“He’s not going to trouble himself about you, that’s sure and certain.”
Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
JEREMY STOOD eating a hot dog, trying to look like he wanted to be here. The truth was, he felt a little more like he used to feel—like he’d prefer heading back to his room. This was too big a crowd, too many people. He was getting better about that, but he still didn’t like it.
Suddenly, a shot sounded. Jeremy’s heart nearly exploded in his chest as he scanned the area—only to realize a balloon had popped. Shit. He hated balloons. For this very reason.
When his heart slowed back to normal, he resumed eating his dog—as opposed to really getting one painted on his face.
Just then, though, as a family near him got their hot dogs and moved on, it cleared a visual path between him and Tamra—and the dude kissing her hand. What the fuck?
But he lowered his eyes so he wouldn’t be caught staring.
And what did he care anyway? If she wanted to let some he-man type kiss her hand, it was none of his business.
Even if the guy looked like kind of a clod.
And damn, she’d moved on pretty fast for somebody claiming to love him so much.
But whatever—he didn’t care.
Just then, Reece stepped up beside him. “Really nice job on the course, man.”
“Thanks,” Jeremy replied absently. Then, realizing he was still watching Tamra talk to the big muscle-bound dude even though he’d intended to look away, he said to Reece, “Who’s that?”
Reece followed his gaze and said, “New lifeguard.”
Maybe Jeremy looked puzzled because Reece added, “You didn’t want the job, remember? Town found a guy who did.”
“Huh,” he said.
“Name’s Alejandro. He’s from Brazil.”
Jeremy felt his brow knit. “Ali what? Handro? Like with an h? What the hell kind of name is that?”
Reece laughed. “I don’t think that’s how it’s spelled, but that’s how you say it. And guess it’s a Brazilian one, dude.”
So a Brazilian lifeguard was kissing Tamra’s hand? A big, burly one at that. A guy who’d taken a job he didn’t want. Ignore the irony in that, seriously.
It was her business who she hung out with, even if something about the guy rubbed him the wrong way—even at this distance. But he decided he’d had enough grand opening for today.
“I’m takin’ off,” he said to Reece.
“Not gonna play a round?” Reece asked, eyebrows raised. “I mean, you built the place.”
He could have—probably should have—given Reece any number of explanations for why he was leaving, but instead he just said, “No, man—gotta go.”
And as he started to walk away, Reece said, “It’s none of my business, but for what it’s worth, you’re starting to seem a lot more like . . . you used to.”
Jeremy stopped, looked back. “What do you mean?”
“Some people might call it moody,” Reece said. “A few might lean more toward . . . asshole-ish.”
Jeremy tipped back his head in understanding. He wished he cared more, but right now he didn’t. Right now he just needed to get away from this whole scene. So he walked off without another word.
He intended to head back to his room, but as he trudged down Coral Street, he found himself stepping inside the Hungry Fisherman instead. He wasn’t sure why, but that was where his feet led him.
The place was dead quiet inside, with no lights on, making it even darker than usual. Abner called over, “We’re not open yet, son,” and Jeremy spotted him in his usual booth. “Polly’s over at the big golf to-do, so we’re openin’ late today.”
“Mind if I just sit?” he asked.
Abner shook his head. He wore a multi-colored beanie, complete with propeller on top. “Nope—help yourself.”
Jeremy took his usual booth on the opposite side of the restaurant. He actually didn’t mind them being closed as he was in the market for some solitude. Maybe that was why he’d come here—the dark, woody interior didn’t let in much of the bright Florida sunlight—and right now that suited him just fine. It made it easier to forget where he was. Normally he liked being at the beach, in a land of sun and sand, far from war and far from the hometown where he’d let people down. But right now he didn’t want to be here either for some reason.
Tamra’s here. Tamra’s here letting some guy kiss her hand.
But he pushed that thought away. It didn’t matter. He leaned his head back on the booth, shut his eyes, tried to be nowhere and feel nothing.
“You all right, Jeremy?”
He opened his eyes, surprised to find Abner had gotten up and walked over. Always surprising him, this guy.
“Fine,” Jeremy bit off.
“Don’t sound fine.”
