Toward the Sound of Chaos (21 page)

Ellie

S
pence
and I are dressed in our finest, which sadly isn’t much. He wears a cheap navy
blue suit that’s too small for him now. I fix the tie I bought him from Walmart
and risk ruffling his golden curls. He quickly pulls away. I smooth my hands
over the fitted black dress I bought for the occasion and we head toward the
door. It isn’t raining, which just seems odd. It should rain the day you lay a
loved one to rest. The sky should open up and weep with you.

Mr.
Williams was a good person who did a bad thing. He had his problems; he was a
cantankerous old bastard for one, and a terrible landlord because he never
fixed a thing and he was too cheap to hire anyone else, but he’d have done
anything for Spencer and me. He did
everything
for Spencer and me.

I
stand too long on the front porch, staring at his empty one, and with a heavy
heart I turn away and lock my front door. We file toward the car. Spencer eases
into the front seat with his cast and crutches, which aren’t the easiest things
to navigate with.

When
we pull up to the cemetery, there’s only a handful of locals to see Mr.
Williams off, which makes me angry. Williams wasn’t a liked man, but his
service to our country should have been honored, even if he had shot a man in
cold blood a little more than two weeks ago. There are several Marines in their
navy blues, white hats, and white gloves, stationed around the cemetery.
There’s the preacher, and Miss Maggie, and Miss Chelle who wears a widow’s
veil, and whose eyes are as red and puffy as mine. I nod to the both of them as
we take our seats. There isn’t anyone still alive from Mr. Williams’s platoon,
they’d have been as old as him, but there is a first sergeant—as far as I can
tell from the insignia on his sleeves—three seats down from us. He’s at least
ten years younger than Mr. Williams was, and he smiles at me in greeting.

“If
everyone is here, we’ll begin,” Pastor Dan says. I nod. A van pulls up and
Olivia scrambles out, fixing her hair and her black shift dress as she walks.
“Sorry,” she whispers to me apologetically as she sits beside Spence.

The
pastor begins the sermon and I hold my breath. I’m waiting on him. I don’t mean
to. I don’t want to, but a part of me thought that he would come. Stupid, I
guess. It’s not fair to want him here when I know the firing of the volley
shots would set him off. Not to mention how just being here, surrounded by
brothers in arms, could stir up too much of the past, and on top of that,
there’s the simple fact that I told him I didn’t trust him not to blow his
brains out the way Mr. Williams had.

I
should never have said those things to him. Still, it don’t mean they weren’t
true. They were. They still are. I’m terrified that I’m going to answer my door
one day to Officer Murphy tellin’ me that Jake died all alone in that big old,
empty house. So while I regret saying those things, I still wouldn’t take them
back.

A
minute or two into the service, the seat next to me is filled with a warm body
wearing navy blues. I don’t need to look to know who that peppery aftershave
belongs to. I’m surprised to see him in full dress uniform. I wasn’t sure he
even owned one—thought he might have torn it up when he returned home after all
the war had cost him. Putting it on again today must have cost him dearly, too.

The
first sergeant introduces himself and speaks for a short time about Mr.
Williams, about his service and how he trained under him. He speaks fondly of
my neighbor, but doesn’t talk as if he knew the man on a personal level. Then
again, I wonder if anyone here really did.

It’s
my turn, and even though there’s just fifteen of us assembled here—including
the Marines holding their guns, and the two standing beside the casket draped
in red, white and blue—my hands and legs shake as if I’m in a room filled with
a thousand people. I step up to the small podium and do everything I can to
avoid meeting those dark blue eyes that are equal parts my comfort and my
distress.

“Marcus
Williams wasn’t always the easiest man to be around. If he had a problem, he
told you as he saw fit. He was angry a lot of the time, abrasive and even rude,
especially to his postman, who in turn was no doubt terrified of Mr. Williams.
He wasn’t loved by his town; in fact, he was all but forgotten by them, but for
those of us lucky enough to be deemed worthy of his time, he was a guardian
angel, albeit a cantankerous one.”

Titters
of laughter follow my words, and I choke on what I’m about to say next and
pause for a beat to catch my breath. “Four years ago, I came to town with
nothing but the clothes on my back and my little boy in tow. He didn’t have to
help me. He didn’t have to offer up his second home as a refuge, but he did. As
far as landlords go, he was terrible, but he taught my son so much. He taught
me so much.” I pat the folded edge of my Kleenex beneath my eyes, careful not
to disturb my mascara.

