Then Surely We

It was bittersweet. There was a part of her we didn't know at all, and it now affected every good thing. Love can be tarnished.

Jill's life ended with an ellipsis.

Chapter 3: Inklings

Marge Devereaux, Regimental Commander's wife, before deployment, narrating

Dwight finally gave me an updated list of all the officers in the regiment: wives, living-togethers, family, whatever, in early April. There should be no more officer transfers, he insisted. So I had their addresses and emails, phone numbers. I could contact the spouses of the battalion commanders and officers: all wives and one husband.

"You have a woman in the regiment?" I asked, surprised. We were eating supper late again. He'd worked till nine. Most Tuesdays he worked late.

"Oh, yeah, she's in accounting. Just got major, a year early, I believe. Kinnison, Jill Kinnison. Got her last November, I think."

He was clipped, abrupt. It was his manner when he didn't want to go on about something.

I said, "Says here she's married."

"Yeah. Haven't met him yet. We should get everyone together. Officer spouses, anyway. Oh, she did say she didn't take his last name. I don't know what his is." He sounded a bit derisive with that last mention.

I looked at the paper. Kyle Franklin.

Dwight hadn't mentioned he had a Woman Marine assigned, and a higher-ranking one, at that. Her specialty was not combat arms so she would not be in the combat chain of command. Still, she'd been working with him in the logistics shop for some months.

"I'll organize something. Give me a date. And I want to talk to the wives of the battalion officers, so they know what they can do to help," I said. I liked seeing all the families and children; Ike and I had decided not to have any children, and I sometimes regretted it.

Dwight looked at me, smiling. "We went through it last war. Now you're the woman they'll look to. I know it's not a regulation or order, but..." he said, "it's appreciated."

"I know. I don't mind. It makes the Marines a little more bearable. It's easy to feel alone."

He nodded.

I thought, Jill Kinnison, huh? He was dismissive, unusually so. I reached no conclusion, but I thought: not again...

Dwight said nothing as we finished the food.

"Meeting go okay?" I asked. He held meetings with his battalion commanders on Tuesday evenings.

"Yeah. They're excited about the deployment. Henry, that's third battalion, he's so nervous he can't sleep, and since his wife left him he's practically living in his battalion area."

"Wonder how she's doing? Are they divorced?" I asked. I didn't know Lily Henry very well, but I had met her. I knew she took the kids back to Pennsylvania and her parents, but not why. There's a lot of stress being a Marine officer's wife. The lower enlisted men's wives had a lot of trouble, too, some living in trailers off base, but usually the battalion and company officer wives looked in on them, to some degree. Sometimes.

I decided I'd call Major Kinnison's husband. I didn't know what a Marine husband's life might be like.

"Think I'll call him," I said.

"Who? Colonel Henry?" Dwight said.

"No. Major Kinnison's husband. I wonder what he thinks about deployment. Might be different for a husband," I said.

"Go ahead," Dwight said.

We watched TV and Dwight pressed a uniform for the next day, as happened so many nights. I went upstairs and found a nightie I hoped would impress him, but when I came downstairs he acted as if I'd catch cold. Sometimes Dwight was an unenthusiastic lover, recently.

"I'm here if you want me," I said. Usually, as his unit ramped up for deployment, Ike would want sex daily, or even twice a day. We laughed about it before his last deployment. He'd come home and I'd be hiding in some skimpy outfit, or topless... Somehow, he always found me.

He smiled. "You look too good. Tomorrow night, I promise. You know Tuesdays are so long... " he said.

I tried not to be disappointed, but I thought of him and missed his sex.

Chapter 4: Discovery

Ayla Gilstrap, sister of Major Jill Kinnison, narrating

They weren't divorced. There'd been no time. Kyle discovered Jill's infidelity a week before she deployed. He was my friend, my brother-in-law, my buddy. I'd have loved him if Jill hadn't, before Gil came along. They were that couple everyone knew belonged together. If ever two were destined, it was they. An affair was not just unlikely, it was impossible. No, it was useless.

It sank Kyle. I saw the light go out of his eyes as he descended into depression over the course of a few seconds. I thought of the end of the second Terminator movie as the Terminator sank into the molten metal. That was Kyle, sitting at our kitchen table that evening, but his submergence was not self-sacrifice. His was a martyrdom to commitment. He never thought she'd hurt him like that. No one did. I didn't know there could be such pain as I felt, and I wasn't the one she most betrayed.