“Just . . . tired,” he claimed.
“I’ll leave ya be,” Abner said—and Jeremy liked that about the man, that he knew when to leave well enough alone.
When he turned to go, though, his beanie fell off and hit the floor behind him. “Well, I’ll be dogged,” he said, then bent to pick it up.
And Jeremy still wasn’t much in the mood for talking, but he knew Abner a little now, and he’d always wondered the thing no one ever seemed to ask him, so he decided to ask. “Got a question for you, Abner,” he said. “Why do you wear all those hats? What’s that about?”
Abner tipped his head back, taking in the question, turning it over in his head for a minute before he replied. “Started when I was a boy. My father once told me a man who wears many hats can always make his way in the world. Bein’ just a little fella at the time, I misunderstood his meanin’ and took to wearin’ different hats around. Thought the very act of wearin’ ’em would made me smart or somethin’.”
Jeremy cocked his head slightly. “But you kept on wearing them even when you figured out there was more to it than that?”
The older man nodded. “Reckon what I found out pretty early on was . . . folks kinda steered clear of me when I was wearin’ a funny hat of some kind. Just thought I was odd, I guess. And thing was, I kinda didn’t mind that. I was always a keep-to-myself sort, ya see.”
Jeremy absorbed that and asked, “What about Polly?”
“Polly didn’t care nothin’ about me wearin’ hats. She just shoved her way right into my life whether I liked it or not. You mighta noticed she can be kinda pushy,” he said with a wink.
“Yep,” Jeremy said, letting only the hint of a grin sneak out.
“And truth was, I liked that about her,” Abner said. “Knew it made her the real thing, the one worth hangin’ on to. But the rest of the world . . . I didn’t care much about gettin’ to know ’em. What it boils down to is . . . you make yourself off-puttin’, it works—people leave ya alone. And that’s mostly what I still want—’cause it got to be a habit early for me, and habits can be hard to break.”
Thinking over the life Abner had created for himself, Jeremy asked, “Any regrets?”
“Mostly no,” Abner replied thoughtfully. “If I have any it’s that . . . I reckon it makes things a little hard on Polly. But she’s learned to get by well enough and don’t seem to mind. And . . . guess it can make life a little lonely at times when ya keep people out. Who knows, if I had it to do over, maybe I’d listen to my mother when she told me to take off those silly hats so other kids would play with me—maybe learn to not want to be left alone.” He stopped, shrugged. “I’m not an unhappy man—but sometimes I wonder if . . . well, if maybe life coulda been a little richer in ways . . . if I’d let it be.”
THE next morning Jeremy awoke to find he had a text message awaiting him, from his buddy, Marco. SORRY FOR THE SHORT NOTICE, BUT GONNA BE PASSING THROUGH YOUR AREA AROUND LUNCH TODAY. ANY CHANCE WE CAN MEET UP?
ABSOLUTELY. Jeremy might have been in the mood to hibernate a little, but for his military brothers, it was different—being with them didn’t require effort. They’d traveled the same road together, after all.
He met Marco at noon at the pier. When they spotted each other, they both broke into smiles and then did that guy hug thing that was mostly about slapping each other on the back.
“You look good, man,” Jeremy told his old friend. Marco had aged a little since Afghanistan—and it reminded Jeremy that years had begun to pass since then, putting that part of his life further and further in his past now—but his friend looked strong, healthy, fit.
“You, too, bud,” Marco said. “Hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you.” He laughed and Jeremy recalled that he’d texted Marco a selfie on request several months earlier when Jeremy had admitted he hadn’t shaved in a while. Jeremy laughed about it now, too.
“So on vacation with the family, huh?” Jeremy asked.
Marco nodded. “We’re hitting the beach at St. Pete for a couple days, then headed over to Disney. The girls have appointments to meet Mickey Mouse and princesses and all kinds of fun shit like that.” After more good-natured laughter, he added, “They’re killing time playing that little putt-putt course up in town right now.”
“I’ll have you know I built that little course,” Jeremy announced, realizing he truly took pride in it.
Even more so when Marco said, “No shit? Looked nice, man. Good for you. Good to see how much things have turned around for you.”