“Marcus
Williams was not a vengeful man, but he was a Marine first and foremost, and he
protected what was his, whether it was right or wrong. For that I’ll always be
grateful. So, Mr. Williams, if you’re watching over us now, I see your
sacrifice, and I thank you for your service.
Sempre fi
.”

As
I step away from the podium, my eyes meet Jake’s and my breath catches. Seeing
him there in his dress blues, sitting so tall, so unshakable, it makes my heart
beat faster. His eyes soften, and I close mine because it hurts. Everything
about him hurts.

I
take my seat beside him as the Marines several yards away fire the volley shots.
Jake flinches, his gloved hands fisted tightly against his thighs. He knew this
would happen, and he came anyway. I place my hand over his, and I feel a little
of the tension drain out of him.

Spencer
scoots a little closer to me, though his hands don’t leave his ears. I can tell
he’s torn between his fear of the sound and his desire to see this firsthand. I
sit between the two most important men in my life and turn my anger toward
their illnesses, this constant war we wage every day against autism and PTSD.
And as much as it pains me at times, as much as I give of myself and as much as
sometimes it feels as if I’m getting nothing back in return, I realize I’ll
always be doing this. If I let Jake in again, I’ll always be feeling the need
to comfort him too, but who’s there to comfort me?

I’ve
often wanted to scream at God, at the universe, at anything and everything for
making Spence this way, and now I feel the same way about war. I want to run
through those battlefields shouting at everyone to put down their weapons,
because it isn’t just the enemy you kill—it’s the soul, and it’s the ability to
trust, and it’s the families who pay in the end.

I
watch absentmindedly as they play the “Taps” and the two Marines by the casket
fold the flag and salute one another. The closest man marches off and the one
holding the flag marches toward us and stops right in front of me. I look at
Jake, not knowing what to do. He squeezes my hand and lets it go.

The
Marine bends low before me and offers me the flag. “On behalf of the President
of the United States, the Commandant of the Marine Corps, and a grateful
nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved
one’s service to Country and Corps. My condolences.”

“Thank
you.” I lay it on my lap and fight back tears. This should have gone to someone
else. It should have gone to . . . but as I stroke the heavy fabric with my
hands, I try to come up with any number of names of relatives or friends
survived by Mr. Williams, and I realize that we are it. A single mother and an
eight-year-old boy are the only family he had.

That
just seems so wrong, and before long, I’m sobbing. Jake reaches out and puts an
arm around my shoulder, drawing me into him. He kisses the top of my head, and
I want to melt into his embrace but I can’t. I won’t let myself, because he
might be here right at this very moment, but what about in two days’ time?
Hell, what about in two hours’ time? What about when those black thoughts come
creepin’ back in and he puts a gun in his mouth and I’m not there to talk him
out of pulling the trigger? What about when I wind up sitting in this very same
position, being handed a folded flag that I never wanted, while the man I love
is laid out in a casket? Who comforts me then?

I
pull back and Olivia draws Spence away with her, leading him over to the Marine
who spoke such nice words about our neighbor. No doubt my son is asking the man
endless questions about his association with Mr. Williams.

“Will
you be okay?” Jake says. “To drive home, I mean?”

“Are
any of us really okay Jake?” I fish another Kleenex from my purse and blot at
my eyes. I probably look like a raccoon right now after falling apart the way I
did. “When was the last time you felt okay?”

“When
I came a scratching at your door during a rainstorm that night and you let me
in. When you lay with me on my living room floor; when I had you in your bed;
when I saw you sittin’ here today; when you took my hand as the volleys were
fired. Anytime I’m with you, I’m okay.” With his soft white gloves, he takes my
hand and brings it to his lips. I close my eyes, wincing in pain. “I’m better
than okay. I’m whole again.”

“Don’t,”
I say, and draw my hand away. “Please, just stop.”

“Elle.”

“No,
I can’t do this. Not now.” I stand abruptly.

Jake
stands too, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Can I come by the house
later?”

“No.”
I shake my head. “You can’t.”

“Angel,
please?”

