“Don’t tell me,” said Jon, “that you’ve never read anything about the war? The Falklands War?”

“No,” said Carrie.

“But your father was in it.” He drank his coffee very slowly now.

“Yeah, but maybe that was a good enough reason,” said Carrie. “I’m pretty tired of war.”

Jon didn’t say anything to that; he knew there were some things that were still there, even if the war was far away.

“I get that,” he said after a moment. “You’re from a bit of a military family yourself. With your grandfather at the Ardennes, and then your father, of course, and… yeah.” He shrugged. There was no reason to talk about Iraq right now. It was years since Jon had come home.There was no reason to talk about it. It had no bearing.

Carrie stopped doing the dishes. She looked at one of the plates, picked it up between her hands, and let the soapy water run slowly off of it.

“Look, we’ve already talked about this,” she said. “Now you’re just… I guess I just have to say it again.” Her voice was resolute. “Because we’re talking about it again.”

“You don’t have to say anything again. I was just wondering,” Jon said. “Since you’re going with him to the Falklands soon, to see the old battlefield, I thought maybe you had recently…”

“No!” Carrie interrupted. “I don’t want to know anything. I just want to know his story. The rest doesn’t interest me.”

“Okay,” said Jon. “Okay, but still…”

“Well, I mean,” said Carrie, turning around. “It’s probably the same stupid reason you were sent to war back in the day. Someone wants power over someone else, and that’s all there is to it.”

“It’s a little more than that,” said Jon.

“Sure, but the war itself… it was about some weapons of mass destruction that weren’t there.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” he said. “But for the British, twenty years earlier, it was different,” he said. “The Argentinians had invaded. What were they supposed to do?”

“They could have just left it alone,” Carrie said. “I mean, they’re some islands thousands of miles away in the South Atlantic. What is… I mean, it seems… I don’t know,” she said.

“Well, if you’re Margaret Thatcher,” Jon said, grinning a little as he drank the rest of his coffee. “you know what to do”

“good thing I’m not”

“Fair enough ,” said Jon. “But look, if a part of your national territory, no matter how far away it is, gets invaded, you have to do something, right? And so maybe… maybe the difference is whether you’re generally a pacifist or not.”

“And you think I’m a pacifist?” Carrie said.

” Is that a …problem?” Jon asked. “I thought that was something you were, a little… that you actually wanted to be, if you can put it that way.”

Carrie didn’t reply; she instead went back to washing a little more. But her movement had become slow on more stiff Jon drank some more coffee. He felt he had to make it laugh.

“Okay,” he finally said. “But um, I just want to say that I’ve read up on it a little, and if you want to borrow the book… I don’t know. You probably don’t know yet, but fine. Otherwise, it’s here on the shelf. Now, you don’t have that much time left before you fly.”

“You read a book?” Carrie turned around again.

“That’s really something…”

“Yeah, I can pull a few surprises out of my sleeve,” Jon said, leaning back in his chair. What was meant to be a joke somehow landed seriously, and there was something in the air in the kitchen now that was balancing on a knife’s edge.

Carrie moistened her lips. “Well, maybe… maybe I should take a look at it. He is my father, after all. What’s it about?”

“Well, it’s about the Falklands War. And of course, why the… the British, or why the Argentinians invaded, why the British felt they had to react to it. And then, of course, the military stuff, you know, and all the soldiers they sent, and the ships and so on. Who was in which unit and things like that.”

“So you’ve got a complete grasp of the tactical details, as usual,” Carrie said, in that usual, somewhat gray, flat tone that could be interpreted in any direction.

Jon poured some more coffee, holding the pot very tightly. He glanced at the clock. He didn’t have much time left before he had to leave either.

“Well,” he said. “Yeah, it’s basically… it’s like the whole thing seen from above, you know? So it was the best I could find. … it’s a naval history book of course but somewhere in there, the Falklands War fits in too.”

“Yeah, except for the part where they were trudging around, I don’t know how much, on the moors there, on the islands, and killing each other,” said Carrie.

Jon took another sip of coffee, eyeing her carefully 

“You’re right,” he then said, “It’s not about the tactics. It’s never about that.” He looked at her, his expression clear for the first time that morning. “When I came back from Iraq… people asked about the firefights, about the gear, about the country. But no one ever asked the right questions.”

Carrie stopped washing, her hands still in the warm water. She turned her head slightly, her gaze meeting him across the small kitchen.

“What were the right questions?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

And in that moment, as he held her gaze, Jon knew she wasn’t asking about Iraq at all.

