“Mom…” Jack started.
“No, listen,” she interrupted. “You all write letters or send videos, you might Skype, and sometimes you can even call, but do you really think about what it's like for those of us left behind? Do you realize what we battle with every day, knowing our loved ones are in harm's way?”
“Mom, I…” he began, but he fell silent, hushed by his mother's tear-streaked face.
“Think about it now, son. Think about Marithé, struggling to care for two little babies, with no training, no backup plan. She put her life on hold for her husband's military career, and this was the result.”
“Yeah, but she knew what she was signing on for – we all did,” Jack tried to explain the hurt away, knowing it was no use. She's right, but we have to choose to overlook their sacrifices so we can perform our duties, without distractions or second-guessing.
“Do you think she realized she'd be the mistress while the military was the wife?” Shonda demanded. “I mean, don't get me wrong, we're proud of our soldiers – men and women both – but that just complicates our emotions.”
“What do you mean?” he asked the question before he knew if he really wanted to know the answer.
Shonda regarded her son patiently. “Military spouses serve the military just as much as the soldiers they're married to do. They constantly struggle, torn between knowing how important the mission is and praying the reasons for a defense system were non-existent. Furthermore, that battle is almost always faced alone. They raise their families like single parents, yearning for their partners, but always holding their feelings in check so their warriors don't have more stress in their already difficult lives.”
“Did you… Do you wish I… hadn't gone?” Jack asked, knowing his mom was talking about so much more than her widowed associate.
“Well, if I'm honest, I have to admit a part of me does wish you never left,” she confessed. “Still, there's a greater part of me that's damned proud of you.” She smiled, the effect odd compared to her anguished appearance. “My son, the veteran… No, we always knew you would choose the Army. It was all you knew. I mean, we raised you to be a soldier, after all.”
Jack nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I guess that's true.”
“But, honey,” Shonda leaned in towards Jack. “You need to acknowledge the key word in what I just said – 'we' – because, when it came to you, I was never in this alone. You're always so quick to take offense to your father, but that's because you've never taken time to consider how difficult this has been for him. He's prayed and agonized… worried about you from the day you signed up. He was angry you didn't go to college and hurt when you didn't enlist as an officer because he thought you might be safer that way. He blamed himself… for your military mind, your stubborn defiance, and your need to get away so quickly.”
Jack's dessert suddenly tasted like ashes. “I'm sorry,” he said softly. “I didn't think of it that way.”
“I know,” she said. “And your father knows too, though he can't articulate it, but that's why I told you. You've always been so busy trying to prove you were your own man that you couldn't see your father for the man he was, or is. Don't continue to make the same mistakes, honey. It's his worry that makes him seem harsh, knowing he can't protect you, having to let you go, trusting in God to see you through. You know it's because he loves you that he's hard on you.”
Jack closed his eyes and really thought about what his mother had said. She's right. “Okay, I'll try… to be patient, to understand more.”
“Good boy. I knew you would,” she told him, patting his hand, rising to retrieve a tissue to blow her nose. “Now then, enough of this gloomy stuff, eh?”
Jack nodded, feeling remorse and melancholy. “Yeah.”
“So, Sam has a steady girl, does he?” Shonda asked, returning to her seat. “How about you, son, has anyone caught your eye?”
Caught like a bass on a hook. “Not really. Besides, with this gimp leg of mine, who'd bother?”
“You know,” she said, the pontificating look back in her eye, “in some ways, your injury will be a blessing to you.”
Jack's dark eyebrows drew together. “What? I got half my thigh blown off. What the hell kind of blessing is that?”
“Watch your mouth,” Shonda scolded in a mild tone, “or I'll replace your coffee creamer with soap.” Oh, I remember that all too well. “What I mean is, only shallow girls would be put off by something silly like that.”
“Okay.” Jack replied, sounding unconvinced, still missing the point his mother was trying to convey.
