by T. I. Lowe
Lincoln’s eyes grew hot as tears pooled. Before he could try blinking them back, they escaped down his cheeks. “But you said I deserved this.” He raised his left leg slightly before gingerly setting it back down. He’d just finished another round of antibiotics, but his mangled knee had remained fevered this round.
“Those words should have never been said. I certainly didn’t mean them. I was angry that my kid was the one to get hurt that day. You were a mighty fine soldier, and I had high hopes that you’d retire with the same honors all the other Cole men have earned.” Jefferson stopped to clear his throat, seemingly aware that his voice was rising a little too loudly. “It wasn’t fair to you.”
“It’s not fair for any soldier to get hurt or killed for that matter, but that’s a risk that comes with the service.” Lincoln wiped the tears away with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry I let you down.”
“You’ve not let me down—”
“But I struck you.” Lincoln choked the words out on a sob, the tears a steady stream. “That was beyond disrespectful.” Shoulders trembling, his head sagged to the palms of his hands. Another spell of silence took over with only his sobs disrupting it until strong hands gripped him by the shoulders. Looking up through the sheen of tears, he watched in astonishment as his father knelt before him with his own set of glassy eyes.
“Maybe I needed to be knocked down to be able to see things right.”
“No, sir. Not like that and certainly not by me.” Sniffing, Lincoln used the sleeve of his shirt to mop his face and watched as his father sat back on his heels with agility most twenty-year-olds didn’t even possess. There was no doubting that Jefferson was in better shape than him even without the knee injury.
“Suppose I could punch you back to make us even.” Jefferson’s face was set in stony seriousness.
Lincoln braced himself and jutted his chin out to accept it. “Yes, sir.”
Jefferson raised his hand and gave Lincoln’s shoulder a manly slap while letting out a boisterous chuckle. “That’s my boy. Willing to take it like a man.” His laughter died down as he grew serious once again. “But, Son, let’s be clear on one thing. I’d never get any satisfaction inflicting pain on you.”
“Yes, sir. I understand that more than you know.” The pain in his leg was nothing compared to the regret he carried for striking his father.
Jefferson stood, stretching his six-three stature to full height. “But could I strong-arm you into taking a trip to the barbershop with me?”
Laughter wiggled free from Lincoln, and the effect of it was cleansing. “No, sir,” he managed to say, wiggling a laugh from his father as well.
“How about shaving that scruff off your face at least?” Jefferson hitched up a thick eyebrow.
“No, sir. I kinda like this look.” Lincoln grinned while rubbing the side of his bearded cheek.
“Then I reckon if you’re up to it, you can go help me check on the catfish hooks I set out last night.”
Lincoln stood and picked up his cane. “So long as you don’t plan on dumping me out somewhere along the river.”
“Nah. I just got you back. Think I’ll try keeping you around for a while.” Jefferson slapped him again on the shoulder. It was forceful enough to make a weaker man cry, but Lincoln couldn’t contain the appreciative smile. His father knew he could handle it, perhaps letting him know he was stronger than he thought.
“I’d like that . . . to stick around a while, if that’s okay.” He followed his father around the corner to the back garage, where the boat trailer was already attached to the white King Cab. Both the boat and the truck a reminder of a childhood where when his father was home, it wasn’t so lonely.
“Good, because after you get that leg squared away, I’ll need your help sorting through the bait shop.” Jefferson let out a sharp whistle, producing Fletcher instantly. The ten-year-old German shepherd came trotting up to Lincoln and nudged his hand resting on top of the cane.
“Hey, old man.” Lincoln petted the graying war hero.
Fletcher’s handler had been one of Jefferson’s best buddies. Vincent managed four tours without so much as a scratch but fell dead from a heart attack not even a week into his retirement. Vincent’s will had left Fletcher to Jefferson.
“He seems to be doing well,” Lincoln commented as he opened the back cab door for the dog to hop in.
