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Fiction Short Story

by Will Riley

The Layover

It's foolish to fly over 5000 miles to have lunch with a woman I haven't seen or talked to in ten years, but I couldn't help myself. I had to see her one last time. I needed closure.

We met at a restaurant near her office. I told her on the phone I had a two-hour layover before continuing on to a business meeting in New York. I lied. In a few hours I'd be on a plane heading back to Tokyo. She would never know that seeing her was the sole purpose of my trip. There was much she would never know.

I couldn't believe how beautiful she looked. We hugged and I felt an urge to bury my face in her neck and kiss her, kiss her for hours.

"I'm so happy you called," she said, as we sat at a small table and ordered drinks. "I think of you often, David."

"You haven't changed," I told her. If anything she aged even better than I imagined on the day she agreed to marry me.

"Do you ever think of me? Or do you still hate me?"

"I could never hate you, Dianna." I saw no point in telling her how I would have forgiven her for anything, how much she occupied my thoughts over the years, or that I remember every moment we shared together.

The waiter brought our drinks while a few silent moments passed. I studied the scar in the brow line above her left eye, the result of something mentioned in several of her mother's letters to me. The first letter arrived a year after I moved to Asia. Dianna's mother saved my address from a Christmas card I sent her. I often regretted that moment of seasonal sentiment.

"Do you miss Luke?" I asked.

She shook her head and stared into my eyes. "I made a mistake. I realized it many years ago. I thought you should know."

Hearing her admit it eased my anxiety. "What about your boy?"

"He witnessed a great deal of the hell I suffered during the last years. Anthony doesn't talk about his father."

I always anticipated, actually dreaded, a day when the letters mentioned abuse towards the son. Thankfully, that day never came. I figured it was only a matter of time. "No problems with him then?"

"He's a quiet boy. He's always been quiet. Reminds me a little of you."

"He'll be okay," I said.

She nodded. "What about you? Did Luke's death..."

"I have no feelings one way or the other about Luke. I wrote him off long ago. He died to me the day he made a play for you. We were engaged, Dianna. You meant everything to me."

She reached across the table and put her hand on mine. "I'm so sorry, David. I loved you. I really did. But your brother..."

"He was out of line, brother or no brother. How could you let him seduce you?"

"I can't explain it, David. I couldn't help myself. Please understand."

I did understand. I watched it happen the night she met him. Luke returned home from a tour of duty in Germany and the three of us went to a bar. We celebrated the wedding engagement and Luke's honorable discharge from the Army. I watched it happen while they talked, while they danced. It was in their eyes, unspoken, all those decisions being made.

"Well, they say you should be careful of what you wish for. I hope it wasn't all bad for you."

"It wasn't, David. I was happy, really happy for a long time, especially after Anthony was born. Luke was a good man. The job changed him. I'm certain of it."

In spite of the pain I suffered as she slipped away from me and into my brother's sway, I wished her well. I wanted her to be happy. The hurt peaked the day Luke announced his acceptance into the Police Academy. He pulled me aside and informed me Dianna accepted his marriage proposal.

"All's fair in love and war. Right, bro?" he said.

"Take good care of her," I replied as I shook his hand. A stranger to me then, I no longer considered him my brother. He stole my girl, and I wanted to get away from him, from the two of them. I lucked into a transfer to my firm's Japanese office. Six weeks after that devastating day, I moved to the other side of the world and hoped to forget her. I might have if her mother didn't decided to keep in touch. The old gal really liked me. It upset her when Dianna dumped me for Luke.

Emma sent me a letter almost every month, mostly chit-chat at first. She told me about the promotions Luke received, the house he bought for Dianna and him, Dianna's pregnancy, the birth of Anthony; information I didn't care to know, but couldn't resist reading. I answered a few of them, but said little. After a while I read the letters without experiencing pangs of longing for Dianna. Time eventually healed the wound, until the disturbing letters began.

"It must have been difficult being married to a cop," I said.

She didn't reply directly to that. Her face showed no emotion. "I'm going to tell you something," she said. "When his Captain came to the door and told me Luke had been shot to death in the line of duty, I was relieved. I hated him by then, David. Isn't that sad?"

"It got pretty ugly for you, I guess."

"You can't know how he changed, how cruel he became. Anthony called him a monster. And there was another woman."

The letters cataloged the abuse, hinted at infidelities. The scar over her eye remained the only visible clue of Luke's wrath. I felt sorry for her as I read the letters. I felt sorry for her as we sat in the restaurant. He left her no reason to grieve. Realizing it brought me the relief I sought.

"Shall we order some food?" I asked in an attempt to brighten the mood.

She looked at her watch. "I don't have time, David. I'm sorry. I have to get back to work."

We hugged in the parking lot and she kissed me hard on the lips. In her embrace I felt a rush of desire that surprised me, a feeling long ago suppressed. I pushed away from her.

"You're a meanie. That felt good," she teased.

"You were the great love of my life," I said.

She smiled. "I was a fool, David. Letting you go is my biggest regret."

"You followed your heart, Dianna."

"I suppose. In our next life it'll be just you and me. I promise."

We parted and I headed to the airport. On the flight back to Japan I managed a long, peaceful sleep. My wife and two little daughters greeted me after I cleared Customs. I felt happy to see them again. They were my joy and it bothered me to leave them twice in three months. At least the latest journey lasted only a couple days. The first trip, however, required a two-week absence. It took longer than expected to buy a pistol on the street, and wait for an opportunity. The easiest part, as it turned out, was squeezing the trigger. I felt no regret.


About the Author
Will Riley is retired and living at a mountain lake in Southern California. He writes to pass the time and a few of his stories have appeared in various e-zines.