“I
can’t be always wondering when it’ll be you they’re handing me a flag for. I
can’t do it. I won’t do that to Spencer, and I won’t do that to myself. You
need help, Jake. Help I can’t give you. You need to heal and forgive yourself
and until you do that, I can’t be any part of your life.”

“Elle,
don’t do this.” He takes my elbow and I wrench it free.

“I’m
sorry. I love you, Jake. I really do,” I say, reaching up to touch his cheek.
“But I deserve more.” I walk around him and call to my son, “Come on, Spencer.”

“But
. . .” Spence says.

“Go
on now,” Olivia urges. “Your mamma needs you.”

Spencer’s
shoulders slump, and he glances between me and the only man he’s ever looked on
like a father. “Bye, Jake Tucker.”

“Bye,
Spencer,” Jake says, his voice thick with emotion. I can’t look at him. “You be
good for your mamma, you hear?”

“I
will.” Spencer hangs his head as he walks to me. Guilt gnaws away at my
insides, but there’s nothing to be done for it now. It is what it is. Jake
Tucker is a broken man, and for the first time in my life I’ve found something
I can’t fix.

Ellie

D
isastrously
late from a set of highlights that ran over time, I scurry out of the rain and
into the fancy lawyer’s office downtown at five minutes after six. I’m shown to
a door at the end of the hall by a bored receptionist who would clearly rather
continue her phone conversation with her friend than help me. She opens the
door, and I stumble over the threshold and into . . . Jake?

“I
didn’t know you were going to be here.” I say, looking between him and
Jacqueline Jenkins.

“Jacqueline
called me this morning and said that I should.” He releases me and takes a step
back and Nuke steps forward, wagging his tail and licking at my legs so I’ll
scratch him behind the ear.

“Hi
baby,” I coo to him. The wagging becomes more robust.

“I’m
sorry for the lack of communication, Ms. Mason,” Jacqueline says, coming out
from around her desk. She’s dressed in a long black pencil skirt, black pumps,
and a deep emerald blouse. She looks beautiful and powerful, and a hint of
jealousy stirs in my gut that the two of them were alone in here before I came.
She also makes me feel really underdressed in my sun dress and denim jacket. “I
just thought it would be simpler to do this all at once. Two birds with one
stone, so to speak. I hope that’s not a problem.”

“It’s
no problem.”

“Good.
Why don’t you have a seat and we can get started?”

I
smile and take one of the stiff-backed chairs across from her desk. Jake
occupies the other and Nuke settles on the ground between us. “As you know, Mr.
Williams had no family he was survived by.”

I
nod. Jacqueline walks around the huge mahogany desk and takes a seat. She
pushes a cream folder toward me and one toward Jake.

I
frown. “You’re not going to read the will out loud?”

Jacqueline
laughs. “No, that’s only done in Hollywood. In those folders, you’ll find
documentation of Mr. Williams’s assets and their chosen beneficiaries in the
event of his death. He had a one and a half million-dollar real estate
portfolio that he left to you, Ellie, as well as the sum total of six hundred
and fifty thousand dollars of inherited family wealth in cash and stocks and
bonds, along with all his worldly possessions to do with as you see fit. He
left all of his war medals to your son, Spencer, along with all of the military
paraphernalia with the exclusion of his uniform, which he has left to Jake and
requested that it be loaned to the USS Alabama.”

All
the air is sucked out of the room with her words. Mr. Williams left me
what?
I’d packed most of our belongings into boxes while Spence was still in the
hospital because I was afraid we’d be tossed out on our asses any day now and I
wanted to make sure nothin’ got left behind. This whole time I’ve been waitin’
for someone to come kick me out of the house my son and I were occupying, and
it turns out I own it anyway?

“I’m
sorry,” I say in a shaky voice, sucking in air as if there’s no tomorrow. “Can
. . . can you repeat that please?”

“He
left it all to you.” She nods.

And
that’s when it happens. That’s when I black out in Jacqueline Jenkins’s office.

***

When
I come to, Jake is there. So is Nuke, who licks my face as he whines. I’m laid
out on the buttery soft leather couch, and Jake strokes the hair back from my
forehead. “Hey,” he says softly.

“Hi.”
I grimace and attempt to sit up. My head swims and my stomach churns.

“Lay
back down, angel. You hit your head pretty hard. Jacqueline’s gone to get you
some iced tea. You’ll be fine.”