For her "pre-deployment leave," Jill and Kyle flew to town Thursday afternoon. Mom, Dad and I met them on the porch as they carried their bags from the rental car. Gil was on the phone and would meet them inside.

"Mom! Dad!" Jill said, hurrying up to us, hugging first the one and then the other parent, then me. "Ayla, you're so thin!" she exclaimed, looking me up and down. I have kids and work hard to stay slim.

Kyle said, smiling that engaging smile of his, "It's so good to be home. Mom. Dad." He hugged Mom and shook Dad's hand like it was a natural thing, because it was. Kyle called our parents Mom and Dad since fourth grade or so, and it was never a joke or competition or strange. We didn't even notice when he started. On the porch, he hugged me finally and I felt that old churning I'd never admitted aloud, not even to Gil. We went inside.

Twenty or so old friends stopped in over the next two hours to talk and laugh and remember. There were new babies to see, and passed oldsters to commiserate over, sports to talk and stories to tell. We avoided the war; no one wanted to think of Jill in danger. Some of the talk was funny. Some remarked that it was easier to reach Jill to give Kyle messages than to call him directly. Kyle just smiled. I don't think he liked cell phones. He guffawed at all the things Jill's phone could do.

It was about two hours later that the terrible revelation came. The guests were departed, food was put away, and dishes were wiped and placed in the dishwasher or sink. Gil left to round up our girls from a friend's house. We were sitting around the table, Dad and Kyle drinking Bud, seltzer water for Mom and me. Mom and Dad were on one side and Jill, Kyle, and I on the other, when Jill excused herself to the bathroom.

Kyle was saying, "I have a new opportunity, also, working for a publishing house. I'll talk to Jill about it soon." Her phone rang then, right in front of Kyle, with the regimental commander's name and rank flashing onto the screen. Kyle pushed a button offhandedly while finishing his sentence to Mom and Dad, and a text popped up.

"Missing you already. Can't forget Tuesday evening. Hope you're not sore! Come back early and I'll make it worth your while."

Kyle smiled, which was often his immediate reaction to anything, but he couldn't simply justify this text. The smile twisted on his lips. The message was jarringly suggestive, and he became quickly, unusually serious. I read it from beside him and gasped. It might have been innocent.

"Wrong button," he muttered so only I could hear. "That looks like enough for a search warrant." His voice sounded wry. Perhaps it was insecurity he felt.

He looked at me, and I'll never forget his expression as he struggled with what to do: respect her privacy, or find the answer that both of us suspected and feared. He didn't speak for the first moment as he considered. Finally he said, looking in my eyes with his suddenly dark, "I have to know now." He was calm.

Mom and Dad must have been perplexed at our suddenly private talk; they couldn't see the screen of the phone from across the table. Kyle paged through Jill's text messages, saw several risqué and sexual texts from Colonel Dwight Deveraux. I put my hand on his arm but I couldn't speak. It was unforeseen, evil.

I esteemed my little sister. I was always so proud of her athletic skills and test scores and character. I was so proud of her career in the Marines. She was so STRONG and good. Her love for Kyle was so adamant.

Kyle switched to sent messages, after locating the prompt, and saw that Jill had suggested certain acts, talked of "longing for his thick pole," a recent one about "taking my last virginity," and many arranging meetings. Kyle slumped; I held his left arm with both my hands, squeezing hard. I felt a tear escape my eye. Jill came back as he read a message from that very day that she hoped they'd "be able to fuck in the war zone."

Jill saw my hands around Kyle's arm and tears on my face, and froze at the change in atmosphere. She saw him fumbling with her phone. "Ah, here it is!" he said, finding the off button. The screen went dark. He stood up then and handed it to Jill.

"Colonel Devereaux texted. He'd like you to return early," he said, looking at Jill disingenuously. "Perhaps you should." He was suddenly in control of the room, and I noticed he did not give anyone a chance to speak.

He turned to Mom and Dad. "Mr. and Mrs. Kinnison," he said formally, slightly bowing his head toward them, "thank you for the homecoming. It was wonderful." Addressing them more formally warned Jill, although with Kyle she'd assume it was a joke. Actually, it signified a decision on his part. Mom and Dad looked surprised and probably wondered fleetingly if they'd hurt his feelings in some way. They started to remark but Kyle raised a hand slightly and shook his head.