As they meandered out onto the pier past the few fishermen and sightseers there, it gave him a chance to tell his friend about his new job and how he felt like he’d gotten back on his feet here. And he took pride in that, too. He really cared about something again. And it was a damn good, solid feeling.
When they reached the end of the pier where it was quiet, empty, they both sat down on a bench looking out on the horizon. Sun sparkled on the water. And a part of Jeremy wanted to just keep on like they were, talking about how good life was for both of them these days.
But the thing was—Marco was the one other guy on the planet who’d been with him that horrible night Chuck had died. And even though he was doing a lot better about that, they’d never discussed it—ever—and now Jeremy wondered why. Maybe Marco had just wanted to let him off the hook by never mentioning it. But somehow it seemed important to . . . face the truth, accept it all the way, quit running. He might have run away from the golf course yesterday, but he suddenly didn’t want to run from this anymore. And if Marco was here, well . . . maybe God had dropped in his lap the way to quit running from it.
“I don’t want to take us both back to Helmand,” Jeremy said to his friend, “but . . . there’s something that’s always bothered me, something I maybe need to get square on.”
Next to him, Marco appeared tense, possibly troubled. “About Chuck.”
Jeremy let out a heavy breath. Clearly they were on the same wavelength if Marco went there that quick. “Yeah, man,” he murmured, not looking at his friend. In fact, he realized they were both staring out to sea.
And they stayed quiet for a long moment after that, until finally Jeremy said what he had to say. Maybe it was about true acceptance, or maybe he was seeking some kind of absolution from the man who’d seen it all go down—but whatever the reason, he had to. “I know it’s my fault he’s dead. I know I killed him.”
He crushed his eyes shut against the ugly words—even now, to say it out loud was so much harder than just knowing the truth in his head.
Only that was when Marco said, “What? You?”
Shit. Did this mean they weren’t on the same wavelength? Hell—that was going to make this harder. A lot harder. Now he turned to look at Marco, who met his gaze, and he swallowed past the lump in his throat as he said, “Yeah.” Then more quietly, “Me.”
Confusion reshaped Marco’s face, and Jeremy was starting to feel a little confused as well, when Marco told him, “I thought it was me.”
Jeremy’s jaw dropped. “Huh?”
“I thought it was me,” Marco repeated. “When he walked through the door, I thought he was more Taliban and fired.”
Jeremy drew in his breath. “Me, too.” Then he blinked, trying to clear his head, make sense of this. Because . . . whoa. “Man,” he said softly, “are you telling me all this time I’ve been sure I was the one who did it when . . .”
“When all this time I’ve been sure it was me,” Marco said.
They both went silent then, withdrew their gazes from each other, and Jeremy bent over slightly, ran his hands through his hair.
He wasn’t sure what else to say. This reshaped his whole view of that night. He’d been so wrapped up in knowing he’d fired his gun in that direction that it had never crossed his mind that Marco had been firing, too, maybe also in the same direction.
Finally, Marco said, “To know you’ve been going through the same thing I have . . . it tears me up, dude.”
Jeremy just nodded. Because yeah, to learn his friend had endured this same exact suffering, even if he appeared to have handled it better outwardly, ripped at his soul. “I hate this, man—hate knowing you’ve felt that way, too. Because it’s . . . fucking torture. And . . .” He shook his head. “You probably didn’t even do it. You’ve probably been punishing yourself for nothing.”
“I could say the same about you,” Marco pointed out. And it made Jeremy flinch. He was just so used to thinking—knowing—he’d been the one to fire the fatal shot, that it was hard to change that in his head, even now, even if this made things different in some way.
“I’ve just had this ingrained in me so long,” he explained. “It’s like . . . a part of me now.”
“I know what you mean,” Marco agreed. “Only . . . now it’s a part of me, and you, that . . . that we don’t even know for sure is real. I mean, we couldn’t have both done it.”
“Actually, we could,” Jeremy pointed out. Then reminded Marco, “It all happened fast.”
Next to him, Marco nodded, pressed his lips together flat, looked off into the distance, clearly still weighing all this.
