Then Surely We

"Now you're going back to your lover. There's nothing for him to do, nothing to say."

She groaned. I felt anger, not pity. Dad walked into the room then. He sat down with us, heavily, and I noticed he looked older.

She looked at Dad. "I don't know what to do. I've wrecked the most important relationship of my life."

He shook his head and gave it his thoughtful pause. "Really? You don't know what to do? Your mother has been here for you every day of your life, and you can't think of what to do now you've made a big mistake?"

He had his eyes on hers, and for once she was looking back. "You know exactly what to do, if you're strong enough to do it. Do what a good woman would do after damaging forever the great love of her life. Do what's right."

Jill looked at him. "Do you all hate me?"

This time he didn't pause. "No. Haven't you figured out how love works? You had all of us, Kyle... Your life isn't over. Hopefully his isn't either. I doubt you can make this up to him, but living well from now on might make your life as good as it can be," he said. "I just hope you haven't wrecked him."

Chapter 5: Torments

Kyle Franklin narrating

Jill was in Afghanistan about three months when she died.

I wondered if she openly slept with Devereaux during those months, if she sneaked in with him some nights, or if he found her. Combat was the perfect cover for adulterers, I was sure. Of course, I knew nothing of modern combat but what I read in Jill's few emails or saw on the news. She worked in a Forward Operating Base helping with logistics tasks; she was not actually fulfilling a combat role although she would be in danger from rocket propelled grenades, or raids, IEDs, ambushes in transit, etc.

I assumed the colonel was in the same FOB. Did they keep the affair going? Did other officers or Marines wink about them, looking the other way? Were they jealous of the colonel getting some from the major? She mentioned in an email that she told him nothing but that the affair was over. I wondered if it were true. I wondered if Devereaux had other affairs or only this one.

I met Devereaux once before deployment. It started with a phone call from his wife.

"Hello, Kyle Franklin?" I heard a woman's voice on the telephone. It was early April, a month before the deployment, and I was editing a bad writer's story.

"Yes, this is Kyle," I replied.

"Good, this is Marge Devereaux, Colonel Devereaux's wife. Your wife Jill works in his headquarters," she explained.

"Yes, Mrs. Devereaux, how can I help you?"

"Well, actually, you're the only husband of a WM in the regiment and I wanted to check up..." and we had a lengthy talk on the phone. She was very pleasant, and I had the feeling she was quite involved in her husband's success. I assured her I'd be staying on base most of the deployment, that I did have one or two commitments but I would be accessible by email or phone call.

"I hope you'll come to the officers family gathering later this month," she said. "It'll be a chance to meet Ike and some of the men your wife works with. It's the week before pre-deployment leaves."

"I wouldn't miss it," I said.

It was an informal affair. From second lieutenants to Colonel Devereaux, the officers of the regiment and their families gathered beneath a pavilion on a brilliant warm Saturday afternoon in April. Kids were on the playground, climbing and running. Hot dogs and beer were in supply, and most Marines were in desert cammies. Jill and I wandered about, meeting some of the officers she worked with or over, until we came to Mrs. Devereaux and the colonel.

Jill said, "Mrs. Devereaux, I'm Jill Kinnison. I work in your husband's headquarters."

They shook hands as Mrs. Devereaux said, "Marge, call me Marge. So good to finally meet you, Major." Marge was blonde and fortyish, attractive but not flashy. Her smile was genuine, her handshake friendly.

"My husband, Kyle Franklin," Jill introduced me as the colonel looked over. He stared at me, then held out his hand. My wife introduced me to her lover, and I noticed nothing.

"Mr. Franklin," he said. He grabbed my hand as if it were misshapen and he would mold it into a more streamlined shape.

"Good to meet you, Colonel," I almost gasped.

"So happy to have Major Kinnison in the regiment," he said. "Run's her group like a top. She's been a great addition to the unit. Smoothed out all the supply kinks." He looked at me with a difficult expression, as if measuring me and not being terribly impressed. He was six inches taller than I.

"Jill's sharp, no doubt about it," I smiled and said, and she punched me in the arm.

Marge said, "You can always call me if there's some problem, Kyle, or if you have a question. Be sure you get the list of numbers. And I'll email you everything as the deployment progresses."

