by Faith Potts
One step, two step, three step.
“Come on!” I call without looking back.
Four step, five step, six step.
James appears on my street side, his gaze focused straight ahead.
Seven step, eight step, nine step.
His fingers come around my wrist and his hand slides down into mine, squeezing gently.
I cut my eyes in his direction to find him watching me. I smile and he winks at me.
Today is a good day.
|| ~* || ~* || ~* ||
|| James
She let me hold her hand. She actually let me hold her hand. Little Miss ‘play-it-tough’ and ‘I-don’t-need-anyone’ actually let double-amputee Corporal James Greene, USMC hold her hand.
The walk through town plays over and over in my mind. If anyone was staring at my leg or shoulder, I was clueless. It’s a wonder I didn’t trip over something—like my own artificial foot—with the way I watched Alex the entire time.
We reach the small, hole-in-the-wall shop near the city playground—the Ice Cream Shak according to the dilapidated sign. When we stop a few feet back from the window to study the menu, I appreciate the way Alex doesn’t release my hand—like she’s saying that’s up to me.
She glances at me out of the corner of her eye and grins. “Earth to James.”
“Huh?” Whoa, man, your intelligence is slipping out.
“You’re not going to figure out what you want by looking at me.”
So she’s not totally unaware of her surroundings. A good thing…I think. I cock a grin. “What if I want you?”
She laughs, flushing to a nice shade of pink. “I was referring to ice cream.”
I watch her for a moment as she smiles at a line of kids passing us and nods to a elderly couple bedecked in florals and sunglasses.
“Alex?”
She turns back to me, sunny smile still in place. “Yeah?”
“I’m having a really good time this afternoon.”
“Me, too,” she confesses. She nods toward the window behind us as the worker shuffles the line of kids through. “Isn’t this where you offer to buy my ice cream?”
I can’t contain the laugh that rumbles out. “Whatever you ask, m’lady.”
Eyes sparkling, she takes my arm, in the same way she did when we crossed the street, and starts off toward the tiny shack.
To be honest, it looks like the place should be condemned… But Alex apparently has deep sentiment for this establishment, so I’m not going to say anything that may ruin this otherwise-perfect day.
|| ~* || ~* || ~* ||
|| Alex
“Mommy, Mommy!” A little boy’s voice snags my attention as I wait next to James at the pick-up window of the Shak. “Ice cream!”
A blond-headed little boy is standing next to a stroller, bouncing excitedly on his toes. I smile at the sight.
“Now who’s skybuggin’?” James’s elbow enters my side and I whirl back around.
“Huh?”
He points toward the lady inside the window, who holds my blueberry cone in an outstretched hand. “I can only hold one, you know.”
I thank the lady and accept my treat, noting that James already has his—a cone of some tri-colored gunk I’ve never seen before.
“What’s on earth did you order?” I ask as we saunter toward a picnic table under a weeping willow shade tree.
Before James gets the chance to answer me, a squealing from across the pavilion snags our attention.
“Mommy, look! He’s a superhero!” The tow-headed boy is still bouncing around, tugging on a young woman’s hand and pointing towards the guy at my side. Uh oh.
The woman comes closer, pushing the stroller and following the little boy as he runs toward James.
To my right, I gauge James’s reaction. He’s…smiling. I expected frightened eyes and a face that says he’s about to dart away at any moment. But no. He’s smiling bravely, he’s receptive.
The little boy cuts through the crowd until he gets to us, squatting in front of James and staring in awe at his prosthesis.
I lean closer and nudge his arm. “You’ve got this.”
James turns toward me with uncertainty in his eyes.
Reaching us, the mother turns an uncomfortable shade of red as she fumbles for an apology. “Oh my goodness, I am so sorry.” She wrings her hands, stepping out from behind the stroller to call back her son. “He didn’t mean anything by it, he just—”
“Hey, it’s okay,” James assures her, still smiling. He passes his ice cream cone to me and squats down to the kid’s level. “Hey, buddy, what’s your name?”
