Breaking Walls

by Tracie Puckett

  I closed my eyes.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Bailey bailed,” I showed him the message. “And I have to be at work in…a matter of minutes.”

  “I can take you,” he said, nodding to his car.

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “It’s out of your way.”

  “I really don’t mind,” he said, and we started toward the stairs.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know why she couldn’t have—”

  “Mm,” he winced with his first step down, and I turned to look at the leg he dragged behind him. Still, he slowly powered through the staircase, barely managing each small step.

  When we leveled off, I turned and asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You sure? You’re not getting around so well.”

  “Blame it on this girl I know,” he said, fighting to smile. “I walked her home the other night, and it’s been uncooperative ever since.”

  “Gabe,” I said, stopping him, “I told you that you didn’t have to walk me home. You have to know your limits.”

  “Save your preaching,” he said, waving a hand. “I get enough of that from Shelly.”

  “But she’s right. You’ve gotta know when too much is too much.”

  He started walking again, disregarding my input. I found myself walking a lot slower than him, mostly because I refused to keep up with the fast pace he’d set. He was trying to prove, in spite of his limp, that he wasn’t in any kind of pain. But I knew better. I could see it in his face.

  “Gabe, you don’t have to— ”

  “Hey,” he snapped, turning back to me. We both stopped short of his parked car. “I appreciate the concern, Mandy, but I’m fine. Let—it—go.”

  “Oh,” I stepped back. “Yeah, okay. Sorry. I was just…”

  His shoulders slumped, his head falling forward as he looked to the ground.

  “I’m sorry,” he said after a quiet minute. “I didn’t mean to… Mandy, I know it’s hard to watch, but believe me when I tell you that I’m not worried about a little limp, a twinge of pain, or a short walk to the car,” he spoke as softy as he could. “At its worst, I wasn’t sure I’d ever walk again. Not on my own leg, anyway, so…I try not to sweat the little stuff, you know?”

  I nodded.

  “Come here,” he reached over to take my hand. We closed the rest of the gap between the car and where we’d stood. He let go of his grip on me, and just like he’d done on Friday night, Gabe slid himself up on the hood of the car. I joined him and sat at his side, letting my feet dangle off the front. He managed to bring his left leg as close as he could to his chest, but it wasn’t far. With a deep breath in and a slow breath out, he leaned forward, lifted the bottom of his pants leg, and rolled it as far up to the knee as he could.

  There he revealed a thick scar, one that started about five inches below his knee, ran all the way up the cap, and disappeared underneath the part of his pants he hadn’t lifted. My lips gaped open. I tried to find the right words, but I didn’t know where to begin.

  “It’s okay,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s a lot to process.”

  I looked up to him, meeting his saddened stare. “How did— ”

  “Combat,” he said. “We were out on a mission when the transport vehicle ahead of ours struck and detonated an IED, obliterating everything in sight.” I caught a breath in my throat. “There were five American casualties, and more injuries than I can count on two hands. Most of the guys en route, though, were lucky enough to walk away without life-threatening injuries. Some were a lot luckier than others. I was a lot luckier.”

  “That doesn’t look so lucky, Gabe,” I said, reaching forward to run my finger along the scar.

  “It was bad, but it could’ve been worse.”

  “So—”

  “The explosion shattered my knee and splintered two major bones. I was unconscious, completely unaware of the severity of the blast, the injuries, the deaths. It wasn’t until I woke up in the care of the trauma team that I had any clue. They were able to keep me as stabilized and comfortable as possible, but I wasn’t aware of much until my overnight flight back home.” He looked down to the scar, running his fingers along the healed wound. “The doctors married surgical techniques to save what they could, and prosthetics made for a successful knee replacement. But once I was home, the complications weren’t over. There were still tiny shreds of shrapnel lodged in my flesh, pieces that had become infected and required even more surgery, more rehab, and more recovery time.” He twisted his lips and shrugged. “It was an unpleasant few months.”

  “I would imagine so,” I said, and he rolled his pants leg down and dusted off his hands. “But… at least you’re alive.”

