Gifts of Honor: Starting from ScratchHero's Homecoming

by Gail, Stacy

  The waitress smiled, and Beth realized she was several years younger than she first appeared. “Chris was two years ahead of me in high school. We had the same study hall, and I had such a crush on him. I used to go see all his baseball games, and I was constantly trying to get his attention in class. He was always real polite, but I bet he never even knew my name.” She tilted her head fondly. “Even then, you could tell he had big things ahead of him. This town was never going to get hold of him like it does most of us. Although, I guess that’ll all change now, with his disability. His brother says he can’t do too much for himself, so he’ll be moving back in with his parents, getting help from them while he—”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Beth interjected, and indicated the coffee. “How much do I owe you?”

  The crowds lining the main street had thickened by the time Beth wandered up with her coffee, finding a vacant spot next to a lamppost wrapped with tinsel garland. The intersection at the end of the road had been blocked off, and a high platform festooned with red, white and blue bunting had been erected under the stoplight. A microphone and speakers stood ominously in the center, and she wondered if Chris would have to give a speech.

  As she warmed her hands on the cup she imagined what he was doing now, in anticipation of his big moment. Was he sequestered in a room somewhere, stewing about all the unnecessary fuss? Or had he gotten into the spirit of things and was joking with his parents about who might be in attendance?

  Was he missing her and wishing she was here to see him? She hoped so—she hoped this was the right decision, and that he wouldn’t feel ambushed when she sought him out after the parade.

  A set of parents and their two heavily bundled-up children moved into position beside her, and Beth exchanged a smiled greeting with the mother.

  The woman stuck out her gloved hand. “Barb Mortimer. Are you in town for the parade?”

  Was it that obvious? “Yes, I live in Manhattan.”

  “Near Fort Riley,” Barb supplied. “You must know Chris.”

  Beth nodded, at which point the sound of an approaching marching band resulted in a burst of applause and cheering from the crowd.

  The band turned out to be from the county high school, and what they lacked in tuning they made up for in serious expressions and careful steps. They marched crisply down the short street, and upon reaching the platform they arranged themselves on either side of it, presumably to provide musical accompaniment for the rest of the parade.

  The rest of the parade, as it turned out, was right behind them. The band continued their medley of patriotic tunes while a ragtag bunch of Brownies and Girl Scouts processed ahead of a moderately more organized group of Boy Scouts. There was a handful of Civil War reenactors in full Union regalia, the Kiwanis, the volunteer fire department and then six elderly men representing the local VFW post.

  “Those men fought for our freedom, just like Captain Walker. They’re American heroes.” Barb leaned down to inform her children, who nodded solemnly and waved their little flags.

  Beth tossed her empty coffee cup into the nearby trash bin and leaned against the lamppost, crossing her arms.

  Chris insisted he wasn’t a hero, merely a survivor. But as she gazed at all the people in this small Kansas town who had turned out to greet him, she decided he was wrong. To join the army knowing full well he would see combat, to stride unflinchingly into battle, to willingly risk his life on behalf of his country and all the people standing here now was heroic in their view—in anyone’s view.

  But for Beth, Chris’s heroism took a different form. Although it had proven to be the wrong call, his attempt to protect her from the sorrow of knowing he was injured was heroic. His determination to remain as independent and capable as possible was heroic. His willingness to open up and be honest about his lingering psychological issues was heroic. And having the courage to tell her he loved her, even when he knew she was having doubts, was the most heroic act of them all.

  No matter what he thought, Chris was her hero. And she hoped she wasn’t too late to tell him that.

  A roar rose from the crowd and Beth turned to see her very own hero coming down the road astride a tawny quarter horse, sitting his Western saddle like he was born in it. His parents rode on either side, and a man she presumed was his younger brother followed just behind. Chris wore an easy smile despite the formality of his dress uniform, and he waved to no one in particular as the Walker family made their way toward the platform at the end of the street.

