More Than a Soldier

by Irene Onorato

  “Poor Belinda. She was distraught. David, that’s what she named the baby, was beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous. We took a bunch of pictures and got a chance to spend some time with him.”

  “That’s good. I’m glad for Belinda’s sake, and for yours, that you got to spend those precious moments with him.”

  “Later, two nurses from pediatrics came to take David away, but before they left, they inked up his little feet and printed his footprints as a keepsake. They were so kind. It was quite touching how sensitive they were to Belinda’s emotional needs.”

  A few seconds of quiet reflection passed.

  Mrs. B broke the silence. “Where did you say the accident happened? I’m not sure I caught that part of the story.”

  “J-Hook Road. But it wasn’t an accident at all.”

  “What on earth do you mean?”

  “Detective Vargas arrived at the hospital shortly after I did. He had started to tell me that it wasn’t an accident right then and there, but was interrupted when the doctor came to tell me the baby had passed away. I was surprised to find Pete was still at the hospital when I left Belinda’s room hours later.”

  “So, what did he say happened?”

  “Witnesses said Belinda approached the hairpin curve on J-Hook Road going a little too fast, flew off the hook, and slammed headlong into a tree. The police found a trail of brake fluid consistent with her account of pumping the pedal without the car slowing. Later, they found her brakes had been tampered with.”

  Mrs. Baker turned pale. “Eric?”

  “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised. Pete says the crime lab is a little backlogged, but will process the fingerprints they pulled from the car as soon as possible.”

  “I’ve no doubt they’ll prove Eric was the culprit. Be very careful, Cindy. Maybe you shouldn’t be out and about until they find Eric and put him in jail.”

  “Pete followed me home.” Cindy got up, went to the window and parted two slats of the blinds. “Come look. His car is still across the street. He said he’d wait until— Oh, here comes a police car now.”

  Mrs. Baker joined her and peeked outside.

  “He said the cruiser would follow me back to the hospital and make sure I got there okay.”

  “That was nice of him.”

  Detective Vargas’s car left, and the cruiser made a U-turn and parked in his spot.

  Cindy backed away from the window with Mrs. Baker. “Belinda and I video-chatted with our parents on my phone. They’ll start driving up from Florida in the morning. It’ll take them two days to get here. Neither of them drive well at night anymore, so they’ll probably stop somewhere near the North and South Carolina line like they usually do.”

  “They couldn’t fly? It would be so much faster.”

  “Mom’s terrified of flying. One turbulent flight, and she was done with air travel. Besides, they’ll be staying at Belinda’s for a while and will need their car.”

  “Makes sense.” Mrs. Baker nodded. “Have you called Hank?”

  Cindy couldn’t bring herself to look Mrs. B in the eye. “I tried. No answer. He hasn’t taken any of my calls or responded to my messages since, you know.”

  “Since the lesbian bar fiasco?”

  Regret tore her heart. Mrs. Baker had made no attempt to hide her disappointment the night Cindy had confessed how badly she’d hurt Hank, and hadn’t glossed over the severity of what she’d done. “I love you, Cindy, and I always will. But what you did to Hank was a terrible, terrible thing and you should be ashamed of yourself.” Mrs. B’s brutal chastisement had stung but was well deserved.

  Shame gnawed Cindy’s guts every single day. She ached for Hank in ways she hadn’t believed possible.

  “Well, now,” Mrs. Baker said. “You’d better run along, gather your things, and get back to your sister. If there’s anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate to call or pop over.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. B.”

  Cindy hurried to her apartment and packed an overnight bag. Minutes later, she threw it in the passenger seat of her car and pivoted to slide behind the wheel. Light glinted off a small shiny object a few yards from where she stood. She walked over and picked it up, but it was nothing but a pop-top ring from an old can.

  Belinda’s purity ring had to be hidden somewhere in the nooks and crannies of the parking lot gravel. The memory of hurling it away in a moment of anger heaped yet more shame onto Cindy’s heavy heart. She pulled her smartphone from her purse and switched on the flashlight app. Chances were slimmer than slim that she’d be able to find the ring, but she’d have to give it a try. If nothing turned up tonight, she’d try again tomorrow in the daylight.