"Good. Are you planning any gatherings of the families? During the deployment? I think I missed a gathering back when I was at school in February," I said.

"Oh, you're going to school?" she asked.

"I teach occasionally at writers' workshops. I was at Wake Forest that week," I replied. It was my third Wake Forest Symposium.

"Kyle's an editor. He works for various book publishers," Jill said. I noticed Devereaux look over and down at me differently, as if I might have a purpose in the world after all. Perhaps he intended to write a memoir someday.

"Yes, as to the gatherings, but just informal things. I will be in touch, Kyle," Marge said, turning to another couple who just walked over.

The colonel said, "I'll need to speak with you after this, Major. Better yet, I'll just text."

"Yes, sir," Jill said. Others were waiting for the colonel's attention, so we made our polite withdrawal.

"What did you think?" Jill asked.

"I think he crushed my hand," I said, flexing it.

She laughed. "Yeah, he's famous for that. The enlisted men call him Iron Ike for it."

"He's an arrogant guy, I'm surprised you get along with him so well," I said. "He was posturing."

Jill said, "They're all arrogant. No one wants a self-doubting commander in combat. He's competent, at least as far as supply and finances are concerned."

I nodded. We went over to talk with some company commanders and their families, closer to our ages. There were kids everywhere, and it was a pleasant enough gathering.

During my three-month withdrawal from society, many times, I thought back to that picnic to recall if there were any indication that Jill and Devereaux were screwing regularly and often. Did anyone roll eyes at me or us? Did anyone know of the affair? Was I a ridiculous figure to that regiment? I'd seen no glimmer in Marge's eyes. Of course, some of his arrogance might have been Devereaux's gloating at the ignorant cuckold. I don't think it's possible for a proud man to screw a married woman without it affecting his ego. In a contest for a married woman, a cuckold has already lost.

I received four emails from Jill during her deployment. They were carefully worded because a censor might see them. The first was a memoir of her affair with details and names omitted, and I read it and put it in a new efolder. It said the affair started shortly after Devereaux and she met.

That gave me a start. She didn't mention the miscarriage. Jill miscarried after Christmas. Was the miscarriage involved in the affair? Suddenly the affair became even more sinister, as I contemplated it in my motel room.

That letter ended with a paragraph that she no longer spoke to her colonel except for business; she wrote, "I told him our affair was over. I didn't explain except to say that I would not talk about it anymore, and I expected him to leave it alone. He does not know you discovered it, nor that we are separated. He will not know. I'm doing my best to face what I did, and face this war. I want to hold my head up around my parents again. Maybe someday."

The second email was an apology and a request that I consider saving our marriage. She explained her feelings for me, her failure, her realization that she didn't love him. It was only sex, never about love, she said. "He never considered leaving his wife," she wrote, "nor did I want to risk our marriage. We didn't think we could be discovered."

Perhaps the Marines taught Jill arrogance, like the others.

The third and fourth letters were brief. Jill talked about her job and the dangers she faced. She ended each with a statement of love for me and the hope she had not ruined our relationship. The fourth letter ended, "I doubt our relationship can ever have the fullness it once did. It was all my fault. But that does not mean it can't be good and worthy."

Did her colonel read her letters? Were his hands on her breasts as she clicked send?

As with the first two, I put these in the folder labeled "Jill."

I was so angry. I hated her, him, the Marines, the war, all of it. The idea I might love Jill was not appealing. Did she fuck other Marines? How'd she get through Okinawa unaccompanied for a year, if she couldn't control her sex drive when I was living with her?

We used a diaphragm to prevent pregnancy, Jill not wanting to take pills and preferring to feel me bare. When she became pregnant, I assumed we'd just been unlucky or too rambunctious. She informed me at a restaurant; she was weepy and very emotional. I assumed it was the surprise of it that brought tears and she insisted they were happy. I thought it was the emotion of the suddenly pregnant. She was five or six weeks along and said she was pleased to be pregnant, just sorry she'd have to miss the scheduled deployment.

Her hormones must have been affecting her, I thought. She was very emotional over the next days, crying for no reason in the evenings at bedtime. She would inform her colonel at eight weeks and set the wheels in motion to leave her job; pregnant majors didn't deploy to war zones. Her duties continued, including a suddenly scheduled assignment in California.