  Beside her the Mortimer children shouted his name and vigorously waved their flags. Beth smiled down at them, and Barb caught her eye.

  “We’ve known the Walkers for years,” Barb said. “Linda teaches Sunday school at our church and she is just the sweetest woman. We were all in shock when we heard Chris was wounded, but he looks like he’s come through it okay.” She nodded to the passing horses, where Chris was touching the brim of his hat to the spectators. She smiled conspiratorially. “Linda tells me he’s even got a girlfriend squirreled away down near the fort, although he’s being coy about the details.”

  Beth’s heart skipped a panicked beat. He never said anything about—oh, God, Barb was talking about her. She was the secret relationship—she was Chris’s girl, and always would be.

  “That’s me,” Beth blurted unceremoniously. “Chris is my boyfriend.”

  Barb’s eyes widened. “You’re the professor from K-State? The one who picked him up from the airport?”

  “News travels fast around here,” Beth muttered, but Barb ignored her.

  “Why aren’t you up there with the family?” she asked, and Beth turned to see Chris dismount smoothly onto the asphalt in front of the platform, where a few suited people who looked like town officials had gathered. While his brother gathered the horses, Chris’s father led him up the few steps with a hand on his elbow.

  “It’s not really my place,” Beth protested, suddenly regretting opening her big mouth. “No one asked me to—”

  “No one knew who you were, honey,” Barb asserted, grabbing Beth by the arm and dragging her up the sidewalk, behind the gathered crowd. “This is Chris’s girlfriend,” she announced to anyone who looked their way. “She needs to be up there, she didn’t know where she was supposed to go.”

  Beth’s cheeks blazed with embarrassment. “Barb, I really don’t think I should—Barb, please,” she begged, but it was too late—murmurs had begun to ripple through the throng until most of the heads were turned toward her reluctant journey to the platform, which was evidently far more interesting than the mayor’s monotonous speech about Chris’s achievements.

  Barb shoved Beth toward the steps of the platform while she jogged to its side. Then Beth stood in motionless horror as Barb tugged on the bottom of Linda Walker’s jacket to get her attention, declaring in a stage whisper, “That’s Chris’s girlfriend!” as she pointed in Beth’s direction.

  Beth knew it wasn’t possible to die of embarrassment, but in that moment she wished it was.

  Linda’s face spread into a wide smile as she gestured for Beth to mount the steps and join them. She leaned forward to touch Chris’s sleeve and murmured behind his shoulder, “Sweetheart, Beth is here. I think she should stand up with us.”

  Beth froze at the bottom of the steps, her gaze fixed on Chris’s face. Would he grit his teeth in anger and hiss at his mother to send her away? Would he close his eyes in exasperation, wondering what game she was playing now? Or would he step forward and simply pretend not to have heard, no longer interested in what happened to the woman who had rejected the love he’d laid at her feet?

  As she watched, Chris frowned and inclined his head. “Beth? Where?”

  Now the mayor paused to look at her, and Chris’s mother was motioning wildly for her to join them on the platform. With her cheeks burning and her knees trembling, Beth
climbed the steps and stood in full view of the entire town of Stanfield, Kansas.

  * * *

  Chris’s heart thudded as his mother led Beth to his side and placed her hand on his arm so he’d know she was there. She didn’t realize that he’d know that vanilla-scented perfume anywhere, or that the rustle and warmth of Beth’s presence was so vivid and intoxicating that it sent his thoughts into a careening jumble.

  She was here. She came back.

  And now she was on stage in front of the whole town, being introduced as his girlfriend.

  He moved his hand to the small of her back. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I ran into Barb Mortimer and—”

  The mayor resumed speaking and Beth sidestepped out of Chris’s reach. He felt the loss of contact like a boat cut loose from its moorings, drifting aimlessly on choppy waters.

