More Than a Soldier

by Irene Onorato

  “Yeah, I remember. It was hard to resist. I have to confess, I’m the one who shot holes through its eyeballs. Used my high-powered BB gun to do it. Can’t believe I was such a punk.”

  “Kids do stupid things. You and I were no exceptions.” Hank went to the window and pushed the curtain aside. “Looks like the rain isn’t going to let up any time soon. Guess I’ll stay home and catch up on some minor repairs around the house.”

  “Have fun. Talk to you later.”

  Hank sank back into the living room chair. Who was he kidding? Hanging around the house all day would likely drive him nuts. Of course, a pre-lunch nap wouldn’t be a bad idea. One day he might wake up refreshed, feeling like he’d had a good night’s sleep. But today wasn’t one of them. If only the ghosts of guilt would leave him alone.

  Cricket jumped into the chair, squeezed her haunches into a sliver of space between Hank’s leg and the armrest, and flopped her front half across his lap. He petted her velvety soft ears and she melted into a relaxed heap. “Atta girl. Let’s close our eyes and chase a couple of rabbits.”

  * * * *

  A knot of apprehension formed in Cindy’s gut as an unidentified call rang on her smartphone. What if it turned out to be Eric calling from a different number? That would be a day-wrecker for sure.

  Cindy lifted her chin and made a decision. No, she would not give Eric Nolan another speck of brain space. If he happened to be on the other end of the line when she answered, she’d hang up and call the police like Hank had suggested. She picked up the phone. “Hello.”

  “Miss Giordano, this is Mrs. Jameson, Ricky’s wife. I took your initial unemployment claim a few weeks ago.”

  “Yes, I remember. How are you, and how’s—”

  “This isn’t a social call.” Mrs. Jameson’s acidic tone could only mean bad news.

  “I don’t understand. Is something wrong?”

  “Humph. I thought I was doing you a favor by putting your application at the top of the queue. But as it turns out, I almost lost my job because of it. I told you not to tell anyone, but you went and blabbed anyway, didn’t you?”

  “Mrs. Jameson, I still don’t understand what’s going on. What are you talking about?”

  “An anonymous male caller contacted my boss yesterday and told him I’d given you preferential treatment because you’d worked for my husband. I was raked over the coals backward and forward for violating the rules. Luckily, my boss likes me and decided to put a reprimand in my file instead of kicking me to the curb.”

  “I’m so sorry you got in trouble for helping me, but I have no idea who the caller could have been.” Or why he would go out of his way to tattle.

  “Did you by any chance tell another claimant who might have gotten angry or jealous because he didn’t get the same treatment?”

  That would make sense, but Cindy didn’t even know anyone who had recently applied for benefits. “No, the only person I told was my—” Boyfriend nearly slid off her tongue. As near and dear as Hank had become, she couldn’t pin that title on him just yet.

  “The only person you told was who?”

  “My best friend. And there’s no way he would have done such a thing, especially since he thought it was super nice of you to give my claim a boost.”

  Maybe the culprit had nothing to do with Cindy, but everything to do with Mrs. Jameson. “Could someone at your office have overheard when you called to tell me that you bumped me to the top of the pile—someone vindictive, like maybe a subordinate who’s jealous of your supervisory position?” That would be a reasonable assumption.

  “I was alone in a private room when I made the call.” She answered with the brusqueness of a witness under interrogation.

  “Mrs. Jameson, I have absolutely no explanation as to why the man would call to stir things up. I appreciate what you did for me, and if I ever find out who the anonymous caller was, I’ll be sure to let you know. Again, I’m truly sorry you got in trouble.”

  * * * *

  Cindy’s ringtone pulled Hank out of a deep slumber and made Cricket flinch on his lap. He smacked his lips and stretched out his legs with a grunt. “Hey, Sassy.”

  “Hi. Did I wake you?”

  “Cricket and I were taking a little siesta.” Hank nudged Cricket off his lap and got up. If he didn’t get a drink of water to quench his cottonmouth, he might not be able to speak another syllable.

