Dog Tags

by Heidi Glick

  Mark gripped the armrests of his wheelchair. “This is between Tim and me. Stay out of it.”

  Beth raised her voice. Her lip quivered. “Oh, I will. I’ll be sure to stay far away.”

  Mark glared at Tim.

  Beth gathered the pink envelope and plastic container and scurried toward the back of the store. Her reason for coming was irrelevant now. She placed the envelope and container on the desk. “This is for Mark.” She wiped her eye with her sleeve. “Not that he’ll care anyway, but in case he asks.”

  Bill nodded and went back to reading his comic book.

  With great force, she slammed the door shut on her way out. Once inside her car, she slumped into the driver’s seat and doubled over, shaking as she sobbed. She held her head in her hands.

  What just happened? In one moment, their friendship had ended.

  ****

  Mark ended his verbal barrage with Tim and wheeled to the back of the store. He spied a pink envelope on top of a plastic container, snatched it from the desk, and shoved it in Bill’s face. “What’s this?”

  Bill shrugged. “Beth left it. I have no idea what’s inside, other than she said it was for you.”

  Mark tore open the envelope and removed the contents. “It’s an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner at her apartment with her family.” He showed it to his friend. “Why would she invite me?”

  Bill threw up his hands. “Why don’t you ask her?”

  Mark opened the plastic container. Buckeyes. Chocolate treats with a peanut butter center. Just like the ones they’d buy at the front counter of the Hometown Café when they were kids. He sampled one. Tasted as good as the ones from back home, too.

  He’d berated her, and here she’d done something nice for him. Kicking himself, he ran his fingers through his hair. Ouch. He couldn’t blame her if she dishonorably discharged him from her life and never spoke to him again.

  Mark slipped outside and craned his neck. The Big Dipper lit the night sky. He moved over to the security light and looked at the envelope. His name was written in cursive red ink. Such perfectly formed letters. A strange sense overcame him, a feeling this had happened before, like déjà vu. He lifted the envelope to his nose—a floral fragrance—Beth’s perfume.

  Once a Marine, always a Marine. For someone who knew better, his actions had been less than honorable.

  After a glance at his watch, he scrambled home. The only thing worse than disappointing one woman was letting down two.

  He’d promised Carol he’d meet her for breakfast again, and he needed to get to sleep so he could get up on time. Before getting in bed, he studied the pink envelope on his nightstand. Why did that writing appear familiar? Perhaps he’d seen Beth’s writing at the store or in a letter to Chris. Sitting up and mulling over it wouldn’t help. He got in bed and turned off the light.

  When 6:00 AM rolled around, he met Carol at the Sunshine Diner over on Fifth Street.

  This morning marked his third breakfast with her. He took a sip of his coffee. Plain and boring.

  A thin redheaded waitress walked by. He flagged her down. “Excuse me, ma’am, you wouldn’t happen to have any flavored coffee, hazelnut, perhaps?”

  “No, I’m sorry, we don’t.” The redhead smiled and walked away.

  Carol said something.

  He smiled, nodded, and hoped that was the appropriate response to whatever she’d said. Not that he didn’t care or want to listen, but more important thoughts took precedence.

  While he sat there doing nothing, the Knight could still be harassing Beth. He’d ticked her off pretty good the night before. If his actions caused her to get closer to that guy… Breathe. He wanted to check on her, but pride—or was it the fear of admitting he cared—stopped him.

  Carol leaned across the table toward him. “So you’ll help me write the grant for more funding?”

  Oh, boy. Was that what he’d nodded and agreed to? “Sure, I’d be glad to help.” So word about his grant-writing experience had made its way across campus. He hadn’t seen that coming. Perhaps that was the only reason Carol had befriended him.

  The waitress walked over and set the bill on the table.

  Carol snatched the paper. “Thanks. This one’s on me. See you at school.” She removed several bills from her wallet, set them on the table, then stood up and left.

  Mark stared at his cup. It wasn’t only the coffee; life, in general, had lost its flavor.

