“Carl,” Reva snapped. “Can’t you see—”
“If the boy can go out running, he isn’t an invalid. Plain as day to me.” Angling a keen look at Devlin, Carl pursed his lips. “Unless he don’t have time.”
“No problem.” Relieved at the opportunity to escape, Dev nodded at Reva and headed downstairs. “Just tell me what you want me to do first.”
His life was in ruins. Old people pitied him. And now he’d gone from commanding a unit of skilled marines to becoming a jack-of-all-trades—and an incompetent one, at that.
What did he know about appliances and civilian life skills—and how was he supposed to help these folks at Sloane House turn their lives around, when he couldn’t even manage his own?
Reva, with her polite but brittle, imperious shell, was so far outside Dev’s years in the military that she might as well have come from a different planet.
Cantankerous as he was, Carl was at least familiar ground. If the man had chosen the military and ended up a drill sergeant, he would have been the happiest man alive.
So far, the sofa, a settee and two upholstered chairs had nearly worn trails in the carpet while Carl dithered and barked orders. The first half hour had been amusing. The second had become more than a little trying.
“No,” he growled. “I just wish I could do it myself. Over more to the left. No—too far. Back to the right. Just you wait—someday you’ll have trifocals and a bad heart, then see if you can ever get things right for watching your TV.”
Carl’s offhand words were harder to take than this endless exercise in furniture positioning.
Dev already had his hearing loss and bad shoulder. Was this where his life was headed? Was he going to end up growing old alone, bitter and cranky—still young enough to work but unwanted? At a point where the minute adjustment of a piece of furniture was a major issue?
The prospect darkened his mood even further, until he felt as if a heavy cloud was pressing him down into a morass of despair. He’d never understood depression. He’d always figured emotions were a choice. Now he wasn’t so sure.
“Devlin.”
He blinked and shook off his thoughts.
Carl frowned at him. “You moved it too far.”
“Yes, sir.” He adjusted Carl’s favorite easy chair a few millimeters to the right. “How’s this?”
Carl settled into the chair. Squinted at the television. Tipped his head up and down. “That’ll do,” he said. “Now, about the dryer vent. Just how much do you know about dryers?”
Only that he’d always done his laundry at the base or at a Laundromat when he traveled, and that someone else kept the machines working. And that with anything he tackled, Carl would question his every move. “Not much.”
Carl gave him a measuring look. “I think it’s the sparrows again,” he said finally.
“Sparrows?”
“Clothes won’t dry. Happened before—fool birds built nests in the vent to the outside. Jammed everything up, lint and all. Vivian called a repair guy once, then later she did it herself.”
“What?” Dev tried and failed to imagine his elegant mother in coveralls, a greasy wrench in her hands. Maybe the old guy was hallucinating.
“She used a clothes hanger. Made a big hook and dragged it all out.” Carl scowled. “I’d do it myself, but I can’t bend down that far, and Frank has his asthma—all that dust and lint really set him off last time. No use spending good money on a repairman if this will solve the problem and we can do it ourselves.”
At the reading of the will, Dev had imagined needing to be some sort of pseudo social worker here—which would have been a classic case of the blind leading the blind, since he had more than enough baggage of his own. These people would probably see through him in a minute, if it came to that.
At least this stuff was easy.
Carl grabbed a wire coat hanger from the front closet and unfolded it as they went outside, then rounded the side of the porch to the dryer vent. “Here you go. And don’t step on the hostas.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sure enough, there was at least one bird nest and a mass of lint backed up inside. In ten minutes Dev had it cleaned out, then he ran to the basement and turned on the dryer. A rush of hot air soon came through the outside vent.
“Good enough,” Carl said with a grudging look of approval. “Long overdue, but good enough.”
An image of his father’s stern expression flashed into his thoughts. An A-in trigonometry? Maybe next time you can work a little harder. You missed a spot with the lawnmower—daydreaming again?
Back then, he’d clenched his teeth and quietly taken the criticism, knowing from long experience that it was nearly impossible to earn unqualified praise from the man everyone else in town held in such esteem.
Now he gave Carl a level look. “I didn’t hear about it until this afternoon. If you’d told me sooner, I would have come over.”
“Yes. Well. Of course,” Carl blustered. “I…we just didn’t know. We…didn’t figure you were happy about your mom’s will and all, and you haven’t been here much.”
Had he seemed as surly as Carl?
Unapproachable?
At this rate the residents would have plenty to complain about if Nora or that other lawyer stopped by, and they would have good cause.
“I just figured someone would call if they needed anything.” Dev cleared his throat. “I’ll start coming to the house every day from now on, just to check in. Maybe we should also have a clipboard inside the back door so you can all leave me notes. Would that work?”
Carl nodded slowly.
“But I’ve got to admit something you probably already know,” Dev added. “Give me a weapon and a mission, and I’m good to go, but there’s a lot of home maintenance that I’ve never done before. So if you have any advice, I’ll be glad to hear it. Mostly. Even if my pride gets in the way.”
“Deal.” The old man’s voice cracked, revealing just how much it meant to him to be useful, and a moment later his mouth softened into what might pass for a rusty smile.
