by Faith Potts
“I’m not sure what you’re doing, hon.”
“Trust me.” I squint in the sun when I try to catch his suspicious expression. “This is going to make running a lot easier than it would be with this one.” I thump a finger on the prosthesis he currently wears. “And lucky for you, I’m a pro at swapping attachments.”
“If you say so.” He smiles and extends his fake leg. “Tinker away, fair maiden. I’m going to eat the rest of your lunch.”
“Go ahead. I’m through.” I settle in cross-legged on the floor of the gazebo to get to work.
By the time I have the fake foot detached and the blade screwed on tightly in its place, James has finished both our meals and collected all the garbage into the plastic bag it came in. I cram the trash and all my spare parts into the backpack and slip it on my back.
“Ready?”
James stares down at the blade with disdain. “You sure this thing is going to support me? It looks kind of flimsy.”
“Of course I’m sure. And that’s just because it’s made to be light.” I hold out a hand to help him up. “Come on.”
He sighs and allows me to pull him to his feet. Wobbling only slightly, he keeps his hold on my fingers and takes the initiative without my prodding.
Once out of the gazebo, we start down the path, surrounded by a canopy of trees and lined with patches of green turf. James’s blade clicks on the hard-packed substance of the trail, swinging forward with each step to catch his weight. I monitor my speed to a slow but steady pace to stay right beside him, in case he needs me for more than moral support.
Brushing against me, James tenses as we near the steps, where the trail turns up a bank.
I squeeze his hand. “How are you doing? I mean, with this and the thought of running again?”
“I’m okay.” His focus stays on his feet as he answers me. “It feels weird, but cool, too. I’m still downright nervous about the 5k, though.”
“James, this sounds so inadequate, but…I’m here.” I lift my head and twist to look up at him. “Okay?”
Smiling, he tugs me into his signature one-armed shoulder hug and kisses my hair. “Means more than you know. Now, let’s do this.”
|| ~* || ~* || ~* ||
|| James
For the remaining nine weeks of summer, Alex and I meet at the park four evenings a week after work. We jog the loop trail that follows the river and then doubles back, cutting back our time bit by bit, and then get supper, either out or at her house.
After lots of hard work and sweat—on both our parts; she takes every step with me—I run the entire two miles without stumbling. Now I only have one matter to resolve before competing in the foot race next weekend.
“Woohoo!” Alex cheers for me, hands in the air as we reach the end of the trail. Blonde ponytail drooping, tanned face sweaty, she beams with pleasure and delight at an accomplishment not even her own. She pulls a water bottle from her cooler bag and hands it to me. “I’m so proud of you, Semper Fi.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” I accept the water and wink at her. “But I’d rather have a kiss.”
All I get is a peck on the cheek before she pushes me away, still laughing merrily. “Come on, let’s do the boardwalk to cool down. I’m starving.”
We walk the length of the boardwalk that runs along the river, down and back, maintaining a speed just above a stroll to let our heartbeats slow. When we again reach the entrance to the park, we head out into the parking lot with empty water bottles and happy hearts.
At the Jeep, Alex tosses the cooler into the backseat and leans against the side of the vehicle while I sit in the driver’s seat and swap the running blade for my day-to-day prosthesis. The running blade takes up too much space in the floorboard, even if I did want to just deal with it for a few hours more.
A clicking noise sounds, and I look up to find Alex, standing a few feet ahead of me, with my phone in her hand.
“Whoops.” She grins around the device. “I should have muted the sounds, huh?”
“Or give up thievery altogether.”
She just laughs and continues snapping what must be awful pictures of me—halfway put together—and then changing to the selfie camera and making silly faces in the screen.
Still with the backward-facing camera activated, she edges into the space of the open door next to me. “Ladies and gents, hope y’all are having as amazing of an evening as I am.”
Oh great, she’s videoing us. In full-blown radio announcer mode.
