Delilah
I'm a nervous wreck. Babbling at James, fawning over him. Christ. I threw myself at him in the airport. What the hell's wrong with me? After the whole cheese and crackers incident, my anxiety level was off the charts. Thank God he decided to go take a shower and unpack. I'm beginning to think asking him to stay here was a bad idea.
Don't get me wrong, I miss John like crazy. Seeing James—even though the two of them are day and night in appearance—is like driving a stake through my heart over and over. Where John was leanly muscular, James is like a Mack truck. He's huge. John was classically handsome with sandy hair and serious blue eyes, while James has darker hair. More of a light brown, to go with smiling amber eyes. Where John was always smoothly clean-shaven, James prefers to let a little scruff build up. He's a few inches taller than John, too, though his muscular build makes him appear more so. At first glance, you'd never guess they were brothers.
Until you study their facial features and gestures. The same chiseled cheekbones and jaws. Full lips which turn into a quirky smile that hitches in one corner. When they smile, little lines crinkle on the edges of their eyes in a similar pattern. It's weird, but when James leans against the counter, his stance is a near copy of John's. He even holds his damned bottle of beer the same way. Index and middle finger on top, thumb underneath and the ring finger propped alongside the bottle, partway between the two. When James took a sip, the way he stared at me over the top of the bottle was exactly the same as John. A little heated, a lot intense. If it wasn't such a stupid notion, I'd say James had more on his mind than dinner and a beer.
Tossing back the last sip of wine, I pour another and pray it calms my jitters. I want James to be comfortable here, not on pins and needles because I'm being a Dizzy Debbie. I splash cool water on my face and dry it with a paper towel, then get busy making a salad and prepping potatoes for baking. I've turned on some music. Between getting lost in my favorite tunes, working in the kitchen and sipping my wine—which needs another refill—I'm in my own zone.
"This is quite a sight. A guy could get used to it."
"Yipe!" I drop a potato and spin around to James' amused grin. He's doing that counter-leaning thing, too, with his tree-trunk arms folded across his chest. "You startled me. Don't do that." I'm certain my cheeks are a spectacular shade of pink. He chuckles.
"Ya think? I didn't think you could jump that high, D-doll."
Snatching my wine glass, I gulp down more than a decent sip. "I didn't hear you come in."
"That's because you're jamming to Pearl Jam and not paying attention. Good thing I'm not an intruder." His grin tells me he's teasing. Another thing he's got in common with his brother. I grab the remote and lower the volume.
"Were you trying to nap? I'm sorry if I woke you."
He shakes his head and dips into the fridge, emerging with another beer. "Nah. Took a shower. You have no idea how good a real shower is after those crappy pipes that drool lukewarm water over you. I never felt clean. Then I sprawled out on the bed and stared at the ceiling for a while. If the shower was good, the bed is better. Can I help?" He points the bottle toward the salad veggies.
"Nope. I'm finished making the salad. Haven't put those away yet." Without asking again, he starts stuffing veggies into the crisper drawer, then roots around in the cabinets until he finds plates and utensils.
"We eating in or out?"
"In. It cooled down too much to sit outside." I poke the potatoes with a fork and pop them on the bake setting in the microwave, then pull the steaks out of the fridge.
"The barbecue is hot and ready. Can I grill those for you?"
"Uh, sure." The two of us in tandem putting dinner together calms me. It's like having my routine back. Quickly, the steaks and potatoes are done, and we're seated at the table. I watch James as he digs in.
"Jesus Christ. You make a mean steak, woman. This is the best thing I've ever eaten."
I can't help but blush with pride. We don't say a whole lot through the meal. Well, I don't. I'm amused by James' delight and appetite. Every few minutes he tosses out a compliment. One would think the guy hadn't eaten all year. I guess when your diet is Army food, this is gourmet dining. Finally he shoves his plate away.
"Delilah, I'm never moving out. Not with food like this." His big hand comes down, covering mine with a squeeze. "John was a lucky man."
I can't decide whether to be happy or sad by his statement. "Stay as long as you want." It's all I could come up with in response.
