Chapter Thirteen

My stomach is actually in knots as I stand on the porch, facing the door. It's a door I know well – one I've passed through thousands of times. But as I stand there, it suddenly feels alien to me. There's no real reason for it – the people beyond that door have been nothing but loving and supportive of me – but still, that feeling persists.

I take a deep breath and let it out, reaching out and pushing the doorbell button before I can think about it anymore. I hear the chime sound inside and I wait. A moment later, I hear footsteps approach the door and after a brief pause, it opens.

A middle-aged woman looks back at me with confusion in her eyes for a moment. And as I stand there silently, I see the light of comprehension dawning in her face.

“Caleb,” she says softly.

“Mrs. Turner,” I say. “It's been a while.”

“I'll say,” she says, holding a hand to her chest. “It's been a very long while. How are you, Caleb?”

I nod. “I'm doing okay, thank you,” I reply. “How are you and Mr. Turner doing?”

She nods and gives me a small smile, but I see the tears shimmering in her eyes. She sniffs and wipes at her eyes, refusing to let them fall. Rick's mom is made of some tough stuff, but I can see the pain of her loss is weighing heavily on her. I reach out and give her a reassuring squeeze.

“I'm very sorry, Mrs. Turner,” I say softly. “I came as soon as I found out.”

“I know this can't be easy for you. For many reasons,” she says. “But I'm glad you're here. Thank you for being here.”

“Of course,” I reply.

“My husband will be glad to see you, but he's out on the lake fishing this morning,” she says. “He needs some time alone to process it all.”

“That's understandable.”

She ushers me inside. “Come in, let's have a cup of coffee.”

“I'd love to.”

I follow her through the house and down to the kitchen I knew so well. Though they'd done some minor work in the house, changing small things here and there, it looked much the same as it had back when I was practically living here.

I take a seat at the kitchen table and Mrs. Turner pours us both a cup of coffee, setting them down on the table before taking a seat across from me. I wrap my hands around the mug and stare down into the dark liquid, not even sure how to begin.

“You've been gone a long time,” Mrs. Turner said. “Not that I don't understand your reasons.”

I nod. “I thought I needed a fresh start somewhere.”

“Of course,” she says. “Richard kept your confidences very well, but he did mention that you had joined the military.”

The Turners are the only people in Sheridan Falls I feel completely comfortable opening up to and know I can tell them anything without fear. Although I can't tell them everything I did overseas because of the classified nature of some of our ops, I feel like I owe them an explanation. They'd been so good to me and had always treated me like one of their own – that I up and disappeared on them like that is a constant thorn of guilt in my side.

“I spent twelve years in the Corps,” I said. “Ten as a Force Recon sniper. Spent a lot of my time running ops mostly in Afghanistan and Pakistan. But we did a couple of jobs elsewhere in the Middle East as well.”

Her eyes widen slightly at my admission. “I had no idea,” she said quietly. “That must have been terrifying.”

I give her a grim smile. “It had its moments, that's for sure.”

“Are you still serving?”

I shake my head. “No, I rotated out about a year ago,” I reply. “Thought about going career, but honestly, I woke up one day and realized I was done. I'd seen too much. Had done too much. The never-ending stream of death and destruction was taking a toll on me. I didn't see that we were accomplishing anything anymore and I finally hit that wall. Pulled the pin.”

She gives me a soft smile. “I'm just thankful you made it home, Caleb.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Turner,” I say. “I'm glad to be home.”

I take a long draw of coffee and swallow it down. There's a long moment of silence between us and I find myself at a loss for words. There's a lot I need to say. A lot I need to express and make her understand. I don't know why, but it's important to me that Rick's parents know and understand what their whole family has meant to me. But I'm having trouble finding the right words.

“Richard was so proud of you,” she says. “He was proud of everything you were doing, Caleb. I think it's important you know that.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Turner,” I say. “That means more than you know.”

The tide of emotion is rising within me and I feel a lump in my throat. I take a minute to collect myself before I speak. I don't know if it's the right words that popped into my head, but I know I need to say something.

“I just want to say thank you, Mrs. Turner.”

She cocks her head and looks at me. “For what?”

“You know what I came from. You know – my story,” I say. “And your family took me in. You guys treated me with respect. You didn't owe me anything and yet, you treated me like one of your own. Being here – with your family – it helped me in ways you don't even understand. And I've always regretted skipping town the way I did – without word or explanation to you. I owe you so much and I think it’s important for you to know that.”

She gave my hand a gentle squeeze and gave me a soft smile. “You certainly don't need to thank me or apologize for anything, Caleb,” she says. “I understand why you left the way you did. And honestly, I'm so glad you got out. If you'd stayed – I shudder to think what might have happened. But you got out and you made something of yourself. You became something so much greater than your circumstances. And for that, I'm as proud of you as Richard was.”

I stand up and pull her to her feet, wrapping her in an enormous hug. “You're the family I wish I'd had.”

“We are your family, Caleb,” she replies, her voice thick with emotion. “Always have been and always will be.”

We embraced for a long moment, both of us letting the emotions sweep over us. When I finally step back, I wipe the tears from my eyes and she does the same. We give each other an awkward smile and sit down at the table again.

We spend the next couple of hours talking and catching up on each other's lives. There is a lot of laughter and good feeling, but hanging over our heads, is the dark cloud of what brought me back to Sheridan Falls in the first place. It's the elephant in the room and the thing we can't escape from. Rick's death. It casts a pall over our little reunion. How could it not?

“I should probably get going,” I say, getting to my feet. “But thank you for sitting and talking with me for a while.”

“No, thank you for coming by, Caleb,” she says. “And for coming back to Sheridan Falls for Richard. I know how difficult that must have been for you.”

“Like you said, we're family,” I quote her words back to her. “And for family, you sometimes need to be willing to do or sacrifice anything – especially, your own pride and comfort.”

Her smile is soft and warm as she embraces me again. “We'll see you again soon,” she says. “I know Mr. Turner will want to say hello to you.”

“I'd like that.”

I left the Turner home, glad that I took the time to see Rick's parents. Or his mom, at least. But it felt good to get that thorn out of my side. To apologize to them for vanishing and to give them some sort of explanation.

I'm not the kind of guy who enjoys wading too deeply into the emotional waters though. In fact, I'd probably enjoy a colonoscopy without lube about as much as I enjoyed sharing my feelings. But Rick's parents deserved it. They deserved an explanation.

Sharing that much though, left me feeling awfully thirsty and feeling like I need a little liquid therapy. I climb into the car and point it back toward town. All I want in that moment is to have a drink and be alone.