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Another Love - Aftermath
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Haunted in my dreams and by my memories. It wasn't like I didn't know what to do about it, either. I'm Travis Walker III, Dr. Travis Walker. Besides being third in name, I'm third in a line of mental health professionals. My Grandfather, Travis, published articles that eventually led to the recognition of ADHD and changed the DSM-5. My father wasn't that famous but he had a highly successful practice that afforded his family a comfortable and well-balanced life. I think he endeavored to be like his dad except to enjoy more time with his wife and kids, and he certainly accomplished that in my book.
Me, well, I had a good head start, as you can imagine with all that history. Unlike my Father, I decided to become a psychiatrist instead of a psychologist. I felt having a full suite of options, including medicine and other treatments, would be better to help me manage my patients. So, if I ever wanted to shed the dark obsession, I knew what to do. Instead, though, more recently and at my girlfriends' insistence, I've started this journal for when I finally get some help.
It wasn't like I hadn't had my share of life troubles. I met my wife, Marci, while doing my residency. She was a sonographer in another wing of the hospital. We had a whirlwind romance and married a year later. Classically, I came home early and, obviously, unexpectedly, on a day just before our second anniversary. Her shoes started the trail of clothing that led from the apartment entrance to the bedroom. I picked up the shoes and followed that trail and the moans of passion. Marci was on all fours, being energetically pounded by some gym rat.
She looked up and saw me before he did and simply went rigid. I think Goliath thought he was doing something right as he put just a bit more effort into it.
"Get the fuck out!" I yelled. I wasn't going to fuck around with her new squeeze; he had me both in weight and height and by a lot. I threw her shoes at them. The big boy seemed irritated with my timing. He finally got off her and started dressing, keeping an eye on me.
"I'll be waiting for you outside, babe," he told her softly. His term of endearment further pissed me off.
"And fuck you, you degenerate Quasimodo," I spat. "She's all yours."
Speaking heatedly and quickly, she mouthed all the excuses from the cheater's handbook, but all I heard were noises. She packed slowly as I began trying to move her toward the door. I'll be damned if he wasn't still right outside our front door half an hour later when Marci finally left, still trying to apologize.
"Just get the hell out of my sight! You can arrange to pick up your stuff with my attorney because I never want to see you again...ever!"
Other than the appearances in court, I never saw either of them again.
Since then, I have had no interest in looking for a more suitable mate. I poured myself into my work, and it paid great dividends. My successful practice left almost no room for new patients.
I remember the day I opened their email. It was a plea from two desperate brothers, Kevin, the older, and Oscar, the younger. They had tried to schedule an appointment and had been rightly turned away by my staff.
What struck me most was that they needed my help, not for themselves, but for their mother, Karen. They gave me just some slivers of background, only enough to intrigue me.
Since neither would be my patient, I met them at a local restaurant instead of my office. After the introductions, they seemed eager to get down to business.
"Alright, Kevin, Oscar, how can I be of help?"
"Uh, we aren't sure, exactly," Kevin said. "We've tried almost everything we can think of. All we know is that our mother, Karen McDonald, is in serious trouble. We fear for her life."
"How so?" I asked. The guys were jittery. I wasn't sure if this was some sort of joke.
"We don't know," Oscar said. "It all happened so fast. We couldn't contact our father, mom's husband... or ex-husband." I looked up over my glasses as I continued to write non-verbally, persuading them to elaborate.
"We can't reach anyone from our... second family, either," Kevin added. They both looked uncomfortable. I'd been writing some notes. I was a meticulous notetaker but I stopped cold and looked at the pair.
"You don't know if your Father is married to your Mother?" I asked incredulously.
They both shrugged. Kevin said, "Well, he was before everyone disappeared."
"What do you mean by second family?" I asked. They both turned toward each other, embarrassed and hesitant. I guess it was up to Kevin to spill the beans.
"Our mother," he cringed as he began, "had a long-term affair with a man while my father was overseas in the Navy. Well, it started before then, but the man, Philippe, moved in with us to help Mom. Our Dad found out years later when Philippe's wife, Avril, came to their home while she was visiting Oscar in California. Philippe had died suddenly but had a painting, a risqué painting of our Mother. Avril was delivering it to Mom but accidentally ran into our Father. The whole thing was a mess. Mom left early, wanting to mitigate the damage."
"You say long-term," I asked in earnest. "How long exactly?"
"Twenty years," He replied, looking down at the table. Then, he seemed to regain some confidence.
"That began a strange period in our lives," he explained. "Both of us, well... we had a tumultuous relationship with Dad for a long time before he found out. For months afterward, and during the holidays, all of us, I mean both Oscar and I, Mom, Avril, and even her family, who we knew well, tried to help Dad get through it. We had Canadian Thanksgiving at our Mom's and Dad's home in Albany, and then we all went to Montreal - that's where Philippe, Avril and both their families live - for Christmas.
"We thought Mom and Dad were through the worst of it," he continued. "Both Mom and Avril were in some sort of intimate relationship with Dad, trying to help heal his pain." He looked at his brother. "We don't know any details about that other than what I just said. That's all Mom would say."
He took a nervous drink of water. Oscar decided to carry it from there.
"Anyway," he started, "in February, Dad was summoned to Washington, DC, to the Pentagon, I think about some top-secret project. Mom and Avril were upset with him. They said he'd promised them he was finished with his secret military business. Then, Mom and Avril just disappeared. We couldn't get hold of anyone. Panicked, we flew to Montreal three weeks later only to find their house padlocked."
"When was this?" I asked, thinking they wanted my help to find their Mother.
"Six years ago," Oscar said. I just stared at him.
"I don't understand," I responded. "What exactly do you want from me? You said your Mother was clinically depressed."
"Two months after Mom went missing," Kevin spoke up again, "we received a letter from the Department of Homeland Security saying that our mother was being held at Guantanamo Bay for espionage and other high crimes." Kevin was beginning to break as he relayed the painful story. Oscar put his hand on his brother's shoulder in support.
"Avril, her mother, and the Du Monte family seem to have fallen off the face of the Earth," Oscar took over. "We can't find our Father. We've gotten as far as learning he went overseas on a classified mission six years ago. Honestly, we probably need therapy, too. But mom is in trouble. We've been able to communicate by letter and plenty of what she's tried to tell us has been redacted, so we can't read it. Her latest communications sound very dark and ominous like she's given up. They won't let us see her. After all this time, we both think she isn't getting proper representation or due process."
"I'm not sure what I could do," I said honestly. I couldn't very well drop my practice and everything else for one patient. It sounded like the men needed someone at the State Department or some advocacy group.
