by Judy Kentrus
Cindi sensed the tension radiating from Preston’s body. They’d been holding hands, but when the pictures of soldiers in Iraq appeared, he withdrew his arm and hand. She’d known all along about the ceremony, but hadn’t warned him. It was much too late to question if they’d done the right thing.
“And now to the present.” Margaret inhaled deeply. “They aren’t in uniform, but live among us, never bragging about their heroism and how they survived the horrors of war. I would ask everyone to stand up and recognize Lincoln Adams and Preston Reynolds. They have been chosen to unveil our memorial.” Everyone started clapping, and the voice of the late Kate Smith singing “God Bless America” rang out from the speakers.
Every bone in Preston’s body froze, but a gentle hand squeezed his arm. He turned his head, and the tears running down Cindi Pearl’s face pierced his cold heart.
“You can do this—not just for yourself, but for all of the men and women who served alongside you. Honor their memory.”
When a stronger, larger hand settled on his shoulder, he met Lincoln’s gaze. “Come on. Don’t make me go up there alone. Cindi is right. It’s not just for us, but all of our buddies who never made it home.”
The crowd—no —the entire town was waiting. He gave a quick nod and reluctantly stood up.
The veterans stood proudly at attention as the former Army Rangers walked side by side and approached the monument hemmed by a half circle of fluttering flags. Lincoln and Preston pulled on the white canvas, unveiling a rectangular marble stone in gleaming black. A ring of low spotlights highlighted the engraved spear that bore an American eagle supported by crossed flags. Names of fallen heroes had been etched in perfect alignment like soldiers at attention. There were very few dry eyes in the audience when “The Star-Spangled Banner” filled the night sky.
Lincoln’s heart was filled with pride. He turned to his friend, who had saved his life and their patrol. “We have a lot to be thankful for.”
Pain, hurt, anger spread through Preston’s body like an out-of-control wildfire. Years of bitterness spilled out. “How can you say that? You wear an eye patch, and I lost a part of my goddamn leg.”
Lincoln wasn’t surprised by his buddy’s outburst. It was a long time coming, but Linc understood what his friend was feeling. He clamped a hand on Preston’s stiff shoulder.
“No, man, you don’t get it. We are alive. Our names aren’t up there.”
Our names aren’t up there, our names aren’t up there repeated over and over in Preston’s head, and he hoped to God the tears welling up in eyes weren’t obvious. He almost choked on his next statement. “Linc, I don’t know what to say.” He had to get out of there before he made a fool of himself. “Do me a favor. Take Jennie back to the motel. Tell her I’ll pick her up at ten and we’ll go to breakfast at the Spoonful.”
“What about Cindi?”
Preston’s mind went momentarily blank. “What about Cindi?”
“Should I tell her you’ll pick her up too?”
Panic began to set in. “Tell her I’ll give her a call. I have to get out of here.”
From across the lawn, Cindi and Jennie, choked up with emotion, stared at Preston and Lincoln. “I’d love to know what they are talking about,” Jen said, brushing the tears from her cheeks. “Did you know they were going to do this tonight?”
“Yes.” Tightness gripped Cindi’s throat, and she could barely get the word out.
“Some people might think tossing him from the frying pan into the fire was being heartless and cruel,” Jen said, “but he needed this wake-up jolt. The patriotic ceremony was beautifully done.”
“Lincoln was part of the planning committee, so he knew what was going to happen. His staff compiled the video. If there was anything that might have been too graphic or upsetting, he would have had them edit it out.”
“I wish our parents had been here to witness his heroism being recognized. I took a video of the ceremony and pictures of Lincoln and Preston removing the drape. I’ll wait till tomorrow before I get a closer look at the memorial. There are too many people up there.”
“You’ll be able to share the pictures with your folks.” Cindi wished she was standing next to Preston to give him her support.
The surrounding crowd was overwhelming and escape became impossible.
Citizens approached Preston and Lincoln and all the service men and offered their hands, repeating the same phrase: “Thank you for your service.”
