A Hero Comes Home

by Sandra Hill

“Don’t you mean Lieutenant Dan, and a fleet of shrimp boats?”

  Good grinned. “No, I’m pretty sure Alan Petrie never met Forrest Gump.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Jake said. “Thanks for the offer.”

  “By the way, I’ve had my own experience with Nazim. Met him during a live op in Kabul one time. He was one mean sonofabitch.” Good gave Jake a knowing look, taking in his eye patch and the scars on his wounded leg. “If you ever want to talk, I’m here on the island. Anytime.”

  Jake nodded.

  Just then, several men and one woman walked into the diner, and Jake’s three boys exploded in excitement, “Uncle Kevin, Uncle Kevin!” They rushed the one guy, hugging his legs, and he actually picked Luke up in his arms, and the little traitor kissed him on the cheek.

  It was Kevin Fortunato, of course, the guy he’d seen Sally talking to in the bakery last week.

  Good looked at him with concern, and Jake assured him, “Don’t worry. I’m okay with this.”

  He noticed Sally glancing his way with worry, too.

  Am I really such an ass?

  Yep.

  Does she think I’m going to knock the guy’s lights out?

  Yep.

  “Really?” Good arched his brows. “I’m not sure I would be. Don’t get me wrong. K-4 is a good guy, and he and Sally are just friends, but still . . .”

  “Really.” And Jake did the only thing he could in the circumstances. He walked over to introduce himself. To his surprise, there was no hint of the red tide on viewing his “competition.” He stretched out his hand and said, “Hey, you must be Kevin Fortunato, the guy who catches more fish than God, according to my kids.”

  Fortunato put Luke down and gave Jake’s hand a firm shake, just like Good had. “Welcome home, man. You have a great bunch of kids.”

  “I know,” Jake said, looking at his boys, who were at his side now, gazing at him with ill-founded pride. “Thanks for being so good to them while I was gone.” The hidden message being “And now I’m back.”

  But no, that’s not what was on his mind. What he didn’t say, but thought, was And I hope you’ll be as kind, and fatherly, to them if—when I leave again.

  As for Sally, who’d come up and looped her arm in his, that was another story.

  On the other hand, bozo, leave my wife the fuck alone.

  Crap! Even I recognize “Dog in the Manger.” When did I turn into such a selfish bastard? Oh, that’s right. I always was.

  “Did you say something, honey?” Sally asked him.

  “Nothing important,” he replied, then leaned down and asked, “How’s my breath?” Maybe it was time for another cinnamon fix, although he was pretty sure the boys chewed the rest of the gum, which they’d unfortunately left on the kitchen counter.

  “You smell like peanut butter.”

  He thought a moment. “Works for me.”

  Chapter 16

  She was shaken, all right, or was that “all shook up”? . . .

  The next few days went off smoothly with no major glitches.

  She and Jake slept together and made love every night, sometimes several times a night. His nightmares hadn’t recurred, and he hadn’t said or done anything more to indicate he was thinking about leaving. Although there had been that moment back at the diner on Sunday when he’d noticed the kids’ affection for Kevin. The expression on his face had been pure hurt, wounded pride of the fatherly sort.

  But that moment had passed, and plans were tentatively proceeding on her bakery addition, with Jake’s help. Her accountant was presently studying the figures that Jake had compiled, after which she—rather, they—would decide whether to make an offer for the adjacent property. She kept insisting that this was not something she could do on her own.

  And since the kids would start back to school on Monday, the week before Labor Day, there had been all the chaos of school prep, which amused Jake to no end, never having been around for this annual ritual before. Like school supplies and new backpacks that had to have just the right superhero or kid theme imprinted on them. Plus, the agony—agonizing to the kids, anyhow—of a shopping expedition to purchase new underwear, socks, and athletic shoes. Mark got lots of hand-me-down clothes from Matt, Luke got a lesser amount from Mark since by then some of them were worn out, but all the boys always got some new T-shirts, shorts, and pants.