  Funny it’d taken him this long to realize he liked hazelnut. Good thing he knew where to find it.

  28

  Mark didn’t want to remember the night Chris died, and neither should Beth. He could only imagine what Tim told her about his episodes—and about how her brother died. Secrets that should have gone to the grave.

  Sure Beth befriended him when he was in the chair, but what about now? What happened if she’d found out his problem was emotional, not physical? Maybe she could accept useless legs, but what about a useless mind? And what else had Tim told her? Not everything, not all the gory details, right?

  Mark inhaled one last whiff of the floral perfume, dropped the envelope in his lap, and covered his face with his hands. Hurting Beth Martindale—the one thing he’d tried to avoid, and he’d been unsuccessful. Lord, help me. I don’t want to lose her.

  Mark drove to the Playa Del Sol apartments Tuesday afternoon and knocked on Beth’s door. No one answered. He couldn’t blame her for shutting him out after the way he had treated her. He began to leave. As he rolled away, he ran into a young, short-haired brunette who was walking near Beth’s apartment. “Excuse me. Do you know where Beth is?”

  The woman stared at him.

  Mark put out his hand. “I’m Mark Graham. I’m friends with—”

  She nodded and shook his hand. “I know who you are. I’m Marisa.”

  So this was Beth’s friend, the one she wanted to set him up with. No offense to her friend, but he found Beth more attractive. Then again, he could be biased. “Oh, nice to meet you.”

  “I live next door. You can come in for a minute if you’d like.” Marisa opened her door.

  He followed her inside to her living room and wheeled next to her couch. If Beth had told Marisa what had happened, she’d probably think he was a jerk, too. Great. He glanced at the black cat clock on the wall. Its eyes moved, and the tail wagged. On an end table sat a jar of potpourri. The overpowering apple cinnamon scent attacked his sinuses.

  “If you’re looking for Beth,” Marisa said. “She’s not here. She’s at the mall.”

  Why had he accused her of spending money there? He shouldn’t care what she did with her cash. “Oh, with Pedro, or whatever his name is?”

  Marisa shook her head. “Antonio? No. Didn’t she tell you? They’re not dating. In fact, they’re not even hanging out anymore. Ever since Beth got a second job at the mall, all she does is save her money and—”

  “She’s working at the mall?” So she was single and worked a second job.

  Marisa nodded. “Yeah, a lot of teachers have second jobs. Beth wants to save up extra money.” Marisa studied the piece of paper in Mark’s hand. “What’s that?”

  He held it up. “It’s an invitation.”

  Marisa smiled. “So she talked you into joining her for Thanksgiving dinner?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Marisa slouched in her seat. “Her dad asked about you. He wanted to know if you had plans for Thanksgiving. Beth was afraid if she asked you, you’d just say no.”

  “So, her family wanted me to come. That’s…that’s nice.” So it was her dad’s idea. That made more sense.

  “Well, maybe not the only reason.”

  What other reason was there besides pity? He leaned closer. “Meaning?”

  Marisa shook her head. “I tried to tell her, but she didn’t believe me.”

  He folded his hands. “Tell her what?”

  “C’mon, you’re a professor. You can figure this out.”

  He stared at the g
round. “Does this have something to do with the incident on the boat?” He’d replayed the event in his mind recently, trying to determine what had gone wrong.

  “When she hooked her finger? Yeah. When she came to my apartment that day, she seemed very confused. I suggested she thought of you as more than a friend. Beth sort of freaked out.”

  So being accused of liking him was that mortifying to Beth, so much so that it freaked her out. Not good. His shoulders tensed.

  Mark gazed at her bookcase. “You actually own books by Solzhenitsyn?” Though his life could never compare with the author, in many ways, Mark’s secrets confined him. He desired to be free from his prison.

  “Yes, have you read them?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have. I teach history over at Riversdale Community College.”

  “Beth mentioned you worked there, but I didn’t know you taught history.” Marisa’s eyes twinkled. “I teach social studies, too, but to high school students.”

