Labor's End

Most evenings, he would finish up just in time to be the very last customer at the restaurant, happy to accept whatever culinary delights were 'leftovers' as Brenda and Josh called them. Usually, it was one of them, who served him dinner, as Isabel only worked breakfast and lunch duty in order to spend time with her son little Josh and 'little' Billy, at least until his leave had ended.

There was one night though that Mike would never forget. He had been there about a week when Mister Clyde was having what Maude called an 'especially bad day,' meaning that the man was combative. Actually, he was quite violent, and it was not just screaming and yelling, cursing too, something that Mike had never heard the man do. Hell, he was not even aware the man knew some of the words he used that day.

It was also spitting, hitting, kicking, and even biting. In some ways, it reminded Mike of the temper tantrums that he had seen a few of his married friends' children have over the years. In the end, the only alternative had been to restrain the man for his own safety as well as the staffs'.

That had been hard, really hard, on Mike, but he had insisted on helping the mostly female staff to do what was necessary. Then he had sat by the man's side just talking in low tones, trying to calm and soothe Mister Clyde as best he could. It was well past the usual three o'clock visiting hours when the man finally fell into a restless slumber, and Mike sneaked from the room with instructions to the night staff to call him should they need him at all.

By the time all of that was done, Mike was exhausted, not just physically but emotionally too. But as he went to exit the building, a jubilant Frank grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the day room, which had been transformed with red balloons and streamers into party central.

Their daughter smiled as she pressed an equally red plastic plate into his hand and began filling it with an assortment of delicious smelling barbeque and all the 'fixins' as she called them. She droned on and on about the significance of red as a fortieth anniversary was traditionally known as the ruby one.

None of that mattered to a tired and stressed out Mike, until he heard the crack in her voice and saw the tears in her eyes as she said, "I know all this may seem such a ridiculous fuss since Mama won't even remember it tomorrow."

"Thing is...I know my parents will never have the fiftieth one, at least Mama won't be here to see it anyway. So I just guess..." she had shrugged her shoulders and handed the heavily laden plate to Mike before wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and making a lame excuse for a hasty retreat.

Mike had done his best to eat at least some of the food, but nothing tasted right when his mind got this crowded. Not just with his ghosts but with the overwhelming realities of all that had happened the past few days. He had forced himself to stay long enough not to appear rude.

Then he had sought out Frank, finding him as he expected next to his wife, whom he saw had had her hair fixed rather nicely in that old Southern lady curly style for the occasion. She was also attired for the occasion in a striking red dress that appeared straight out of a 1950s sitcom.

He held out his hand to Frank as he made his excuses without burdening the man with all the details of what 'a bad day' meant, though he was sure the man could imagine. What surprised Mike though was when Mary placed her small, bruised hand over her husband's and said, "Frank, dear, won't you introduce me to your young friend?"

Turned out that while Mister Clyde might have been having a bad day, Frank's prayers for his wife to have a 'good' one had been answered. He smiled as the man did just that and for the moment at least, he enjoyed the pleasure of being Frank's friend Mike and not the woman's dead Marine husband, Joe.

He had smiled as he left their party though he could never imagine such a thing as a ruby anniversary. Hell, he was not even sure that he had ever had anything even approaching a 'real relationship' though he had had a couple of girlfriends back in his lost twenties when he spent more time in bars and bottles than he wanted to remember.

He could not imagine being with any woman for that long...well, not really. Because impossible dreams did not count.

But he took consolation in knowing that once more the wheels of Fate were balanced - that if only for this one moment, good things had happened for good people. And that was all that mattered.

Of course, Fate was not done with him for that night as it turned out. When he pulled into the driveway of the old farm, he noticed a newer model truck than the one that Brenda usually drove, on those nights when he had gotten so caught up in what he was doing that he had forgotten his standing 'dinner date' at the restaurant, and the woman had insisted on bringing it to him instead. Not that she had ever stayed, not after that first night anyway.

But this time it was not the woman's petite form sitting in the freshly painted porch swing and rocking slowly back and forth. Instead it was him - young Billy.

