Ginny looked up as she placed more folding chairs in rows in the meeting hall of the American Legion building. The former church had sat empty for several years and when the new AL chapter needed their own hall, the owner gladly sold the building to them for a very reasonable price. The large meeting room was the former sanctuary, tall windows standing guard on both sides. The dais at the front served as their platform stage where Grant was currently checking out the microphone, making sure it worked properly. Unable to afford new equipment, the members made do with what they had.

Feeling the back of her neck prickle, Ginny turned around to see Grant staring at her. Lifting her eyebrow, she waited to see what was on his mind.

Plopping down on the edge of the dais, his long legs swinging over the side, he said, “I wanted to thank you…for what you talked about several months ago. You know…about pushing counseling for the AL members.”

“It really helped you, didn’t it?” she asked, a small smile playing about her lips, remembering his tumultuous relationship in the early days with Jillian.

Ducking his head, he grinned. “Yeah, thank God.” Looking back up at her, he said, “I know it’s a personal question, but I was wondering if you’d ever taken your own advice?”

Pinching her lips together, she considered not answering, but knew that was a chicken-shit response. Sucking in a deep breath, she let it out slowly. “A bit…in the past…kind of forced on me when I was getting out of the Army.” She let the implication that she needed it at the time hang between them. “Since I’ve been here, I’ve seen a counselor a couple of times.”

“Helping?”

Nodding, she said, “For the most part. Haven’t seen them recently. What about you?”

“Oh, hell yeah. I wouldn’t have been able to have a healthy relationship with Jillian if I hadn’t taken your advice. PTSD is a fucker, for sure.”

Bending to set up another chair, she nodded again. “Yeah, and it takes all forms. When trust is gone, it’s…well…”

Standing she noticed Grant looking over her shoulder. Twisting her head, she saw Brogan’s large body filling the doorway, hands in his pockets, eyes unreadable.

* * *

Mitch, Commander of the local chapter of the American Legion, rapped the gavel on the podium.   Brogan, the Sergeant at Arms, closed the doors of the meeting room of their new space.  With another three raps of the gavel, the members stood as Mitch called out, “The Color Bearer will advance the Colors.”   Jason, standing in the back with Brogan, marched forward, the American flagpole in his hands, and set it in the floor stand. 

“The Chaplain will offer prayer.”   The Methodist minister, a member of the American Legion, stood and prayed as the group bowed their heads in unison.

The POW/MIA Empty Chair Ceremony followed. The chair was designated as a symbol of the thousands of American POW/MIAs still unaccounted for from all wars and conflicts involving the United States of America.  The POW/MIA flag was placed on the Empty Chair. 

The eclectic assembly included men, plus a few women, ages running from about twenty-five to almost ninety.  At the moment, there was unity as all faces turned toward the Empty Chair, a haunted expression on many of them.

After the Pledge of Allegiance and the Preamble to the American Legion Constitution were spoken in unison, the gavel was rapped once more to indicate that everyone could take a seat. 

Aiden, the post adjunct, read the minutes from the last meeting and checked to see if there were any changes or additions that needed to be made. Brogan grinned as his normally jovial brother sat down next to him, amazed—and proud—with Aiden’s decorum.

The finance officer, Zac, read the treasurer’s report and a short discussion ensued about the upcoming fundraisers. “I’m going to ask Brogan MacFarlane to come up and talk about the block party.”

Brogan, hating the spotlight on him, stood and made his way toward the podium, stepping over Ginny’s legs as he exited his row of chairs. As their legs touched briefly, he was shocked by the warmth that traveled from her body to his. Glancing down, he was unable to hide the slight smile that always seemed to appear when she was looking up at him.

“As most of you know, the pub got permission to hold a block party next month. We’ll block off the street next to Finn’s and invite townspeople to listen to music, dance, and have some good food. We’re charging a premium rate for the food trucks to come in and have several local bands who will cut the costs of their appearances. All the proceeds will be donated to the Baytown American Legion and the Baytown Fire and Rescue Services.”

