Dog Tags

by Heidi Glick

  A closet door slammed. “Be there in a minute,” Beth said. “Just need to find something.”

  If she organized things like her brother, it’d probably take more than a minute. He flipped to the end of the yearbook. More signatures. One caught his eye.

  I see he signed your yearbook. Lucky you, Rachel.

  Probably Rachel Marsh. She used to hang out with Beth. They might have even been in cheerleading together. He’d totally forgotten about that. Then again, when you play high school sports, you don’t exactly pay attention to junior high cheerleaders. Intriguing. Did he have time to continue looking? It might be fun to know the identity of Beth’s crush.

  A door slammed at the other end of the apartment. He closed the book and replaced it under the magazine. Beth entered the living room holding five rolls of colorful streamers and a small boutonniere with a white flower.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Should he have picked up a corsage? “I thought this wasn’t formal.”

  “Relax.” She set down the streamers and, boutonniere in hand, approached him. “One of my students was selling them to raise money for student council activities.” As Beth leaned toward him to pin the flower to his sport coat, he detected apple-scented shampoo. Afterward, Beth planted one hand on his shoulder and appeared to study his eyes. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  He shook his head. Mostly true. She hadn’t injured him physically, but if she kept getting close like that, kept letting him in, making him think that something could exist between them, she’d inflict serious wounds to his heart.

  Once outside her apartment, Beth locked the door behind her.

  Mark waited for her and then wheeled toward his vehicle. “You haven’t mentioned this to Bill or Tim, have you?” Though they weren’t in the military anymore, he hoped still to command some sense of respect. There was nothing wrong with wanting to maintain his dignity. Since Beth arrived, Bill had done a good job of keeping Tim in line. Both had been careful not to press him about his relationship with Beth. He liked it that way. If this got out, he might have to endure some good-natured ribbing.

  Beth shook her head.

  “Good.” He held up his index finger. “Not a word.”

  Beth smiled devilishly, a playful look in her eyes.

  Judging from her response, all bets were off. Mark wiped the sweat from his brow. “Not a word. I mean it.”

  She saluted him and then entered the van.

  Perhaps he should mention the yearbook and ask her about her mystery guy.

  The ride to the school was much too short. Maybe another time.

  Inside the school gym, Mark chatted with Beth while she put up brightly colored balloons and streamers before the party started. His teachers probably put forth the same amount of effort when he was in school. Suddenly, he appreciated them all the more.

  At 8:45 PM, when the doors opened, he and Beth sat at the main table at the front of the room, near other chaperones, enjoying some fruit punch and keeping an eye on the students.

  Beth played with the chain around her neck. Her hair was down but pulled back from her face. Not that his opinion mattered, but she should wear it like that more often.

  He leaned toward her. “Is that a new necklace?”

  She shook her head and readjusted the rhinestone pendant so it hung directly in center. “No, it just feels different.”

  He finished a sip of his punch. “How so?”

  Beth shrugged. “It’s sort of crazy, so…”

  “Your necklace is crazy?” Maybe he should have let it be. Perhaps it’d been a gift from an old boyfriend, and she didn’t want to drudge up the past. Given her transformation from a brace-faced teen to a beautiful young woman, she was sure to have had a few boyfriends over the years.

  She turned to face him. “No, it’s fine, but it feels different because normally”—Beth cleared her throat—”normally, I try to keep Chris’s dog tags with me at all times. It’s silly, but it makes me feel like he’s close. Does that make sense?”

  “It’s not crazy.” Mark gazed at the table centerpiece. “I keep my mom’s picture in my room.” He knew exactly what it felt like but hadn’t been sure that anyone else did, let alone Beth Martindale.

  Pop music played over the loudspeaker. Too loud and lively for his taste. Mark sighed. When would the night end?

  A young Hispanic man dressed in a blue t-shirt and khakis approached their table. “Hi, I’m Antonio, the PE teacher and the football coach.” He smiled and extended his hand to Beth. “You must be the new English and drama teacher.”

