by Rachel Lee
“Well, thank you.” Surprised by the tack he had taken, and feeling just a smidge uncomfortable over the attention to her hair, she didn’t know what else to say.
“What do you do?”
“I teach fourth grade.”
He nodded. “Do you like it?”
“Most of the time. It has its moments, like anything else, I suppose.”
He pushed his wheelchair closer, so that it fit under the table, and rested his folded arms on it. “I’m not really good company these days,” he said flatly. “I need you and everyone else to understand that. Right now I’ve got a bag full of stuff I need to work through, and sometimes I can flip out a little. Noise and crowding bother me. So I’m better just left alone, because I don’t want to be rude and I don’t want to scare anyone.”
She blinked. Well, that was food for thought. “You want me to tell everyone to just stay away?”
“As many as you can. Just call me antisocial, because that’s what I am.”
What a change from the popular high school athlete. She couldn’t even imagine what he’d been through or the ways it must have affected him. All she knew was that he evoked a very deep sadness in her heart with those words. “The detritus of war,” she murmured before she realized she was speaking aloud.
“Exactly. That’s me. And while I appreciate the pie, I really don’t want a stream of people at my door.”
“Okay.” She frowned. “Except that I didn’t mean you were the detritus. That’s what you’re dealing with.”
“How the hell would you know?”
Her legs started to gather under her. This would be a good time to leave, she thought, but then she saw his hand gripping Nell’s ruff. Clinging. This man needed more than himself, and he didn’t even know it.
But it was pointless to argue. She had no background she could use to claim that she understood what he faced. What did she know, after all, about being paraplegic, or suffering from PTSD, which was what she guessed he meant about frightening people. Only what she’d read, and that simply wasn’t enough.
Did he really think he could handle this all by himself? Or did he want solitude for something darker? She certainly couldn’t imagine healing in a vacuum.
“I have a boy in my class who’s quadriplegic,” she remarked, trying to ease the tension he’d brought into the room with his confession.
“So?”
“I think he’d love to have a dog like Nell. I bet she can do almost anything.”
He looked almost sideswiped by the change in direction. Maybe he’d hoped she’d get mad and walk out. But something in Ashley had stiffened. This man could be as rude as he wanted, but she wasn’t just going to walk away and forget him. That seemed wrong even though he was asking for it.
“Anyway, Mikey’s family can’t afford a service dog. We’ve got a K-9 officer in the county now who trains police dogs, and he’s doing a little work with service animals for people who can’t afford them. Maybe, if you can crawl out of your shell long enough, you could tell him what a dog for Mikey would need to be able to do.”
She was a bit startled to hear the acid in her tone, because she hadn’t intended it. But there it was, clear as the words she had spoken. That did it, she thought. He’d never want to set eyes on her again. Who was she to imply criticism of a wounded vet?
She pushed her chair back, ready to leave now, but Zane stopped her. “What’s his name, this K-9 officer?”
“Cadell Marcus.”
“Maybe I’ll call him. I dunno.” He rubbed his hand over his face.
“Sorry,” she said. “You’ve only just arrived—you must be exhausted from your trip. I shouldn’t have pressed you about anything. I only meant to say welcome home and leave the pie.”
But as he dropped his hand from his face, she saw him staring beyond her. Far beyond her, as if he were seeing another place and another time. She froze, wondering if she had triggered a problem for him somehow. Maybe her being here was enough. She waited, not sure if he’d want her to just leave, not sure he’d even hear her if she bade him farewell.
God, she wished she knew what to do.
Then she learned something very important—Nell knew what to do. She rose onto her haunches, put her forepaws on the arm of his chair and stretched her head up until she could lick his cheek. Over and over again.
At first Zane didn’t react. Not even a twitching muscle. His gaze remained black, almost empty. Nell continued to lick his cheek with occasional pauses to nudge him gently.
It seemed to go on forever, although it could only have been a minute or two. Then Nell barked and Zane blinked, his eyes focusing once again. He reached out to wrap his arm around the dog, giving her a squeeze before letting her go. At once she dropped to a sitting position beside him, but she never took her attention from him.
Ashley added it all up and realized that the least of Nell’s service was performing physical tasks for Zane. She was an emotional lifeline, drawing him back when he neared the precipice. Providing comfort more than physical care.
God, it was terrible to think of what had brought Zane to this point. Even her worst imaginings probably failed completely.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally, his voice sounding rusty.
“No need,” she answered promptly. And really, she didn’t think he needed to apologize for being haunted by the demons of war. Almost nobody could escape that unscathed. At least she assumed that had been what just happened. She hoped she hadn’t triggered it.
Deciding he must be uncomfortable now, considering what she had witnessed, and considering he’d already expressed his desire to be left alone, she again gathered herself to rise, opening her mouth to say good-night.
He forestalled her. “Sorry you had to see that. Did it last long?”
She settled back into the chair. “A minute or two. Don’t apologize. I just hope I didn’t cause it.”
“There isn’t always a cause. It just happens. It happens less when I’m away from known triggers, but it still happens. And I guess you’ve figured out that Nell does more for me than open doors and grab my socks.”
