“Dave, don’t fucking judge. You have no idea what I’ve been through…”
“I may not have an idea what you’ve been through, but you must be crazy if you’re going to put yourself through it again and leave a pregnant wife behind. That’s not manning up. That’s being a fucking coward,” he hisses.
“You’re right, Dave. I’m a fucking coward, but my brothers are shipping out. There is no way I’ll let them fight this war without me. My team is still out there. I got leave but it wasn’t a permanent leave. Halo knew that. I can’t be with her, Dave. I’ve been sucked into this war too deep. I’ve seen bad things, I’ve done bad things. I lost my fucking best friend.” As I continue my rant I realize that Dave hasn’t said anything to me for a few good minutes. I see the disappointment in his eyes. He’s quiet and I’m too messed up to care what he thinks.
“Thomas, you need to sleep this off. I don’t know if you’re drunk or high, but you are talking out of your ass. Go crash on the bed and we’ll talk in the morning.” He’s so calm, I’m not sure he’s getting it.
As soon as he leaves, I fall onto the bed and pass out.
When I wake up at the crack of dawn I’m sober, with a splitting headache. I know Dave—and probably Halo—probably expect me to come to my senses about all this, but I don’t feel any differently. And I know I won’t change my mind tomorrow or even next month.
I shower and then use a disposable blade I find under the sink to shave my face and head. I call a cab on my cell and make arrangements to travel to Tuck’s place. I leave the keys for the truck on the small kitchen counter with a note asking Dave to get them back to Halo.
Weirdly, I think about my father. I want to find him, scream at him for wrecking my fucking life. But as I head down the quiet, sleepy street, I rethink blaming my dad. I know this shit is on me.
Chapter Thirteen
Ryder
When I tell the doctor about my dream last night, he thinks it’s a good thing. He said not to pressure myself, but I may start having more dreams and, slowly, slowly, I may start to learn more about the man I was. He urged me not to get my hopes up, though, because there’s still the slight chance it won’t happen.
The best part of my visit is getting an ID with a medical discharge. It makes a trip to the bank and the DMV possible. The bureaucracy crap is a drag, but when it’s done I actually get excited about the idea of buying paint and supplies for painting Brandon’s room. I can picture Halo’s smile when it’s finished…
I pull into a shopping center I’d noticed on my drive to the VA. I stop at an Old Navy and buy some essentials. I was happy to see my bank account was relatively healthy. I’m not rich or anything, but I have enough to get by. So my next stop is an electronics store for a new phone. I’m much happier about shopping in the Home Depot. In the paint department I stare at the samples and paint chips. I’m attracted to primary colors and I figure that makes sense since Brandon is a baby. I go a little crazy and take the sales guy’s advice—two colors in different shades and a border with a baseball theme.
I feel a sense of hope—or maybe it’s just a feeling of usefulness—as I load the paint and supplies into the truck. Then I head back to Halo, hoping I don’t get lost along the way.
Chapter Fourteen
Halo
It gets kind of lonely sitting in this big house all day. With Brandon sleeping it’s so quiet I can hear the old plumbing rattling in the walls. At least I convince myself that’s what the noise is—hopefully it’s not some mouse who’s taken up residence in my walls.
Brandon is a good baby. He sleeps for most of the day and when he isn’t sleeping he’s eating. I’m tired and achy so the chance for rest is welcome. I’ve tried watching some soap operas but I just can’t get into it. I even picked up my journal to write a bit. It was soothing for the first half hour but then it made me feel antsy again.
Writing about my feelings after Thomas left was a good way for me to vent my emotions. I’ve never been an incredibly open person. I’ve always kept issues to myself. I never wanted to burden my friends with my sometimes morbid thoughts, but morbidity can take over when you lose your family to a drunk driver. My thoughts remind me of Thomas. The way he stood by my side after my parents’ death. He was on my case about finishing my last year of high school and ensured I applied to college. When my depression worsened he put off enlisting and took classes in order to become a paramedic. Thomas Wells spent six months in classroom training for me. I want to laugh and cry at the memory. He sacrificed his dreams for me.