  She shook his hand. “Yes, Beth Martindale. Nice to meet you.” She gestured next to her. “This is my friend, Mark.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Antonio nodded his head and walked away.

  Beth turned toward Mark. “That was nice, introducing himself. He seems friendly.”

  He clenched his fists in his lap. “I’m surprised he waited this long.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How do I put this? That guy who stopped by—he’s been looking your way all evening.”

  “What? Oh, c’mon. Don’t start thinking every guy is staring at me. You’ll end up as bad as my dad. I’ll have to start calling you Jim.”

  Maybe it was Jim’s concern, not his. But what if Mark wanted it to be his problem? He fidgeted with his collar.

  Beth stared at him. “Are you…nervous?”

  “Well, I don’t teach here, and I’m not a student, so yes, I suppose I do feel a little out of place.”

  She offered him a slight grin. “I appreciate you coming.”

  Had he sounded like he was complaining? “So, did you ever discover the origin of your love note?”

  “You mean the note in my bag? No.”

  “Maybe Romeo wrote it. He works here, has ample opportunity to slip a note in your bag.”

  Beth blushed. “Who?”

  He nodded in Antonio’s direction.

  “Him? Nah. Probably from some student with a crush.”

  Speaking of crushes, he wanted to ask her about hers. He remembered a few of the guys from Beth’s class. Andy Ferrino, now there was a nice guy. Robby Jenkins, not so much. If only he had a chance to look at the yearbook again.

  “I hope you’re having a good time.” She looked him in the eyes, furrowing her eyebrows. “So is the bait business good these days?”

  “Hard to know. I seem to be finding myself spending less time at the store, more time at middle school parties.” Bait business? He didn’t smell like chum, did he? She certainly didn’t. No, as usual, she wore the same floral fragrance he’d learned to associate with her presence. Mark leaned his head to one side, closer to his chin, still able to smell his cologne. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Why did you come?”

  Good question—Duty? Pity? Or another reason entirely—one which Mark wasn’t sure he was ready to explore. He shrugged. “Nothing better to do.”

  “Now I know that’s not true, Mr. Control Freak. Shouldn’t you be making sure the store is properly stocked? Can’t leave things to the fate of the other two employees. Who knows what might happen.” She chuckled then traced her fingers around the top of her glass. “Is this because of Chris? Do you feel as if you need to be here because you owe him something? I thought we discussed that already.”

  Always so direct. They were back on the subject of Chris again. A better question might be, why had she invited him? “Maybe subconsciously? I don’t know.” He counted championship banners on the middle school gym walls and frowned. “That night he died, I urged him, I pleaded with him to let me talk to him about God, but then it was too late. He was dead.”

  Beth paled and clasped her necklace between the fingers of her right hand. “And right before he died, you tried to save him and—”

  He glanced down at his legs. “Yeah.” They had a relationship of some sort, and she’d earned the right to inquire. Though he hoped she wouldn’t ask more.

  He didn’t wan
t to be a charity case to anyone, least of all Beth. And here she was, probably worried about him because he sat in his wheelchair—the reason why their acquaintance from Beaumont, Bob Overmeyer, shouldn’t have told Beth that Mark had been injured. Then again, Overmeyer could have said more but didn’t.

  Mark gazed at streamers and balloons off in the distance. “I don’t understand why God didn’t allow Chris to live. Or why I didn’t die in his place. I don’t even have any family left, and I lived. It doesn’t really make much sense. Didn’t even then.” But who was he to question God?

  She stretched her hand toward his, stopping short of touching him. “Chris could have accepted God. It’s not your fault.”

  Mark set his hands in his lap and stared at Beth. The light from the ceiling reflected off her necklace, blinding him. He raised his voice to be heard over the techno tune playing. “You say that like it’s so easy.”

  “Our parents couldn’t afford to send us both to college. I got better grades, so Chris joined the military. Maybe if I had stayed at home, then he wouldn’t have joined the Marines and gotten killed.”

  Mark scrunched his face. “That’s ridiculous.”

  Beth’s eyes widened. “Remember that the next time you think it’s your fault.”

