by Traci Hall
Jackson eyed the man with caution. Was that true? What did that mean?
The doctor set the cup nonchalantly on the end table. “Who are you without the uniform?”
Jackson didn’t know—it had been a given that he would do his twenty.
“You are strong enough to recall these memories, in time. And once you learn how to examine them without the emotion attached to the memory, you’ll begin to heal. You don’t need a dog to do that.”
Jackson released a sigh of relief.
Chapter Thirteen
Emma drove home from the shelter, teary-eyed—and not because of Jackson’s stubbornness, well, not all because of Jackson, or Lulu, but because the shelter was full to capacity and they’d had to turn a Maltese away.
People tried to drop the animal off at their no-kill shelter, but if they were full, they dropped off at the next available facility, which didn’t always end well for the pup.
She popped a piece of dark chocolate into her mouth. Should she just ask Professor Collard about getting help for her grant? Was the money for the shelter worth getting booted from her doctorate program? The guilt for not saving the pup was awful, and the idea tempted her.
As she did every day before turning into her driveway, she focused her thoughts on the adjacent property’s blue and gold For Sale sign. The dream of accomplishment it represented always cheered her.
The chocolate turned to ash in her mouth.
A bright orange Sold sticker? She quickly pulled off the street and reversed down the dirt ditch to park in front of the overgrown property. Blackberry brambles, pine scrub, ivy—she had plans for the vacant land.
She got out of her SUV with disbelief. That property had been for sale for years.
“Who bought my land?” Could this day get any worse? She looked up at the sky. “Don’t answer that.”
Getting back into her vehicle, she drove home in dismay. Pep was still gone, so she numbly did the chores with her dogs. Checked the mail and wasn’t at all surprised to see another form letter telling her that her application had been denied.
It took all of her willpower to wash her face and get into her office to gather what she had for her thesis. The goal was an 80,000-word project showing how service animals eased anxiety better than drugs. Despite all of the conferences she’d gone to, and the articles published, she remained 20,000 words shy.
It seemed insurmountable, and for the first time, she turned her back on her studies and shut the office door in favor of a glass of wine on the back porch. Every door was being closed. Jackson leaving Bandit, not trusting her to help, Professor Collard giving her a deadline that loomed like the Cascades, and another denial. The final straw was the sale of her property.
Emma sat on the back porch with the glass of wine, a plate of cheese, and crackers at her elbow on the picnic table. The fountain gurgled peacefully in the background, the dogs slept at her feet, and the cats dozed on top of the toolshed, in the shade of an oak tree.
Tears fell in time with the splash of the fountain. How much more could she take? Maybe she should have gone to dinner with Sawyer after all. He’d offered after seeing how sad she’d been to turn the Maltese away.
“You have a soft heart,” he’d told her, his dark brown eyes snapping with understanding. His dimples and thick dark hair made Cindy blush every time he came into the shelter. “It hurts to see them go, but you are so good at finding just the right home.” He’d offered to take her to dinner, which might have been construed as a date, and she didn’t want to cross that line.
What made her pulse skip were brilliant green eyes and an eagle tattoo.
The dogs seemed sad, too, so she’d given everybody extra treats after their dinner. “We’ll have a new recruit,” she said to them. “Our job is to make people feel better.”
Pedro and King exchanged licks; they’d been Lulu’s boon companions.
She lifted the paperback and read the same page for the third time and finally set it down in exchange for a saltine cracker with thinly sliced sharp cheddar followed with a swallow of crisp white wine. Bandit lifted his head to check on her before laying his head back on the porch between his outstretched paws. Another hot tear trickled from her eye. She’d worked so hard. For what?
Was going to bed at 8:00 p.m. too early? She just wanted this awful day to end.
When her phone rang, she actually jumped. Princess’s ears lifted, and she gave Emma a look. “Sorry, Princess.” Emma checked the number. Jackson! She hadn’t expected to hear from her soldier. “Hello,” she answered. Not yours.
