David shook his head.
“Get here early next week,” Dr. Weiss said.
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
Weeks passed. David was hurrying across the VA grounds when he nearly ran right into Billy Brodeur. David thought about the Brodeur fight story Kevin Menker had shared and figured, Billy must have been court-ordered to get help.
They shook hands. It was as if they’d just met at the local bait-and-tackle shop, without acknowledging where they actually were.
“Hey, I heard about that bouncer you beat down in Brockton,” David said.
Billy laughed. “Yeah, that’s why I’m here,” he said, confirming David’s suspicions. “Imagine that? Back in Afghanistan, I would have won a medal for a beatdown like that.”
David shook his head. “Good luck, brother.”
“You too,” Billy said, still laughing.
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
David wasn’t three minutes into his weekly therapy session when he said, “Ken, do you mind if I ask you something?” They were now on a first-name basis.
“Of course. Anything.”
“How is it that I’ve been sitting in this chair for weeks, spilling out my guts, while you just sit there and listen and tell me nothing?”
“What do you mean, tell you nothing?” Ken asked.
“You’ve never told me what’s wrong with me,” David explained.
Ken looked shocked, as if he’d explained this to his patient before. He leaned forward, folded his hands on his desk and spoke softly. “David, I’m sorry. I thought it was evident. You’ve been diagnosed with depression and post traumatic stress disorder or PTSD.”
David’s body locked up.
“As a result of your service in Afghanistan, your anxiety level became so severe that it was nearly impossible for you to function normally. But with the medication…”
“I’m screwed,” David blurted.
“No, David. You’re not screwed. You’re just sick.”
David began to cry. Ken walked around the desk and comforted his patient. “David, listen to me. Many of the problems you’ve suffered in recent months are not your fault. They’re really not. You have to start to believe that.”
David looked up but didn’t believe a word of it. His mind was riddled with guilt.
“It’s not your fault, David,” Ken continued, “even the attempted suicide.”
“Attempted suicide?”
“The car accident,” Ken said.
David didn’t argue the point.
“I’m telling you, we have to get rid of the guilt before you can heal,” Ken said.
By now, David was too busy crying to respond.
“Although millions of Americans suffer this same plight, many don’t even know they have it. For reasons too many to count, many more refuse to investigate why they feel the way they do.” He shook his head. “Some try to alleviate the symptoms of panic with alcohol or sheer force of will. But as you’ve learned, either attempt only carries them deeper into their own hell.”
David nodded.
“David, the real question has never been whether or not you’re sick. It’s really about what you’re planning to do with your illness.”
“But what can I do?”
“You need to take your medication, no questions asked. And we can monitor the dosages for effectiveness.”
David nodded. “No matter what it takes, I have to move forward. I have to move past that rooftop a half a world away.” He took a few deep breaths. “How long?”
“How long what?”
“How long ’til I get better?” David asked.
Ken smiled. “You’re already better, David. But your progress will be a lifelong quest.”
“Oh…”
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
Months went by, hard months filled with work so painstaking it made Ranger School look like kindergarten. Hours upon hours were spent in therapy, adjusting medications, religious worship, transcendental meditation—anything David could do to bring a greater sense of peace and well-being to his world. It had taken time, but he’d finally gotten a handle on his anxiety and depression. He still suffered with his bouts, but now he’d armed himself with knowledge and an arsenal of coping strategies. Every time he felt panicked or down in the dumps, he no longer laid down and surrendered to it. I’m not going crazy, he told himself again and again. I’m not going to die, he repeated. And it worked.
Life’s too damn short to begin with, he thought, no longer wanting to wish the days away. Instead, I want to make the most of each one of them.
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
One morning, David climbed up on his mother’s roof and laid flat. I’m so sorry, he told the young Afghan boy in his mind. If I could have taken that from you, I would have. He cried shamelessly, feeling more burdensome weight float from his soul. Please forgive me. Please forgive me, he kept saying over and over, until he realized he was now talking to himself.
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
David’s next stop was the local cemetery, his father’s gravesite. As he approached the short marble headstone, he realized that this was the first time he’d even seen it. He went to his knees and prayed. Sorry, Pop, he thought, for a lot of things. I just hope you’re at peace now.
He sat quietly with his father for an hour before clearing his throat. “I’m all done keeping my head down, Pop,” he said aloud. “It’s time I looked up to see what’s in front of me.”
Like the tip of an angel’s wing, a slight breeze blew across David’s neck. Alas, he was brought to tears before his father. “Thanks, Pop,” he said, and felt his heart lighten even more.
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
David sat in the car, knowing exactly where his final stop would be.
It was dusk when he pulled up to the beach and walked to the park bench. Taking a seat, he looked out onto the bay. Even the ocean’s at peace tonight, he thought.
