Chapter 8

Evelyn

Why now? I can’t help but think. Why now? Those words buzz around my head like annoying flies. But no matter how many times I swipe at them, they refuse to move.

All this time, I’ve waited for Shawn to come back to me and suddenly, out of the blue, he appears on my doorstep. The timing’s so… I can’t even think what the timing is.

I mean, here I’ve had James around for so many years. And I’ve resisted his advances; but the minute I accept his proposal Shawn comes back.

Coincidence? Fate? What do you call it?

Not only that, he also turns out to be a total natural with his son, as I stand by the door and watch his gaze linger over the little boy, I’m ready to cry.

Every time I’ve imagined him coming home and me telling him about our son, it has been different. But, I guess dreams are rarely true to life.

With a sigh, I walk into the room and pull the blanket up around Tanner to make sure he doesn’t get cold. I know he will have kicked them off halfway through the night. Kids are such restless sleepers, but I figure he should at least start off warm.

Up until a few months ago, Tanner would still come to bed with me, and I regularly received kicks all over my body. I often found Tanner the wrong way around in my bed in the morning, or curled up at the foot of the bed like a dog.

“He’s perfect,” Shawn whispers, and for a second our eyes meet and lock.

Instantly, my heart beats faster and warmth spreads through my body. It’s difficult to contain and I feel my face drawn to his.

My lips purse a little, and an overwhelming urge to kiss him grabs hold of me. But just as I lean toward him, he stands up. I stay where I am for a few seconds to regain my composure and control my breathing.

When I join him, he’s standing on the landing of the stairs, seemingly lost in thought.

“I think I should mix us both a drink,” I mumble and walk past him.

At the bottom, I see him coming down the stairs, taking extreme care, walking as if he might tread on a landmine.

What had he been through? How must it feel to wake up and not know who you are? I shiver since I can’t begin to imagine what any of this must be like for him. It’s pretty awful for me, and I remember every detail of the last few years.

“I don’t keep much alcohol around,” I explain and wait for him to join me. “I’ll see what I can find.”

He nods. I can tell he’s trying to process the barrage of information coming right at him. I guess it’s not only information overload; it’s coming to terms with what he’s finding out.

“I’m pretty easy,” he says and gives me his bright smile. “Not much to drink in Afghanistan.”

His smile is what first attracted me to him. It starts around his lips, but travels all the way up to his eyes. When he smiles, his eyes sparkle.

Without a reply, I head to the kitchen.

If there’s anything to drink that’s hidden, it’ll be in the pantry. I shove tins of corn out of the way, move tomato sauce bottles and shift packets of noodles. I was just about to give up when I hear Shawn behind me.

“What’s that up top?”

I follow his gaze to the top shelf. It’s too high for me. He reaches it easily and pulls out a bottle of whiskey.

“Looks like a good drop.”

“Straight or with ice?”

He hesitates for a second. “With ice.”

When I’ve poured two pot-bellied glasses with the amber liquid, I head back into the living room. Carefully, I place the glasses on the little ornate, hand-carved, wooden coffee table before sitting on the lounge.

Shawn sits next to me, his closeness unleashing electric shock waves in me. He picks up one of the glasses and keeps his eyes on the amber-colored liquid as he swirls it around.

“Is he mine?”

There’s something in his voice I can’t place. Was it hope? Regret? Anticipation? It’s hard for me to answer.

What I really want to do is throw myself at him and bawl my eyes out. I want to kiss him and let my hands reacquaint themselves with his body. Instead of talking to him, I want to fuck him.

“It’s…I…after…” I stammer and curse myself for being unable to put a sentence together.

“I need to hear it from you,” Shawn mutters and looks me straight in the eye.

“When my period didn’t come, I thought it was because of hormonal imbalance, or stress. I didn’t worry at first. It had been a bit irregular over the previous months. Then, I received news that you were missing in action. I gave it a few more weeks and finally bit the bullet and did a pregnancy test. Sure enough. It showed that I was pregnant.”

I glance at him. He’s gone back to watching his whiskey.

To ease my shaking nerves, I take a sip. Fire erupts in my mouth and dances across my tongue and down my throat, until my insides are burning brightly.

“I still couldn’t believe it. Then, I had some spotting and I thought maybe the stress of knowing you could be dead might cause a miscarriage. I went to see my doctor. He did an ultrasound and found out that everything was fine.”

A lone tear rolls down my cheek. Telling him my story opens up old wounds, wounds I thought I’d buried.

“He sent me off to a counselor,” I swallow. These aren’t the things I want to relive or talk about. “But I only went a few times. In the end, I knew I had to be strong for our son or daughter.” I pause and take another sip. “And you, at that time, I just couldn’t accept that you wouldn’t be coming home.”

For a while, the only sound in the room is our breathing.

“What about James?” His voice, as well as his expression, is full of pain.

James.

What can I say?

“James returned before I gave birth. He,” I stop, part of me really doesn’t want to talk about James, “James came back and said you were dead.”

I see Shawn’s jaw grind from side to side.

“He said it’s not unusual for the military not to declare you dead without a body. Since he was your best friend, I accepted his help.”

“I’m sorry.”

It’s hard to know what he’s sorry for. But my voice isn’t strong enough to ask. All I can do is nod.

From his eyes, I can tell he wants to know more. Of course, I know the one question he really wants to ask, but I can’t bring myself to go there. As it is, I feel as if I’ve betrayed him.

Relying on another man for emotional support while your husband is missing in action can be seen as having an affair. I’ve read social media pages about this. Men and women feel strongly about it.

In the beginning, I was careful to keep my distance, but over time, I did find myself sharing more and more with James. But we never shared a bed, or a kiss. Even holding hands with him has been difficult for me.

Somehow, though, I can’t share this with Shawn, at least not right now.

Finally. He stops swirling his whiskey and brings the glass to his lips. He drinks it in one big gulp.

“I should go.”

Despite his words, he doesn’t stand up. His eyes pierce into mine. An internal wrestling match of gigantic proportions ensues. It’s more intense than the NFL final.

“You can have one of our guest rooms,” I say before I fully think my offer through.

Truth be told, I don’t want him to go. If he leaves now, how do I know when he’ll be back? What if he doesn’t? What if our meeting again is just a figment of my imagination?

“If you’re sure.”

We look at each other.

I nod.