“Oh yeah. Spoiled rotten as ever. Your momma cooks better for him than me.” Jefferson climbed in and cranked the diesel, the rumbling a welcoming sound to Lincoln.
Vincent was like an uncle to him and his death stung, but Lincoln was glad his parents finally had a dog. When he was growing up, his mother had always said it was enough to tend to him while Jefferson was overseas. She couldn’t fathom adding a dog to the mix. Funny how she had now grown more attached to the dog than anyone else.
Lincoln got so caught up in his reunion with Fletcher that he’d almost forgotten about his father’s comment. “What did you mean by sorting through the bait shop?”
“Paps is finally retiring. The doors aren’t reopening this season.”
“Well, at eighty-seven, I’d say he’s earned the right to close the doors. Too bad, though. That bait shop is a piece of fishing history in these parts.”
“True.” Jefferson headed over a bridge and then pulled into a private landing a little ways past it. He put the truck in park and began fishing underneath his seat, coming back with a familiar dark-blue cap with the Marine Corps emblem. “At least put this on so all that hair ain’t in your face.”
Lincoln took the offered hat and with a wry smirk slid it on his head backward, effectively tucking the problem behind him. “Better?”
His dad gave him a swift nod. “Yes. Now I can see those eyes you got from your momma.”
Lincoln couldn’t hold back the genuine smile that comment produced as he scooted out of the truck. Even at thirty-three years old, it still felt good to receive a compliment from his old man. It made him feel special and wanted.
It was like second nature to be back helping his father guide the boat into the water, and so it took no time before they were coasting along the lazy river. Fletcher sprawled in the middle of the boat and kept a watchful eye out for wayward dragonflies or any other threat that might interrupt his peaceful ride.
Jefferson slowed the boat as a small red flag came into view where it was tied to a low-lying branch near the edge of the dark water. Lincoln didn’t have to be instructed on what to do. Just simply leaned over, grasped the string, and began pulling it up. From the nonexistent tension on the line, he already knew it was empty but brought it up anyway to rebait it with some chicken livers his father had in a bucket.
Jefferson moved on down the river after the hook was dropped. “You mind telling me what the holdup is with having surgery?” he asked out of the blue as Lincoln leaned over and let the river water moving by wash his hand off.
Lincoln gave it some thought before answering. “I ain’t gonna lie, at first it was because of us.” He moved a hand between them. “I was ashamed to come back here. But last week the doctor warned that amputation may be the only option once they get in there and see what we’re dealing with.”
Jefferson scoffed. “That’s what they said the first, second, and third time. Why let it get to you this round?”
“For one, my leg is in worse shape than it was. And . . .” Lincoln shifted on the bench and looked over at several turtles sunbathing on a floating log. “The first round, I didn’t feel like I had much to live for. Didn’t even care if I woke up from the surgery or not.” He braved meeting his father’s eyes.
A harsh grimace set along Jefferson’s face. “Lincoln Alexander Cole!”
He tossed his hands up. “It’s the truth.”
“Whether you cared or not, I sure am glad you woke up from each and every surgery.” Jefferson guided the boat over to another red flag. “From what your momma says, you have a lot to live for now.”
Lincol
n glanced up and found the grimace had been replaced by a sly gleam. Shaking his head, he grabbed for the hook and found it equaled the fierce tension building inside him from the uncomfortable conversation. “We got one.” He fought with the line until a fat catfish finally surfaced.
Fletcher raised his head and barked at the creature flapping around as if to tell it to take its capture like a man. After giving it a sniff, the dog moved back to his spot and resumed dozing.
Once the two men had the fish placed in the live well, Jefferson headed on down the river another piece. “You gonna tell me about Opal or am I gonna have to drag it out of you?”
Lincoln rinsed his hands again and resettled his leg to a little less painful angle. While wrestling the catfish, he’d jostled it and his knee didn’t take too kindly to it. “She’s the most amazing woman God ever decided to create. She’s kind, giving, beyond talented, and . . . I don’t think I’m good enough for her.”
