Chapter Two
Morning arrived, still dark, but already promising a beautiful day. Miri made pancakes and eggs for breakfast. The tall stack of cakes disappeared fast, with much appreciation from Gil.
“Do you cook?” she asked eventually, making idle conversation over coffee before she cleared the table.
“Over an open fire I’m passable. A can of paraffin even better.” He shook his head a little. “When we could, anyway. At base camp we often took turns cooking for each other, but my efforts weren’t especially appreciated.”
She smiled. “So you got out of it?”
“Often as not. Whatever the knack is, I missed it.”
She rose, took the plates to the counter and looked at the thermometer outside her window. Sunshine had begun to spill over the eastern mountains, brightening the morning.
“It’s going to be a beautiful day,” she remarked. “The forecast said we’re going to reach the upper sixties, and we’re already at sixty-one. A great day for a midwinter barbecue.”
She waited, wondering if he’d respond to the open invitation about the barbecue, but he said nothing. He sipped coffee, his gaze faraway, and she admitted at last that this guy wasn’t about to share much of himself. Safe little tidbits here and there, but no more. Or maybe, despite the passage of time, he was still somewhere else, perhaps the place he’d been wounded. She couldn’t imagine the difficulty he must experience transitioning between worlds. Maybe it was never easy. Perhaps it was harder under these circumstances.
She spoke, daring herself to ask. “Does your body feel like a stranger to you?”
One brow lifted. “How did you guess?”
“Well, it just crossed my mind. You’re used to being in top physical form. That’s gone now, at least for a while. You must be frustrated.”
“Not exactly the word I’d choose, but it’ll do. Let me help as much as I can with the dishes. I need to be moving.”
“Betsy said you could settle in and hold court today if you come.” Miri waited, nearly holding her breath.
“I’ll go,” he said after a minute, then pushed his chair back. “But I doubt I’ll hold court. Not my style.”
He managed to wash all the dishes and put them in the drain rack without any assistance from her. She had to admit to enjoying watching a man scrub her dishes while she sipped a second cup of coffee.
He was a good-looking man, too. Not as ramrod straight and stiff as at the funeral, which had been kind of intimidating. This version of Gil looked a whole lot more relaxed and approachable. Even if it was discomfort causing it.
When at last he dried his hands and returned to the table, she noticed the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. “You did too much,” she said instantly.
“I did very little, and it’ll do me no good to sit on my duff and stiffen up. Don’t worry about me. I won’t push my limits too far. This isn’t some kind of contest.”
Firmly but kindly put in her place. The man didn’t want anyone worrying about him. Okay then. She could manage that. She couldn’t even feel slightly offended. This was a spark of the man she’d seen at the funeral. She was glad to know he was still in there. Living around here, it was possible to get to know veterans who had a lot of trouble returning. She supposed it was unlikely that Gil wouldn’t have any problems as a result of his wounding and time at war, but she hoped they were minimal.
“You must still be missing Al,” he remarked.
“Yes. You?”
“Damn near every day. You know, even when you’re in the midst of the most dangerous situations imaginable, you don’t believe the bad stuff’s going to happen to you.”
“How could you?” she asked. “You’d be paralyzed.”
“Maybe. What I do know is that we don’t think about it until it’s shoved into our faces, like when Al was killed, and then we have to shove it back into a lockbox. Anyway, he had plans. I was supposed to come here with him and help with the family ranch. I guess I told you that.”
Gil was rambling a little, she thought, but no more than most people in casual conversation. At least he was talking.
“Al,” he said again. “Damn. Ever the optimist. He could find a reason to be happy about cold beans on a subzero night.”
That was Al. That was definitely the Al she remembered. “I take it you’re not as much of an optimist?”
“Maybe I was, too much, anyway. Doesn’t matter. Here we are.” He gave her a faint, almost apologetic smile.
“Are you going back to duty?” she dared to ask.
“Yes.”
There was a firmness to the way he said the word that again suggested a line had been drawn in the sand. “Do you have any idea when?”
