“Shhh,” I remind her.
We’ve worked very hard to remain quiet during our nightly sexcapades. It’s mostly her who loses control over the words and sounds she releases when she’s close. I hold her harder when I feel the need to scream. I focus on the way her skin feels like silk against my hand and the way her hair feathers along my arm—the way her thigh squeezes against my waist as if she might fall if she holds on any looser. The friction between us mixes with sweat when her nails dig into my shoulder blades, and her mouth falls open with a soundless scream. Her body jerks against mine, and I respond with a similar motion, going, going, and going until I’m too weak to hold us up. I fall to her side and curl my body around hers. I embrace her as if she’s a part of me.
“You wanted to have dinner at a restaurant so you could take advantage of me later?” I ask.
Melody turns to her side and traces a circle around the eagle, globe, and anchor Marine emblem tattooed on my chest. “No,” she says.
“I think I’m confused.”
“Do you remember a conversation we had a couple of months ago—we were lying here just like this?”
I think back, realizing I am a lucky son of a bitch to have a wife who enjoys sex at least four times a week. “I—ah—there have been a lot of times,” I say with a soft laugh.
“There have been a lot of times, which means I don’t know how pregnant I am, but I am most definitely pregnant. I was going to tell you at dinner tonight.”
My lungs feel like they’re collapsing. I can’t breathe, but tears return for the second time in one night after going years without losing control of my emotions. “Wait—you’re—”
“We’re having a baby,” she says.
After wiping my tears away with the back of my arm I smile as I stare into Melody’s eyes. She might think she knows every deep dark thought that goes through my head, but one thing I feared the most was something I never talked about. I’ve been afraid that I wouldn’t be able to have a child because of the amount of crap I endured overseas. I hoped. I know a lot of the men that served alongside mer have gone on to have families, but the living conditions were so bad and I didn’t know what I was ingesting. I was tossed around from the rumblings of nearby grenades and wondered if parts of me had been injured. I didn’t know, and it’s been a fear of mine, a silent fear. I thought maybe that’s why I was given Parker. “We’re having a baby,” I repeat in a whisper, placing my hand on her stomach.
“Parker will finally have a baby sister or brother just like she’s been begging for since before we got married,” Melody says, giggling.
“The perfect family,” I say. Perfect. I’m not perfect, but hopefully I’m capable of contributing to the part of my life that is.
“I threw the word perfect out the window before I met you, Brett. I told you about my silly white-picket-fence dreams, how shallow they were in comparison to what life is really about. If we never had a baby together, I still have the perfect family; you, me, and Parker. Now, it will be even more perfect.”“Lucky,” I repeat.
“Tonight, a mistake was made, but we’re not going to remember this day for a mistake. We’re going to remember tonight for the good news, for the new adventure, and for a wish coming true. Tomorrow, we’ll look for help, and the day after that, we’ll start working together to get better. We’re in this life as a unit, and we’re going to stay this way no matter what.”
There is more I have to tell her. There’s more I have to say, but it can wait. There are other parts of me that tick when she’s not watching, and I owe her that honesty. I owe her the truth. The monster inside of me needs to be killed so I can be what she needs, what Parker needs, and what our unborn child will need.
Tonight wasn't a breaking point like Melody might think. I just slipped and acted on an urge I couldn’t control. I’m not sure I can be fixed with therapy or any medical interventions, but I have to find a way out of my head before I fall too far and fail my entire family. It’s all on me. I have to fix this.
25
When I wakeup from a nightmare, I can shake it off most of the time. When I wake up from a stupid mistake, I know it will stick to me like humidity on a hot Carolina day.
“I was thinking,” Melody says, turning over in bed. Our mornings typically start with Melody thinking out loud. I tease her about it, but I wonder if her brain ever stops.
“No way?” It’s my usual response, followed by pinching her cute nose.
“You remember the letters … ” she says.
The letters—our first real argument—the elephant in our corner closet. I’m not sure how I’d forget about “the letters.”
“Did you think I forgot?” I ask sweetly.
Melody wraps her hair around her ears and gives me her knowing grin. “No, I just—”
“Let’s leave the letters where they are,” I suggest.
I sometimes wonder if she’s gone into the shoebox to sneak a peek at the letters, but I don’t think she would be able to keep her thoughts to herself.
“Brett, I had no idea about them, and I don’t want to live with the guilt forever.”
This isn’t about her guilt.
“I believe you. I have never doubted the truth, but those letters were meant to be read then, not now. I can’t even remember what I wrote.”