"Do you have her letters with you?" I asked, not knowing why. Kevin reached into his backpack and pulled out a stack of papers, handing them to me.
"I'll look at these," I told them. "Afterward, I'll let you know if I can help or who you might be able to get some help from." I had a college buddy at the FBI who I'd worked with once regarding a mentally ill predator in our town. They didn't seem to believe me.
"This is outside my wheelhouse," I added. "I'm just being honest. However, what you've told me is intriguing so let me see what can be done. That's the best I can offer."
They then paid for my lunch. Both gentlemen nodded in acceptance and left. I sat there contemplating what they'd told me. The story itself seemed far-fetched and absurd, enough to ping my limbic. As if by some sixth sense, I'd previously asked my office staff to reschedule my afternoon patients. I called my Dad and asked if I could swing by.
"Trav," he warned after hearing my tale. "I can see how this might appear to be an adventure but I'm cautioning you, if this Karen is in a facility like that, then she did something very bad. Are you sure you want to drop everything and dive in headfirst?"
Dad was always the more cautious of the three Travises but he wasn't wrong. When I told him I thought I did, he suggested I call my Grandfather.
"He worked with some people from the Army," he said, "helped them update manuals or something with regard to ADHD, leading to other conditions like PTSD after tremendous and prolonged stress. He might be able to at least get you in touch with someone who could steer you in the right direction."
Gramps listened intently, then told me he would make some calls. After dinner, I sat down at my laptop and started researching the McDonald clan to see what Google knew. Other than Robert McDonald being credited with a hypersonic jet engine, I found nothing - not very little - nothing. It was as if they'd been scrubbed from existence. I knew then that this was serious, and I realized now why the boys' mother may be held as they described.
The next morning, it was back to the office. Travis the One, as was our family nickname for him, left a message that I listened to at lunch.
"Travis," his message started, "this is your grandad." Technology wasn't his strong point. "I spoke to an old contact of mine at the Pentagon, Admiral Dan Dickerson. He has your cell number and will call you at four this afternoon. You cannot call him. Please be ready to answer your phone." There was a pause and a sigh. "Travis, please listen to him very carefully. He knows this family and that should be a signal to you that this is a big deal. I'm not sure this is something for you. I'm not trying to stifle you but this could be a big pile of shit and I don't know if you have the right boots for it." I respected my grandfather immensely and would heed his warning.
The Admiral was all business, as one would expect. He asked all the questions before providing me with any information I sought. Finally, satisfied, he asked what my interest was.
"I think this woman needs mental care," I said and before I could explain, he talked over me.
"We have people there that handle those things."
"Perhaps," I let the word drag out. "But then again, this woman has been there a very long time. What exactly was she convicted of?"
"That's classified," he barked. I could tell that his goal was to intimidate me.
"Why?" I wasn't going to make it easy. "Isn't a person in prison generally convicted of a crime at trial first? Tell me if I'm wrong but I'm pretty sure I was wide awake in government class."
The line was silent for several moments. "Listen to me, son," he said with more empathy. "This woman's husband isn't only a colleague and fellow officer; he is also a friend. Karen, the woman in question, was... is his wife. She, along with her boyfriend and their families, were involved in a plot to trade military secrets to a hostile government. I cannot say more. However, after all this time, she has not bent or broken from her original story, so I'm inclined to maybe... that's a big maybe, believe some of her story. I'm willing to use you to provide a psyche evaluation."
I didn't think it was going to get any better so I let him continue providing details of how I would be vetted to go down there and gain access to my new patient.
"And Dr. Walker?" he finished with. "If by chance she is in distress, you may tell her that her husband is alive and well, although he cannot contact her."
I spent the rest of my evening wrestling with self-doubt. Why was I doing this? Was I; had I even committed to myself to do it? I had a book of patients who needed me. Some were diagnosed as being clinically depressed, not just assumed to be. But I couldn't stop the relentless tugging at my mind and, to be honest, my heart. I'd been drawn into Karen's issues even with the limited information I had... and hadn't even met her yet.
It was also clear that the Admiral wasn't only this husband, Robert's friend, but also likely one to my grandad as well. It shouldn't have been that easy. I knew I needed to call the brothers and update them but they'd been waiting a long time. I had many things to iron out first.
The next day, after asking my father, I spent the morning with him going over caseloads. I'd asked my partner in the practice to handle most of my less critical patients. He wasn't happy but he owed me. I felt bad about dragging my father out of retirement. He was still licensed, having only left his practice a year and a half earlier. I had to give the tougher patients to someone I could trust. I worked everything out on my hospital schedule and gave the office staff additional responsibilities to schedule and move patients to other doctors in the area.
Two days later, after contacting Oscar and Kevin, I was on a plane to Ft. Lauderdale, where I would board a military plane bound for GTMO in Cuba. I'd become apprehensive about my mission, if that was a thing to call it. Why I felt bound to help Karen still escaped me.
Upon arrival, I was shown to my quarters where I was instructed to 'settle in.' I would be allowed to see Karen the next morning. That evening, I was invited to dine with the surgical and medical staff. All of them were very closed off from anything but general topics, reminding me that I'd soon be in the same boat of silence.
Of course, the next morning, I had another stack of documents to sign. Confidentiality rules, as if psychiatrists weren't already bound to those. I was given a minor security clearance and was sworn under oath that almost nothing that I saw or heard while there would ever be spoken to anyone. It seemed like a lot of pomp and circumstance to me but then again, it was the military.
Finally, I was led to a small room that appeared more designed for interrogation. There were two chairs and a small table and nothing else. After ten minutes, Karen was led in, wearing a grey jumpsuit, her wrists and ankles shackled. Once seated, I asked the guard to remove them but the request was denied. I was told it was for my own safety.
That was a lot of crap. Karen looked squalid and helpless, her eyes nearly lifeless, almost as if she had no idea where she was. I was so taken aback that I couldn't find my voice for several moments after the guards left.
"Karen?" I finally said, my mouth completely dry.
She'd been staring at some nondistinctive spot on the wall over my shoulder. When her eyes moved to meet mine, her mouth opened and, in barely a whisper, she said, "He's dead."
It was a statement, not a question. I'm a professional and consider myself level-headed but seeing her like that, completely broken, almost broke me, too.
Karen took my lack of an answer as confirmation of her statement. She began crying small, dehydrated tears.
"He's alive, Karen," I said, wanting to reach out for her hand but not wanting to break any rules I hadn't memorized or, worse, cause my patient trauma.
It took a moment to register. The rapid eye movement told me she finally got it. A weak smile began to form on frail lips, her cheeks too gaunt to allow the muscles to pull upwards. Her eyes, though, never left mine.