He concentrated on Lindsey and the magical night they’d shared all those months ago. For the first time since Afghanistan, he could see it…
Sitting with Lindsey on the bench, he pointed at the lighthouse. “Look right over there,” he told her.She did.“Whenever you feel lost or alone,” he said, “all you have to do is come here. No matter how dark or stormy, that light will always guide you home…back to where you need to be.”While her eyes filled, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek.
I am stupid, he thought, remembering his own advice. How could I have been so stupid?
He looked to the heavens and cast a silent prayer, Please God, just one more chance with Lindsey. I’ll never ask you for anything again. And this time, his fingers weren’t crossed behind his back.
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
Lindsey walked out of work to find David standing by her driver’s side door. Oh my God, she thought and her jaw dropped. It’s really him.
“Hi beautiful,” he said, looking down at her left hand. “Please tell me you haven’t gotten married.” He smiled.
His baby face was still gone, but the sparkle in his eyes—his love of life—had returned. She wanted to run to him but forced herself to remain calm. “What are you doing here, David?” she asked.
“I came to see you.”
She was taken aback but did her best to conceal it. “After all these months?” she asked.
He nodded. “Please have dinner with me, Lindsey.”
She shook her head. “I…I’m not sure I can do this with you, David. I’ve walked through hell with my father and…”
“I’ve spent months healing from my demons, Lindsey, or I wouldn’t be here jeopardizing the second chance that I’ve prayed so hard for.” He gazed into her eyes. “I don’t just want to see you again, Lindsey. I need to.”
For a moment, his honesty stole her breath away, and she gasped. As she composed herself, she gazed back into his eyes. There were times when the strongest statement she could make was to remain silent. This was one of those times.
“Please don’t end this before it gets started, Li
ndsey. It would be unfair to both of us.”
She shook her head, this time less convincingly. She was coming around to his irresistible charms quicker than she wanted to.
“I’m not sure of the last time you’ve heard this, but you really are an incredible woman. You’re beautiful and intelligent and kind.” He went down on one knee and grinned.
She shook her head and laughed. “Get up,” she said. “You don’t have to beg.”
“So you want to see me again?” he asked, springing to his feet.
She nodded slightly. “I do, but…”
“But?”
“I found my father’s Army trunk in the cellar, David. There were love letters that my mother had sent to my father during the war, sharing the same hopes and dreams that you and I have shared. And look how…”
David grabbed her hand, stopping her. “If I’ve learned anything over the last year,” he said, “it’s that we don’t get what we wish for; we get what we work for.” He kissed her hand. “Love isn’t only a feeling, Lindsey. It’s a choice.” He pulled her close. “It won’t always be easy, but I can guarantee that I’ll never quit on you, or us…ever!”
Her eyes filled, and she hugged him. He’s right, she thought. He won’t quit, and neither will I.
“Have you missed me?” he whispered, while they hugged.
“Not one bit,” she answered, picking up right where they’d left off.
“Good,” he whispered and pulled back to look into her eyes. “I’ve also learned that home isn’t a place at all. It’s a person. It’s you.” His eyes filled with tears. “And I want to be the man that you’ve always seen in me.”
She quickly moved in toward his mouth and kissed him gently. It was their first kiss since he’d returned home all those months ago.
Her knees buckled slightly, and she fell back into his arms where she stayed for as long as she could. As she pulled away, she said, “So where are you taking me to dinner?”
He smiled. “What do you think about Capriccio’s, then maybe a movie at the Footlights Theater?”
“Ummm, that sounds good, but I was thinking we could get a dozen clam cakes from the Bayside, then take a long walk on the beach.”
“Even better,” he said. “Tomorrow night at eight o’clock?”
She shook her head. “I can’t. I have to help my dad with something. If I said Friday night, would you still be interested?”
“I’d be interested no matter what you said.”
“Friday then, and seven would work better,” she said, smiling.
“Then seven it is. Where should I pick you up?”
“One Twenty-Three Reed Road. Just beep and I’ll…”
“I’ll see you at your door tomorrow at seven,” he graciously interrupted.
“Great,” she whispered. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Me too,” David said. “You have no idea.”
They kissed one last time; this time, it was much less gentle. It was hungry. It took them forever to say good night.
10
It was nearly dusk when David pulled up to Lindsey’s house in his mother’s car. With flowers in hand, he approached her door.
“Hi beautiful,” he said, his eyes locked onto her. “You ready to go?”
She smiled brilliantly. “I’ve been ready for months.”
He’d forgotten she had the voice of an angel and his chest felt warm.
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
At Bayside Seafood Shack, a nineteen-pound lobster called “Big Boy” peered out of his massive tank. No matter how much money folks offered to buy him, and the bids went well into the hundreds, the owners never sold.
David scanned the menu, which offered scrod. He laughed. There’s no such fish.
While Lindsey ordered clam cakes and chowder, he ordered a fisherman’s platter with fried clams, shrimp, scallops, and fish. “And give us one boiled lobster on the side,” he told the girl behind the counter.
Lindsey laughed. “I remember someone telling me that he’d live a happy life if he never ate seafood again.”