  Not his fault? Easy for her to say.

  She bit her lip. “You know, I have this sudden urge to fish once this is over. We’d need to get some bait, but I heard there’s this really good tackle store over by the lighthouse.” Beth smirked.

  He gave his famous stare. “Really?”

  Beth grinned. “I heard the bait is good, but you have to watch out for the old, reclusive codger who runs it.”

  He leaned back slightly. “Old codger? Oh, you must mean Tim.”

  She giggled.

  “Reclusive? Didn’t the guys and I just go out the other evening? Right before that, I went on a couple dates with this girl from church—”

  Beth nodded. “Tim told me about ‘crazy cat girl.’”

  Why did Tim have to open his big mouth? “So I’m old and single. Next subject.”

  “I know this nice young high school teacher. She lives in my building. I should set you up with her.”

  So he was good enough to date her friend. “And how many feral cats does she have?”

  “Only one.” She winked. “I can ask her if her cat has a list of references, if you’d like. She’s a brunette. I hope that’s okay. But if you prefer blondes or red heads, I can keep my eyes open. Probably eighty percent of the teachers at Warner’s Bay Middle School are female, and quite a few are in my Sunday school class.”

  He held up his hands. “I’ve got nothing against brunettes.” It might be fun to go out more. Then again, her friend wasn’t the one he wanted to get to know better.

  Students laughed in the distance. He and Beth weren’t in school anymore. Five years wasn’t that big of a difference, not now.

  But how could he tell her that? He was ancient in her eyes, her older brother’s friend. Poor guy in the chair. Nothing more. Within less than a month, Antonio would make a move. Mark was sure of it. Then his life would go back to the way it’d been before Beth showed up.

  Maybe it was for the best. In the long run, he’d only end up hurting her.

  14

  Beth entered Fishy Business through the back. The scents of nacho cheese and chum greeted her. Wrinkling her nose, she attempted to block out the fishy smell.

  Tim spotted her first. “Long time, no see.”

  If Chris were still alive, she would have approached him with her problem. Of late, Mark had assumed the protector role in her life. By his own choosing or because of guilt, she wasn’t sure. Beth glanced around the store. No sign of him. Her heart sunk. “Is Mark here? May I speak with him?”

  “He should be here in a few minutes. Reaching into the cooler, Tim grabbed a can. “You want a soda while you wait?”

  Beth waved dismissively. “Nah. Thanks though. I’ll wait for him out back.”

  Beth sat at a picnic table then retrieved her MP3 player from her bag. No sense just sitting there while she waited. She hummed and tapped her foot to the beat of a lively Broadway musical soundtrack.

  A hand grasped her shoulder. She jumped, then paused her MP3 player.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Mark’s husky voice soothed her.

  Beth removed her earphones.

  Mark raised an eyebrow. “Classical? Country? Rock?”

  “It’s a song from a musical.”

  Mark folded his arms in his lap. “Tim said you wanted to talk to me?”

  “Something happened at school. Probably nothing. A little weird, that’s all.”

  “You OK?”

  Beth unfolded the yellow paper. “I got this note. Probably some kid trying to be funny.”

  Arching his brow, Mark cast a parental look. “Another one?”

  She shrugged.

  “How many have you received?”

  Beth hung her head.

  He tipped her chin toward him. “How many, Beth?”

  She willed herself not to make eye contact with him. “Six.”

  “Six? Here, give me that.” He swiped the note from her.

  “‘I’m your one true friend. I’ll keep you safe and protect you. You don’t have to be afraid of me. You belong with me. You’ll see. I’ll prove it to you. Your White Knight.’ White Knight? Did your class read medieval stories recently?”

  Beth shook her head. She’d assumed a student had written it, but what about an adult? Antonio had been rather friendly lately. His eyes often met hers when they crossed paths in the halls or the teacher’s lounge. Teachers had access to each other’s contact information for emergencies, which meant he knew where she lived. She’d better not tell Mark. He’d overreact.

  Beth peeked over Mark’s shoulder as he reread the note. “Probably some kid being stupid, right?”