“Not yet. Probably as soon as they feel I’m well enough to play desk jockey for an eight-or twelve-hour day.”
“So...you won’t be going back into the field?”
“No.” A single uncompromising word. A warning to back off.
She could have sighed, except she knew she had no right to be asking many questions. He’d wanted to come out here for some reason...and she suspected it wasn’t just to tell the family amusing stories about Al. All she’d done was offer him a bed and a few meals. He didn’t owe her anything, certainly not answers to questions he might consider to be prying.
Apparently, he must have caught something in her expression. Much as she schooled herself to keep a straight face when necessary, because her young students picked up on even the subtlest of clues, she must have just failed. He spoke.
“Sorry to be so abrupt.”
“It’s okay,” she said swiftly. “You’re not feeling well...”
“Feeling unwell has nothing to do with it. Months of arguing with my family does. I’m not retiring, much as they may want me to, and if I can get back into shape for the field I will.”
Now she wondered if getting away from his family had been his primary reason for traveling this way. “Families are harder to handle than combat missions?”
He astonished her by cracking an unexpected laugh. “Are you suggesting I turned tail?”
“I don’t believe I said that.”
For the first time she saw a spark of something in those flinty eyes. Heat? Humor? She couldn’t read it. “No, you didn’t. What time is this barbecue and what can I do to help?”
* * *
Because night fell so early in the winter, the barbecue had been planned for midday. By noon, Miri had two huge containers of potato salad in the back of her sport SUV, along with four paper bags full of hamburger buns. There’d be leftovers, but she was sure they wouldn’t go to waste.
She hesitated, wondering if she should tell Gil to follow her or invite him to ride with her. If he had his own vehicle he could leave whenever he wanted. She stood there, feeling the delightfully warm air blowing over her neck and into the open front of her jacket.
Gil addressed the question first. Apparently he wasn’t shy about organizational matters. “Want me to follow you or ride with you?”
“Will you want the freedom to take off? Because once I get there, I’m going to be there for at least a couple of hours.”
“I think that I can manage a couple of hours,” he said wryly.
“Then hop in.”
The ride out to the Baker ranch required nearly an hour of slogging over bumpy roads. Pavement had begun to buckle as usual when water had seeped into cracks and then froze. Gravel roads hadn’t been graded in a while. Miri concentrated on driving and left Gil with his own thoughts. She figured if he wanted conversation he knew how to start one.
It was nice to have her window cracked open during the drive. The ground hadn’t really started to thaw, and all the growing things were still locked into their winter naps. But the air was fresh and after a few months of mostly enjoying it for only a few minutes, Miri was glad to indulge more than she’d been able to the last few days.
The Bakers had set up a sign pointing to an elevated area of paddock for parking. Dead grasses were thick, and if the ground started melting it should drain fast enough to ensure no one got stuck in mud. A lot of cars had already arrived, and as Miri parked she got a sudden whiff of barbecue grills heating up and the unmistakable scent of smoking meat.
Betsy had pulled out all the stops. Miri guessed nearly forty people had already arrived. Folding tables groaned under offerings, and a stack of paper plates on one of the tables was held down by a snow globe paperweight. A perfect touch.
Gil helped her carry one container of potato salad, leaning heavily on his cane as he did so. He didn’t appear steady on uneven ground yet. Miri grabbed the other, plus the bags of burger buns, and they made their way over to the only empty table left.
Betsy didn’t let them get far. Wearing a light jacket, she swooped in, smiling. “I’m so glad you decided to come, Gil. Al always said he was going to bring you out here. I’m just sorry you couldn’t get here sooner.”
As soon as they had deposited their offerings on the table, Betsy gave Gil a tight hug. He seemed a bit uncomfortable and awkwardly patted her shoulder.
Miri cataloged that for future consideration. Walled off. Totally walled off.
Betsy took Gil with her, introducing him around. Miri smiled faintly and bent her attention toward getting the potato salad ready to serve and putting her buns with others.