“Hey, it’s Jackson.”
“I know. Caller ID.”
“There are no surprises anymore.”
“Do you want to call again? I can pretend not to know who you are.”
He chuckled. “Not necessary.”
“How are you?” She put the book aside to give Jackson her full attention.
Bandit shifted his body, staring at the phone. Sweet. Would Jackson want Bandit right away? She wasn’t ready to lose another one so soon. But she would—Jackson needed Bandit.
“Fine. Well, all right. Matty and I stayed in the city for dinner. Clam chowder.”
“Ivar’s?”
“Yep. Did the Ferris wheel, too. First time either of us had been on it. What a view of the city, especially at night. Before that, we stopped by to see Livvie. Matty told me he’s worried that she won’t come home. I reminded him that he could talk to me, or you, about those feelings.”
“Of course!”
She didn’t prod him with the million questions running through her mind, and finally Jackson said, “The doc wasn’t a bad guy.”
“Who did you see?” she asked.
“Dr. Leonard Smith.”
Shifting Princess on her lap, she said, “I know him.” She brought to mind the older man with a stern demeanor and glasses. “He did a few lectures at the college.” He was all about the science of mental health. Psychology, her field of study, was more about behavior patterns, why people acted the way they did. He was a doctor, thank you very much, and went strictly by the facts. The sort of person she was not…and didn’t want to be.
Emma exhaled slowly to ease the tightness in her chest. Bandit lowered his ears.
“He offered some good suggestions. Dealing with the nightmares instead of burying them.”
“That’s important, I agree. What did he suggest?” She petted Princess.
“Revisiting the memories during the day so they won’t bother me at night.”
She nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her. “Good.”
Bandit inched closer to where she sat. She shook her head at him. She swore that the dog’s brown eyes were sad.
“I brought up the therapy dog.”
“Terrific,” she said, hoping to sway him in a positive direction. “What did he say?”
“No harm can come from having Bandit at the house, but he didn’t think it was important.”
Her eyes watered, and she reached for her wine, taking a sip to clear the ache in her throat. She’d so hoped to help with Bandit. “Oh.”
“Listen, I know you’re disappointed. Matty is too, believe me. But I’d rather try it the doc’s way, and maybe save us all some heartache in the long run when we’d have to give Bandit back.”
She waited until she could talk without giving herself away. “I understand.”
Bandit whined, and she reached down to scratch his ears. It’s okay, boy.
“He suggested we see how things play out, so far as the bad dreams. I’ll see him next week.”
“I’m really glad you’re talking to someone.” She looked at the phone in her hand and rolled her eyes. “Professionally.”
“Me, too. Thanks for being there for Matty, Emma. I really appreciate it. If he hadn’t taken the video, I wouldn’t have believed it. Doc said that the brain has a way of trying to protect us from the bad so, during the day, I had no recollection of what was happening at night. I know that
now, and I can fix it.”
What a typical male thing to say, she thought. “I wish you much success.” Bandit laid his nose on her bare foot.
“Matty’s in watching Spiderman cartoons. He’s mad at me about the dog. Trying to understand, which is pretty grown up, considering.” Jackson gave a light cough and said, “I told the doc about my commander needing me back soon.”
She felt that news with a whoosh to her stomach. “How was that?”
“You know, you have all the right questions down, Em,” Jackson chuckled.
“What?” Hearing him say her name like that, Em, would never get old.
“How do you feel, what do you think—those are shrink questions. I think when you get your own practice started you should ask different questions. Shake it up a little.”
She laughed, drawing her knees up. “Those are the questions that work. Besides, I might not have a people practice.” What she said surprised her, but she went with it, trying it out for size.
“Why the hell not?”
“Now you need to rephrase the question.” Emma pressed her hand to Princess’s fur, digging her fingers into the soft curls. “That’s way too combative.”
