Chapter 37
CHAPTER 37
Three days passed. Jackson was gone long before I woke up and he came home long after I went to bed. I heard him come in at night, but he never came upstairs. The man was mourning, and he wanted nothing to do with me.
Lauren was my seeing eye dog through all of this. She told me about the funeral, what to wear and how there was going to be a massive get together at the community hall after the military funeral service.
She explained that pretty much the entire community would pay their respects to Chris and his family. Instead of making the widow foot the bill for such a huge gathering, it'd be a giant potluck with a cash bar. All proceeds from the bar would go towards his wife. Everyone would pitch in to help serve and clean up. The men would set up and tear down the tables. Together, everyone would work together as a team to say goodbye to Chris.
The morning of the funeral, I brought my food to the hall. Lauren had coordinated the food, and I was responsible for bringing a pan of brownies, potato salad, and a fruit tray. I dropped the food off at the community hall, where men were already setting up the tables.
I got dressed for the funeral and waited. Jackson came home. Without saying a word, he shaved and put on his dark military uniform. We drove in silence to the cemetery.
The service was devastating. Jackson, Alphie, Guinness, Forbes, and Typhoon were pallbearers. Chris was given a full military service that included soldiers firing their weapons. Chris’ wife was flanked by her two parents and Chris’ parents. The ceremony was short and hard to watch.
There must have been two hundred people at the hall. Chris’ widow and the parents sat at the front table. Everyone took their turn, filing past them to give their condolences.
I was an interloper. I had only met Chris once, and I had never met his wife. Jackson stood with his unit. None of them talked. They just stood there together, silently drinking. Brothers banded together. They didn’t talk to anyone else, and no one approached them. Not even their wives.
I walked into the kitchen and looked at Lauren.
“Put me to work.”
Her eyes were red from crying. “Okay. We need a dishwasher.”
She showed me how to use the industrial dishwasher. And then I spent the next three hours spraying dishes and running them through the machine. Another woman came and took away the clean dishes for me.
Finally, the onslaught of dishes slowed down to a trickle. Lauren came back and looked at me.
“Are you still doing dishes?”
“Of course.”
She put her arm around my waist. “Come. Let’s find you some food.”
I ate with the woman who had helped me with dishes. We didn’t speak. I picked at my plate of food. I was hungry, but I didn’t feel like eating.
Finally, I pushed my plate away and stood up. I needed to go to the washroom.
I washed my hands and looked up when the door opened. Harper stood with her back against the door. She looked stunning with her blonde hair pulled into a chignon and a slash of blood-red lipstick that contrasted with her black dress. Leave it to Harper to look sexy at a funeral.
I ignored her while I studied my reflection in the mirror.
“I don’t know why you are even here,” she said. “You’re not part of this group. You don’t belong here.”
I began to dig through my purse for my lipstick, hoping that she could not see my hands shake.
“Jackson hates being tied down to you. He resents everything about you. Your neediness. Your lack of friends. This baby. You represent everything that he never wanted.”
Without my permission, my head swiveled so I was looking at her but words failed me.
She gave a knowing smile. “That night in San Lucas. Did he ever tell you what he did? He dragged me onto the beach. He couldn’t get enough of me. He was an absolute animal. Savage, insatiable. That was the night he told me that as soon as you gave birth, he was going to leave you. ”
Dark fear clawed at my throat. I took a deep breath. “You need to remember that we're at a funeral. Have some respect.”
“You don’t belong here. You don’t understand this world and you never will.”
I had so many things I wanted to say to her, but the words were stuck inside of me. Without looking at her, I walked out on shaking legs.
Jackson drove us home. He didn’t say a word. We walked into the house. We went upstairs to change. I let Chloe outside and stood on the deck when I heard a tremendous crash from inside.
I opened the back door and watched in shock. Jackson had thrown one of our dining room chairs across the room. One of the lamps smashed. I held my breath as he stalked across the room and picked up that chair. And then he began to smash the chair against the dining room table repeatedly.
Chunks of wood flew everywhere. He continued to hammer the table with the chair until the chair smashed into three pieces. He turned and fired part of the chair against the wall. A photo on the wall dangled and swung before crashing to the floor. Jackson picked up another piece of the chair and threw that across the room. It bounced off the living room window. I was surprised that the glass didn’t shatter.
I stood transfixed as Jackson flipped the dining room table. The flower vase, papers, books, and candlesticks all went flying with a messy, loud crash. I watched in mute horror as he started to repeatedly kick at one of the upturned legs of the table until it splintered off. Then he picked up the table leg and heaved it against the giant mirror in the front hallway. Glass shattered with a deafening crash.
He turned and looked at me, and his face was a mask of anguish. I stood in shock. Then he stomped out the front door, slamming it hard behind him. I heard the roar of his truck, and then he was gone. I looked in disbelief at our living room. It looked like a tornado had hit it. My husband, who never showed his emotions, had no idea how to process his pain.
Keeping Chloe outside, I put on my shoes and vacuumed up the glass. I cleaned everything up to the best of my ability. I was exhausted. Emotionally defeated. I climbed into bed with Chloe and fell into a dreamless sleep.
I woke up when a warm body pulled me against him.
“I’m sorry,” his warm breath was against my neck.
I didn’t say anything. I just lay there and stared into the dark.
I felt his big hand stroke my hair. “Did I scare you?”
I thought about that. The entire time I watched him go ballistic, not once did it cross my mind that he would hurt me.
“No.”
A long pause wavered between us. “I'd never hurt you.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry if I scared you.”
I twisted around so that I could face him. “You didn’t scare me.”
“What I did was unacceptable.”
I lifted my hand up to his face. Here was a man who had spent his entire life not showing his emotions to anyone. It came as no surprise that he had no framework in which to deal with his anger and his pain. “Jackson.”
“That'll never happen again. Okay?”
“I know.”
We lay there in silence for a long time.
“Chris was 24, and I was 21 when we met in BUDs. He was older than all of us. We were all just a bunch of dumb kids, but he was wiser than the rest of us. He showed us how to be men.”
I stroked his arm, listening .
“I had a lot of issues. More than you could imagine but he was never afraid of me. He was always there for me.”
“Jackson.” My heart was breaking for him.
“I can’t imagine my life without him.” His voice was so full of anguish tears started to fall down my cheeks. I wrapped my arms around him and held him. He buried his face into my neck and I cried for him.
His voice filled with anguish. “I’m so fucked up.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Chris knew me. You don’t know me. If you did, you would hate me.”
I had no words. The only comfort I could offer was to hold him tight.
When I woke up, he was gone.