At that, applause erupted and Brogan blushed, shaking his head. With a head jerk toward Mitch, he walked back to his seat, this time making sure his leg touched Ginny’s knee as he passed by.

Gareth reported on the statistics of the youth baseball teams they had created. “We have almost fifty children, ranging in age from five to seventeen, who come out almost every weekend. We now have the support of the community and the parents. Many of the parents cannot afford to give financial assistance, but they offer what they can and have participated in some fundraising. Our community assistance drive is in full swing and we now have sponsorships from Baytown Furniture, Sunset Marina, Sam’s Golf Carts, the Baytown Hotel, and the Dunes Pro Golf Shop. This means we can get uniforms at no cost to us or the kids.”

Another round of applause ensued and the officers grinned. Initial announcements over, a member in his early fifties came forward and approached the podium, nodding toward the group. Ginny leaned forward, curious as to his story.

“I was an F-15 pilot in Desert Storm and we were successful in our missions to damage Saddam's vaunted Republican Guard. I was proud of what we did. Proud of who I served with. I left the Air Force ten years later and had a career as a pilot with a large airline company. Always looked back with pride.” He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and said, “It wasn’t until years later that I started having trouble sleeping. Nightmares. Disturbing thoughts during the day. I would watch the news and see bombed buildings in different battles and locations and my mind would take a dark path. With the encouragement of my wife, I began counseling about five years ago, before we retired to Baytown. It helped a lot because what I had never realized was that while I wasn’t on the ground fighting, I was…no pun intended…above it all. I never knew that a lot of pilots suffer from PTSD, just like any other soldier. My nightmares would be about who all might have died in my raids that were innocents. Children. Women. I can’t say that my dark thoughts have all gone, but it helps to have a counselor that understands all forms of PTSD and to have the support of a good woman that keeps me balanced. And, of course, this group here. I can’t go back and, to be honest, I served and by that service, I performed the missions assigned, so going back wouldn’t change anything. But by the activities that this AL organization is involved in, I am able to do something productive and giving.”

The group applauded and Ginny was glad that Mitch had instituted a time during each meeting where a member could share their experience. It helped to bridge the age and war gap, plus gave the members a chance to know they were not alone in their feelings.

Ginny looked around at the group, happy for the work the AL was doing for the small community. Jason, Grant, Zac, and Brogan sat on one side of her while Lance, quiet as ever, sat stoically on the other side next to Aiden, his ever-present smile firmly in place, completing the row. She knew all of them, but had to admit Lance was the mystery. A friend of Mitch’s, he had relocated to the Eastern Shore after being discharged from the Army, but somewhat of a recluse, he kept to himself.

Behind her sat Callan, one of the original Baytown Boys, and his CG buddies, all of who had joined the American Legion.

Bringing her attention back to the meeting, Mitch was discussing the American Legion Auxiliary. “Ginny Spencer, would you come up and discuss what is going on with the Auxiliary?”

Feeling Brogan’s eyes on her as she stepped up on the dais, she tried to focus on the entire assembly and not just the man sitting next to the chair she just vacated. “I’m in a unique position of being a member of the American Legion and the Auxiliary since I served, as well as come from a military family. They’ve done great work so far and their fundraisers are going well. The Cavalcade of Memories is ongoing and if you did not look at it in the foyer as you came in, please do so on your way out. Any articles for display can be given to Katelyn MacFarlane.”

As she started to leave the podium, Mitch called her to speak as the Post Service Officer. Giving a short nod, she moved back to the microphone. “This is just a reminder that many of you have taken up the offer of counseling from the Eastern Shore Mental Health Group. This is an ongoing and very important outreach that they perform and we know that those who have served have a…variety...of…uh…” For a few seconds, Ginny looked out onto the crowd and felt the room sway. Instead of the expressions of warm acceptance from the gathering, all she could see was faces from the past of censure, disbelief, and anger. Her breath became labored, but just as the room began to darken, she felt a touch on her arm and her name being called softly.