“Let me introduce y’all to this awesome guy beside me who just ran his first two consistent miles since his injury last fall. How’s that for a truly epic and heartwarming story?”
Grinning, I finish adjusting my prosthesis and straighten up. “Catch this on camera, Lil’ Miss Therapist.” I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her back against me, kissing her cheek.
She laughs and snaps another picture of the two of us before putting the phone down. “I love you, James Greene.”
“I love you, too. Even if you’re slightly crazy.”
She laughs out loud again, head on my shoulder. “Maybe. But I’m crazy about you.”
“Mm…that’s acceptable then, I suppose.”
When she notices that we’re getting raised-brow looks from a family walking past, Alex squirms out of my hold, sprints around the Jeep, and climbs in.
“So, being serious,” she begins as we head toward the main part of the city to get supper. “How do you feel?”
“Happy. Very happy. But almost guilty too.”
“Guilty?” Out of the corner of my eye, I see her looking my way. “How so?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking… I can’t run in the foot race, raise awareness for soldier suicide among complete strangers, if I can’t even face my own parents. Sooner or later, I have to face those demons, too.”
“You will,” she says softly after a moment of silence. “I have no doubt you will, when the time is right.”
“What if that time is now?”
Chapter Twenty-One || James
The following Friday morning, Callie picks me up bright and early for a surprise visit to our parents’ home. As we roll down a quiet back road, I point toward the perpendicular road at the next intersection. “Do you mind if we stop for just a minute at Alex’s place?”
“Sure, I don’t mind. We have plenty of time.”
Following my directions, Callie parks at the curb in front of Alex’s apartment within minutes.
I hop out of the car and bound up the steps to Alex’s door. I recognize the sound of the door slamming seconds before she meets me on the midway landing, going straight into my arms.
I wrap my arm around her and nestle her close, soaking up her love. “Sure you don’t want to go with me?”
She smiles and shakes her head. “This is something you need to do, handsome. If all goes well, I’m sure I’ll meet your parents someday.”
I hug her again, my stomach revolting at the thought of what I’m about to do. I don’t know if I can handle another rejection.
“Hey…” Alex cocks her head to the side, meeting my gaze. Her eyes then drift over to my left shoulder, where her hand rests. Pretty sure my lungs cease to function as her touch trails over my shoulder and down to my stub of an arm—then stops. Staying there, touching my hurt.
Eyes bouncing back to mine, she gives me an encouraging smile. “I love all of you, James Greene. Understand? No matter what today brings, that won’t change.”
I nod, again and again, and draw her to my chest. “I love you, Lex. Pray for me.”
“You know I am.”
She holds me for a second longer before stepping back, hands falling to her sides. “Go on. You’ve got this.”
I try to smile—and fail—before turning away from her and walking down the steps to where Callie waits.
|| ~* || ~* || ~* ||
After a couple hours of catch-up conversation, we reach our hometown. Where I grew up, went to school, le
arned to drive, graduated high school, enlisted in the Marines, and came home broken.
As we glide off the exit ramp, I say a prayer that His will be done today. I prop my elbow on the door handle and lean my forehead against the window as houses of this familiar neighborhood come whizzing by. My pulse quickens when my parents’ house comes into sight. Funny how I don’t even associate the house with myself anymore.
“You okay?”
I start at the sound of Callie’s voice. “Yeah…fine.”
She parks at the curb, and I fumble with the door handle with a shaky hand. Across the yard and up the walk, I don’t allow myself to think of what’s going on. I just move forward, toward the objective—the front door. Good thing one of them is artificial and not prone to give in to emotion, or I’m pretty sure my knees would have buckled by now. This has got to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done—laying myself open for rejection.
After ringing, I stand before the frosted glass door, eyeing the doorbell with disdain as the seconds tick past. Is it broken? I reach forward and ring the bell again, holding the button a second longer to make sure I get the message across.
The word of “Coming!” carries from within the red brick walls. Mom. My heart drops to the pit of my stomach.