“I’ll jog back to the motel to get my car. Then let’s take a look at that screen before we go after your shoes, okay? Maybe we can drop it off at a hardware store to be fixed.”
At the motel, Dev changed into khakis and a navy polo shirt, clipped his phone to his belt and climbed into the Jeep. The motor roared to life when he turned the key.
His phone rang.
He palmed it, read the ID screen and felt his heart take an extra hitch. “Beth.”
“I…um…”
The residents were wary of calling him, and he’d been too self-absorbed to even notice. Now he could even hear a hint of wariness in Beth’s voice, and he felt a stab of regret.
“What’s up?”
“Well…I heard that you got some news today.”
He tightened his grip on the phone. Reva or Carl must have called her the moment one of them was out of sight. He felt an instant surge of rebellion at their interference.
That news revealed weakness. Failure. And it was nobody’s business but his own.
“Dev?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Then you shouldn’t sound so angry.”
He took a deep breath. “I’m only angry at myself. Not you.”
She was silent for a long moment, obviously waiting for him to elaborate. “I hear you didn’t get medical clearance for going active again.”
He stared at the faded paint and torn screen on the motel unit in front of the Jeep. Just being here made him feel depressed. Maybe that was it—it was just the motel. He’d be able to handle everything else once he moved out of here.
“This is like pulling teeth, you know.” She cleared her throat. “Look, I want you to know that I’m sorry. You’ve been hit with a lot of trouble recently, and it just isn’t fair.”
“Fair isn’t a word I’ve been using much lately.”
“So…give me details.”
“My sho
ulder. Hearing loss.”
“Is this forever? Are you out of the service for good?”
He gripped the phone tighter. “Only as far as combat is concerned. I can continue in some other area.”
“If you choose to re-enlist,” she said softly. “But you’d hate being in some office job.”
“What else am I going to do?” The words came out more harshly than he’d intended. “The Marines have been my life since I was nineteen. And even here—how am I supposed to be able to help those people at Sloane House when my own life is a mess?”
She fell silent for a minute. “I was sorry to hear the news, Dev. But now I’m even more sorry.”
He felt an uneasy, guilty prickle at the back of his neck, already knowing what she was going to say. Already knowing she was right.
“I understand it’s bad news. So be it. You’ve still got so much more to be thankful for. Your vision, your mobility. Your life. You are so lucky. And your parents have left you resources beyond the dreams of most people. Even if you don’t want to live here, you could do a lot of good in this world with that money.”
“You’re right.”
“I’ll give you twenty-four hours. But if you dare wallow in disappointment longer than that, then believe me. I’m—” She broke off suddenly. “Oh.”
“I’ll do my duty here. Then I’ll go back to the Marines and finish out my career. Who knows…maybe after that I can go back to school, or figure out some sort of business.”
“Like security, or law enforcement?”
“I just don’t know. Not yet.”
“Maybe you’ll even decide to come back here, then. It’s a wonderful town, Dev. And for as long as you’ll have been gone, it could still feel like a fresh start. Where else would you go?”
Good question.
He no longer had ties anywhere on the planet…no longer had anyone who cared where he went, or what he did. He’d lost touch with his more distant relatives years ago.
But while that had once made him feel free, now it just made him feel…empty.
Chapter Eight
After a sleepless night, Dev downed a couple cups of black coffee at a truck stop on the edge of town, then got back into the Jeep and drove aimlessly through town…only to find himself turning onto Hawthorne.
He continued down to the end of the block, nodding at the folks strolling along the sidewalk who waved at him—which, it seemed, approached just about a hundred percent of the people he saw.
The first few days, he’d been uncomfortable at the recognition and attention from veritable strangers. Now he realized that they were all simply an incredibly friendly lot, and waved to everyone.
Pulling to a stop in front of the Walker Building, he rested his wrist on the top of the steering wheel as he surveyed the beautiful old building and once again imagined a rainbow of colorful kayaks leaning against the exterior wall, and an American flag fluttering from the empty flagpole angling skyward from the second floor above the entrance.
Was it even possible? Not likely. If he sank his savings into a business like that, he’d probably end up broke before the year was out.
At a sharp rat-a-tat against his half-lowered window, the world around him exploded. His heart rate escalated to triple speed, his focus narrowing to a single point—survival.
He lurched to the right, twisting within the confines of the tight space behind the wheel as he automatically reached for his gun.
A gun that wasn’t there.
Panic surged through him as he pawed at the dashboard. The passenger seat—
An angular male face framed in a furry bomber cap, his features blurred with sags and wrinkles, stared through the window at him with a startled expression that had to match his own.
It took Dev a moment to recognize Frank Ferguson, one of the boarders.
The man adjusted his tie and tapped at the glass again. “You okay in there, son?”
“Fine. Just fine.” Until you nearly made my heart stop.
In this lazy, quiet community, Dev perceived the threat level as low. He’d relaxed his guard. But it took almost nothing to bring the past crashing back on him with the lethal force of an AK-47.
Once again, images of blood and death crowded into his brain. His hands started to shake.