She miscarried during the seventh week, while on that temporary duty the first week of January. She was teaching a seminar to enlisted men in her field aboard Camp Pendleton, and had to face it alone. She was only supposed to be gone for ten days, leaving on a Thursday and returning a week Sunday.

She called me that Monday evening to say she felt queasy and was going to bed. Then she bled, she cramped; she went to the bathroom crying in the middle of the night, she said. She lost our child in a toilet. She had a D&C at a civilian hospital the next morning and then called to tell me the sad news that afternoon, and to say she'd be flying to RDU the next morning for a few days rest. Could I meet her plane? Someone else would take over the seminar.

She was alone for all that, so far away and without anyone she knew to help or comfort her. If she'd called, I would have flown out there, and Ayla or her mother would have, also. The first I knew of the thing was after the procedure. That was perhaps the first time I realized how independent and competent Jill was. I was stricken by the sadness as I called her dad, but proud of how she could handle even such a personal crisis alone.

We were tough, though. One miscarriage was bad luck. We would get past it.

Every memory was suspect now. Was all that a machination? Was the baby mine? Was she unfaithful that early? I couldn't remember the date of the first mention in her phone, and the memoir letter didn't specify the start, or anything else really. I counted back the months, the weeks. The miscarriage at six or seven weeks, about seven or eight after she'd joined the Sixth Marines. She'd known the colonel a week or so when she probably became pregnant; could it have been his baby? So soon?

Was it all—TDY, trip to California, leading a workshop, phone calls, miscarriage—an elaborate ruse to fool me? Was I duped into grieving the loss of another man's child?

If ever one marriage becomes two individuals, both are the less for it. I thought of her with Devereaux, and I knew I would always be inferior in her mind.

*

Kyle Franklin narrating

With the news of her death, and that morning of coffee and reminiscences, I drifted into melancholy. The Kinnisons went back to bed, and Ayla went home to tell her daughters that Aunt Jill was dead. I stayed on the couch, waiting for sleep that would not come.

Disconnected memories came unbidden. I saw her diving for grounders, throwing to first, running down a runner and getting another girl at the plate. I remembered how she shook after sliding her mom's car into a parked car on an icy day when she had just gotten a license. After my grandma died, she rested her head on my shoulder and let me cry. I remember her so happy when I handed her the diamond ring when we got engaged, the ring too small to fit her finger.

I remembered finally having full sex, as she reached 18, touching her breasts, her hand searching for me, and her crying after we had intercourse for that first time. It was a warm memory. I thought we would last forever.

I was sure I was first, even if I wasn't last.

I lay on the couch, pondering, unable to sleep yet. I would sell her car, give her clothes to Goodwill. I would need to leave Camp Lejeune, find a place for myself. I'd probably move to Columbus, to be near the Zenger offices there; I'd accepted their job offer and my job would change in September or October. I suddenly remembered I had a business to run. I sat up and found my phone.

Murray needed to know. I sent her a text: "Mo, Jill was killed a few days ago in Afghanistan. Everything's an emotional uproar with this on top of.. you know. Could you let Sharon know? Thanks so much. You're a peach." I dumped a lot of work on Murray those three months, and now this.

In seconds I had a reply: "Oh, no. So sorry, Kyle. Call anytime. I'll reach Sharon."

Chapter 6: The Older Generation

Penny Kinnison, Jill's mother, narrating

Jill and Kyle weren't just a marriage; they were a personality. Their marriage confirmed that they were one better person each. They were more than the sum of their individualities, Gil said once.

Now, Jill and Kyle were broken, and Jill gone.

Kyle arrived around 6:30 the morning we learned of Jill's death. He knocked on the door and Ayla jumped up to let him in. He could have walked in, the door was unlocked, but since learning of her affair, he'd changed. It broke my heart to see him so.

There would be no reconciliation, no forgiveness, no them.

Ayla and Kyle hugged for a long time at the door, whispering. They were very close. Dan and I let them have their moment together. Kyle looked so, so sad. He was shaven and clean, but his eyes were dark from little or bad sleep. His clothes looked rumpled but clean. They finally walked into the living room, Ayla's hand in his.

