SCURRYING THROUGH THE back door, my body freezes in its tracks the moment our eyes meet. He's sitting on the couch facing the door. He jumps up, but then hesitates. Probably after he saw the look on my face. My eyes blink. Is this real, or is this my mind playing tricks on me? Am I dreaming on the plane or am I really here? "What are you doing here?" Wasting no time before drilling into him.
He swallows. "I came back for you."
My eyes bulge. "For me?" I ask incredulously.
He nods. "Thank God you're okay. You are okay, aren't you?" he asks.
Those eyes. Those beautiful chocolate eyes. All of these years later, it's like I can see my own soul looking into them. There is no mistaking them. Taking a deep breath, realizing that I could never forget them. It makes me angry. So angry. Unless he's just a figment of my imagination. "You're really here?" I question him as he starts to make his way closer to me, smiling that dazzling smile that has never changed. He looks exactly like he did before, he's just finally grown into a man. "It was you, wasn't it...in Afghanistan?"
His head bobs up and down. "Yeah, it was me."
Reaching my hand out in protest because this is all too much, I warn him, "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't do this right now." Dropping my bag, I continue. "I can't do this with you right now." I'm trying to be strong, but it's so hard. I don't want my chin to quiver. I don't want my eyes to pool with tears, but my body is betraying me.
He doesn't move, he's frozen in place in my living room. I can't even begin to count the number of times I've prayed for this scenario. Here he is, in my house, but today of all days? He hangs his head a little low and gives me a look that nearly makes me melt. "Please let me explain," he pleads.
I throw my hands up in frustration. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Start here. How come no one knew who you were? You were with T737. You were there when we got hit, yet when I woke up no one knew a Drew Foster?"
He closes his eyes for a moment, and I see his fists clench by his sides. When he opens them, the look on his face is intense. It's a look that I've never seen before. He's different. He should be, though. I barely knew him all those years ago. I can't possibly know him now. He calmly speaks, "That's because my name is Stone Wilder."
Just when I didn't think my life could get any worse, he tells me I didn't even know his name! My first love, all of this Acute Stress Disorder and PTSD crap is just what I thought it was. He was real, and I did see him. I lost my job for nothing, have spent weeks in rehab for a condition I was adamant I didn't have. He's made me question my own sanity, my ability to do my job. I can feel my face reddening; my blood starting to boil as it gushes through my veins. I narrow my eyes. "Your name is what?"
"Stone Wilder is my legal name," he nods.
"Get out," I shout as I point to the door. He stares me down. I think I know his looks, but in this moment it occurs to me that I know nothing, and I mean zero about this stranger standing in my living room. "I. Said. Get. Out."
His eyelids droop, and I can see the disappointment. For a moment I feel terrible, but I can't. How dare he do this to me right now? He knows how much Papa meant to me. How could he come back now and spring this information on me now of all times?
He runs his hands through his hair. "Okay." When he gets to my side to leave, he hesitates before he leans in and kisses my forehead. "I'm sorry for your loss, but you aren't getting rid of me that easily or quickly this time."
"I didn't get rid of you either of the two times before. You seem to be really great at skipping out, Stone," I growl. My body is telling me one thing, and my mind is telling me another. It would be so easy to fall into his arms. He helped me through the most difficult time in my life, and it'd be easy to think he could support me through the second most difficult. Yeah, if only he had not lied to me and been my third and fourth most difficult losses.
He purses his lips together. I can tell that my words hurt him. "Later," he says as he walks the few extra steps to the door, and out of my house...out of my life once again.
***
AFTER I GET myself settled I decide I need to take a walk, so I head to the creek. "Memaw," I call as I head towards the back of the house, towards their room. I hear movement. "You don't have to get up. I just wanted to tell you I am headed for a walk."
She meets me in the doorway. Her eyes are red. She's not wearing her big round glasses. She's holding one of his shirts. It breaks my heart. My parents were in love. I was fortunate to get to grow up around people who were happy with each other. Yet even their love seems small compared to the love of my grandparents. Both, my mom's and dad's parents, have been married for over 60 years. Even though, I know that is so rare, my hope is to one day have that. Even though I try, I can't imagine what it's like for my grandmother to have lost the love of her life after so many years. She whispers, "I need to pick out an outfit for him."
Taking the shirt from her, I pull her into an embrace. "I'll do it."
