Note: This is one of my old stories that kept calling to me. Chapter 1 by the same name, but unnumbered, in Erotic Couplings. You can pick up from this point, but it is better if you read that one first.
***
Jon Tyler stood outside the small diner. What was he doing here? It had been seven years. Seven hellish years. A nightmare that he would never awake from. The constant pain in his neck, shoulders, and upper back a continuous reminder of what had happened, what he had become. A monster. Worse than any Hollywood creation. This latest trip to the VA hospital was yet another memento.
So, why was he here? He was incredibly glad to see that the place still existed. With the economic downturn, too many small businesses were failing. He did not want to examine too carefully why it should matter so much to him that this one had not.
But he knew. He knew the truth. This was the last place that he had known even a modicum of happiness. That night had been burned into his charred brain. He had relived it tens of thousands of times over the past seven years.
Not that he thought he would catch a glimpse of her. Alicia. She would be long gone now. A shrink somewhere. Maybe even helping fucked up people like him, but he was beyond all help. Why he kept going was beyond him, but something inside him refused to die, as his friends had that night.
He might have turned then and fled from the memories of what lay on the other side of those glass doors. Except that a young couple, another Marine and his girl practically pushed him through them. He adjusted the hood of his jacket, making sure that his face was completely covered.
She looked up from behind the cash register and smiled. His heart stopped. Came to a complete standstill as she spoke, "Ya'll take a seat. I'll be right with you as soon as I finish up here."
The couple slid into a booth by the window. Jon's heart accelerated as the young Marine reached across the table to grab the hands of his lover. He could only hope that their course was happier than his had been.
He almost turned and left then. But she looked up at him, "Have a seat at the counter. Alison will get you some coffee while I take care of them."
Was it curiosity that made him stay? What was she still doing in this place? What about that psychology degree? Jon was not sure, but once more, that indefinable something compelled him to follow her order.
He alternated, staring into the darkness of that cup and sneaking glimpses as her light. She took the couples' order as she had his that night a lifetime ago. She smiled and joked with the other waitress and cook as she placed the order. The other woman took off her apron and left a moment later.
When she returned to take his order, Jon panicked. Not that there was any chance this woman would recognize him. That IED had made damned sure that not even his own mother could do that. Even his voice had been changed by the tight burn scars that constricted his throat, lowering his voice.
He kept his head down as he placed his order — apple pie. It held precious memories. Her smile radiated, filling some dark reaches of his mind, "Always a good choice."
He knew that she would have stayed and chatted. At three o'clock, the diner was practically empty, just the young couple, what appeared to be a homeless man, and himself. He dropped his head further and brought the cup of coffee to his lips to forestall any conversation. But his brain screamed a million questions, wanted to know all the answers, especially that all-important one: what was she doing here, Jon could not bring himself to take the risk.
That night and this woman was his one perfect memory. If he knew the truth, it might shatter that illusion.
So, she turned her attention to the homeless man. "What else can I get you, Steve?"
Her smile was just as bright for this man that most would ignore, and many would condemn. His chest tightened, and it had nothing to do with another spasm of the muscles constricted by the scars that covered half of it.
"Thank you, ma'am. But I'm good. How much do I owe you?"
She turned and grabbed a broom from the corner, "The sidewalk out front could use a sweep if you have the time."
The man nodded, and Jon would have sworn his eyes clouded over as he took the broom and disappeared out front.
She went back to the kitchen to collect the couple's order but managed to smile as she passed him. His eyes were riveted as she chatted with the couple, making certain that they had everything they needed.
Then she turned her attention to him once more. How he had craved that attention that night. How he had savored those memories for the past seven years, replaying each and every one of them over and over again in his darkest moments. He was determined to catalog each movement, each word, and add these too to his precious cache.
She poured more coffee into his cup and brought the pie, steaming hot with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Jon need not have worried about deflecting the conversation that he was sure to follow as a tiny whirlwind of energy and joy blew through the door, followed closely behind by the waitress.
"Mama, mama," the little girl squealed in delight as she propelled herself at the woman he loved.
Yes, somewhere in the darkness of the past seven years, Jon had come to accept that in a single night, he had fallen helplessly in love with a woman he would never have. Why else would those memories that sustained him? Her face that he had seen in that split second, which had determined life and death for a dozen men.
As his chest tightened, even more, he told himself that he should be happy for her. As he told her that night, she was white picket fences, a half dozen kids, a cat, and a dog. But the lump in his throat told him it was not that simple. His heart filled with jealousy at the lucky bastard who had given her what he never could.
