by Lorenz Font
“Thank you. Am I going to see you soon?”
Her feeble question burned worse than the explosion that had ravaged his body.
“We’ll see once I get back to the States.” He closed his good eye and committed the sound of her voice to memory. It was a lie and he knew it. There was no chance he’d allow Jennifer to see him this way. Not in a million years.
Another persistent tear escaped his lashes while he cursed the life he no longer wanted to live.
Chapter 3
September 14, 2002
Every morning at six, Blake awoke to the sound of a distant neighbor’s clucking chickens and barking dog. It was his usual time these days. Gone was the morning wake-up call that arrived well before sunrise from his commander, raising hell. No barked orders in a huffy military voice to get up and get ready for another day in paradise. After spending close to eight years in the military, it had been his life, his passion, and the very air that he breathed.
Contrary to what many believed, Blake hadn’t joined the army because of family tradition. While his father had joined right after graduating from high school and marrying his high school sweetheart, Blake had joined the service for his own beliefs and principles. At this point, though, he couldn’t even remember what those reasons had been. They didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. The life he’d once known was over.
Regardless of what his mother said about “winning the ongoing battle with life”, Blake knew he had nothing left to offer the world—not his experience, his expertise, not even his dreams.
He’d always dreamed of being in the music business, playing in small clubs, and sharing his talent and passion. He’d even pursued it in hopes that a degree in music would give him the perfect fallback plan after his stint in the military was over.
What a load of crap!
A music degree, or any degree for that matter, was useless to him now. The roadside explosion had blinded him in one eye and left him with a scarred face and an even more scarred body with one hell of a limp.
The kind of body only a mother can love and a circus can make a buck on.
The phone rang at exactly six fifteen, as it had every morning for the past nine months.
Blake rolled his eyes, dreading the pep talk waiting on the other end just like it had been every morning since he’d returned home.
She called to make sure her son had eaten, washed up, and attended therapy. Coddling wasn’t something he’d ever been accustomed to, but his regrettable condition, coupled with her recent retirement, had made him an easy target for her mothering. Her daily phone call, though brief, was always geared to remind him to stop wallowing in self-pity.
Blake sighed and flicked the button on his cell. “Mom, tell me you’re not going to give me a lecture again.” He pulled a pillow over his face.
Wake-up calls should be outlawed, and cell phones thrown out the window. If it wasn’t for emergency purposes, he’d bury the damn thing underground and forget it.
“Oh, is this a bad time?”
He jumped and dropped his cell phone in the process. “Shit.” He groped for the phone until he found it next to a tattered Playboy. “Jennifer?”
“Yes.” There was a long pause before she spoke again. “You mentioned you’re always up early, so I thought I’d call.”
“Yeah, I’m up.” He paused, too, wondering why in the world Jennifer Owens was calling him when he’d stated that he would call her when time permitted.
“I miss him, Blake,” she said.
So do I.
There was no point in saying it out loud. She knew as well as he did that Trent shouldn’t have died.
“I know.”
Closing his eyes, he heard Trent’s voice as clear as the day he’d asked.
“Take good care of our girl.”
“Why haven’t you come to see me yet?”
The question startled him. Blake was supposed to have checked on her and been a guiding hand in the bleak days following his friend’s death, but he hadn’t kept the promise he’d made to the dying man. He gripped the cell phone tighter.
“What do you mean?” He tried to control his voice, but it still came out sounding as broken as he felt.
Jennifer sighed heavily before responding with a muffled reply. “I received a letter from him today. It was dated a few days before he died. I don’t know who sent it to me, but it’s his handwriting. I don’t understand why he wrote at all. It’s as if he knew …”
In his muddled thoughts, Blake tried to remember if Trent had ever mentioned anything.
The man had written several dozen letters, since e-mails and virtual chats had failed to satisfy his longing. Trent had kept paper stuffed into every pocket he could fit it and needed little more than a five-second break to start writing, including the short stops during their patrols in the streets of Kabul. He’d written about his day, what he’d seen in the field, and whatever had reminded him of her. Blake remembered cringing when the rest of the guys had taunted Trent and called him a pussy. It had been a joke to them, but Trent had a soft spot where Jennifer was concerned from the first day he’d met her.
Blake forced his right eye to focus on the ceiling, struggling for the right words. He didn’t have it in him to comfort her. He was emotionally drained, aching, and just plain tired. “What did the letter say?”
“Trent apologized for not being here with me, for breaking his promise to come back home to me, alive and safe.”
Although Blake wanted to offer reassurance and tell her everything was going to be all right, he wasn’t able to force the words out of his mouth. There was no way in hell it ever would be all right, and he couldn’t lie to her like that.
“And?” He fought against breaking down like a pathetic weakling.
If the guys could see me now.
“I shouldn’t be bothering you. I—”
“Look, I’m sorry. I’m usually a good listener, but I’m just having a bad day.”
Liar! It’s not even seven o’clock.
“Already? But you just woke up. I know I should leave you alone, but you were closest to him. He always sounded happy whenever he talked about you.”
