by R. R. Banks
I take the menu and give it a once over – not that I don't already know what I want. I just want to make sure the place isn't some secret vegan restaurant and my only options would be tofu-flavored gruel, brussel sprouts, or whatever it is those people eat.
“What's it gonna be, hon?”
The waitress has a kind face and genuine smile. She just looks like the kind of woman who laughs a lot and finds a lot of joy in life.
“How's your chicken fried steak?” I ask.
“Best in the state of Washington,” she replies.
“Sold,” I say. “Hash browns – crispy. Two eggs over easy, a short stack of pancakes, sausage, and a cup of coffee, black.”
“A man who knows what he wants,” she says with a mischievous grin. “I like that.”
“When it comes to food, I don't mess around.”
“Clearly not,” she says with a laugh. “It's a good quality to have in a man. I like a man who knows how to eat.”
I laugh and give her a smile as I motion to the ring on her hand. “A quality I'm sure your husband must have in spades.”
“That he does,” she chuckles. “Believe me, that man can eat.”
“Judging by the smile on your face, I have no doubt about it,” I say.
The woman cackles and blushes, shaking her head at me. “I'll go grab your coffee, hon.”
She leaves the table and returns a moment later, setting a mug of coffee down in front of me. She's still laughing and shaking her head, unable to speak, so she just walks away. I grin as I pick up my mug and take a sip, savoring that first splash of coffee on my tongue.
A few minutes later, she brings out my food – and I'm almost dismayed by the size of the portions. They're huge. My stomach grumbles though, letting me know it's not going to be a problem.
“Can I get anything else for ya, hon?” she asks.
“Not at the moment,” I say. “But I may need a forklift to haul me out of here when I'm done.”
“Good thing we've got one out back for those kinds of emergencies,” she says. “Give me a holler if you need anything.”
I nod. “Will do. Thank you.”
Digging into my mountain of food, I grunt with pleasure. The food is good – maybe even better than the food had been at the Bluebird. Whoever's in the kitchen knows what they're doing back there.
I devoured almost everything and when I finally push my plates away from me, my stomach feels ready to burst. I didn't normally gorge myself like that, but I was hungry and it was amazingly good. The waitress came back and cleared my dishes, nodding in approval at the cleaned plates.
“My compliments to the chef,” I say. “It was incredible.”
“You gonna need that forklift?”
“I think I might be able to roll myself out,” I reply. “But thanks.”
“Anytime,” she says and gives me a wink. “Really, anytime.”
She laughs and drops the check on the table as she walks away. I pull my wallet out and pay the bill, leaving her a generous tip. Feeling bloated but satisfied, I waddle out of the diner and look at my watch. It's a little past eight in the morning. Meaning, it's time.
With a sigh, I climb back into the car and pull away from the curb. I may not know where everything is in this new city, but I know how to get to where I need to go right now.
Chapter Thirteen
My stomach is actually in knots as I stand on the porch, facing the door. It's a door I know well – one I've passed through thousands of times. But as I stand there, it suddenly feels alien to me. There's no real reason for it – the people beyond that door have been nothing but loving and supportive of me – but still, that feeling persists.
I take a deep breath and let it out, reaching out and pushing the doorbell button before I can think about it anymore. I hear the chime sound inside and I wait. A moment later, I hear footsteps approach the door and after a brief pause, it opens.
A middle-aged woman looks back at me with confusion in her eyes for a moment. And as I stand there silently, I see the light of comprehension dawning in her face.
“Caleb,” she says softly.
“Mrs. Turner,” I say. “It's been a while.”
“I'll say,” she says, holding a hand to her chest. “It's been a very long while. How are you, Caleb?”
I nod. “I'm doing okay, thank you,” I reply. “How are you and Mr. Turner doing?”
She nods and gives me a small smile, but I see the tears shimmering in her eyes. She sniffs and wipes at her eyes, refusing to let them fall. Rick's mom is made of some tough stuff, but I can see the pain of her loss is weighing heavily on her. I reach out and give her a reassuring squeeze.
“I'm very sorry, Mrs. Turner,” I say softly. “I came as soon as I found out.”
“I know this can't be easy for you. For many reasons,” she says. “But I'm glad you're here. Thank you for being here.”
“Of course,” I reply.
“My husband will be glad to see you, but he's out on the lake fishing this morning,” she says. “He needs some time alone to process it all.”
“That's understandable.”
She ushers me inside. “Come in, let's have a cup of coffee.”
“I'd love to.”
I follow her through the house and down to the kitchen I knew so well. Though they'd done some minor work in the house, changing small things here and there, it looked much the same as it had back when I was practically living here.
I take a seat at the kitchen table and Mrs. Turner pours us both a cup of coffee, setting them down on the table before taking a seat across from me. I wrap my hands around the mug and stare down into the dark liquid, not even sure how to begin.
“You've been gone a long time,” Mrs. Turner said. “Not that I don't understand your reasons.”
I nod. “I thought I needed a fresh start somewhere.”
“Of course,” she says. “Richard kept your confidences very well, but he did mention that you had joined the military.”
