Page 29 of Severed Heart

“Nowthat’sadult business,” I spout without a shred of sympathy.

Crowding me, he slams my driver’s door shut. “But you’ve made it your business now, so you get to hear it.”

When I reel on him, he steps back and glances toward the bar before scanning the parking lot. My confusion lasts only seconds as he shifts further into the light and lifts his shirt. My reaction is an audible release of air when I see the scar, or rather, the ocean of slick, burnt skin that runs the entire length of his right side.

“Your mother hasn’t touched me in nearly two years... so yeah, Son, I went out and did what no married man should ever do because my wife finds me as disgusting as you do.”

“Mom would never—”

“You sure about that?” he counters, chest heaving.

I shake my head, full-on denying she would be so cruel. “Couldn’t be the fact that you’re a full-blown alcoholic and temperamental bastard now, could it?”

“I’m not saying my behavior didn’t have anything—”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“So fucking smug,” he scoffs, “so arrogant and sure of yourself. Well, hold on tight to that confidence, Son, or just wait. They’ll be happy to pump you full of it. But on the other side of that, you have no idea what coming home means. No fucking clue!”

“Well, you never took the time to tell me, did you? No, you drank that time away.”

“You don’t know what happens over there! You can’t ever know because it’s not fucking explainable!” He rips his shirt over his head, forcing me to look at the burns, to acknowledge they exist. I was just recovering from the fact that they did and probably have for years. How in the hell did I miss it?

“When?”

“Does it matter? It happened, and I deal with it.”

I scoff. “Yeah, I’ve seen the way you deal.”

“Son, when you grab your uniform, make sure you stand firm in your stance to benothing like me.”

“I won’t,” I declare confidently.

“No, because you’ll do it better, right?” He shakes his head ironically. “You won’t hurt your son, or fuck with his head, or belittle him like I swore I wouldn’t. You won’t disappear from your wife day by day like I swore I wouldn’t. Go to war one man and come back another. You’ll be the exception, the better soldier, husband, and father. You won’t ever bring the war you carry on your back through your front door.”

I weigh his words about staring at his reflection and shake my head, disbelieving what he’s relaying. “You’re telling me that Granddad—”

“Like I said, I’m staring at my reflection twenty years ago. It took me nearly ten of those to forgive him to the point of speaking to him and let him within a fucking mile of you. The man you know and the man that raised me are two entirely different men.”

I stand there, shocked at his revelations and more stunned that my grandfather exhibited the same behavior.

“I’m a sunny Sunday in the park compared to what he was during the worst of it. So, yeah, your grandfather cracked, and your old man isn’t weathering his own storm well, but you’ll be the soldier to do it, right? Fuck”—he scrapes a hand down his jaw—“I hope for your sake that you are. But I’m telling you right now . . .” His eyes grip mine in warning. “Don’t do it.”

“What?”

“They’ll break you down only to build you up, making you believe you’re a god. They’ll make you feel invincible, but you won’t be. No man is. At the end of it, if you make it out alive, you’ll come home with scars you can’t hide, physical or otherwise, and the fact you can’t hide them will eat you fucking alive. Then you’ll remember what they told you versus what you actually fucking survived and see they don’t quite match up. But the most damning lie is that you will have thecapabilityto leave it over there when you get home. That you’ll be able to find the fucking door. All this time, I’m still looking for the door to you and your mother, Son, because I’ve looked everywhere, and I can’t get back to you.” His voice breaks as I feel my resolve start to dismantle. “I can’t get back to you and Regina.”

I gape at him, nausea threatening. “You’re seriously telling me not to enlist?”

“I’m telling you that things have changed. The military isn’t the same as the one your granddad and I signed up for, and I don’t want you to find that out by gambling with your life. I’m telling you that I’m sorry I failed you. That I know I lost my way ... lost myself. That I know you and your mother deserve better ... and I’ll tell her. I’ll leave if she wants me to.”

The truth of what’s happening starts to settle in on us both, and remorse threatens, but I bat it away due to the constant sight of my mother’s tears.

“I love you and your mother, Son, with every fiber of my being. I know I was better off coming home in a box to both of you ... or not at all, but I didn’t want to let you go.” He crumbles where he stands, as does my entire belief system. “But you both let me go a long time ago, didn’t you?”

He piles his hands on his head, his voice cracking so wide that I don’t recognize it.

“I chose the uniform too many times, and now I can’t find the fucking door.” He cries openly now. It’s messy and horrific, and I recognize the man speaking to me as the dad I grew up with. And that he’s not apologizing because he got caught but because he means it, but it’s too late.