“You did that like a champ,” I say.
“Okay, let’s get moving before you lose any more blood.”
“I love you,” I remind her.
“You know I love you, Brett, and you might not think so, but this is the longest you’ve gone without one of these flashbacks. I call it progress even though you’re beating yourself up right now.”
She’s right about how long it’s been. It’s the longest I’ve gone. I’ve kept track. It’s been six months. “I’m trying my best.”
Mrs. Quinn took the kids from the car and blew me a kiss as Melody thanked her with a hug. She has Quinn waving at us as we back out of the driveway. I wave with my good hand and mouth the words: I love you, to both of the kids.
It’s a helpless feeling, being out of control, just like it was, in the middle of a war. “We’re going to get there, you know,” Melody says. “To a point where you can see through the darkness.”
“I hope so.”
“Everything takes time, especially the hard parts in life—the ones worth working toward and never giving up on.”
I’ve let my guard down. I’ve let her in entirely. I hide nothing. She knows the raw wounds inside of me and the way my heart beats for her. She lets the bad times go with the wind and holds onto the good times like old, treasured photos. She smiles when things are shitty and laughs when I get mad, which kills the anger and fixes everything. I never knew I needed someone so much until I realized she had been there all along, waiting for our time to be right.
“My mom will keep the kids tonight. I think there’s a bottle of bourbon with our names on it.”
“You mean, the one with our actual names on it?” I ask.
“That one,” Melody says. “The one that says: Melody and Brett—drink this one night after you’ve had a bad day, a day that should be brushed under the carpet.”
“He always knew it was you and me.”
“He also knew we’d enjoy those bottles of bourbon he left behind,” I say.
When we have a bad day, we stay up late and open one of Harold’s custom bottles of bourbon. We sit on the kitchen floor, facing each other and we talk about ridiculous topics that make us laugh like idiots. Sometimes, we make unrealistic plans for the future, and other times, we act out the dramatic scenes featuring the two of us getting together after being apart for a long time. The bad days are hard, but the bourbon nights we share, keep us going, and magically erase what should be forgotten.
Epilogue
Three Years Later
I knowwhat you want to hear … The PTSD is gone. I don’t experience any more flashbacks. The horrors from the war are fading into the background like a distant memory and I don’t have moments where the world might think I’ve lost my mind, but that isn’t real life, not in my book anyway.
Sorry, but that isn’t the real kind of happily ever after. Not in my book.
Dealing with PTSD is a matter of acceptance rather than waiting for the day they will stop. The therapy helps tremendously, and I rarely have moments of distress during daytime hours, but if I do, I use the coping skills I learned in therapy to help me through the thick of it. I will always have nightmares and thoughts of the what ifs. I will always miss my best friend, and the fact that Parker doesn’t have her biological mom to watch her grow into the beautiful young lady she’s becoming.
What I do have … is a loving wife, a wonderful marriage, and two beautiful children who tell me I’m the best dad in the world. It’s more than I ever could have asked for and more than I feel I deserve, despite what anyone might say.
“Brett, did you know Brody was coming over?” Melody shouts from the kitchen.
I look at my watch, seeing it’s ten in the morning on a Sunday. “No, he didn’t even text me,” I say.
Brody opens the front door before I can even get off the couch. “Dude,” he says.
“Good morning to you too.”
“You look like Mr. Rogers. Is that what you wore to bed last night?” Brody jabs me.
“Breakfast, Brody?” Melody calls out with a hint of sarcasm.
“Nah, I already ate for two.”
“What’s going on?” I ask.
