twenty-second was over, we’d put our tree up and it was officially allowed to be Christmas in our house.”
“Shit, he never said a word about his birthday, just made a big deal over the lights,” Jesse said in disgust. “A bunch of guys thought maybe he was an atheist or something, or maybe just an asshole.”
Trevor blinked, alarmed. “Did everyone...like him, Jesse?”
“Oh, fuck yeah, Trevor. Everyone loved him.” Jesse leaned forward, his voice earnest. “Basically if the guys didn’t think you were an asshole to some extent, it meant they didn’t trust you.”
Trevor shook his head, fascinated by the glimpse into military culture. “I’ll take your word for it.”
Jesse got a faraway look on his face, his voice quiet as he said, “Riley was the type of guy who’d take your guard shift if you were sick. Play a joke on you, or come hang out with you if you were depressed. Once somebody was having some really serious problems at home, and Riley let the guy take his spot for refit so he could call his wife.”
Trevor blinked back sudden tears. “That’s my boy. Were you especially close with him, Jesse?”
Jesse nodded. “He was my best friend. Riley was a good dude, there for me in ways no one else ever was.”
Trevor could feel his lips start to tremble, and he pressed them together, battling for control. “Thank you, Jesse,” he managed. “You don’t know how much I needed to hear that today.”
They sat there in silence for a moment, and finally Jesse leaned back and looked at his watch. “I need to get going,” he said, more than a hint of regret in his tone. “Work this afternoon.”
“Yes, of course.”
Trevor walked Jesse to the door, and as he opened it, Jesse turned to him. “Trevor, I—” He broke off, an uncertain look on his face.
“What is it?”
Jesse squared his shoulders and looked Trevor in the eye. “I want to apologize for that night, the night of the party,” he said. “I was completely out of line, and there’s no excuse for my behavior. I’m sorry.”
Why would he bring that up now? “Oh. Jesse. I, uh, I imagine we were both very different people eighteen months ago. I know I was, so as far as I’m concerned, that’s all water under the bridge. All’s forgiven. Okay?”
Jesse blew out a breath, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. “Good. Okay.”
Trevor opened the door, and as Jesse started to walk through it, Trevor said, “Thanks for coming over, and for everything you did today. It helped more than you know. Truly.”
“I’m glad,” Jesse said softly. “And you’re welcome.”
They shook hands, and Trevor watched Jesse pick his way down the snowy walk to his truck. “Take care,” he called after him. Jesse raised his hand in a final farewell before climbing into his truck and driving away.
Trevor stood on the cold porch long after his taillights had disappeared around the corner.
“Well, that was surreal,” he muttered as he finally stepped back inside. Of all the guys in Riley’s unit Trevor’d thought he might meet again someday, the homophobe wasn’t it.
As he flipped the dead bolt, Trevor couldn’t help but gaze up at the disconnected doorbell mechanism, intense gratitude once again shooting through him. For that simple gesture alone, Trevor would have forgiven him for anything, much less what happened the night of that party.
Jesse hadn’t even had to ask.