The blond head turns, exposing wire-rimmed glasses and a toothy grin to the sunlight. “I’m Kyle. What’s your name?”
“I’m James. Nice to meet you, Kyle.” James holds out his hand and Kyle gives it a good pump.
The little boy’s gaze drops back to the prosthetic. “Can I touch it?”
The mother gasps. “Kyle, no…”
“He’s okay,” James says again without looking up. “Yeah, you can touch it.”
Beaming, Kyle sticks out a hand and slides his fingers over the titanium that substitutes James’s shin. After several more moments of careful study, the kid pushes to his feet, obviously amazed. James stands, too—only slower. I step forward to offer him a hand, but he makes it on his own.
Eyes climbing James’s much-taller frame, the kid squints and cocks his head. “Are you really a superhero?”
“Nope,” James shakes his head, chuckling. “Just a lookalike, sorry to disappoint.”
The mother steps forward then, touching Kyle on the shoulder. “He may not be a superhero, son, but he is a hero.”
Kyle shakes his head. “I don’t think so, Momma; he’s not wearing a u’iform.”
She smiles. “No, but do you see his shirt? It says that he’s a hero.”
I glance over at the USMC t-shirt—and the smiling guy wearing it. A hero, indeed.
Kyle’s eyes widen. He bounces on his toes again, turning to his mother. “Can we add him to my wall? Please, please!”
“If he agrees.” She turns to James. “Would it be all right if Kyle got a picture with you? I don’t know what it is, but he’s fascinated by servicemen.”
Good obsession, kid. I take a step back and boost myself onto the top of a vacant table, hands full of ice cream. They don’t want my picture. I get a whiff of James’s ice cream as I take a lick at mine, and I wrinkle my nose. Gross.
“Everywhere we go he spies out people in uniform and asks to take a picture with them,” Kyle’s mother is still explaining to James. “Then he puts them up on a bulletin board in his room and prays over them all. I know he would love to have your picture there as well.”
“Yeah, sure.” James puts his arm around the kid’s shoulders while his mouth twists into a handsome smile.
The woman takes their picture, gushing her thanks to James again and again. For taking the time to talk to them, for the picture, for his time of service and sacrifice.
He brushes it off until that comes into it. Then he sobers, nodding and thanking her in return.
They start to leave, but Kyle turns back saluting James quite sloppily. Chuckling under his breath, James moves back toward the kid and shows him how to do it properly. Standing tall and erect, the two fellows salute each other. The one tall, broken, and a hero. The other small, innocent, and quite awestruck with his new friend.
Healthy pride and gratitude swells within me. And I suddenly want people to know—I want everyone to know James’s story, his sacrifice…and that he held my hand as we walked downtown.
|| ~* || ~* || ~* ||
|| James
Kyle and his mother move on toward the Shak, waving to me. I wave back, feeling good—confident, even.
I walk back over and sit on the picnic table bench beside Alex’s sandaled feet.
She grins and swipes her tongue along the side of her cone. “Smart kid, huh?”
She relinquishes the cone and grins, nudging me with her foot. “You know what I’m talking about. That kid—he knows a hero when he sees one.”
I smile, twisting the cone in my hands. “You know…it felt good to be appreciated and looked up to.”
Her face becomes serious, her eyes vibrant—as if my words touched a place deep within her. “Yes…” She nods, returning my smile. “Yes.”
Once our ice cream is gone, Alex and I walk back toward the apartment complex. I’m really not ready to say goodbye, but she mentioned needing to go do something this evening. Not that I really have any grounds on which to detain her further. But I wish I did.
We stop at my door, and Alex turns to smile at me. “Well, I guess I’ll see you in therapy.”
“Uh, yeah. And I’ll see you Saturday. If you’re going to be at the benefit.” Of course she’s going to be there, stupid. You already asked her uncle.
