to see a friend of mine.” His voice
was strained. “He was buried here, too.”
Then his breath caught and for a moment I
thought I heard him weep, but the driving sheets of rain made it
hard to be certain.
Without waiting for a reply, Liam turned his
back to me and started eastward, seeming to know exactly where he
was going. He set a vigorous pace, but my conscience, my heart,
wouldn’t let me ask him to slow down.
I hung back, trailing closely behind him in
silence, sensing he wanted to be alone with his thoughts.
Finally, he came to a stop at a grave marker
and bowed his head. As he closed his eyes, a spasm of grief
contorted his face and his hands clenched into fists.
I knew I should look away, let him grieve in
private, but I couldn’t.
He dropped to his knees, running his fingers
across the smooth surface of the marble.
When I came to stand beside him, I stared at
the name etched into the grave marker. The hurt that welled up in
my throat was unexpected.
Jim H. Shelby
Liam’s fingers shook as he traced the name of
his friend, the grief on his face twisting my soul and wringing it
dry.
Another fallen soldier.
Back when Liam was still talking to me, he’d
told me about Jim Shelby.
And I knew they’d been close. Very close.
Now Liam was no longer talking to me.
Now he looked so lost… so broken.
He was the walking wounded.
And some days to me he seemed dead
inside.
I had mourned the death of my parents.
But Liam… he didn’t die.
He lived to carry the casket of his fallen
brother.
He lived to trace the name of his good
friend, Jim Shelby, etched in marble.
The man I loved was still alive.
The reality should have been cause for
happiness and hope, not grief and not this overwhelming sense of
loss and despair.
I felt like I was mourning like I had the
death of my parents.
For I knew in my heart that I had lost
him.
Since his return from Iraq, Liam was a
changed man—easily startled, hypervigilant, quick to anger, tightly
coiled, unpredictable—and I felt like I was constantly walking on
eggshells.
Every day was an upheaval.
Being with Liam used to be so easy, so
effortless. Now we were surrounded by an intensity that almost
always lingered in the air.
It suffocated the life out of me. It felt as
though my whole universe were choking.
I didn’t know what to do, how to react. I was
totally unprepared for this entirely new Liam. It was difficult for
me to understand his radical change in mood, in his behavior.
Even his personality had changed. He wasn’t
the same Liam who had left for Iraq months ago. I tried to be
patient, to give him some space, but he seemed to drift further and
further away from me.
He became disengaged, not just from me, but
from everyone.
He never wanted to leave the house, and he
drank excessively.
Every day, I fought for him. Every day, I
fought for us, desperately trying to find something to unite
us.
Because our past wasn’t enough.
Love, something I had always thought could
conquer all, could not withstand the way the war ripped at us.
Another bolt of lightning flashed, bruising
and dividing the gray sky.
Thunder grumbled, then rumbled and
roared.
This rain that fell from the burdened clouds,
it wasn’t soft, smooth, or calming.
It was torrential, raging, and tumultuous,
drawing those same emotions out of me.
Rain-soaked, Liam remained kneeling before
the grave marker, his heart flooding with so much anguish as he
grieved the death of his fallen brother.
I watched his face… watched as the life left
his dark eyes, and a sob broke from my chest.
Tears clung to my lashes, and so did the
rain, camouflaging those tears as I stood by him, mourning the
death of the man I loved.
Mourning the death of the man who had left
for Iraq and never came back to me.
Chapter Thirteen
Liam
I was replacing the drawer pulls on
was strained. “He was buried here, too.”
Then his breath caught and for a moment I
thought I heard him weep, but the driving sheets of rain made it
hard to be certain.
Without waiting for a reply, Liam turned his
back to me and started eastward, seeming to know exactly where he
was going. He set a vigorous pace, but my conscience, my heart,
wouldn’t let me ask him to slow down.
I hung back, trailing closely behind him in
silence, sensing he wanted to be alone with his thoughts.
Finally, he came to a stop at a grave marker
and bowed his head. As he closed his eyes, a spasm of grief
contorted his face and his hands clenched into fists.
I knew I should look away, let him grieve in
private, but I couldn’t.
He dropped to his knees, running his fingers
across the smooth surface of the marble.
When I came to stand beside him, I stared at
the name etched into the grave marker. The hurt that welled up in
my throat was unexpected.
Jim H. Shelby
Liam’s fingers shook as he traced the name of
his friend, the grief on his face twisting my soul and wringing it
dry.
Another fallen soldier.
Back when Liam was still talking to me, he’d
told me about Jim Shelby.
And I knew they’d been close. Very close.
Now Liam was no longer talking to me.
Now he looked so lost… so broken.
He was the walking wounded.
And some days to me he seemed dead
inside.
I had mourned the death of my parents.
But Liam… he didn’t die.
He lived to carry the casket of his fallen
brother.
He lived to trace the name of his good
friend, Jim Shelby, etched in marble.
The man I loved was still alive.
The reality should have been cause for
happiness and hope, not grief and not this overwhelming sense of
loss and despair.
I felt like I was mourning like I had the
death of my parents.
For I knew in my heart that I had lost
him.
Since his return from Iraq, Liam was a
changed man—easily startled, hypervigilant, quick to anger, tightly
coiled, unpredictable—and I felt like I was constantly walking on
eggshells.
Every day was an upheaval.
Being with Liam used to be so easy, so
effortless. Now we were surrounded by an intensity that almost
always lingered in the air.
It suffocated the life out of me. It felt as
though my whole universe were choking.
I didn’t know what to do, how to react. I was
totally unprepared for this entirely new Liam. It was difficult for
me to understand his radical change in mood, in his behavior.
Even his personality had changed. He wasn’t
the same Liam who had left for Iraq months ago. I tried to be
patient, to give him some space, but he seemed to drift further and
further away from me.
He became disengaged, not just from me, but
from everyone.
He never wanted to leave the house, and he
drank excessively.
Every day, I fought for him. Every day, I
fought for us, desperately trying to find something to unite
us.
Because our past wasn’t enough.
Love, something I had always thought could
conquer all, could not withstand the way the war ripped at us.
Another bolt of lightning flashed, bruising
and dividing the gray sky.
Thunder grumbled, then rumbled and
roared.
This rain that fell from the burdened clouds,
it wasn’t soft, smooth, or calming.
It was torrential, raging, and tumultuous,
drawing those same emotions out of me.
Rain-soaked, Liam remained kneeling before
the grave marker, his heart flooding with so much anguish as he
grieved the death of his fallen brother.
I watched his face… watched as the life left
his dark eyes, and a sob broke from my chest.
Tears clung to my lashes, and so did the
rain, camouflaging those tears as I stood by him, mourning the
death of the man I loved.
Mourning the death of the man who had left
for Iraq and never came back to me.
Chapter Thirteen
Liam
I was replacing the drawer pulls on
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