  The police officer left his car and strode across the gravel toward her. His gaze swept the perimeter of the parking lot and paused for a slightly longer look at the area around the nearby dumpster, no doubt the closest place where someone could be hiding in ambush. “Everything all right?”

  “Yes, everything is okay. I was just taking a moment to look for something I’d dropped a while back.” Cindy switched off her flashlight app. “No biggie. It’s probably long gone anyway. Guess I’ll head back to the hospital now.”

  “I’ll be right behind you and won’t leave until I see you’re safely inside the building.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.” Cindy got in the car and started the engine.

  The ring was definitely a biggie. A token reminder of her unbridled anger and stupidity. Once again, guilt niggled her heart.

  * * * *

  Hank left his house at seven the next morning and pulled into Marcus’s driveway a few minutes after noontime. The key was right where Marcus said his father had put it, under a patio chair cushion behind the house. He let himself in and brought his bags into a spare bedroom.

  His phone rang. “Hey, Marcus. Perfect timing. I just got to your house.”

  “Excellent. Make yourself at home. My mom said to tell you she put a plate of food in the refrigerator in case you were hungry when you got there. She asked what you liked to drink. I told her root beer, so you should find some of that in the fridge as well.”

  “That was nice of her, but she didn’t have to go out of her way for me.”

  “My mother’s a gracious woman, Hank, and she enjoys doing things like that. Every time I tell her we’re coming home for a spell, she stocks up the refrigerator, changes the sheets, and puts fresh flowers in a vase on the kitchen table.”

  “I’ll have to remember to thank her. Are you still at Fort Bragg, or are you on the road?”

  “On the road. Should be rolling in at the house between three-thirty and four. See you then. Bye.”

  Hank went to the kitchen. Centered on the table sat a vase of mixed flowers with sprigs of greenery. The senior Mrs. Weatherly didn’t disappoint. He opened the fridge. Marcus wasn’t kidding when he said his mom stocked up.

  Fifteen minutes later, stomach full to the brim, Hank stretched out on his bed. He set an alarm for one hour, closed his eyes and drifted off.

  * * * *

  “Remember when Major Greco told Edward he volunteered him to be a model for one of those Men of the Military calendars?” Hank laughed hard and slapped his knee.

  Marcus cackled. “I can still see Edward’s face, all red, angry, and about to explode. I think everyone in the unit about busted a gut laughing.”

  “Best practical joke ever. Greco got him good with that one.” Hank settled against the plush back of the overstuffed living room chair, still chuckling. It was easy to get comfortable around Marcus. With the experiences they’d shared, they could sit and reminisce for days.

  “We had a lot of good times together, didn’t we?” Marcus smiled from his place on the couch.

  “We sure did. I miss it.” The admission brought all levity to a halt. He missed everything about being in the unit. The camaraderie, the adventure, and even the mundane things like physical training, putting on his uniform eve
ry morning, and firing at targets alongside his teammates at the range.

  “What’s wrong, Hank? A dark shadow of gloom just passed over you.”

  “I gave the Army my all. Poured my life into it and was willing to lay down my life and fight for whatever they deemed a worthy cause, no questions asked. Then when I needed them to rally behind me for a change, they tossed me out as if I wasn’t man enough for them anymore. My record says I was a good soldier, but—”

  “Hank.” Marcus scooched forward and hung off the edge of the couch. “You were top notch; one of the finest warriors that ever made it into the company of the elite. But the thing you’ve got to realize is that you’re more than a soldier. You’ve always been more than a soldier. Let that truth drop deep into your spirit, and don’t ever forget it.”

  Hank leaned back. His mind understood what Marcus said, but the void in his heart was a constant reminder that the pain of abandonment was still very real.

