A Hero Comes Home

by Sandra Hill

  They all stared at him, amazed. Like they didn’t think men liked books? He had obviously been gone too long, for more than the apparent reasons.

  “My favorite book when I was your ages was Sneetches. Later, your grandfather and I read Moby Dick together. Did he ever read it to you?”

  The three of them shook their heads slowly.

  “Dick is another word for your dangler,” Matt pointed out.

  Whaat? Does he mean what I think he means?

  “Mom says we’re not supposed to call it a cock or a peter or a prick or a pecker,” Matt elaborated.

  “How about just penis?” Jake asked, choking back a laugh.

  “That’s okay,” Matt told him, very seriously.

  “Anyhow Moby Dick is the name of a whale and the story is about the captain who tries to catch him.”

  “PopPop likes to talk about fishing,” Mark said with a nod.

  “Anyhow, butts on the stairs,” Jake said. “Watch me and follow suit.”

  Then, with sheer upper body strength and a lot of pain, he propelled himself up one step at a time, backward. When he got to the top, the kids followed after him, ten times faster and with way more ease.

  “Can we do it again?” Luke wanted to know.

  “Maybe tomorrow.”

  After showers and tooth brushing and gargling that left the bathroom in a godawful mess which he would have to clean later, Jake led the kids into the master bedroom with his queen-size bed which should hold them all, unlike the kids’ rooms with twin or bunk beds. Jake hadn’t been up here in more than three years and was surprised to see the bedroom he’d shared with Sally looking almost the same, right down to the blue-and-white star quilt his mother had given them for a wedding present. Sheer white curtains hung at the windows, which were open to the slight evening breeze. The furniture was an old tiger maple set passed down from his grandparents, a golden color that had mellowed over the years. It was a pleasant room with mostly good memories.

  Dressed in only underpants, in deference to the heat, identical white briefs, the trio hopped on the bed like rambunctious puppies and cuddled up next to him in the center. Each had been told they could bring a favorite book. They started with Luke’s shyly offered Sneetches, which Jake read twice, at their urging. Mark’s pick was one of the Diary of a Wimpy Kid books, this one titled Dog Days, which of course prompted the three of them to beg him to get them a pet dog . . . or else a horse. Finally, a somewhat embarrassed Matt handed him Charlotte’s Web, probably fearing his choice was too childish for an eight-year-old.

  “Hey, bud, how did you know this was one of my faves? Ya gotta love that Wilbur.”

  Which prompted them to ask for a pet pig, in addition to a dog and a horse.

  Matt smiled at him and cuddled closer.

  The phone rang out in the hall—the landline that they kept because of the occasional weak mobile signals, especially during storms on the Outer Banks—and Matt jumped up to go answer it. “It’s Mom. She always calls to make sure we’re in bed.”

  Jake could hear half of the conversation from the bedroom, where the other two imps moved in, filling Matt’s space.

  “Yeah, yeah, Mom, we did all that. And Dad read us three stories. Well, not three whole books. He said Charlotte’s Web was too long to read all in one night.”

  “Uh-huh, Dad came upstairs with us.

  “The butt game. That’s how.

  “We’re reading in your bed.

  “Okay, I’ll tell him.” Banging the phone down, Matt raced back in and made a flying dive for the bed, barely missing Jake’s bad leg which was extended and vulnerable. “Mom said to make sure you lock the doors. She’ll be late. One of the ovens broke, and she’s waiting for the appliance repairman.”

  Jake didn’t like the idea of Sally being alone in her shop this late at night with some strange repair guy. Yeah, it was Bell Cove, but you never knew. And the things Jake had seen around the world made him super cautious. Still, she would not like him showing up at her shop like a Clueless Knight with a Limp, waving a cane, instead of a spear.

  So, he waited. And then the kids asked him to tell them a real story about something that happened to him.

  “Well, I’m not saying this really happened,” he began and proceeded to spin a wild yarn about a man who lived in a cave for years and years and became friends with the spiders, one of whom was coincidentally named Charlotte, and the bats, one of whom was named Wimpy.