“Oh, yeah, right.” She smiles. “Well, I’ll see you then. You did great today, by the way!”
She turns to go—but her words give me that additional boost of courage. I grab her hand, forcing her to stop.
“What is it?” she asks, seeming unaffected by my touch.
I draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly. I can do this. “I’d like to ask you to go somewhere with me. Out to dinner, or wherever you want to go.”
She bites her lip, looking down. “Are you…asking me out?”
Am I? I swallow and nod. “Yes, I am. Officially. If you don’t mind being seen in public with a superhero.”
She turns to grin up at me, eyes laughing. “I think I can handle that sort of reputation. So I accept…with one condition.”
She accepts… I grin back, nodding. “Your last condition didn’t turn out too bad, so sure. What?”
“Well, you said I get to choose the place, so how about the benefit dance on Saturday?”
It figures that she would choose a dance, Lil’ Miss Therapist Lady. But since we both would have probably been at the benefit anyway, maybe that would be a good choice for a test date.
“Deal. But I have a condition of my own.”
“Okay…” Alex replies slowly. “I don’t like conditions when I’m not the one making them.” She glances down at our clasped hands and I blurt it out.
“You should wear a dress.” Congrats, James. That was real gentlemanly.
“What?” Her eyes bounce back to my face, wide and startled. I’m doing this all wrong.
“You heard me.” I pause before going a step further, praying I’m not just tightening the rope around my neck. “Wear a dress, fix your hair. Look like the beautiful woman you are. You deserve it, Alex.”
She looks away from me again, letting her eyes rove the door casing behind me. “Did Uncle Joe tell you about—”
“No. He didn’t tell me anything. But I’m not stupid.”
She gives me a brief smile. “I’m not making any promises about the dress, but I’ll see you Saturday.”
“That’s all I can ask for.” I smile and, although I don’t want to, release her hand.
She walks down the sidewalk, stopping once to wave at me. I wave back and watch until she rounds the corner toward Joe’s and disappears from view.
God, please let all go well this weekend… She’s an amazing gal.
Chapter Eleven || Alex
I walk down the sidewalk, arms crossed tightly across my stomach as the last few hours repeat themselves in my mind. Every word, every detail, every time he touched my hand.
When I reach my truck parked in the drive, I keep walking. This afternoon might require a session with my mentor. Thankfully, Uncle Joe is right where I expected him to be—in the shop out back, fooling around with an old car.
At my approach, he looks up from a sawhorse table scattered in spare parts. “Hey, honey. How did it go?”
How did what go? Oh right. Everything with James. I clear a space off the workbench and hop atop before answering. “Uh, it was great, actually. A little boy at the Shak asked to take a picture with James. I think it really boosted his confidence.”
Uncle Joe nods, squinting at the size numbers on a wrench handle. “He probably needed that.”
“But that’s not what I came to talk to you about.”
“Oh?” He twists on his stool to face me, rubbing some kind of part with an oily rag.
Before I know what’s happening, I’m pouring it all out to my confidante. Our walk downtown, letting James take my hand, encouraging him even. The little boy. Walking back, hand tucked safely back into his. Agreeing to go out with him.
“Why did I say I would go?” I exclaim, my voice bordering a pathetic wail. “Why did I let him hold my hand? Why am I letting myself feel anything for him, Joe?”
He listens quietly, offering a question or a ‘uh huh’ every now and then. But when I get to the questions, he puts aside his work, comes over, and stands in front of me. “What is your answer to those questions, Lexie Lou?”
I huff a sigh, crossing my arms. He’s supposed to answer the questions—not direct them back to me. “I don’t know…because I’ve let myself come to care. And I shouldn’t. I can’t—”
“Whoa, whoa, hold up.” He stops me, hand on my forearm, kind eyes locking with my own.
I frown at his interruption, no matter how well-intended. “What?”
“Why should you not care?”