The acrid scent of gunfire and smoke filled the air, making it impossible to breathe.
It isn’t real. It isn’t real.
Taking a slow, steadying breath, he curled his fingers around the steering wheel and tightened his grip until his knuckles turned white.
When he opened his eyes he found several passersby on the sidewalk had slowed and were bending over to look through the passenger side of the Jeep with expressions of concern.
“Is everything all right with this man, Frank?” A heavyset woman in an orange jacket frowned. “He looks white as a sheet.”
Her friend’s eyes widened. “Oh…this is Vivian’s son, right? Is he okay?”
He hadn’t blushed since he was a kid. Maybe not even then. But now Dev felt heat rise at the back of his neck.
Frank straightened. “Of course he’s fine. We’re just visiting.” Under his breath, so only Dev could hear, he added, “Old friends. They mean well, but they’re busy-bodies. Sorry about that.”
Dev opened his door partway, letting the elderly gent step aside, then he got out, needing to escape the oppressive confines of the vehicle. “I…I was just checking out my building. What are you up to?”
Frank arched his spine, one hand at the small of his back, then unbuttoned his suit jacket. “Morning constitutional. I walk three miles twice a day, no matter what the weather or I stiffen right up. Sunshine and exercise do the trick.”
The innocuous conversation felt like a healing balm to Dev’s raw nerves. “Must be tough.”
“Shouldn’t happen at my age, but there you are. I’m only sixty, but I got my white hair by fifty, and I even needed a hearing aid when I hit forty-nine—just like my dad.” Frank gave Dev a piercing look. “But I’d guess things aren’t so easy for you either, eh?”
I’m fine had been his constant refrain since coming to Aspen Creek and he started to say it again, then stopped, all too aware that Frank had just witnessed his meltdown a moment ago and would know it was a lie.
“You’re hoping to return to active service?”
“I…was.” Saying the words aloud once again made them even more painful. More real. “The VA says I have permanent hearing loss and a bum shoulder. I won’t ever qualify again for my old unit.”
“I don’t suppose you want to ride a desk somewhere.”
“No, sir.”
“Just Frank. And I don’t blame you. I imagine you’ve had to see and do things that most people couldn’t…but having to leave that adrenaline rush behind would seem empty, somehow.” Frank stepped up on the sidewalk and studied the front of the Walker Building. “I always admired the architecture along Hawthorne. Could you show me the inside of your building, if you’ve got a minute? I haven’t been in there for years.”
Relieved at Frank’s tactful change of topic, Dev rounded the bumper and went to unlock the front door, then ushered him inside.
The older man moved to a wide square of sunlight beaming through the windows on the second floor and turned slowly, taking it all in. “I always loved this building. Nice and open in front, clear up to the rafters, but the back half will give you extra space on that second floor. And it’s rustic—just the kind of interior that fits the historic district.”
Dev nodded.
“I think there was a lawyers’ office in here, some time back. A person could come in here and put in offices or a store in no time flat.” Frank strolled through the main floor. “Build some shelving, order merchandise and you’d at least have a start at some income—then the whole winter to finish it right. Looks like you did a fine job clearing it out.”
“Thanks to the youth group at church. And Beth,” Dev added with a short laugh, “who wouldn’t le
t me say no to them.”
Frank pinned Dev with a measuring look. “She’s a good woman.”
Dev knew where the old guy was heading, and wanted no part of it. “Have you ever seen the lower level?”
“Can’t say as I have. Is it just storage?”
“Not any longer.” Dev led the way to the back of the store and punched a button. “There’s a nice, wide flight of stairs, but we’ll take the freight elevator down.”
When they reached the lower level, Dev flipped a bank of switches and light filled the cavernous, empty space. The walls were sandstone block, the floor stone. The youth group had helped him remove the last of the junk down here as well, and as he headed for the series of garage doors forming much of the east wall, Dev felt a familiar tug of excitement.
He opened them one by one, letting in a rush of crisp fall air. “Take a look.”
Frank joined him, and when he reached the open doors his jaw dropped in awe. “This is beautiful.”
Aspen Creek widened along the stretch behind the block, sunlight sparkling in eddies and swirls as it danced around several boulders and swooped under a downed tree.
Massive old oaks, lacy birch and aspen on both sides of the creek blazed ruby and orange and vivid yellow, all the more striking against the backdrop of granite cliffs rising behind them on the far side of the creek.
Frank moved to the edge of the creek and sat on a boulder the size of a sofa. “So…what do you plan to with this place?”
“No plans.”
“No, really.” Frank grinned. “Don’t tell me you haven’t given it a thought.”
Dev shrugged. “I should sell it, when I take possession.”
“But…”
Dev laughed. “You are one insistent man.”
“That’s because I’m intrigued. I saw the look in your eye when we walked through this building—and your expression when you opened all these doors.”
“Well…I guess I’ve been imagining an adventure sporting goods place here. Someone might be able to establish a good business, if the economy doesn’t falter too much. Then again, it would be a huge risk to even try.”
Winter Reunion (Aspen Creek Crossroads Book 1) Page 8