“That’s what I do, combat. Fight. Win. I could never be a shrink. Takes too much inner peace. So, why not?”
Princess licked a crumb of cheese off Emma’s finger. “I like what I do already.”
“That’s important.” He waited a few seconds and then said, “But didn’t you go to school for a long time? I can’t believe how much education you need to mess with people’s heads.”
“Minds.”
“Whatever.” Jackson muffled the phone, possibly switching ears, and then asked, “How close are you again?”
“I’m on my final thesis. Then I have to intern for a year or two, and then have a mentor for another year or two.” She curled her toes against the warm worn wood on the porch. “My professor gave me through the summer to finish but…I don’t know. Today’s been a rough day.”
“Run out of ice cream?”
“Not funny, Jackson.” She sniffed.
“I’m sorry. What happened?”
“It’s nothing compared to what you’re going through,” she said, hesitant to complain when his sister was in a coma.
“It’s okay, Em. I want to hear what’s going on with you, I really do.” His voice changed, and she felt as if he meant it.
“The property that I wanted to buy to build my shelter sold.” The back of her nose filled with unshed tears. “And Lulu is gone, to a nice family, but still. And I got another denial for the grant. And we had to turn a dog away—”
“Geez, Em, that is a crappy day.”
She wasn’t even done with her list, which included him and Bandit. “I know.” Princess gave the back of her hand a lick.
Then she sat up. “Hey, great job at changing the subject from you and your PTSD.” She rubbed the silky tip of Princess’s ear.
“It’s not that simple,” he said with a deep exhale. “I’m working on a decision that will be the best for everybody.”
“Now, I know that is not what your Dr. Smith told you. Pretty sure he’d tell you to do what was best for you.”
“Yeah.” He chuckled. “You’re pretty good, Em. I’m just thinking about what’s best for Matty. I’d like to find a way to stay in the military, too. I’ll figure it out. So much depends on my sister.”
“True. I’m here, if you want to talk about it.”
“I’ve done enough talking. Can’t remember when I’ve shared so much.”
She laughed at his heavy emphasis on the word. “That is how the healing begins.”
“I’m sorry Bandit didn’t work out. Do you still want Matty to come over on Thursday?”
“Yes. I love having him around. He owes me two more days.” They’d agreed on four after the first day—Thursday would give Jackson two nights of writing out his dreams. “July fourth is the parade, and I have a booth downtown. I’d love his help with the dogs. It’s a fun day, and he would have some free time, too. You’re welcome as well.”
“Sure,” Jackson muffled the phone and then said, “Hey, Matty. Ready for some popcorn?”
She heard Matthew answer. “Yeah. Okay.” Emma smiled, imagining a preview of the sullen teen years.
“I gotta go, Em. See you on Thursday.”
“Bye, Jackson. Night to Matthew.” Emma looked up at the dark blue starlit sky and said a prayer for the Hardy family, then picked up her book and stared at the page. Emerald green eyes and a sexy confident smile blurred the words.
…
Jackson shoved his phone into his pocket and got out the big popcorn bowl from the dishwasher. “Two bags?”
Matthew nodded. “I’m starving.”
He’d grown in the last month, and Jackson anticipated another spurt. “You keep this up, and your mom will have to get a house with higher ceilings.”
Matthew grinned self-consciously. “La-ame.”
“I’m just saying. Maybe you should lay off the veggies.”
“And be short like you?”
Jackson, at six feet, wasn’t exactly pint-sized. “I may not be pro basketball player material,” he said, “but I’m all right.” He lobbed an empty juice box into the sink.
Matthew raced around him, pretending to dribble. “Block me if you can,” he said, laughing with pure joy.
He blocked, and Matty whipped around him, then ducked under Jackson’s outstretched arm for a perfect throw. “See that arc?” Matthew shouted. “Three for the win!”
“The win?” Jackson held his hands out to the side. “We are so buying a real basketball hoop tomorrow.”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t think your mom would mind, and if she does I can take it down before I leave. You look online for the best deal.”