“Ginny? Ginny?” Mitch said, placing his hand on her arm.

Jerking, she blinked rapidly. “Fuck,” she whispered. Looking out on the concerned and confused faces, she rushed, “Oh, sorry. Wow, I probably shouldn’t have skipped supper.” The members gently laughed as she shook her head to clear out the fog. “But anyway, just remember that they are there if you need them.” With a mumbled apology toward Mitch, she stepped away from the podium, but instead of making her way back to her seat, she slipped out the side door into the cool night air. Not wanting to be seen, she ran to the back of the building and through the alley, her house only being four blocks away. Her chest heaved as she unlocked her door and rushed in, slamming it shut behind her.

Sliding down the door, she landed on her rump, willing her breathing to slow, taking long, deep breaths.

A knock on the door behind her caused her to jump. “Ginny.” The deep, recognizable voice reverberated through her body as she squeezed her eyes tightly shut for a few seconds.

“I know you’re in there. I was right behind you,” Brogan said. His voice softened as he continued, “Come on, Ginny, let me in.”

Unable to come up with a plausible excuse, Ginny stood and swiped her hand over her face. Sucking in a deep breath, she threw open the door, plastering on a smile. “Hey, Brogan. Sorry to worry you. I was just feeling a little light-headed so I thought I’d head home so I could eat something and get some sleep.”

He stood on the porch, his gaze piercing hers, trying to judge her honesty. Running his hands over his head in frustration, he said, “I was worried.”

Swallowing audibly, she shook her head. “You shouldn’t be.”

“But I am. And I do.”

Unable to think of what to say, she stood rooted to the floor as she pinched her lips together. Finally, she whispered, “Did I look like a fool? You know…up there, in front of everybody.”

Brogan knew how hard those words were for her to say. To admit that she might have appeared vulnerable when her persona was so strong. His fingers itched to reach out, pull her close, and tell her he would always be there for her. Always take care of her. Chase away whatever haunted her. Fisting his large hands at his hips, he simply replied, “No. No one noticed. They were finishing the meeting. No one paid attention to you leaving.”

She lifted her eyes up to his, her voice shaky. “But you did.”

Nodding, he said, “I notice everything about you, Ginny.”

The two stood a few feet apart on her stoop, neither aware of anything but each other. After several, long, silent minutes, Ginny said, “Thank you for…well, just thank you.”

Brogan, his gaze still assessing, nodded. “My pleasure.” Turning, he ambled down the steps toward the road before swinging back around. “If you ever want to go out with me some time…to talk or eat or…uh, anything, let me know.” Even to his ears, it was the worse date-asking in the world. Red-faced, he began to walk back down her front path.

“Yes.”

The one word had him turn back to her, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

Ginny’s hesitant smile hid her pounding heart, and she repeated, “Yes. I’d like to go out with you sometime.”

The smile crossing Brogan’s face was unlike anything she had ever seen. He smiled with his whole being and the light from his eyes pierced her coldness. “Well, all right,” he said. With a wave, he headed back down the road, leaving her standing in her doorway, heartbeat still pounding but with a lightness she had not felt in years.

* * *

“You want to tell me what happened last night?”

Brogan looked over at Aiden, standing at the bar with a dishtowel slung over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“Ginny,” Aiden replied, rolling his eyes. “Who else?” Still staring, he added, “And I saw you high-tail it after her when she left suddenly.”

“She wasn’t feeling well, so I wanted to make sure she got home okay.” Brogan lifted a heavy crate of alcohol and moved it to the bar, where he opened it and began to sort the liquor. Not hearing anything from Aiden, he dared to glance up, not surprised to see his inquisitive brother still staring. “You got something to say?” he growled.