After dinner, James shoos me off to take a shower while he cleans up. Standing in the large stall, with hot water pouring over me, I talk to John.
"Hey, John. I've got James here. He came home safe and sound. He's been a godsend since you left. I like to think you put him here for a reason. I'll do my best to take care of him for you. It's funny how he's so different, yet so much the same." I scrub shampoo into my scalp. "I miss you terribly. Even now I have a hard time believing you're gone. What am I going to do with the rest of my life? I wish you could give me a sign. A sort of direction or path. Sure, I've got the flower shop and the condo. It's not the same, though. I guess at some point you'd want me to find another guy. Right now, I can't picture that happening, ever. If it does, it'll be a long time."
Rinsing, I gather my thoughts. "I'm almost done here. I hope you're okay wherever you are. At peace. I'll talk to you tomorrow, love." With that, I turn off the water and dry off, wrapping my hair in a towel. The damned tears trickle down my face, as they do every time I talk to John in the shower. Dragging a comb through my hair, I stare into the mirror. Only I stare back. Jesus I hate this. I yank on yoga pants and a T-shirt. Will it ever get easier? How long before memories of John fade, and I go days or weeks or months without thinking about him? I don't want that to happen. A frustrated, growly wail escapes me and I lob a tennis shoe across the room, whacking the dresser with a thunk.
"Delilah? D-doll? You okay in there?"
Oh, hell. James heard that. "Yeah. Dropped something. Be right out." I have carpeted floors in the bedroom. He knows I didn't drop jack shit.
****
When I emerge from the bedroom, James glances over at me from the sofa, where he's sprawled, feet resting on the table, another beer in hand.
"What happened in there? Sounded like you were beating up the furniture."
Avoiding eye contact, I pick up the glass of wine he set out for me and flop into an arm chair with the television remote, pretending to search for a show. "Nothing. Dropped my shoe."
"Hmm. Your room is carpeted D-doll. It sounded like you took out a lamp."
I mutter a nonsensical response and pray he drops it. If he's anything like John, I doubt I'll get a reprieve from the pestering. Again, John. My shower chat too recent, the emotions boil up and I take deep breaths to ward off a wave of unwelcome tears. I'd made a promise to myself I'd only cry in the shower when I talk to John. The remote is pulled from my hand. When I look up, James has scooted to the end of the sofa closest to me. Leaning forward, forearms resting on his knees, he peers at me.
"What happened?"
I shake my head.
"D-doll. Speak to me." He takes my hand in his and holds on tight.
He's not gonna let it go. "Fine. I...uh...talk to John in the shower every day. Sometimes when I finish, I'm angry. Throwing my shoe at the dresser seemed like a good idea at the time."
Did it help?" He laughs, which makes me do the same.
"Not so much. Plus there's a scuff on the dresser now."
The way he's watching me, tells me James is working out a plan. He drops his head for a brief moment before continuing.
"When I got back to the base after the funeral I had a lot of anger and grief inside. I was fucking up at work, and out there, fucking up can get a guy and his crew killed. I started hitting a punching bag and lifting weights every night. At first I went on for two hours or so, until I was exhausted. There's gym here in the complex, isn't there?"
"Yeah, why?"
"You're going with me tomorrow. I'll teach you how to beat the shit out of an inanimate object without hurting yourself or destroying your furniture. It has the side benefit of being great exercise. Proving his point he lifts his arms and pumps his biceps, which bulge like mountain ranges below the sleeve of his tight T-shirt. For a second or two, my mouth runs completely dry and a wave of heat rushes me. I'm mourning my soul mate and mostly certain I'll never even bother to date again, but I'm definitely not blind.
"I...I'm pretty sure I don't need to pack on muscles quite like those. I only lift flowers every day, not brick buildings."
James squeezes my shoulder gently. "I won't bulk ya up too much, babe. Promise." His eyes crinkle from his smile, so much like John's did, then he lets out a loud growl and snatches me from my chair into his lap. Those insanely large arms wrap around me, his hands shoving my head against his stony chest. God, this feels so safe. James smacks a kiss into my hair, slides me to the spot next to him, and tosses a throw on top of me before flipping through the TV guide menu. He stops on a silly comedy and hits play without asking my opinion.