  He didn’t listen to a word the mayor said as his brain spun feverishly. Had she only come back to watch the parade? Maybe she wasn’t planning on speaking to him again—maybe she just wanted to see the spectacle before she drove home. It would be too much to hope she’d had a change of heart—she said she needed time, and space, and he sincerely doubted the couple of hours since they’d parted had been sufficient.

  He could throttle Barb for shoving her onstage like this, for thrusting her into the center of what was already a farce. No matter what her intent had been when she decided to stay for the parade, he’d bet money she already had her keys in her hand, ready to jump in her car and tear out of his life before anyone else tried to suck her in against her will.

  The mayor wrapped up his speech and passed the microphone to Chris’s father, who launched into a slightly stammering list of thank-yous to everyone in the community who’d supported the family since he was wounded. Guilt gnawed at his stomach as his dad mentioned hot meals driven all the way out to the house, horses hauled to a crucial stock sale they couldn’t attend, rides to and from the airport, laundry delivered, funds raised, prayers offered, concluding with a special thanks to Mrs. Henry’s third-grade class for their beautiful card and the well wishes written inside.

  Chris shifted his weight. He hadn’t heard half of this, and he sure didn’t remember any card—but then maybe his parents didn’t want to point out the fact that he couldn’t read it.

  It would be his turn to take the microphone soon, but the few lukewarm clichés he’d mentally prepared suddenly seemed offensively hollow. It was clear he hadn’t considered the extent of the effort this town had made on his behalf—and more importantly, he realized Beth had nothing like it.

  The minute his parents had gotten that phone call, a huge safety net of community support stretched out underneath them to cushion their fall and prop them back on their feet. But Beth hadn’t even gotten that call, let alone the outpouring of assistance that followed it. She’d been alone, and uninformed, and fearing for the worst, teetering on the edge of worry and isolation and despair.

  Then he came along with his stupid email and shoved her right over the edge.

  Comprehension slapped him as hard as she had only a couple of days earlier. For the first time he fully understood how he’d swept her off her feet those few days in the summer only to throw her to the ground when she was at her most vulnerable. He knew why she hesitated to trust him—and he needed to assure her that she could, and that he would never hurt her again.

  But there was no time—his dad was pressing the microphone into his hand. Soon the ceremony would be over, he’d be waylaid by handshaking community figures and she’d be halfway down the highway. He had to stop her from leaving—but what could he do? What could he say?

  The crowd hushed as he raised the mic, and he cleared his throat to buy a few extra seconds. He thought his inability to see his audience would make this easier, but he was wrong—with no way to gauge whether people were captivated and hanging on his every word or bored and cold and ready to leave, his concern that he would get this wrong ramped even higher.

  “Thanks, everyone, for coming out today. I know you’re probably freezing and anxious to get home for hot chocolate, so I’ll keep this brief. I can’t say how much I appreciate the support you’ve shown me and my family as we’ve gone through a difficult time. As a soldier it can be too easy to forget that deployments can be just as hard on those we leave behind as it is on us. My parents are lucky to have a great town like Stanfield behind them, but some people are left to endure on their own, waiting all day for an email or a phone call that never comes, and wondering if their soldier is safe and well.”

  Was that Beth shifting her weight to his left? It had to be—he was sure he could feel her eyes on him, her attention alert and focused. He hastily resumed the speech, which had suddenly taken on the weight of the world, each word a potential step toward or away from the only happiness he could ever imagine.

  “And, well, I guess what I’m trying to say is that every sacrifice we make on the field of battle demands a different but equally selfless sacrifice on the part of those we love back at home. I’ve never been comfortable being called a hero—I consider it a privilege to do a job that serves my country, and I don’t think that merits any accolades on top. So today I hope you’ll spare a thought for the true hero in my life, my, uh—my girlfriend, Beth Tate. I’ve dragged her through hell and back and she’s still here beside me. She’s far more than I deserve, but I’m trying really hard to measure up.”