  Jake hadn’t intended to let the kids sleep here, but they lay waiting for Sally to return, talking softly about the books they’d read, including his fantastical tale, about their summer activities, what they wanted to do the next week and next month. On and on. Jake really didn’t need to speak. They did all the talking, sometimes talking over each other.

  And, really, Jake was just enjoying the coziness—at some point, he’d pulled the quilt up over them all—and the closeness of warm live bodies—he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed that human touch—and the smell of newly bathed little boys, except for Luke who must have used a half bottle of pine-scented body wash and smelled like a Christmas tree.

  Gradually, of course, feeling a bit like the Big Bad (Clueless) Bear and its three cubs, they all fell asleep. What would Goldilocks make of them?

  Chapter 11

  Pillow talk is the most revealing . . .

  It was eleven o’clock before Sally got home, having spent two hours and eight hundred dollars with an appliance repairman who had a bad case of BO. At least she’d been able to make a half-dozen extra loaves of artisan bread while she waited, including an experimental ginger-peach country loaf with a crème fraîche glaze and pecan crackles.

  She took idle notice as she pulled into the driveway behind Jake’s truck that there were lights on all over the house, upstairs and down, but she couldn’t be mad about that. Same went for the back door being unlocked. According to her phone conversation with Matt, his father had experienced quite a painful time getting up the stairs on his butt. He probably wasn’t too anxious to rush back down to turn off the lights.

  The kitchen was surprisingly spotless. Even the floor had been mopped. Jake’s visible form of apology, she supposed.

  When her stomach growled suddenly, she realized that she was starving, not having eaten since lunch, and was pleased to see that the doggie bag from The Bay Shack was in the fridge. She warmed the soft crab sandwich and the curly fries in the oven and poured herself a glass of sweet tea. After she ate, she turned out the lights, except for a lamp in the living room, which Jake would need when he came down to sleep on the couch. Or maybe she would need it if Jake was in her bed. Only then did she tiredly make her way up the stairs.

  She almost tried going up on her butt, just to see how it felt, and grinned at the embarrassing prospect of being caught in the act. Maybe tomorrow.

  The bathroom was a mess of wet towels and globs of toothpaste in the sink and spit spatters on the mirror. Well, at least the boys hadn’t crawled into their beds dirty, which was what they were inclined to do when not supervised.

  She was too tired to clean up tonight, but she did brush her teeth. With a wide yawn, she entered her bedroom and stopped with a gasp. She’d fully expected to find Jake there, and he was. But she hadn’t expected to see the three boys there, as well.

  The room was warm since the air conditioner hadn’t been turned on, and the quilt was tossed into a pile near the footboard. They all wore white briefs—the kids, the traditional Fruit of the Looms, and Jake, the boxer briefs he’d always favored. Mark was cuddled under one of Jake’s arms. Luke was plastered over Jake’s chest, his little hands around Jake’s neck. Matt was lying beside Jake on the opposite side from Mark, on the other pillow, in an identical pose to his father, but so close their bodies were aligned, arm to arm, thigh to thigh. Matt was also snoring lightly, like his father, in his case due to enlarged adenoids, an issue she would have to address soon.

  Tears welled in Sally’s eyes, and she took
out her cell phone to memorialize the picture. This was what she’d always wanted when she imagined marriage and a family with Jake.

  She thought about waking the boys to get into their own beds and Jake to go downstairs to the sofa, but that seemed unnecessary. Instead, she went into Matt’s room and crawled into his single bed. There was the slight worry that Jake might awaken to one of those nightmares like he’d experienced the first night he’d been home. The kids would be terrified. But then, she was close by, and the nightmare had only occurred that one time. Within minutes, she was asleep.