Then she wandered over to join her uncle Jack, whose smoker was emitting delicious aromas. “Did you start smoking yesterday?” she asked him.
“How else do you barbecue? You doing all right with Al’s friend?”
“Gil’s a pleasant guy. Restrained.”
“Shut down, most like,” Jack answered. “I could see it in Al. Do you remember? It was like every time he came home he’d left another piece of himself behind.”
Those weren’t the memories of her cousin that Miri was trying to cherish, but she felt her stomach tighten as she acknowledged the truth of what Jack had said. War had been cutting away pieces of Al for years.
Or causing him to lock them away. “Jack? Why do they keep on doing it?”
“What do I look like? A shrink?” He lifted the lid on the huge smoker and began basting the ribs. “Almost done.” He said nothing for a few minutes. “I can only answer for Al. He felt a real sense of duty. A need to serve. And, to be brutally honest, maybe a little adrenaline addiction. Anyway, I think Al was always testing himself for some reason. I don’t know what his measuring stick was, but he seemed to me to be using one. But all that’s my guess, Miri, and it may not apply to Gil at all.”
Finished basting that side, he turned the meat with tongs and basted some more. Then he closed the smoker lid. “Not much longer. That’s almost to the point of falling off the bone.” He stepped back, hanging his tongs on a rack at the end of the smoker, and looked around. “Seems like almost everyone’s here. And Gil has found himself a place.”
Miri turned to look, too. An interesting place, she thought. The old sheriff, Nate Tate, was sitting in the group, a man who had served in the special forces in Vietnam, followed by thirty years as sheriff here. He’d been retired for nearly a decade now and didn’t look a day older. But it wasn’t just Nate Tate who made the group interesting. Gil had been found by a phalanx of vets, among them Seth Hardin and a few others who had served in special forces. Even Jess MacGregor, who’d been a combat medic, had joined them.
Edie Hardin, who had her own experiences of combat, had gravitated with her and Seth’s child to a group of women. Billy Joe Yuma, formerly a medevac pilot in Vietnam and now director of the county’s emergency services, had not joined the group around Gil.
Miri studied the group dynamics and wondered what was going on. The meeting of some kind of elite club, no outsiders welcome? Or something else.
Jack spoke. “Go join ’em.”
“I don’t belong.”
“Exactly.” Jack gave her a little nudge. “This is a barbecue to make Betsy happy, not to create a support group.”
He had a point. Miri took a couple steps in the direction of the knot of men, then hesitated. There might be a good reason for that huddle. She also suspected there were stories about Al that would never be repeated to Betsy, but that Gil could share with these men of similar backgrounds. Maybe that was cathartic for a man who said very little. Except that he didn’t appear to be sharing much. The others were talking, and occasionally a bark of laughter would punctuate the otherwise quiet conversation.
There were other clusters, as well. Nearly sixty people. They’d hardly congregate into one large crowd. Miri had been to lots of large gatherings as a teacher, and crowd breakout was common. Conversation became easier.
Jack was right, however. This barbecue, while ostensibly to welcome Gil back, was really about giving Betsy some happiness again. Not since the funeral had she joined in any social events, but now she had organized one in an amazingly brief span of time. And everyone she had called had evidently arrived to support her and Jack.
Gil was only a small part of it, as Al’s best friend.
Betsy had decided to rejoin life. For that alone, Miri would feel eternally grateful to Gil. He’d provided the push she needed, the excuse.
So what did Jack expect her to do? Go break up that huddle of men? She didn’t think Betsy would want that, especially since she’d said Gil could just find a comfortable chair and hold court—or not come at all if he didn’t want to.
Gil was the excuse. Betsy was the one smiling for the first time in ages, having a bit of a hen party around the folding tables that held enough food for an army. Three other men were working grills with hamburgers, hot dogs and bratwursts.
They were going to need another sixty people to eat all this, Miri thought with amusement. She hoped everyone took home leftovers.
Some folks were eating, some still working on longnecks. Miri decided to go join Betsy and her coterie.
