"Goodnight, Jess. I love you.”
“Goodnight Michael.”
I snap my phone shut, close my laptop, and open my calculus book, immersing myself in a sea of logic and numbers to drown out the emptiness that threatens to send me over an invisible edge.
thirty-three
Jacob: Home
October 2005
She has to be here.
I scan the crowd, too large to make out faces. The guy talking drones on and on. Doesn’t he know? Doesn’t he understand that we just want to be out of here, to leave this place and find the ones we love? Away from them for a year, isn’t that long enough?
She has to be here.
We didn’t talk about it, at least not for a long time. Me coming home. Actually, we haven’t talked about anything. No response to any of my emails. She won’t answer my phone calls. She’s hurting. I know that. I’m hurting too.
She’ll be here.
I’m trying to convince myself. She’ll be here. I’ll hold her in my arms, and we can make everything better together.
When the speeches are over, I make my way through the crowd, looking for a familiar face. Mom finds me first. She flings her arms around me and holds on like she’ll never let go. She’s crying. When she finally lets go, Steve grips my hand and then hugs me too. I don’t think he’s ever done that.
“It’s good to have you back, son.” I don’t think he’s ever called me that either.
Behind them are Mr. and Mrs. Roberts. Jess’ parents. Nice of them to come.
Jess isn’t with them.
Mrs. Roberts sees me searching. She gives me a hug. “Jess couldn’t make it. She’s really behind in her schoolwork. She was home for a long time when...” She trails off and grips my hand. “She’s having a hard time right now.”
We go back to the Roberts’ house for dinner. My car sitting in the driveway makes my heart pound. She is here. She couldn’t handle going to the ceremony, but she’s here waiting for me. The car is empty. For one insane second, I consider going up to the barn. Like she’ll be there waiting for me like she was before.
I stop before I go inside the house and run my hand down the side of my car. “It looks okay.” I almost wish it didn’t. A little ding in the side of the door, a scratch, something to show that she’s been driving it for the past year.
Everything inside the house is exactly the way it was when I left, except for the picture of Matt in his uniform on the fireplace mantel and a triangle flag in a box beside him.
And she isn’t here.
It’s really nice of Jess’ parents to have me over. It must kill them to see me, knowing that their son isn’t coming back.
Tyler comes out. I don’t ask what he’s doing at home in the middle of the day on a school day. He looks taller, taller and thinner, and lost. His hair has gotten long, so it hangs in his face. He doesn’t talk at dinner.
I hang around making conversation for a couple of hours. Mom and Steve are staying with the Roberts. I need to leave. Go back to the barracks. Back to the guys who understand what it’s like to be in Iraq. What it’s like to be home. I make some excuses about being tired, about needing to get settled. They all nod like they understand, but not one of them does.
When I get in my car, I’m searching—a little scrap of paper, a hair, anything to prove that this has been her car while I’ve been gone. She would have had to spend a long time detailing my car to get it this clean, this devoid of any trace of her.
I open the glove compartment and a white envelope falls out. I take a deep breath and open it up. It’s full of money. There’s probably a thousand dollars here. I’m more interested in the note written in her smooth handwriting.
Jacob,
Thank you for letting me borrow your car. I’m glad you’re home safe.
Jess
That’s it. Just Jess. Not even love, Jess. Definitely not, I love you; I miss you; I’ll come see you as soon as I can. It’s like the kiss in the barn never happened. Like there hasn’t been a thousand emails back and forth. No phone calls. Like she never promised me a million kisses. It’s all been erased.