“She seems wonderful,” Ashley answered sincerely.
“She is. She responds immediately when I start to...slip, and she helps call me back quickly. Before Nell I could fall into flashbacks that lasted hours. Once it was even days.” He grimaced. “My neighbors didn’t much appreciate that last one.”
She hesitated then asked because she wanted to know. “The flashbacks...they don’t help you at all?”
“No.”
Well, that was pretty grim. Dissociative episodes with no purpose except to make him miserable. A mind so overwhelmed that it kept trying to absorb what had happened and was totally unable to do so. Reliving horror.
“Thank God for Nell,” she said finally. It seemed like such a weak response to what he had revealed.
He patted his lap, and she watched with amazement and amusement as Nell jumped up and did her best to curl up on him. The dog licked his chin, and for the first time she saw Zane laugh. Such a nice laugh. The dog apparently liked it, too, wagging her tail rapidly.
“She barely fits,” Ashley remarked.
“She has to work at it,” he agreed. His hands ran down Nell’s furry back. “She’s a lifesaver.”
Somehow she didn’t believe he was exaggerating.
“Anyway, I was lucky. Some of my friends got together and gave her to me. I guess the little boy in your class could use the same kind of luck. So this Cadell guy is also trying to provide service dogs?”
“He’s trying. He mainly trains police dogs, search-and-rescue dogs, but he’s aware of the need. He consults with people who can help him figure out how to do it. Your advice might be very helpful.”
He nodded. “Thing is, I don’t know how she was trained. W
hen I got Nell, she was on top of it all. I guess I could email one of my friends to see if they know who the trainer was. The trainer would be more helpful than I could ever be.”
It was probably true, but Ashley suspected this was another way of keeping his isolation intact. Who was she to question his methods of dealing with his problems?
“Thanks,” she said. “Mikey could sure use something to brighten his days. He hasn’t been paralyzed long, only the last year, and he still has trouble dealing with it. The idea that kids can just bounce right back from anything... Well, it’s not always true.”
“How was he hurt?”
“Thrown from a horse. His mom told me his back was broken in several places and he became quadriplegic. They’re grateful he’s still alive, but I’m not sure Mikey always is.”
“Why should he be?” Zane asked roughly. “God spare me the Pollyannas. Pardon me, but it doesn’t always help to hear how lucky you are.”
Ashley drew a breath. She wasn’t shocked—she knew he was right, but few people said such things so baldly.
“Count your blessings,” he said. “Sure. That works. On a good day. On a bad day you just wish you’d never survived.”
The stark truth rendered her speechless. Every single word that sprang to mind in answer struck her as a useless aphorism. This man was dealing with very real and very ugly memories and impulses. No words could offer any kind of succor.
“Now you know,” he said. “That’s why I don’t want to fill my life with people. I’ve rattled you badly several times since you walked through my door. Who the hell needs to be around that?”
“I’m fine,” she protested. Then, seeking safer ground immediately because she wanted to change the direction of his thinking as quickly as possible, “Don’t you need some modifications in this kitchen?”
Startled, his head jerked back a bit. Nell jumped down from his lap and took up her watchful position. “My kitchen?” he repeated.
“Well, what else can I talk about?”
He frowned faintly. “The weather?”
“Cold and getting colder. I love autumn. What about the kitchen?”
To her amazement, a slow smile made it halfway across his face. “The kitchen has to wait. Expensive, and there’s no point in doing it unless I decide to stay here.”
“Ah.” So he wasn’t sure he was settled.
Deciding once again it was time to make her departure, she rose. “I hope you enjoy the pie. It was a pleasure to see you again, Zane. Sorry I intruded for so long.”
She zipped her jacket, knowing it would be even colder outside now. “I’ll see myself out. And, by the way, if you should need anything, I’m next door.” She pointed. “I’m home most afternoons and evenings, because a teacher’s day doesn’t end when school lets out and I always have paperwork. Good night.”
Then she marched out of that house with enough to think about that she’d probably be up late into the night.
She had no idea what she’d expected when she knocked on his door, but now she was deeply disturbed. Whoever Zane had become, he didn’t at all resemble the young athlete she remembered.
He probably remembered that kid, though, and it couldn’t make his life one bit easier now.
* * *
Zane sat in his kitchen, not moving, for a long time. The smell of the apple pie filled the room, and he clung to it as he kneaded Nell’s neck.
Simple things. Good things. The schoolteacher had reminded him. Neighbors and apple pies. Running next door for a cup of sugar. Friendly faces on the streets. A world he hadn’t known for a long time.
She was cute, that one. Beautiful, even, but there was no room in his hell for a woman. He’d only drag her down. Adapting to a wheelchair hadn’t been as difficult as dealing with himself and the wars.
Would he like to have the use of his legs back? Sure. Would he like to erase his memory? Absolutely. He’d trade his legs for a clean slate.
But he wasn’t going to get either, so he had to find a way to make peace with himself. That was proving difficult indeed.