"Are you here to help me?" still a quiet whisper. "Please! Help me!" she said more urgently. The dry tears turned wet. I was worried for her life at that point.
From there, Karen began spewing incoherent mumbo-jumbo, trying desperately to tell me everything from the last six years in a matter of minutes. I maintained eye contact, knowing I'd never understand what she said and slowly reached my hand across the small table, palm up and open. Then I looked at her hand. Sometimes, just physical touch can work wonders for a person in Karen's condition, although I'd never seen someone as bad off as her before.
It took a minute for her to stop and realize. She cautiously put her hand in mine.
"I'm going to help you, Karen," I stated emphatically. "Know that I'm going to do everything in my power to help you."
The guards entered unannounced and declared our time was up. I wasn't expecting that so I calmly told Karen I'd be back tomorrow to see her.
That was my first of many mistakes that day, although, in fairness, I was in completely new territory. I found myself recalling Grandad's warning about the boots.
I headed to Sick Bay and, after finding the doctor responsible for Karen's cellblock, wrote a prescription for Karen so I could get her more lucid. I also inquired about her specific diet before doing so. The doctor questioned me on everything, saying they were perfectly capable of caring for the prisoners and diagnosing them. Everyone I'd met in that place in my first two days seemed like they thrived on conflict and challenge. They definitely didn't like an outsider telling them anything. I had to play it cool if I was ever to keep the promise I'd just made to Karen.
"Doctor," I said in an unassuming tone, "I'm here at Admiral Dickerson's request to assess Mrs. McDonald's condition and mental state. I have no desire to tell you how to do your job, although being here at his bequest means that I'm going to access and treat my patient the way I want to. Now, if you'd like your commanding officer to contact the Admiral, then by all means."
"She isn't your patient, though," he said with malice. "She's a terrorist like everyone else in this prison. You'd do well not to forget that."
But then he gave me the information I asked for and told me the script would be filled and administered. I took it as a win.
Unfortunately, it was not. The next day, I wasn't allowed to see Karen and I was told that I could only have access to her three days a week. The following day, when I was once again led into the depressing little room, I found out that she had only been given her first dose of medicine that morning. The visit went much like the earlier one with no tangible results.
I thought fleetingly about contacting the Admiral with my concerns because something about her and the staff's behavior concerned me. Recalling my grandfather's admonition, I decided to let it be for now. My gut told me something was very wrong.
My third visit with Karen, six days after my arrival, went much better. The medicine had worked. Learning about how she got here and the information she'd been given since scared the shit out of me. It also drew me in and I knew I'd made the right choice to come.
It sounded like a James Bond movie. She'd met her paramour twenty years before her husband Rob had seen that painting. I'd have to get deeper into the beginning of the relationship later if I was successful in getting Karen out of that dreadful place.
Karen's affair with Philippe Du Monte began in 1989. During her husband's deployment to the Persian Gulf starting in 1990, Philippe moved into Karen's home and became Oscar and Kevin's surrogate father. They were also sworn to secrecy about Philippe where their real father was concerned.
Once Rob found out in October of 2016, things happened quickly. At first, it looked like Rob and Karen were headed for divorce. If the story had ended there, I would have bet on that outcome. But, Philippe's wife, Avril, teamed up with Karen to try to prove Karen's love for Rob... an all-out effort just as the brothers had told me at my office.
The holidays passed. Rob's project was seized by the Navy and the art exhibit for Philippe's works seemed a success. Robert was ordered to Washington, DC, in the first week of February. Both women were upset because he had promised not to get involved in future Pentagon projects. He would also be missing Valentine's Day. Avril had been of a new opinion and told Karen that, unlike when she first met Rob, she was feeling he might be a lost cause. He had another love, too, and she saw it very unlikely he'd give that love up. Karen became angry with her friend and defended Rob, but deep down, she had to wonder.
Then, one week into Rob's trip, Avril suddenly told Karen she had to go home to Montreal. Karen wanted to know why so abruptly but, between the bad-mouthing of Rob and several other excuses, she knew something else was wrong.
"I thought she was mad at me, at first," Karen said. "Then I thought maybe she was lonely for home. Then, she told me she wanted to take my painting. I was shocked and we fought about it for the next two days as she prepared to go. Philippe had gifted me that painting.
"'Tu ne le merites pas,' she told me," Karen saw my blank look and giggled for the first time since I'd met her. "Sorry, French is like a second language to me after all this time. She told me that I didn't deserve it. That led to an even bigger fight. I was so confused as to why I was suddenly losing my best friend. We'd made love together and with my husband."
"And did you ever get a satisfactory answer?" I asked.
"Oh yes," she overexaggerated her answer. "It's why I'm here, best I can tell. At the time, I was just upset about being alone without Rob or her."
Karen's body language changed then. She sat back, reached for the glass of water in front of her and went into deep reflection. Finally, she continued.
"Avril was arrested at the airport in Montreal," she began, "although I didn't know it until some time afterward. I was arrested the next morning by FBI agents at my home. Those days, those first two weeks, were a whirlwind of misery for me. I had no idea what was happening as I was intensely interrogated. Philippe's painting, which brought me so much joy, was the main subject of that interrogation." She paused again, recollecting.
"Under the backing of the painting," she recalled, "were all kinds of numbers and formulas and other things that looked to have to do with Rob's work. I was told I was being prosecuted under the Espionage Act for stealing and selling military secrets to a foreign adversary and that I should come clean right then if I wanted any hope of living the rest of my life outside a high-security prison.
"Many weeks later," she continued, "when I had nothing to tell them, I began to learn the ugly truth. My dear friend and probably my second love had betrayed me. Avril had clearly come to Albany not to help me regain my husband's trust and love but to steal information from his briefcase, transposing that information onto the back of the painting's canvas. Her mother, Aimi, was never arrested because she'd fled to China the day before Avril's arrest. Turns out she was an agent of the CCP. Sara M. Du Monte didn't get away and was arrested the same day I was."
I told Karen that was enough for today. It was more for me than her. I needed to put together the information she'd provided and arrange things chronologically if I was going to help her. I decided I wasn't here for just a mental diagnosis. To get Karen out, I'd have to be methodical and half-therapist, half-detective. I also understood the daunting nature of that task, considering where we were and who was pulling the strings. I wished I had access to Robert McDonald for just two minutes.
