Lost

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Politicians wage war; men and women fight

This is a work of fiction; there are no deliberate references to anyone who has ever lived, is alive now or who has passed on. This work is copyright and no reproduction in any form, except for personal perusal, is permitted without the express permission of the author, her heirs or assigns.

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A rubbish bin hurtled across the road. Aided by a high wind and driving rain, the contents scattered, leaving the area looking somewhat like a war zone. Megan winced at the thought as she drove away from the neat three-bedroom house.

Although tired and emotionally spent, she knew that this journey was inevitable. She and her husband had put off this visit but now it was a necessity. What she had to say could have gone into a telephone call but Megan was convinced that it demanded a face-to-face meeting. A telephone call would have been cowardly.

She bundled the dozing boys into the back seat, dumped overnight cases and her laptop bag into the boot, checked once again that she had her door keys and mobile ‘phone with her, and set off in the darkness.

Her drive would have been an ordeal had it been daylight and the weather fine; the fact that it was gone midnight, and the conditions wintry, made her visit all the more difficult and unwelcome.

She’d just settled down at the end of a long day and the boys had been asleep for several hours. Her small family had moved frequently with work. An orphan, she had no family; such childhood friends as she’d made had long since fallen by the wayside. Then came the chance meeting that so dramatically changed her life. He’d simply asked for directions; she’d smiled as she’d replied and the rest, as they say, was history. Now he was history and she wondered if the pain would ever diminish.

She glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw to her relief that her young sons had quickly drifted back to sleep. She took them with her only because there was nobody else to look after them. They’d been in the area but a few days and there was nobody that she could call to child-mind, especially at that time of night. She knew that she would never recover from the trauma induced by the simple telephone call that evening. She had no idea of the long-term effects on the boys. One minute - that’s how long it took to make sure that a mistake hadn’t been made. A couple of minutes had been all it had taken to change her world beyond recognition, minutes that took her from euphoria to nightmare.

Ben was waiting for her. Tentatively at first, she gave him a weak smile, then stepped into his arms for a hug. Suddenly, mercifully, the dam burst and Megan cried. Ben joined her, grieving together.

“Tell me what you know, love,” he said, soothingly.

Slowly, slightly hesitantly, she related the events of the day, culminating in the telephone call from her husband’s regiment. She had no idea how Ben would react; all she knew was that, other than Ben, she and the boys were now completely alone.

Ben sighed. He said nothing as she took the boys, still sleeping, to the spare bedroom, then she went to the kitchen and made some tea.

When they were seated in the lounge, Ben’s guide dog lying beside him, he said, “I’ve lost my partner and my sight; now I’ve lost my son. What purpose do I have in life? I might as well end it and join David and Peter.”

Megan grasped the only straw that she could see. She took his hands and, with tears in her eyes, said, “You are now the only male figure in their life; you owe it to your grandsons to be the best there is. I hope that you and, especially they, have a long and fulfilled life; you need to be there for them every step of the way. I want you to be their grandparent, their guide, their teacher and their friend. You are the only family I have other than my sons; we are a team. Those boys deserve nothing less than our unconditional love. Will you help?”

Ben nodded and hugged Megan. It wouldn’t be easy. In addition to the other trials he’d had to face, he was now grieving for a lost child. But he had a strength that had seen him through some dark days. He’d be damned if some terrorist with a bomb had the last say in his family’s future.

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Comments

Lost

Wow Susan; You said it in so many words. Great short story!

Richard

Determination...

Andrea Lena's picture

...and strength. Very powerful testimony to what character can be summoned in difficult times. I know they're only people on a page, but I feel the need to wish them well. Thank you!

  

To be alive is to be vulnerable. Madeleine L'Engle
Love, Andrea Lena

Living,

the toughest challenge!

Vivien