“I just miss you.” The words were thought and said in unison. I didn’t want to imply she or her success were responsible for our separation, so I quickly added, “I wish I hadn’t transferred to Austin.”
“It’s just one year.” She shrugged and added offhandedly, “Plus, I like the phone sex stuff.”
An automatic growl rumbled from my chest. “I wish I could see you, though. Someone needs to invent phones with video.”
“I could always just send you pictures—”
“Yes! Do that.” I nodded enthusiastically, making her laugh again. “Do that every day. Genius. Best idea ever. You’re brilliant.”
She laughed harder, but I wasn’t joking. I wanted something tangible during the stark loneliness of her absence.
Again, I was speaking and thinking in unison, clawing fear flaring in my chest. “If something happened to you . . .” I trailed off, not quite able to complete the thought or the words.
Fiona’s merriment tapered and she blinked at me, clearly recognizing the desperation behind the words.
She sat straighter, pressed her lips against mine for a quick kiss, and then gazed at me with such open love and affection, I felt immediately unworthy and selfish.
“No one lives forever, Greg.” Her hand smoothed from my neck to cover my heart. “If something happened to me, you would be sad. In fact, you would be completely and utterly heartbroken, crying for days, unable to eat anything but sardine sandwiches.” Fiona shoved at my shoulder lightly, giving me a bright, teasing smile before adding, “But eventually, you would be fine.”
“I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t recover.” I shook my head, adoring her, loving her, and knowing my words were true as soon as I spoke them.
“You would.” She wasn’t teasing anymore, and the statement sounded like an order.
Holding her stunning gaze, I gave Fiona a bitter smile. “You don’t understand. But how could you . . .” I tilted my head back and forth, considering, trying to determine how best to confess, explain, yet ignore the pounding of fear in my veins. In the end I decided just to say it. “I’ve lost everyone, Fe. I lost my soulless father to suicide. My mother to addiction. I lost my aunt to gang violence, and my best friend to a forgotten war in Africa.”
I held her gaze for a long moment. Startled concern made her eyes wide and watchful.
My voice was as flat as my expression as I added, “Loving you, needing you, has happened quite against my will. I can’t lose you, too.”
Her stricken features spoke volumes, an echo of her impeccable heart, a testament to the intensity of her empathy. “Greg, did you . . .” She started haltingly, then stopped. Finally, as though making a decision, she said in a rush, “I wish you would tell me about your time in the Marines, how you came to have that scar.” Her cool fingers pressed against the mangled flesh of my neck, just under my ear. Where I’d been burned. It still hurt.
“I wish you would share your sorrows with me, allow me to carry your burdens. Because I want to.”
I said nothing, my vocal chords paralyzed by warring desires. In truth, I didn’t want to burden her with the details. I liked that she knew a depth of pain and suffering, and yet remained untouched by violence and war. My Fiona wasn’t na?ve, yet she was paradoxically an optimist and a realist.
She made me want to believe in good because she was good.
She was a reminder that true and brilliant beauty exists in the world.
And I wasn’t ready to ruin her, expose her exquisite mind to the helplessness of brutality.
Not yet.
Not ever.
CHAPTER 10
Wife: Do you want a laptop or a desktop?
Husband: I want a divorce.
Wife: …
Husband: F*%@ing autocorrect! I want a desktop! DESKTOP!!
Husband: Hello?
Husband: I’m bringing home wine, a dozen roses, those Dove chocolate things, and please allow me to give you a foot massage. Please.
Husband: I love you.
-Henry and Gail
Text Messages
North Carolina, USA
Married 9 years (and still married)
Present Day
Fiona
My first two thoughts—as I broke through the surface to concrete consciousness—were I need to brush my teeth, and Where are my kids?
“Grace? Jack?” I croaked, struggling to open my eyes. My arms were heavy, useless.
“Shhh, slowly, my darling.” A voice shushed me, originating some distance to my left. It sounded a lot like Greg’s. A hand was at the back of my neck, rubbing it and my shoulder. “How do you feel?”
“Where’s Jack and Grace?” My words were slurred.
“At home. They’re safe. We’re safe.”
Safe . . .
I fought to swallow but found I couldn’t. The world swiveled and swayed, tossing me against a wall or barrier to my right, and continued bouncing. I tried to brace myself but my limbs weren’t properly responsive.
“Drink this. It’s just water. When you feel well enough, I have food.” Something was pressed against my chest. I fumbled for it.
“We’re an hour outside of Cameroon. Are you okay? How do you feel?”
Cameroon . . .