I hugged him for a long time. Dan came over and put his hand on Kyle's shoulder. Kyle cried mostly silent tears. I said, "She loved you, Kyle. I have no doubt. No matter the mistakes she made. She died loving you." He just nodded.

Kyle poured himself coffee and then joined us. He leaned back into his end of the couch. Dan and I held hands and just stared for a while, wishing it weren't so. Ayla sat in the chair, musing and sipping her coffee.

We told stories and remembered Jill and the kids growing up.

"I think Gil would have liked running with us all, as kids," Kyle said.

Ayla laughed. The idea of the little round guy running with them, tagging along, always included in this game or that, was fun. Gil was fun. He was a non-stereotypical nerd. He liked everything social, but he wasn't good at sports, he wasn't much into physical games; he claimed he was always a year or so ahead of his own age in school, so he was left out. "I'm always tagged first in every game."

When it came to women, he was initially dubious and then thankful for Ayla. Ayla had actually asked him out for their first date. He probably assumed he'd have no chance with her before that. I remembered Gil standing in the kitchen once, before they engaged, and asking her, "What do YOU see in ME?" He sounded incredulous. It broke my heart, hearing him, until Ayla answered.

She stood up and put her arms around him. She had five inches on him at least. "It's no mystery. You're the smartest, finest man I've ever known." Gil stared at her, decided that she meant it, and kissed her in front of Dan and me. It was the longest, hardest kiss I ever saw from those two.

"Yeah," I said, leaving that memory for another. "You had every other kid in town cutting through our yards. Why not Gil, too?"

Kyle looked over. "I always meant to apologize for running through your flowers, but Ayla was about to tag me and... " I laughed, first time that day. Possibly the only time, also.

"Jill was so proud of you, Kyle," Dan said, "when you were promoted to editor. She called us up from her office just to tell us."

Kyle looked surprised. "I didn't know she called you."

Heads wagged, sadly happily.

"We had some times." It was Kyle, looking on the good side. I didn't look up. I hoped his optimism was coming back. They'd been such a wonderful couple, with so many good moments.

Later that afternoon, Ayla and Gil brought the girls over. We'd all napped, Kyle on the couch, Ayla after returning home and telling the girls Aunt Jill was gone. Their car pulled up, and Kyle and I went out on the porch to meet them all. I held Kyle's arm. It just felt like he should be touched, included.

The girls walked up and hugged Kyle, whom they had not seen for some months, and then me. They went inside. Their eyes were red from crying. Gil came up the steps then, holding Ayla's hand and only releasing it to grasp Kyle's.

"How you doing, bud?" Gil asked. Kyle said nothing, overwhelmed again, but shook his head.

"You're one of us, always, you know," Gil said. It was a stock phrase of his, with different meanings on different occasions. Now it meant he was feeling the same emotions and it was tough.

Gil hugged me. "A sad and awful day," he said.

Kyle and Gil were fast friends. They were exceptional in different, almost complementary ways. Each brought people together. Kyle lost some competitiveness with Gil because he liked being with him. Gil gained a less nerdy but still intellectual friend he'd lacked. They hardly noticed that Kyle could destroy Gil in tennis, or that Gil could take Kyle's car in poker. They still played both games occasionally. In tennis, Kyle might not remember the score when he played Gil. It was more about keeping a volley going as long as possible than winning a point. And in poker, they agreed no property or money would ever change hands. Over their college years, they became allies in the pursuit of the sisters and friends to each other.

Kyle asked Gil to be his best man, saying, "I have to find a way to get you in the pictures."

I remembered Ayla and Jill talking about it once, when Jill and Kyle were home before her trip to Okinawa. We were at the park, watching them finish their tennis before we all went to lunch.

"Look at them. They play on and on and don't care who wins. Kyle is different around Gil," Jill said.

Ayla nodded. "Yeah. And Gil. It's like he's finally found someone who was not a nerd and still understands him." Ayla and Jill were smiling as if they'd done very well. I agreed.

"You know," I added, "we're very proud of the boys you girls married."

It wasn't but another few months that Gil was recognized again for his papers on the Gilstrap Eigenvectors Permutations, which he published at Chapel Hill. UNC awarded him for them. I know engineering firms often hired him under his company name, and he made some money. I didn't know there were freelance mathematicians, but Gil seemed to do nicely, and he was usually available to help with the girls.