The Turners are the only people in Sheridan Falls I feel completely comfortable opening up to and know I can tell them anything without fear. Although I can't tell them everything I did overseas because of the classified nature of some of our ops, I feel like I owe them an explanation. They'd been so good to me and had always treated me like one of their own – that I up and disappeared on them like that is a constant thorn of guilt in my side.
“I spent twelve years in the Corps,” I said. “Ten as a Force Recon sniper. Spent a lot of my time running ops mostly in Afghanistan and Pakistan. But we did a couple of jobs elsewhere in the Middle East as well.”
Her eyes widen slightly at my admission. “I had no idea,” she said quietly. “That must have been terrifying.”
I give her a grim smile. “It had its moments, that's for sure.”
“Are you still serving?”
I shake my head. “No, I rotated out about a year ago,” I reply. “Thought about going career, but honestly, I woke up one day and realized I was done. I'd seen too much. Had done too much. The never-ending stream of death and destruction was taking a toll on me. I didn't see that we were accomplishing anything anymore and I finally hit that wall. Pulled the pin.”
She gives me a soft smile. “I'm just thankful you made it home, Caleb.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Turner,” I say. “I'm glad to be home.”
I take a long draw of coffee and swallow it down. There's a long moment of silence between us and I find myself at a loss for words. There's a lot I need to say. A lot I need to express and make her understand. I don't know why, but it's important to me that Rick's parents know and understand what their whole family has meant to me. But I'm having trouble finding the right words.
“Richard was so proud of you,” she says. “He was proud of everything you were doing, Caleb. I think it's important you know that.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Turner,” I say. “That means more
than you know.”
The tide of emotion is rising within me and I feel a lump in my throat. I take a minute to collect myself before I speak. I don't know if it's the right words that popped into my head, but I know I need to say something.
“I just want to say thank you, Mrs. Turner.”
She cocks her head and looks at me. “For what?”
“You know what I came from. You know – my story,” I say. “And your family took me in. You guys treated me with respect. You didn't owe me anything and yet, you treated me like one of your own. Being here – with your family – it helped me in ways you don't even understand. And I've always regretted skipping town the way I did – without word or explanation to you. I owe you so much and I think it’s important for you to know that.”
She gave my hand a gentle squeeze and gave me a soft smile. “You certainly don't need to thank me or apologize for anything, Caleb,” she says. “I understand why you left the way you did. And honestly, I'm so glad you got out. If you'd stayed – I shudder to think what might have happened. But you got out and you made something of yourself. You became something so much greater than your circumstances. And for that, I'm as proud of you as Richard was.”
I stand up and pull her to her feet, wrapping her in an enormous hug. “You're the family I wish I'd had.”
“We are your family, Caleb,” she replies, her voice thick with emotion. “Always have been and always will be.”
We embraced for a long moment, both of us letting the emotions sweep over us. When I finally step back, I wipe the tears from my eyes and she does the same. We give each other an awkward smile and sit down at the table again.
We spend the next couple of hours talking and catching up on each other's lives. There is a lot of laughter and good feeling, but hanging over our heads, is the dark cloud of what brought me back to Sheridan Falls in the first place. It's the elephant in the room and the thing we can't escape from. Rick's death. It casts a pall over our little reunion. How could it not?
“I should probably get going,” I say, getting to my feet. “But thank you for sitting and talking with me for a while.”
“No, thank you for coming by, Caleb,” she says. “And for coming back to Sheridan Falls for Richard. I know how difficult that must have been for you.”
“Like you said, we're family,” I quote her words back to her. “And for family, you sometimes need to be willing to do or sacrifice anything – especially, your own pride and comfort.”
Her smile is soft and warm as she embraces me again. “We'll see you again soon,” she says. “I know Mr. Turner will want to say hello to you.”
“I'd like that.”
I left the Turner home, glad that I took the time to see Rick's parents. Or his mom, at least. But it felt good to get that thorn out of my side. To apologize to them for vanishing and to give them some sort of explanation.
I'm not the kind of guy who enjoys wading too deeply into the emotional waters though. In fact, I'd probably enjoy a colonoscopy without lube about as much as I enjoyed sharing my feelings. But Rick's parents deserved it. They deserved an explanation.
Sharing that much though, left me feeling awfully thirsty and feeling like I need a little liquid therapy. I climb into the car and point it back toward town. All I want in that moment is to have a drink and be alone.
Chapter Fourteen
The bar is quiet and a little seedy – exactly what I was looking for and exactly what I need. I'm feeling a little overwhelmed by all the old faces I'm seeing, not to mention that marathon emotional purging session I just had with Rick's mom. It's something I'm really not used to and something I really don't dig very much.
Yeah, it's not quite noon yet, but fuck it, I need a drink.
I sit at the bar, looking at the flat screen TV hanging on the wall across from me. It's muted so I can't hear what the two anchors are saying, but I don't need to. I don't really care. I'm content to just sit there, sip my drink, and watch the silent highlights from all of last night's sports action.
