A Soldier Saved--A Clean Romance

by Cheryl Harper

  A little nervous, Jason followed her orders. It was an empty office.

  Jason stuck his head back out the doorway. “Okay?” What was he supposed to be getting from this?

  “That’s where the job counselor will be.” Reyna had reached the center of the lobby when he walked out of the office. “Soon as I can find one.”

  “Good.” He wasn’t alone. There were other people at Concord Court who would need help.

  “It’s going to be a part-time position. Would leave plenty of hours for going to school.” She crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side.

  Jason nodded. She seemed to be demanding more of a reaction, but he wasn’t sure what they were talking about.

  “Think about the job.” She raised an eyebrow and held the door open for him. “And next time make an appointment.”

  Jason followed her orders, walking back out to the pool area, before he realized exactly what she meant. She wanted him to work as a career counselor? He had no training. He didn’t even know what kind of job he wanted. How could he help other people?

  Maybe he should make an appointment to explain that to her.

  But he couldn’t get his mind off the suggestion, no matter how he worked over his travel writing piece for Angela’s class. He’d write a minute and then search for similar job postings to read the required qualifications.

  They were all over the place.

  When he gave up the homework and web searches, it was dark outside. His informal therapy group should be gathered near the pool. He grabbed his crutch and stepped outside. He reached the gate, and there was no pause in conversation. As he closed the gate behind him, Mira said, “Well, now, look who decided to join us. Where have you been?”

  Avoiding you since you learned about my leg because I didn’t want to talk about it.

  That was the correct answer, but he wasn’t going to speak it out loud.

  “Here and there. Working on assignments for class. Escorting my mother to whatever event she’s picked for the day.” Jason took the beer offered and eased down into the empty chair. “What did I miss?”

  Marcus answered. “Got a job. I’m pretty happy about that.”

  “Oh, really? Where?” Jason was interested in this. Law enforcement. Security. Those were the paths a whole lot of people took. That wouldn’t work for him. “Are they hiring?”

  “Might be hiring, if you want good, hard labor. Got a buddy with a landscaping business. We’re going to expand into design, featuring yours truly.” He tipped back his beer and drank, his satisfaction with the world clear to see. “Superior Service Lawn and Garden coming at you.”

  “Does Sawgrass offer degrees in something like that?” Jason decided he needed to get a better look at the class catalog. As he’d searched all afternoon, he’d realized there were a million jobs under the sun. How many could Sawgrass prepare him for?

  Marcus shrugged. “Computer-aided design, yes. Landscape design? Nothing that specific, but I’ve been working with this company ever since I landed here at Concord Court. Did my class project in my final design class. Got a couple of our clients to agree to give me a shot for no charge except cost of the materials.” He held out both hands. “Rave reviews, of course. So I made it official, got myself some cards printed and went to the bank to get a small-business loan with the original business as collateral, and now we’re going to have offices for meeting with clients in addition to trucks, trailers and mowers. Life is good.”

  Jason sipped his beer as he made a mental note in case he ever decided to go into business for himself.

  Could it be that simple?

  “You want a job? You’ll start on a mower, but it ain’t so bad. Lots of time to think,” Marcus added. “We want to work with vets.”

  The last thing he wanted was more time to think. Jason motioned with his crutch. “Not sure I’m up to the task. I’m still learning how to put one foot in front of the other.”

  Jason watched all four people at the table pick up their beers and sip.

  Almost as if they had opinions on what he’d said, but didn’t want to share them. “What?”

  Peter Kim shrugged. “It’s just...” He put his beer down. “You can do pretty much anything you want to do, man. Name one thing you literally can’t do. I’m not saying the best or even as good as you used to, but can’t.”

  Jason wasn’t sure how to answer that.

  Mira cleared her throat. “We’ve seen way worse wounds. You have, too. That can’t hold you back.” She pointed around the table. “Marcus? He owns his own business. That’s a great choice. I’m going to shape young minds and hope they don’t maim each other with scalpels in Biology. Wakefield has got his job here, and his cause, training those dogs, for his spare hours. And Peter—”

  “I am finishing my first degree so I can go to law school.” Peter sighed. “Yes, I’ll be forty-four when I start my first year. Is that crazy? Probably. I’m still going to do it because I want to.”

  “Did you all have the same interests before you enlisted?” Jason asked, his mind on his conversation with Reyna. This would be a good question to start with if he ever had the responsibility of helping other vets find jobs. “I wanted to get out of Rosette. That was my reason. I wanted to see the world.”

  “The only way to do that was by being shot at?” Sean grunted. “It’s okay. I’ve been there.”

  Jason stared up at the sky. It was clear, but stars were hard to see. The moon was big and bright.

  “What kind of job lets you do that without getting shot at?” Mira asked.

  “Pilot,” Peter said, “but he’s not air force so...”

  “You don’t get to enjoy anything anyway,” Mira said. “You might as well drive the bus here because you’ll get to explore as much of those cities that way. Fly in, go to a hotel overnight, fly back out. Local flavor? Only if it’s carried in one of the airport shops.”

  Apparently she’d investigated that option at length.