“Yeah, I do,” Aiden said, tossing the rag down onto the bar with a slap. “You never were Mr. Talkative, so I don’t expect that. But after you got outta the Marines, you sure as shit came home different.” Jerking his hand up, he said, “I know. I know. We all came back changed, some just older and wiser. But you…you’re different, Bro. It’s like you’ve dug a hole, buried yourself, and have been content to stay there.”

Grimacing, Brogan remained silent, wanting to refute Aiden’s description but not willing to lie.

“At least until recently.”

At those words from Aiden, Brogan looked up, his brow knitted in question. “Recently?” he asked.

Nodding, Aiden placed his forearms on the bar as he leaned forward. “Yeah. The first couple of years we were back, we threw ourselves into taking over Finn’s. You worked harder than anybody, but we all just figured you needed the work to keep focused—”

“We?”

Aiden rolled his eyes. “Are you shittin’ me, Brogan? Of course, we. Hell, you think in this family, anything is hidden from Pops, Mom, Dad? Sure-as-shit not Katelyn.”

Silence acknowledged Aiden’s words, so he kept going. “You grew your hair…so did I. Mom hated it but we both had that finally out of the military rebellion thing going on.” Seeing Brogan about to speak, he added, “Okay, that’s what I had. What you had going on was an I don’t give a fuck what I look like.”

Brogan’s lips twitched, knowing Aiden hit the nail on the head. He really had not given a fuck what anyone thought since getting out.

“Then suddenly Ms. Spencer shows up in town as the new cop, and a pretty one at that, and we all see you’re interested. Oh, I know you tried to hide it, but hell, Brogan, you’d have to be dead not to get a walking hard-on when she’s around.”

At that, Brogan growled, stepping forward, his fist at the ready. Laughing, Aiden danced back from the bar, now safely out of reach.

“Sorry, Bro. I just had to get that in there to see what your reaction would be.”

“You fuckin’ prick,” Brogan bit out, his eyes narrowed, irritated that Aiden got a rise out of him. “You keep your eyes to yourself when she’s around.”

Still laughing, Aiden nodded. “Honestly, I think of her like a sister.” Seeing Brogan’s dubious expression, he admitted, “Okay, a really pretty sister that I think is perfect for your ugly, old, grumpy ass.” Staring at Brogan for a moment, catching a slight change in his expression, Aiden remarked, “Wait. You don’t think you’re good enough for her. Man, that’s fucked.”

Brogan said nothing, his hands now resting on the bar, his head hanging. Aiden was right—that was exactly what he thought. Sighing, he lifted his head, pinning his brother with his stare. “She’s college educated…I’m just a former jarhead, bartender. She’s gorgeous…I’m a big lug, known for my brawn, sure as hell not my sparkling personality. Hell, I cut my hair, thinking that it might make me more presentable to a cop, but now I look in the mirror and feel stupid seeing my whole face.”

“Look, man, all I know is that you’re a good brother, good Marine, good friend, good businessman, and a helluva man. You are good enough for anyone you want, but especially that nice cop you’re sweet on. You’ve got issues you need to work on, but she’d be a lucky woman to have you around.”

Shaking his head, not believing Aiden’s words, he said, “Don’t know about any of that, but I did ask her out. Last night.”

Aiden blew out his breath in a rush, as though hit in the gut. “Oh, man. I’m sorry. I can’t believe she turned you down.”

At that, Brogan’s gaze jumped back to Aiden’s. “You’ve got it wrong. She said yes.”

Aiden stared at him for a moment, his smile growing wider by the second until Brogan was sure his brother’s face was going to split. Unable to keep his lips from curling at the same time, the two brothers simply stared, both feeling the weight of the moment.

Slapping his hand on the bar once more, Aiden said, “Well, all right. Then let’s get back to work, asshole.”

Walking past, Brogan cuffed Aiden on the back of the head. “No cussing in the bar. We’re gonna have fuckin’ customers soon.”