"Drink your wine. We're gonna laugh our asses off for ninety minutes. Then, you're going to bed. Tomorrow's Sunday and you don't have to work. I'll make us breakfast and we'll hit the gym. So, enjoy and rest up."
The movie starts playing. "James..."
"Hush." He taps my lip with an index finger and flicks off the table lamp next to him. "Watch. And quit yakking. Nothing worse than talkers during a movie." James pushes my wine glass into one hand and grabs the other with his, resting it on his thigh. This guy is awesome.
We do laugh our asses off. We also have another drink, which makes me groggy. Amid the slapstick and laughter, I fade, falling asleep with my head resting on James' arm. The sudden silence of the TV turning off wakes me.
"Nice nap, Sleeping Beauty? You missed the best part."
"Oh, geez. Sorry." I sit up and attempt to stretch out the kink in my neck. He stands and stretches as well, pushing his arms straight above his head. Which has the added benefit of hiking up his T-shirt and revealing the bottom portion of his carved six-pack, which happens to be right at eye level. How does a guy get this beefed up?
"Okay, sunshine. Off to bed. You have a date with a pair of boxing gloves and a punching bag in the morning."
Yawning, I nod and waddle off to my room, quietly shutting the door behind me. After brushing my teeth and snuggling into bed, my arm slides over to the empty space beside me. I roll toward it and run my hand across John's pillow, now untouched for several months. A sob catches in my throat, as it does every night at this time. Sadly, I'm getting used to being alone in our big bed. I never want to forget what it was like to have his warm body next to mine—even if it isn't touching me—to hear my husband's steady breathing, the rustle of the sheets when he changes position. How he'd reach for me in the night and encase me in his arms. Waking up tucked next to him, my hand resting on his smooth, firm chest, fingers tangled in the smattering of wiry hair. Now, it's empty and cold. For the first month or so, I'd wedge his pillow behind me, a poor attempt at imitating his body. Gradually I stopped.
Huh. Gradually, I'll stop doing and thinking a lot of things related to John. I hate the thought. There will be a night where I don't remember to reach for him. A shower where I don't talk to him. A day where I don't think about him. A week where I don't cry for him. A month where I don't feel the ghost of his embrace or the faint whisper of his voice.
Gradually, John will fade away. Not completely, of course. I pray it takes a long time for that day to come.
****
"Baby." The voice is far away, ethereal. "Baby. It's me." My heart leaps. I can't believe I'm hearing him speak. Several feet away stands the dim outline of a man. The man I love. Here's here! He's really, truly here. How can that be?
"Baby. Delilah love. I miss you so much." I stare at the male shape as it slowly comes closer, further into the shady light, becoming more familiar as I blink at him. He reaches for me and his hand wraps around my arm. Gosh, I can even smell him. John stands so close, his chest brushes against mine. "I miss you Delilah. It kills me to see you so sad. I had to go away. I don't know why. I just...went. I didn't have a choice. They say I'm better off here. It makes no sense to me. All I ever wanted was to be with you. They said I had my time with you. It was all I was supposed to have. They're wrong."
"John, I miss you. I wish you could come back. You should be sleeping here next to me. The bed is cold without you. The house is empty. Ask them to send you back. Maybe they made a mistake."
"I love you, Delilah. I'm watching over you. You'll be okay." He kisses my temple and vanishes.
Again.
The alarm sounds. Abruptly, I sit up, confused. Glancing at the other side of the bed, John's pillow remains perfectly fluffed. No indentation. It was a dream. A version of the same one. As much as I miss him, I sort of wish I'd stop having that dream. It makes the mornings hard to face.
There's a knock at my door.
"You up, babe? Rise and shine. We got things to do. Breakfast in five, so get your sweet little ass out here." I grin. James.
Then, I smell the wonderful aroma of coffee, bacon, and lord knows whatever else he's cooked up. After a hitting the bathroom I tug on pajama pants and shuffle out to the kitchen. The room is filled with light. The table is set and there's a vase of bright flowers in the center. Several platters of food surround it, and steam rises from big mugs of coffee.