“No,
I really don’t think I will be,” I mutter.

“Elle
. . .”

“Don’t.
Please? Seeing you here, finding out Mr. Williams left everything to me . . . I
. . .” I sigh. “I can’t deal with any more today or I’m going to fall apart,
and I have no idea how to put me back together this time.” I push up from the
couch, taking a moment to right my head. Jake reaches out and places his hand
on my knee, but I brush him off. “Please don’t touch me, Jake. I can’t.”

I
push to my feet and head for the door.

“Elle,
you haven’t signed the papers.”

“Tell
her I’ll come back tomorrow.” I grab my purse from off the chair and make a
beeline for the door. “I can’t be here now, not when you are.”

“Elle,”
he calls to me, but I’m already pushing past a confused looking Jacqueline in
the hall with my iced tea.

“Ms.
Mason?”

“I’ll
call you,” I tell her over my shoulder, and then I flee that office faster than
I thought my legs could carry me.

***

For
a long time, I sit in my car in the parking lot, completely numb. I know Jake
will be out soon, but I don’t care. I can’t make my arms move at all, let alone
drive my vehicle.

And
before long, just like I knew he would, he finds me. Jake opens the passenger
door and gets in, leaving it ajar with his foot so Nuke’s not shut out. “You
don’t have to talk; just listen.”

I
close my eyes and lean my head back against the headrest.

“I’ve
been broken for a good long while now. You changed that, Elle. You and Spence.
You gave me something to live for. I can’t promise it’s not gonna be hard. I
still have nightmares, I still fall into the black hole, but now I see a light
at the end of it, and that light is you.”

“I
can’t be the light for you, Jake, if it means smothering my own.”

He
flinches as if I just slapped him. “Do you really believe that? That I’m
darkness for you, suffocating and holding you down the way Jimmy did?”

I
give an infinitesimal shake of my head. “I don’t know anymore.”

“I’m
not giving up, Elle. You tell me what I can do to fix this—to fix us. You
trusted me before. Why can’t you do that again?”

I
turn on him, sneering. “Because you broke me, Jake. The drinking, the attempted
suicide? Do you know what it was like walking into that bedroom and finding you
with a gun in your mouth? I couldn’t help you, so I’ve had to help myself. I
had to help my son by never putting him in a position where he’d meet that
Jake.”

“I’m
getting help,” he says. “I’m on meds now, the right ones, and I’m seeing a
doctor. After all this time, I’m finally talkin’. You did that.” He angles his
body toward me. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be worthy of you, angel, but even if
I have to fight those demons every day to be the kind of man you deserve, I
will.” He reaches out and grasps my chin in his hands, gently turning my face
so I’ll meet his gaze. “I love you. I think I loved you since the day you
crashed your car into that footbridge. I ain’t a saint. I’m pretty damn far
from it, but I’ll work every second of my life trying to be one if it means
you’ll be by my side.”

I
stare up into his eyes and shake my head. “I never needed a saint, Jake. I just
needed you to let me in.”

“And
now I need you to do the same for me.”

“I
can’t,” I whisper with tears in my eyes.

He
frowns. His hand slips from my chin and he turns away, looking out on the lot.
Nuke whines from the wet footpath.

“I’m
sorry.”

Jake
nods. “I ain’t giving up on us, Elle. I’m gonna wear you down, I’m gonna come
at you from every angle, and I will have you in my arms again. I may have
screwed up a lot of things in my life, but loving you, and starting a war over
this isn’t wrong. You’re mine Ellie Mason, and I’m yours. I never belonged to
anybody before you, and I don’t intend to belong to anyone else ever again, how
can I when you got my whole heart and you ain’t giving it back?”

“Jake—”

“No,
I’ll leave you be, if that’s what you really want.”

I
close my eyes again and take a deep, shaking breath. I can’t voice the words,
because they aren’t true. I don’t want him to leave me alone at all, but I know
it’s what’s best for all of us so I just nod. He climbs out of my car.

“Come
on, boy.” He tugs on the lead but the dog stays put, glancing between me and
Jake. “Nuke. Come.”

Jake
turns and I watch them swallowed up by the dark street as they walk away. I start
the car and I put it in gear, but I don’t go anywhere. And isn’t that the story
of my life? Always in drive, but never moving. Never getting any further ahead.