She was welcomed warmly by the women, most of whom she’d known all her life, and returned a tight hug from Betsy. She looked into her aunt’s eyes and saw their warm brown depths cloudless for the first time in ages.
“Isn’t this fun?” Betsy asked. “And all the more special because we can do it in the middle of winter.”
“It is awesome,” Miri replied. “Thaw or not, I wouldn’t have thought of it.”
Betsy smiled. “I’m glad I did.” She leaned in a bit. “We have to carry on, Miri. You know that. But this is the first time since...then that I’ve actually felt like doing it.” She turned and looked toward Gil and the group of vets. “Most of them were Al’s friends, you know. At least when he was home. I’m glad they’re talking to Gil.”
“You don’t want to?”
Betsy looked at her once more. “Later, if you’re still around. In a couple of hours the temperature will start dropping again as we head into night, and I think nearly everyone will have left. But Jack was talking about building a fire in the fire pit if you and Gil want to hang around for a little while. Meantime, it looks like Jack is pulling those ribs off the smoker. Want to help?”
Miri helped Betsy carry large platters over to the smoker and Jack began piling half racks of beef ribs on them.
“The aroma,” Miri said, closing her eyes and inhaling. “Jack, it smells like heaven.”
“So go dig in.” Jack winked as she opened her eyes. “I heard the potato salad you brought is great. Same for the coleslaw Betsy made.”
It didn’t take long for the ribs to disappear onto plastic plates. Ceremony was abandoned as people used their fingers to eat meat that was falling off the bone. Someone had brought Gil a plate laden with meat and potato salad, and he was soon eating with the group around him.
Miri was going to let it go, but it occurred to her that those guys had Gil walled off. Maybe there was a reason for it, but it was possible that others at the gathering might want a few words with him. It wasn’t as if nobody knew who he was, or his relationship with Al. Betsy had made sure of that.
So she wandered that way with her ribs and coleslaw, and instead of being cut out, she was welcomed, immediately given a chair while one of the men went to find another.
“You guys having fun?”
“At a barbecue?” Seth Hardin asked. “You better believe it.” He cocked his head toward the right. “See my dad? He’s practically holding court over there.”
“People love him, Seth. They always have.”
“Well, not always,” Seth replied with a crooked grin. “He says he raised hell in his youth. Anyway, at least Edie could come and bring the youngster with us. I suppose I ought to take my share of responsibility here or Edie will never eat.” He nodded toward Gil. “You take care, man. See you before you leave, I hope.”
Then Seth beelined toward his father, the old sheriff Nate Tate, and his wife and baby.
Breaking into the exclusive circle had an interesting effect. Some of the vets remained. Others left to go join their wives. Soon other women took the emptied seats and the whole context changed. Conversation began to revolve around local events, and different people took turns clueing Gil in, trying to make him feel a part of the community. He smiled faintly, nodded as he listened and ate, and said very little.
When Betsy joined them, conversation turned to Al and some of his youthful escapades. Laughter accompanied the memories, and Miri took genuine pleasure in watching Betsy laugh. As often as she had played with Al as a young child, she hadn’t realized what a scamp he was at times.
“One of the cats climbed up into a tree one time,” Betsy recalled. “Now I ask you, how many cat skeletons have you seen in a tree? They tend to find a way to get down as long as there isn’t a coyote or something holding them up there. Anyway, Al, all of five years old, was scared the cat would never get down, and it was one he was particularly fond of.”
Miri nodded, smiling as she recalled Al with the barn cats. Betsy and Jack got most of them neutered, but kept some so they could breed. Barn cats served a lot of useful purposes out here. Anyway, Al had loved those cats, but there was one in particular, a black cat with a half-white face that he’d almost turned into a house cat.
“It was Benji who went up the tree, right?” she asked.
Betsy smiled at her. “Yup. Anyway, despite me telling him that Benji could find his way down when he was ready, as soon as I wasn’t watching Al climbed that tree to get him. The next thing I knew, Al was stuck in the tree with a contented cat sitting on his lap, and no way down.”