  “Sorry I disturbed you. Go back to sleep, and—”

  “You didn’t disturb me.” He ran a cup of water at the kitchen sink and took a swig. “You saved me from sleeping the whole day away. What’s up?”

  “I just had a very disturbing phone call from Mrs. Jameson. Remember her? She’s the lady from the unemployment office who put my benefits application on the fast track.”

  “I remember.” Cricket sat by his feet and gawked at the doggie treat jar on the counter. He opened the lid and tossed her a morsel. “Something wrong with your claim?”

  “No, nothing like that. She said that someone. Tsk. I hate telling long stories like this over the phone.”

  Hank opened the refrigerator and hung his elbow on the door. Condiments decorated the top shelf of the otherwise empty interior. He shut the fridge and rubbed his belly. “I’m hungry, I’m bored, and it feels like the house is getting smaller by the minute. Let’s go get something to eat, and you can take all the time you need to tell me about your conversation.”

  “That sounds nice. Would you like me to meet you somewhere closer to your place instead of you coming all the way over here like you usually do?”

  Hank looked out the kitchen window. “I’ll come over there. I don’t want you driving all that way with it raining like this. If anything happened to you, I—” He put the brakes on his tongue. “Eddie would kill me.”

  He released the curtain he’d pushed aside and started toward the bathroom. “I’ll hit the road in a few minutes. But first I’ve got to take a quick shower and pop my eyeball into my head.”

  Cindy burst out laughing. “I wonder how many other girls have ever heard a guy say that to them.”

  “Probably not many.” Hank laughed with her. “See you in a bit.”

  * * * *

  “It almost seems as if the caller went out of his way to punish Mrs. Jameson for helping me,” Cindy said, finishing her story. She pulled a second slice of pizza from the pan and sprinkled it with Parmesan.

  A waitress stopped at their table and swapped full glasses of root beer for their empty ones. Cindy and Hank shot her a quick, “Thanks.”

  Hank’s cheek bulged with big chunks he’d bitten from a sauce-dipped bread stick. “Or, like you said, someone in her office might have been itching to get her in trouble.”

  Cindy lifted her pizza and aimed the pointy end toward her mouth. “I feel so bad about her almost getting fired. What do you think I ought to do?”

  “I think you ought to eat before that cheese slides off and ends up on your— Oops.”

  “Tsk. What a mess.” Cindy peeled the mat of sauce and cheese off her shirt. “I should have known better than to wear a light-colored top.” Wiping the fabric with a paper towel didn’t help. The hand-sized stain only got bigger.

  Hank slid to the end of his seat and rose from the booth. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” He left the pizzeria and came back in minutes with a neatly folded red flannel shirt. “Here, you can put this on.”

  She stood and took the shirt from him. “You keep clothes in the Jeep?”

  “Not usually.” Hank chuckled. “But I stopped at the laundromat and picked up my wash on the way over here.”

  “You pay someone to do your laundry?”

  “Yup. Saves me from having to do it, plus it keeps a nice old lady in business. One I’ve known for many years.” He slid back into the booth. “I’m going to have another slice while you go change.”

  Cindy went to the ladies’ room and switched into Hank’s shirt. Threa
dbare at the elbows, with frayed cuffs, the soft flannel fabric hung from her shoulders like a faithful old friend. Small wonder Hank wore it so often.

  Hank smiled as she approached their table. “Look at that. My shirt’s a perfect fit for you.”

  “Yeah, right. If I weighed two hundred pounds.” With a laugh, she grabbed the excess material and expanded it to its fullest. “I could fit two other girls my size in here and still have wiggle room.”

  She settled back into the booth across the table from Hank and started on another wedge of pizza. “So, what were we talking about before I decided to wear my food instead of eating it?”

  “The unemployment lady,” Hank mumbled with a mouthful of food.

  “Oh yeah. I feel lousy about her boss reprimanding her, and—”

  “Know what I think?” Hank downed a couple of gulps of soda. “You need to stop stressing over things you have absolutely no control over. Sounds to me like Mrs. What’s-her-face called to let off a little steam, and that’s all. Forget about it and go on with your life.”