He said, "I'm afraid I can't stay here now. Ayla, if you'd explain after I've gone?" He looked at me; he was struggling to control his voice and emotions. He was pleading with me. I nodded slightly, realizing our lives would never be the same. He said, "I appreciate it. Thanks."

He looked at Jill for a brief moment, the last time he saw her, as it happened. I saw his sadness and her bewilderment. He shook his head, reached out his right hand and touched her cheek with three of his fingers.

She asked, sounding confused, "Kyle? What's going on?" She sounded like a little girl again.

He dropped his hand from her, turned and left. Since they'd just arrived home, their bags were in the living room. He picked up two and continued out the door without hesitation. His escape took only a few seconds. The whole scene took only thirty or so.

It was a moving, handsome exit.

I looked at my sister, who appeared both mystified and angry at being ignored by her husband. I hated her at that moment. She had been first in his whole life, and now it was obvious he was not always first in hers.

I shook my head. "He read your texts to and from your colonel," I said. I looked at Mom and Dad: "She's having an affair with him. Kyle just saw their sex messages to each other."

Mom jumped up aghast, saying, "NO!" as her chair crashed over backwards into the refrigerator. Her hands were clasped in a gesture of exasperation. I think that may have been the only time in her life she felt incredulity.

Jill cried out "Aaah!" and tried to get around the table, but Mom and her chair blocked that way to the door and Kyle's chair blocked this one. By the time Jill got around, went through the living room, and opened the door, Kyle was backing the car out.

"Kyle! Kyle! KYYYYYLLLLE!" she called, and I remembered her calling his name at his back door early on so many mornings. This time he didn't respond, the sing-songiness of it sounded a lament, and her crying it was dolorous. She saw the rental turn down the street and disappear around the bend. Her calls became woeful as she lost hope of reaching him. She stood there a few moments, holding the door open and looking into the dark. Her head was down as she turned around.

She came back to a not-very-welcoming set of parents and a sibling who felt almost as betrayed as her husband. She looked at me and said, "Why did he open my phone?" She assumed his respect for her would protect her from discovery. His virtue would secure her vice.

I shook my head. "Your lover texted. I think Kyle meant to turn it off but he hit open instead. Then he had to know..." I saw her eyes flicker when I said lover; at least she felt some anguish.

I stood. I couldn't contain how I felt. It welled up and had to get out. "How could you?" I asked furiously, teeth together, spitting it out loudly. I had never talked to her with this depth of fury. All our arguments were spats until this one. I looked at her and she lowered her eyes. She shook her head and sat down. I said, "We were his family since he was six. He has no one else, he was always with us. He was one of us! Us!" I was shouting.

Kyle was our "not brother." To betray him betrayed our family. It was the marriage that was so natural: two kids who grew up together, loving, learning sex together, marrying, doing it right, fully. How could we be a family without Kyle? How could we be a family now with Jill?

We were all quiet for a long time. Jill's face was locked as stone, betraying nothing. Mom was staring for some moments, leaning on Dad. I had tears streaking my cheeks. Someone groaned.

Dad shook his head after several minutes, and said directly to Jill, in a calm, clear, hard voice, "We watched the three of you grow up. It was... joyous, one of the best parts of our lives." He looked at Mom, and she nodded. She was still with us. "We thought we taught you character and dedication. Virtue. Kyle fit with us. He called me Dad, and never expected anything for it." He shook his head with a little half-smile, remembering the optimism suddenly lost. He wasn't finished.

"If ever two were one, YOU were! Never did that boy so much as consider loving someone other than you, Jill. He missed you for a year when you were in Okinawa, uncounted months of temporary duties, weekend work, him living mostly alone, going to school, working in military housing, and waiting for you to come back. He was crushed, absolutely crushed, by your miscarriage and that you had to go through it alone. He chose a career that could complement your rigid one. If he ever complained or wished it different, I never heard it. I've never seen a man so in love with a woman. Never." Jill nodded, because it was so obviously true. She got the reference.

Dad was seething, and visibly trying to control himself. He had never been violent, never hit us, never considered it, probably. He was shaking as he held Mom.

