by Sandra Hill
“Ah, the memories!” Jake had remarked.
“God bless the bench seat!” Izzie had agreed. “What Detroit idiot thought it was a good idea to get rid of these teenage make-out features?”
“If leather could talk!”
They’d grinned at each other.
Izzie wore a faded red T-shirt, floral Hawaiian surfer shorts, and flip-flops, as far opposite as he could get from a military uniform, compared to Jake’s more sedate blue-and-white-striped, button-down shirt over jeans. As they rode along, Izzie had gotten the biggest kick out of all the yellow ribbons still attached to practically every tree, mailbox, and lamppost, some of which were drooping by now. “Are any of these welcome bows for me, or they all for you, Mister Hometown Hero?”
“Kiss my ass,” Jake had said.
“Would that be a heroic or nonheroic ass?”
“Always the clown!” Jake had observed. “If you must know, I’m praying for a big windstorm to come along and blow them all away.”
“How much longer you gonna have that roadblock and guard at the end of the street?”
“Word is, right after Labor Day.”
“You worried about the news media knocking on your door then?”
“Not too much. I can handle it, and so can Sally, but the boys are something else. And, believe me, some of these people don’t hesitate to get at me through the kids.”
“You could hire a private firm.”
“Nah. I’ve got to deal with it eventually.” What he hadn’t said was that he might not be there that much longer. Then it would be a moot point.
They’d chosen a back table at The Live Bass, rather than the bar, because so many people came up to them thanking them for their service, which was nice and well-intended, but starting to become irritating, as in they couldn’t complete a sentence without being interrupted. Besides, a few were starting to ask uncomfortable questions about Jake’s three-year absence.
“Do you ever wonder if we’re making any difference?” Jake asked Izzie, who was in Delta Force, too, but another unit than Jake’s.
“Never! And you don’t, either, when you think about it.”
“I don’t know. It just seems like a vicious circle. We knock out the Taliban, then al-Qaeda emerges. We just about wipe al-Qaeda out, but ISIS gets stronger. Then, before you know it, al-Qaeda pops up again.”
“There’s evil in the world. You and I know that firsthand. We can’t stand by and do nothing. Someone has to fight. Look what happened with Hitler. Millions of people died because good people did nothing for years and years.”
That was a particularly touchy subject for Izzie, whose people had suffered so much during the Holocaust, and still did today in Israel and that part of the world. I should have kept my mouth shut.
“So, you mentioned concerns,” Izzie said. “Like what?”
“Why is Durand coming here? I sense an agenda.”
“There’s always an agenda, my friend.”
“I see on the news that the new prime minister of Balakistan and Minister of Defense Nazim might be visiting the US for some treaty signing, which probably means they want money. If Durand expects me to come to DC and shake hands with the bastards, he’s got another think coming.”
“I doubt whether that will even pan out. Too many threats of protests from different human rights and watchdog organizations.”
“Well, I’m not going to DC, whatever the reason, and I’m definitely not going to work behind a desk in the Pentagon, or anywhere else where I’m some kind of propaganda tool.”
“Check. But what else do you have in mind if you leave the military? You gonna work in that bakery addition that Sally is planning?”
“No. I’m willing to help her get it going, but that’s the extent of my involvement.”
“Bottom line—do you want to stay in Bell Cove?”
“Want and should are two different things.”
Izzie arched his brows at him.
“That’s my second big concern. I’m becoming too comfortable here.”
“Oh, please! You’re too happy. Pity me. Boo-hoo-hoo!”
“I’m not looking for pity, asshole. I’m stating a fact. The longer I stay, the harder it’ll be for me to leave. And it’s not myself I’m concerned about, either. It’s Sally and the kids. I don’t want to hurt them.”
“Then don’t. Seriously, why would you even think that skipping town is any kind of solution?”
“Because I am not the man I used to be. I’m working out like crazy, but I have to be realistic. I will always have a limp, at best. Pain will be my best friend for the rest of my life. What does all that spell for a career, or me supporting a family? Do I go on disability, at my age?”
“There are other options.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged.
“Jake, where’s your usual self-confidence?”
Broken.
“It’s not like you to put yourself down this way.”
I wasn’t broken before.
“What did that motherfucker Nazim do to you?”
Don’t ask. Really. Don’t ask.
“There must be something other than the torture you’ve told us about.”
Uh-huh.
“Mind games of some kind?”
If you only knew! The things that psychopathic maggot made me do, to think! Suffice it to say, I am no hero.
But he couldn’t think about that now or he would go mad, madder than he already was. A change of subject was called for, quickly. “Can I confide in you without your blabbing to Durand or my wife or half of Bell Cove?”
Izzie put a hand to his chest and said, “I’m offended.”
Jake lifted the patch over his eye. “What do you see?”
“Uh . . .”
Jake glanced right and then left.
“Holy crap! Your eyeball moved! That’s something new, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I’m not sure it means anything significant, but something happened when I glanced sharply to the side one day last week. There was a hard pulling sensation, and ever since then, I’ve noticed differences.”
“Has your vision changed?”