Mike was not sure what to say to the man. He had not run into him since that first morning in the restaurant, but "Hey, have you been waiting long? I'm sorry I was not expecting anyone," seemed as good as he could manage at the moment.

The young Marine stood up and held out a bag that Mike knew contained even more food that he could not possibly make himself eat this night, "No problem, Sir. I ain't been waiting that long, half an hour maybe."

Waiting half an hour just to deliver food that he could have easily left on the porch seemed a bit odd to Mike, but he was not going to pass up the chance to get to know more about this young man himself, "One of the reasons I'm late is that some friends at the nursing home were having an anniversary celebration, so I've actually eaten already."

Mike shrugged, trying to keep things casual as he continued, "But if you care to come in, we could have a beer."

The man smiled, that smile which always did funny things to Mike's tummy, the one that sent him back over the years, "I'd like that, Sir. I was sort of hoping we could talk for a bit actually," he stammered.

Mike flipped on a lamp in the living room and ushered Billy into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator as he motioned with his other hand towards the table and chairs, "Take a seat." He opened two bottles of beer and took a place across from the young man as he held out a bottle.

They both took a long swig, emptying half of the bottle before setting it back on the table. Mike was beginning to think he had made a mistake inviting Billy in as the silence stretched on uncomfortably long with both men taking turns looking at the Formica tabletop to avoid talking.

Then Billy looked up and asked, "Tell me about him. About my father."

Mike was glad that the bottle of beer was only halfway to his mouth because he was so shocked by the man's words that he knew he would have spewed it all over the place otherwise. "You know?" he stammered.

Billy nodded his head, "Since I was about twelve or thirteen, I guess. We studied genes and shit in biology. I spent almost a whole Saturday looking at this chart of white and red flowers in the textbook."

"Then looking at this faded picture that Mama kept hidden in the drawer on her side of the bed...her junior prom with him in full Marine uniform at her side. My little brain spent the whole damned time trying to figure out how come I was such a white flower I guess, how I could possibly look so damned much like a man that was only a distant relation. Then I put the pieces together."

"Did you ask her about it?"

He shook his head, "Nah, I was afraid that it might cause her too much pain. I'd always catch her looking at me strange sometimes. All sad like and I could never figure it out. Until then."

He lifted the bottle of beer and drained it then, "I thought about asking Daddy about it once, right before I left for Parris Island. We were going on a final fishing trip before Boot Camp. I figured then would be as good a time as any. I even practiced everything I'd say," he sighed as he toyed with the bottle, rocking it back and forth on the table.

"But then when the time came I just couldn't. I don't know it just seemed like I'd be disrespecting him — all he had done for Mama and me. I just couldn't. It wasn't worth it just to settle that little bit of doubt that was still in my mind."

He met Mike's gaze, boldly, "But even that little bit disappeared that morning when I met you. Between the way you acted when we shook hands and especially how nervous Daddy was, I knew. I just knew I was right."

"So, I figured you were the one person I could ask. The one that would tell me the truth. Am I right? Is Billy my real father?"

Mike emptied his bottle of beer and without speaking, went back to the fridge for two more. He took his time opening them as he tried to figure out what to say to the young man.

Some part of him felt that he owed loyalty to the couple that had done so much, sacrificed even more to protect this young man. A couple that had been nothing but kind to him too. But another part of him remained true to his dead friend. Didn't the young man have the right to know the truth? Well as much as Mike knew himself anyway.

He placed the fresh beer in front of the man as he nodded, "Yes, yes, you're Billy's flesh and blood, but whether that makes him your father or not, hell, even I ain't figured that one out yet."

Mike emptied almost his whole bottle of beer before sitting back down at the table across from the 'kid.' Over the next couple of hours, the men talked. Mike told him what little he knew of the tangled web of lies and half-truths around his birth.

He told him stories of the other Billy too. Stories that he knew the young man could appreciate even more because of their shared bond as brothers, Marines. It grew late, too late, but it seemed both were reluctant to break the spell of time that seemed suspended between past, present, and future around that old worn-out kitchen table.