Jefferson seemed to give that some thought before nodding his head. “You’re right. You’re not good enough for her.” He gave Lincoln the look that meant for him to keep his mouth shut and listen up. “I’m not good enough for your momma, but thank the good Lord she’ll have me anyway.”
Lincoln remained quiet and set his gaze on the rust-colored water gliding by.
“And I’m thankful you’ve found someone to put up with your ornery hide too.”
“Me too,” Lincoln mumbled, wondering if Opal would put up with him any longer after he up and ran off like he did.
At the moment, he couldn’t focus there. One mission at a time, and presently it was reconciling with his father, who was much more willing than he’d ever thought possible. A shell glinted from the riverbank and the sight of it made his throat thicken.
“I wish for your relationship with your family to be mended.”
So stunned that it left him breathless, Lincoln realized he’d just witnessed one of Opal’s prayers answered on his behalf. Thinking about all the shells in the back of the Jeep, he could only wish that they would all be granted on his behalf.
Jefferson’s phone rang and he answered it with several yes, ma’ams and no, ma’ams before hanging up. “Party’s over. Your momma said for us to cut our river tomfoolery and get our behinds home.”
Lincoln chuckled, helping to loosen the knot in his throat. “Sounds like Momma.”
“And just so you’re warned, she and your grandma are already working on putting together a feast for after church tomorrow to celebrate you coming home.”
Tears sprang to his eyes, but Lincoln managed to keep them at bay this time. “Okay.”
“We’ll need to be ready for church by nine in the morning.” Jefferson lifted his brows in challenge.
“Yes, sir.”
“Son, I’ve held you to too many obligations. For that I’m sorry. I want you there not out of obligation, but out of want.”
“I want to be there.” Lincoln paused, searching for how to express what was on his heart. “I’ve always been honored to be your son . . . I just never felt worthy enough. And so I’ve not felt worthy enough to be God’s child either since the injury.”
“Again, that’s on me. Tough love was what I was raised on and that’s how I thought I was supposed to raise you.” Jefferson glanced out over the water and then back to Lincoln. “I’ve spent a good bit of time since that day you left coming to terms with where I went wrong as a parent. I wanted to go to you afterward, even drove out there a few times. But Paps said you needed space, so I’d just drive around until I got a glimpse of your Jeep before heading back here. Seeing it was enough reassurance that you were okay.”
“You did that?” Lincoln’s chest tightened with a newfound emotion he couldn’t even describe.
“Yes.”
Swallowing with a good bit of difficulty, Lincoln rasped, “That really means a lot, Dad.”
Jefferson let out a stuttered breath, revealing how much their talk was affecting him too. “I’ve learned the hard way that I was wrong, and I’m sorry if I’ve been a hindrance to your faith.”
“Seems we’ve both gotten some things wrong, but I’m willing to work on mending them if you are.”
Jefferson pulled the boat back up to the dock. “We’ll have plenty of mending time after the surgery and during recovery. Now tie us off so I can go get the truck.”
“Yes, sir.” Lincoln was grateful he had time to fix things with his father and his father seemed just as eager to do so, but the surgery remained like a thorn in his side. His entire leg for that matter. Suddenly determined, he was ready to get that appointment made, no matter the outcome.
18
Focus had always been a strong suit for Opal. Most folks only took her at face value and considered her flighty. Those folks, with their misassumptions from judging her outwardly instead of taking a more attentive look, had no clue about the business degree she’d earned online or the fact that the store’s office cabinets held the secrets of her success: detailed plans, budgets, advertising schedules, project proposals, etc. She’d always found it a fun game of sorts to keep that part of Opal Gilbert to herself and allow them to think what they would.
Admittedly, when Lincoln took off, he managed to take her focus with him. Right along with her heart and creativity. Working and holding the easygoing persona in place became a chore.
