“This ought to cheer you up.” He handed her the stack of tickets all rubber banded together, then sat on the corner of her desk to extend two more. When she reached for them, he pulled back. “What’ll you give me for them?”
So that was his game. She rolled her eyes. “Nothing.”
“The Nutcracker ballet.” He teased her with them. “Two tickets. Opening night.”
How had she missed those?
She held out her hand. “Give them over.”
Her father had taken her to see The Nutcracker every year when she was little. The tradition had fallen by the wayside once she’d joined the Navy and never knew where she’d be spending her holiday.
“I want your hot sheets.”
“No way! You’re not getting your hands on my prospects.”
“Then you’re not getting these tickets.” He tucked them inside his breast pocket and pushed to his feet. “I’m starting out at a disadvantage here, Chief. I need all the leverage I can get.”
She struggled with it for a moment, then finally said, “One page.”
WHEN BRUCE GOT HOME that evening the empty garbage cans were still in front of the house at the end of the drive. He hauled them up to the garage just as Keith stepped out the back door.
“You couldn’t put these garbage cans away after school?”
“I was busy,” Keith said, texting as he headed toward his silver ’90 Thunderbird parked on the street.
“Busy, my ass.” Bruce punched in the garage code and waited for the door to rise high enough so he could duck under.
He picked up a basketball on his way out. Shooting hoops was his natural stress reliever. He’d just have to be a little more conscientious about not keeping the neighbors up at night. Headlights from a car pulling in next door illuminated him as he punched in the code again to close the garage door.
The headlights dimmed and Mitzi got out of her CR-V.
“Hi,” she said, continuing around to the back of her vehicle.
“Laundry?” Bruce asked as he stepped in to help unload.
“Moving back home temporarily. I have contractors and painters coming starting next week.” She glanced down at his leg as she handed him a basket of clothes.
He wore workout shorts, and this would be the first time she’d seen his C-Leg. He was too proud to accept avoidance. Especially from her. Would she ever see past what was missing to what was still there?
“It’s not pretty. But it gets the job done.”
She paused in picking up another basket to look him in the eye. “You’re back on your feet again. There’s nothing ugly about it, Calhoun.” Yeah, right. He should enter a beauty pageant. And then Estrada pulled up behind her. Great. The other man got out of his Bronco and they exchanged curt nods.
She handed a load to Estrada, who looked none too happy once he realized Bruce lived next door.
Bruce set his basketball on top of an even bigger load and followed the other man inside. “Left at the top of the stairs,” he said, directing Estrada toward Mitzi’s bedroom.
Bruce reached past Estrada to flip on the light switch for him.
The room looked almost the same as it had when she’d left for the Navy. A lot of blue and white, the school colors. Pirates of the Caribbean posters. She’d had a crush on Orlando Bloom. So there were plenty of The Lord of the Rings movie posters, too.
Bruce set his load down at the foot of Mitzi’s old bed. He knew that bed intimately. Without saying a word he picked up his basketball and walked over to the window that faced his.
Estrada got the message.
But Estrada had a message of his own to deliver. “You know the difference between the Army and the Marine Corps?”
“Marines are first to fight.”
Get in. Get it done. Get out.
The Army on the other hand had a hell of a lot more equipment to drag along for the fight.
“When you’re long gone, Marine, I’ll still be here.” Estrada turned heel and left the room.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“WHERE’VE YOU BEEN?” Bruce asked, flipping on the light in the kitchen as his brother tried to sneak in after curfew.
Keith jumped. “Jeez! Scare me, why don’t you?”
“Sunday’s a school night.”
“I was studying,” Keith answered irritably. “I have midterms this week.” Head down texting, he tried to push past.
Bruce pulled out a chair. “Have a seat.” Keith puffed his chest, but dropped his backpack and sat anyway.
Bruce took the chair opposite his kid brother and set Keith’s cell phone out of reach.
“I was looking over your SAT and ACT scores,” he said, referencing the two college entrance exams Keith had taken earlier in the school year. “You know there is such a thing as a college-educated Marine. I’m willing to talk to you about OCS. ROTC. Annapolis, Naval Academy—”
“Naval Academy?”
“Sailors and Marines are joined at the hip,” Bruce offered as way of explanation. “My point is there’s a whole world out there. If it seems like I’m coming down hard on you, or on the side of college, it’s because I see you making mistakes I made at your age.”
“Seriously doubt it,” Keith scoffed.
“Care to enlighten me?”
Keith shook his head. “It’s nothing.” Clearly it was something. With patience Bruce would get it out of him eventually. “I’m here if you need me.”
“Yeah, but for how long?” Keith grumbled.
“I’m only a text or an email away.”
“It sucks having an older brother who’s a freaking hero,” he said. “Everybody expects the same out of me and I’m not half as tough.”
“I’m no hero.”
“You used your own belt as a tourniquet, then picked up your gun and went after those guys that ambushed your convey.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“A corpsman by the name of Henriquez told me and Dad. That day we went to Luke’s and Freddie’s funerals in California. Said you wouldn’t let him help you. That you kept yelling at him to keep working on Freddie, even though he was gone and his guts were spilling out.”