  This year, Sally had passed the job on to Jake, who’d remarked, “Easy peasy!”

  Hah! How quickly he learned!

  By the time he was done, he swore, “Never again! We’re ordering everything from the internet next year.”

  “Bite your tongue,” Sally had replied. “We support local in this house. Remember, I’m a local business. How would I feel if people ordered their cookies and cakes online?”

  Duly chastened, Jake had muttered something about him having to be somewhere else at this time next year.

  She and the kids had already practiced that hero song several times this week, after school, when Jake was off to rehab, and they weren’t half-bad, but she hadn’t given them a definite go-ahead yet. It could be either a huge success or a monumental bomb. She wasn’t sure she was ready for that kind of risk.

  And she had decided on another monster cookie to offer for the holiday. They were heart-shaped chocolate chip cookies, covered with white icing, piped along the edges in blue, with the simple message “My Hero” in red across its center. A zillion calories, which would launch a sugar high that lasted for days. She would, of course, call the cookies, which were the size of teacup saucers, Heroes.

  Jake would probably hate them. Not the cookies themselves. He loved chocolate chip cookies, especially those with chopped walnuts, but the idea itself? No way! She had no intention of asking his permission. This was business, she told herself.

  Despite all the seeming peace, Sally felt uneasy. The air seemed electric with something. Was she just looking for trouble, or was this the calm before the storm? And what would that storm entail?

  She got a call from Jake just after the lunch rush at the bakery on Saturday. “Help! Save me!” he said.

  She was in the middle of icing an elaborate four-tiered wedding cake when she heard those words. Jerking to attention, she almost knocked the whole thing over. “Why? Did something happen to the kids?” she asked with instant anxiety.

  “What? No.”

  “Did something happen to you? Oh, my God! Did you fall down those damn steps? Is this one of those ‘I’ve fallen and I can’t get up’ kind of things? I told you we should rent one of those stair lifts.”

  “Now you’re being insulting. I have an injured leg, but I’m not ninety years old. Jeesh!”

  At least he’d said jeesh, instead of his usual swear word. She was training him well to watch what he said in front of the kids.

  “Well, what is it then? You sound panicked. And, by the way, why are you whispering?”

  “Because I’m hiding in the outside shower stall as I make this call.”

  “Okay. I give up. Why are you hiding in the shower stall? Have the kids finally worn down your last nerve?” She was laughing as she imagined the boys standing outside the door asking their unrelenting questions, always wanting something, even when you escaped to the toilet . . . or a shower.

  “No, Sally, I am not hiding from the boys. I’m hiding from your parents.”

  “My parents? They’re there? Two days early!”

  They weren’t supposed to come until Monday in advance of the Labor Day celebrations that would begin this upcoming weekend—the parade, the talent contest, musical events, including some unique bell choir performances, and so much more.

  “Seriously, they’re at the house now?”

  “Serious as shit. They’re here all right.”

  “Watch your language. Remember, you’re supposed to be toning your ‘nasty’ words in case the boys hear.”

  He said a nastier word.

  “Okay, so they came early.” Deal with it, Jake. I have e
nough on my plate, literally, she thought, staring at the half-decorated wedding cake in front of her. “So, what’s the problem?”

  “They’ve been hugging me.”

  Her eyes went wide. Her parents had never been very fond of Jake, mainly because of his military career. Them hugging him was unusual, to say the least. She chuckled to herself.

  But he heard her. “It’s not funny. They’re treating me like Christ risen from the dead.”

  “Don’t be sacrilegious.”

  “I’m not. They really are treating me like some kind of miracle. And they’re being nice. I don’t like it.”

  “Lazarus.”

  “Huh?”

  “Lazarus rising from the dead would be a better example than Jesus rising from the dead.”

  “Holy hell! You’re correcting my Bible knowledge at a time like this?”

  “I’ll be home as soon as I finish this wedding cake.”