  “Now see, I knew you were a teacher, but I didn’t know what you taught.” Mark glanced at his watch. “It was nice meeting you.” He glanced at her table. Two yearbooks lie on top. One of them, a copy of Buckeyes. He pointed. “The yearbook from the school Beth and I attended. How’d you get that?”

  “Oh, she let me borrow it. I was trying to get ideas for our school’s yearbook.”

  “Mind if I …?” He picked it up.

  “Not at all. In fact, I’m finished with it. I don’t think Beth would mind if you want to borrow it.”

  “Thanks.” He waved good-bye then left. The yearbook was in his hands. It might be fun to remember things the way they used to be. Also, it presented the perfect opportunity to discover Beth’s crush. Not that it mattered much now.

  He mustn’t tease her about anything. In fact, he should do something nice. Set things right. A few of the guys who’d been on the Beaumont Junior High football team when he was a senior owed him favors. Maybe he could arrange for her to meet the man of her dreams, assuming she was even still interested in the guy after all these years. The least he could do.

  29

  The Knight scribbled in his notebook.

  4:00 PM—Mark leaves campus.

  Wait, except for Tuesdays. Then he leaves earlier. That’s right. It had been awhile since he’d tailed the guy. Mark went to rehab.

  The Knight dropped his pen and paper on the seat next to him. Then arranged it more orderly and started his car and followed Mark from a distance.

  Mark traveled along Riversdale and got on the freeway. The Knight stayed behind the van, ending up at Health Harbor in Warner’s Bay. Mark got out of his vehicle and wheeled inside.

  Why even bother with the chair? The Knight snorted. Why not just walk inside?

  Mark Graham wasn’t all he was cracked up to be. The Knight needed to produce evidence to present to Beth. Surely, she’d end her friendship with Mark and run to the Knight.

  Even after the Knight had repeatedly warned her, Juanita refused to leave a man in a wheelchair. But no way he’d let Beth slip through his fingers. He had a chance to replay history and control the situation so things worked out according to his plan. Beth and Mark were mere puppets on his stage. And deep down, she wanted him to rescue her from Mark. The Knight would help her understand.

  He got back in his car and stared at the outside of the physical therapy complex. Next week he’d be watching Mark again, only from the inside.

  As he drove home, he passed the middle school. Beth had made no mention of his last note. Maybe she hadn’t seen it. Should he stop in and visit her room? Perhaps he could leave her a new note. Maybe even send a note directly to her apartment to ensure she received it. A rumble sounded in his stomach. No, he’d do it some other time.

  He drove home and stumbled inside his apartment. Better make a sandwich. He walked to the fridge and removed meat, cheese, and mayo, and then headed to the table. He grabbed a loaf of bread from the table and built an impressive ham and Swiss. He opened his lips and lifted the sandwich to his mouth. His watch beeped. He slapped off the alarm and slammed down his snack.

  Time to take his meds. Pills did help control the rage, when he decided to take them. He ignored his ham and Swiss and ran his fingers along the outside of the Sig Sauer handgun lying on his table.

  Maybe he wanted to feel…something. That’s why he’d skipped his medicine every day the past week. Besides, who said he had a disorder? Society. And what did they know?

  30

  Mark pulled into Fishy Business, shut off the ignition, and sat there lost in thought. After he retrieved the yearbook from the passenger seat of his van, he opened it and stared at his signature, then flipped the page to the note from Rachel he’d read previously.

  He moved on to the senior section. That year, the homecoming theme was Home on The Range. He found a picture of Chris and him wearing cowboy hats and standing next to the homecoming float—a covered wagon made from a pickup truck, PVC pipes, and brown poster paper. Good memories.

  Then the individual photos of students. He spotted Chris and a few other classmates. Then himself. Whoa. Warmth spread across his face.

  Hearts drawn in pencil near his picture and “Mark plus Lizzie” written in the margin. Lizzie—Beth’s old nickname. So the note from her friend Rachel about Beth being lucky to get someone’s signature—he was that guy.