  He examined both sides of the paper. “Joke or not, kids shouldn’t be sending you this stuff. It might be harmless, but I don’t like the possessive tone of this note. Where did you find this?”

  She snatched back the note. “On my desk at the end of the day, like the others. Well, other than the one I found in my bag.”

  “Have you shown this to anyone else?”

  “No. I wanted to show you first. I knew…” Her eyes met his concerned stare. “I knew you’d know what to do.”

  “First thing tomorrow, take it to the principal’s office. If he doesn’t listen, I’d talk to a union rep. Promise me you’ll tell someone.” He rested a hand on her forearm.

  “Yeah, I will.”

  Mark gave his famous stare then shifted his gaze to her arm and slowly released his hold.

  “I promise. By the way, next Saturday, I’m setting you up with my friend Marisa. You could take her out for a nice dinner or go to the movies.”

  “Anything else I need to know or do?”

  “I’m only trying to help.”

  He furrowed his brow. “I’m not exactly Brad Pitt. What did you tell this poor girl?”

  Maybe not Pitt but still good looking. Not that he’d believe her if she told him. “Sheesh. Quit acting like you’re dead.”

  Mark released a sigh and muttered. “Quit acting like I’m a whole man.”

  Her heart sank. Did he think that because of the wheelchair? She’d never seen him as anything less. “Mark, I didn’t mean—”

  He put up his hand. “It’s OK. A moment of self-pity. This girl lives in your building, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Saturday at 1800 hours…uh, 6:00 PM. I’ll stop by your apartment complex.”

  “You sure?”

  He nodded.

  She shouldn’t have pushed him so much. Maybe he didn’t want her help. And why such the urge to help him find someone else? Perhaps it was easier than dealing with past emotions.

  15

  Beth marched next door to visit Marisa. After disappearing for a minute, Marisa walked ou
t of her kitchen holding two coffee mugs—white with cats on the side—and set them on her cherry coffee table. Her friend brushed her short, wispy dark brown hair out of her face before taking a sip of her coffee. “Sorry I couldn’t go with you to the back-to-school party, but at least I’m over the flu.”

  “It’s OK. I roped my friend Mark into going with me.” The word rolled out of her mouth and set her on edge. How else would she describe him?

  “Your friend from home?”

  Beth nodded. “He’s nice, but he seems sort of lonely. I should set him up with someone from church.” Beth sipped her coffee, burning her tongue in the process.

  Marisa leaned forward. “Like who?”

  Beth set her cat mug on the coffee table. So Marisa liked felines. She wasn’t housing fifty in her apartment. Animal control wasn’t beating down her door. Besides, Mark had already dated at least one girl that was head-over-heels about cats, and he’d admitted he was pro-brunette. Beth bit back a grin and gave Marisa a wide-eyed stare.

  Marisa pointed to herself. “Me?” Her jaw dropped.

  Beth had hoped for a better response. “Marisa, c’mon. You should have dinner with him. He’s nice, funny, smart, knows a lot about history. Not to mention, he’s good looking.”

  Marisa sipped her coffee and stared out her living room window. “If he’s so great, why don’t you date him?”

  Beth folded her arms. It had nothing to do with the wheelchair. Her grandpa had been in one, and he still got around and lived his life just fine. What was it then? Eighth grade. Nope, don’t bring it up. Let it go. “Mark? He’s like a brother to me.”

  “Well, you do a lot of things together.”

  Beth shrugged. “Yeah, so?” Her stomach tightened, and nervous laughter escaped her lips. “Since when did it become a capital offense to befriend someone of the opposite sex?”

  “I guess I figured there was more between you two than being just friends.”

  “We hang out a little, but I assure you, we’re only friends. Nothing more.” That word again. It mocked her.

  “I don’t know, Beth. I need to work on ideas for the yearbook. I don’t have time to go out right now.”

  “I have plenty of old yearbooks in my apartment. You could borrow some. Go out. Have fun.” Somehow screaming “Help me keep my distance from him” was out of the question.