  It was still dark outside when she felt Jake slip into bed with her. She was on her side, and he spooned her from behind, pulling the sheet up over them both. He said nothing but she felt his breath against her neck. With her wearing only her usual bed clothes, a tank top and shorts, and him in only boxer briefs, she was more than aware of skin against skin. His chest, her back. Thigh to thigh, calves to calves. Erection to butt.

  But it was a lazy kind of arousal, on both their parts. Nothing urgent. The kind of thing that said: this might happen, but maybe not.

  “Are you awake?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “There’s an open-ended question!” He laughed, and she felt the shot of breath in her ear.

  The arousal, on her part, amped up a notch.

  “I could say I’m sorry for everything,” he explained, running a forefinger down her bare arm, from shoulder to wrist, creating a wave of erotic goose bumps, “but mainly for the way I overreacted today, when I saw you at your shop. For not thinking to contact you after I picked up the kids. For some of the things I said back here at the house.”

  She wanted to ask him if he really didn’t care if she had sex with another man, as long as she was discreet, which was what he’d said, but instead she conceded, “I might have overreacted myself, by dumping dinner in the sink.”

  “Will you make it again for me sometime?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  He was still spooning her, but he adjusted himself so that one arm was over her head on the pillow, and the hand of the other arm laced fingers with hers, his hand on top of hers, resting on her abdomen. He might have kissed her shoulder, but she wasn’t sure if that was her imagination.

  There was nothing sexual about their position, and yet it was utter sensuality. Pure and honest. Husband and wife. A couple long accustomed to each other.

  “Jacob, what happened to you?”

  He didn’t ask what she meant. He knew. And said nothing.

  “Tell me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Both.”

  “Will you ever?”

  “I don’t know.” Somehow, his honesty made it okay. He said nothing for a long moment. She thought he might have fallen asleep, but then he told her, “Izzie is coming to Bell Cove for Labor Day.”

  “Uh-huh.” There was nothing particularly new about that, and what it had to do with him telling her about the past three years, she had no idea. “I haven’t seen him since his parents moved to Seattle.”

  “They’re coming, too.”

  “Abe and Rachel will have a full house.”

  “You have no idea,” he murmured.

  “What?”

  “My boss—well, my liaison with the military—will be coming, too, and staying at the Bernsteins’.” He paused. “Raymond Durand.”

  “The major? Major Durand?” Now, this was news!

  “You would remember that name, just from a caller ID!” He squeezed her lightly in reprimand. “Yeah. Major Durand is coming down from DC.”

  “Why?”

  “Just to be friendly?”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  He laughed.

  “Here’s a news flash, buddy. My parents are coming that weekend, too.”

  He groaned and repeated her question, “Why?”

  “Just to be friendly?”

  “Bullshit!” he also repeated back at her.

  She could hear the smile in his voice.

  “Where will they stay? There’s no room here. I suppose they could use the guest room at my dad’s place.”

  She shook her head. “No. I was able to get a room for them at the Heartbreak Motel. My friend Delilah owns it, and she did me a favor by shuffling out one of the salvaging company employees who has a long-term rental. He’ll sleep on the boat that weekend.” She was pretty sure that Jake knew that person was Kevin.

  “That’s good then. Your parents can’t stand me.”

  “It’s not you. It’s the military.”

  “Same thing.”

  Which was a telling statement, that he still considered himself a soldier. Did that mean he intended to stay in the Army in some capacity?

  Before she could rag him on his future plans, he asked her, “Why didn’t you go live with your parents in Manhattan after I was declared dead?”

  “It’s no place to raise kids, or at least not active ones like our boys.” Besides, this is my home now. Or I thought it was.

  “You could have resumed your music career.”

  “Jacob, I never had a music career. I was a Broadway music student, at best. I can’t remember the last time I belted out a full song, not even in the church choir, which I gave up when I bought the bakery.”

  “Not even for a duet at the Lollypalooza?” he teased.

  At least she thought he was teasing since he referred to the remark one of the boys had made about her and Kevin doing a guitar/singing twosome in the talent contest. “That was wishful thinking on the boys’ parts. Nothing we—I—actually planned.”