When Jessie stepped up to Lincoln, suggesting they start heading over to the lake for the fireworks, Preston saw the opportunity to make his escape. He never looked back and hurried down the walking path through the deserted section of the park. Fingers of moonlight illuminated the paved path, and the leaf-heavy trees and thick ground foliage made it the perfect place to seek solace. Sweat covered his brow, and the chicken and ribs he’d eaten at dinner was like a rock in his gut. Nausea roiled up and he barely made it to a garbage can and heaved, emptying his stomach. He felt spent and wiped out. The sick feeling was gone, but a mix of emotions lay heavy on his heart. He sat on a small patch of grass, buried his face in his hands and let the storm of tears fall.
Our names aren’t up there repeated in his head.
“What happened?” Jessie asked when everyone finished shaking hands. “Preston was here a moment ago and just took off.”
Lincoln drew his wife to the rear of the monument, which offered a small amount of privacy. “Remember what I said about him starting to heal? Well, I think tonight’s ceremony was an emotional eye-opener. He’s never accepted that he saved five guys from getting blown up, resulting in the loss of his lower right leg. Physically, he’s learned to live with wearing a prosthetic leg and acts perfectly normal. It’s the emotional scars banded around his heart that have kept him in a private hell. He is very much aware of the special program I established for the veterans on staff. Attending is optional. I’ve encouraged him to talk to one of the psychologists, but his standard answer is, ‘I’m fine.’ Cindi, in her own special way, has challenged his denial in letting himself enjoy a relationship with a woman.”
Jessie brought her arms around his waist. “I know we’ve never really talked about your injury, but did you go through the same personal torment?”
Lincoln drew her closer, not caring that members of the Nose Patrol, the name he’d given the nosy bodies who thrived on gossip, were probably watching their every move. “When I got shot and was told I would lose the use of my eye, I went through a private hell the likes of which I never want to go through again. If it wasn’t for Scott and Russell, I don’t know what might have happened. My best friends deserve medals for what I put them through.”
“I find that very hard to believe. You are strong and competent, with a touch of arrogance and conceit,” she added with a smile.
“You know me so well.” He cradled her soft face in his hands. She’d gotten more beautiful, if that was possible. “It took a while for me to get where I am today. Until I returned to Laurel Heights, there was a part of me that needed mending. You and your love healed me completely, Jessie.” Technically she was still on duty, despite being in plain clothes, but he didn’t care. He lowered his lips and gave her a sweet kiss that lasted a lot longer than either intended.
“Where is Preston?” Cindi asked the moment Lincoln and Jessie came into view.
“He needed some time alone,” Lincoln said to both women. “Jen, your brother will pick you up at ten tomorrow morning and take you to breakfast at the Spoonful.” He turned to Cindi Pearl and delivered the cold, unfeeling message.
“Preston said he’d call you.”
Cindi’s heart and face suffered an invisible, painful blow. What more could she expect? “It’s my fault,” she blubbered as fresh tears ran down her face. “I never should have suggested all the pomp and circumstance for the dedication.” She threw her pretty white hat to the ground and stomped on the crown. “Once again, I went full steam ahead without thinking and
embarrassed him.”
“No you didn’t!” Jennie Reynolds gave Cindi a comforting hug. “Men can be heartless shits, my brother included, and he needed a swift kick in his ass. The entire program was beautifully done.”
“I should look for him and apologize.”
Jessie, Lincoln and Jennie shouted “No!” at the same time.
“Give him time to brood and think.” Lincoln picked up her dented hat and plopped it on her head. “A little dilapidated. Doesn’t look too bad.” He winked.
“I know a good way to lift our spirits,” Jen said. “How about some fireworks?”
“Good idea,” Jessie agreed. “My mother and Edie are saving our places down by the lake.”