I force myself to turn and wave to Callie, our agreed upon signal that my knock received a reply. She’ll wait ten or fifteen minutes—long enough for me to get a feel for things—before following me in.
I turn back to the door just as it swings open.
My mother stands before me, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt from some organization. Her hair is twisted into a mess at the back of her head—well, what of it isn’t falling into her face. This is definitely a work weekend.
Her hand flies to her mouth, squelching a scream when she sees me.
I jam my hand into my pocket, not sure what to do now. Should I step forward? Speak to her? I run my tongue over my lips and nod politely. “Hey, Momma.”
Her hand falls from her face, tears glistening in her eyes. “Oh, James…” Arms outstretched, she takes a step toward me.
And I’m forced to make a decision. Or rather, go through with the decision I made days ago. She’s accepting, and now I have to
Forgiveness.
Allowing the slightest smile to reach my face, I step forward to embrace her, looping my arm around her waist.
Before I know it, her arms are around my middle and she’s sobbing into my shoulder. Clinging to me and mumbling something I can’t even understand. Whether for the time apart, my injuries, the tension, or a complicated combination, I don’t know. And I don’t ask.
A moment later, she pulls back and wipes the tears from her eyes before pressing her hands to my face. Holding me there. Feels weird…but right.
“James, I am so—” her eyelids flutter, batting away tears “—so sorry. Your father didn’t even tell me about your conversation until weeks after you left.”
Well, that came up quicker than I intended. “But his view of things hasn’t changed?” I prompt, struggling to keep the harshness from my voice.
She lets out a slow breath, dropping her hands to her sides and following them downward with her eyes. “I don’t…I don’t know, son.”
I shake my head, turning my face up to study the porch ceiling. Just as I thought—he doesn’t care.
Mom’s hand tentatively lands on my arm. “James…why didn’t you tell me about what you overheard? Why leave like that?”
I force my gaze to her eyes, surprised by the hurt displayed there. “Did he even tell you all of it?”
She nods. “Yes…I believe so. It matched Callie’s story.”
“I doubted from the start that he would be able to accept me like this. Knowing that gave me the decision to search out some answers.” Intentionally, I leave out that my quest for peace nearly led to my death. She’s hurting enough right now without the added implications of that knowledge.
Mom steps back to my side and hugs me again. “I only wish you’d felt like you could have come to me.”
I shrug and embrace her, not wanting to see the pain that would appear on her face if I told her that I’ve wondered how she could accept me either.
“Over eight months since you left…” She shakes her head, taking a step back. “Let me take a look at you.”
No…you really don’t want to… I hold my head high and resist the urge to bolt when her red-rimmed eyes drift from my left shoulder down to where she knows my prosthesis is, though hidden under my jeans.
“You look stronger. Happier.” She looks back to my face and tries to smile. “I…I don’t know what to say. There are so many things I want to ask you, but…” She leans back against the door casing and licks her lips, looking a bit paler than she should.
“Are you okay?” I ask, twiddling my fingers jammed in my pocket.
“I’m fine,” she smiles. “Just a bit shocked.” Glancing around, as if seeing the empty space behind me for the first time, she asks, “Did you come alone?”
“No.” I toss my thumb over my shoulder. “Callie brought me.”
“Oh, wonderful. Tell her to come on inside. I’ll get some sweet tea out.” I turn to motion for Callie to come on up and then follow Mom inside.
A few minutes later, I’m sitting on a bar stool in the familiar kitchen of the house where I grew up. Where I cried and bled into a washcloth after Dad pulled my first tooth. Where I stood and stammered excuses after getting caught out after curfew on the same night I got my license. Where as a high school senior I announced my decision to join the Marines.
I’m studying the woodwork of the cabinets, lost in a multitude of memories, when Mom slides a glass of sweet tea across the counter. “So tell me about this girl Callie mentioned. She sounds pretty special, huh?”
I must have smiled at the mention because she laughs, a lyrical sound much like Callie’s. “That’s what I thought.”