After the movie, Jackson insisted that Matthew take a bath. “You need to use soap, boy. Not the perfume stuff from your mom, but the bar of soap. Under your arms—everywhere, got it?”
Matthew stalked down the hall, mumbling about dirt and wasting his time in the tub. Jackson shook his head and powered up his laptop to check his emails. Maybe start on the list Dr. Smith had told him to write.
Another email from his commander—asking Jackson to hurry back. Hire someone to watch Matty. The unit needed their best sniper. He chose not to answer, confused by what was the right thing to do. There were many different “rights”—how to decide?
Dr. Smith had suggested writing a list of things he could control and things he couldn’t. He opened a Word document.
First, Livvie. If she was out of the hospital, he would hire whatever she needed for physical therapy. In-home nursing, whatever it took for her to be well and able to care for Matty. Bonnie would be able to give him a list.
Then he could email his commander and let him know he’d join up with them overseas. With Dr. Smith’s help, he should be able to return to his unit. Ten years would pass in the blink of an eye.
What do I want? He pushed the laptop aside and got up, walking into the kitchen for a bottle of water. Dr. Smith had also given him the same instructions that Emma had earlier: no booze, sleep in the bed, not the couch, no caffeine. Create a bedtime routine.
It’s not about me.
He went back to the laptop and started writing out what he remembered about his dreams of being in battle.
If it meant preventing a nightmare, he’d do it.
But as he wrote, he stared at the accusing words. Remi. Dead. Blood. Iowa. Sniper. He couldn’t breathe. My fault? Was there anything he could have done to prevent Remi’s death?
The cursor blinked at him.
Blood.
Death.
My fault.
Jackson highlighted the paragraph and hit delete.
Chapter Fourteen
Thursday morning, Jackson was dragging ass. Exhausted did not even begin to describe the weight he felt, the cement in his boots as he took one sluggish step after ano
ther.
Perhaps Dr. Smith had underestimated the bite of his demons? It was a good thing he’d made sure to sleep in his room—or pretend to sleep, so Matty wouldn’t know—because Jackson wrestled with ghosts all night long. After the second night of trying to conquer his dreams, the repetitive screams, the sounds of the dying, he caved and bought a case of Red Bull.
He downed pot after pot of coffee, shaking so bad that he dropped the keys to the truck. He didn’t trust himself on the motorcycle with Matty.
“Ready?” he asked by their front door.
Matthew eyed him with concern. “Are you sick? I can stay home. Make you soup.”
“I’m not sick.” Going out of my mind, but not sick. “Let’s go.”
“I don’t know.” Matty hesitated, uncertain.
“Move.” His barked order came as a surprise, to both of them, and Matthew headed out the front door, letting the screen slam closed behind him.
He scrubbed the side of his face. The inch of beard on his jaw. His eyes felt gritty and his stomach soured from all the coffee. He’d agreed to help Mitch at the auto shop today, since Matty would be with Emma. Emma, who he couldn’t stop wanting to kiss, even though it was wrong.
They passed the basketball hoop he’d bought and set up in the front driveway. Matty loved shooting hoops, and it was a good way to stay awake. Midnight, last night, before Jackson had declared bedtime.
“But it’s summer,” Matty had whined.
Jackson remembered saying the same thing to his dad. Lack of sleep was making him melancholy. His doctor’s appointment was on Monday. Could he make it until then?
Maybe switch to Mountain Dew.
They drove to Emma’s in silence, Jackson on autopilot and Matthew pouting. He parked by the gate and perked up at Emma’s cheerful wave.
She wore khaki shorts and a light-blue polo with a Heart to Heart logo on the side. A mug in one hand and the whistle in the other. The dogs barked in welcome as he and Matthew got out.
His vision swam, but he covered by keeping his hand on the truck.
Or thought he’d covered until Emma’s gaze narrowed in on him.