Laughter passed through the group.
“A tree wouldn’t have stopped him once he grew up,” Gil remarked.
Everyone fell momentarily silent, then Betsy eased a moment that shouldn’t have turned awkward at all. “I have no doubt of that. But at the time I quite enjoyed standing at the bottom of that tree and asking him how much help he’d be now that he was stuck, too.”
“Ouch,” Maxie Walters said. “Did he get mad at you?”
“No, he just said he’d figure it out. Then Benji jumped down, completely unharmed, and Al was stuck up there by his lonesome. The thing was, without the cat he found it a whole lot easier to get himself down. I had to give him credit for that. He said he’d figure it out, and he did.”
“He was like that,” Gil remarked. “Always.” Then he fell silent again, growing pensive.
He looked so weary, Miri realized suddenly. He evidently wasn’t as close to being healed as he’d tried to pretend. It wasn’t just the stoicism that she’d seen at the funeral. He looked exhausted.
A lot of the guests were beginning to say their goodbyes, coming to speak to Betsy and thank her. Betsy left their group and began to urge people to take leftovers with them, most especially if they’d brought it in the first place.
Miri heard her aunt’s voice on the cooling air. “Please. Where will I put it? No one wants all this to spoil.”
“It might freeze tonight,” someone joked, but containers of food began to vanish from the tables. Disposable tablecloths and plates quickly disappeared into the ranch’s huge trash bin.
“We’ll leave soon,” Miri assured Gil. “I just want to help with the cleanup. Are you warm enough?”
“I’m fine. Let me know if I can help.”
Right now he didn’t look capable. She wondered if his ability to recognize his own fatigue had been dulled during all the years of active duty. It wouldn’t be surprising. “Sure thing.”
She went to help roll up the last of the disposable tablecloths and to fold the tables and carry them into the barn. Jack helped her with an extra-long one. “Gil doesn’t look good,” he remarked.
“Tired, I think. He mentioned that the docs told him it would take a while to get his energy back. Something about most of it going to healing him right now.”
“How badly was he hurt?”
“I honestly don’t know. He’s not the kind of person who makes you feel that prying would be welcome.”
“No,” Jack agreed as they leaned the table against the growing stack in the barn. “He also strikes me as the kind of man who must be chafing because right now he can’t help. I was thinking.”
Miri paused and looked at him.
“Even if he wasn’t worn-out, I suspect he wouldn’t be too keen to sit around a campfire tonight. Sure, it’s a treat for the rest of us, but we haven’t spent maybe hundreds of cold nights huddling around one to keep warm.”
“I didn’t think of that,” Miri admitted.
“Just occurred to me. And if I make the offer, he’ll probably feel he has to accept it. Another time. Just get the man home so he can warm up and rest.”
She looked over and saw that Gil had risen and was making his way carefully over to Betsy, the uneven ground giving him a bit of trouble. She wondered why he was even out of the hospital. Right now she had the impression he should be in convalescent care. What the hell had happened to him?
“Go get him, Miri. Just drive your car up there and pick him up.” Jack was firm. “We’ll come by your place to visit him after church tomorrow if he hasn’t already moved on.”
She turned toward Jack and gave him a huge hug.
“What’s that for?”
“You have plenty of reason right now to be hard or bitter. You’re not. I admire you.”
The light was dimming, but she thought she saw him color a bit.
Then she followed orders, trotting over to her SUV and pulling it up close to Gil and Betsy. It was getting colder again. Maybe the thaw was almost over.
She climbed out, feeling the nip afresh, and rounded her vehicle to join Betsy and Gil. “We need to get you home,” she said bluntly.
Betsy laughed. “I was just telling Gil the same thing. Dear man, you look worn to the bone. If it’s all right, Jack and I will stop by after church in the morning.” As Gil nodded, Betsy turned to Miri. “Is that okay by you? I’ll pick up some sweet rolls at the bakery like I used to do for Al. Jack will love me forever. He’s not allowed to have them anymore, but I think we can make an exception this once.”