“No. Well, there is a slight change in shading. What used to be pitch black is now gray along the edges. And the border of gray has been increasing a bit every day.”
Izzie reached across the table and squeezed Jake’s forearm. “This is great news. No, you don’t need to warn me about being overly optimistic. Every change has to be promising.”
“Anyhow back to my concerns. I was at the diner the other night with Sally and the boys when that Kevin dude walked in. Man, you wouldn’t believe the kids’ reaction. You’d have thought God had walked in the door, or some superhero. They love the guy, and he clearly has affection for them, too.”
“Your point?”
“If I’m gone, they would forget me soon enough.”
“Bullshit!”
“Everyone’s always talking about how resilient kids are.”
“I repeat, bullshit!” Izzie said. “And what about Sal? Would she be resilient, too?” He put up a halting hand before Jake could answer. “It’s obvious you two have been screwing each other’s brains out. A regular sex marathon would be my guess.”
“If you mention commando again, I might just belt you.”
“You could try.” Izzie smirked.
“Sex doesn’t equate with forever after,” Jake told him.
Even Jake realized how lame that sounded, and he laughed along with Izzie.
“So, no red tide of rage when you ran into the boyfriend?” Izzie asked. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
Jake shook his head. “I was surprised, too. In fact, I haven’t had any of those episodes since I got back. A few nightmares, but none of the rages. Which is another reason for me to get out of Dodge. I wouldn’t want any of my kids, or Sally, to witness one of those psycho outbreaks. What if they were directed at one of them, and I harmed them, physically? Nope, they’re better off wit
hout me.”
“What are you aiming for here? Sainthood? Saint Jake? I just don’t see it.”
“Sometimes love means walking away, and, yeah, I know that’s the oldest cliché in the book.”
“Assuming you’re right, where would you go, and what would you do?”
“I don’t know. I’m researching it. The Northwest is looking promising.”
“And what? You’d become a regular Grizzly Adams?”
“Who?”
“Never mind. Don’t do anything rash, Jake. Give yourself a chance to heal more, and get yourself a shrink, for God’s sake, or something. Maybe a lobotomy. I hear there are two psychiatrists, twin brothers, living over at the Patterson house. Why don’t you try one of them?”
“Izz! They’re about eighty years old.”
“So? I hear they’re veterans, too.”
“Of what? The Revolutionary War?”
Just then Jake noticed something over Izzie’s shoulder. “Uh-oh! Incoming at one o’clock. You better duck.” Jake was the one grinning now at being able to reverse the discomfort tables on his friend.
Approaching with fire in her eyes was Laura Atler, and she was baited for bear—the bear being Lieutenant Izzie Bernstein.
“I think I’ll leave you to take care of business here. I can hitch a ride home with Sally.”
“Traitor,” Izzie muttered, then looked up at Laura who was wearing a gray business suit and carrying a briefcase. “Nice to see you again, Laura. You’re looking good.”
“Save it,” she said and sat down, not waiting for an invitation.
That was Jake’s cue to leave.
To show how conflicted Jake was in his thoughts and actions these days, he grabbed a handful of mints from the dish beside the front register on his way out. Mints are a close second to cinnamon, he told himself, and popped a half dozen.
Chapter 17
Triple trapped . . .
He was trapped.
“Nice to see you again, Laura,” Izzie said. “You’re looking good.”
And she did. Laura was one of those women who grew into their beauty, and then just went on improving as they grew older. Like the class nerd with dark-framed Coke bottle glasses who showed up at a ten-year class reunion looking sensational, making one wonder how she’d kept all that hotness hidden back in the day or if she was just a late bloomer. Like himself with the big nose he’d grown into, as well. Come to think on it, he’d first fallen in love with Laura in kindergarten when she’d smiled and come to his defense when some of the other kids called him “Nosey Posey” just because his nose took up half his little face back then. Later, the rude nickname became “Schnoz.”
In high school, Laura had been a little bit overweight, not enough that Izzie noticed, but she had always been on one half-assed diet after another and she’d worn clothes that she thought made her invisible. Not to him, though. And her skin hadn’t always been spotless. Whose was, during those zit years? No wonder she’d been a bit on the shy and timid side, not wanting to call attention to herself.
Now she was slim—petite, actually—clear skinned and hot, wearing what she probably thought was a boring gray suit, but she wore no blouse underneath, which he noticed, horndog that he was. The skirt was narrow and short, leading down to a pair of black “fuck me” high heels, the kind that left the toes and heel exposed, which he also took particular notice of, including the pink polish. Her silvery blonde hair, which used to be a mass of untamable curls, now hung straight about her face and onto her shoulders, probably due to one of those crazy ironing devices women used. And, yeah, she might not be wearing much makeup but that siren-red lipstick gave him ideas.
He still felt a little bit tight in the chest just looking at her.
“Save it,” she said, noticing his perusal, and sat down, not waiting for an invitation.
So much for shy and timid!
But, hey, he liked this new Laura.
Since she didn’t say anything right away, he searched his brain for something to fill the awkward silence and came up with, “You must be excited that Wendy moved back in town. You two were always best buddies.”