  He paused, every nerve ending alive with tension as he waited to hear her footsteps thudding down the steps of the wooden platform followed by the squeal of tires and the roar of a car engine receding into the distance. When no one moved he plowed forward, tightening his grip on the mic to keep his hand from shaking.

  “Thanks again everyone, and Merry Christmas.”

  He swallowed hard as the audience broke into thunderous applause, his knees weak and his pulse pounding, but before he could reach for Beth he was swept up into a disorienting, noisy flurry of handshakes and congratulations and pats on the back. Someone took the mic out of his hand, someone’s hand was on his shoulder, someone was asking a question, as boards creaked and equipment thunked and the marching band struck up a tune to soundtrack the event’s disassembly. Without being able to see who was speaking or approaching or walking away Chris quickly lost his bearings, unsure where he was in relation to the stairs or the platform edge or if Beth was even still there.

  Panic surged in his chest and he willed it back down, praying he wasn’t on the brink of a flashback.

  Not here, he pleaded silently. Please, not now.

  Then an arm wrapped around his elbow, small fingers laced through his own, and a soft, feminine voice cut through the haze of his anxiety like a fresh breeze through a smoky room.

  “It’s okay, Captain,” Beth murmured. “I’m right here.”

  Chapter Ten

  Ever since the moment she set foot on that platform at the end of the street, things had moved so quickly that Beth nearly lost track of where she was and what was going on. From the heart-stopping tenderness of Chris’s speech, to shoving through the crowd to anchor him when she saw him start to drift, to his mother’s ironclad insistence that she join the family for lunch at a steak house, to his father’s announcement that she deserved the seat at Chris’s right hand, it wasn’t until she was ordering a rib eye she wasn’t even hungry for that she felt the impact of all that was happening.

  She’d been introduced to Chris’s hometown as his girlfriend. She was being forcibly ingratiated into his rambunctious family. And he’d shown her that he finally understood the extent of her heartbreak.

  On pure impulse she put her hand on his knee under the table. He immediately covered her hand with his, not missing a beat in his conversation with his uncle.

  And this is how it could be, she realized, looking up and down the long table. A fleeti
ng touch, a gentle squeeze, a whispered word, a coded language that was theirs alone, binding them together, their love as solid and heartening as it was passionate and exciting.

  That was, if they ever had a minute alone again. There were so many eyes on them all the time that they’d barely had a chance to speak, let alone discuss that big emotion that hovered so heavily yet still so unnamed between them.

  Soon two waitresses appeared with their orders. One placed Chris’s plate in front of him, and with a quick look at the rest of the table Beth leaned in, hoping the bustle of service concealed her murmured words from the rest of the family’s attention.

  “T-bone from seven to eleven o’clock, steamed vegetables from noon to four, potatoes at your six.”

  She glanced up just in time to meet Linda Walker’s damp-eyed nod of approval from across the table when Chris’s cutlery clattered where he dropped it on his plate. He closed his hand on her elbow and rose abruptly from his chair, dragging her up with him.

  “I think I left something in the car,” he announced conspicuously. “Beth, can you run me out to the parking lot quickly? We’ll be back in a second.”

  “Of course,” she agreed, evading his relatives’ curious stares as she led him through the mostly empty restaurant to the street.

  “Turn right into the alley leading to the lot,” he instructed, and she did as she was told. “Tell me when we’re halfway through.”

  “We’re there,” she informed him, and then he was on her, pressing her into the freezing bricks, cradling her head in his hand and lowering his mouth to hers in a perfect reenactment of their first kiss six months earlier.

  “I couldn’t wait another second to do that,” he breathed when they finally came up for air. “I’m so happy you’re here. Thank you for coming back, and for staying, and for—” He threw up his hands. “For everything.”

  Beth flattened her palms on his chest. “Thank you for your speech, and for working so hard to acknowledge what I went through, and for coming home to me alive and well.”