My cell phone rings and I see Jenny’s name pop up on the caller ID. She was just here earlier and I’m surprised to hear from her again so soon. “Hey Jen.”
“Halo, I forgot to mention earlier. The girlfriends want to meet Brandon. Would you prefer to have everyone over individually? Or can we invite everyone in one shot? I can help you prepare everything. You won’t have to do a thing…it’s just everyone is a little worried about you and they want to meet the little guy. We could do an evening thing, that way they will all get babysitters and leave the littles at home. What do you think?”
I know she means well but I am in no mood to entertain and I still feel like shit. “I don’t know, Jen. I still feel pretty raw.”
“I know, babe. I was thinking we could put it off for a couple weeks. It’s just that everyone needs notice to coordinate and get babysitters and all that.”
“Yeah, okay. I guess I eventually will have to socialize.”
Jenny snorts into the phone. “You think? You haven’t seen anyone since Thomas left. I know you’ve been through a tough time but I think it would be good for you to start talking to our friends again, become more social, you know. Brandon is small now but give him a few months and he’ll enjoy the interaction of other babies and kids. It will be good for him.”
“I know, Jen. Believe me, I know. It’s just hard right now. I love my baby dearly with all my heart, but right now he’s only sleeping, eating and pooing.” I chuckle sadly into the phone.
“That’s how it works. You’ll get used to it. Soon he will be smiling and doing other things, and let’s just say that you should get ready for that little guy to melt your heart.”
“I know. He already does. I guess I’m just in a funk,” I respond. There’s a knock on the door and I say, “There’s someone at the door so I gotta run. Yeah, let’s do it. Book something.”
“Okay, hon. You take care.” Her tone is worried and frankly I’m worried too. I read about post-partum depression in my pregnancy books and it seems like I may be suffering.
I get up and go to the door. Charlie’s sitting there, wagging her tail. I see Ryder through the peephole. He’s carrying a big box and his arms look strained. I hold onto Charlie’s collar and open the door.
“Hey, uh... I bought paint. I realize I probably should have asked you what color you wanted to paint the little guy’s room. The man in the store said blue is most popular for boys but at the last minute I decided to get green too.” The box is filled to the top with gallon-size pails of paint. There’s a big bag on the porch filled with what looks like rollers and brushes.
“Wow. Ryder, that was very kind of you. Blue is great, and so is green. Here let me help you.” I tell Charlie to go lie down and then reach for the bag.
“Oh no you don’t,” Ryder says, stopping me. “You go sit and rest. If this is a good time, I can come in and show you the colors. I bought a special paint that doesn’t emit fumes so it won’t affect the little guy. Go back to where it’s warm.” The cool air has whisked its way into the front hall and I shiver. I’m only wearing a nursing bra and a white T-shirt with grey sweatpants. I notice Ryder’s gaze drops to my chest before he quickly looks away. His quick glance makes me feel self-conscious. When he turns around I look down to my chest to see my perky milk-filled nipples poking through the fabric of my shirt. Damn nursing bra doesn’t have padding.
I cross my hands over my chest as Ryder brings the paint into
the house. “Did you want to choose now? I wouldn’t mind getting started now. I don’t really have anything to do.” He shrugs and I feel bad for him because he always has this lost look.
Ryder steps further into the house and once again I notice how big he is. It’s not just a size thing—it also has to do with his presence in general. He begins to explain the different shades and shows me the border he bought. I gaze at his hands again. The skin is rough looking, scarred from the burns he suffered. My heart clenches again—I can’t help but think about our soldiers putting their lives on the line to keep us safe.
“I love it. You made amazing choices.” I can just picture how it will look in Brandon’s room. Ryder’s kindness has really thrown me for a loop. For a guy who doesn’t remember anything about himself, he sure is a kind soul.
“I’m glad you like,” he says, his mouth turning up at the corners. I wish those bandages would come off already. “Is it okay if I head upstairs, then?” he asks, looking at the staircase.
