AN: This was meant to be a short story, but I had a burst of enthusiasm and wrote another chapter. This is something that's been on my mind for awhile. Dedicated to my boyfriend, Tom.
The next chapter of DYFAM will be posted soon, hopefully in a week, or less. Hope you enjoy. (I haven't researched much of the Navy items, and the soldiers titles so sorry if they're wrong.)
Two children sit at a table in a kitchen of an old blue farm house. A woman stands at the counter, making sandwiches. She is tall, pretty, with long honey brown waves cascading down her back and big hazel eyes, framed by laugh lines.
The children wait for their lunches, a boy and a girl. The girl has her father’s light brown, almost blond curls, and she bounces in her seat. She is anxious, waiting for her PB&J. “PBJ! PBJ!” She burbles. She’s looks to be about four.
Her older brother, who is twelve, has his head bent over a book, his shaggy cinnamon brown hair falling in his eyes.
The sound of a car coming up the drive drifts through an open window and the woman looks up. Her insides instantly freeze, her heart skips a beat, at the sight of the black car, the Navy’s symbol on its doors. She keeps a straight face for the children. “Emma, Ray-Ray, stay here, okay, babies?” She has finished making their sandwiches and hands them to the children, the plates clanking loudly on the table. Rayne looks up. He hasn't been called Ray-Ray since he was a young child.
But his mother has already left the room, heading towards the front door, excuses racing through her head. Perhaps Tom has borrowed a car from the headquarters. Perhaps–
Her thoughts are interrupted by two men – soldiers – stepping from the car. Two strangers. Tom, her Tommy, is nowhere in sight. The woman whimpers, leaning against the door frame for support. She knew this was coming, knew from the very beginning, but this knowledge did not ease the pain that was ripping at her heart.
“Mrs. Avery Long?” The man begins. “I’m Major Gordon, and this is Lieutenant Martin. We are sorry to inform you that your husband passed away yesterday. He was shot in action– ”
She can’t hold it in anymore. As Avery sinks to the floor, a great sob escapes her. Tearing at her throat, sounding almost animal-like. Their speech sounds so practiced, so formal, that its like they don’t care. How could they not care? This was her Tommy, her baby. He was gone, for God’s sake!
“Mommy?” Emma is calling, walking towards the front door, “Mommy, what’s wrong?”
Rayne instantly knows what’s happening. He grabs Emma and picks her up, turning her away from their mother. He’s seen this in movies, read millions of these scenes in books. He doesn’t notice the tears streaming down his cheeks, ignores his squirming sister. He only sees memories of his father. His Daddy. Tall, with curly hair the same color as his sister’s, his eyes similar to Rayne’s own.
His mother is starting to gather herself together. She stands, and ushers her children over, placing a hand on their shoulders.
“Thank you.” She smiles bitterly at the two men, shaking their hands, accepting the folded American flag, shutting the door as they retreat.
“Go finish, your sandwiches, babies.” She murmurs. She kisses them on their foreheads. “Mommy loves you, and Daddy loves you too, more than you can imagine.” The flag is set on a table in the entryway.
She slowly climbs the creaky stairs to her room, a painful lump rising in her throat, her hand resting protectively on the growing lump that will be Thomas Veach Long IV. The baby would not know his father, and his father had not known of him.
Avery reaches her room, collapsing on her bed. Her bed, not theirs. Tears spring forth, slipping slowly down her cold cheeks. She is cold, so cold. The sobs come; she rocks, back and forth, back and forth.
All she can think of now is the time he told her he would stay out of the Navy, stay home with their first child. But she had said no, told him to follow his life long dream. Why had she said no?
This crying will not stop. She needs to go down to her babies, to comfort them, and try to explain what happened to Tom.
But she can’t. She cannot move from this bed, their bed. His smell still clings to his pillow.
The sobs slowly die down, her trademark rage taking their place. She looks up, her eyes search the room. There is his spare uniform, the Navy emblem proudly sewed on, or whatever the hell they did to make the stupid things.
She picks up the closest thing to her–an alarm clock on the bed side table–and hurls it at the ensemble hanging from the closet door. It falls to the ground, the clock bursting into a million pieces as she curses at the uniform, curses the people who “shot him in action”.
Downstairs, Rayne has called his mother’s friends, while trying to comfort his sister.
His Godparents come, while a neighbor stays to deal with the children.
His Godfather, Coby, gently takes Avery by the hand, his Godmother, Hanna, hugging her, and bringing her to sit on the bed. They comfort her, tell her everything will be alright. She could yell at them, tell them no, everything won’t be alright. She doesn’t. Just sits, staring now, blank, tears still falling down her cheeks, as if they will never stop.
The pain in her chest is still there, aching, ripping. It will not leave. The pain will ease eventually, but her Tommy would always be there.
And as she finally drifts to sleep, she hears his voice in her ear, murmuring his love. “I love you, boo. I’ll love you forever, until the end of time. Never forget that. Don’t ever forget...”
And as she dreams, she feels his lips on her forehead, her cheek, her lips.
She wakes with tears still falling.