  He shook his head. Though he’d been aware of a few admirers while growing up, Beth had a schoolgirl crush on him, and he’d had no clue. Pretty much managed to ignore her through most of high school. No wonder she was scared to get too close to him.

  He remained in his car for a few more minutes. He needed time for everything to sink in. He set the yearbook on the passenger seat and wheeled inside Fishy Business. Bill and Tim stood by the register.

  Tim looked at Mark then walked away.

  Mark held up his hand. “Wait. Tim, I’m sorry.”

  Tim turned to face him.

  “Beth asked you about Chris, and, well, she’s an adult. I’m starting to see that. Sometimes, it’s hard to remember we’re civilians now, and we’re both older. Guess I can’t order everyone around like we’re still in the military, can I? Anyway, it’s not your fault.”

  “I didn’t tell her everything,” Tim walked over and placed one hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Thought it was best for you to tell her certain things. That is, if you decide you want to. Some stuff might be better left unsaid. Nothing to be gained from it.”

  Bill looked at the envelope in Mark’s hand. “So what’s happening now? I see you still have that invitation.”

  Mark stared into the distance. “An invitation to Thanksgiving dinner with Beth.”

  Bill nodded. “I know. What are you going to do? You don’t have to teach, and the store will be closed. You have no other obligations.”

  Mark shrugged. “I guess I’m going to eat Thanksgiving dinner with her and her family. Going to see the Martindales.” What did God have in store for him?

  Tim smiled.

  Bill patted Mark on the back. “Good for you.”

  He examined the envelope again. Red cursive writing. So familiar to something he’d seen before. But what, he wasn’t sure. He’d ask Beth about it sometime. If she ever spoke to him again.

  ****

  Mark shook his head. Marisa must be mistaken. No way Beth was interested in someone like him. Not now at least. Yet, her yearbook confirmed that at one time she did have feelings for him.

  Her dinner invitation and homemade buckeye treats were a nice gesture. As a gentleman, he should return the favor. Not to mention it gave him a reason to spend more time with her.

  He called her apartment, but she didn’t pick up. In a gentle tone, he left a message. “It’s Mark. I’m really sorry. Please let me take you out to dinner tonight to make things up to you. I’ll stop by around five.”

  At almost 1700 hours, he wheeled up to her door. He avoided her gaze when she opened it. “Hello.”

  “Hi.
Wait. Just need to turn down my air conditioner. Be right back.”

  He caught a glimpse of her outfit as she pranced away—a colorful patterned sundress that fit nicely. Her free spirit shone through, even in her choice of attire. And her heels—they added at least an inch or two of height. Had they been standing face-to-face, just about the right level for him to lean over and procure a kiss.

  She sauntered outside, locked her door, and then they headed toward his van.

  Something else. More makeup than usual. It made her look older. Not the same Beth from years ago. But he wasn’t complaining.

  He let her control the radio as they drove to the restaurant.

  She settled on the local Christian radio station and sang along.

  He chuckled inside at her slightly off-key tune. Joining her, Mark added his baritone to the mix. The song ended, and he turned down the volume. “I want to apologize for getting angry with you. You asked Tim a valid question. The problem was I didn’t want to hear the story again.”

  Beth nodded. “You weren’t there. I made sure you weren’t—out of respect for you.”

  “You wanted to know what happened to Chris, and I can’t stop you from discussing it.” He stopped at a traffic light and turned to face her. “I didn’t want you to get hurt by what was said, but you’re an adult.”

  She folded her arms. “So you finally got the memo? Good.”

  “Yeah, I guess I did.” He bit back a grin. “I spoke to Marisa—she told me you were working at the mall.”

  Beth stared out the window. “And you thought I was being immature and irresponsible, wasting money shopping.”

  “I did, but I was wrong. Do you forgive me?”

  “I’ll chalk it up as a senior moment.” She turned the volume back up then continued singing.

  So a little teasing about his age. He’d settle for playfulness over anger.

  After a short ride on the freeway, he exited onto a side street and pulled into the palm tree-lined parking lot of Captain Hank’s.