Bruce hoped to hell Mitzi hadn’t heard that story.
“Yeah, well, it’s an exaggeration.” He did use his belt as a tourniquet. But every Marine and Navy SEAL he’d ever known had been trained to use his web belt or helmet strap for that.
And he did pick up his weapon to help defend their position, but the insurgents who’d fired the RPG were long gone by then.
It wasn’t until a week later that the able-bodied members of their team captured the people responsible. Bruce was already at Balboa by then.
Bruce studied his brother from across the table. “Do you think the Marine Corps is going to toughen you up?” That was probably true. “Not everyone needs to be tough.”
Keith dropped his gaze to the table. “I just think it’s time I grew up and took responsibility.”
“Don’t be in such a hurry, kid. The Marine Corps will still be there after college. Right now you’re a hero on the hardwood. That’s plenty.”
“I’m not that great a basketball player.”
Keith was your average overachiever. He worked hard. When challenged, he worked harder. Sometimes too hard. “You’re good enough, Keith. Have some fun. You’re only eighteen once.”
“You were better. Everyone says so.”
“But I wasn’t smart enough to take advantage of everything that came my way because of it. If you’re having doubts, or you’re overwhelmed by your choices, I get it. But you’re not being offered scholarships because you suck at basketball. And here’s the truth…. You’re smarter than me. Everyone thinks so, including me.”
Keith attempted a laugh. “You’re wrong about that.”
Bruce got up from the table, squeezed his brother’s shoulders. “I don’t think so.” He gave him a brotherly pat on the back. “It’s late—you’ve got school tomorrow.”
His
brother made a hasty retreat from the kitchen as Bruce walked over to the back door, checked the lock and hit the lights. At that moment headlights from a car pulling into the driveway next door streamed across the kitchen wall, then went dark.
He heard two car doors. Lowered voices. Then silence. They must’ve been kissing good-night.
Three nights in a row, starting Friday night—the night she’d moved back home—Mitzi had gone out with Estrada. Bruce knew what time the other man had picked her up, what time he’d brought her home and the exact length of those three good-night kisses.
He’d had the whole weekend to think about what Estrada had said to him up in Mitzi’s bedroom.
When you’re long gone, Marine, I’ll still be here. As much as he hated to admit it, the other man was right.
The bottom line was Bruce didn’t deserve her. And she deserved to be happy. Whether that was with Dan or some other man remained to be seen.
Meanwhile, he owed it to Freddie to make sure that man was worthy of his little sister.
Bruce picked up the basketball by the door, flipped the floodlight on and headed outside to level the competition. “Grunt,” he called, aiming for the other man’s head and, for the third night in a row, spoiling that good-night kiss.
The coach had the reflexes of a natural athlete and caught the ball easily. “What, you’re not tired of this game yet, Devil Dog?”
“Ground Pounder.”
“Jarhead.”
“Not tired by a long shot,” Bruce said.
Mitzi sighed heavily. “Good night, boys,” she said, leaving them to battle it out in the driveway under the floodlights.
The thing Bruce recognized about himself, and it had been that way since high school, was that if there was competition, he stepped up his game. On and off the court.
He couldn’t lose what he’d already lost, but he could make the other man work a little harder…a lot harder…at winning her affection.
THE SUN WASN’T EVEN UP when Mitzi pulled into the gravel lot behind the recruiting station on Monday morning to find Henry’s empty wheelchair parked beside the Dumpster. She got out of her car and walked up to the bin. They’d first met under similar circumstance.
“Henry, you’re going to get yourself crushed one of these days!”
“Pick up ain’t until later this afternoon.” He peered over the side and she noticed the faded, yellowish bruise on his cheek. “What happened to you?”
She offered him her hand. Despite his disability and limited mobility, he appeared agile enough to crawl around in Dumpsters. It was his getting in and out that scared her.
Refusing to let go of the crumpled McDonald’s bag in his hand, he rolled over the side onto his good foot. She helped him down and over to his wheelchair. “Found me a couple of Egg McMuffins.”
Who would throw out Egg McMuffins?
“I’m talking about your black eye.”
“Some young punks jumped me in the alley Thursday night. Stole my meds.”
“Are you all right?” She couldn’t bear to think about him living on the street the way he did. It wasn’t the first time he’d been robbed.
“Right enough.”
“Come on in. I’ll fix you a cup of coffee.” She unlocked the back door and held it open for him. “And throw that bag away. I’ll find you something to eat.”
Mitzi dropped her things off at her desk and set about making a fresh pot of coffee. “Have you ever considered moving back into a real apartment?”
“Can’t afford nothing.”
“There must be some place. What about assisted living? Or subsidized housing?”
“Bah, be dead before I move up on that list.”
She opened the cupboards, looking for food. “You could move in with me.”
“Shouldn’t you be asking one of those young guys?”
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I meant into the other half of my duplex. It’s not quite move-in ready, but I have a contractor over there right now. I could call him and get an estimate on a wheelchair ramp and an accessible bathroom.”