Leaning very heavily on his cane, Gil said goodbye and eased his way into the SUV. Miri closed the door behind him as soon as he’d pulled his cane inside, waved across the yard to her uncle and gave Betsy a tight hug. “If you need help out here tomorrow, let me know.”
Betsy shook her head. “Not much left. Our neighbors did a great job. Now you get that young man home.”
* * *
Gil had started to feel chilled to the bone, and exhaustion had been annoying him for at least the last hour. He hated his weakness, even though it was temporary, but he’d been taking orders for enough years that following them was automatic. Rest, the doctors said, so he rested. Mostly. Leaving his family behind and driving halfway across the country probably wasn’t what they meant by rest.
Nor was this barbecue, not that anyone had given him a chance to do much except sit in a comfortable chair and mostly listen to the conversation. Nobody had seemed to expect him to speak at any length, which was good. What did he have to talk about, anyway?
“I hope you didn’t leave early on my account,” he said to Miri, feeling a twinge of guilt.
“Absolutely not. Betsy and Jack were thinking about building a fire to sit around tonight, but they were reconsidering. Most of the extended family had already left, too. The air feels like the thaw is almost over.”
“It does,” he agreed almost absently. Night had begun to settle over the land, early as always at these latitudes this time of year. The hours at the barbecue had showed him a bit of why Al had been so proud of his home. People were friendly, he’d always had food on his plate and a beer in his hand, without even asking. Middle-aged angels swooped by every now and then to replace whatever plate he was holding. Often as not, one of the men who’d gathered with him had brought him another longneck.
They hadn’t questioned him, either. No one had wanted to know about his wounds or how they’d happened. Of course, all of them had been in combat and they probably didn’t need exact details. But there’d been the lack of pressure of any kind. They’d simply included him in their group and chatted about nearly everything under the sun, mostly things that were happening locally, making him feel welcome and leaving him unpressured.
A pleasant change from the visit with his family in Lansing. It wasn’t that he didn’t love them, because he did. It wasn’t that they didn’t love him, he was sure of that. It was that they wanted a different version of Gil York, and after seventeen years in uniform he wasn’t about to give it to them. That didn’t keep them from pressing him, though. They wanted change. They wanted him home.
And he wasn’t at all sure he was anywhere near ready to go home and stay. Besides, Lansing no longer felt like home. It felt more like a place he visited every year for a week or two. It didn’t even qualify as a vacation unless he rented a car and headed for Lake Michigan or the Upper Peninsula.
Years and distance had put a gulf between him and his family, such that he’d felt more comfortable among a group of strangers today. Maybe because they understood where he was coming from.
He suddenly became aware of the silence in the SUV as they made their way back to Miri’s house. Silences didn’t usually trouble him, but this one did. He was being discourteous.
“Al’s friends and family all seem like great people.”
“Most of them are,” Miri agreed.
A quiet chuckle escaped him. “Only most?”
“There are problematic people everywhere.” She laughed. “Some can be enjoyed as characters. Others need to be watched out for. But by and large, I agree with you. Jack and Betsy are great people. So are most of their family. They raised Al, didn’t they? And they attract the same kind of people as friends.”
Small talk just wasn’t his thing. Ordinarily not a problem, but it felt like one right now. He’d spent so much time involved in operations and their executions with a bunch of guys who had a lot of shared experiences to talk about, whether humorously or seriously. Miri was making him aware of a lack in himself. She’d been welcoming, sharing her house with him, feeding him, taking him to the barbecue... Sitting here is stony silence almost seemed like an insult.
“Was it getting colder, or was that just me? I mean, I know the day was fading, I’d expect the temperature to drop, but it was beginning to feel bitter.”
“It’s dropping,” she agreed. “I think our midwinter thaw is over. Anyway, we’ll get you warmed up and then you can decide how much is the weather and how much your own fatigue. You can burn an awful lot of energy trying to stay warm.” Then she laughed. “I guess you know that. I’ll check the weather report when we get home.”