  “You better stop on the way home for some of that tofu veggie crap they like. They almost had a heart attack when I offered them one of the red meat burgers I was serving the kids for lunch. Wanted to know if I’ve ever tried those new yummy kale burgers, so much healthier, dontcha know?”

  “You’re exaggerating.”

  “Only a little,” he admitted. “There is a good side to all this, though.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice, and waited for the zinger.

  “They brought a couple of gifts for me. Some cannabis oil for my leg, and some funny cigarettes for pain.”

  “Don’t you dare smoke weed with the kids around.”

  He laughed. “I might be tempted. You better hurry home to restrain my impulses.”

  When she clicked off her phone and set it aside, José remarked, “You’re smiling again.” Her assistant baker had been teasing her for days about the loopy grin she sported all the time, a sure sign, in his male handbook, that her maracas were being rattled on a regular basis. “Chac-chac!” he added, in case she didn’t get the message.

  When Sally got home, her parents were sitting on the back porch swing, sipping at lemonades, which Jake, bless his heart, must have made for them. She kissed them both, and marveled at how good they looked.

  “I swear, you two don’t ever age,” Sally said.

  Her father preened. Her mother arched her brows sardonically and said, “Lots of hard work on all the drooping parts.”

  They were a sophisticated couple, more attuned to city living and its attire, especially the Broadway scene with its many opening nights and cast parties. Her father, whose salt-and-pepper hair was designer unruly, looked elegant even in the T-shirt and slacks he wore today. Of course, the T-shirt was aqua silk tucked under a twisted leather belt into pleated white pants, no socks, and white deck shoes. He wore a plain Rolex watch on his wrist and a small diamond stud in one ear, which should go over big with the folks of Bell Cove. It was the kind of outfit you might see at a Long Island afternoon cocktail party where George and Amal might drop by while in the city, or Bette Midler, who was a frequent participant or visitor to the Great White Way and its players’ homes, or whoever was the celebrity du jour.

  Her mother was casually elegant, as well, in a red short-sleeved, scoop-necked fitted top over multicolored harem pants and black sandals. Her brown hair, like Sally’s, was long and coiled into a loose chignon at her neck. Her only jewelry was the set of ruby drop earrings that her father had gifted her the night they got their first Tony Award for set design. It had been for the musical Magi. As far as Sally could recollect, there had been a half-dozen other Tonys since then.

  “You look good, too, sweetheart,” her mother remarked. “To what can I attribute that beautiful flush of your skin? Some new retinol cream? The healthy climate? Or . . . ?”

  Sally felt herself flush some more.

  “Whatever it is, you could bottle it and sell it at Saks for a fortune.”

  “And you smell good, too,” her father added. “Eau de vanilla?”

  She laughed. “I was making a wedding cake today, and, yes, it was heavy on the vanilla piping.”

  “We are so proud of you,” her mother remarked, and her father nodded.

  Sally hoped that was true. For years they’d been urging her to come back to New York and pick up her music studies. Especially after Jake’s “death.”

  “I need to take these inside,” Sally said, indicating the bakery bag she was carrying. “I brought some of my latest monster cookies for you to sample, and a fresh loaf of ciabatta. I also stopped at the deli for some of that roasted pepper hummus you liked so much last time you were here.”

  “Ooh, good!” her father said. “I’m starving.”

  Her mother rolled her eyes. “Don’t believe it for one minute. He ate two of those horrible cow-meat patties when he thought I wasn’t looking.”

  Her father grinned, unrepentant.

  “Where are the kids and Jake?”

  “Boys are inside, and Jake is in the garage working out,” her mother said. Then, a bit teary-eyed, she whispered, “He looks surprisingly good, though way too thin. I was expecting—I don’t know—that he would be changed, I suppose.”

  “And he was very welcoming to us,” her father added.

  What he didn’t say was that Jake wasn’t his usual quietly defensive, almost surly, self when they were around.

  Good!

  Her parents followed her into the kitchen where she left them to set the table and lay out the light lunch and dessert from the bakery boxes. She told them that the boys would probably join them, even though they’d just finished their own midday meal. They were always hungry.

