Broken Road (5 page)

“Brenda, wait we need to talk.”
 

“It’s over, Jon.” She left him standing in the middle of his office, never turned around and kept walking to avoid the uncomfortable stares of the staff out in the hallway. Had they heard? Oh God, had they
seen
what happened?Heaving sobs racked her body as she made her way out into the parking lot and into her car. She had sat there torn between searching for her son and fearing what would happen once she found him.
 

“Mom. . .” Her mother interrupted her as soon as she began talking.

“What’s going on, Brenda? I took Callan to the base to meet with that psychiatrist that came to the house. Do you remember? Cal said he needed to talk to him so I picked him up from school and drove him. He said he’d call me when he was done. I went to the market to do some shopping and I wasn’t there more than 15 minutes and he calls me to come get him. When I did, he stuck to those dang earbuds into his ears for the rest of the trip home. ”
 

“Mom. . .”

“He’s holed up in his room again.”

“Good, I was worried. I’m glad he called you.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“No.”She said a little more forcefully than she meant to.

“I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine.”She lied.

“You don’t sound fine.”
 

“I just want to go to bed.”

“That’s what Callan said too.” Her mother frowned.

“Did you talk to him?”

“Define talk?”

“Well, did he say anything else?”

“I asked him if something happened with the psychiatrist.”

“What did he say?”

“He told me to ask you.”

“About what?”

“You and the psychiatrist.”

“I don’t understand.”Brenda said trying to avoid making eye-contact with her mother. The older woman pursed her lips and sighed.

“Cal saw something, didn’t he?”She said matter-of-factly.

“Mom, I don’t want to talk about this now.”

“I know that things weren’t okay between you and Shane, Brenda.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Brenda, I’m your mother.”Marlene Sheffield seemed genuinely disappointed.

“Please, Mom, can we just talk about this later?”Her head was pounding.

“How long have you been seeing him and I don’t mean as a patient?”

“I don’t want to talk about this!”

“Brenda, your son lost his father and now he thinks he’s seen some proof of a relationship between you and another man. I’m not judging you, I want to help.You’ve lost so much, honey, and I just couldn’t bear the thought of you losing your son too, do you understand? But that’s exactly what’s going to happen if you don’t take a moment and step back and give your family the space and time it needs to grieve.”

“What do you want me to do, Mom?”Brenda said recognizing the defeat in her own voice. Her mother put down her cup and came to her. She placed her arms around her and kissed her cheek.
 

“I think you need to take some time away and think.”

“What about the boys?”

“I’ll stay here with them. Besides, it would be best not to disrupt their routine or take them from their friends. If things get bad I’ll take them back home with me.”

“Where would I go?”

“I suppose that’s up to you, honey.”Her mother said hugging her. Brenda felt like a child again in her mother’s arms safe and protected from the world. If only she could protect her own children this way. Maybe her mother was right, a little time and distance from everything and everyone was a good idea. It sounded good anyway. But first she’d need to wrap up a few things like giving a series of interviews that she had committed to after the funeral. After that she would give herself the time and the space to reflect on the tragedy affecting her family and her own mistakes. She both dreaded and looked forward to that time away. How could she leave the boys? On the other hand how could she be a good mother if she could hardly get out of bed in the morning or get through a meal without wanting to sob? She felt like a shell of herself, thin and fragile, like she would break into a million tiny pieces with the slightest puff of air blown her way. It hurt to breathe some days, it hurt to exist. But she had no choice she had two children who depended on her and a world of people that continued to beat a path to her door in search of answers. They were answers she didn’t have. She wasn’t prepared to be the poster girl for patriotism and stoicism in the face of such a loss. The truth was every time she tried it felt like she was playing a part in a horrible play. People wanted to know how she was holding up, how the boys were doing but she suspected that no one really wanted the real answers to those questions anymore than she wanted to provide them. How was she holding up? She wasn’t. How were the boys doing? To be honest there were times she could barely handle her own heartbreak let alone that of her two sons. That’s why she was grateful her mother had come. The moment Marlene Sheffield had stepped foot in their home had been the moment that Brenda had let go of all the responsibility. It had been easy to let herself be taken away by the current of activity that followed because she knew her mother would pick up the pieces and her brother would help. They both travelled from her hometown back in Illinois to Monroe, Tennessee only an hour or so from the base where Shane had been stationed, to help her pick up the pieces of her life. Her brother the priest and her mother the real estate agent had divvied up what was left of her former life and organized the funeral service, dealt with the media and cared for her children so that she could hide under the covers of the bed she once shared with the husband she had cheated on before he died tragically on a road outside of Baghdad. She was a mess. But instead of forcing herself to get on with her life now that the funeral was over all she could think about was her mother’s offer to get away. Could she do that? What about the boys? What about Callan? Would he ever talk to her again? Would he forgive her? Her head was killing her. The pounding was painful and seemed like it would never end. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe she should take some time. The boys would be in good hands and after everything that had happened how could things possibly get any worse?

“First, allow me to express my sincere condolences for your loss.”
 
This was the last interview Brenda had given that day for a multitude of media outlets. The reporter, Meagan McGuinnis, was a young woman in her mid-twenties sporting a trendy blonde bob, gray tweed suit, and glossy red lips. Perched on the edge of the low back blue gingham chair provided by the local hotel where the string of interviews were taking place, she leaned forward over her legal pad and flashed Brenda a set of blindingly white teeth.
   