Billy finally did though as he held out his hand across the table, "Thank you, thank you, Sir, for giving me the answers I needed. It means a lot."

Mike stood as they prepared to say their good-byes. Though he was definitely not the touchy-feely kind of guy, something made Mike pull the young man closer, give him one of those shoulder-to-shoulder embraces that was as close to a hug as some men could get.

"He'd be damned proud of the man and the Marine you have become, son," Mike blamed the watering that blurred his vision on the exhaustion that was once more batting at his head like the sound of cannons on a tank.

The young man beamed as he pulled back from the embrace, "Thank you, thank you for that too, Sir."

Mike shook his head, "No more damned Sir. Those days are over. It's just Mike now."

Billy nodded, "All right, Sir...Mike." He looked nervously at the floor for a moment before once more meeting Mike's stare.

"There's just one more thing. I'm not sure if I should ask. It is just that I go back to Twenty-Nine Palms day after tomorrow, then we deploy after that for almost a year. I know..."

Mike watched as the younger man once more stared at the worn linoleum as he shifted nervously from foot to foot, "Don't worry about it, son. You can ask me anything. If I can do it, I will. You have my word on that."

Billy nodded as he looked back up and spoke, "It's just that I know I won't get another chance, and I was wondering...if I can manage to sneak away for a while tomorrow, could I visit Mister Clyde? I mean my grandfather, I suppose, in the nursing home."

Mike sighed heavily. He did not know what to say. After a day like this, he would hate for that to be all this young man remembered of the man that Mike had once known, a good and loving father, a hard-working farmer, and devoted husband and family man. With a heart big enough to take in even a lost and angry young man that he had once been, hell, probably still was in some ways.

On the other hand, though he knew Mister Clyde would never remember meeting this grandson that he never knew he had, Mike liked to think that somehow or the other that family reunion would balance out karma. Bring some peace to the old man as well as the ghost of his friend that visited him most nights.

And like the boy said, this would be the only chance. One he had to take, "Sure, son, you do that. I'll make sure the staff knows you are coming."

Mike walked the young man to the door and watched as he climbed into the truck and drove away. The red tail lights had no sooner disappeared down the road than the weight of this day hit him full force.

This night he could not even find the strength to drag his butt up the stairs and bath before bed. Instead he barely made it to couch before collapsing there. He did not even bother pulling the crocheted multi-color afghan off the back of it. This early in the year, the weather was still warm enough that he would not need it.

But as he feared this night, there was little rest to be had as he fought the demons in his dreams. They all blended one into another other; the years, faces, and voices becoming confused and out-of-sync. It was not even dawn when Mike gave up trying to sleep and got up to begin the barren routine over again.

***CHAPTER SIX***

The days turned into weeks and weeks into a month as the nights grew colder and the days grew shorter. Leaves on the trees began to change color though not as dramatically as Mike remembered from his childhood in New England. September rolled into October and little changed with Mister Clyde. He had his good days, and increasingly he had more of those bad ones as well.

Thankfully his best day had been the one when little Billy had stopped by before heading back to Twenty-Nine Palms. While the man had not been alert enough to understand when Mike introduced him as Brenda's son, he had been verbal. Verbal enough to carry on a conversation with the young man, whom he mistook for his dead son.

Mike had been worried about how this would affect Billy, but when he tried once more to rectify the situation, the young man had shaken his head no and played along. Just as Mike had when Mary thought him her long-lost Joe.

As he walked Billy out to his truck, Mike had tried to explain, but again the boy shook his head and said, "No problem." Mike had been so moved that he gave the kid another of those half hugs, right there in the parking lot. He had not seen him again before he left.

In fact, Isabel was gone for a few days too. She had gone back with him to finish packing their tiny apartment and would drive the truck back to Honour while Billy stayed with some friends until they deployed.