When they reached Conard City, he paid attention to the place for the first time. He’d been so tired when he drove in yesterday, he hadn’t cared. But now as they drove down the winter-bare streets, he saw compact charm left over from an earlier time. There wasn’t much to jar a visitor into remembering time had moved on, apparently leaving this town in its wake.
He tried to focus, but didn’t quite make it. He was in a lit-up town again, but the drive home had been a struggle. They’d been far enough out that there’d been no lights to interfere with the star-studded sky.
And for a minute or two, just briefly, he’d been cast back to Afghanistan. He’d managed to cling to the present, but a sour, troubled feeling remained. As did some unaccustomed anxiety.
“Is there some well-lit place where we can get coffee or something?” he asked abruptly. He knew what he needed.
“Sure.” Miri didn’t even question him. He wondered if she could begin to guess what a relief that was after being at home with his family. He’d been constantly questioned. Understandable, but not comfortable.
“Do you want a bar or a diner?” she asked.
“Diner.” He’d been plied with delicious food for hours, but now he was hungry. Really hungry. He’d also been served enough beer that he wasn’t sure how many weeks it would be before he wanted to see another. A friendly group, good company, and now somehow he felt as if he’d been through the wringer.
Before he went home with Miri, he needed to be sure he’d silenced the demons that had been awakened by a very dark Wyoming night.
They’d merely whispered to him, but he wanted them firmly shoved down into their pit before they grew louder and possibly disturbed Al’s cousin, who’d been so kind to him.
She pulled into a space in front of The City Diner near the center of town. Through the windows he could see a chunky woman at work wiping tables, and only a few other people.
Plenty of space. He needed it.
“Maude’s diner,” Miri said cheerfully. “Everyone calls it that because Maude has owned it as long as anyone remembers, and she’s quite a character. She’s even been known to pick your meal for you. I would label her as graceless but not mean. As far as I know, anyway.”
He felt miserably stiff as he climbed out of the vehicle and walked into the diner. A lot of things hurt because of his injuries, but other parts seemed to be screaming because of the cold, or maybe years of abusing his body. At this point he couldn’t tell anymore. When you let things rest, they had time to stiffen up. Problem was, right now he had to let himself rest, moving only as much as necessary to keep scar tissue loose. He’d failed at that one today.
Inside, the diner was warm. Patched leatherette covered stools, chairs, and benches in the booths. His hip made dealing with a booth problematic, but he chose one anyway, because it would put his back to a wall. The need didn’t always trouble him, but tonight it did. Maybe because the drive through the darkness had stirred up some of his PTSD. Sometimes there was just no avoiding it.
He soon saw what Miri had meant about Maude, but she didn’t trouble him in the least as she slammed cups on the table along with menus. The coffee was poured quickly, hot and aromatic. It might drive the day’s cobwebs away for a bit.
Holding the mug in both his hands, he raised it to his lips and drew a deep breath of the aroma. “Perfect.”
“Are you hungry, too?”
“Considering how much food I ate today—all of it delicious, by the way—I probably shouldn’t be. I might want a tank topper, anyway.”
“Then I suggest Maude’s pie, whichever kind she has. She’s famous for it.”
He managed a faint smile. “It’s been a while since I ate pie.”
He rested his elbows on the table, holding the hot cup of coffee right in front of his face, watching as tendrils of steam wafted upward, seeing Miri through it. Beautiful woman. Kindly woman. Today he’d had the sense that a lot of people at the barbecue were welcoming him on Al’s behalf. A tight-knit community. And the vets who had dominated the group that had gathered around him...
He closed his eyes briefly, feeling it all over again. And he had felt it—men he didn’t know, brothers-in-arms, and the brotherhood had come through. They’d surrounded him, trying to make the situation easier for him, as if they understood.