  “Yeah,” he said, grinning. He held my stare for a few seconds. “At least I’m alive.” He took a deep breath and hoisted himself off the car, turning back to offer me a hand.

  “You know, Gabe, scars are pretty sexy,” I said, taking his hand and sliding down. “Girls eat that stuff up.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Oh yeah,” I said. “War stories, wounded soldiers. You start sharing that stuff in public, and you’ll have girls lining up on your doorstep.”

  “Yeah, but I’m Gabriel Raddick, babe. I already have that problem.”

  “Oh!” I said, trying to stifle a laugh. “Right, of course, you would. I keep forgetting about that celebrity status of yours.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” he said, giving me a stern look. He turned back to the car. “We really should get you to work.”

  “Right,” I said. “Sure, okay. Let’s go.”

  As he always did, Gabe held the door for me as I slid into the passenger’s seat of his car. Moments later, he slid into the driver’s seat next to me.

  “Oh, one more thing,” he said, turning to the back. He plucked an envelope and a small box off the seat and turned back to me. “I was going to drop these by your place this afternoon, but I might as well give them to you while you’re here.”

  “What are these?” I said, examining the envelope and box.

  “Open ‘em and find out.” He fastened his seat belt and started the car.

  I started with the envelope, turning it over and pulling a piece of pink paper from inside. I started reading.

  Dear Mr. Raddick, My name is—

  “Out loud, please,” he said, looking to me as he turned out of the school parking lot. “I want to hear you read it.”

  “Okay?” I said, looking down to the page again. The words, although written in large scale, were almost illegible scribbles. I was afraid I would butcher it, but I honored his request and continued, “My name is Amanda Goodwin. You can call me Mandy.” I half-laughed. Between the name and the sweet, hard-to-read scratches, I knew it was a letter from none other than my favorite seven-year-old.

  I looked to Gabe, watching a smile curve on his lip. “Keep going.”

  “My mommy and me come to church every Thursday night for dinner,” I read. “We eat there for breakfast on Saturdays. Sometimes we see you there giving us food, and Mommy says you are the reason our bellies stay full. She said you’re like an angel. I am writing this letter to tell you thank you for the food and for my new clothes. My friend Mandy helped me pick out the prettiest pink coat in the gym last week. Do you know her? Please tell her I said thank you.” I smiled. “I think about her every morning when I put on my new coat. She makes me happy. Maybe she’s an angel like you. Thank you for making my mommy and me smile. Love, the other Mandy.”

  I read over the note again, and then I turned back to Gabe.

  “Where did you—”

  “When we set out for Carla’s neighborhood enhancement project,” he said, focusing on the road, “Little Mandy’s was one of the houses in my area. It was a small place; they didn’t have much for us to do. We went up, offered our help, and by the time we cleaned up the leaves from the yard, this little booger came out and handed it to me.”

  “That is the swee
test thing I’ve ever read,” I said, looking at the letter.

  “I want you to keep it,” he said as I started folding it up again. “You made an impression on her. I think she’d like knowing it ended up with you.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Of course.”

  I hugged the envelope to my chest, trying not to shed a tear.

  “Now, you want to hear the especially crappy part about that letter?” he asked.

  “Sure?” If there was a crappy part, but I didn’t think there was. Little Amanda’s note was the most amazing gift I’d ever received.

  “That probably could’ve won the whole program for you,” he said, darting a glance at me. Ah, yes. I knew we wouldn’t escape this conversation without eventually discussing the elephant in the room. He’d kept too silent about the RI project, so I knew it was only a matter of time before he brought up the fact that I’d quit. “You may not have always had the best attitude, but you were on—“

  “Gabe, you don’t have to do that,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m happy with my decision to quit.”

  “Good.”

  “It was best for the team.”

  He nodded. “I agree.” I turned slowly to look out the window, watching as the houses passed in slow motion. I’d expected more of an argument out of him, but apparently he’d thought the same thing everyone else had thought—the thing that had taken me too long to realize for myself. My staying with RI only benefited one person—me. “But enough about that,” he said, eliciting my stare once again. “You have something else to open.”