It took me two months to prepare a proper assessment and diagnosis for Karen. The report included things she told me that I hoped proved she had no knowledge of the alleged spying. I was careful to stick to the medical side except where an opinion might help create some sympathy or empathy. My hope was that the Admiral would read between the lines, realizing that Karen had long ago paid her debt, a perceived debt that no court ever heard, no jury ever decided, and no judge ever presided over. Beyond that, I slanted my diagnosis toward her having been duped by some very skilled charlatans, hoping this would convince the Admiral of her innocence if not prove that she was no threat and never had been.
I must have rewritten the thing a dozen times, using synonyms from memory, since I couldn't use my phone to look them up. In fact, I'd only been allowed to read my emails once per week on a lone computer station reserved for guests. I was not allowed to answer any of them. I knew from my father that my practice was running with no major problems. That took some of the stress away but not all.
Two days after I asked the master sergeant to send my patient assessment to Admiral Dickerson, I was pulled into a room with the facility's chief MD and Lt. Allison Patrick, retired and currently with the State Department.
I was stunned as they hit me in tandem with the details surrounding Karen's release. I was relieved as if it were me. She was going to be under my care, would not be allowed to live in the four-story home in Albany, and needed to wear a tracking bracelet on her ankle for one year.
I was handed a single-spaced letter from the Admiral. It was short and sweet. Well done, Dr. Walker. The prisoner is now a patient in your care. Do not make me regret my decision.
For better or worse, when the government, especially the military, decides something, it happens now. Karen and I were leaving Cuba in eighteen hours on a military flight back to upstate New York. I would have five days to sort out her living arrangements so that the Federal Parole Officer could come, ensure all protocols were met, and attach Karen's tracker.
Lt Patrick did do one thing for me. She contacted Kevin and told him where they could greet their mother.
When I told Karen, she just looked at me, not understanding or comprehending. When I told her the second time, the still-chained arms that were holding her chin up with elbows on the table turned to jelly. I watched her eyes roll back into her head and darted over to keep her face from slamming into the table. I eventually earned a smile after she came to and I told her the third time. I can't remember ever being prouder of my efforts.
The boys met us in a staging area of the small regional airport. Even I shed some tears watching them embrace and hearing the screams and moans of sheer delight and utter agony.
Oscar and his husband, Mark, rented an apartment six miles from the old family home. They could have their mother with them and help with her constant need to readjust to basically everything. In the beginning, other than my three times per-week appointments with Karen, I leaned on them heavily to point out changes in behavior, especially dark days or thoughts.
Dad and my practice partner had done stellar jobs with my patients. Both were complimentary of my work with Karen and navigating the military red tape.
The next several months were very busy for me. Adding Karen to my caseload required many adjustments. Sometimes, when I wanted one or both of her sons to attend, I'd have to move other patients around. I felt like Karen was making good progress in certain areas but other glaring areas remained. I carefully tip-toed around the main one.
"If Rob had inadvertently alerted you to a long-term affair he had," I asked cautiously, "what would have been your reaction?"
"That's easy," she stated, sure of herself. "Just before my life turned into a nightmare, I thought we'd traveled through the abyss and come out the other side. Looking back, I was always leery about sharing my husband with Avril. She was very petite but well-built like I was before my pregnancies. I told myself she was no threat but never really believed it. I had my husband back so I pushed my fears down deep. I agonized when she was with him - taking her turn - while we were all in bed together. I could see how she rang his bell better than I could."
"But through all of it," she continued, "I grew in feeling that while I originally had justified Phillippe to myself, I was coming to realizing the depth of my deceit. I thought back to when we first met and Rob courted me, telling me over and over about the challenges and dangers of the military. As I think back on it now, I realize that love IS blind because while I heard him, I really didn't give it the deep thought it deserved. I expected the dangers would push him away but instead, it drew him like a moth to flame. That it came true as his career ascended is something I still wrestle with.
"The Persephone project took him away from me, too, but then, I never thought of it as his other love. It was his career and I just had to deal with it, plus I didn't know how to win him back. We had the Gallery, and I was still grieving Philippe. We'd agreed to put our problem on hold until the first of the year. I know now I should have handled it differently."
It wasn't the answer I'd hoped for but it provided a small opening.
Whenever Karen blamed herself for everything that happened, I had the one blatantly obvious question for her, that I couldn't find the courage to ask: "Karen, do you think it's possible that Rob's first passion was his work? His duty to country? The jet engines? That perhaps you were his second love, just as he was yours?"
Okay, it was a series of questions along the same vein that she needed to grasp, a little at a time or all together. The answer to the question had to come first because, after that, there was a quagmire of socio-political constraints.
When a spouse steps out on their partner, it's cheating. Women are sluts, and men are... well, whatever the wife chooses to call them. That wasn't the case with Robert, at least not on the surface. The more someone wanted to go down the rabbit hole, however, there was a synergy, a mirror, if you will. Many people serve their country and then they move on after their four-year stint is over. Some remain in the reserves, maybe for financial reasons or even for career advancement after college.
Rob excelled in the reserves, just as he had on active duty. Just from my short interactions with the Admiral, it was clear that Rob was well-respected and highly coveted. He had that special something. And when war found his superiors, his superiors found Rob. Even after the Middle East, as a civilian contractor, the military sought him out and he jumped in with both feet.
It was glaringly clear that Rob was still gone. In my opinion, he either decided that Karen was in on the espionage with the Du Montes and left her, or he was deep undercover. For me, that was fifty-fifty.
I always hesitated to ask or discuss the topic with Karen because it was more about me than her. I was angry that someone could be shipped off to some God-forsaken place without any due process. I wasn't a juvenile. I understood, from Karen's side of the story and the very slight media coverage in the Montreal papers, that Avril was clearly guilty. Madame Du Monte, at ninety-five, hadn't lasted in prison for even three months before passing away. Avril's mother had escaped to China.
Worst of all, after all those years, no one could determine if Philippe was in on it or simply fell for Karen. During those days, Rob wasn't involved in anything secretive of value and, when Philippe moved into the McDonald's home, Rob was half a world away.
I felt Karen got a raw deal. My personal thoughts and feelings invaded my ability to treat her.
One thing was crystal clear to me: Karen and Rob should have had many long, honest discussions before planning a wedding, even acknowledging those involving the life of a military wife. They should have had at least one, even more serious after Karen got pregnant with Oscar. Communication is the prevailing issue for most couples but these two could help me get a scientific paper published.
So, in my zeal to help curb Karen's depression and eventually cure it, I never got around to that simple set of questions. That mistake would turn out to haunt me more than I ever imagined.
>>>>
Nine months after returning home, Karen was making good progress. Cautious optimism was where I stood. She loved living with her son and the feelings of a nuclear family once more. Karen enjoyed doing the chores and the cooking, which gave her a sense of self and accomplishment. Gradually, more often, she'd come into my office and relate a story from the week and actually laugh. Her laugh was infectious and soon had me joining in.