Yeah, and it sucks, because here I am alive, and he’s not. What damned good is that?
Blake scrubbed his hand over his face. “Please forgive me for being rude. It’s just been rough ever since Trent—”
“I know, I just … I don’t even know how to deal anymore. Trent told me in the letter to expect a visit from you. Why haven’t you come yet?”
Damn it …
Chapter 4
Jennifer had gone to bed feeling dejected and nursing a headache. When she opened her eyes to another day, the same headache lingered. The sunlight streaming through the vertical blinds hurt her eyes and made her head pound even more. She turned to face the wall, and Trent’s pictures greeted her. She slipped her hand out of the covers and slid a finger across his smiling face.
She’d been young when she’d met Trent. After a devastating car accident that had claimed the lives of her parents, she had come to San Francisco to live with her spinster aunt. Trent was her next-door neighbor back then. They had become friends, and he’d helped her to cope with her loss. He was five years older than her, and by the time she had graduated from fashion design school, he’d been called for deployment.
Jennifer had suspected that Trent had feelings for her. She, on the other hand, had been uncertain of her feelings. So, when it felt as though she’d blinked only to see Trent on one knee and looking so expectant, surprise had been one of the emotions scrambling around her head.
“It would make me extremely happy if you’d be my wife.” He held out an elegant solitaire ring, his sparkling green eyes imploring.
“Oh, Trent …”
“Please be my wife. I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you. I’m sure I can make you happy, Jen.”
Tears filled her eyes. How could she say no to the man who had helped her th
rough the toughest time of her life? She cried even though she was happy. Guilt stirred within her, because she knew her feelings for him were different. She loved him, she was sure of it, but not in the same way he loved her.
“Yes.” Her answer left her stunned, and for a moment she questioned if it was driven by love or his impending departure. Then she saw his face, his smile brighter than any she’d ever seen, and she dismissed her doubts, chalking it all up to those proverbial cold feet everyone talked about.
Trent kissed her hand, and he slipped the ring on her finger.
Jennifer felt her knees buckle, and she wondered if it was from the tug at her conscience or the tickle of happiness.
“You’ve made me the happiest man alive.” Trent kissed her tentatively at first, but then moved into a more passionate exchange that left her breathless.
When she closed her eyes, she saw Blake’s face instead of Trent’s. She quickly banished the vision from her head and plastered on a smile.
Once he’d arrived at his destination, they had communicated as often as possible. Trent called or came home to visit every chance he got and wrote letter after letter. By the end of his first four years, she’d collected three shoeboxes full of letters and cards from him. Each day that had passed, Jennifer had found Trent easier to love. He gave more and expected nothing in return. She had made a promise to herself—to love Trent with everything she had. They may not have had the wild heart-pounding love that stories were written about, but he was a good man and she was determined to make sure he never felt a moment’s doubt in her.
During his absence, she had immersed herself in designing ready-to-wear outfits in the comfort of her aunt’s apartment. When she had managed to secure a contract with a clothing store, her schedule had become hers and hers alone to set, which had been perfect when her aunt’s health had taken a turn.
Aunt Debbie was her father’s eldest sister. At sixty-two, she had been plagued with heart problems. Feeling as if she owed her aunt everything for spending the best years of her life taking care of an orphaned relative, Jennifer had decided to stay and help her aunt deal with the everyday challenges she faced.
On the other side of the world and mid-tour of duty, Trent had been preparing for their wedding. They had planned to get married during his brief break between enlistment duties. His excitement had somehow rubbed off on her. Funny as it sounded, Trent had been the planner between the two of them, so she’d left all the arrangements to him and was content to follow his lead.
War and everything that came with it had proven difficult for Trent. There had been times when all he’d done during their conversations was cry. He cried for the deaths of innocent people, the poverty, the oppression, and the lost lives of his comrades.
If it hadn’t been for Blake …
Captain Blake Connor had agreed to be his best man. Trent had talked nonstop about him during his conversations with Jennifer so it wasn’t a surprise why Trent had gravitated toward him. Meeting Blake in person had left a good and lasting impression. He was sweet, laid-back, and she had seen the great friendship between Trent and him.
But fate had stepped in once again. Aunt Debbie had passed away a month before Trent’s arrival. They would’ve gotten married as planned, but Trent, being the gentleman he was, had postponed their wedding so she could properly mourn her aunt’s passing. They had decided to push everything back until he’d returned from his latest call to serve in Afghanistan.
Jennifer turned back to the window. Dealing with the pounding headache was much more bearable than looking at the pictures of Trent.
If only she could turn back the hands of time. She closed her eyes and tried to block from her mind the last letter he’d sent her.
“I write this letter not knowing what will happen to me. I vowed to always take care of you, but Blake will watch over you if a time ever comes when I can’t. I love you, honey. Even if I can’t make you happy, someone else will. Your happiness is all I want.”
Jennifer dragged her body out of bed. It was barely six in the morning, but these days, sleep often eluded her.