"Wow, James. Can I keep you? I mean, if you're gonna make me breakfast like this every day..." I sit and gulp down a sip of coffee. "Ah, so good." He joins me, grinning.
"That's my plan. Make myself indispensable so ya won't kick my horny ass out of here."
I blush. "James."
"Teasing. Eat up." He glances at his watch. "We're outta here in thirty minutes. You're gonna sweat like you've never sweat before, ache like never before, and feel great about it. I promise." He slaps a heaping spoonful of scrambled eggs on my plate, adds a few strips of bacon and slices of toast covered in raspberry jam. Then he digs into his meal.
Afterward, he sends me off to dress for the gym while he cleans up. I have no idea why James is taking care of me like this, but it's kinda nice. John did it too. It must run in their genes. Or else their mama taught 'em well.
Soon, James is strapping my hands into boxing gloves, and explaining how to do basic maneuvers and throws. I have no idea what he's talking about. I thought you just punched the bag and that was it. Apparently not.
He continues his narrative as he laces on his own gloves.
"I'm going to show you a few simple moves. Then, you'll try."
"Okay." I'm nervous, self-conscious. I don't want to disappoint James by doing something stupid like getting hit in the face by the bag or breaking my hand. I don't even want him to see me sweat, frankly. Which is silly. John and I worked out all the time together. James moves through a few demonstrations and listen as carefully as I can.
"Your turn."
"Wait. What? Already?"
"Yep." He prods me forward. "First you're gonna simply move around the bag, in and out. Put your dukes up Daisy."
I roll my eyes at the stupid pun. "Very funny."
"I thought so." His gloved hands nudge mine toward my chin. "Remember, elbows firm, but don't tense up." I strike a pose and glance at him out of the corner of my eye, the big blue bag looming in front of me. "That's it. Perfect. Take a couple steps in, then back up." I do it, feeling ridiculous. "Move a little more quickly. We're not goin' for an afternoon stroll here, hot cheeks."
Certain I look like an idiot, I mimic his movement.
"Good. Now go side-to-side. Nice. I'm gonna call it and you do it. In. Out. In. Out. Left. Right. In. Out." He goes on that way for a minute or so, mixing it up and reminding me to keep my arms up defensively. "Nice foot work, D-doll." He grins. I sweat. I haven't thrown a single punch and I'm heated. What a wimp.
"Here. Water." He removes his left-hand glove and holds a water bottle to my mouth, tilting carefully as I sip. "More. Good. Okay. Hands up. This time only tap the bag enough to make it swing. I'll call out the foot work and you tap. Don't hit it, just make contact. Like this." With one gloved and one bare hand he demonstrates again. Looks easy. Yep. "Ready? In. Out. Don't forget to breath. In."
James calls it for me as I dance around like a bunny on crazy pills. Before too long I'm out of breath, my legs hurt, and sweat trickles down my back like a drippy faucet.
"Enough. C'mon. We're walking on the treadmill for ten minutes. Then we hit the showers."
"Ahh. A shower. Can I skip the..."
"Nope gotta cool down. Here. Water." My hands are hot and cramped from being stuffed in the gloves. Ten minutes is practically an eternity given my aching calves and thighs.
I'm pretty sure I never want to get out of this hot shower. The water pelts my back as I scrub my long blonde hair. Eventually I drag myself out and dry off, then blow-dry my hair before throwing it into a pony tail, and putting on a pair of shorts and a tank top. I brush on a few swipes of mascara as my stomach rumbles with hunger in way I haven't felt in months. Since John died I've only eaten because I have to, my appetite pretty well shot. Now I hear it growl, which makes me snicker. James and I agreed to go out for burgers, which sounds so freaking good. As I step out of my room I glance back, realizing I didn't think about or talk to John in the shower. A wave of guilt hits me, so I mouth "Love you, John" before exiting the room.
****
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***I'd like to thank James from for the cover to "Delilah's Tears."