But the quiet connection was a crack in a dam. A sudden anger flared in her eyes. She pulled her hands from the water, snatching the dish towel from the counter. She slapped it onto the table, planting her palms flat on the wood and leaning forward.

“Look,” she said, her voice tight and low. “I know what you’re getting at, but I don’t care if it was this or that Commando or Para that took Mount Harriet. I don’t care who got shot at Goose Green. I don’t care about any of that.”

Her voice rose with each word. “And I really don’t care about some obscure Argentinian politics from forty years ago that made a dictator think it was a bloody good idea to throw a bunch of boys onto a frozen rock to get shot at by another bunch of boys. I just think it’s so insane, you know?”

She straightened up, crossing her arms in a defensive gesture, her gaze fixed on the window as if the gray morning outside held an answer.

“The most insane part,” she said, her voice dropping again, “is that for him, it was about not being able to … I dunno, fight. It was not because he was wounded or traumatized or some such. That’s why he’s been such an ass for all these years. That’s the part he can’t let go of.”

Jon was genuinely lost. “What do you mean? Because he was wounded before they could storm the positions?”

“Yes!” she shot back, her frustration palpable. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“That’s not obvious to me,” he said quietly. “I would’ve been relieved to be sent home early from Iraq. Especially after things really got started.”

“Yes,” Carrie said, her anger finally dissolving into a quiet, sad certainty as she looked back at him. “But for him, it was the opposite.”

“Alright,” said Jon. “I didn’t know you feel that strongly about it.”

“Well, I do, Carrie said. “I do feel strongly about it.” She deliberately expressed the last word a bit mockingly. “I do feel strongly about it. Because, you know, I do feel strongly about my dad coming home feeling sorry for himself that he didn’t get to kill a lot of Argentine boys, which he had trained for as a commando all his life. And he got shot and sent home early, and then he started drinking, and I had to pull him out of ditches when I was eleven years old. And of course, the divorce.” She deflated a little bit and sat down.

Jon looked at the clock. He had to get up. He tightened his belt, made sure the gun was there. Everything was ready for a patrol. This was the one morning they had in a long time where they didn’t have to worry about the children because Carrie’s mother had come all the way from Los Angeles to help take care of things while Carrie was away. Tomorrow. And Jon had taken this morning, a few hours off so he could meet at the station a little bit later. Everything had been perfect. Except everything had not been perfect. Now they were here. And they hadn’t exactly been cuddling in bed until now.

“Alright,” Jon said, “So, what I’m thinking is that all of this is kind of new to me. I mean, I knew your father was drinking, and I knew he was wounded, and he was drinking, and that you had a tough time, and you got a divorce. We’ve been married for ten years, so those things I know.” He hesitated, put down the coffee cup a bit hard. “But what pisses me off,” he said in a very, very even voice, “is that you haven’t told me that this was going to be such a big problem. Because if this was going to be such a big problem, you know, then maybe I would have preferred that you just said no to the old man and stayed home and helped me take care of our autistic son and helped me avoid taking so many extra shifts when you come home to compensate for the people who have to cover for me because I can’t work full-time next week. I would have preferred that,” he said.

And now it was out. And there would be no more cuddling. Actually, there hadn’t been any up until now, and now there definitely wouldn’t be some. And Jon felt like he was getting angry at Carrie, he was getting angry at himself. But the anger for this spoiled morning had to be directed somewhere, so he just had to get it out.

“Alright,” she said, holding up her hands. “But it’s not exactly something I’m fond of talking about, just like you’re not fond of talking about your father and your mom, for that matter, the way they treated you … ”

“That’s another thing,” Jon said. “It’s just that, you know, since you obviously don’t want to go…”

“I do want to go,” Carrie said. “I do want to go.”

“Okay, but why do you want to go then? Then tell it, explain it to me like I’m a five-year-old.”

“Don’t be like that,” Carrie said.

“Alright.” Jon breathed in deeply. “Alright. I’m sorry.” He leaned towards the kitchen desk again. He could feel the gun dangling at his side. He could feel the heat coming in through the window. He could feel it on his neck. “Alright,” he said. “I guess it’s just… Yeah, it’s like I said. I’m, to be honest, I’m not looking forward to this week alone with the kids, even if your mom could, you know, fly in and help for a few days before she has to go back again.”

