Home to Wind River

by Lindsay McKenna

  Suzy, who was in her early twenties, shrugged dramatically. “I don’t know.”

  Squeezing out the door, they walked down the hall toward the reception area. “Does she always call her employees?” Lily wondered.

  “No . . . not usually,” Suzy responded, giving her a concerned look.

  “Oh, dear,” she muttered. “I wonder if I’ve done something wrong.”

  “I doubt that! All the animals love you. Some of them love you to death!”

  Wincing inwardly at the word, Lily nodded and picked up the phone. “Hello? This is Lily Thompson.” Her heart was pounding in her chest and she curled her fingers into her damp palm. Was she going to get fired? God, she hoped not.

  “Lily, this is Maud. I just got done speaking to Kassie, and she mentioned you were an RN. Is that true?”

  “Yes, ma’am, it is.” She gulped, unsure of where this was going.

  “Suzy told me you have a part-time job there, fifteen hours a week?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do. I love it.” Inwardly, she was praying the owner wasn’t going to tell her to leave. It would devastate her in ways most people wouldn’t understand. This was the first real job she’d been able to find since receiving an honorable medical discharge from the Army due to her extreme PTSD symptoms.

  “Are you looking for full-time work?”

  “Well . . . uh . . . that would depend. I really love animals.” Because they give me peace. They accept me for who I am now. Not who I used to be, but she didn’t divulge that.

  “Can you drive out to our ranch? I’d love to talk to you face-to-face about a job possibility. I assume you’re looking for full-time work?”

  Was she ever! Licking her lower lip, Lily said, “Yes, ma’am, I am. But I can’t work in a hospital or anything like that.” Lily had to be honest about her skills and how much she’d been harmed by her time in Afghanistan.

  “This is a job in a home, as a caregiver for a sixty-five-year-old woman who has broken her femur. You would cook three meals a day and do some light housework besides helping the woman with exercise and walking to strengthen herself once more. It should last around two months, full-time. Are you still interested?”

  “Maybe,” she answered tentatively. “Could you tell me more?”

  “Come out to the Wind River Ranch. We’ll talk. Can you make it at one p.m.?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m done today at noon. I know where your ranch is located and can drive out there. I’ll be on time, I promise.”

  “Great. Just come to the office. That’s where I’ll be.”

  Lily hung up, her heart pounding even harder. A job. A real job. A caregiver. Well, she could do that.

  Suzy glowed as Lily told her about the call. “You said you wanted another job, that this one wouldn’t pay your monthly bills.”

  Lily smoothed out her jeans, some damp spots of water on them from watering all the cats and dogs in the shelter that morning. “I did.”

  “Kassie’s a good go-to person to find a job. You must have told her you were looking for another one.”

  “Yes, I’d love to find something full-time. I don’t want to leave the shelter,” she said, looking around the small but homey office. “I love the animals.”

  “It’s only a two-month job, Lily.”

  “It’s better than nothing. And it sounds like something I can manage. I always enjoy helping animals and people.”

  Suzy sat down. “Hey, good luck on it. Maud’s a really nice person. You’ll instantly feel at ease with her. She has a heart of gold, so don’t sweat the interview. Okay?”

  Easier said than done. Nodding, Lily picked up her jacket and pulled it on. It might be June 2, but it was only forty-five degrees outside despite the blue sky and sunshine. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning at six a.m.,” she promised Suzy, lifting her hand in farewell as she pushed the outer door open.

  Outdoors, she halted and looked around. It was something she did without thinking about it. There were a lot of things she thought about since being in the Army, since that village was attacked . . . Resolutely, Lily compressed her lips and walked doggedly toward her dark blue pickup. Her parents had bought it for her when she returned home, wanting, in some way, to help her adjust to civilian life. It was used but in good condition, and as she climbed in, her heart warmed at their helping her after the Army released her.