Shonda shook her head indulgently. “You men are all the same, needing things pointed out for you. Honey, you'll have less fluff to wade through to find the right woman now. You're handsome and intelligent. The women will line up down the block just to talk to you. Now they will all be quality girls for you to choose from.”
Though Jack grinned, he felt dull. Mom, you don't know the half of it. Internally, his mind repeated the negative litany he found impossible to dispel. No woman in her right mind would put up with what's wrong with me.
* * *
When Shonda decided to retire to bed, the throbbing pulse of Jack's damaged thigh caused him too much pain for sleep. Using the cup of sweet, milky coffee warming his hands as an excuse to remained reclined at the dinner table, he'd bid his mother goodnight. His aching leg propped on the kitchen chair beside him, he hoped to reduce the intense pressure with the elevation as he took a sip and closed his eyes, savoring the rich complexity of flavors. Such simple things can bring such great pleasures.
A soft 'clack' of slippers on the linoleum brought Jack back to reality. He opened his eyes to watch the approaching figure. The dark form grew in clarity the closer it came to the light flooding through the doorway.
“Hi, Dad, how's it going?” he asked, trying to be nice.
“Well enough, I suppose,” Malcom grumbled. “Say, where were you this evening? Sundays are always busy at the church and I could've used your help with some preparations.”
“I went to see my buddies, remember?” Jack said. “You took the message even.”
“Oh, right. I guess I forgot. How did it go?” Malcom asked, seeming genuinely curious.
Though Jack didn't exactly appreciate the quizzing, expecting his father's judgment and condescension, Malcolm seemed more conversational, so Jack decided to go with it. Don't be sensitive, man. People talk about their day and I guess we are now, too. Huh, this should be interesting.
“It was fine. We went to Dave & Buster's and shot some pool. Ray was a bit of a smart mouth, but he always is. I'll be glad when he ships out to Europe.” Even an ocean away is too close for me.
“You don't sound like you like the guy,” Malcolm noted.
“Yeah, but we have history, you know? Sam can be rather… sarcastic too, but he's a bit better. His new girlfriend seems to be having a positive influence on him too, so that's cool.”
His father regarded him in askance. “Tell me again why you wanted to meet up with these, so called friends, of yours?”
Jack chuckled and sipped his coffee. “Aw, they're a bit crude and uncouth, but they're alright. They really had my back when I needed it. Besides, Mike's like the brother I never had, never mind he's a skinny white kid with red hair and ugly glasses.”
Malcom made a disgusted noise, drawing Jack's attention back to him. The older man's mouth was set in a grim line, his molars grinding, his eyes narrowed.
“What?” Jack demanded. What did I say now?
“I suppose you were drinking,” Malcom assumed with a disapproving glance.
“I had a beer,” Jack responded tersely. “One beer, Dad and I ate a whole bunch of nachos with it. I didn't even get a buzz. Why, something wrong with that?” I wasn't drunk when I got home and I'm not drunk now.
“Are you sure it's safe to mix alcohol with your medications?” Malcom pressed.
Jack sighed. Does he think I'm an idiot? “I skipped my meds to
be sure there wouldn't be an interaction. I know better than that.”
“Hmmm,” Malcom rumbled, eyeing his son with a sour look. “You skipped your medication?”
“Yeah, I did,” Jack felt exhausted. I'm not in the mood for his shit. “My medication is 'as needed' and I checked with the doctor when he prescribed it to me.”
His father arched his brow skeptically. “Really?”
“Really,” he answered flatly.
“Well then,” Malcolm didn't seem convinced, but he apparently opted for a new bone to pick. “Are you sure it's a good idea to drink coffee at this hour? If I did, I'd never be able to sleep. Of course, with all the stuff you put in there, there probably isn't much room left for caffeine anyway.”
Jack had heard enough. This has to stop. I can't do this crap anymore. With icy, respectful calm, he intoned, “That's enough, Dad. You've made your opinion abundantly clear, about how I take my coffee and pretty much everything else, and I don't want to hear anymore.” He paused as Malcom stared, mouth agape, eyes bugging out. Jack continued undisturbed. “Don't you think I've proven myself man enough by going to war and getting half my leg blown off?”
