Their eyes aren’t filled with condemnation, and not even sorrow. They look like they . . . understand.
“Nothing to be ashamed of, Bug.” George taps my knee. He joked about my nickname “Nat” on day one, and has called me bug for the last month. Who would tell him to stop? He’s adorable.
“What branch of the military is he in?” Marion asks.
I’m thrown slightly off balance by her question. “What? Who?”
“Your soon-to-be ex-husband. Is he a Marine, too?”
“Oh,” I exhale, having misinterpreted the direction of her questioning, “he’s not in the military, never was.”
“Oh . . .” she seems confused, “what brings you in here then? Usually the young girls that volunteer here have husbands or boyfriends overseas, or did.”
Looking to the ceiling for an answer, I bite the inside of my cheek.
“Ah,” George cuts into my train of thought, “there’s a story there, I see. If you ladies will excuse me, I have to go get my place in line for dinner so the vultures don’t steal all the oranges.” Slowly getting up with a cough, he wheels his oxygen tank behind him as he leaves for the cafeteria.
“He’s right, isn’t he?” Marion asks with a smile.
My grin gives me away before I can explain. “Sort of . . .”
“Do you want to tell me about him?”
I sigh. “How much do you want to know?”
“As much as it takes for me to understand why he wasn’t the one you married in the first place.” Her smile elicits a chuckle from me.
I stare at her for a minute before I decide she can clearly handle whatever it is I have to tell her. So, I start at the beginning. The very beginning. Marion dabs at her eyes with a tissue when I tell her about Ryker pulling me into a kiss a minute or so after we met. While I don’t go into every single gory detail of the end of our relationship, I don’t sugarcoat it, either. By the end, finishing with the birthday present Ryker sent to my boys, both Marion and I are crying into what’s left of the hospital-grade tissues.
“That’s one of the most beautiful stories I’ve heard in a long time, Natalie.” Marion blows her nose and reaches for another tissue.
“Are you kidding? It’s a mess!” I laugh, drying my eyes and running a hand through my hair.
“Oh, Sweetie,” she whispers, “it only looks like a mess because it’s not over yet.”
My stomach lurches a little. “What?”
“It’s not over yet between you two. Not after what I’ve heard,” she states very matter-of-fact. “Listen, walk with me to the cafeteria and I’ll tell you about George and me.”
You don’t say “no” to nice old ladies who just cried with you as you spilled your guts. You just don’t.
The walk to the cafeteria is rather long for someone as short as Marion, especially with her bad knee, but she makes it worth our while. George enlisted in the Marines in 1948, when he was eighteen years old. He and Marion had been high school sweethearts. When he was shipped to Korea in 1951, she lived with her parents until he came home.
“Did you save your letters from Ryker? Please tell me you did.” She holds my hand as we make our way down the hall.
“I did.” Thinking about the letters puts a lump in the center of my throat.
“Thank goodness. No matter whatever happens, never get rid of those, do you understand me? George’s letters got me through some very troubled days throughout our marriage. When he came home, we married right away. He was never injured in the line of duty, which was good, but it didn’t take me very long to figure out he’d seen things I wouldn’t ever understand.” Inexplicably, she pulls me to a set of chairs in the hallway a few feet from the cafeteria.
“The nightmares were the worst,” she admits. “I could handle him being distant at times during the day but . . . when he was yelling at things that I couldn’t see . . .” She pauses and shakes her head.
“I get it,” I whisper.
Marion goes on to tell me that it took several years for them to be able to have children, and by then a majority of the nightmares had stopped. She says that was no accident, as she looks to the sky.
“His drinking came in waves. He’d go months, or even years, without an issue. But, like a switch I couldn’t locate, he’d be down in that dark hole again.” She stands, letting me know we’re almost finished.
Gripping her hand, I lead her into the cafeteria. “How’d you get through it? The uncertainty, I mean.” I’ve spent a lot of time wondering what goes through Ryker’s head on a daily basis.
She stops and tilts her chin into the direction of her husband, who’s sitting with two plates in front of him. “Because I was never uncertain about our hearts.”
“Oh,” I whisper with a nod. “Well,” I clear my throat as we reach George’s table, “here’s your bride, George. Thank you for letting me borrow her for a few minutes.”
“Any time, Bug. See you next week?”
“Of course.” I kiss his cheek, and dip toward Marion.