  Chapter 32

  It would take some time to internalize what Marcus said. Hank had let the military become his life, his purpose for being, and also a tool that inflated his sense of self-worth. But Marcus was right. Hank was somebody before he joined the Army, and he was still that same somebody when he took off his uniform for the last time. Rediscovering his true self would be a challenge.

  Marcus came from the kitchen. A root beer bottle hissed as he unscrewed the cap. “Here you go, buddy.” He handed it to Hank, opened one for himself, and took his place on the couch.

  “Thanks, man.”

  “You’re welcome.” Marcus took a swig and put the bottle on the end table. “When we spoke on the phone the other day, you said the nightmares had taken on a new twist, and that something else was troubling you as well. Want to talk about it now, or would you rather wait until tomorrow?”

  “I guess now’s as good a time as any.” The cold bottle sweated in his hand. Same cold, clammy sweat he often experienced after a particularly vivid nightmare.

  Marcus sat patiently and said nothing as Hank gathered his thoughts.

  “Cindy is one of the soldiers in the truck in my dreams now. One moment I can hear her laughing and cutting up, then the RPG hits, and the truck explodes. In some dreams, she’s killed outright and her body lies smoldering on the ground, her uniform singed and bloody. Other times, she’s badly burned, writhing in pain, and begging me to help her.”

  Hank’s pulse whooshed past his ear, its rate getting faster and faster. “But I-I can’t get to her, and—” The scene flashed in his mind with intense reality and Cindy’s life ebbed away again. Hank wept.

  A minute passed. Hank swept a hand across his face. “Sorry, Rev. Didn’t mean for that to happen.”

  “It’s okay, buddy.” Compassion saturated Marcus’s small smile. “You’re not the first man in your family who’s wept in that chair.”

  “What? You mean, Edward? No way.” He couldn’t imagine his brother crying at all, much less in front of another man.

  “Yes, I mean Edward.”

  “But why—”

  Marcus palmed a stop sign. “That’s all I’m going to say about that. I only brought it up so you could understand that there’s no shame in a man’s crying. In fact, I did quite a bit of it earlier this year when Darlene got so sick she nearly lost the baby.”

  “Edward told me about that. Said Greco arranged for you to get sent home from Afghanistan to be with her. I was glad to hear everything turned out all right. They’re both doing okay now, aren’t they?”

  “Daniel is a robust little tiger.” Marcus smiled. “But, Darlene has been feeling puny for quite some time. We’ve been back and forth to doctors, trying to find a cause for her overall lack of energy and strength. She’ll be okay, though. I’m sure of it.”

  Marcus took a couple of chugs of root beer. “How’s it going with you and Cindy?”

  “Not good. We’re done. We spent a lot of time and did a lot of things together. Non-dates, she called them. Said she wasn’t ready for a relationship.”

  Marcus’s shoulder lifted in a slight shrug. “Sounds like she built a wall of words to insulate herself against the possibility of pain. Edward told me about her evil ex. Why’d you stop seeing each other?”

  Hank laid out the story of how Cindy made out with him to prove to a virtual stranger that she was straight. “Can you imagine what a fool I felt like? Here, I thought she was finally opening up and letting me in, when all she was thinking about was herself.”

  “Don’t judge her too harshly, Hank.”

  “It’s kind of hard not to.” More like impossible. Never in his wildest imagination would he have believed Cindy, of all people, could stoop that low. “I love her, but I’m not sure she’ll ever love me.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that. I understand your anger and frustration. But the way I see it, you’ve got two choices. Forgive Cindy for what she did and move on, or forgive her and give her a second chance. Either way, you’ve got to forgive her. There’s no getting around that.”

  Marcus’s sermon mirrored the one Hank had preached to Cindy about forgiving Belinda. Pitching the message was a lot easier than catching it. Marcus had spoken the truth. Hank needed to forgive Cindy. But he’d have to think long and hard about his options after that.

