Short Story / The Reunion, part one

Life is a journey, it is said, and each event a person experiences changes their future. In retrospect, it is possible to pinpoint one or two defining moments in life, though more often than not, the severity of the situation cannot be fathomed while it is happening. Simone, however, knew that the next few hours would be one of the defining moments of her life, and she was filled with fear. So many things depended on this journey, and her emotions could be read clearly on her face. One look at her was all that was necessary; her terror could be read like an open book.
        The weather was terrible. A wind advisory was in effect according to the National Weather Service radio bulletin, with wind gusts up to 50 miles per hour. Outside the car she drove, the wind pummeled everything in sight; debris and dead leaves skittered over the pitch-black highway, normally graceful tree limbs bent and waved in lurid dances. Even unsuspecting wild animals were pushed into the roadway, meeting death in the form of speeding automobiles. On both sides of the road, the beautiful Texas hill country was swallowed up by intense, deep shadow. This far north no street lamps could be found, and the only illumination was that given off by the headlights of passing cars. Every so often, a vehicle would be hit with a particularly nasty slap of the bitterly cold wind, and it would be pushed off course as if the massive diesel trucks and SUVs were nothing more than Matchbox cars. Watching it happen was frightening enough; feeling it happen was another story, as many an unsuspecting traveler felt themselves being shoved and battered by the violent gale.
        Simone knew that it was a bad night to be on the road, but she had no choice. Gripping the steering wheel, knuckles bloodless and white, she carefully navigated the steep hills and sharp turns that were abundant on US 281 between Texas and Oklahoma. A drive that normally took eight hours had turned into over eleven, and the trip was beginning to wear her down. She could have taken IH 35, which would have cut her travel time by hours, but the scenery would not have been nearly as interesting. Simone had needed the distraction from her thoughts, and this particular route gave her all the time in the world to think. At least, under normal circumstances it did. This night was not normal, by any stretch of the imagination, as was evinced by the sudden gust that rammed the side of her car, almost shoving her into oncoming traffic. Her heart in her throat, Simone yanked the steering wheel hard to the right, straightening out and barely missing the big rig that was speeding south. After her heart had settled, she silently cursed herself for not leaving the house earlier.
        Simone and her daughter, Claire, had gotten a very late start the day before. The plan had been to leave right after breakfast, around nine in the morning, which would have gotten them to their destination about five that evening. Instead, they had played with dolls on the living room floor, had taken extra time packing their overnight bags and wasted time shopping for snacks at the local farmer’s market. Claire had not been aware of any delay, but Simone had kept checking the clock, calculating arrival times with each glance. It had been past two in the afternoon when Simone had finally pulled out of the driveway, but at the time she did not care. The things that waited for her in Oklahoma filled her with trepidation, and she had been in no hurry to get there. She felt regret, now, as she struggled to maintain her speed while keeping control of the car as she was blasted from all sides. Surely karma was getting its revenge for their laziness.
        “Simone, Simone. I will never leave you alone,” she sang quietly. Tate used to sing that song to her whenever she felt down or afraid. The first time he had, Simone had fallen deeply in love with him. That was the first night they had made love, when they had given each other nicknames and swore they would be together forever. They had been inseparable; Tate was her Bubba, Simone his Mona. Two years later they had married, and two years after that they had welcomed their daughter, Claire Elise, into their hearts and home. Shortly after Claire’s birth, Tate received word that the Army would be sending him to fight in the war. That had been the beginning of Simone’s nightmare.
        Daring to take her eyes off the road, just for a moment, Simone glanced in the back seat at her little angel, who slept despite the increasingly malevolent wind. Poor Claire, only two years old, did not understand the need for such a long car trip, or why they had to take Simone’s run-down clunker instead of borrowing her mother’s newer, more reliable vehicle. The Plymouth Acclaim, in all its hideous maroon glory, was getting ready to quit for good, and each mile they traveled saw Simone pray to every god, saint and spirit she knew, begging for a safe trip to Fort Sill and back home to San Antonio. She could look for a new car later, but the Plymouth was all she had right now, and it had to take her just a little bit further. This was the most important trip of her life.
        Twelve hours and one tollbooth after setting out, an exhausted Simone and an uncharacteristically cranky Claire reached the Ramada Inn in Lawton. After tucking Claire in for the night, Simone grabbed her cigarettes and went outside the room to smoke. Though only a few feet away from Claire, Simone took the portable baby monitor with her. The balcony she stood on overlooked the hotel pool, which was iced over by the chilly December weather. There was very little wind under the awning where she stood, and as she sucked the smoke into her lungs, Simone let her mind wander. It was 2:45 in the morning, which left her only a few hours to prepare herself, to practice (maybe in front of the mirror) what she would say to Tate after 18 months apart.