“Jack, I…” Malcom seemed lost and a little hurt.
Jack ignored his pang of guilt, determined to close the discussion on the irrelevant things his dad liked to nit-pick about. “Listen, I'd be more inclined to take your advice if you would save it for things that really mattered. If I put sugar in my coffee or ketchup on my eggs, what's it to you, really? It doesn't affect you or anyone else, so just knock it off, okay?”
Malcom took a deep breath and drew himself up to his full height. His mouth opened and closed in silence several times. Then, without a word, he turned and left the kitchen. Jack listened to the clatter of his father's feet as he made his way back to his bedroom. Sighing wearily, he dragged a hand across his face. That's been a long time coming, but damn, what a drag. I hope he takes a moment out from being angry in order to think about what I said, especially since I wasn't rude, only honest.
Hoisting himself to his feet, Jack hobbled to the sink and dumped out his now-cold coffee. Rinsing the cup and tucking it into the dishwasher, he thought, I need to get out of this house.
Chapter 4
Elena ran with a natural abandon Jack could only dream of. He had always enjoyed running, but like so many other things, it was now left to his past. He hunkered on a high, backless stool, his injured thigh complaining, as he slowly dragged a paintbrush up and down over some gang graffiti, which had been sprayed across the siding of the church's storage building overnight. Mostly unintelligible symbols, with a few choice words interspersed, it marred the sense of safety and innocence represented by the kindergarten class, playing tag at recess. He smiled at their antics as he obliterated another number 3. The children shrieked as they ran, narrowly missing getting tagged, sometimes tripping and rolling in the grass. They jumped up immediately and began to run again with an admirable agility, if not grace.
“Jack?” A little voice at his ear captured his attention. He turned to find Elena Dominguez standing beside him. “These are for you.” She extended a handful of ditch weeds and clover in his direction.
“Aww, thank you,” he replied, genuinely moved by the little angel's gesture. “That's very kind.”
“Mommy says, if someone gets hurt or sick, we should visit them and give them flowers,” she explained.
“Your mom is a wise lady,” he replied, climbing down and crouching so he was at eye level to the beautiful child. He accepted the grubby handful, watching an ant as it ran onto his fingers before he surreptitiously brushed it away.
“I know,” the girl responded simply, her countenance matter-of-fact. Then, eyeing his leg uncertainly, she asked, “Are you still hurt?”
The frankness of children. “Yes, honey,” he replied. “It still hurts. I got a really bad cut, but thankfully, it's healing more every day. I'm sure these flowers will help a lot, so thank you.”
She beamed. “God always gives us what we need.”
“That He does, darling,” he agreed.
“Elena!” A disapproving shout came from the playground monitor. “Stop bothering Mr. Nelson.”
“It's all right, Lacey” he called back. “She's not bothering me.”
“Well, we're going in right now,” the older woman snapped, her thin lips set in a line so crinkled Jack could see it from across the playground. “Come here, Elena.”
Elena eyed the grumpy woman skeptically, hesitant to move closer to her, and then threw her arms around Jack, nearly knocking him into the dirt. “I'm glad you're getting better,” she said before running off to rejoin her class.
Jack grinned. I love kids. Then his smile faded, disappearing behind the clouds of sorrow shadowing his mind, just as real clouds covered the afternoon sun.
* * *
“Did you see that?” Shonda Nelson demanded, gawking out of the church office's window.
As if I could have missed it. “Looks like my daughter has a crush on your son,” Marithé commented, trying to sound casual.
“No, I don't think it's that,” Shonda replied, a hint of hope in her voice. She returned to her desk with a gleaming smile, unable to hide her mirth.
And I know what you think, ma'am, but I don't need a matchmaker. “It's nice they're friends,” Marithé tried to mitigate the connection that was so clearly obvious.