For days and even months following the news of Trent’s death, it had been impossible for her to get a decent night’s rest. Trent’s smiling face often plagued her dreams as well as her waking hours. To combat her unhappiness, she had poured her heart into her work. It had been the one constant blessing left in her life, but it was coming up short lately. That’s why she’d sought the comfort of the person who’d known him the best, yet the phone call with Blake yesterday had left her feeling even more bereft.
Eager to stave off another endless haze, she stepped into the shower and channeled her thoughts on the new swatches she’d bought. Jennifer tried to focus on her latest clothing designs and styles, but her mind kept wandering back to Blake and his detached behavior. Unlike Colonel Norwalk, who called often to check on her, it always felt as though the mere thought of her tortured Blake and dragging conversation out of him was a task.
Their last conversation had piqued her interest. The man was hiding something. She was sure he was still hurting from his loss, but she wondered if he would ever get around to visiting her.
If he wasn’t going to make the trip, perhaps she should. Colonel Norwalk was just the man to get her there. After all, he’d promised he’d help her with anything.
Blake was the best person to help her get over Trent. He’d bring her the closure she desperately needed, and maybe she could help him a little, too.
Whether he likes it or not …
Returning from the war had proven tough for Blake. The simple tasks he’d taken for granted in the past were now a challenge. Every turn, every move, every glance reminded him exactly how fucked up his life had become, but despite everything, he refused to surrender to his present limitations. There was also that rude awakening that the rest of the world had moved on and he had to play catch-up. Not an easy task by any means, especially with the blindness in his left eye and the multiple burns he’d sustained. According to the doctors, his limp would likely be minimal with the proper physical therapy, and it wouldn’t impede his day-to-day functions.
Blake huffed and retrieved his keys for one of those day-to-day functions—his early morning drive.
As soon as he had been cleared to drive by the doctor, this daily escape had become his main source of sanity. He was right-handed, and his injuries had been limited to the left side of his body, which meant his driving leg was free to take him wherever he wanted to go.
Thank God for small favors.
His blindness was another issue. His depth perception had been compromised. Even climbing stairs was a laborious process. Driving with one eye got a bit tricky. Thanks to his father’s quick thinking in attaching a fish-eye to the side of his rearview mirror, he had been able to eliminate the blind spots. The doctor had explained that for distances greater than twenty feet, people saw the world with one eye anyway. He had learned to compensate for his reduction in peripheral vision by moving his head often and following motion.
Adjusting to only one eye had taken longer to get used to. He had chosen to use an eye patch to cover his missing eye, and the damned thing was hot and uncomfortable. It also set him apart from everyone else. It was as if he wore a big neon sign, alerting everyone that he was different—a freak.
To say he’d been shocked the first time he’d looked in the mirror was an understatement. He’d recoiled at the sight and hadn’t even recognized the man staring back at him, even though the doctor had declared his handiwork a success. Blake remembered gritting his teeth while he’d surveyed his newly fashioned left ear made from skin off his own butt and thigh and which was a ridiculous and incongruous accessory.
Along with the eye patch, Blake also donned a beanie to cover his head with its slow-as-a-snail growing hair and deformed ear. Year-round long-sleeve shirts and full-length pants were also a must to cover the various grafts on his body. Living in the middle of the hot desert of Lancaster, his new at
tire was just one more aspect that made him stick out like a sore thumb.
Calling Drew, he climbed into the Jeep with discomfort. The contracted skin on his left leg needed more work, and his repeated absences from the occupational therapy sessions were causing some stiffness.
In order to keep his field of vision clear from obstacles, Blake now made Drew sit in the backseat. His best friend scrambled into his designated spot.
Blake slowly backed his car out of the driveway, taking extra care, even though there was no traffic.
Despite his mother’s protest that he should live with them during his recuperation, his father had helped him secure a rental agreement on this particular house after his discharge from Walter Reed. The location was perfect for him. Although he hadn’t fulfilled his promise to Trent the way his friend had expected him to, he had been watching out for Jennifer the only way he knew how. The added bonus was that the two-bedroom bungalow was big enough for him and Drew. Since he could no longer take walks with his dog, the ample space in the backyard gave Drew enough room to run around and stretch his legs.
Trent had told him once that Jennifer had inherited her house from her aunt. An aging single story ranch-style built in the 70s, it was situated off the beaten path, a quarter of a mile away from the main artery of the city.
Blake drove the half mile to Jennifer’s house and back every day without fail, even on his bad days. It had become such an obsession that he questioned whether or not it still had anything to do with his promise to a dying man.
With the midday sun beating down hard on him, he parked a few hundred yards away and sat there, thinking and watching.
Drew moved about the small confines of the cab, aching to jump out.
“Sit, Drew,” he said.
Despite the dog’s eagerness to bolt, he followed Blake’s order and sat still. His panting was the lone sound in the vehicle.
Blake pulled his beanie down a fraction and his heart slammed hard against his chest when he saw a figure emerge from the garage. Although his eye was still adjusting to the distance, he was sure it was Jennifer. Gripping the steering wheel, he watched as she walked down to the curb and threw something in the garbage can. He slid lower in his seat when she shielded her eyes from the sun and turned right in the direction of his parked Jeep.