        Her Bubba was coming home.
        Simone was scared to death, an emotion that filled her with a tired anger as well. She should not be afraid of her husband coming home, yet here she was, sitting outside a hotel room, shaking and weeping quietly. In his last phone call home, almost six months ago, Tate had said he wanted a divorce. The sudden agony of that word, a word they had sworn to never speak, had brought Simone to her knees. She had begged and pleaded, screamed and wept, demanded an explanation, but Tate had not given her one. He had had nothing for her, just emptiness where her soul mate had once been, a wall of ice around his heart. It was true that he had never been particularly adept at explaining his feelings, yet the complete lack of concern for his family that Simone had heard in his voice had fractured her heart so badly that she did not think, even now, that she would ever recover from it. His voice had been oddly strangled, harsh and foreign to her ears, where it had always been comforting to her before. The last half year had filled Simone with questions that she could not answer. What had happened to her Bubba? What had she done wrong that he wanted to leave her? Her greatest fear had confronted her, and she could not shake loose the feeling of doom and sadness that surrounded her.
        Her cigarette finished, Simone snuffed it out and put the butt in her pocket. Tate had taught her that. She had not known about his habit of pocketing used cigarette butts until the first time she had done his laundry. She had run, screaming, from the laundry room, demanding to know why she had just washed the equivalent of a pack of cigarettes. Tate had laughed, swung her up in the air, and explained about the no litter rule. “I always had to pick them off the ground at Polk,” he had said, eyes shining. “And I hated it. People can smoke if they want to, but I don’t want to have to pick up their nasty butts. I’m doing the world a favor by letting you wash them!” They had both laughed, and the next time Simone had gone outside to smoke, she had pocketed the butt. It was a secret they shared, one of many. As with most of what she did, Simone held onto Tate’s memory by doing little things like that. She missed being close to him, sharing his life with him, and by doing things the way he had always done them, Simone felt closer to Tate.
        Walking back into the hotel room, Simone’s eyes landed on the sleeping form of her daughter. Thank the gods for Claire. The little girl was the only reason she had for living, unless she managed to convince Tate to change his mind. She still could not wrap her mind around why Tate would want to leave. She was a good wife, had always been. There had been little arguments here and there, but who didn’t fight sometimes? So many questions had been running through her mind, and as she stepped into the small bathroom, the questions did not cease. She had locked the door to the room behind her, but the action brought her no comfort. Doors could be locked, keeping the dangers of the world at bay, but there was no way to bar her mind against itself. Tate was, after all, coming home, and she had to deal with it the way she dealt with everything; with her trademark, balls-to-the-wall, no-holds-barred, all-or-nothing style. She would just lay it all out; tell him how desperately she needed him. If begging was necessary, she would beg him to stay.
        Looking at Claire, her blond ringlets fanned out across the pillow, Simone’s heart swelled. How on earth could Tate abandon his daughter, the innocent and precious reminder of the love they had shared? Surely he would relent, once he saw Claire. The little girl slept with Tate’s childhood snuggle toy, one chubby little arm clutching the dilapidated stuffed animal to her chest. Once a cocker spaniel, two generations of love had caused massive destruction; half of the stuffing was gone, there were bald spots everywhere, its eyes were missing and black stitches showed in various spots. Simone knew that Tate’s mother had been the one to sew up the toy, and she could see her husband as a young child, big blue eyes filling with tears until Dr. Mom declared the patient healed. It did not even resemble a dog, anymore, and Claire had named it Bunny. Bunny the cocker spaniel, loved twice in a lifetime, reminded her sharply of the history she stood to lose if she let Tate walk out of her life. It was the loss of their memories that Simone could not bear to fathom.
        Resolving to put away the painful thoughts coursing through her mind, she stepped into the shower. For no reason, she began recalling the day she had told Tate that they were expecting a child.
        “Tate! Bubba! Where are you?” Simone cried, running through the apartment they shared. In one hand she held the home pregnancy test; in the other, the paperwork from her doctor. Two blue lines, clear as day, and the proof to back it up. Simone was pregnant, and she was anxious to share the good news with her husband. They had wanted a baby ever since they had married, and she knew that Tate would be overjoyed at the fulfillment of their shared dream.
        Tate met her in the bedroom; he had been showering, and Simone’s cries had forced him to turn off the water. He stood with only a towel around his slim hips, his wet hair standing up in all directions. “Mona, I’m here. What’s wrong?”
        “Blue lines, Tate! Two blue lines, and proof from Dr. Chen!”
        For a moment, Tate had been confused. Then awareness dawned in his eyes, and a grin slowly spread across his face.