Well, of course they understood. They’d all walked in his shoes and knew that a crowd of strangers could be uncomfortable, at least for a while. The safety net gone, out there all alone, and in many places that had been a threat. It was hard to ease past all that, hence him sitting here with his back to a wall.
He opened his eyes in time to see a large wedge of pie slammed down in front of him. “Dutch apple,” said the woman, her tone almost challenging. “What about you, girl?”
“One scoop of vanilla ice cream.”
Maude arched a brow. “Reckon you ain’t heard it’s a cold night.”
Miri laughed. “Got me there, Maude. But it sounds good, anyway.”
Maude stomped away and Gil looked down at the pie in front of him. “It’s warm,” he remarked, the scents rising up to join with the coffee he still held. Very warm. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had warm pie.
“A special favor for you,” Miri remarked, smiling. Maude returned with her ice cream in a metal dish, then marched away, disappearing into the bowels of the diner behind the counter somewhere.
The last two people in the place got up, threw some bills on the table and headed for the door, nodding as they walked past.
Suddenly the world shook itself back into place, and Gil was able to sip his coffee and dig into the pie. “You were right,” he said, after he swallowed the first mouthful. “Best pie ever.”
“Be sure to tell Maude.” Miri scooped a small amount of ice cream onto the tip of her teaspoon, but paused before she ate it. “What happened, Gil? I could feel something change when we were driving back.”
He made it a rule never to open up about most of his experiences to civilians. Yes, something had changed on the drive back, but he wondered what he could recount that wouldn’t upset Miri. He’d lived a violent life in service to his country, but he could see no damn good reason to let that violence touch someone like this woman. Yet he sensed he might annoy her, or upset her, if he just shut her out. She was asking sincerely and deserved some kind of answer.
“I don’t talk much about my service,” he said finally.
“Al never did, either. But after he began to go on missions, when he came home he was different. It was like he knew he was coming from another planet that we couldn’t even begin to understand.”
“That nailed it,” Gil admitted. “Miri, it’s a simple fact that I know what I’m capable of in a way most people never will. And it’s not something I want to dump all over anyone like you. Someone who’s never been there.”
She nodded. “I get that. Honestly. Al was frank about it, too. But it seems so sad, like he could never come home again. Like you can’t.”
Truer than she knew, he thought. But she needed some kind of answer. She’d evidently felt his demons trying to escape during the drive back. He owed her something, given the hospitality she had offered so freely.
“It’s dark out there at night,” he finally said. “You don’t find that kind of darkness in a lot of places these days. But you find it in Afghanistan and other places in the Middle East. Jolting down a road in the dark... I guess it stirred some memory or other.”
“Does the darkness bother you?”
“Depends.” He shrugged one shoulder. “It can be a friend or an enemy. Driving down back roads could be dangerous, though. Sometimes they provided a perfect opportunity for ambush. And headlights didn’t always catch the IEDs.”
Improvised explosive devices. She knew the term from the news, from Al and from how Al had died. A cold little shiver ran down her spine.
“I vastly preferred to be on foot,” Gil added truthfully, then said no more. There was no need to say more. She had her answer, a truthful one even if it was abbreviated. On foot, especially, the darkness was his friend.
But he’d hovered close enough to memory’s precipice. Now that he’d told her what had happened, he wanted to change the subject. They were sitting here in a brightly lt diner over coffee and pie. No reason not to enjoy it. “Do you like teaching music?”
“I love it,” she said with a smile, a tiny spot of ice cream in the corner of her lips. As if she sensed it, she pulled a fresh paper napkin from the dispenser and dabbed her mouth. Too bad, he thought. He’d have liked to lick it away. And she would have justifiably objected. He enjoyed some internal amusement at his own expense. Here he was, too tired most of the time to do more than sit or pace, with a mangled body, and his genitals wanted to rise to the occasion. Miri was having an unusually strong impact on him. If he’d been capable of carrying out his desires, he’d have been smart to move to the motel.
But he was no threat to her, he assured himself. Al’s cousin. A deep bond he still honored, and that extended to respecting Al’s family.