“Alex was my therapist.”
From her position leaned against the end of the counter, arms crossed, Callie rolls her eyes and sees the need to offer her opinion. “Your very protective therapist. She gave me the third-degree from day one, when I said I was going to show up at your place.”
“Sounds like she’s more than that, then.” Mom grins knowingly, setting about to prepare lunch for four.
Sometime in the next thirty seconds I’ll probably regret saying this, but they may as well know. “She is. A whole lot more. In fact, I’ve been thinking about—”
A car door slams, the noise reverberating through the wall. My heart catches in my throat. Mom said Dad was at a meeting and would be back by lunch. I wasn’t expecting him at half-past eleven, though.
Stepping away from the stovetop, Mom wipes her hands on a dishtowel and walks over to the back door. “Joel? You have a visitor.”
Actually, no. He doesn’t. I came to see you, Mom. Not him. He doesn’t want to see me anyway. I could just leave. Right now. Before—
A tall, balding man steps into the doorway next to Mom, briefcase in his hand.
“Our children are here,” is all she says, moving aside so that he can see into the kitchen.
His piercing eyes dart from her to Callie and then to me, before saying a word. “I’ll put this away and be right back.”
I release my breath when he slips out of the room without even speaking to me. I’m not sure which will be harder—if he bombards me with difficult questions or if he doesn’t speak to me at all.
“Well…I’m not sure what to think of that.” Mom starts chopping celery for chicken salad, ridding herself of anger that way.
Before we can get back into conversation about Alex, Dad returns to the room. He approaches Callie first, nodding in reply to her “Hello, Daddy.” Then he comes toward me.
I fumble to get my stupid foot disentangled from the webbing between the stool legs and stand to meet him. And I notice that I don’t look up to him anymore, neither figuratively or physically.
H
e sticks out his hand and I shake it. “Dad.”
“James.”
He eyes my stump for a moment, then drops his gaze and takes a seat at the bar, leaving an unoccupied stool between us.
I sit back down and prop my elbow on the counter, attempting to decide if we’ve made any headway or not. Right now I’m going for not. Pretty sure he hates my guts.
“James was just telling us about his girlfriend and his life in Capeton.”
Dad accepts the glass of tea Callie brings him and nods in reply to Mom. The tension in this room is more stifling that the late-summer humidity outside.
“Tell them about the 5k,” Callie suggests softly.
“Yeah, Alex and I are participating in a 5k for suicide awareness tomorrow.”
“Oh, that sounds great!” Mom exclaims, setting down the knife and beaming at me. But I see the doubt in her eyes. She’s probably wondering how this mangled vet can pull off something like that. I wince at my own negativity.
“Like a walk or jog sort of thing?”
I jerk to my right, surprised by Dad’s question. “Yeah, whichever you want. It’s up to the individual entrants. Lex and I are hoping to run the whole thing, if I can manage it.”
Smiling even broader at mine and Dad’s interaction, Mom hums to herself as she continues lunch prep. “Do you have a picture of Alex that I can see?”
Callie rolls her eyes, scoffing. “Does he have a picture…”
“Oh, hush, shorty.” I withdraw my phone from my pocket and scroll up for a recent picture of me and Lex. I find the grouping of pictures from the other evening, when Alex stole my phone as I was adjusting my prosthesis after our run. There’s pictures of me fiddling with the running blade, silly selfies of my pretty girl, and a couple shots of the two of us together.
I slide the phone across the counter to Mom. “Swipe right.”
I observe the rainbow of emotions across her face as she looks through the pictures. She smiles, she laughs, she tears up a time or two. Once she looks up and winks at me. “Oh, James, I’d say she’s a keeper.” Returning her gaze to the screen, she swipes twice more—and her eyes widen. “I don’t want to jump to conclusions, son, but…” She turns the phone around, and I see the picture of Alex’s engagement ring. Yes, that would be the one Alex doesn’t know exists.