        “Two blue lines? TWO BLUE LINES!” Tate began to yell, jumping up and down. The movement caused his towel to fall off, but he didn’t care. Her love was dancing around the room naked, screaming about two blue lines; she joined him, and when he grabbed her and pulled her into his arms, she did not pull away.
        Tate had been perfect and supportive through her entire pregnancy. When a craving would strike, Tate was out the door in a heart beat, rushing to get her what her body needed. He complimented her every day, never drawing her attention to the amount of weight she gained. Every night before they went to sleep, he would rub her ever-burgeoning belly and read the baby stories. When Claire was born, he never showed any disappointment, though he desperately wanted a boy. Tate had been the first one to hold Claire, even before Simone herself.  He had even been the one to name her; Claire for his mother, Elise for Simone’s mother. She was his Tasty Eclair, after his favorite donut. Tate was always the perfect husband and father. What had gone so wrong that he wanted to bail on the both of them?
        Nothing would be answered that night, Simone knew. Even as she pulled back the blankets and crawled in next to the sleeping toddler, her husband was flying home to meet them both. Somewhere, in the steadily lightening darkness, her husband was on his way to seal their fate. She hoped there was enough strength in her to meet the day head on. Doubt scurried across her mind as she drifted into an uneasy sleep.
        For the rest of the night, Simone was plagued by nightmares.  Dreams of rockets and grenades, of mortar shells screaming across a bloody sky moved quickly behind her closed eyes; barely visible underneath a pile of rubble, Claire’s tiny hand curled into a loose fist. Tate was there, but he stood impassively by, watching as the buildings around them crumbled. The dream-Simone screamed in terror, begging for Tate to come help her, but he merely stood, the look on his face saying you deserve this; this is your fate now. Simone jolted into wakefulness, nauseated and covered in a cold sweat. The dream had shaken her to the core. There must have been a hidden meaning, some representation of her real life echoed in the dream world, yet she could not find it. Her Bubba was coming home, finally, but she could not shake the ill feeling in the pit of her stomach. Too much was riding on this homecoming; their marriage was at stake and Claire’s future as well.
        Once upon a time, when everything was shiny and new between them, Tate had said he would never leave her. Simone could still hear the way his voice had sounded; hoarse, low, and full of pain and truth. Never had she thought otherwise, her faith in him had never wavered. But if love could fail her, then life could fail her, and if she lost Tate, she would lose it all.
        “Here’s the deal then,” Simone whispered to the silent room. “I swear, right here and now, that no matter what, I will get Tate back. I will not lose my family. I will not lose him.”
        Failure was not an option.
-—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—-----
The phone rang at seven, just as she had requested at check-in earlier in the morning. Claire woke and sat up in the bed, smiling and ready to greet the day. Simone was always amazed at the resilience of her little girl. No matter what had happened the day before, Claire was always ready to meet a new day with a laugh and a smile, and Simone always tried to adopt some of her daughter’s love for life into hers. They moved quickly around the small room, gathering up their belongings and dressing for the day ahead.
        “I don’t want to wear my hat, Mommy!” Claire whined when Simone put her in a woolen cap and thick winter coat. “My hair will be messy for Daddy!”
        Simone laughed, kneeling in front of Claire and gently cupping the girl’s face with her hands. “Daddy,” she said quietly, “will not mind if your hair is messy. But if it will make you feel better, you can bring your hairbrush with you, so you can fix your hair before you see Daddy. Okay?”
        At eight o’clock sharp they were in the car, Claire chattering about what she would tell her Daddy. Simone always forgot that Claire was only two, because her vocabulary was closer to that of a five year old. She had potty-trained herself six months ago, in hopes that she would be able to go to school in August. The fact that she was not old enough to go had escaped Claire. Simone tried to teach her to read and write, but despite her best efforts, Claire had learned nothing from her. She would have to find the money to send the girl to a daycare program that would teach her what Simone could not. It was just another way that Simone felt like a failure. Despite how hard she tried, she felt like she was failing at everything; she could not teach Claire, Tate wanted to leave her and life as she knew it was slowly slipping through her fingers. Simone felt herself starting to spin out of control.
        It was another twenty minutes before Simone parked the car and walked to the building where the welcoming ceremony would be held. As a visitor to any military base, she had had to have her car inspected by two soldiers at the front gates, and it took a few a minutes to navigate through Fort Sill. Simone had visited the base before, so she had a vague idea where she needed to go. Military bases always confused her, with the twisting roads and multiple buildings. Settling down into a chair, she watched as Claire played with her dolls on the hard floor, clutching Bunny and babbling the whole time. In a few short hours, she would be reunited with Tate, and the butterflies in her stomach were doing somersaults.
        Here we go, she thought with a sigh. Here we go.