“Sure,” I say. “Thank you.”
He slowly starts up the stairs with the box of paint. I watch him, thinking that it really was a smart idea to offer him the garage.
I head into the kitchen and begin to prepare dinner. I hate preparing meals for one, but now that I’m breastfeeding I feel like it’s important for me to eat the right foods for Brandon’s sake. Tonight I’ve planned on a roasted chicken with potatoes.
As I peel the potatoes, I hear Ryder whistling from upstairs. The tune is familiar but I can’t place it. My mood lifts a bit now that the house isn’t so quiet. By the time I’ve got the chicken ready to put in the oven, I hear Brandon stirring in living room.
I waddle in to pick him up, his body curling naturally into mine, his head settling against my chest. I look at his tiny features and I can’t help but smile.
I take a seat in my usual corner on the couch and breastfeed him.
“Hey, Brandon,” I whisper to him, “your room is going to look so nice. Our friend Ryder is up there preparing your room to be painted right now. He even got you a little baseball border. I think you are going to enjoy playing baseball one day. My dad taught me how to hit a ball and how to throw a curve ball. I’m going to teach you those things too.” I smile, looking down at him, watching his jaw moving slowly up and down as he eats. My grim mood lifts. How can I be sad, when I have this gift in my arms?
My eyes grow heavy and I fight the urge to close my eyes. The sleepless nights are taking their toll, but Brandon is still eating. I’m paranoid about falling asleep with him in my arms. My head feels like a heavy rock as I struggle to stay awake. I notice Brandon’s little mouth movements have slowed. I get up slowly, hoping to put him back in the bassinet and grab a nap. I am suddenly drunk-tired and I need a few minutes to replenish. Luckily, he goes down easy.
I head back over to the couch and rest my head against the pillow and close my eyes.
***
I startle and my eyes open abruptly. I heard a loud noise. A thump from upstairs. A moment later I hear Ryder holler as if he’s hurt. I quickly check on Brandon—he’s still content in the land of sleep.
“Ryder,” I call softly as I slowly make my way up the stairs. My incision is aching and I hate that I can’t go any faster. I make it up to Brandon’s room and find Ryder on the floor holding his knee.
“Oh my! Are you okay?” I rush toward him with concern.
“You didn’t need to go up those stairs. I’m fine.” There’s irritation in his tone.
“What happened?” I ask.
“I’m fine. It’s no big deal. I couldn’t reach the top of the wall so I took the little step ladder from the closet. I took off my leg brace then forgot I shouldn’t bend my knee as I climbed the ladder. Lost my balance.” His cheeks flush. “Some SEAL I must have made,” he mutters under his breath.
I don’t want to make him feel any worse than he already does so I look at the progress he’s made. He’s only started the edging, but it’s a beautiful color. I can’t wait to see it finished.
“Maybe you’re pushing yourself too soon,” I say, placing a hand on his shoulder. “How about you take a break and come down and have dinner with me?” I’d hoped to brighten his mood, but now that I’ve made the suggestion my cheeks become hot and rosy. I mean, why would dinner with me improve his mood? I feel stupid now.
“I don’t want to impose. You’ve given me a place to stay and now you’re feeding me?” He smiles wryly.
“First off, your rent money is much needed. I get maternity leave, but once the eight weeks is over, I am placing Brandon in private care, which is very expensive. Two weeks of that time is from my sick days. I don’t want to use more sick days because I may need to use them to be with Brandon if he gets sick. I’m a teacher. The kids at school are constantly picking up viruses…” I ramble on. This is clearly TMI.
“You know I could pay you more rent,” Ryder suggests. “And I should. Especially since you’ve been feeding me too.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not taking more money than we agreed to. And now you’re painting my son’s room for me. Do you know how much that would cost if I had to hire a painter?” Ryder tilts his head as if he’s considering my argument. “So what do you say about dinner?”
“I’d love to have dinner,” he says. He struggles to his feet and towers over me, smiling.