  The couch groaned as Marcus shifted his weight to get more comfortable. “Let’s go back to the nightmares for a minute.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m no expert on the subject of dreams, but it sounds to me like your inner-man is crying out, telling you he doesn’t want to lose Cindy. Why else would your subconscious mind add her to the list of passengers in the deuce and a half and then put her at peril of losing her life?”

  “You’ve got a point. Cindy didn’t make an appearance in my dreams until I walked away from her. It was bad enough when the dreams replayed the final scene of the men lying around the truck moaning in agony as they breathed their last breaths. But when Cindy—”

  “Stop right there for a minute. Think back to the day of the blast, Hank. Think really, really hard. Do you actually remember Bobby, or any of the guys from the truck, moaning or writhing in pain on the ground?”

  “Why, sure, I do. In great detail.”

  “Hank,” Marcus leaned forward, his expression painted with concern. “Bobby and the rest of them died instantly.”

  “What? That can’t be. I clearly remember—”

  “No, brother.” Marcus shook his head. “You don’t remember clearly. As soon as the deuce and a half exploded, Edward jumped from our vehicle, rushed over and yanked you from the driver’s seat. He dragged you away from the burning wreckage while we were all being fired upon. You were out cold for at least a minute, maybe a little longer.”

  “But I remember things so vividly.” If asked, Hank could have sketched where each man had lain struggling to survive.

  “Let me finish, and I’ll tell you what really happened. The deuce was on fire, and the canvas that covered the back end was gone. I had a clear view and can assure you that the men who were riding back there were killed in the blast. Another medic, a man whose judgment I trust completely, pulled Bobby’s dead body from the cab.”

  “So he, and the others—”

  “That’s right, Hank. Tragic as their deaths were, none of them endured the prolonged suffering you have imagined. Those memories, real as they might seem, are products of survivor’s guilt. You’ve been subconsciously punishing yourself for something you had no control over. You didn’t fire that RPG, and you bear no responsibility at all for what happened.”

  “But I traded places with Bobby, and he ended up dead. How am I supposed to deal with that?”

  “Edward begged to drive the old deuce. Remember? Would you have blamed your brother for Bobby’s death if he’d been the one driving that day instead of you?”

  The statement hit like a punch in the gut, and the answer was obvious. The novelty of driving the old bea
st had appealed to several of the guys in the unit. Bobby had picked Hank only because they’d shared a history of going through basic training together.

  “You’re right. I wouldn’t have blamed Edward or anyone else for that matter.”

  “Good, let that sink in a while.” Marcus rose. “It’s a little stuffy in here. Let’s take a walk around the neighborhood. You’ve got a lot to think about and some fresh air might clear your head.”

  Hank followed Marcus outside. The chilly evening air revived his waning energy, and his thoughts went back to the one thing that mattered most in his life. Cindy.

  * * * *

  Cindy’s eyes sprang open at the rooster’s crow. She swatted at the snooze button, missed, and knocked the alarm clock off the nightstand. It hit the floor and bounced slightly under the bed, still crowing its annoying barnyard wake-up call.

  “Aw, come on, you stupid chicken. Cut it out.” With a sharp yank of the electrical cord, the clock went airborne, circled back, and nailed the bridge of her nose. “Ouch!”

  “Cindy, get out of that bed right now!” Mrs. Baker pounded the shared bedroom wall. “And for heaven’s sake, turn off that alarm.”

  The rooster crowed once more as if in defiance before Cindy pushed the switch to the off position and sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m up, Mrs. B,” she yelled toward the wall.

  “Hurry up and get ready for work. Coffee’s ready.”

  “’Kay.” Cindy grabbed her smartphone and checked for messages on her way to the bathroom. Nothing. Not a peep from Hank. She set the phone on the vanity, turned on the water, and got in the shower.

  The phone rang. Cindy stepped one foot out of the tub and grabbed the phone. “Hello?”

  “Good morning, Cindy. This is Pete. How’s your Monday going so far?”

  She rubbed the spot where the clock hit her. “If it keeps going like this, I might be dead before noon.”

  “What? Something wrong?” His voice switched from casual to high alert.