What had seemed impulsive at first started to feel right.
“Wouldn’t want to put you out.”
“You’re not putting me out.”
“Can’t afford much in the way of rent.”
“I’m not asking for much.”
“Never said I was a charity case.”
She pulled out a jar of peanut butter and continued her search for crackers. “Never thought you were.” She smiled to herself.
As much as he’d like her, and everyone else, to believe he’d chosen to be homeless, she knew better. He’d been displaced this time after his rent had skyrocketed beyond what he could afford on his fixed income.
She moved aside paper plates and napkins. “I’d like having you next door. We could keep an eye on each other.”
“Already have that fella of yours bothering me most nights. Now you’re gonna start checking up on me, too.”
“Dan?” she asked, surprised they even knew each other.
“The ornery one.”
She’d found a roll of crackers to go with the peanut butter and turned to face Henry. “Calhoun?”
“Took those punks out just like Nick Cage. All three of them.”
The coffee was just about done. Mitzi got out two cups and cream and sugar while Henry filled her in.
“Next day he called the VA and got me an emergency fill of my meds. We’re going back today to pick up my new prescription,” Henry finished.
He’d never said a word to her.
She held out the wastebasket. “Okay, hand over the bag.”
He scowled at her as he threw it away. She’d seen Calhoun with a McDonald’s bag on Friday morning. Those breakfast sandwiches might have been that old.
“What else do you have in your hand?”
“Nothing,” he said.
Mitzi continued to hold out the wastebasket. Henry opened his hand to reveal a small black velvet box.
Mitzi caught her breath.
Setting the basket down, she reached for it. “May I see that, please?”
“Why?” Henry pulled back. “Ain’t nothing in it.” He snapped the lid open to prove it, then closed it again before tucking it away.
Seeing the box empty didn’t bring Mitzi the expected relief. Okay, so maybe Calhoun didn’t throw the ring out with the box. But maybe he did.
BRUCE COULD SMELL the coffee as he came in through the front door. “Good morning.”
“What’s so good about it?” Mitzi, in her desert digital uniform, did an about-face and left him standing there.
Henry snickered. “She sure shut you down, Marine.”
“At least one of us knows when to shut up, old man,” he said pointedly. “You ready to roll?”
Bruce led the way to the green sedan with the gold Marine Corps recruiting logo parked out back. When it came to loading and unloading the wheelie, he had the drill down this time.
They were going to pick up Henry’s meds. But Bruce had also scheduled an appointment for a leg adjustment before this upcoming ski trip and his O-course, just to make sure his new C-Leg was up to the challenge.
He’d run the obstacle course at Camp Pendleton numerous times before leaving San Diego. He could cheat, use a lighter leg designed for running, but he wanted to test the leg he’d most likely be wearing in the field.
Flipping through an old Stars and Stripes magazine in the waiting room, he found it hard to concentrate. He kept thinking about Mitzi. The knot-in-gut feeling that he walked into every morning. Were they going to be chatting over coffee or not speaking to each other that day?
One minute she was honoring him with her brother’s watch and the next she was handing him back her engagement ring.
Given their history, maybe a clean break wasn’t possible. Maybe what they needed first was closure.
“I’ve been coming here every week for six months—” Henry’s raised voice could be hea
rd throughout the waiting room “—and you’ve been telling me the same thing!”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the receptionist said. “We don’t have any appointments available today for a new prosthesis fitting. We have an opening six weeks from today, and I can put you on the list for the first available appointment if one should open up sooner.”
“More waiting. All I do is—”
Bruce stepped up to the counter. “What seems to be the problem?”
Henry waved him off. “Same as always.”
“I was just telling Mr. Meyers I can’t get him in today,” the receptionist repeated. “But if he would like to put his name on the list…”
“Can you look again, please?” Bruce asked. He’d called at the end of last week and had gotten in no problem.
She entered something into her computer, then shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Go ahead and give him mine,” he offered.
“I can’t do that, Gunnery Sergeant,” she said. “Mr. Meyers is requesting a new prosthesis. As I’ve told him numerous times,” she said, directly to Henry, “the waiting list for the first available appointment really isn’t that long compared to the length of time he’s been coming in here and demanding to be seen right away.”
“How am I supposed to go on a waiting list when I don’t have a phone?” Henry grumbled.
“Get him on the schedule for six weeks from today, and use my cell to call if there’s an earlier opening.”
“Thank you,” she said, relieved.
“You’re making this harder than it has to be, you stubborn old goat,” he said to Henry.
“For all you know I could be dead in six weeks.”
“How many months have you been coming in here demanding to be seen?”
“Bah.”
“Don’t go anywhere,” Bruce said as the old man started to scoot off.
A few minutes later Bruce dragged Henry into the physical therapy room with him. He explained the situation to the doc, who agreed to look at Henry’s leg. His problem wasn’t just a prosthesis that was older than Bruce. Henry’s stump had changed. And the leg was no longer a good fit.
After the examination the doctor excused himself to consult his technician. He came back a few minutes later with a training leg. “I may have a temporary fix. But you’re going to have to start walking all over from scratch.”
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