She nodded, and still said nothing, just gave him the stink eye.
To fill the continuing silence, he babbled on, “She and Ethan finally got their acts together, right?”
Wendy Patterson and Ethan Rutledge had been an item since practically toddlerhood here in Bell Cove, but they broke up before college when he’d gotten another girl pregnant. Wendy had gone off to be a female Navy SEAL, of all things, and Ethan stayed here to run his family’s Christmas tree farm, another huge surprise. But now they’d come full circle.
“I thought you would have been here for the wedding,” she commented.
“Couldn’t. I was in Kabul at the time.”
“You better not be thinking we’ll do the same thing.”
“Huh?” He sat up straighter in his chair. “Why would you think that I would think that?”
She shrugged. “You’re suddenly back in Bell Cove after all these years. You probably heard that I’m practically engaged to Gabe Conti. In case you don’t know, he’s an architect who moved here to take over his family’s Bell Forge factory.” She was the one to look embarrassed now, at her nervous babbling.
“Practically? What does ‘practically engaged’ mean? Is that like ‘sort of pregnant’?” he teased.
“You don’t have to be sarcastic.”
Yeah, I do. Either that or lean over and see if that lipstick tastes as good as it looks. “I thought you were engaged to the Great Dane.”
“Turns out Dane Hollis was marking every tree in the neighborhood.”
“A real dog, huh?”
“Yeah. How did you know about Dane?”
“My parents gave me all the news until they moved last year. And Uncle Abe and Aunt Rachel have made sure I’m up to date on all the Bell Cove gossip since then. But let’s be clear—I’m not here to cause trouble in your love life.” Or not much. “I’m here because of Jake,” he said, before biting his tongue.
“Ah,” she said and laid a cell phone on the table, which he noted had a record button on it. Being in Special Forces, he was accustomed to noticing crap like that. Scan your perimeter. Always be alert. Carelessness is your number one enemy. She sealed the deal when she took a notepad and a pen out of her briefcase, which she laid out before her.
Whaaat? Is that why she wanted to meet with me? Not to return something, like Jake said, or to hook up with me again, but to get a scoop on Jake. Well, shiiiit! She better not think she’s recording me.
He slid her phone across the table toward him and looked at her before he clicked off the record button. “No way, Lois Lane.”
“How do you know I don’t have a recording device planted on me?”
“Do you?”
“No. I don’t need a recorder. I have an excellent memory.”
This was a ridiculous conversation. It was like there was some big elephant in the room they were dancing around, and Izzie wasn’t a very good dancer. “Jake said that you have something to give me.”
“I do,” she said. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a college class ring from the Citadel. She shoved it across the table.
“My ring?” he asked dumbly. “You kept it all these years?”
“Not out of any sentiment. I just didn’t feel right about throwing it in the trash.”
“In the trash?” He looked at her and couldn’t help but notice her chin rise a notch. Also, her hands were trembling a little. Hmmm. “Do I sense a little hostility here?”
“Now why would you think that? Do you remember what you said when you gave me that ring?”
“Give me a break. That was ten years ago, Laura.”
But, yeah, I remember. I told you that I would come back after basic training, and we would get engaged. Should I tell her why I didn’t—couldn’t—or is it too late for that?
“The shelf life for being a jackass is like .
. . forever.”
“Ouch. Would it help if I said I’m sorry?”
“No. And don’t be thinking I’m going to jump into the back seat of your uncle’s sex mobile with you, for old times’ sake.”
Izzie blinked with shock. He hadn’t in a million years been thinking that. But he was now.
She waved a hand dismissively when he was about to say something more. “None of that matters. Returning your ring and a boring rehash of your dumping me a long time ago is not the reason—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I did not dump you.”
She waved a hand dismissively again. If she kept doing it, he might just grab her by the wrist and haul her over the table and . . .
“I need to talk to you about the parade on Saturday.”
“Huh?”
“I’m on the parade committee.”
He shook his head to clear it. “Did I miss something here? What does a recording device, Jake, and my class ring have to do with a friggin’ parade?”
“I never said they were connected. You’re the one who made assumptions about why I wanted to talk to you.”
He rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair, but not before taking a long drag on his beer. “Okay. Give it to me. What about the parade?”
“I just wanted to make sure you’re wearing that hottie uniform like in the picture on the wall of the deli.”
“You think I’m a hottie?”
“Not you. The uniform.”
“Wait. Are you under the delusion that I’ll be participating in a parade?”
“No delusion. You’re in, buddy. Riding in a convertible with Major Durand.”
Oh, crap! “How do you know Major Durand?”
“I don’t know the man. Jeesh! Don’t get bent out of shape. Mayor Ferguson is the one who contacted him after your aunt mentioned that she was going to have a high uppity-up Army guy as a weekend guest. And she wasn’t talking about you.”
“I never said I was a high uppity-up.”
The look she gave him said that he probably thought it. “So, it’s settled? You’ll be in the parade.”
He assumed that Durand had approved this already. “I guess so,” he said. “About that other thing. The nondumping. What say we have dinner together tonight and straighten out some misconceptions?”