  To her right was the Wilson Range, rising out of the flat plain west of the one-hundred-mile, oblong-shaped Wind River Valley. It was covered with snow on its blue granite flanks, then surrounded with thick evergreens from ten thousand feet downward and flowing onto the flat of the valley. The shelter had been built on the southern end of the town. The parking lot was gravel, with a wooden corral around it except for the entrance and exit points. The tires made crunching sounds as she backed out and headed toward the ribbon of two-lane asphalt that went through the valley.

  Since discovering this small town nestled between the Salt River Range to the east and the Wilson Range on the west, she’d found some level of peace. Her money was running out, although she knew her parents would give her more if she asked. They’d done so much already, trying to help her with her devastating PTSD symptoms.

  Driving slowly through town, she parked at Kassie’s Café. Kassie had given her a back room in the large restaurant, free, until she could find a job. She, like Maud Whitcomb, was partial to military vets and had married one, Travis Grant.

  Lily left the pickup and walked around to a side door. The little apartment had a bathroom with a tub, which she loved to soak in. Water always calmed her. The bedroom had a queen-size bed and a purple comforter that was cozy and warm for the freezing nights that occurred even in June around here. There was also a small kitchenette. She discovered either Kassie or one of her women vet waitresses had thoughtfully put a bowl of fresh fruit on the table for her. When she opened the fridge, she found three complete meals wrapped in Saran wrap.

  Lily didn’t know how she’d managed to luck out, but Kassie and Travis had been saviors to her. She’d come here two weeks ago, low on money, low on morale and questioning whether she’d done the right thing by leaving her home in Blackfoot, Idaho. She was looking for a job that had low stress, something that would pay her a salary she could live on.

  As a vet with PTSD, her career as an RN was pretty much over. She didn’t have the ability to stand the stress of working in a busy hospital. Or even a doctor’s office. Sometimes, crowds of people, noise and the combination of the two, made her mind blank out and she was paralyzed for moments, unable to think or react.

  During her therapy, after breaking emotionally over what she’d witnessed in an Afghan village, her therapist gently told her she would never be the same person again. Lily found those words disheartening, but Major Ann Dawson had shown her the strength that was still within her, helped her to understand how she could call upon it to heal. That, too, was a part of her.

  The first three months after her breakdown out in the field had been the hardest. They’d put her on medications that made her feel out of her body. Her mind didn’t work, and she was in some kind of cottony cocoon she couldn’t wrestle out of.

  Only after the medication was slowly withdrawn and she started with therapy sessions with Major Dawson had she started to come alive once more. And as she recounted the horrific attack by the Taliban at dawn, the murdering of innocent men, women and children, she broke down and wept until she had no more tears to shed. But the pain, the anguish of watching people systematically beheaded with swords, stabbed with knives, shot in the head, still peppered her dreams nightly. Dawson had urged her to remember, not push away what she’d experienced. It had been so hard. It was still hard, but her emotional reaction to it had diminished in intensity. Her therapist said that with time, it would lose its grip on her, and Lily believed her. She just wished it would hurry up and happen. Unfortunately, the therapist told her it would be many years before it slowly took place.

  Lily went to the kit
chen counter and made a pot of coffee. If she took certain antianxiety meds, she’d calm down. But they interfered so much with her ability to feel connected to life that she finally refused to take them anymore. Lily would rather suffer and feel alive than be anesthetized and slog through the day feeling robotically removed from everything. Truly, the meds had turned her into a zombie.

  Because Kassie had given her this space to live until she could get back on her feet, Lily wanted to help where she could. The dishwasher room, where dirty plates and flatware were cleaned, was too loud and jarring to her sensitive nervous system. Noise could bring on a flashback of that dawn morning in the village. And getting a flashback made her curl into a knot, her head buried against her drawn-up knees, arms tightly wrapped around them, unable to do anything but remember to breathe in and out until it passed. It could take an hour, but then the rest of the day or a sleepless night followed.