She nods. "He always loved the ties you bought him. He wore them every Sunday to church."
The memory brings a smile to my face. "I think that first tie I bought him was his favorite. He wore it all the time." Then it occurs to me that I don't have it in me to have that tie buried with him. "Is it okay if I buy him a new tie?"
Memaw pulls back and we wipe tears from each other's faces. "I think he'd like that."
I swallow the lump in my throat. "I'm going to the creek for a few minutes, and then I'll go buy the tie. You should probably stay. I'm sure people will be dropping by to visit you."
She takes the shirt back from me. "I'll make you a list of things I think he needs."
I nod. This is a drill we're all too familiar with. It doesn't make it any easier. Taking her hand in mine, I squeeze it. Then I turn on my heel, trying to process what has just transpired in the last 24 hours.
For the first time in my life, I dread walking to the creek. This time he may be there. It doesn't take long before I see that he's not. I sit on my rock, and fiddle with stones. Stone. His name is Stone.
Now that I know, it suits him. There's just something about that name that is so masculine, but to me, he'll always be Drew. I don't know that I can call him Stone. It doesn't matter what I call him, it's not like I plan on ever seeing him again.
My mind is circling around. His lie about his name meant I didn't know the right name to ask for when I was recovering. People actually thought I was crazy. This stirs the rage within me. I pick the rocks up, and start throwing them as hard as I can into the water. Skipping stones isn't appealing because all it does is remind me of him.
My credibility was questioned because he couldn't be honest with me. I told him stuff I had told no one else. I bared everything to him, and he gave me nothing in return. Worst of all, he said he loved me. It seems to me that all he's doing is playing with my heart and my emotions. I may seem weak, but I'm not. He will never have the power to hurt me ever again.
I walk to the field. It's the same as it's always been. Our spot isn't as easily recognizable because he hasn't picked all of the flowers for me this time. The spring air is much more refreshing than the steamy heat we had that summer. Sitting down, I thought I'd cry more when Papa died. Maybe it's because I've already cried so many tears. Maybe it's because I'm stronger than I thought.
Reclining back, I close my eyes, remembering times spent at the creek with him. It's like a movie playing in my mind. Papa chuckles at me trying to skip a stone. Watching my dad so easily making the rocks dance across the top of the water. Then I see Drew. I feel him, and he's holding me like he used to.
When I open my eyes, he's not here. Being disappointed that he's not only furthers my frustration. It only angers me further that he makes me feel the way he does, even when I'm upset. Seeing him has only made me come to the conclusion I wasn't as over him as I'd fooled myself into thinking.
***
I MUST ADMIT that my head feels clear, like I'm my old self. The tears come when least expected. They have become a part of me. I'm convinced that my fate is to be a cry baby. If only life would stop dishing out so many crappy cards, then maybe I wouldn't be. At least seeing him was confirmation that I hadn't lost my mind. It solidified what I had thought all along.
It was nice to be able to go shopping, get out of the confines of a house, hospital, or rehab facility. What made it less enjoyable was what I was doing. Picking out a final tie. Picking out underwear for my grandfather. That thought makes me shake my head. No, that wasn't awkward at all.
After I was done, I went back to the house to show my purchases to Memaw. She gave me final approval. We cried together. Then we went through the keepsake drawer in the side tables in the living room. There were so many pictures and programs shoved into those drawers that I wasn't sure how she'd manage to close them.
I made a mental note in those few minutes to buy some photo albums for Christmas and put all the pictures in as close to chronological order as I could. Maybe we could even do it together. Planning for the future. That was certainly progress. Up until a few days ago, I wasn't sure I had one. I smile as tears form in my eyes. If it hadn't been for Papa, for Drew...er Stone being here...I might not have had this opportunity.
As if I wasn't confused already, this just makes my head spin more. Should I be thankful to him? I push the thoughts of him out of my mind. I don't have time to focus on him, or what we were or weren't fifteen years ago.
I gather all the pictures, the things I bought while shopping, and put them into a small cardboard box. The suit is hanging on the door in a garment bag. I situate the box on my hip and hook the hangers onto my fingers. "Memaw, can you grab the door for me?" I ask.
She nods. "Sure."
As I'm leaving, I'm almost knocked over by a body of steel. And a calmness floods my body, just before anger consumes me...like the calm before the storm.
"What are you doing here?" I growl.