“I . . . confided in somebody about it recently,” Jeremy confessed. “And she made the argument that it could have been the bad guys just as easily as me.”
Marco nodded. “Yeah, I’ve always known that. I just thought . . . the angles made it likelier to be me.”
“Or me.”
“Shit—I don’t know what to think anymore.” Marco shook his head.
“Me neither,” Jeremy agreed. His mind felt blown sky high, in fact.
Marco let out a tired sigh. “The upshot is, we’ll never know for sure.”
Jeremy nodded. “For better or worse.” Then he looked at his friend. “This . . . gives it a new perspective, though. Because, I mean, I’ve been so sure. It never even occurred to me . . .”
“I know, man, I know.” Marco stared back out to sea. “I guess it makes me wonder . . . what other perspectives we could be missing. Not that I want to let myself off the hook—I don’t.” He shook his head. “I mean, I take responsibility. Inside myself.”
Jeremy nodded. “Me, too. But yeah . . . I guess if nothing else, now we share the burden.”
Marco shrugged. “Better than carrying it alone, I guess.” One more head shake. “Maybe. I don’t know anymore.”
“The person I told, she also said Chuck wouldn’t want me to keep suffering. And I guess I’ve . . . started making peace with it.”
Marco nodded. “She somebody special to you?”
Jeremy let out a breath. “No, not really,” he said. But in that heavy moment, it felt like the biggest lie he’d ever told.
JEREMY had spent the last few days not doing much. He’d lain on the beach, trying to clear his head—on a lot of different subjects. He’d thought a week off between jobs might be nice, but he realized now that he’d had the last two years off and that working was good for him; not working gave him too much time to think.
Of course, maybe some of the thinking was good.
Though what he’d learned from Marco didn’t absolve him from firing his weapon that night, at the same time it did force him to re-examine the whole event. It reminded him that just because he’d been there, that didn’t make him a reliable witness—it was hard to process things in extreme stress and that had been about the most extreme stress of his life. So he didn’t absolve himself, but maybe he was beginning to forgive himself a little more.
And he hoped Marco would, too. He planned to keep in closer touch with his buddy.
But some of the thinking was bad. Because it was about Tamra.
His conversation with Marco had also forced him to see he’d minimized what he’d shared with her. He’d tried to make it nothing when it was . . . something. More than something. She’d helped him turn his life around and that counted for more than he could measure.
He felt like an ass now for making so light of their relationship. But he’d been thrown into panic mode, shutdown mode. He’d been mentally running away.
That was what the whole last two years of his life had been about—running away. And he’d thought he’d stopped that, but the second she’d told him she loved him, he’d gone right back to running.
Now he sat outside behind the Happy Crab with his usual companion these days—one who happened to come with fur. At least he didn’t talk much.
He peered down at him and said, “Know why you and me get along? Because you don’t want anything from me besides fish. And I’m okay with that kind of superficial relationship.”
If he was honest with himself, he’d felt a little lonely since parting with Tamra. But the hell of it was that . . . it just felt safer that way. And he could have hung out some with Reece if he’d wanted, or hell—probably Abner for that matter. And one night Riley, the nice old man who managed the motel, had invited him to watch a football game on TV. But Jeremy had passed. And he wasn’t sure why. He only knew that it had something to do with Chuck, and also something to do with Tamra.
“I heard from Polly you adopted a cat.”
He looked up to see Fletcher McCloud round the building.
Fletcher smiled. “Don’t worry—I know it’s a secret from Reece.”
“I’m not really a cat guy,” he told Fletcher. “More of a dog person.”
Fletcher’s gaze dropped to where Jeremy absently held down one hand to stroke behind the cat’s ear. “You kind of seem like a cat guy.”
“I was mostly guilted into it,” he explained.
Yet it was clear the other man wasn’t buying it. “None of my business, but sometimes it’s wise to just accept certain things, learn to roll with what is instead of what was.”
Jeremy took that in, turned it over in his brain. And then let out a giant sigh. Aw hell. He was a cat guy.
“I’ve been wanting to get to know you better,” Fletcher said, “but our paths never seem to cross.”
