The Archer Brothers, page 2
They’re sorry.
I realize now that I’ve spoken, the floodgates are open, and I can’t get my words out fast enough. She, the one who sits behind a desk taking notes, doesn’t have a clue as to what I’ve been through, but I’m about to tell her.
“I don’t know why I’m here. I’m not sure a session or a million sessions can fix my life right now. People have told me that time heals all wounds, but they’re full of shit. I think when that saying was coined, they meant a scratch or a bump, not a hole in the middle of your chest that you’d have to put back together piece by piece. A hole so big that when you breathe in, it burns and makes you ache all over. One that makes you beg for someone to show you mercy, even if no one will because they all feel the same way as you. And was I ever really healed, or did I wake-up one morning and decide that I needed to move on?”
“It does take time to heal, Ryley, and everyone has to do it at their own pace.”
I laugh out loud and adjust the way I’m sitting. I wish I hadn’t worn a dress today, but Lois insisted, and I’m at a point in my life where I just do as she says, so I put on a yellow sundress and pulled my hair into a blue ribbon. That’s as good as it gets for me right now. But sitting here, I want to be in sweats. I want my white socks covering my bare toes, and I want to be buried under an oversized sweatshirt. I want to hide.
“Time is my enemy. Time is the one thing I don’t have and can’t afford to lose. Time…” I shake my head and look toward the window. I bite my lip and close my eyes. My mind is blank. I refuse to see their images. I don’t want to look, or remember. “I need to find a way to stop time or reverse it.” I nod. “Reversing time would be ideal. If I could do that, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now. My life… it’d be on the path that I created, that I worked hard for, but it’s not. I’m standing in the center of the Interstate with traffic coming at me from both directions waiting… desperately waiting for someone or something to change everything that has happened in the last six years. So no, time doesn’t heal anything. It just prolongs the hurt and pain.
“It sounds like you’ve had a lot to deal with, maybe more than others. Do you find solace in your friends?”
I shake my head. “I have two very close friends. One is from high school, she and her husband moved down here once the twins were stationed here. The other is a military wife. Any other friends I had bailed. I’m sure they didn’t bail because of me, but because of the military. You move on, ya know? They don’t want to associate…” I stop and think about that word. “Associate isn’t the correct word; it’s fear. They see what I went through and fear rips through their bodies, and they do what their bodies tell them: fight or flight. They all chose flight because they’re all afraid they’ll go through the same thing one day.”
“What else do you experience from your friends and family?”
Easy question. “Pity. I got so sick and tired of the hugs and the pats on the shoulder. The looks — those were never-ending. I didn’t need to see the pity in their eyes as they went from looking at me to looking at my belly. Everyone is sorry, but what exactly are they sorry for? Are they sorry that they voted for the people who sent our military to war? Are they sorry that their children aren’t out defending our country? What are they sorry for?” My voice rises with my last question. I want to know. What goes through someone’s mind when they tell you they’re sorry that your loved one has died?
“I always want to ask why. Why are you sorry? Did you do something that I’m not aware of? Did you pull the trigger or supply the enemy with equipment to do harm? No, I didn’t think so. Thing is, all the pity looks are back and each one brings me to my knees because guess what? They’re all sorry again, and this time it’s not going to matter what decision I make. Someone will be hurt. For that, they can be sorry.”
“Ryley, I’m going to ask you again why are you here today?”
For the first time since I walked in the door, I look at the therapist. Her hair is cut short, framing her face. It’s brown, but muted. There’s no vibrancy to her color. It’s dull and outdated, much like her couch. Her white, long-sleeved shirt is buttoned high, as if it wants to choke the life out of her. Her cat-like glasses perch on the edge of her nose, and she reclines in her chair with her pad of paper resting on her lap, her pen poised to write down my words at a moment’s notice.
“I’m here because six years ago I lost the love of my life, but now he’s back from the dead, and in a few weeks I’m set to marry my best friend. His brother.”
CHAPTER 2
EVAN
I’M IN A PLACE I never thought I’d be: a civilian therapist’s office, sitting in civilian clothing. Give me a uniform and I’m comfortable, but the lack of dress blues staring at me from behind the desk has my nerves on edge. There will be questions that she’s going to ask that I’ll refuse to answer because I took an oath, and I’ll stand by that oath until I’m six feet under. I know she’s just doing her job, but I protect mine. She’ll want answers that I don’t have. If I had them, I wouldn’t be sitting here.
My back is stiff against the wooden chair. Most of the padding that existed when this office opened is missing, leaving the back of the chair uncomfortable. It could be from the constant grinding one does while being scrutinized, or from the slouching that our bodies do when we naturally become despondent or bored. There’s a pre-determined dent, which indicates where my back should fit in nicely, only mine doesn’t. It’s pressed as tight as it can be, looking for the smallest bit of comfort. Surprisingly, I’m given none. I’ve been living with pain for the past five or six years – I’ve lost count – and don’t see the pain subsiding in the foreseeable future.
“Welcome, why don’t you start my telling me your name?”
“Chief Petty Officer Archer.”
“Is that your first name, Archer?” she asks. “I like to be personal and go on a first-name basis with my patients.”