  “Right.” I looked down to the small box on my lap, picking it up and pulling the lid off. “Oh my God!”

  “Now, don’t worry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t erase your recording, although I hate the way I sound on tape.”

  “I can’t believe you fixed it,” I said, dumping the small recorder out of the box. It was a little banged up but perfectly intact. “And I can’t believe you listened— ”

  “I had to make sure it was working.”

  We pulled up to the bakery, and I looked to him with tears in my eyes. Gabe could never know how much it meant that he’d saved that one perfect memory. He could never know.

  “It was nothing,” he promised. I threw my seatbelt off and leaned across the car, wrapping my arms around his neck.

  “I’ll never understand why you do the things you do.”

  “Would you believe me if I said I was crazy about you?” he asked, and I pulled back to meet his stare. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to see you smile, Mandy.”

  “Oh boy,” I said, losing my breath. Our faces were too close. I could feel his breath tickling my lips, and suddenly the car started feeling a lot smaller. “I should go,” I said, but I still didn’t move.

  I took a minute to collect my breath, and just as I was about to back away, three loud knocks on my window jolted me back into my seat.

  “Yo, kissy face,” Jones yelled outside the glass. “A little less smoochy-smooch, a little more worky-work, m-k?”

  I rolled my eyes and looked back to Gabe. “On that note— ”

  “Have a good evening.”

  “I will,” I said, nodding. “Thanks again…for everything.”

  “Anytime.”

  I let myself out of the car, shutting the door behind me. I glared at Jones, making sure he knew that he and I were going to have a bone to pick the moment Gabe drove away. Finally tearing my gaze away from him, I tucked the digital recorder and envelope into the front pocket of my shoulder bag.

  “Why haven’t you left yet?” I asked. “Bailey said she was on her way—”

  “I sent her home. I had a few extra minutes.”

  Jones and I turned to go into the bakery when we heard Gabe yell, “Hey!” We both turned back. Through the rolled down window, he smiled and said, “Just one more thing.”

  “Yeah?”

  He lifted a smaller stationery envelope, and I jogged back to the car to grab it.

  “What’s this?” I took it from him, reading my neatly scrawled name across the front.

  “Open it,” he said, and then I stood straighter and backed away.

  When I looked down to the envelope, opened the flap, and pulled out a small, white card, Gabe rolled up his window, put the car in gear, and drove away. He didn’t even give me time to read and react.

  I watched him until he disappeared, and then I looked down and read:

  Mandy,

  Enough of this will they/won’t they nonsense.

  I’m seeing a date in our future, and since we all know that great things happen before sunrise, what do you say to breakfast in the park?

  Saturday morning. Six o’clock. I’ll bring the pizza.

  -Gabe

  I laughed as Jones read the card over my shoulder.

  “Pizza?” he groaned. “For breakfast? That’s disgusting. Who does that?”

  “Gabe,” I smiled, looking at the card again. “Gabe does that.”

  I turned to enter the bakery, leaving Jones stunned and silent behind me. He didn’t have to understand. No one had to.

  The last two weeks hadn’t offered much progress in terms of my relationship with Gabe, but I’d finally gotten confident enough to say the things I needed to say. He was finally starting to reciprocate. Little by little, there was so much more that we’d have to work through, so much more we’d have to talk, argue, and fight about, but I looked forward to every second.

  For the first time since Gabriel Raddick slammed himself into my life, there was a definite plan in order. It wasn’t a long-term plan, but pizza in the park was good enough for now. And if that was as good as it ever got, I was really okay with that, too.

  Any plan with Gabe was better than no plan at all.

  We had a date.

  ###

  Available August 19, 2014

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  Series by Tracie Puckett

  Webster Grove

  The New Girl

  Under the Mistletoe

  Secrets to Keep

  Coming Out

  All Good Things

  Just a Little

  Just a Little 1-4

  Just a Little 5-8

  Just a Little Sequel