I knew she missed her husband. He truly was one of her loves, that much was obvious. Occasionally, she got down on herself for not being able to see that Avril and the others had played her like a fiddle... her words, not mine. Her range of emotions surrounding Avril's bringing the painting to Albany was expected. The worst days were when she recalled what it took to forgive Avril for that 'mistake', only later to find out it was no mistake at all.
Then, it happened.
Oscar called his mother to the door, confused as to why two men in uniform were standing there asking for her.
"Mrs. McDonald, we regret to inform you..." followed and Karen immediately took ten steps backward in her journey. In the doorway, it was probably less than two steps backward. Both Oscar and Kevin had my direct cell number so I found out which hospital she was being transported to before she ever arrived.
While she was under sedation, resting, I walked Oscar through what he needed to ask. The two Marines had accompanied them to the hospital, never having been able to complete their sad mission at the apartment.
Maj. Robert McDonald had perished in a plane crash south of the Red Sea, specifically, the Gulf of Aden. Recovery efforts were underway by a Naval battle group in the region.
That month was one of the most difficult of my career. I'd had plenty of patients who'd suffered, some horribly. I just felt personally invested in this with Karen and, to a lesser degree, her sons. I found myself obsessed with how to bring them back into the light.
But it was the first time that it dawned on me how unhealthy my life had become in service to others. Was it even 'service'? I wasn't the only one who noticed. Four days after the McDonalds learned of Rob's fate, my father called me.
"Hey, son," he began with a sigh. "How are you doing?" I knew what he meant.
"I'm as good as can be expected, I suppose," I half-lied. "I'm bummed that I had Karen so far down the road to recovery, and now..." I left it hanging.
"That's why I'm calling, Travis," he went on, his task already well outlined. "Your grandad wants you to stop by his house tonight."
"Dad," now it was my turn to sigh. I don't have time for any backstreet pep talks or 'mean well' conversations. I'm buried in work at the moment."
"Sure," he came right back with. "But we haven't seen you in weeks. That's not healthy, son. You don't even answer your phone. Grandad did you some pretty big favors, as I recall."
"I know he..." Dad cut me off.
"I'm not asking, son." That was that. "I expect you to be there at seven tonight."
Surprisingly, my father and grandma weren't there. Travis the One led me into his oversized study and brought out two of his better cigars.
"Take a seat. Boy," he motioned, the cigar cutter in his hand. I waited for him to hand me one and he bent over with his manly lighter to offer me a spark. His first question was as unexpected as us being here alone.
"When was the last time you got laid?" I almost dropped my stogie.
"2021," I replied with a cocky smile. He remained untouched or deterred.
"Well, I suppose then that you'll be extra appreciative." He handed me a business card with the only thing on the front side being the name "Ivy" in a fancy cursive font.
"A hooker?" I said incredulously, raising an eyebrow. "That's what you guys think of me?"
Grandad studied me for a long moment. "Travis, I'm trying to help you," he said in a pitying tone. "Your family - we care about your wellbeing. You haven't been yourself since you set upon this quest of yours." There was another purposeful pause.
"You're right," I admitted. "But I'm not going to an escort, Gramps. I'll back off a bit. My career, especially helping the boys and Karen, has provided a distraction from the travesty that was Marci's betrayal. It was what I set out to do and it worked." As the words exited my mouth, I realized that it had been forever since I had given Marci any thought, much less spoken her name.
"Young man," I was about to get a lecture. "This is me talking and I'm giving you an old-fashioned remedy. I'm sure you can figure out how to deal with your needs and urges but you need companionship, too. Ivy can listen just as well as she does... other things, if you get my meaning. Give her a call. It's paid for. Take her out for a nice dinner and, even if you're not going to - I can't believe I'm about to use the phrase - unburden yourself, at least have a good time, and forget your troubles for an evening."
I took Grandad's advice. I was very curious about him and Ivy so we spent a great deal of the evening talking about how he knew her. The funny thing was, according to her, he saw Ivy as a prescription for some of his patients but never for himself.
Oddly enough, we both had a better time than either of us expected. Standing at the entrance to her condo, I asked her out again. She gladly accepted and then giggled.
"What's funny?" I asked, a little peeved.
"Oh," she whimsically replied, "I was so up for some hot sex with a new man and now, I'll have to wait. You don't seem like the type who wants to jump in after the first date, knowing there is going to be a second."
She had me dead to rights. I stammered and stuttered while her smile grew. Finally, she put her long index finger to my lips.
"Easy, cowboy," she teased. "You go on home and think about us while you take care of things. That's what I'm about to do. Just don't make us wait a whole week for the next date. How about tomorrow night?"
It wasn't the next night but three days later and, after another perfect evening, we were destroying the poster-framed bed in her condo. As I expected, she gave as good as she got. We did it twice more that same week. To say she was uninhibited does not do her justice. By week's end, we had both worn each other out and left us clearly wanting the relationship to continue and grow. I forgot her profession several times. For all the negativity Marci visited upon my opinion of women in general, Ivy undid all of it... and all seemed right in the world.
Gramps was right; it was just what the doctor ordered, but the next day, I still felt guilty for not devoting more time to helping Karen.
It wasn't just Karen, though. By then, I was treating Oscar for the issues related to his youth, specifically the conflict of another man, not his father, acting as if he was all while interacting with his mother the way his father did. And the secrecy to which he was remanded. I'd extended the offer to Kevin but he said his wife had helped him resolve his childhood issues. I wasn't sure about that at all, but I'm no snake oil or aluminum siding salesman, so I didn't push.
Ivy eased my mind a little more each time we saw each other. I realized I was coming out of a fog of my own making. That was a hard pill to swallow, considering my profession, but with her, it felt so natural that I eventually stopped second-guessing.
Ivy, too, surprised me. She was so much more than one would gather from her discreet business card. She was putting herself through school because she grew up in the foster system - with a stellar foster mom - she was quick to point out. Unfortunately, fostering doesn't pay well unless you're gaming the system so as much as her parents wanted to help, they had nothing to give. I wasn't surprised at her major. We spent lots of our time on long walks discussing the pros and cons of psychology. She never said she had stopped seeing 'clients,' but she was spending all of her time with me.
One month after I met Ivy, I began to panic. Karen was no longer medicated and was due to return home in ten days. I was worried about how I would juggle my newfound private life with the extraordinary needs of my top patient. That turned out to be a non-issue because that same week, Commander Jack Marlow and Lt. Allison Patrick visited my practice.
