Much to my surprise, Ryley is curled up in the corner of the couch and Evan is watching television. Of course, his hand is resting on her leg. He’s never far from touching her if he can help it. We both know that we’ll never be able to make up for the time we’ve been away. I’ll be struggling with Claire, just as he is with EJ. His son knows Evan is his father, but hasn’t called him the name he so desperately wishes for … ‘Dad.’
For years, I filled Evan in on what it feels like to hear your child say dada for the first time, promising him it’s going to be one of the best moments of his life. Little did I know that our lives were being ripped apart while we fought a despicable animal, which some sick fuck senator was funding, and instead of coming clean about his desire to play with children he destroyed our lives. There isn’t a shred of doubt in my mind that he has a hit out on us and is waiting patiently to strike. It’s just a matter of time before someone makes a move. I hope for our sakes, it’s us. I refuse to be a victim to Lawson or Ingram ever again.
“Hi, Tucker. Can I get you some coffee?” Ryley asks as she closes her book and starts to stand before I hold up my hand. Evan turns his head slightly to acknowledge me before returning his focus to whatever he’s watching on TV.
“I’m fine, and please don’t think you have to wait on me, Ryley.”
“Okay, but please know that our house is yours, so you can help yourself to whatever,” she says sweetly as she settles back into the couch.
“Except my sniper rifle,” Evan laughs, knowing full well that once Ryley is in bed, I’ll be on the deck siting the scope to my perfection. As much as I hate saying this, I miss shooting.
“Evan, you can share your toys,” Ryley chastises him with a smile. Penny used to say the same thing when Evan would come over to check out a new gun or knife I had picked up. That’s one thing I like about being a SEAL—the plethora of weapons that arms dealers had lying around, waiting for us to test them. There was never a shortage of toys.
Sitting in the recliner, which happens to be closer to Ryley, I know this is the time to talk to her about the questions that have been plaguing me. It pains me to bring up the past knowing she’s working so hard on her future with Evan and EJ, but this is where I’m stuck.
“Ryley, can I ask you some questions about the day Penny left?”
My question must spark Evan’s curiosity because he mutes the show he’s watching and sits up, moving closer to Ryley. The three of us look at each for a moment before Ryley sits up straight and reaches for Evan’s hand. I can’t imagine what the wives and families went through when they were told we died, but I like thinking Penny was there for Ryley since she was pregnant and helping her cope, at least for a brief amount of time.
“I’ll tell you anything,” she starts before taking a deep breath. “It’s been a while, but my memory of that time in my life is fairly clear. What do you want to know?”
Everything, anything, and nothing at all, is what I want to say. I don’t want to know that my wife left me for another man and decided to take my child away from me. I think if that were the case, Ryley would’ve told me by now.
“Did you or anyone else file a missing person’s report?” I cut right to chase, knowing her answer could either deter or help me.
“I tried, but no one would take me seriously. The story was the same, ‘husband died, wife left’. Anyone on base I would try and talk to brushed me off, and the local police didn’t think it was anything since you had died,” Ryley states, slightly agitated, probably because I’m asking. She glances at Evan before reaching under their coffee table for the box of tissues.
“As soon you guys deployed, Penny and I had taken Claire to the park. It was something we did on any normal day so it was nothing was out of the ordinary. Our lives didn’t change because you guys were gone. The next day we were at the commissary buying you supplies and putting boxes together just in case you weren’t back by the end of the week.
“As the weeks started turning into months we started our deployed wives’ habits: eating at each other’s houses, sending packages, always trying to do stuff together to keep our spirits up. We kept saying you guys would be home any day and we didn’t want to you to see how much we worried. The few letters we received kept our hopes up, but we yearned for a phone call.