“I understand that,” Carrie said quietly. She was still crossing her arms. “I understand that. I’m sorry. But I have to go, and you know that. My father doesn’t speak Spanish. And of course, he trusts me. And you know he’s not that rich.”

“No, of course not,” Jon said. “None of us are.” He sighed, but he didn’t take that any further. “Alright, so he wants you to go, of course, to translate, and because he wants you to see the place. That’s fair enough. And you don’t want to go.”

“I do,” she said.

“To help him translate?”

“Yes. Yes. Because he’s my father. Because we’ve had this sort of peace going on for a long time now, and I think this could be the next step, you know, to sort of start over for real.”

“Well, if you haven’t forgiven him yet for what happened when you were a child, then I guess,” Jon said, “it’s about time.”

“I have forgiven him,” Carrie said, and sounded exasperated. “It’s just… it’s not easy, you know. And memories come up, and he’s always been kind of… and he still is, you know. Remember how he was at Christmas? He’s not exactly easy.”

“No,” Jon said. “But neither is my old man or any of our parents, for that matter.”

“Look,” Carrie said, “when all this with the trip came up, and all the logistics we have to do because I live here now and he still lives in Scotland… It got me thinking a lot about the past, stuff that I hadn’t been thinking of before. And then I just felt again that I was still angry with him. And I just can’t make it go away, Jon.” She sniffed. “I can’t make it go away.”

“Okay,” he said. “So maybe then that’s… that is a good reason for you to go, to see if you can sort of patch up on the way and, you know, maybe talk about what he experienced back then and so on.”

“But it’s just,” Carrie said, “it’s like you said. He should have been relieved to come home from war early. And he shouldn’t have started drinking because of that, because he survived and came back home to my mother and me. I guess that’s it.”

There was silence for a long time. Then Jon said, “So you feel that he didn’t appreciate you and your mom because he was in a bad shape and started drinking because he was sent home early?”

“Maybe that’s what I feel,” Carrie said. “Maybe that’s what I feel. I don’t know. I don’t know what I feel anymore. 

“Look, I have to go and get the car started.” Jon said.

“Yeah, yeah,  … you know, we had planned this morning and everything’s just going to hell now.” She hid her head in her hands.

He came over and put her arms around her. “No, no, it’s… I’m not that busy. But seriously, I mean it, you shouldn’t tie the two things together. You know, if you’ve been in the military for a long time like your father, you have, you know, a career, a life, your pride. And then, of course, remember what happened afterward. You know, he couldn’t hold a job, and he had to fight for benefits and so on and couldn’t support you very well.”

“Well, then he shouldn’t have started drinking.”

“I know,” Jon said at her interruption. “But still, you probably shouldn’t tie the things together because maybe there is no connection.”

“Except what if there is, Carrie said. “What if he could just have, you know, looked at it another way and said, ‘Look, I’m happy to be alive, to come home to my family, and I’m going to start over, and I’m definitely not going to make things more difficult for me or my family by going into the bottle.’”

Jon said. “If only it were that easy.”

That was somehow the magical word, put in the wrong way. He could see her face start cracking. Why is it always like that? Why can some things never be easy? Why can everything never be easy? Why isn’t there just something that can be easy? she said, exasperated again, but more so… She also became paler, and she was trembling. Her hands were digging into his back.

“Take it easy,” he said, and held her tighter. “You need to…”

“I’m tired of needing to, Jon. I’m tired of needing to figure out my dad, who’s been a drunk and who is still an idiot and who went to war when I was just a little girl, a war that I don’t give a shit about.”

“Yes, I get that,” he said.

“I’m tired of figuring out my autistic son and all the logistics it takes to take care of him. I’m tired of worrying about the future. I’m tired of life having to be so fucking complicated all the time.”

“Yes,” he said. “I know.” That was all he could say. He just held her tighter. He looked at the clock. God, he would have to call Jefferson soon. Some kind of lame excuse. He would have to figure out something fast. These two extra hours he had gained this morning, which means he would come home late just when she was packing. She would leave early in the morning. Luckily, his mother-in-law would be there. But it would be tight. These two extra hours… they had just pissed them away.

Why couldn’t they just move to a point where they could get past all of this and just live a normal life?

But he knew, of course, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t just their parents who had all kinds of baggage. Maybe it was a war, like Carrie’s father. Maybe it was some kind of weird chip or grudge on his shoulder against everything that he apparently just had been born with, like Jon’s own father and his mother, who of course were probably right for a nursing home, but his father wouldn’t let her go.