Preston called himself every kind of fool as he sat on a fallen tree limb, hidden in the shadows by the lake, watching the sky fill with giant sunbursts of colors and shooting stars. He was totally oblivious to the boom of the explosions. He had a perfect view of Cindi sitting on a blanket with her arm around Edie. They shared a bowl of popcorn and pulled puffs of cotton candy from clear bags. His sister sat next to Margaret Taylor, deep in conversation. Lincoln and Jessie were wrapped in a blanket, and not all of their attention was on the fireworks. He’d strongly debated joining the others, but needed this time to reflect on the past hour. His emotions were in turmoil, but he felt lighter around the heart. He still harbored serious issues, but changes were needed in his life. Cindi Pearl Sullivan was number one on his list.
Cindi forced a laugh at something Edie had just related about an incident that happened in Sunday school. She deserved an academy award for her performance. Inside, a huge ache surrounded her heart, and she was crying silent tears. Preston was hurting because of her. Oh, how she’d wanted to go after him and confess her duplicity and beg his forgiveness, but most of all, she wanted to comfort him.
She turned her head and scanned the darkened wooded area off the lake. Her eyes paused, catching an unusual shadow lower to the ground. It was too solid to be foliage. Every bone in her body said it was him. Not giving a second thought to her action, she raised her fingers to her lips and blew him a kiss.
He raised his hand and caught the loving gesture. The warmth in her phantom kiss melted the lingering coldness around his heart.
Chapter 7
The sun was peaking over the horizon when Samantha Kingsley headed for the equipment shed that doubled as a five-unit garage. Mondays were always busy, so she wanted to get to the Spoonful a little early to try a new recipe: glazed donut muffins, a breakfast treat she planned to offer in her new shop. She’d been quite specific in how she wanted her Victorian-themed tea shop to appear. As a personal favor, Russell Long, Lincoln’s best friend and an award-winning architect, had brought her dream to life. The elaborate blueprints had been approved by the Laurel Heights Planning Board, and Sam Morlock agreed to oversee the extensive renovations on the double storefront adjacent to the Spoonful Café. Sallie Mae was delighted to sell the vacant space for Samantha’s new business. If all went as planned, the grand opening would be on Valentine’s Day the following year.
The July sun promised to deliver another hot day, and sweat covered her brow. On days like this, she strongly debated cutting her champagne-blond hair, currently twisted in a long braid. Her thin cotton pants and white T-shirt were comfortable to wear while cooking behind a hot grill.
She pushed the button to unlock her Jeep four-by-four, but stopped short at the sight of Pansy, Cindi Pearl’s pride and joy. The light orchid body of the VW had been defaced with orange and black spray paint. The perp either was illiterate or had purposely misspelled the curse words and ugly personal insults. Samantha’s Jeep, Harley and truck hadn’t been touched. First the stuffed animal, then the garbage and now this. It was obvious someone had a score to settle with Cindi and knew enough about her personal life to single out her vehicle. Sam’s concern for her best friend’s welfare had just tripled.
Personal life! “Oh, shit! They’d gone specifically for Cindi’s vehicle, but what about Donut and the rest of the animals? Immediate panic had her racing over the concrete driveway toward the barn. She threw open the wooden door to the ground level. Her sigh of relief cut through the quiet interior. Brownie was sucking at her mother’s udder. Cookie and Cream Puff were in their nesting box. Cupcake, Muffin and Donut were nowhere in sight.
“You guys had better be enjoying an early morning swim,” Sam muttered, jogging over the thick layer of newly mown grass and down the short dirt path to the large pond fed by underground artesian wells. The rays of the birthing sun danced on the gentle ripples, and the tall green reeds and brown cattails swayed in the slight morning breeze.
“Cupcake, Muffin, Donut,” she called. Nothing. Normally they’d respond when she called their name. Sam’s worries intensified. “Come on, guys, don’t do this to me.” She hurried down the small wooden dock and searched the rowboat and two paddle craft. The first time she’d found them in the rowboat, she’d laughed, imagining them portraying Wynkin, Blynkin and Nod from the child’s nursery rhyme.