Allison smiled at me in a way that told me she might have some interest as we were greeting one another but I didn't respond.
"Have time to join us for lunch," Marlow said rather than ask.
"I'll have to rearrange an appointment or two..." I started.
"See that you do, doctor," he interrupted. "This is important and you need to hear it."
Lunch was a sluggish affair. They seemed to be waiting for me to finish but I was no longer hungry. I was worried and anxious.
"Doctor," Marlow said, "We need to know the status of your patient, Karen McDonald."
"What are you asking," I stated defensively. "That's confidential."
Lt. Patrick took over. "Dr. Walker, it's a serious question. We are planning a memorial for Major McDonald and it involves his family. A part of his last requests that the military plans to see through. It will involve traveling to the place of his demise aboard a frigate, a part of the Eisenhower battle group. We need to know her condition so we can decide how to proceed."
That stunned me, why I wasn't sure. Perhaps I'd become of the mind that Robert wanted nothing to do with his wife - ex-wife - whatever her current status. Not in my wildest dreams would I believe the military would allow Karen to attend his formal laying to rest.
During my professional assessment, I did the unthinkable. I told them I would sign off on her travel only if I could attend in case the stress was too much for her. After covering the bases and finer details, the duo seemed uncomfortable.
"There's more," Marlow stated. "We'll need your signature on these nondisclosure forms. Before you sign, understand that breaking silence on anything we tell you will likely put you in the same place you first met your patient."
My brain was screaming, "Don't sign! You don't need to know! You're in too deep already." My hand and my heart ignored my common sense.
"All right, Doctor," Patrick said, "there's no going back from here. What we are about to tell you should clear up some of the empty patches. It should help you with your future treatment of Karen, however, only at your professional discretion. You will never tell Karen what you're being told here, nor anyone else for that matter. Her husband, Rob, asked as a personal favor that if she could find some peace, we would try to find the right person to provide it. In our opinion, you're the right man for that job."
"Rob loved his wife," the Commander started. "He knew she was in federal detention. He also didn't believe she was guilty. He was summoned to the Pentagon shortly after the art exhibit that Karen and Avril du Monte were involved in. There were two reasons for that."
The Lieutenant picked up the story. "The CIA and DHS had enough surveillance evidence to arrest the du Monte family members. Madame du Monte, who was ninety-five, died three weeks after being taken into custody, not three months. There were two possibilities with Karen, one being she was initially arrested for her own protection, to be lumped in with the alleged criminals. Once the evidence behind that painting was discovered after Avril's arrest, not only Karen, but even Robert became suspects."
"Robert was shipped overseas immediately," Marlow said. "He was relegated to a base where we could keep him under 24/7 surveillance and his innocence could be confirmed. Unfortunately for Karen, Avril tried to take her down with the ship, claiming she was in on the plot. I cannot elaborate on what military secrets were compromised but it became clear it happened in the McDonald's home during the time that Rob was in a polyamorous relationship with both women. Rob spent six months in limbo, on house arrest on the base. You already know what happened to Karen. We suspected the worst when Avril's mother eluded capture and that's the reason Rob's house arrest ended.
"NASA satellites picked up," he continued, "and Vandenberg SFB telemetry confirmed the launch of a - for simplicity, let's call it a plane - out of Iran with a similar heat and speed signature as Persephone V. Rob became a hot commodity again. Fast forward past all the top secret activity and Rob, along with his assistant, Lisa, and several, well, capable soldiers, have been trying to render the Iranian engine incapable. Yes, it's been over six years. Yes, there is nothing more we can say because it is classified."
Alisson looked at me, wondering if they'd done the right thing, I could see it all over her face. Did they give me too much? Was it something helpful or did it all go over my head?
"Can I presume that Rob's plane was taken down by enemy forces?" I asked for my own peace of mind but also to ensure they knew how much I understood.
The commander smiled wanly. "We'd rather not disclose that yet, doctor. If, and that's a big if, we retrieve the engine from the crash site, then you will hear more of that at the same time Karen and Rob's boys do."
I spent two days almost non-stop with Ivy. We talked about hypothetical things in her experiences and mine. Obviously, I couldn't disclose what weighed heavily on my mind so I did the next best thing. I tried to find comparatives in our lives that would or could help me figure out how best to approach Karen. It also helped bring clarity.
I talked to Dad and Grandad, too, because I had to ask them for one more favor. They made it clear it was the last one regarding this patient and my practice but wished me God's speed.
Seven days later, Marlow and Patrick accompanied me to visit Karen at the hospital. She was sitting out on the large patio, staring off into the small cropping of woods near the rear of the property.
I let them give her the news. Without words or nonverbal acknowledgments, tears fell. She was appreciative and overwhelmed.
"I'll be going with you," I announced, looking at Karen. She suddenly seemed... almost fearful.
"No, Dr. Walker," she exclaimed. "That's too much. I can't let you do that. You've done so much for me and my family already."
"Shh, Karen," I interjected, taking her hand. "It's already arranged."
That strange, fearful emotion didn't leave her face with my reassurance and it made me wonder what I'd missed or if I'd become too distracted in my new personal life.
I'd had mixed feelings about leaving Ivy behind. She was a beautiful, intelligent woman and I'd grown fond enough that I'd become a bit possessive. She swore she would be right there when I returned.
Oddly, it was Kevin and Oscar who seemed most on edge as we all assembled outside the military hangar. Both were bringing their spouses. Karen seemed calmer than at any time since I'd met her.
The flight to Germany was faster than on a commercial airline. I was thankful not only for that but for a layover and a nice hotel bed before finishing the final leg of our trip. I had a nice dinner with the family, the commander, and the lieutenant. They reveled on appropriately about some of the Major's stories of bravado and accomplishments.
The Luigi Rizzo naval frigate was unexpected. An Italian naval vessel that often traveled with the Eisenhower Carrier Strike Group seemed an odd choice for a group of family and friends to share a final remembrance of what I expected by then to be a naval hero. It was fitting, though, as the Eisenhower was Rob's first assignment. Allison Patrick explained to me that the rest of the ships were there for recovery and to protect this one ship until we were all safely out of the Mediterranean.
Karen worried me. She appeared calm, staunch, determined, even. I expected awkwardness, embarrassment, or outright shame, maybe some overwhelming feelings of guilt. I observed her out of her range of vision but not hiding. On the morning of the formal ceremony, she wandered the deck, touching the railings, the anchor windlasses, and an occasional boom as she passed them. It was as if she was trying to connect with places Rob had been--maybe even stood.