He’d tried group counseling with other vets. It had helped to know he wasn’t alone in his reactions, feelings and nightmares, but that didn’t get rid of any of them. He’d tried medications that were supposed to improve his PTSD, but he’d tossed them all because of Nell. She did more good for him than any pill. Anyway, until they invented a pill for selective memory loss, he was bound to live with himself.
It wasn’t that he hated himself. But he’d been a sailor and done a SEAL’s job, and inevitably horror had been etched on his memory.
Sighing, he rolled out of the kitchen, away from the enticing aroma of the pie and to his bedroom where one carved wooden box, a gift from a friend, waited on his aged dresser, set there by Carol when she unpacked the boxes he’d sent ahead. Opening it, he took out the medal presentation cases within and looked at the wages of his war.
A Purple Heart with a cluster pinned to the ribbon, the cluster for his second wounding, the injury that had paralyzed him. A Bronze Star with multiple clusters. A Silver Star with clusters. A Navy Cross. Campaign and other ribbons, but they didn’t hold his attention. Those stars and the Navy Cross in particular said he was a hero.
Why didn’t he feel like one? He snapped the cases closed and put them back in the box. Once he’d mentioned that he was thinking of ditching them, but an aging Vietnam vet had told him not to. “Someday,” he’d said, “you’ll want them. Or someone else who loves you will. Put them away and save them. They’re the only reward you’ll get.”
The only reward. Yup.
He closed his eyes, remembering the kid who had signed up nearly twenty years ago, wanting the GI Bill, liking the promises the navy gave him of an education. Not much later he’d found himself getting an education of a very different kind. To this day he couldn’t begin to explain to himself why he’d volunteered for the SEALs. Maybe because he was eighteen and full of hubris or too much testosterone. He honestly didn’t know.
But he’d done it, had passed all the arduous training, and had become a very different man in the process. He had been molded into a weapon.
Funny thing was, he didn’t regret that choice. Never once felt he’d made the wrong one. But now he paid the price in memories that never left him.
One hell of an education, indeed.
Shaking his head a little, he wheeled back to the kitchen, deciding to have a piece of the apple pie Ashley had left. The aroma was making his mouth water.
Nell sat hopefully beside him as he cut into the pie. Treat. She had very speaking eyes, he often thought. Hard not to read that she wanted her biscuit or a rawhide bone.
The pantry was still open, so he said, “Nell, get a bone.”
Her tail wagging, Nell trotted into the pantry, found the plastic bag of bones and brought them out, dropping them onto his lap. He ripped off the paper label across the top and pulled the bag open. In the process, he loosened the staples holding it shut, and he made sure to gather them into a pile on the table. He’d hate for Nell to get into trouble with one while picking up the bag.
She accepted her rawhide bone with a woof and a wag then settled on the floor to gnaw happily.
And now he could taste the pie. It was every bit as scrumptious as it smelled. Closing his eyes, he savored the first mouthful, tasting its every nuance with pleasure before he swallowed. It had been a long time since he’d had a good pie, but this one was spectacular. Whether he wanted further contact or not, he was going to have to compliment the chef on this one.
Which meant making a connection he really didn’t want to make. Ashley Granger was a beautiful young woman, and he didn’t want to put any shadows on her face or in her heart.
While he didn’t wallow in self-pity, he always tried to be straight with himself. His ultimate co
nclusion was that he was poison. Until he found a stable place inside himself, a way to reenter normal life, he didn’t want to poison anyone else.
He looked down at Nell, his companion and aide, and once again saw his life with stark clarity. All these years, with one mission coming after another, with the time he wasn’t in the field mostly used for training and planning, he’d never felt like a fish out of water. The member of a tightly knit fellowship, surrounded by comrades with the same job, the same worldview—he’d belonged.
Now he was a man who couldn’t walk and who depended on a dog to keep him from sliding into a past that he no longer lived.
Yeah, he had no business bringing anyone else into this mess, even peripherally, until he got his head sorted out.
But Ashley sure had tempted him.
Chapter Two
Ashley went to school in the morning with nearly a bushel basket full of apples for her students. She’d swiped some for the pie yesterday, but the basket was still brimming. A great time of year for apples, and she’d made a tradition of ordering a bushel each fall for her students.
They all loved apples, and while she limited them to one a day, they still disappeared fast. With a class size of nineteen, four to five days would nearly empty the basket. When they got down to the last few, a spelling bee would determine who got the last of them.
Her students usually loved the treat, and she felt good about being able to give it to them. Special orders were no problem at the grocery, and she’d been doing it for so many years that the produce manager always had a list of prices and quality for her. This year he’d recommended the Jonathans, a type of apple she loved herself.
The students began arriving, and when they saw the apples, excitement began to grow. They’d heard of her tradition. “Not until after lunch,” she reminded them.
Then Mikey’s mother rolled him in and pushed him up to the table the school had provided specially so he could get his wheelchair under it comfortably. It was also wider than usual so his mother could sit beside him throughout the day and help with his assignments. She turned the pages in the books for him to read, and when worksheets had to be filled out, she asked him which answers he chose.