“No, my first name is Evan.”
“How are you today, Evan?”
My fingers itch from sitting still. I don’t want to be here, but the alternative is less appealing. Part of me is running back to base and to the security it provides from the outside world, but the other part of me, the part I’m listening to, is hoping that when I’m done here everything I thought I had will be mine again. If not, I don’t know what I’m going to do. Everything I knew I had, everything that I thought was waiting for me, isn’t. That’s a hard pill to swallow knowing you’re coming home to a family, but they don’t want you there.
“Today, I’m okay.” I clear my throat and cross my leg over my knee. It’s ninety degrees outside and common sense would say to wear shorts, but I couldn’t bring myself to think I’d be that relaxed here today. My black slacks are creased and lint free. My black socks are the same shade as my pants, and my shoes are polished enough to see my reflection. I pull at my pant leg and place my hand on my ankle to hold my leg in place. I have to put my hands somewhere. I have to keep them occupied because visions of strangling someone cloud my mind if I don’t keep them busy.
The therapist picks up her glasses and places them on her face. I watch as her hand slides them up the bridge of her nose until they’re resting where she needs them, only for them to slowly start to slide back down. She doesn’t stop what she’s doing to push them back into place. She continues to write as her hand flies across her yellow notepad in a hurried fashion.
“Do you know why you’re here, Evan?”
My hand leaves my ankle as the hem of my slacks becomes the most fascinating piece of clothing I own. I pull, push and straighten the cuff repeatedly. Of course I know why I’m here, but I don’t think she can fix my issues and if she can, I have doubts that the fix will work.
“Yes.”
“Are you here of your own accord.”
No, I’m not, I want to say but don’t. My sock needs adjusting, so that’s what I do now. Again with the pull, push and straightening. Again, I avoid eye contact.
“Yes, I am,” I lie. As much as I don’t want to be here and would prefer to do this on base with people I trust… trusted I’m here because this is what Lois says needs to happen. She says Ryley needs this, and I know she was here earlier today. Other than that, I have no idea what happened. I haven’t seen her for a week, again per Lois’ instructions and not since I showed up on our… her front porch with my bag sitting at my feet and my hat cuffed under my arm.
“How would you like to start?”
I shrug, not knowing how these types of meetings are supposed to go. I was just told to show up, to be here on time and to try. So far I’ve accomplished two of the three, but I’m not sure how I’m going to try when I have no idea how everything became so messed up to begin with.
“Would you like to talk about Ryley?”
I shrug again. I want to talk to Ryley, period, but she won’t return my phone calls. “She’s my favorite subject,” I say before I know the words are coming out of my mouth.
The therapist takes off her glasses and sets them down on her desk before folding her hands. I glance at her briefly and see that she’s smiling gently at me. I hope that’s a good sign, that it means everything with Ryley went smoothly. I hate that she was here earlier, and I couldn’t be. I wanted us to do this together but was advised against it. My life is all about advisement these days. Everyone and their grandmother has advice for me. Everyone knows what’s best, but none of them know shit.
Six years ago, I left home on a mission. I was told it’d be easy, in and out. There was nothing easy about what we were doing and why it took so long. Communication breakdowns, wrong Intel. It didn’t matter because once we were airborne we were targets, and nothing was going to save us.
She clears her throat getting me to look at her again. I know she’s waiting for me to elaborate, but I can’t. Talking about Ryley hurts me physically. I’ve missed her so much over the years that when I imagined our homecoming, it was something out of those ridiculous fairytale romances she was always telling me about. My mind pictured her dropping whatever was in her hands, as they would cover her mouth in shock. Her eyes would fill with unshed tears and she’d run to me, leaping into my arms. I’d spin her around a few times before setting her back on the ground where I’d cup her face in my hands and kiss her until we could no longer breathe.
That didn’t happen, except for the shocked face and tears. My reunion was nothing like you read about or see on television, the exact opposite, actually. I didn’t see happiness in her face; I saw anger and hurt. I had hurt her and didn’t know how. The only way to fix it sits in front of me, waiting for me to answer all her questions.
“Why are you here today, Evan?”
I drop my leg and rub the spot where my ankle was resting. I adjust myself in the uncomfortable chair and clear my throat as my hands rub down my legs, wiping away the sweat on my palms.
“Six years ago, the love of my life told me we were having a baby. I asked her to marry me and left a few days later on what was supposed to be an easy mission. Each mission is different. We know this going in, but this is our job. It’s what we do, and we do it proudly. I was told that I’d be home for the birth of the baby. They’d make sure of it. From prior experience, I knew they’d keep their word.”
Except someone didn’t.
“You’ve been gone a long time, Evan.”
I lean forward to relieve some of the ache in my back. “We never know how long we’re going to be gone. Ideally, you get in, get the job done and get out. It was only supposed to be for a few months. I was trying to keep track of Ryley’s due date and when it got close, my R & R was nowhere to be seen. My commander said it was coming and before I knew it, those months turned into a year and that year turned into six. Every time I’d check in, I was told they were working on an immediate extraction of just me so I could get home to meet my son, but it never came. They assured me that my brother knew everything.”