I throw my hands in the air, exasperated. “Because I told myself I wasn’t going to go through that again? Because I don’t want to get hurt? I don’t know. You are supposed to be helping me here.”
He smiles and wraps his arm around my shoulders. “I’m trying, honey. So you say you don’t want to care anymore. Does that mean you don’t care about me?”
“Of course not.” He’s seriously losing me now. “That’s not a fair comparison at all. I’m talking about…you know, relationships.”
“Mmhmm. But how do you know things with James will turn out like they did with Drake? Honestly, I can’t find a single similarity.”
“Well…I don’t know,” I admit, staring down at the stained concrete floor.
“And you’re not willing to take that risk?”
“Yes…no. I don’t know!” I swallow hard and look back up, Uncle Joe having returned to his tool cleaning. “I just don’t want to get hurt.”
Twisting to face me, his face softens. “Listen, Lexie, you’re going to get hurt more in this life. If I could protect you from that, I would. But I can’t. We get hurt and we hurt others. It’s a never-ending cycle because we’re sinful and imperfect beings. Thankfully, with God’s guidance, we can discern between the people who really care deep down and those who don’t. I don’t know how great of a judge of people I am, but I see a good heart in James Greene. It could be worth it.”
I scuff my toe along the cement floor of the shop, contemplating his words. Deep down, I know that James isn’t like Drake. I know his heart is sincere, while with Drake I was always guessing. But am I honestly ready to take this step?
“So…you think I should go out with him?”
“Yes. I do. And I think that after this weekend, you should spend some time thinking and praying about your possible relationship with this young man. Loving someone broken is like wrapping your arms around something that’s shattering. You’re going to get cut, Lexie Lou. And it won’t be either of y’all’s fault. He’s been through some tough stuff, and it’s not over yet. These are things he’ll deal with the rest of his life. But before you lead him on further and risk breaking both your hearts, you need to decide if you’re willing to chance that.”
Fighting back emotions that I haven’t felt in what seems like ages, I stand and wrap my arms around my uncle. “What would I do without you?”
|| ~* || ~* || ~* ||
Freshly washed, currently drying hair hangs limp around my face on Saturday evening as I flip on the cl
oset light and begin pilfering through my skirt section.
Something cute and casual will have to do for tonight’s date with James. The fundraiser is meant to be a nicely-dressed affair, but half the people who’re going to be there know that Joe Creighton’s niece doesn’t do that. Not anymore.
I select a denim skirt from the rack and begin hunting for a plaid button-up. That should be nice enough, right? James requested a dress, but this will have to suffice.
Right?
I sigh, glaring at my selection of decent shirts—none of which look very appropriate for the occasion. Part of me argues that I should be putting forth more effort for tonight. James is expecting it and I don’t want to let him down. I really don’t. But am I ready to open up that side of myself again? Better yet, am I ready to open up to him at all?
I groan and place the denim skirt back on the rack. Maybe I should at least try on a nice dress. I push my way through the crowded rack to the back where half a dozen dresses hang. I quickly decline the first four, and when I push aside the fifth one, I realize what the last dress is.
I’d nearly forgotten…
Heart thundering, I hurriedly tug on the beautiful dress and whirl around the room. I smile at my reflection in the full-length mirror and find myself wondering how James would react to seeing me like this.
My mirror twin’s eyes widen. I shouldn’t even be allowing myself to think such a thing. Get ahold of yourself, Lex.
You did agree to go out with him, my mind taunts. I heave a sigh, squeezing my eyes shut. My insides quiver at the thought of what this first date could potentially lead to. Part of me wants to explore this new opportunity, to toss caution aside. But another part of me is frightened. Scared to death of the what-ifs.
“God, if this is right, help me to open my heart to James,” I whisper, standing in front of the mirror in the elegant party dress. “And if it’s not, show me. Tonight. Show both of us. I don’t want to make another wrong decision.”