David laughed. “During the war, I actually dreamed about boiled lobster in drawn butter.”
“I wish I’d known that,” she said. “I would have…”
“This isn’t our last meal together, is it?” he asked.
“It better not be,” she said and reached for her wallet to pay for their meal.
David pushed her money back into her wallet and paid for the food, as well as two cold sodas. “I just got a job working at The Rocking Horse Pub,” he said. “After I pay off my court fees, I’m going to get the Mustang fixed up.”
“Good for you,” Lindsey said, “That car must mean a lot to you.”
He shook his head. “Just as soon as it’s repaired I’m giving it to Craig.” He smiled. “Doing what he did for me is what means a lot.”
She smiled. “There may be hope for you yet, David McClain,” she teased.
Juggling all the food, they clasped hands and started their walk down to the beach, where they ended up on their park bench.
He turned to her and shrugged. “I told you I’d meet you back on this bench,” he said.
She smiled. “Yes, you did.”
“I’m sorry I’m late, Lindsey,” he whispered.
She wrapped her arms around him. “The only thing that matters is that you finally made it.”
They hugged for a long while.
As they ate, a young boy and his dad were flying a kite in the distance. David was hypnotized by this, a smile plastered across his face. Lindsey shared the smile.
“I once promised myself I’d never buy you jewelry made of shells…” he started to say after they’d finished eating.
“Why?” she asked, grinning. “I love seashell jewelry.”
“Good,” he said and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a shell bracelet and handed it to her. “I’ve started to reassess a lot of things I once said.”
She put the bracelet on and admired it for a moment before falling into his arms. “It’s so beautiful, David. Thank you.”
“No,” he said. “You’re beautiful.”
The night covered them like a warm blanket while they picked periwinkles in the moonlight. She kicked water at him. He took chase. At one point, they even lay on a patch of beach grass, staring up at the stars. “I cast many wishes up there while you were gone,” she said.
He smiled. “I hope they all come true.”
“Things are definitely looking up,” she whispered and blushed when she said it.
He smiled, placed his hand in hers and looked back toward the sky. “There you are,” he said excitedly, pointing toward the North Star.
“Did you think of me when you saw it over there?” she asked.
He turned to her, his face turning serious. “It kept me alive, Lindsey,” he whispered.
He couldn’t hold back any longer and kissed her—getting lost in the kiss.
When their lips finally parted she whispered, “It’s about time.”
He chuckled and kissed her again.
And again, she returned the passion. This time she whispered, “Welcome home, handsome.” It was the first time she’d said it.
They sat together in silence for a very long time, his arm wrapped around her soft shoulder. There was no need for words; they only needed to share the same space.
Finally, she pointed at the lighthouse’s searching eye and told him, “Whenever you feel lost, David, and there will still be times when you do, just come back here. It’ll guide you home, back to me.”
His eyes filled, and he tightened his grip on her shoulder. “I still wouldn’t mind living there,” he said, referring to the lighthouse.
“All by yourself?” she asked surprised.
He shook his head. “Absolutely not! I’d only live there if you were right there with me.”
They kissed again before nodding off to the rhythm of the surf and each other’s relaxed breathing.
&nb
sp; ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
The sun was just breaking the horizon when they awoke and realized they’d spent the entire night together—again.
“What time did you say your curfew was?” David teased, stifling a yawn.
“I didn’t,” she replied with a mischievous grin. “I pretty much have forever.”
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
That morning, Lindsey still went to work, a glow illuminating her face.
Courtney sauntered over. “That smile is going to make me sick,” she joked.
Lindsey giggled. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”
“Does David really make you that happy?”
Lindsey was spellbound. “I’ve dreamed about falling in love my whole life and I knew it would be wonderful, but…” She sighed.
“Oh, please,” Courtney said and walked away.
An hour later, the phone rang. “Community Art Center,” Lindsey answered.
“Lindsey Wood, please?”
“David?” Lindsey asked excitedly and then switched to a whisper. “I was hoping you’d call.”
“Miss me yet?” he asked in a similar tone.
“Not at all,” she said.
“Good. Me neither,” he said. “When can I see you again?”
“Tomorrow night. And I pick the place this time.”
“I thought you picked it last night.”
She giggled.
“Okay. But should I be scared?”
“No,” she whispered. “I’m going to take you to my favorite place in the whole world.”
“Can’t wait to see it. I’ll be at your house at seven.”
“See you then,” she said and hung up. As she placed the telephone in its cradle, she buried her giant smile into her shoulder, wondering whether its glow might give away her overwhelming joy to her co-workers.
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
The following afternoon, Lindsey approached her car after work and discovered a folded paper stuck between her windshield and wiper blades. This better not be from Walter, she thought. She plucked the paper free, unfolded it and read:
Beauty
for Lindsey
She radiates with the light of a thousand candles, while her movements have the energy of a lightning storm.
The sweetest aroma lures even the strong,
Gooseberry Island Page 17