“But he didn’t?”
I sit back harder than I intend to and my muscles flinch. I shake my head. “I don’t know. I don’t know who to trust. The men that promised to protect me say yes, but the man who shares my DNA, who was supposed to protect what’s mine, is on his own mission and I can’t ask him. I can’t confront him and demand that he tell me everything.”
“Do you think the Navy could be wrong?”
“I don’t know what to think. I went to do my job and when I came home expecting my family to be waiting for me, I was met with my fiancée wearing another man’s ring, a ring that belongs to my twin brother.”
“I’m going to ask you again, Evan, why are you here?”
This time I don’t hesitate. “I want to know how I get my girl back. I miss Ryley like crazy, and I want to know my son.”
CHAPTER 3
RYLEY
THE THERAPIST STANDS AND walks over to her water dispenser. My eyes are trained on her every movement and I don’t know why. Do I find her fascinating, or is my mind looking for an escape route? Unfortunately for me, on the other side of the door is a brick wall known as Lois Parker, waiting to stop me.
“You can’t run,” Lois reminded me last night. She stood in front of my door, blocking my exit. We were both crying, our tears meaning something different. My bags were packed and waiting by the door. I was going to leave. That was my answer – to be far away from the place that caused me nothing but pain. It didn’t matter that I have no place to go, or that I’d be ripping my son away from his family. In my mind, running is the easiest answer.
She walks over to me with a glass of water, holding out her hand but keeping her distance. I suppose this is how a therapist stays detached though, isn’t it? I couldn’t do a job like this. I’d become emotionally invested with each person. I’d want to hold and coddle them and tell them that yes, everything will be okay, but it never is. Yes, I’d be a liar.
“How did you meet Evan?” she asks after taking a drink from her glass before sitting back down in her chair.
I can’t help but smile. It was a moment that changed my life. “I was sixteen and had just moved to Bremerton, Washington. My mom, she’s a Navy JAG lawyer, and she had a transfer to the Navy base there. The movers were unloading our truck, and I was in the way, so my dad told me to explore. This was the first time we weren’t going to live on base, so I was a little hesitant to just walk around, but I did as my dad suggested. I don’t think I was two blocks away from my house when I was pegged in the head by a football.”
“A football?” the therapist clarifies.
I nod. “I was walking by a park. It was busy. There were kids swinging and people playing in the pool. I had stopped to look. I was going to go home and ask my dad if I could go swimming, but just as I turned, bam! I was tossed back onto my butt. A boy came running over – he didn’t even look for cars when he crossed the street. He kneeled down in front of me, and his eyes – God they were so full of life – they examined me. He pulled my hand away from my head without saying a word. I knew he felt bad. His shoulders slumped forward, and he started rubbing the back of his neck. His friends were yelling at him to throw the ball back. They were more concerned with finishing their game. They didn’t care that I was dying.” He stood, and I thought “‘Ryley, say something you idiot. Here’s your chance to finally speak to a hottie,’” but my mouth just moved up and down like I was a goldfish begging for water. He threw the ball back but didn’t leave. He kneeled down in front of me again and said, “‘Shit, babe, I’ve gone and messed up your pretty face.’” I was so taken because he called me pretty that I didn’t care what I looked like at that moment.
“He helped me to my feet and didn’t let go of my hand. I can still see us standing there, on the sidewalk in early September hand in hand, Evan looking down at me. It was a picture-perfect moment that I wish I could go back and capture. I think that’s the day I fell in love with Evan Archer even though I didn’t know him.
“He was the first boy to seriously hold my hand. His fingers slid in between mine and he squeezed them just enough to send chills up my arm. My heart was beating so fast I thought for sure I was going to have a heart attack right there on the sidewalk. He tugged me toward him and cocked his head to the side. It was his way of asking me to come with him and at that point, I’d follow him anywhere he’d ask. Evan walked us across the street and back to the football game. I knew my palm was sweating but there was no way I was letting go of his hand. This moment was all my favorite romance stories coming to life. I was one of the characters off the pages experiencing love at first sight and there was no way I was going to turn away.
“When he looked at me and said, “‘Everyone, this is…’” I thought ‘wow’ my own Prince Charming. I don’t know if he didn’t finish his sentence because he didn’t know my name or if it was because of the way I was staring at him while he smiled at me. And not just any smile, but the kind that makes your knees weak. The one that makes you forget that you’re an educated human being, and even though your mind is yelling at you to scream out your name, you can’t because you don’t remember it. You can’t because you’re lost in the ocean-blue eyes of the guy holding your hand.”
My jaw starts to lock up, the sure sign that tears are on the way. These are happy memories but swallowed up by sad tears. I bring my glass to my lips and drink in an attempt to ward off the impending outbursts. The glass is half empty when I’m done. I’m not a half full type of gal anymore. I take a deep breath and continue.
“‘What’s your name, babe?’” He called me babe from the moment he met me. I had never had a nickname before other than Ry, and I didn’t care what he called me as long as he kept talking. By the gleam in his eyes, he knew that he could call me whatever he wanted, and I’d be okay with it. He also knew, without a doubt, that I was his.