“Hmmm,” Shonda stifled a chuckle. “Are you and my son friends too?” Marithé gave her a look of derision, causing the older woman to throw her hands up in surrender. “Sorry. Sorry, it's not my business.”
“I'm not interested in anyone. I don't need additional complications in my life, particularly ones that involve the heart,” Marithé stated firmly.
“Uh-huh,” Shonda looked away, feigning interest in something on her computer screen.
No seriously, I don't. But her heart wouldn't stop pounding from the sight of Elena and Jack together, comfortable as family. And it went into overdrive when Jack entered the room.
“Mom, do you have something I can put these in?” Jack held the collection of weeds Elena had given him towards his mother.
“I think I have just the thing.” Shonda shot a knowing glance at Marithé. Getting up to take the flowers from his hand, she announced to no one in particular, “I'm running to the kitchen, but I'll be back in just a moment.”
Shonda slipped out of the room, winking at Marithé as she did, provoking the young woman's cheeks to flush crimson. Marithé gave the older woman an exasperated look, but Shonda ignored it, leaving the sound of giggles trailing down the hallway.
“Mom's in a good mood today,” Jack grinned, gazing out the door after his mother.
“Oh, yeah,” Marithé smiled sweetly. “She saw Elena give you the flowers through the window.” She has grandchildren on her mind. Marithé felt her face grow hotter with the thought.
“Ah,” he nodded in understanding. “Makes sense. I can tell you, she wasn't the only one whose day was brightened by that precious girl.”
“Elena is a very kind-hearted child,” Marithé couldn't deny the truth. I am very proud of her. “She reminds me a lot of Jorge.”
The corners of Jack's mouth turned up, but his eyes looked pained. “Yeah, I can see it too. She's a lot like her father, although you shouldn't discount your influence.”
“I think the only thing she inherited from me was her looks,” Marithé dismissed his compliment easily.
Jack pronounced, “And what beautiful looks they are.”
In that moment, their eyes met and Marithé caught her breath, transfixed by the invisible connection ignited between them. Thankfully, Shonda returned, unknowingly dissolving the moment, allowing her to look away. What was that? As her heart beat quickened more than before and she struggled to control her heavy breathing, willing it to sound as normal as possible, Marithé walked over to the printer. She had no need of the machine, but she moved simply to put more space between he
r and Jack.
“Here you are, honey,” Shonda chimed brightly, handing a small glass vase to her son. She had already shoved the weeds into the opening and added water. “The flowers won't last long, but…”
“No, this is great,” Jack kissed his mother's forehead. “Thanks. I want to display them on my desk, in case Elena comes to check on me again.” Maybe I can use that as an excuse to stop by his office to see him too?
“Oh, Elena will love that, won't she Marithé?” Shonda drew the younger woman back into the conversation which she'd been trying to disappear from.
“Yes,” she responded shyly. Ugh! Can Shonda hear my thoughts or something? Then as if in response, Shonda wrapped her arm behind Marithé, resting her hand on the young woman's shoulder, acting cheery and encouraging. The initial touch shocked Marithé, making her exclaim a brief squawk of surprise, which quickly turned to nervous giggling.
Jack looked confused as he glanced between the two women. “Okay, well, I better get back to it then.” Oh, thank goodness, he's leaving! He took a few steps towards the door and then turned around, one last time, to address his mother. “Oh, do you mind dropping me off at the car dealership on the way home this evening?”
“Car dealership?” Shonda asked. “I didn't know you were getting a car. Are you sure you want me to drop you off? I mean, I can stay with you, no problem.”
“Yeah, I've been corresponding with one of the salesmen there and I think we've worked out a fair deal,” Jack informed her. “If you can drop me off then I can handle all the paperwork and drive my new car home tonight, so there's no need for you to stay. Besides, I'm sure Dad will want you home as soon as possible. He's been talking about your meatloaf all week, and he'd be sorely disappointed if you didn't make it tonight.”
Shonda chuckled. “That's true. Will you make it home in time for dinner then?”
Justifying Jack (The Wounded Warriors Book 2) Page 5