  * * * *

  Hank’s phone let out a smothered ring and vibrated in his back pocket. He checked the screen, sent the call to voicemail, and put the phone away. Marcus could wait. Later, he’d carve out enough time to have a meaningful conversation with his old buddy. Right now, the beautiful girl sitting across from him looking amazingly sexy in his oversized shirt deserved his undivided attention.

  “Who was that?” Cindy beamed a goofy grin. “Telemarketer?”

  “Smarty pants.” He wadded a paper napkin and tossed it across the table. It was good to hear Cindy joke about something that had once sent her into a rage and brought her to tears.

  A pile of crusts littered both their plates, and the pizza pan sat empty on the side of the table. Hank let his eyes dip to Cindy’s lips. A sauce-and-Parmesan kiss would be a perfect after-meal treat, but he’d have to settle for something a little less sweet. “So, what kind of dessert would you like?”

  She wiped her mouth with a napkin and gave a little shrug. “I don’t know. Surprise me.”

  Okay, pucker up, baby. Hank smiled on the inside and flagged down their waitress. “Bring us a couple of cannoli, would you please?”

  Chapter 21

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Plunkett. I’ll see you tomorrow at nine o’clock, sharp.” Cindy ended the call and gyrated around Mrs. Baker’s kitchen in a boisterous victory dance.

  Mrs. B lowered her knitting magazine to the counter and looked on with brows arched high over her eyes. “Good news? Or shall I call the local loony bin and tell them to send a padded wagon?”

  “Good news. Although, from what I hear, straitjackets are all the rage this year.” Cindy laughed. “The man who just called said he got my name and number from the employment office’s job-seeker listing. He runs a small investment firm and needs a receptionist to work the front office. I asked if he wanted me to come in for an interview, but he said no, just come in and start working. Woo-hoo! I got a job.”

  “He must be desperate, hiring someone sight-unseen. No offense to you, dearest. I know you’re a lovely person, but he’s never met you. For all he knows, you could have a collage of demonic tattoos on your face and a mouth totally devoid of teeth. One would think he’d at least want to see if you’re presentable if you’re to be the first person anyone meets when they enter the business.” Mrs. Baker flipped through a few magazine pages without paying much attention to them. “Sounds fishy to me.”

  “Like you said, he must be desperate. Maybe someone quit and left him in a bind, and—” Cindy peeked through the kitchen blinds. “Mailman’s here. Let me go see if he left anything good this time. I’ll check yours too.”

  The lid creaked as Cindy opened the wall-mounted mailbox outside her door. Hank would think she hit pay dirt with all the circulars stuffed in the small box. He’d have enough tinder for ten fires.

  Two envelopes stood on edge toward the back of the box. She grabbed and tore them open. “Yes!”

  Cindy hurried back inside with her and Mrs. Baker’s mail. “Guess what? I got a couple unemployment checks today. Yay for me. I can’t wait to tell Hank. Not only about the checks, but about the job as well.”

  “Don’t be surprised if he doesn’t share your excitement about getting a job. After all, he won’t be able to see you as often once you start working. Ooh, I like that pattern.” Mrs. B tapped a picture of a dark blue knitted scarf with loud-colored fringe at each end. She looked up at Cindy. “And what about Hank? You said he does demolition work, but in the time you two have been dating, I’ve never heard of him working at all.”

  “We’re not dating. We’re—”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake, Cindy.” Mrs. B scooped the back cover and closed the magazine with an irritated slap. “Don’t even start with that non-date malarkey.”

  “It’s not malarkey. Hank and I don’t kiss, or, or. Well, that clinches it. Couples kiss. We don’t. Hank and I are most definitely not dating. So there.” She twisted her lips into a smirk and gave her head a wobbly shake. If she were lucky, her stance would be enough to provoke her neighbor into the light-hearted kind of argument she enjoyed and Mrs. B seemed to relish also.

  “Sometimes it’s all I can do to keep from clobbering you.”