Opal’s thoughts remained on Lincoln as she settled inside her office and turned the computer on to attempt getting some work done. A few hours passed, and the only thing she was sure she accomplished was missing him even more.
“What’s on the agenda for the day?” Josie asked, startling Opal out of her thoughts.
She blinked a few times at the computer screen in her office before glancing over at her friend where she was leaning on the doorframe. “Hey, you.”
“What are you doing with that pile of new mattresses outside?” Josie hitched a thumb over her shoulder.
“We are going to deliver them, along with those bunk bed frames I refinished, over to the homeless shelter.” The mattresses had arrived anonymously the day before, but she knew who was behind the delivery.
Josie straightened. “That’s so nice of you. I like the nautical colors you chose to paint them.”
Opal waved the compliment off. “It’s no big deal. You painted that beach mural on the wall, so I thought the soft reds and blues would tie in well with it.” She shut the computer down and stood up. “Did your daddy bring over a trailer?”
“Yep. He’s outside waiting on your instructions.”
“Great. Let’s do this.” Opal followed Josie outside, welcoming the afternoon’s distraction.
By the time they moved out the old cots and set up the new beds, the sun had set on the day and Opal was plumb wiped out. Sophia and Ty had pitched in and donated new bedding. Of course, Ty’s agent made sure the star athlete was photographed carrying bags of pillows into the homeless shelter, much to Opal’s dismay. Once the beds were made, she snapped a picture with her phone and sent it to Lincoln. He sent back a thumbs-up emoji as his reply.
As she pocketed her phone and tried not to be disappointed at the brief response, Opal’s father snuck in the back with pizza and sodas for everyone. She helped serve the food and was pleased with how her father was doing it privately, after the camera crew was gone.
After everyone was served seconds, Opal grabbed a slice of pizza, stood off to the side, and proudly watched her father share a meal with several homeless residents. Senator Gilbert spent a good bit of time listening. Many were war veterans struggling to fit into society. Their nightmares sent them to dark places, and they were using whatever they could find to combat them. Opal thought of another soldier down on his luck, praying he was finding his way out of his darkness. She wished he’d let her be by his side. Just thinking about Lincoln and their last day together ruined her appetite. Unable to stomach the pizza, she discreetly dropped it in the trash.
Opal considered herself one tough cookie. She had
a fairly thick skin, due to dealing with people thinking it was their place to call her out on being different, but none of that had prepared her for the hollowness in the middle of her tender chest from missing Lincoln Cole. Some days, that longing left her aching to the point that she was almost convinced she was coming down with the flu. When no fever or other symptoms would show up, she’d allow a few tears in private before bucking up and carrying on.
Blinking the tears back now, she scanned the room once more and noticed how many sets of eyes looked as defeated as Lincoln’s had the last time she talked with him. Unable to hold it together any longer, she slipped out the back and made her way home.
Later that night, Opal sat on the edge of her bed praying for Lincoln like she did every night. But tonight, her prayers shifted to asking God to lead her to a way of helping more soldiers having the same sort of problems as Lincoln. Surely there was something that could be done for the brave souls who defended their country. They deserved more than being tossed to the side like used-up, defective devices. Like her furniture pieces, even if they weren’t able to do one task any longer, there had to be another purpose that could be found for them. They needed someone to care enough to guide and encourage them.
The plump middle-aged man shoved his glasses higher on his nose and squinted at Opal. “Are you serious?”
“Mr. Randal, that word and I really don’t go together. Serious seriously clashes with my style.” She straightened the oversize felt hat on her head, emphasizing the point. It seemed to only make the man more perplexed. A better part of an hour had been wasted following Mr. Randal around the showroom, and by the looks of it, it wouldn’t be concluding any time soon.
“But the price is a little steep.” He picked the tag up from the bakers rack and showed it to her as if she didn’t already know the amount.
“The work it took to create it was steep as well.”
“What gave you the wild hair to saw a dining table in pieces to make this?”
