Deke
I stood beside the graveside and gazed at the coffin that held my father. Stained mahogany with brass fittings. The closest Boyd Williams had ever come to anything classy in his life.
Dead at fifty-seven from an aneurysm.
The bitter-cold breeze, synonymous with Rushville, Ohio, in late winter, slapped my face and shoulders like an angry lost love. The dark winter coat and gray suit I’d purchased this morning doing little to keep me warm. No matter. The biting chill served as a reminder of why I’d left all those years ago.
I ignored the Pastor’s voice as he attempted to flesh out the meager biography of a bitter and twisted man, who was never happy and always resented what others had after his wife had run off and left him with a four year-old son and lots of regrets.
Over the years, the old man had shared those regrets with me, loudly, sometimes accentuated with the use of his fists, whenever life dealt him a losing hand.
Lost promotions. “I’d have got that job if I hadn’t had to take that time off when you were sick. Pneumonia? Nothing but a bad cold.” Lost girlfriends. “Marcy’s gone. Doesn’t want some whelp that isn’t her own.” A lost future. “I was gonna be a baseball player. Had scouts come to my school. But your ma got herself pregnant. No more baseball. And then she leaves. She leaves me! Where’s the justice in that?”
Of course there was no justice for Boyd Williams. Life didn’t come with apologies for having to deal with the choices he made.
Nor for those who suffered because of those choices.
I ran my thumb along my index finger, feeling the thin line of scar tissue where the skin had broken when he pounded my hand with a frying pan for daring to question him on something innocent. Twelve-year-old boys should mind their manners in Boyd’s book of parenting.
Good times, Dad.
I could feel the stares of the mourners around me. Some filled with pity, others outright curiosity of what I was, the twenty-nine year old long-lost son, returning home after eleven years away as a Navy SEAL.
Ignoring all those stares was easy.
All but one.
I swept my gaze over the small crowd gathered on the other side of the coffin, past my childhood friends and neighbors Andy Neilson and Rob Hawkins, both men looking older, their expressions uncertain, as if not sure of who I was after so many years away. Then further along, past Rob’s parents and the woman standing beside them.
Sophie Hawkins, her small frame hidden under a tan-colored winter coat and dark pants, studied me with those soulful brown eyes of hers. Good manners would have dictated after a few seconds I look away. But I wasn’t a man who bowed to convention.
Gone was the flyaway hairstyle of her teenage years, her long brown waves now caught up in one of those twisty buns, allowing a glimpse of the skin below her ears not hidden by the black scarf wrapped around her neck.
How many times as kids had I teased my friend’s little sister that the curiosity always shining in her gaze would get her into trouble? But there was no trace of curiosity now. Was it pity? No. She’d never burdened me with that when my dad was alive. Sophie had always been a quiet believer in me, always wanting to be on my team when I played ball with Rob and Andy, cheering me on when I got into scrapes with the school bully.
No, pity wasn’t Sophie’s fallback when it came to me. But I wasn’t going to question deeper whatever was behind that unfamiliar look in her gaze.
Not just because I was standing beside my old man in his coffin.
Sophie represented a bigger threat than any insurgent in a far off conflict zone.
From the time as young kids when, at age eight to my ten years, she’d so trustingly slipped her hand in mine and chatted to me as we walked to school, Sophie had become everything that was good, pure. The girl I’d secretly adored for more years than I could count. The girl I vowed was too special for me, a rough kid who’d learned too young how to use his fists to stand his ground against a man decades older. A kid who’d left at eighteen to apply for the Navy SEALs and became the man I was now.
A battle-hardened killer.
“My condolences, Deke.”
I turned my gaze from Sophie to stare at the pastor as the man closed his Bible and moved close. A stranger to me, his services had been organized by the funeral home.
“Thanks. I appreciate your time today.” I shook the man’s hand. What more was there to be said? I wasn’t a guy for empty platitudes and the pastor read that loud and clear, stepping away to make room for others.
Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins, a dusting of gray now streaked through their hair, were first up. Emily Hawkins pulled my head down to kiss my cheek before wrapping her arms around me for a hug. I allowed her this moment. Many years ago, she and her husband had opened their house to me, inviting me to be like an extended member of their family. I’d not been shy in taking them up on their offer and have never forgotten their generosity.
Doug Hawkins gripped my arm with one hand and squeezed my hand with the other. “Come over and see us when you’re ready, son.” With a nod, he stepped aside, allowing the onslaught to begin.
Ten minutes of shaking hands and deflecting questions about my life and I was done. The one person I wanted to speak to hadn’t come near me. I glanced over to my left and caught sight of Sophie slipping into the backseat of a sedan, her parents getting into the front.
No words at all? A sense of loss filled me, lodging heavy in my gut.
I cursed to myself. What good would it do, having Sophie, the unattainable prize, standing in front of me?
Count your blessings, dumbass.
From behind me, a hand clapped my shoulder.
In less than a split second I’d turned and had a man’s arm in a punishing grip, ready to break bones and render my assailant powerless.
“Shit, Deke.” Rob grimaced, his face contorted in pain as he bent over at the waist. His dark brown hair, the same color as his sister’s, fell over his forehead.
Fuck.
“Man, I’m sorry.” Releasing my hold on Rob’s arm, I put my hands on his shoulders, tightening my grip through his thick black coat, and steadied him. Andy, dressed like Rob in a dark coat over a suit and tie combo, stood next to Rob, his expression wary. Seeing Rob now had his bearings, I held out my hand. “Not always good to approach a SEAL from behind.”
Rob’s semi-glare held a grudging amount of respect and not a small amount of caution. “Next time, I’ll blow an air horn before I step within ten feet.” But he shook my hand all the same.
Andy followed suit, his grip firm. “We should have given you more warning.” Around six feet like Rob, but with short blond hair, he ran his blue-eyed gaze over me. “You’re even bigger than I remember. What, six-four now?” A line creased his forehead. “Why aren’t you in uniform?”
“I’m out.” Three days ago to be precise. “About to start working for a private security firm.” One owned by his former SEAL team leader.
Rob’s gaze remained steady. “I’m guessing that firm isn’t based near Rushville.”
“Nope.” Years of keeping mission details secret didn’t wear off overnight, but I could share a few basic points with guys who had been my friends since childhood. “Based in Denver.” I glanced around the gravesite. Only the three of us remained. I checked my watch. 2 pm. Still early. But it was a Friday, and for some reason beyond my comprehension, I was feeling a sudden onset of nostalgia. Or maybe I didn’t want to go home to that house just yet. “Either of you guys needed back at work this afternoon?”
Andy shook his head. “I’m working weekend shift at the station.”
I’d heard through an email from Rob years ago that Andy had achieved his dream of becoming a cop.
“I’m good,” Rob confirmed. “That’s the beauty of owning your own carpentry business.”
“Let’s grab a couple of beers and catch up for an hour or so.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Andy gave that same easy smile I remembered from our youth.
Rob pulled out his phone. “I’ll call my wife and let her know.”
“You’re married?” Christ, how much had I missed these last years?
Rob, his phone at his ear, chuckled. “I think this catch-up is gonna take longer than a couple of hours.”
A few beers and easy conversation with a couple of buddies might dull the insane urge to track down Sophie and…what? Chat over old times?
Jesus. Bring on the distraction.
That suited me fine.