She strode with a carefree purpose that sent shivers down my spine. Her sons were busy taking things in with their significant others. My heart went out to this broken family and it had been broken long before Avril had shown up with the grand evidence of Karen's deceit.
What wasn't surprising was the grand ceremony commemorating the life of a decorated soldier and those with him, who also perished. Many who knew Robert spoke from the heart about a man who would do anything for his country and who ultimately did. As family members, we all sat in the front row of makeshift chairs that had been placed there in a straight line that was military precision. I felt like Karen's plus one since only a few present knew me or why I was there.
No one spoke of specifics surrounding his death. These people, all of them, were pros. They knew what could be said and what couldn't. Tears ran silently down Karen's cheeks at the playing of Taps and the twenty-one gun salute. After the ceremony, the family and I were invited to the stateroom for a formal dinner.
The following afternoon, we were to meet forward, one level below the bridge, for a light lunch and informal reading of the official naval accounting of Rob's death and his bequeathment. This was the part I knew would be hardest on Karen and I stayed up late the previous night preparing for my role as her doctor.
I knocked at the door of Karen's stateroom twenty minutes before we were due. Karen answered, dressed conservatively and respectfully. She looked like a person who was about to finish a long project.
"How are you feeling?" I asked in a calm tone.
"Fine," she answered equally calmly. "I suppose. To be honest, I don't really know how I feel."
"That's normal," I assured her. "Sometimes, under overwhelming circumstances, we feel so much all at once, it's very hard to discern. Can we take a short walk before we head forward?"
During the walk, I reassured Karen and I told her I was proud of her. She seemed reluctant to accept that at face value. I made sure she knew I'd be right there for her and let her emotions take her organically wherever they did. It would be good for her healing process.
We were inside a control room of sorts, perhaps the secondary bridge. Chairs were arranged in a circle and there were fewer people than I expected. A man named William "Billy" Pascal stepped forward first. He approached Karen and shook her hand with a proud smile.
"Ma'am," he said stoically. "Your husband saved my life. I know you heard the story long ago but I wanted you to know me face-to-face and I wanted to personally offer my condolences."
She made to stand but he stepped back. "Last year, I was able to shake his hand one last time. The plane he went down in was an F-14 Tomcat, the same kind we almost perished in that day twenty-seven years ago. I will never forget him. I'm sorry for your loss, Ma'am."
That interaction caused a wave of emotion to wash over Karen and I didn't know why. I suddenly worried she might not make it through.
Allison Patrick stood and moved to the center of the circle. She eyed Commander Marlow, who nodded.
"Mrs. McDonald," she began in her business voice, "what happened with your husband over these last six years is classified information, as you already know, but Admiral Dan Dickerson has authorized us to provide a little closure with specifics that may help you and your sons."
Karen sat on the edge of her seat and she was nervous. Allison went on. "Rob and his team were summoned to the Pentagon - a new project. A few weeks later, surveillance on the Du Monte family and you ended. At the time you were arrested, your husband was on lockdown at a top-secret facility working on the next generation of Persephone. Under the direction of the newly created Space Force, the engines would ensure the security of North America from any ICBM launched anywhere on the planet."
She studied Karen's face and then the boys. "Rob never believed you were guilty. The military kept your location from him. It was for his own good, his own peace of mind. He begged his contact at the Pentagon and the Admiral to keep you safe. The trouble was, within weeks of Avril's arrest, the CIA discovered another mole named Sporan. He handed over the plans to the Iranians when he stole them on the test run in the California desert. That's as far as I can go because that information will become public later this week when the Department of Defense announces we've retrieved our tech and puts Iran and China on notice.
"Rob didn't stay away because of anything you did. He, along with a specially trained team of Navy Seals and his assistant Lisa, worked undercover to retrieve the engines the enemy copied and built. He was shot down here, on this spot, trying to smuggle that copy out of harm's way, when the Yemenis fired missiles."
Karen broke down. I went to her side as did Oscar and Kevin. It was hard for me to discern what part of what was said had done the damage. The sobbing slowed as Karen tried to get hold of herself. She gently pushed me away and took both of her two sons' hands in hers.
"The dream," she repeated a few times. Oscar asked her what dream.
"Your father," she said. "He had a dream about crashing over and over, even though the engine had restarted. He thought it was about his fear of almost crashing. What if he was seeing his death for real? My God, what if it was a premonition?" Oscar squeezed her hand tightly.
"I did this to us, to all of us!" she cried out in pain and looked at Oscar, "I sat there at the kitchen table eating breakfast in your apartment on the day your father found out, cavalier and smug, as if we were all in it together, all of us except Rob. I'm so sorry about what I did to you! Kevin, you as well. Please forgive me." The boys were grieving, too. They huddled around their mother.
I could see Karen circling the drain because of this meeting. I gave Allison and the Commander a harsh look. Lt. Patrick rebounded first.
"Karen," she softly said, "look at me. "Robert, your husband, loved you very much. Over the years and many conversations with him, that's one thing I know for sure. I also know that he prioritized the United States and saw it as a personal duty to protect her. I know he believed he could have two loves. Another love."
Allison addressed the boys then, regaling them of some tender or funny stories shared between her and their father. Karen was wiping her eyes and trying to pull herself together. I expected to give her a sedative as soon as the gathering was over. Finally, Allison finished.
"I know Rob wanted to write you," she again focused on Karen. "Even if he had, that correspondence would be classified for now. That's why I'm speaking for Rob to the three of you. He missed you all terribly while he was working here in the Middle East."
The meeting was over, thank God. I took Karen back to her cabin so the boys could finish grieving and get support from their significant others. Karen vehemently refused the sedative I tried to give her.
"I need to start being able to rely on myself, Dr. Walker," she adamantly exclaimed.
My mind wandered along with me as I strode the deck of the Luigi Rizzo. The early evenings were humid and unbearably still. Sweat ran down my face for no reason as I contemplated my next course of treatment with my patient.
Karen had opted for a nap and I was thankful. I needed a break as she did. I watched the sun sink below the horizon as the ship got underway. Our dinner that night was to be a private affair; Karen, her sons, and the other families whose loved ones had perished, including Lisa's.
I decided to pass. The cold shower in my quarters was the perfect way to end this day, I'd thought, but the room was still muggy and stifling. I grabbed some fruit and water from the goodie basket on my dresser and headed top side. I found myself forward, feeling the ship cut its way through the gulf waters. Then, for no real reason at all, I decided to head to the stern. The rear of the ship had barely a sailor to be seen; the full moon seemed to be chasing us.
Then I saw her. At first, I didn't want to believe it was Karen leaning against the stern railing, wearing a long nightgown. I approached her but as I did, I decided not to infringe on her solace. I was being too possessive with my patient and that wasn't good for either of us.
