He Came Home Early With Roses

Roddy's headlights swept across the front window at eleven fifty-two.

Tamara was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea she hadn't touched. John was standing in the dark hallway, just out of sight, still in his gear.

The front door opened. Roddy came in fast, keys jingling, already talking.

"Babe, I'm sorry, it was crazy tonight, we had a call out on Route 9, and my phone died, and..."

He stopped.

The yellow envelope was lying open on the kitchen table. The surveillance photos were spread out in a neat row. The Savannah hotel. The steakhouse. His truck in John's driveway.

And at the end of the row, a printed bank statement with a line highlighted. Men's watch. Eight hundred and fifty dollars.

Roddy's hand went to his wrist.

"Tamara," he said. "Baby, listen..."

"Take it off," Tamara said.

"What?"

"The watch. Take it off. It's not yours. It was paid for with my brother's combat pay."

Roddy stared at her. "How do you even..."

John stepped out of the hallway.

Roddy jumped like he'd seen a ghost. He actually backed up into the door.

The two of them stood ten feet apart. The kid who'd stolen candy with him at the corner store. The teenager who'd taught him to drive stick. The man who'd stood next to him at the altar and cried during his vows.

"Johnny," Roddy said. "Johnny, I swear, it just happened. It wasn't planned. Sarah was lonely, and I was there, and..."

"Seven months," John said. "Savannah. A steakhouse. A watch. That's not something that just happens, Rod. That's a second life."

Roddy's face crumpled. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, man."

"You keep saying that word," John said. "You didn't say it tonight. You sat on my couch and stared at the floor. You didn't say one word. Not to me. You let her talk."

Roddy didn't have an answer.

John held out his hand.

"The watch."

Roddy looked at Tamara. She didn't blink.

He unclasped it with shaking fingers and put it in John's palm.

"Get your stuff," Tamara said. "Whatever you can carry. You can sleep at the firehouse. You told me you were there every other night anyway. Might as well make it true."

The divorces took eight months. Both of them.

John kept the house. He'd bought it with a VA loan two years before he married Sarah, and his name was the only one on the deed. Sarah moved into an apartment across town. Her lawyer asked for spousal support. The judge took one look at the bank statements, the hotel receipts, and the eight-hundred-and-fifty-dollar watch, and denied it.

Roddy moved in with Sarah for about six weeks. Then he moved out. People said they screamed at each other in the parking lot.

Roddy got two weekends a month with Kiara, supervised at first. Tamara never once badmouthed him to their daughter. "She's gonna figure out who he is on her own," she said. "I don't have to help."

John pawned the watch. He took the money, eight hundred and fifty dollars on the nose after he haggled, and donated every cent to a nonprofit that helps military spouses with counseling during deployments.

"Maybe it helps somebody else's marriage," he said. "Since it couldn't save mine."

Sarah came by the house once, in the spring. She stood on the porch and didn't knock for a long time. When John finally opened the door, she looked smaller than he remembered.

"I wanted to say I'm sorry," she said. "Really sorry. Not the way I said it that night."

"Okay."

"I was lonely. That was true. But I should have told you. I should've asked for help. I should've left before I..." She stopped. "I didn't have to do it with him. I didn't have to do it at all."

John nodded slowly.

"Thank you for saying that," he said. And he meant it. And he closed the door.

He didn't hate her anymore. He'd figured out somewhere around month four that hating her was just another way of staying married to her.

A year later, John got out of the Army. Twelve years of service. Honorable discharge. He opened a little gym downtown with his last re-enlistment bonus. Mostly veterans. A lot of guys who came home to empty houses, or houses that weren't the same.

He didn't preach at them. He just let them lift and talk.

On a Friday night in October, he drove home from the gym with a bouquet of red roses on the passenger seat. Two dozen. The good ones.

He didn't park down the block this time. He pulled right into Tamara's driveway, where Kiara's tricycle had been replaced by a pink bike with training wheels.

He used the spare key she'd given him. He pushed the door open.

"I'm home."

Something small and fast came flying down the hallway and slammed into his legs.

"Uncle Johnny!"

He scooped Kiara up with one arm. Tamara came out of the kitchen, flour all over her shirt, and laughed when she saw the flowers.

"Who are those for?"

"For the two women who never lied to me," John said.

He gave one dozen to his sister. He knelt down and handed the other dozen to his niece. Kiara hugged them so hard she crushed half the petals, and nobody cared.

Tamara put her roses in a vase on the windowsill. Right where the old wedding picture used to be.

So what do you think? Was Sarah's loneliness any excuse at all? Tell us in the comments.