  “How’s the writing going?” Mira asked. “Anything there?”

  He enjoyed Angela’s class, but he wasn’t sure it was going well.

  “Never make a living at it unless you want to teach.” Peter didn’t hesitate, just tossed his opinion on writing as a career out in the middle of the conversation. Changing careers hadn’t impacted his confidence.

  “You would get along well with my mother,” Marcus said. “‘You’ll never have any security if you go into business for yourself.’ If she said it once, she said it a hundred times. Could be she’s right, but I’ll never tell her that. See if I do.” This time, his sip of beer was defiant.

  Listening to them talk gave Jason the seed of an idea: classes of people hunting for jobs. The brainstorming could help in more ways than one. He glanced around the shadowy table. “My mother insists I need to talk to a therapist. Any of you try that?”

  All four of them agreed.

  “The counselor Reyna connects you to? She’s good, Jason.” Sean bent forward, as if he didn’t want Jason to miss what he was saying. “All these questions, she can help.”

  “She might even convince you to talk about whatever happened to land you here.” Mira nudged his crutch. “Can’t hurt.” She paused. “Well, it will hurt, but it’s the only way to get over it.”

  Jason caught the crutch as it toppled toward him. Was he going to tell them? If he wanted an easy, open door, this was his best shot.

  “All the battles I survived. And minor cuts, bruises, burns, all of that—it was scary, but I made it through. When people asked me about the bandage or the scar, I had a good story.”

  Jason stretched out his right leg and stared hard at the shadow of his missing left foot. “This was due to a car accident. The transfer truck was fired on, swerved and then toppled over. I was pinned under equipment, my leg fractured into a million tiny pieces, and...then
a medic got to me, we were transported out, my leg was amputated, my life was saved and completely over all at once. When I woke up here in Miami, my mind was a mess, but there stood my mother. She’s been doing her best to put the pieces back together, but I don’t want to tell that story over and over. I don’t want to see pity. The mad just builds. And then...that look crosses people’s faces. Disappointment, I guess, that the story is a lot less exciting and heroic than they expected. I was just doing a job. Somebody asks, and I have to relive the whole thing—the accident, the pain, the fear—but they nod, spew some meaningless words and walk away. Instead of being left alone to deal, I have to tell the same boring thing. Sometimes it seems they don’t even care.” The angry snap on his final words surprised Jason. “What if, one day, I can’t bite back this...anger?”

  Marcus shook his head. “What do people expect? We’re all saving orphanages when we get hurt?”

  Mira sighed. “It’s easier to imagine soldiers bringing aid to a village after it’s been destroyed than it is them killing the enemy. One’s a good story. The other is about war.”

  No one said anything for the longest time.

  Whatever branch they’d served in, active duty and deployments carried a whole lot of similarities, and it was easier to concentrate on the positives than the everyday grind, or worse, the mistakes that led to injuries or lost lives.

  “I haven’t seen the reactions you’re talking about, so I can’t be sure,” Mira said slowly, as if she were tiptoeing her way through hidden mines, “but I gotta tell you that that’s messed up. You didn’t die on the field or get injured in the dramatic service that would make a blockbuster movie, but that hard work, day in and out, people deserve to know about that. None of it’s easy. Very little of it’s safe, even if they want to believe it is. You could have died in that transfer truck and all your mother would have had was a story to tell.”

  The others at the table were quiet until Sean added, “The problem when you get out is you have too much time to think. While you’re in it, you make these brave, stupid, committed decisions, but here, when you’re trying to get some sleep, you have all the time in the world to second-guess your choices and replay whatever brought you here. That’s enough to bring down the toughest. Whatever I think about Reyna and her management style, she understands our experience and she only works with the best. You don’t have to be the toughest. Not anymore.”

  Sean thumped both feet on the table and stretched back in his chair. “And when you’re ready, I can help you find a friend, one with floppy ears and a tail. Watching a dog sleep ain’t exciting, but sometimes it’ll save your life at three in the morning.” The faint groan that went around the table suggested Sean was a broken record about his therapy dogs. Jason had to appreciate the offer anyway.

  “That anger, though?” Mira said. “That will kill you, Ward. Talk to us. Talk to Dr. Perry. Talk until the infection is gone.”

  No one else spoke. Mira had said all there was to say.

  “You guys read travel articles?” Jason asked. The round of “ugh” and “ew” and “read?” that swept the table made him chuckle. Okay, so they gave life advice. If he decided he wanted to try travel writing, he was on his own. That was fine. “Never mind.”

  “You probably won’t find dedicated readers out here, Ward.” Reyna Montero stood outside the gate, hands planted on hips. “None of them chose to read the clearly posted pool hours. It’s been closed for at least two hours. If only I had an employee around here who could remind folks about the closing time for me.”

  Sean cleared his throat. “We were helping Ward here. He’s still adjusting to life after service and...” His words trailed off. He turned to the table, clearly ready for someone to back him up.

  Instead, the others stood quietly and made big shows of moving their chairs silently back under the table. Mira tapped Jason’s crutch to remind him he needed to follow suit. If he hadn’t watched them file out of the gate single file like a grade-school field trip group who had gotten in trouble for being too rowdy in the museum, he wouldn’t have believed it.