The only one who seemed, at least tentatively, normal —that was his mother-in-law. And she was helping out with his new-age church in LA. So that was what went for being normal in this family. Good Lord. 

He held her tighter. He felt the warmth of her body, felt her trembling, her hands digging into him. Her repetitions of, “Why can’t we be just normal? I don’t want this.” And she was crying. And he knew he had to find a real good excuse now. He had to take the phone soon and call, tell them the car had broken down or something. Tell them why he would be late. Tell Jefferson why he had to cover for him.Again.

But she wasn’t letting go. Her fingers gripped his uniform shirt, pulling him closer, and he realized she was holding on like he was the only solid thing in a room that was falling apart. He held her face in his hands, wiped at her tears with his thumbs, and she looked up at him—and something shifted. Her breath caught. His did too.

And then he kissed her.

Hungrily. 

And she kissed him again. And then she said, “You know, we can’t do it now. I can’t do this now.” And he said, “I can’t do it either.” And then he just continued, and she continued. She repeated, “I can’t do it now,” and she kissed him even harder. And then before he knew it, they were on the very hard and dusty, grimy floor of the kitchen, and he was tearing off her clothes, and she was tearing at his uniform.

And it was all over very quick. But it wasn’t over until he had made sure that he had taken her all the way. And for once, that was very quick, too. She gave in to him completely, and when he had taken her where she needed to be, he could see she was on the verge of tears again. Because she gave in and let it wash over her, for the first time in, what, months? And he thought he had never seen anyone so beautiful as his wife when she let go like that and of course all his concentration on helping her go there made him … fall out of it himself. When she had been there, he couldn’t go any further, he felt something tighten in his back, his knees hurting on the floor and he could not dismiss it anymore. So that was it. 

So she rolled around as he withdrew and then they lay very still against each other. Now he could really feel how hard the kitchen floor tiles were. But he steadied himself and put a firm arm around her.

She was breathing hard, and they could hear the clock ticking on the wall. And she said, “You’d better call … .” And he said, “Yeah, I guess I better do that.” And he was still holding on to her. And then he took out his phone and called his colleague.

“Yo, buddy, you know, the car won’t start. I’ll be late. You’re going to have to…” and then they said the things they had to say.

And he put away the phone and said to her, “Yeah, well, it’s done now.” His shirt, she had pulled so hard at it that a button had fallen off. “I guess I have to find a new shirt,” he said.

“Yes, you have some in the closet. I washed them for you the other day,” she said.

He kissed her on the cheek. “That was very sweet of you.”

“That’s what I do,” she said. “That’s what I do. It’s also very sweet of you to, you know, just keep going until I… was there,” she said.

“But what about you? Don’t you want me to…” She let her hand drift down near his crotch. The temptation was almost unbearable. But he had to get a hold of himself. “I really have to go,” he said. “You know, I wouldn’t… you know, we could say that it’s something I’m going to have to look forward to.”

He got up before she could protest and began to gather what was there of his clothes. And he grinned. “Well, feels like I’m 25 again, even with the bruises.”

“Yeah, especially the bruises,” she said, and clawed after her clothes too, which was all over the place. “and that’s why I feel that I’m not 25.”

She got up, and she was still naked, and she held him and kissed him again and said, “But thank you very much.”

“You shouldn’t have to say thank you,” he said. “We shouldn’t have to do it like this.”

“No,” she said. “But that’s our lives, you know. We shouldn’t have to have parents who are messed up. We shouldn’t be messed up ourselves. We shouldn’t have to have kids who are…” she shrugged. “We shouldn’t have to do any of these things.”

She stepped back and turned and looked outside the window. He said, “Be careful the neighbors don’t see you.”

“I don’t care,” she said. “I’ll take a shower when you’re gone. You can let yourself out, you know where the door is.”

“Yeah, I do,” he said. She was being playful, and that felt right.. It was far too long ago since they had done that. And he felt inside that the way it happened now was how it should be. That’s how it should always be. Or maybe not always, but a lot of the time.

She helped him with the rest of his uniform in silence and, at last, she gave him his gun. “Well, it didn’t go off this time,” she said.

“I hope it won’t today. If it’s this one you mean,” he said and tucked it into the holster. “Just hope for a nice, quiet, boring day on the road.”

“Isn’t that how most of the days are?” she said.

“Now that you mention it,” he said, and for once his smile was genuine. “That’s how most of those days are. At least there’s that.”

CARRIE and JON, Mid-Sep, 2016

*

Photo by Ksusha on Unsplash