Hell, the restaurant had even been closed for three days as Brenda and her husband met the couple in Las Vegas for that wedding Josh had spoken about the first morning he met them. He was glad for the young couple. Mike knew it was what Billy would have wanted, what he would have done had he lived to learn of his own son's existence.

Mike had not known what to get them but felt it incumbent upon him as Billy's best friend to do something much more than a toaster. Finally, he had settled upon a simple card that he stuffed with a few hundred dollars, best that they decide for themselves what they needed. Mike certainly had no idea what newlyweds just starting out needed. So, he had slipped the card to Brenda and asked her to give it to them when she saw them.

Of course, when they all did make it back, they could not wait to show him the pictures mostly on their cell phones. Mike had smiled and nodded as he listened to the stories of their Vegas wedding. He had not known what to say, so he just nodded and smiled while thinking of other weddings that had not been - Brenda's and Billy's, Rachel's and Manny's, even Tommy though he had had no girlfriend. Mike could certainly never imagine such a thing for himself. What woman could ever want such 'damaged' goods as him?

But the biggest surprise had been the sudden and unexpected death of Mary Majors. Less than a month after hers and Frank's fortieth wedding anniversary, she had gone to sleep one night and not woken up the next morning. It had been hard for Mike to fathom since the day before had been another of her good days. She had smiled and held Frank's arm as the couple walked and talked in the garden. Once more he had been Frank's friend Mike and not her Joe.

Then the next morning, when he got to the nursing home, Mike had noticed that none of the patients were around. All seemed to be in their rooms; he could not even find a staff member at first. Then Maude had appeared out of Mary's room, her arm wrapped about the shoulders of a pale and visibly shaken Frank as his daughter followed behind with red, swollen eyes.

Mike had not known precisely what happened, thinking perhaps the woman had become ill and needed to be taken to the hospital, which had happened once before to another of the patients there. Not wanting to disturb them, he had gone into Mister Clyde's room as usual.

A couple of hours later, Maude had come in to apologize for not being available for Mike's usual morning briefing on Mister Clyde's night. That is when she explained that Missus Majors had 'passed away.'

Mike fucking hated that euphemism - passed away. Passed where? It was not like anyone fucking knew what happened. He had, of course, been shocked, but Maude explained that sometimes these things happened.

He just nodded, 'these things,' like best friends with pregnant girlfriends and a family farm that was counting on him to take it over in a couple of years, being killed? When no one would have fucking cared or ever missed the screwed-up orphan from Boston. Things like Mary's sudden death after such a good day when it had been Mister Clyde, who had steadily been declining over the weeks.

Not that anything in this fucked up world made sense. Mike should have long since stopped asking...why? When would he ever learn?

Mike had not been able to attend the woman's funeral. He had not wanted to intrude upon family time, but the truth was that Mister Clyde too had taken a turn for the worse. He was no longer eating at all. No matter how hard Mike or the nurses tried, they could get no more than a few sips of water or broth down him.

Maude had pulled Mike aside to discuss it with him. She could speak with the doctors, perhaps transfer him to the hospital for IV feeding, and maybe even do it there. But that would only delay the inevitable.

She needed a decision from him and the man's daughter. Mike had not known what to tell her. He did not want the responsibility for such a decision, even though he had been the one who had borne the brunt of the man's care during those final days and weeks. Even though the strain was beginning to wear on him in a very different way than command or battle, but wear nonetheless.

Still, he had not spoken to Becca Hall-Okadigbo in weeks, since that earlier failed plea for the woman to visit her father. Not knowing what more to say, he had left updates to Maude Landon, but this time he had no choice. This was a conversation that they should have one-on-one.

He had told Maude that he would speak with the woman that night and let her know what they had decided the next morning. Maude had given him that smile as she placed her hand on his arm, "I know this is hard, but sometimes...these things need to be left to their natural course."

Mike had nodded, and in some ways, he even agreed. Mister Clyde was almost seventy; unlike his son, he had lived a full life. He had seen joy and pain, loved and married, struggled to keep the family farm going well past the age when most people retired and went fishing. He had buried his only son and beloved wife. His relationship with his only other close family member was strained at best.