  When he tried to walk past Reyna, she held out a hand and he promptly halted. If he hadn’t needed the crutch, his whole body would have been at attention, as if he was dressed in the uniform and trying to pass inspection.

  “Pool closes at ten. I look the other way because everyone in this group is doing his or her best to help others. I want you to be one of those. Bryant was one of the first tenants here. He’ll be leaving in a few months. Someone new will come in. Getting people to open up and tell their story is hard. Leaders are still needed here, Ward. Don’t forget that.” She pulled the gate closed. “That therapist. First visit is no charge. If you like it, go again. If you hate it, go again. Therapy isn’t about fun or liking it or whatever. It’s hard and sometimes it’s ugly, but when you leave Concord Court, I will know you’re going to make it out there. That is my job. I do it well. I’m hoping you’ll help me by taking that job offer.”

  His whole life, Jason had been the guy handing out advice, to his football team in high school, to his crew in the army. Now he kept getting the same answer over and over. He’d run out of road. Time to make an appointment to talk about his feelings.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  AS JASON PARKED in front of the squat building on the edge of the ring of medical offices surrounding the veterans’ hospital, his phone dinged to tell him he had a text message. His grade for the Introduction to Creative Writing class was available for review through the Sawgrass University student portal.

  Since he’d only left the final class a little over thirty minutes ago, his professor must have had the grades locked and loaded, waiting for the final class’s attendance to complete. And she’d had a full classroom.

  Angela had stared through him most of the week, as if he was a mirage holding down a desk. That answered how open she was to his apology.

  Since he wasn’t sure what he’d do after she accepted his apology, he didn’t push the issue. The only way forward was to tell her everything, and he wasn’t quite ready to get over it if she offered him the usual uneasy clichés about his service.

  Their reward for completing the semester had been her thanks and a reading of one of her own poems. It had been about all the different emotions masked by a smile.

  “Universal truth, that,” Jason muttered as he turned off the ignition. He’d been thinking about it all the way across town.

  Well, he’d been thinking about the poem and whether or not he’d get to see a real smile from her, or ever be in that magical spot where a kiss was a second away.

  True to her word, she’d given him an A in the class. Four assignments, four uncomfortable turns in the criticism hot seat. “My first A at Sawgrass University. Neither one of us thought it could be done.” He stretched in his seat, then decided to snap a picture and text it to his mother. My first college report card, he typed and hit Send.

  Then he climbed down out of the truck and realized he hadn’t paused, not once, when he made it to the revolving door that led to the ugly lobby. There was no hitch in his step today. It was almost like he and his prosthesis were getting along. Ever since his fall, he’d returned to walking slowly, so carefully. The elevator was waiting on the first floor, so he stepped inside and pushed the button for the third floor. Since this was his second visit, he knew exactly where he was going. Two hours to open all the old wounds. How long would it take until he felt better?

  When the doors opened, he made the right turn automatically and opened the door to Michelle Perry’s office. His therapist had a nice waiting area, but today the inner door to her office was standing open. When she heard the electronic buzz of the doorbell, she stuck her head around the corner and motioned him in. “I had a cancellation. If you’re ready, so am I.”

  Jason paused in front of the comfy couch. For his first visit to his new therapist, he’d sat there
about ten minutes waiting for his appointment. He’d tried to read magazines. Mainly, he’d listened to the ocean wave sounds piped in from somewhere, watched the second hand on the clock move and fidgeted. No time for fidgeting, also known as getting his head right, today.

  Instead, he inhaled slowly and exhaled as she shut the door behind him. “Hey, how are you?” he asked. He was uncomfortable, and his skin was too tight, but a polite inquiry worked in a million different situations.

  “A little irritated about people who don’t show up for their appointments and don’t call to cancel, but otherwise,” Michelle said with a shrug, “I have no complaints. How are you?”

  On his first visit, he’d been struck by how easy the whole thing was. Just talking. No word association or inkblots. He hadn’t cried once. Jason wiped his hands on his jeans and sat down, shifting on the cushion to get comfortable. “Fine. Good. Had my last class of the semester today. Got an A. Immediately showed my mother.” Wow. Was he seven years old? Running to show off his report card. “After I leave here, I’m going to have a fitting for my new cyborg leg, which will make it possible to run faster and better than I ever did before. Pretty good Wednesday, I guess.”

  She jotted down a note. For his first visit, he hadn’t noticed that, the note-taking. Did that mean he was making progress?

  Should he ask? He didn’t think so, but his therapist was a lot more comfortable with silence than he’d ever be.

  “Okay.” She studied his face. “Did you enjoy the class? The last time we talked, you were nervous because you had tried something new and were concerned that the class, and specifically your teacher, would think it was silly. Did they? What was the poet’s verdict?” She smoothed her paper, ready to put down more notes, no doubt.

  The Poet. She wasn’t using it the same way he had, but it had been a while since he’d thought of Angela that way.

  “I did enjoy it. No one expected it of me. And listening to the class guess who might have written a kids’ book about a spider who was missing a leg was a lot of fun.”