  She felt helpless. Alone. Broken. Too fragile to live in this rough-and-tumble world civilians easily dealt with day in and day out. At one time, she could do it, too. But no longer. Major Dawson had told her to find a low-stress job, doing something that made her look forward to working daily. The shelter in Wind River was perfect for her. Dogs barking didn’t bring on a nasty reaction within her. The dogs and cats loved her, and she wallowed in their unselfish adoration, lapping it up like the starving emotional being she’d become. These last two weeks had been heaven for her because she was the only human with all the animals. Things always went better when there wasn’t a crowd of people around her.

  She sat down at the table that had two chairs around it and ate a tuna sandwich she’d made last night. Luckily, she’d slept well, a rare thing but so welcome. Major Dawson had told her that over time, years, the anxiety, the hypervigilance, the nightmares and those dreaded flashbacks would begin to ease. Lily took it as a good-luck sign that Wind River was a place of healing for her. In the last two weeks, she’d had seven nights of solid, unbroken sleep. A new record! Attributing it to her beloved dogs and cats, she remembered her caring therapist telling her she would find an inner strength that would support her healing. It would be a journey that would consume her life to come, but a worthy one.

  Well, she’d found it. Kassie and Travis Grant were her guardian angels. Just as Maud Whitcomb had been, by hiring her part-time at the animal shelter. Yes, this place, the kindness of so many people who lived here, was the medication she needed to get her feet solidly under her. Tonight, she’d call her mom and dad in Idaho and let them know what had transpired. Idaho Falls was about six hours north of where she lived now, but sometimes it seemed like half a continent away. Other times, a six-hour trip by pickup home to see them would be easy for her to accomplish.

  Sitting and munching on her sandwich, she went over her short talk with Maud. She’d never been a personal caregiver but liked the idea of helping a sixty-five-year-old woman rehabilitate. After all, she’d worked in orthopedics while going through her last two years before receiving her RN degree. Maybe that would help her get the job. But it was only for two months. Then she’d be back to square one. Still, it felt hopeful, and she had to try.

  Fear was something she had rarely felt until after joining the Army. Then it had been a daily companion after her breakdown. She felt the emotions rising in her, felt her stomach shrinking, as if a hand had grabbed it and was squeezing it until it was painful. Fear of rejection. Yes, that was it. Shame and humiliation were the two biggest feelings in her life. Ashamed that she couldn’t take it. Some of the male vets in her hospital ward due to their own PTSD had called her weak. Fragile. Even though they themselves were in as bad shape emotionally as she was. How many times at night, in her bed, had she cried, face pressed deep into the pillow to stop the sounds? Lily had lost count. Crying helped relieve the pressure within her. Better out than in. Crying was healthy, and she saw the difference in her state of mind since giving herself permission to do just that.

  Humiliation haunted her daily, reminding her that she couldn’t take real life, the natural stress everyone around her could deal with without blinking an eye. She couldn’t handle a crowd on a sidewalk, or be squeezed into a theater, or be comfortable in a department store. Instead, walks around the hospital grounds, green grass, trees, colorful flower beds, birds singing, all combined to ramp down the anxiety that savaged her. Lily understood what fragile meant because that was how far she’d sunk into her own wounded being. There was so much she could no longer handle.

  Frowning, she wondered what Maud would think of her. Because she wouldn’t lie about what had happened to her, and how it affected her daily. If she lost the job, so be it. Lily wasn’t about to put herself into a position where there was high stress, loud noises or too much hustle and bustle. In an hour, she’d find out a lot more. The fear grew in her, making her feel hyper with anxiety.

  Chapter Two

  June 2

  “Come in,” Maud called, rising from her desk as she heard a tentative knock on her office door. She saw Lily Thompson open it, allowing the chilly June air to mix with the heat inside. Giving her a welcoming smile, she held out her hand once she was inside and had closed the door. “I’m Maud Whitcomb. Thanks for coming out for this interview, Lily.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she murmured, releasing the woman’s firm grip.

  “You can hang your coat on that rack, if you’d like. May I get you some coffee or tea?”

  “I’d love a cup of coffee. It’s cold out there. I guess I’m used to the milder spring in Idaho Falls, where I come from.” She hung up her dark purple nylon-and-down-filled coat on one of the hooks. Smoothing her hands along her black wool pants, she stood, unsure.