  Bingo. Cindy laughed. “You have my permission to clobber me any time.” She tucked her mail under her arm. “I have to go and get some clothes ready for work tomorrow. Later, gator.”

  Cindy went back to her apartment. She hadn’t answered Mrs. B’s question about Hank’s employment, but what her neighbor said was true. Hank hadn’t done a day’s work in the month or so they’d been hanging out. If he hadn’t already told her he’d made a killing with a few demolition contracts he’d worked earlier in the year, she’d wonder about it herself.

  * * * *

  Hank put Cindy’s call on speaker and propped his smartphone in a vent on the Jeep’s dash. He kept his eyes on the road and breathed well-timed uh-huhs and mm-hmms. Ten minutes into the story and she still hadn’t wrapped up her minutely detailed account of this morning’s events.

  A man would have relayed the same info in a tight little package of words, like, “I got two unemployment checks and a job offer today.” But not a woman. Words flapped out of Cindy’s mouth like a flock of bats leaving their cave at first hint of sunset. If he didn’t tune some of them out, his circuits would overload.

  “...He sounded nice. Kind of like Mr. Rogers, only maybe taller...”

  What? How tall was Mr. Rogers, and what did a man’s voice have to do with his height? Never mind. “Uh-huh. Mm-hmm.”

  Hank glimpsed the gauges behind the steering wheel. When had he last changed the oil in this beast? Next time he gassed up, he’d check the log he kept in the glove box. Wouldn’t hurt to swap out the windshield wiper blades while he was at it. And the slight squeak when he tapped the brakes could mean—

  A moment of verbal silence snapped him from his mechanical musings. Instinct drew his gaze to the phone. Uh-oh. Had he missed something?

  “So, what do you think about that?”

  What did he think about what? If Cindy had any inkling that he’d drifted, he didn’t detect it in her cheerful lilt. Maybe he should have paid more attention.

  “When’d you say you were starting the new job?” He gave himself a nod. Answering a question with a question was the perfect cover.

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “Good for you.” Bad for him. “I’m on my way into Bentley to do some grocery shopping, and I’ve got a couple of things I’ve got to do this afternoon. Let’s celebrate over dinner tonight. Somewhere nice. Pick you up at seven?”

  “I look forward to it.”

  * * * *

  The sinking feeling in Cindy’s heart grew as the Jeep brought her closer to home. Hank had been his jovial self during dinner. Even made the waiter laugh.

  She’d put on a mask of smiles and laughter, but
knowing her time with Hank would be more or less rationed from now on had put a damper on the evening’s enjoyment. Hadn’t Mrs. Baker said that Hank would be the one with these feelings, and not her?

  The recollection of getting out of the vehicle and climbing the steps blurred into another dimension, yet here she was—on the porch, her front door pushed inward with the keys dangling in the lock, and Hank standing tall before her. Beyond the porch rails, the Jeep’s engine purred a sad reminder that Hank wasn’t planning to tarry long with his good-byes.

  “Thanks for coming all this way just to have dinner with me.” She willed herself to smile. “I enjoyed it, and—”

  With one step, Hank’s manly presence engulfed her. “And you, what?” Whispered words floated on minty breath as his lips came close to connecting with hers.

  She wedged her hands between their bodies and turned her head. “I’m sorry, I—”

  He rubbed her shoulders. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “I’m not saying no to your advances, Hank.” The warmth of his muscular chest pressing against her palms almost melted her resolve. “I, I’m just saying not yet.”

  One of Hank’s sexy smiles appeared. “Not yet means someday, and that’s good enough for me.” He stepped back. “Call after work tomorrow and let me know how it went.”

  “I will. Good night, Hank.” She offered a strand of hair.

  He gave it a tug. “G’night, Sassy.”

  * * * *

  Mr. Plunkett left Cindy in a small but cozy front office of Plunkett Financial Services after giving her half an hour’s worth of instruction. The routine was simple enough. Typical receptionist duties—answer the phone, direct calls to one of six associates, and greet clients as they came in for appointments. Easy. By eleven o’clock, she had it down pat.