"I'm so sorry," Jill whispered. The Marine major looked like a child again, eyes suddenly dark and looking down. She was 31.

It was all she could say. It was a rue.

Dad said, "You Marines make a big production about your motto, greeting people with it, abbreviating it, perhaps diminishing it. You, YOU betrayed the person most loyal to you. I never..." He struggled to go on. He gathered himself, he was so angry. When he did, his voice was a forceful whisper: "I never, ever, want to hear you say Semper Fi to someone. Do you hear me? Never!"

Jill looked up at that. She had only considered the motto as regards her Corps and the faith that sustains men and women in combat. Dad didn't see it that way. Always faithful was "always" faithful. You don't choose when to be virtuous. I think Dad opened her eyes a little. She had a strange expression on her countenance, almost as if a light came on. I think she learned something in that moment.

Mom was calm. Dad put his arm around her and she leaned her head against his shoulder, an unusual display for them. Mom said, "It was pride. I was too proud." Five, then six minutes passed in difficult silence, all of us feeling a heavy weight. We had never experienced a loss of love.

Our family had lost its innocence. We were supposed to be the good in the world; other children lied and stole, but Mom was sure hers did not. Now her surety was lost. She believed in that moment that her effort to be a good mother was ultimately a failure. She was at best average, probably not even that, she must have felt. The immorality of her adult daughter was because of her poor mothering.

Mom said, looking at me probably because I had the girls, "I'll never give advice to another mother again." Jill looked at her as if she'd been slapped.

Jill eventually left the table without a word and went to her old room. She slept in her travel clothes that night, or her underwear, probably because she didn't want to face any of us by walking into the living room to get her bags. Mom and I eventually talked about the situation; Dad sat there listening to us, trying to calm down. We wondered if Kyle would ever feel part of our family, now, or if he'd pull away.

After midnight, I remembered I had work in the morning. I went home and told Gil.

Gil shook his head. "It's hard to believe," he said finally. He hugged me and thought about the ramifications. "Kyle will never be the same again," he said. Gil was close to Kyle—not as close as I, but very close for two such different people.

"Nothing will ever be the same again," I said, and Gil accepted the overstatement.

Kyle would sink, and I assumed he would find solace in depression for a while, if that made sense. I always felt that Jill was the source of his happiness. I couldn't imagine him happy without her. I hoped he'd slog through the depression and then rise. I wanted him to be that furious husband who could find happiness even without the great love of his life. Perhaps Jill would only be the first great love of his life.

No one had much to say to Jill for the rest of her leave. It was as if there was a pall over us, making every movement or word too much effort. I could escape by going to my home, to my girls and Gil. (We explained that Aunt Jill was home but Uncle Kyle had to go away suddenly. They were used to Kyle and Jill being away.) Jill stayed for her whole leave, perhaps in the hope Kyle would come talk to her. Several times I saw her crying.

Once, she sat with me in the living room and said, "Mom talked to me."

I said, "Oh? How'd that go?"

Jill's eyes were full, and then a tear fell. "She asked me, how could anyone not love Kyle enough to be faithful to him?"

"And what did you say?" I asked.

"I said I didn't know," she said. "Mom said, 'Oh Jill. You're still protecting your affair.' She got up then and left the room, shaking her head as if I were lying. I'm trying to figure out what she meant."

I didn't say anything. Mom applied her intelligence to children and love and family instead of a degree. She applied her mind to generosity and daily life. There are all kinds of selflessness. I think Mom's as smart as Gil and Kyle, and I know they'd agree with me. Jill was just realizing it.

Jill tried to call Kyle at least once every day. He'd answer, but he wouldn't say anything. Once she started to talk about it over the phone, but he hung up.

I was with her during her last attempt from our old home. She stood by the kitchen table. "Come home, Kyle," Jill said, tiredly. "I need to explain," she said. "I have to leave tomorrow." She listened. She held the phone to her ear and looked at me, finally shrugging her shoulders. She heard nothing, or perhaps only his breathing. "I'm so sorry, Kyle. So sorry." She clicked off.

I said nothing immediately. I saw her slowly lower the phone to the table, her shoulders slumped. She didn't move for a minute. I took a seat at the kitchen table.

"I don't know what to do," she said, sitting down. She put her face in her hands. I didn't see tears. It's possible to cry so much that no more tears come.