My cheeks flush and my stomach drops. He makes me feel things I don’t want to be feeling. I’m obviously out of practice with making friends with men.
I pull my eyes away from him and walk to the door. “Perfect. It should be ready soon. Come down whenever you’re ready.” I leave the room and let out a slow breath.
Before heading to the kitchen, I check on Brandon. He’s still asleep and it’s likely he’ll be down for at least another hour.
I’m taking the chicken out of the oven when Ryder enters the room. “Mmm that smells really good,” he says with that low gruff voice.
“Thanks. It was one of my husband’s favorite recipes.” As soon as the words are out, I bite my lip. I hate that I’m still living in the past. I also realize that I have an incredibly hot and kind man who is standing in my kitchen waiting to eat with me. If this was another time and I was a different person I may have been all over Ryder St. John.
I quickly set the table and Ryder helps me carry over the food. When we sit, I tell him to help himself. He puts a modest serving on his plate and waits for me to serve myself. Apparently manners aren’t one of the things he’s forgotten.
“So tell me about yourself,” he says, taking a bite of chicken. His eyes suddenly close and he makes a groan at the back of his throat. “Jesus, woman. You can cook. This is seriously delicious.”
I laugh and take a bite too. Then I watch him eat for a minute, mesmerized by the way he’s enjoying the food. I’m guessing he must have been on a long deployment where he only ate ready-to-eat meals that Thomas always described as a bunch of nastiness mixed together.
“So?” He looks at me expectantly, waiting to hear my response to his question.
“I’m an elementary school teacher. I teach sixth grade. Jenny is my best friend. You already met her…” I trail off because I’m not sure what else to say without mentioning Thomas.
“And?” he asks with a forkful of chicken halfway to his mouth.
“I don’t know. Ask me questions. What exactly do you want to know?”
“Do you have any hobbies?” he asks.
“I like to read in my spare time. Sometimes I write a little too, but it’s just for me. I like to swim—you saw the trophies from my water polo days. I swim laps over at the community center, and kept it up throughout my pregnancy. I thought if I was in good physical shape it would make delivery easier. I never expected to have a C-section—it’s certainly made life a little difficult now with the recovery.”
“Yeah, I can relate to unexpected stuff in life making for difficult recoveries. I’m looking forward to being active again so
meday. I’m guessing I’m likely a good swimmer if I made it through SEAL training.” He continues to eat quietly and then he smiles. “You forgot to mention cooking as a hobby. You’re good enough that you must practice a lot.”
I thank him and I can tell by his expression that he’s got a lot on his mind. I stay quiet, hoping to encourage him to talk.
“It’s hard,” he says. “You know…not remembering. I don’t know what to expect from myself or if what I’m doing is even okay. I could be living on a base, or surrounding myself with other guys who are in treatment. But my instincts tell me I’d be better living on my own.”
“You seem to be doing well,” I agree. He’s managed to go out and get things done.
“Thanks. I don’t know about well, though. I fell off that step stool like a fool. I hate that I feel so shaky. And I hate that I feel like I’m in limbo. Men in my unit died, and I keep thinking that I probably should have died too. I feel bad for not remembering them or honoring them. From what I’ve learned, SEALs have a strict code of honor. I never went to my teammates’ funerals. I don’t even know who or where my friends are. There’s no honor in that, is there?” His blue eyes gaze at me and I can’t ignore their intensity.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “It must be so hard for you—I wish there was some way I could help. Did the counselors at the hospital have any advice today? Have you had any glimpses into your past at all?”
He nods. “I had a dream last night. The counselors think I’ll likely have more. It’s something I both wish for and dread. The dream was pretty horrific.”
He bows his head. I want to stand up and give him a hug—he probably hasn’t had any human contact in a long time and he looks like he’s drowning in a sea of pain. It’s interesting that I’ve never felt the typical barriers between me and Ryder—the walls I usually put up when I meet someone new or interact with strangers. From the moment I met him at the hospital I’ve sensed that he was kind and non-judgemental.
Halo Page 13