  She went into the living room then to find the three of them kneeling on the floor, hard at work on a hundred-piece puzzle of New York City that was laid out on the coffee table. They barely noticed her entrance.

  “Hey, boys, what’s up?”

  “We did all the corners and are looking for side pieces like you taught us,” Mark said, “but we’re having trouble. Will you help us?”

  “Later. For now, you might want to go wash your hands and eat with Gramp and Gram Fontaine. I brought some stuff from the bakery.”

  “Cookies?” Mark asked hopefully.

  “Yes, and some bread and hummus.”

  The three were off like a shot to the downstairs bathroom shoving each other aside to get to the sink. She would have a mess to clean up later. Only then did she make her way outside to the garage where the door was open. Inside she found Jake sitting on her yoga mat, his free weights off to the side, along with a half-empty bottle of water. He was leaning back against a wall, his legs outstretched. His eyes were closed, his eye patch sitting on the tool bench along with his weight lifting safety gloves and an open tin of gym chalk.

  She had to admit that she was looking for evidence of “funny cigarettes,” not that Jake had ever been into illegal substances. He’d always been too health conscious and law-abiding for that. Still . . .

  “No, Sally, I haven’t been zoning out on weed,” he said, without opening his eyes. “Just cooling down. Mmm. You smell so good. Even from here. Like a donut. No, it was a cake you were decorating when I called, right? Wanna come down here and share some sugar with me?” He opened his eyes, automatically reaching for the eye patch to cover himself. Then, looking up at her, he motioned with the fingertips of one hand for her to sit beside him.

  “Not a chance! You’d have me flat on my back, licking me like an ice cream cone.”

  “Now there’s an image!” He grinned.

  She remained just inside the door, arms folded over her chest, refusing to budge.

  “C’mon. You know you want to.”

  “My parents have already remarked on the healthy flush that covers my skin.”

  “You gotta love the sex flush, baby.”

  “And José says I look like I’ve been having my maracas rattled on a regular basis.”

  “I am fond of your maracas.” He continued to waggle his fingertips towar
d himself, beckoning her forward.

  “You’re impossible,” she said with a laugh.

  He was already shrugging out of his running shorts, which was all he wore.

  She glanced anxiously behind her. “You’re crazy. The boys, or God forbid, my parents, could walk out here any minute and get an eyeful.”

  “Now see, that’s where you’re wrong,” he said. Reaching up behind him on the tool bench, he grabbed a small black box. With the button pressed on the remote control, the garage door began to close behind her. “Don’t you love technology?”

  “I give the kids fifteen minutes and they’ll be out here banging on the door,” she warned, but she was already walking slowly toward him.

  “Fifteen minutes, huh?” Jake thought a moment. “Piece of cake!”

  She didn’t know if he was referring to the cake she’d been working on, or the efficiency with which he could make love under time constraints. Turns out it was both.

  But the embarrassment factor went through the roof when they left the garage and noticed another party had arrived. Also early.

  Her parents were still inside, apparently, but sitting on an Adirondack chair, enjoying the hell out of their surprise and discomfort, was Lieutenant Isaac Bernstein, peering at them over the top of dark sunglasses, which he’d moved halfway down his big nose. Izzie wore fatigues, the shirt open at the neck. His booted feet rested on the porch rail.

  “Well, well, well!” Izzie remarked. “Dare I say, ‘commando’?”

  It wasn’t a (pity) party, but he’d cry if he wanted to . . .

  “I have concerns,” Jake said.

  “No shit!” Izzie replied with his usual succinctness.

  They were sitting in The Live Bass, a local tavern, sharing a few beers and catching up on the news.

  After Sally had gone with the kids to help her parents settle in at the Heartbreak Motel, Izzie had walked down the street to his uncle’s house to shower and change clothes, promising to be back in a half hour to pick him up. Jake had also showered and changed clothes, and they rode to the center of town in Uncle Abe’s pristine twenty-year-old Buick, which prompted mutual grins.