  “Have a seat in one of the chairs in front of my desk,” Maud invited, pouring them both a cup of coffee.

  Noting two chairs, one at each corner of Maud’s huge oak desk, Lily sat. Nodding her thanks as Maud gave her the cup, the ceramic mug warmed her chilled fingers. “Thank you.”

  Maud sat down, facing her. “I’m a pretty casual person, Lily. You can see I’m wearing jeans and cowboy boots. I’m not much for getting gussied up.”

  “It’s a nice way to be. My folks aren’t much for fashion dress either.” She looked down at the pink cable knit sweater she wore with a white, long-sleeved blouse beneath it. “I guess I’m not either.”

  “That’s okay,” Maud said, “because I prefer people who don’t wear masks or pretend to be something they aren’t.” She held up the résumé Lily had faxed over to her. “I’ve read this, and I’m impressed.”

  Heartened, she took a nervous sip of the hot coffee and set it on the edge of the desk, then clasped her hands in her lap. “That’s good to hear. Could you tell me a little more about this job, ma’am?”

  “First, don’t call me ma’am. I know you’re a military vet, but around here, no saluting and no ma’ams. Okay?” and her grin widened.

  “That sounds good, but it’s tough to leave years of being in the Army behind me. I’m still adjusting to being back in the civilian world.”

  “Well, if you don’t know it yet, our ranch hires only military vets. My husband and I believe in supporting vets because they’ve paid the ultimate sacrifice to keep our country free. We’re here to support you.” Maud saw relief come to Lily’s beautiful turquoise-colored eyes. She had an oval face, her short sable hair making her look much younger than the twenty-seven or so years the résumé reflected. Her shoulders dropped, too, indicating she was less stressed than before. “You are truly welcome here,” she added sincerely.

  “Thank you. It’s a real change from what I’m used to.” Lily frowned and then said, “Maud, I know I’m not whole anymore due to my PTSD, but I can work. I put in my résumé that I received an honorable medical discharge.”

  “Yes, I saw that,” she murmured gently. “And I know you have a part-time job at our animal shelter.”

  “Yes, and I love it. I’m so glad you don’t euthanize animals.”

  “Makes
two of us. Suzy is the boss there and she’d already told me about you a week ago, very enthused over how caring you were, how the animals loved you so much. For me, the best validation a person can get is when animals adore you.”

  “I love to help others,” Lily admitted quietly. “It doesn’t matter whether they’re human or animal. My joy is stopping suffering and helping others get to a better place and space.”

  “And that’s why you became an RN?”

  Nodding, she said, “I hate to see someone hurting. It tears my heart out. I wanted a career where I could help relieve pain, not cause it.”

  Maud felt her heart expand with compassion for the young woman sitting tensely in front of her. She understood she needed a job, money, to eat and find a new life. “All worthy ideals,” she agreed. “Can you tell me a little about your medical discharge? Are you able to function in a job now?”

  “I suffered an emotional breakdown after witnessing the slaughter of Afghan men, women and children,” she offered softly. Twisting her hands in her lap, she forced out, “I–I’d never seen such things in my life . . .” Taking a deep breath, she went on. “When I got home, I thought being here would help me get well, but it didn’t. My poor parents didn’t know what or how to deal with me. I realized I had to get out on my own and find my own way, a job where I could function. I found out quickly I couldn’t handle big crowds, stress or a lot of noise.”

  “Most vets I know have the same issues you do.” Maud smiled a little. “They hold wrangling jobs here on the ranch and it helps to subdue their symptoms. Some are cooks, others do landscaping, the rest do ranch work.”

  “That’s so good to hear.”

  “Do you think caring for Jenna Murdoch would stress you out, Lily?”

  “No. I’m fine with up to three people in a room. The dogs and cats at your shelter calm me. I love my job there. And I think I can be fine around Jenna, too. If I can’t, I’ll be the first to tell you, and you can get someone else to replace me.” Lily wasn’t going to whitewash her emotional wounding.