“Thank you.” Brenda forced herself to smile and nod, while resisting the urge to point out the unsightly smudge of red lipstick on the eager reporter’s teeth. She knew that she should, since the interview, much like the dozens of others she had already given in the weeks following Shane’s funeral would be broadcast across the state for the constant consumption of viewers still caught up in national mourning, but the desire to get it all over with was stronger. So, she sat back in her own chair feeling the heat of the bright lights propped over head, ignored the hovering microphone held by a clearly caffeine deprived production assistant, looked directly at Meagan McGuinnis instead of the one of two cameras located behind each woman and prepared herself to answer the same series of questions.

“Take us back to the day you first saw the picture. Was it just like any other normal day?”
 

It was better if she took her time answering the questions, not only because it allowed her to choose what she wanted to share but because the temporary pause gave her the chance to reframe the memory, maybe lessen the guilt and the pain just a little.

It was the worst day of my life.

“It really was a normal day.”
 
She kept her voice soft and even taking some comfort from repeating the same sentence over and over so that every time she said this now, it seemed more and more real to her.
 

I wasn’t even at home. I called in sick to work. A friend picked up the boys.

“How so?” Meagan McGuinnis asked and it was amazing to Brenda how much those two tiny words demanded.
 
The reporter wanted
more
. They all wanted
more
.
 
They were hungry for the details about exactly what she was doing the day she saw that horrifying picture staring from the television and then the newspaper. The picture. That damned picture. She blinked several times in an attempt to erase the events of that day entirely from her mind.

 
I wasn’t any where near a television set or a newspaper.
 
I never saw the picture. Not until he showed it to me.

“It wasn’t different from anyone else’s. The boys had school, I had work and maybe a little laundry left to do.”
 
The reporter gave a rehearsed chuckle. It had been the right answer, she thought, the only one she could give. No one wanted the truth because it was ugly and messy and it would never live up to the image the country had of her as the grieving widow of the highly decorated veteran and war hero they buried just a few short weeks ago.
 
But what was the truth? The truth was that she had spent part of that day replaying the last conversation she would ever have with her husband over and over in her mind.
 
It was a conversation that began with a call in the middle of the night. Even now, as she recalled the call, her stomach turned. She remembered that the phone rang but she hesitated and didn’t pick up until the final ring.

“Hello?”

“Bren?” The line crackled and the voice was a distant echo.

“Hello?”
 

“Bren, it’s Shane.”
 

“Shane? Are you okay?” She knew better than to ask him where he was and what he was doing, but she needed to know he wasn’t hurt.

“I’m okay."
 

“It’s been so long since you called. The boys are asleep. It’s really late here.
 
What time is it there?”

“About 10 in the morning, “ he said and continued “Bren, I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“That’s okay.
 
The boys can hardly wait for you to come home."

He cleared his throat. “Well, that’s why I’m calling . . .”

“Don’t tell me they canceled your leave again.”
 

“No. I’m coming home in a couple of weeks.”

“That's great.” Awkward silence followed.

“Bren, I don’t have much time and I need to tell you something.”

 
"The boys will be so upset that they missed you tonight.”

“I know.”
 

“You said you had something to tell me?”

“Yeah.”
 
A deep breath on his side of the line.

“What is it?” Another pause.

“Bren, I reenlisted.”
 
Her heart sank.
 
Of course, this is what she should have expected. It had happened twice before.

“Bren?”
 

“Why?” her voice was barely a whisper.

“Before I say anything else, there’s something I have to know …”
 
She didn’t care about his questions. He had to answer hers.

“When did you do it?”

“Just a little bit ago. There was a reenlistment ceremony” he said. She remembered the first ceremony she had witnessed, the uniforms, the pride and the broken promises that came after each tour of duty.

“Bren, I . . .”
 

“Captain!” Someone was calling for him.

“Shane, what am I supposed to tell the boys?” she cried.

“Bren, I promise that I’ll tell them. I’ll tell them when I’m back home.”

“You promised.” She said unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“I know.”

“You promised me that you were ready to be done.
 
Ready to come home for good.
 
You’ve done your tours, Shane. Come home.”

“I know what I said, Bren.”

“Captain!”

“I promise I’ll call again as soon as I can.”

“I don’t understand, Shane. I don’t.”

“There’s something else we need to talk about, Bren.”

“What?”
 

“Captain Jenner!”
 

“I have to go.”

“What do you think this will do to Taylor?
 
He misses you so much already.”

“Bren, please . . .”

“What about Callan? You promised him you’d work on his Eagle Scout project . . .”

“I remember.” More silence.

“Brenda, I have to go. I’ll call as soon as I can.”

“Shane. . .please we can't leave things this way.”

"I have to go."

"Why won't you talk to me?" Her heart felt like a lead weight beating in the middle of her chest.

“What do you want me to say, Brenda?" His voice sounded harsh and angry. She winced and for a moment she wondered if he knew. If that was the ‘something else’ he wanted to talk about.

"Tell me what happened? Tell me!” she sobbed. "Please."

"Tell the boys I love them."
 

“Shane!”
 
The line went dead.

She took a deep breath to prevent the lump from rising in her throat and willed herself to focus on Meagan McGinnis’s face. Her brows were penciled in with a natural brown and the arch had been plucked in such a way that her eyes expressed sincere curiosity rather than stark surprise. But the heavy foundation she wore matched with the dark eyeliner; bright peach blush and deep red lips gave her the appearance of being much older than she truly was in person. It also reminded her of the look worn by another more established and even more popular female journalist working for one of the major cable news shows, Sandra Simmons, who had been the first to request an interview. That interview was scheduled for the following week along with a number of additional appearances she dreaded.
 
Brenda listened as Meagan addressed the camera set up directly behind her, explaining at last the true reason for the interview.