My eyes scan the row of whiskey. Each bottle sitting idly on the metal shelf, staring at me, just begging me to wrap my hands around its neck.It’d be so easy,I tell myself. Just throw a fifth into the basket next to my sad loaf of bread and basic lunchmeat. You can go home and crack the bottle before your shoes are even kicked off by the door.
I bet it’d hit the spot. That first burning sip would be enough that maybe I could relax. I’ll bet a glass or two would calm me down. Half the bottle would put me right to sleep. Maybe I’d dream of her, maybe I wouldn’t. But I know staying awake most of the night hasn’t helped. No matter how I toss and turn, how many times I punch my pillow or kick off the blankets, my thoughts won’t stop spinning. Memories of Magnolia flood my mind and fill my vision until I’m screaming. Punching the pillow next to me as if it’s the reason I’m alone, sleeping next to the ghost of her.
If it’s not Magnolia I dream of, it’s Collins. It’s the men we lost.
Many nights, I dream I’m sitting next to that rock, and I can hear their screams, knowing that they need me to help, but when I try to move, I’m stuck. My body’s buried halfway in the ground.
I’m reaching for the bottle when a shopping cart comes into my side view, and I turn at the same time a frail voice calls out to me, “Well, look what the wind blew in.”
Nana.
My basket drops to the floor and my arms are flung open wide. Magnolia’s Nana Margie takes one shaking step toward me, and I meet her the rest of the way, bending over as I wrap my arms around her petite frame. I hold her as tightly as I can without breaking her, and her arms come up to rest along my back. “Lukas William Hart, how I’ve missed seeing your handsome face around.”
I smile into her white hair, pulling back to take a good look at her. “I think you’re a little biased, Nana.” She smiles up at me, and for the first time in a long time, the pain sitting at the center of my chest lets up, just a smidge. Magnolia’s family has always been kind to me. They supported our childhood friendship, andwhen we told them that our teenage friendship had grown into a real relationship, they all looked at one another as if to say,“It’s about damn time.”
There were many afternoons that Magnolia and I would go to Nana's house after school to help her out. We’d use the excuse that we wanted her homemade cookies, which we did. But after Mags's grandpa had passed our freshman year, we never wanted Nana to feel alone. I’d mow the lawn while Mags vacuumed and did the laundry, and Nana would cook us dinner, making sure to pack a plastic baggie of cookies for us as payment. Mine were always gone before I had hit the gravel road back home.
Wednesday night dates with her were the highlight of my week before I deployed. Now that I’m back home, I have to take the long way from town to the farm, otherwise, I’ll drive by Nana’s house. I’ve been avoiding it. I couldn’t stomach the idea that someone as kind as Nana might hate me for what I’ve done.
“How's my favorite girl doing?” I ask as I pretend to look her up and down, smiling as I do. “Seems to me like you get younger each time I see you.”
She pretends to scoff at that, letting go of me to stand back with an arm reaching out to balance at the base of her grocery cart. “You always were so good to me, Lukas.” She pauses for a minute, and I can see her wise gaze assessing, reading through the paper mask I’ve worn since the day I stepped off the plane back in Iowa. “I’m glad to see you home, Lukas. And thank you for your service.”
I hate the cliche “thank you” and “welcome home” that people throw at me in the name of patriotism. I didn’t join the military with the sole need to serve my country. I don’t want the praise. I joined because I’m a coward. The real heroes died out there. The men like Collins who were ready to spend their lives protecting our freedom. I don't deserve anyone to notice that I’mback. But I’d never tell Nana that. So instead, I nod, swallowing my disdain thickly. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“How long have you been back?”
“Couple months.”
“And you’re working on the farm?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I nod. “Still not sure what the long-term plan is.”
The long-term plan had always been whatever Magnolia wanted. We should’ve been married right now, or at least engaged, and I’d be looking for work in whatever town, whatever city she had made her home. But I let myself fuck it all up. Now, my plan is to not sleep, apparently. To spend my days scouring through old memories and my nights hating myself.
“Well, if you ever get bored, I know an old lady who would love a visit.”
I smile at that, one of the first genuine smiles I’ve given in quite a while. “You know I’d love any excuse to come hang out with you. Maybe you can find a job or two to keep me busy.”
We stand in peaceful silence for a moment, our attention flicking around from her shopping cart to the random person that passes by, before I muster up the courage to ask what I’m dying to know.
“How is she?”
I can’t help it. Chalk another weak moment up to my lack of self-discipline these days. I may not hear from Mags anymore, but it hasn’t stopped me from wondering about her every single day.
Nana’s soft smile slowly falls, and she looks to the side, nodding at another shopper as they pass by. “She’s doing her best.”
I laugh awkwardly. “And what does that mean?”
“She’s had a rough time … with everything.”
Her response is vague, and that’s probably for the best. I don’t need one of my favorite people in the world to say the words. I don’t need to hear that I let her down, that I broke her heart. That I made the sweetest girl there ever was, cry.
I can feel the dam ready to break, and I know I need to get the fuck out of the grocery store before it does. I’m about to move in for another hug, to lie and say that my parents are waiting on me back at the house, when Nana drops the final bomb that snaps the last bit of strength I had in me. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but she started seeing someone.”
I stumble back as if she had physically shoved me.
Of course, I hadn’t heard—everyone around me knows they can’t mention her name. I never did the social media thing, and any friends of hers that liked me in the past sure as hell wouldn’t talk to me anymore.