Sam circled the water’s edge, brushing aside the shoulder-high reeds and stopped short when she noticed two pink bows caught up on a thick stem. “No! No,” she shrieked and kicked off her sneakers before rushing into the water that came up to her knees. Alongside the pink ribbons was Donut’s black-and-white-check bow tie. Sickness filled her belly and tears were already running down Samantha’s face.
She hurried back to dry land and frantically searched the surface of the water, praying she wouldn’t spot any white feathers. She’d gotten the sisters when they were ducklings. Cupcake and Muffin were the babies she could never have. Desperation had her calling their names, as she made her way back to the house, clutching the ribbons and bow tie. “Cupcake! Muffin! Donut!”
Cindi turned her head on her down-filled pillow and blinked at the light of the new day that pierced her bedroom windowpanes. The gentle breeze fluttered the lacy white panels on the three open windows. She loved her room under the high eaves and had chosen the four-poster bed along with an orchid-and-white Amish quilt to create an atmosphere of country charm. Her bedroom was on the second floor, where the temperature was always hotter, but the stone house fought off the summer heat. She loved this time of morning, when everything was fresh and new.
Saturday’s debacle crept into her waking thoughts. The day had been almost perfect, but ended in despair. Preston had texted a short message Sunday afternoon, apologizing for his rude behavior, but said nothing else. She yearned to take him in her arms and make his pain go away, but that wasn’t about to happen anytime soon, if ever. Not even the sight of her new sundress, with small, pale blue–and–purple forget-me-knots, hanging on her closet door, could raise her spirits.
She was just about to head into the shower when she heard Samantha calling out to their pets. It was the panic in her voice that said something was very wrong. She grabbed her robe from the cedar chest at the bottom of her bed, threw it on to cover her nightgown, and hurried down the stairs.
“What’s going on?” Cindi cried just as Samantha rushed into the kitchen. “Why are you holding the ducks’ ribbons and Donut’s bow tie? And you’re all wet.”
“They were in the reeds, and the three amigos are nowhere to be found. That isn’t all. Someone did a job on Pansy with cans of orange and black spray paint. You’d better take a look. I already checked on the other animals and they’re fine.”
Cindi quickly stepped into her cowgirl boots and tightened the belt on her robe, hurrying after Samantha to the equipment shed. The ugly graffiti stopped her dead in her tracks. “The damn bastards defiled my girl and they can’t even spell right! Enough is enough. We’re calling the police.”
“I agree. You call headquarters, and I’m going to look for our babies.”
“Wait! I have idea. We don’t have a bloodhound, but I’ll bet Cookie can find them. That ornery rooster is as free-spirited as they are and Cupcake, Muffin and Donut are his buddies. If they
’re on the property, Cookie will find them.”
“Good idea,” Samantha said, as they headed for the barn.
“I can’t believe we are using the rooster as a bloodhound,” Cindi said, collecting the feed from the bin. “Cookie can be stubborn, but he never refuses food.”
“Cindi, none of our animals act normal. We’ve got a pygmy goat that wears a bow tie and likes to belly flop into the water. Cookie loves to strut around wearing his little top hat. Our prissy female ducks aren’t happy unless they are wearing pink bows. They like peanut butter cookies and chill out on a rug in front of a fire. I’ll contact Sallie Mae to let her know I’ll be late and why. At the rate gossip flies, we’ll be lucky if the entire town doesn’t show up to search for our missing pets.”
“Sam, think about what you just said. That means whoever did this isn’t from around here.”
No one questioned Cindi’s unusual reason for calling in the Laurel Heights police to search for a missing pygmy goat and two ducks. The threesome was popular with everyone, especially Edith Amanda Adams, the lieutenant’s daughter. In the end, two cars showed up. The officers took a report on the damage to her vehicle before they set the rooster loose.
“Go find your buddies,” Samantha coaxed Cookie, tossing feed on the ground outside the confinement of the barn. The rooster stopped to cock-a-doodle a number of times at his human search party to let everyone know he was in charge, before heading for the cornfields that bordered her property.