  “I wouldn’t mind, if you want to do it,” he said.

  And that hurt a little. He should mind. Just like he should mind if she had sex with other men, dammit.

  “Back to your parents. I’m surprised that your folks are coming to the Outer Banks. They rarely leave the city, and they always looked down their noses at small-town life.”

  “Actually, they’ve visited a few times while you’ve been gone. In fact, they used their set-designing skills to paint that mural on the wall of my bakery. Did you notice it?”

  “I did. So, they supported your idea to run a bakery, instead of heading back home with them?”

  “Jacob!” she chided him. “That was never on my radar.”

  He shrugged.

  Instead of arguing that point, she continued, “My parents did some Elvis-themed murals for Delilah, too, at her diner. That’s probably why she was so amenable to making room for them at the motel on a busy holiday weekend. Not just as a favor to me.”

  Changing the subject of her parents, an unsavory one to him, he said, “Did you know that my dad and Old Mike are planning a ménage à trois with Vana Gustafson out on the boat, with our three sons as chaperones?”

  “Whaaat?”

  But Jake was burrowing closer to her, yawning aloud before slipping into slumber.

  So, he probably didn’t hear her say with just a hint of sarcasm, “Happy times ahead in Bell Cove.” Nor did he hear her add, “Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” before she, too, fell asleep.

  There’s good quicksand and bad quicksand, and then there’s wicked-good quicksand . . .

  The following days were so jam-packed with activities for Jake that he hardly had time to think about the fact that he’d been home for two weeks and hadn’t yet made love with his wife. He’d started rehab on an every-other-day basis, which was improving his strength and dexterity tremendously. When his father’s boat motor made a funny noise, Jake had helped repair it. The oil had been changed in both the truck and Sally’s car, and (to Jake’s dismay and Sally’s horror) most of the used lubricant ended up on his three eager gremlin assistants. He practiced baseball with the boys, and they helped him paint the porch swing. (Again, picture green gremlins.) Every hour of the day seemed to be filled.

  Therefore, he thought about sex
only when Sally put on that tank top/shorts sleep outfit. (Sweet dreams, for sure!) Or when she pranced about in a bikini on those afternoons when they took the boys to the beach. (Forget about knot tying. Did I mention I’m an expert at knot untying, too?) Or when she donned her baker’s apron. (Oh, the ideas I get!) Or when she bent over in a pair of jeans to pick up one of the boys’ toys. (More ideas!) Or when she held out a new cookie for him to try with her fingertips touching his lips. (Delicious!) Or when she vacuumed (All that bending again!) Or kissed the boys good-night. (How about me?)

  Okay, he thought about sex a lot.

  But he wasn’t getting any.

  He was pretty sure that Sally knew about his discomfort, and she was playing him. No way did any woman need to bend over that many times, or wear jeans so tight they looked painted on, or bat her eyelashes when she asked him to apply sunscreen to her back.

  And so he wasn’t above tempting her right back. He’d gained ten pounds since he got home and was starting to regain his muscle definition. Sally had always liked his body; she clearly still did. If he brushed against her when passing behind her in the kitchen, that was an accident, right? When he asked her to help him get into the tub last night, her eyes had gotten big as saucers as she’d glanced downward. What could he say? It had been a long time.

  Meanwhile, his boys had no filters, God bless them. When it came to whatever popped into their heads, they just let loose.

  “Daddy, why don’t you sleep in Mommy’s bed?”

  “Jimmy’s grandpa has bleeding hem-her-oyds, and he has to sit on an inner tube.”

  “Mommy, why are your nipples so pointy under that shirt?”

  “Daddy, why do you have a big bulge in your swimming trunks?”

  “Do girls fart?”

  “We should get a baby brother. Four is better for playing teams.”

  “Or else a puppy.”

  “What’s a condom?”

  “Why don’t girls pee standing up?”

  “Because they don’t have danglers.”

  “Mommy says we should all join the bell choir this year, even Daddy.”