Jeremy forced a laugh. “My path doesn’t cross many others. Tend to keep to myself.”
“I’d heard that was changing.”
“Well, changed back.” Jeremy crossed his arms.
“That’s unfortunate,” Fletcher said. “Good people here. Knowing them has enriched my life.”
It put Jeremy on the defensive. “They are good people. Guess I’m just not into . . .”
“Having friends?” Fletcher asked.
At this, Jeremy shrugged. “Makes life simpler, you ask me.”
“Does it?” Fletcher countered. “I would get lonely without people. Relationships are the spice of life.”
Jeremy just gave his head a short shake. “For some guys, I guess.”
“What’s the spice of your life then? If not people?” And when Jeremy didn’t give him an answer, because he couldn’t think of one, Fletcher added, “What else is there really?”
And Jeremy wanted to just shut up and let this conversation end, but he heard himself reply anyway, with what he was really thinking. “People . . . make life complicated. They come with obligations. Or they need to be taken care of. Or they want to take care of you. Or they go away. Or they die.”
“But it’s a trade-off,” Fletcher said without missing a beat, “and what you get in return is worth it.”
“Is it?”
“Always,” Fletcher replied. “Because it’s the whole point of living. It’s why we’re here. Some people would say that to avoid relationships is to live your life in fear.”
“Fear of what?”
“Fear of love. Fear of loss. Loving can mean losing, my friend. Some people mistakenly think it’s easier to avoid the whole thing.”
Jeremy let out a heavy breath. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but . . . you’re a very intense, philosophical dude. I mean, I was just sitting here enjoying the weather and . . .”
Fletcher let out a laugh. “I hear ya—and I apologize for turning a hello into an analysis. I was just looking for Reece.” And as he started to walk past, toward the motel office, Jeremy thought he seemed like some wannabe therapist. But another part of him was forced to recall he’d once said something similar to Tamra—he’d told her sometimes you had to be bigger than your fears. Maybe it had been easier when they’d been talking about her, not him. Or . . . maybe he’d just been smarter with her than without her.
Regardless, he was glad the conversation was over. But something still made him call to Fletcher, “I’m glad your wife came back, man.”
The tightrope walker had just opened the back office door, but looked over to say, “Thanks. Me, too.” Then he disappeared inside.
Although it was a beautiful October day in Florida, Jeremy followed the urge to retreat even a little more and headed back to his room. Of course, Captain followed, ever Jeremy’s furry shadow. It was the middle of the day, but a nap sounded good.
No, a nap is bad. Back at Whisper Falls, he’d napped too much. Especially during periods without many nightmares. During those times, sleep was sweet escape from life.
But he still lay down because sleep sounded good. He grabbed his phone, turned on some music, low. Bush singing “Glycerine.” He got lost in the song’s low, soothing tones.
Don’t shut down. Don’t start closing yourself off.
But he still wanted the nap.
The problem with that was the damn cat. He kept walking around on Jeremy. “Geez,” he finally said, opening his eyes to look up at the cat whose big front paws were planted firmly on his chest. Captain peered back down at him through his one good eye.
Jeremy sighed. “You’re pretty damn clingy for such a big tough guy,” he said. The cat let out a small mew and their gazes stayed connected, and something in the connection softened Jeremy a little. “But . . . I guess you just want what everybody wants—to be loved, right?” And only because no one was around to see it, he hugged the large cat to his chest.
And then his own words echoed in his ears. About everyone wanting to be loved.
It’s normal, what Tamra wants.
It would be normal for you to want it, too. Normal to be brave enough to want it.
His chest tightened. Because he knew he loved her, too. But he stuffed the thought down as soon as it struck him.
Shit, Fletcher was right. Except . . . it wasn’t fear for Jeremy. It was a conscious choice. He’d already endured so much loss in war; he needed time to get over that. And the whole love thing with her—it was just too much too soon. It only made sense—for both their sakes—for him to let her go. He didn’t know how to take care of someone and maybe he never would. He could just barely let himself feel responsible for a cat.
And this protected her as much as him. He’d put on a pretty good show with her—and with himself—for a while. But the truth was, he was still a man running away from life. And she deserved better than that.