Coming Home

Coming Home

Eight months pregnant, Lisa awkwardly lowered herself to the bench. She looked out over the rows of white markers, each with its own small red, white, and blue flag. A breeze wheeled over the scene, causing the colors to move kaleidoscopically.

“They say time changes all things,” she murmured, “but that’s bullshit!” She knew from experience.

She closed her eyes and the images were fresh and present in contrast to the now peaceful landscape. In her mind, she saw the red clay surrounding the gapping maw of the hole that Jack would disappear in, smelled the damp earth, heard the jolting crack of rifle fire.

“You may have kept your promise to the country, Jack, but you broke your promise to me,” she said bitterly, tears coursing down her cheeks.

She remembered the night he deployed. She remembered his piercing blue eyes, the smell of his aftershave, his smile. She remembered the feel of his skin as she hooked a chain around his neck.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“It’s a Saint Christopher medal. He’s the patron saint of travelers. He’ll make sure you find your way home.”

Rather than laughing, his expression became serious. He picked it up, kissed it, and said, “I’ll never take it off until I’m home.”

Lisa struggled to stand up. A wave of lightheadedness caused her to grab the bench. Looking out a final time, she saw a flash that reminded her of Jack’s smile from the corner of her eye. She turned but nothing was there. Damn hormones. They’re making me see things now.

She made her way back to the car. Sitting in the silence, she checked the rearview mirror and froze. There, hanging from it, was a Saint Christopher medal.

Tears filled her eyes as she clutched it. “Welcome home, Jack,” she whispered.

An entry for "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge" 
Prompt: Write a story that includes the words: "blue, check, wheel"
Word Limit: 300
Word Count: 300