Not that I'm particularly a huge fan of sports. I just want to shut the brain back down and stuff all of that emotional garbage that leaked out back into its box where it belongs – deep in that dark attic in the back of my brain.
There's another stop I want to make today – one that I'm dreading beyond words. But one I almost feel obligated to make. And for that, I think a little liquid fortification is probably wise.
At this time of the day, the bar is pretty much empty. Just me and a couple of old guys sipping beer and arguing loudly about everything from sports to politics. Yeah, I'm sure they're a blast to have at a party.
I glance at my watch and realize I've been sitting there nursing my beer for the better part of an hour. I know I'm just trying to put off the inevitable. And I ask myself once more why I feel like I have to go run this errand. And once again, I have no answer for that question other than I feel compelled to do so. No logic, no reason, no nothing other than it just feels like a loose end I have to tie up.
With a sigh, I push myself off my stool and drop some money on the bar. I nod to the bartender as I wander out into the early afternoon sunlight. The sunlight is bright, so I slip on a pair of sunglasses and walk back up to Main Street. If there's one thing I love about Sheridan Falls, it's that even on bright, sunny days, the temperature is mild. Unlike Southern California – when the sun's out, it's usually pretty damn hot. And personally, I had enough of the heat back in Afghanistan.
I'm walking down Main and see a cute little blonde heading in my direction. She's about five foot two and has some curves that are sexy as hell. There's something about her that rings that bell of familiarity in my head – it's faint, but it's there.
I quickly write it off though – being back in Sheridan Falls is throwing me for a complete loop and I'm seeing familiar faces everywhere. Even though I realize the city has grown so much, I know far fewer people than I think I do.
Still, there's something about the blonde that I can't quite shake. She's looking at me though and I start to think that maybe she could be a very good distraction for me this afternoon. Something to pass the time with until I'm supposed to meet everybody at the Wagon later this evening.
We're within ten feet of each other and the blonde is giving me a serious up and down look. I'm pretty sure this one is in the bag already. I figure all I have to do is smile real nice, throw a little charm her way, and those panties will practically fly off.
I figured that at least, until she stops right in front of me and speaks.
“Caleb?” she asks, her voice filled with disbelief. “Caleb Tirico?”
I look at her and can't place her. Instinct – or maybe, just a keen sense of self-preservation – told me to deny that was my name, turn around, and walk the other way. But a morbid sense of curiosity in me wanted to find out who this hot little blonde was and how she knew me.
“You don't remember me, do you?” she asks.
I frantically run through names and faces from my past in my head. And nothing is coming to me. I'm drawing a complete blank. A complete and utter fucking blank.
I give her a big grin. “I'm sorry, doll,” I say. “I haven't been in Sheridan –”
“For about twelve years now,” she says. “I know. And yeah, call me doll again and I'll stab you right in the eye.”
I laugh and shake my head. The girl is feisty. Another quality I like in a woman. But for the life of me, I can't place her. She looks at me with an expression that is somewhere between amusement and irritation. You'd think I'd remember somebody like this.
“To be fair,” she says. “I was a kid the last time you saw me. I was what, thirteen or so?”
And when she says that, I suddenly realize who she is and feel a jolt of adrenaline course through me. Holy shit. I know exactly who she is.
“Brooke?” I say. “Brooke Greenwood?”
She nods and gives me an uncertain smile. “In the flesh
.”
“Wow,” I say, looking her up and down. “You – grew up.”
“Yeah, that happens as the years pass.”
“Still a smartass I see.”
“Like that's ever going to change.”
I mentally smack myself for giving her the once over again. I know she's an adult now, but there's something about sexualizing somebody you knew when they were a kid that just feels wrong. Perverse. She's grown into a gorgeous woman, no question about it. But learning who she is suddenly killed the desire to get her into the sack.
I remember her being a kid – a young, goofy kid who had ears too big for her head, a chest flatter than a table top, and a complete disdain for boys. But looking at her now, I can see that she's – well – blossomed. Blossomed very well, actually.
I mentally kick myself again, pushing all of those thoughts out of my head.
“So, how have you been?” I ask.
I force myself to look her in the eye, trying like hell to keep my gaze from wandering down to the full, perky tits straining against her shirt. It's a Herculean fucking effort though. Brooke has an amazing body – as much as I want to kick my own ass for thinking so.
“I'm doing good,” she says. “Running the store now.”
“Wow, you're the big boss, huh?”
She nods. “Yup. Sure am,” she says. “But that's not really the important question right now. The important question is – where in the hell have you been for the last twelve years?”
I cleared my throat. “I've been – away.”
“Yeah, obviously,” she says. “But where?”
I scratched at my beard. I wasn't here for a lot of reunions. I was here for Rick's funeral and after that, I was getting the hell out of Sheridan Falls again. I didn't owe anybody any explanations. I didn't owe anybody shit. Least of all, Brooke Greenwood.
But I also know that if I blow her off, she's going to keep annoying the piss out of me. That's how she'd been as a kid and I can tell by her attitude, that she hasn't changed all that much.