I watched her, studied her, more like. Her long hair was blowing around in a whirlwind and it dawned on me we'd finally caught the sea breeze. Then she did something very unexpected; it took my breath away.
I watched her step up on the railing and swing one leg over so that her crotch rode the top of the rail. I called out to her but I had the wind to my face. Moving quickly toward her, I looked in both directions to see who else was on deck. I saw no one.
I was probably within ten yards when she swung the other leg over. She was facing me directly then and our eyes met.
Karen's face was soaked with tears as she spoke to me softly. "Don't come any closer, Doctor. It won't do either of us any good."
"Karen," my panic apparent. "Please step back over. Whatever you're thinking or feeling, we can work it out together, you and me."
"No," she shook her head. "There is no working it out for me. It's too much to bear. I let those vile people into our lives; I trusted them and treated them like my own family. I was too weak, too blind to see who they really were. By doing so, I caused the destruction of my family."
"No, Karen," I said with conviction. "Think! You were deceived. It was..."
"Stop, Travis." She cut me off. A chill ran down my spine at hearing her call me by my name for the first time. "It was me. I don't know if Philippe was in on it, perhaps I'll never know. I drove Rob away and look what happened. Forget about what happened to me, look at the cost."
It struck me then: The question I should have asked but never did. I didn't want to ask it right then but I had literally nothing to lose. Framing it as a question though, would do no good.
"Karen," I said firmly. "Rob had his two loves and you had yours. I never asked you if you took Philippe as a lover because Rob deserted you for his. I don't need to ask now. We both know the answer. What you were to each other, what the two of you had, it was comfortable; it was a place to retreat to, but it wasn't first love. You know it's true."
"It doesn't matter now," Karen said, fait accompli dripping from her tone. I'd been moving a step closer, slowly, an inch at a time. It felt like I was still a mile away.
"The sad play is over," she went on. "The characters are dead or twisted. There's no good reason for me to go on. I've lost them both, and I can't take the loneliness. Maybe I'm a coward. Maybe I'll see them in a few minutes or I never will but at least the pain and regret will be gone."
I ran as fast as I could and it startled her momentarily. She let go just as I reached the rail. How my left hand got hold of her right wrist, I'll never know. She hung there, her full weight pulling on me.
"Give me your hand," I screamed and coaxed all at once. Her other hand remained at her side. Please, Karen, think of your sons. Aren't they worth living for?" I knew I was begging but didn't care one bit.
Karen stared deeply into my eyes, hers ruined and foreordained. "Travis," it was almost a whisper. "Let me go. Tell my boys I love them and go home to your life. Please."
She knew, as I did, that I wouldn't be able to hold her for more than a few seconds so the pleading was for my benefit. Her wrist slipped through my grip and our eyes stayed glued together until she hit the water - thirty feet below.
Shock. That's what it was. I'd seen it; I'd been trained in everything about it. There were others at my side, crewmen, I think. A siren wailed in the background, probably signaling 'man overboard.' The ship banked hard to port. Rescue boats seemed to be in the water immediately. Many minutes later, I understood floodlights had been on us even before she jumped.
Rescue and then recovery efforts went on long into the night. As quickly as the ship's crew had acted, I fully expected Karen to be brought back aboard alive but her body was never found. It was as if that hallowed place had simply enveloped her.
The return trip was understandably somber, particularly as Oscar had difficulty with the loss of both his parents so close to each other. Kevin was upset as well but it seemed that his stoicism balanced the sorrow of his long ago departed father.
I kept pondering the futility Karen must have felt as the full realization of her actions so long ago ravaged her consciousness and rendered her emotionally unable to continue, even at the prospect of leaving her sons and their families. I felt tremendous guilt at my inability to talk her off the rail and then failing in my rescue attempt. Deep down, clinically, I comprehended her despair but it still hit me as such a waste after she had endured so much.
Then, I remembered our first meeting when she thought I had visited her to tell her of Rob's death; the vacuous eyes, the pained expression of despair. When I told her he was alive, the light in her eyes shone brightly as if she had been reborn. The contrast wasn't lost on me as I reflected on why she may have decided that she could no longer endure.
Suddenly, I asked myself whether the other loves really mattered now.
>>>>
I landed and debarked with Karen's children and their spouses at the same hangar in Albany from where we'd left. Even though my car was there, Ivy stood behind the stanchions, anxiously waiting for me. I hugged Oscar and Kevin and wished them well. They'd made me stop telling them 'sorry' back aboard the frigate.
At home, my family was there to receive and love me. I'd only been gone a week but watching them all interact that first day back, I was amazed at how they'd taken to Ivy. She'd quit her 'other' job after our second date and we'd already been discussing a possible future together before I left for the Middle East.
It was hard only being able to tell all of them that Karen had suffered a fatal accident. I could say no more or risk prosecution. I'm sure my dad and grandad could see the signs of shock that were still apparent.
The following morning, Ivy was there making us some breakfast when our news feeds pinged on our devices. Livestreamed, the President was telling the public about preplanned airstrikes in Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, and Yemen. Ivy looked at me, nonverbally begging me to tell her, but I just shook my head.
Two days later, the Department of Defense, along with Pentagon officials, held a joint press conference detailing a new Space Force initiative similar to Isreal's Iron Dome. The animation showed a preemptive missile strike against the US and ships that looked more like sleeker space shuttles than planes heading into the upper atmosphere at great speed and firing lasers down at the missiles.
That luncheon meeting with the Lieutenant and Commander now made sense. The engines, probably version twelve or higher of Persephone, put the military in the position of having the high ground.
Ivy stayed with me. Some days, she'd go to her apartment for laundry or cleaning after work. She was worried about me, I could tell, and that I was haunted. We'd come home from work, make and eat a nice dinner together and then talk late into the night. Since I could say little about Karen, we instead talked about her circumstances before her arrest, which actually helped me through my stages of grief. She encouraged me to write my journal. Her capacity to listen and offer encouragement endeared me then and still does today, rendering Marci as much of a distant part of my past as anything before or since.
We spent hours talking about what it would take to get where Rob and Karen wound up and also how not to go there. When we made love, it was mutual, and rarely a word was needed. We were reading each other and firing on all cylinders.
We went exceptionally slow, Ivy and me. We tied the knot two years later after she graduated with a BS in psychology. There were very few days during that period when I didn't think about Karen. The haunting may officially be over but her face falling away from me will never leave.
Ivy and I know how important it is to put the other first, always. At least Karen did good for two other people who've learned from her and Rob's mistakes.
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Posted on : Apr 14, 2025
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