Baby, I'm Back (a Southern Roads short story)

by Stephanie Bond

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  A note from the author

  Other works by Stephanie Bond

  About the Author

  Copyright information

  Baby, I’m Back

  (a Southern Roads short story)

  by

  Stephanie Bond

  A soldier returns to the only home he’s ever known…

  Chapter One

  BENEATH HIS U.S. Navy SEALs T-shirt, Seaman Barry Ballantine’s heart thudded against his breastbone. He wondered if he would recognize anything about his mountain hometown of Sweetness, Georgia. The last time he’d seen it, the entire town had been reduced to matchsticks. He’d been fifteen when the F-5 tornado had landed like a giant mixer in the bowl created by the surrounding mountain range, ravaging the small downtown and outlying homes. No human lives had been lost—the disaster had been dubbed The Sweetness Miracle—but the devastation had been the death knell for the small isolated community.

  When the tornado descended, he’d been inside Moon’s Grocery, grabbing a soda and making plans with friends to meet later at the Timber Creek swimming hole. The power had gone out—not uncommon when a summer thunderstorm blew through. But when the wail of an unfamiliar siren had sounded, Mr. Moon had herded everyone into the basement. Twelve years had passed, but Barry still remembered the roar of the monster twister rolling over them like a hundred freight trains. The relief of surviving the storm had given way to the terror of being trapped—more than fifty people had been buried alive in that basement, with no idea if anyone had even survived to rescue them.

  And then someone had broken through—Emory Maxwell, the boyfriend of Shelby Moon who was among those trapped in the basement, and his buddy Porter Armstrong, who were both in Sweetness on leave from the Army. Emory was the person who’d sounded the alarm from the water tower and was credited with saving the townspeople. Barry had been full of himself at that age and few things had impressed him…but when he’d been pulled out of that dark, dusty hole by the hands of two uniformed soldiers, he’d been awestruck by their bravery. On the spot he had silently committed to joining the Armed Forces when he was old enough.

  Barry glanced to the wooden box sitting in the passenger seat and wished he could recapture the enthusiasm of that moment…perhaps it was that hope pulling him back to the only home he’d ever known. He passed a new sign announcing Sweetness 3 Miles, and geared down his Jeep for the steep, steady climb that would eventually take him into what used to be the center of town.

  In the aftermath of the tornado he’d thought the place had resembled a war zone. He’d been right—since joining the SEALs, he’d seen plenty of war zones firsthand, except unlike The Sweetness Miracle, they’d all come with casualties. He wasn’t naïve, he’d known what he was signing up for, that loss was part of the job. But knowing it intellectually was one thing, and washing a comrade’s blood out of your clothes was something else entirely.

  A pain shot through his left foot. He inhaled sharply and tightened his grip on the steering wheel until it subsided.

  The landscape on either side of the newly paved road began to look familiar. It had rained earlier, turning up the brightness on the remaining fall foliage, brilliant orange and yellow and bronze. Clear puddles on the shoulders reflected a crisp October sky. His open Jeep allowed the sounds and scents of autumn to filter in—buzzing insects and pungent fallen leaves. Ahead on the left was a new metal bridge that spanned Timber Creek. At its base was a sign pointing the way to a recycling plant. According to the town’s Web site, the Armstrong brothers, all of whom had grown up in Sweetness and served in different branches of the military, were rebuilding the town on green industries.

  He wondered if any other former residents had moved back to Sweetness, if he would know anyone, or if anyone would know him. His friends from high school had scattered after the twister, some of them landing in Atlanta, like his family, but not in the same neighborhoods or the same schools. Everyone had started over somewhere else, but he’d never felt like he belonged anywhere but Sweetness.

  Farther ahead on the left was the old Evermore covered bridge—no, the original had blown away. This had to be a replica, but the sight of a familiar landmark tucked into the picturesque curve lifted his spirits.

  But when he rounded the curve and looked up, a bona fide grin spread over his face. The white water tower, the only structure spared by the twister, still stood on the top of a ridge heralding “Welcome to Sweetness” in black letters. Its surface was marred with bits of graffiti—apparently climbing the tower and proclaiming love with a spray can was still a popular activity. He’d always thought he’d do the same someday, but hadn’t yet been inspired before the tornado had struck and his family had left town.

  Oh, there’d been plenty of pretty girls around when he’d lived in Sweetness, and because he was a jock, they’d seemed eager enough to spend time with him, but there had never been anyone particularly special then…or since. He’d joined the Navy after high school and the transient lifestyle had been exciting, but solitary. Becoming a SEAL had been a professional and personal pinnacle, but the deployment and covert missions didn’t lend themselves to a long-term relationship. He’d never let his mind go there.

  And now—

  He saw a flash of color out of the corner of his right eye, on the shoulder of the road. Too late, he realized it was a runner—a female runner—just as he plowed through a puddle of water, drenching her head to toe.

  Chapter Two

  IN THE SIDE MIRROR of the Jeep, Barry saw the runner stop and lift her arms helplessly as water sluiced off her. She shouted something he was relatively sure was meant for him. He winced and slowed, then checked his rear view mirror and backed up until the Jeep was next to her.

  “You okay?”

  She was wearing orange running shorts and a white T-shirt, which were now plastered to her slender curves, he noticed appreciably. Water dripped from her dark ponytail, and wet bangs hung in her eyes—eyes that were shooting lasers at him. “Do I look like I’m okay?”

  “Actually,” he ventured, “you look pretty good from here.” He gave her his most charming smile. “Sorry about that—I didn’t see you.”

  “Really?” She indicated her neon-colored running clothes. “Are you blind?”

  “No,” he said cheerfully. “Hop in, I’ll give you a ride.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t know where I’m going.”

  “I grew up here—wherever you’re going, it can’t be far.”

  She angled her head and stepped closer. “You’re Barry Ballantine.”

  He grinned. “That’s right. Do I know you?”

  “No,” she said, then took off on a jog in the direction she’d been running.

  Barry frowned, then backed up the Jeep to keep pace with her. She ignored him and slung water from her long arms. His mind raced to place her, but he felt sure if he’d seen this dark-haired beauty before, he’d remember it. Porter Armstrong knew he was coming—maybe word had gotten around town to be on the lookout for a stranger. Sweetness was like that…or at least it used to be.

  “C’mon, jump in,” he cajoled. “I’m sorry—let me make it up to you.”

  “You can’t,” she yelled.

  “Hey, that’s not fair, I’m trying here.” A horn blared behind him. He slammed on the brakes and the car went around him.

  The woman
had stopped, her hands up, as if bracing to see a collision.

  “You’re going to cause an accident,” he said pointedly, then leaned over and opened his passenger side door. “C’mon, get in. You’re shivering.”

  The woman looked at the door, then down to her soaked clothes and relented with a drop of her shoulders. She strode to the Jeep wordlessly. Barry scrambled to move the wooden box in the seat to the floorboard. She swung into the seat and banged the door closed, but sat as close to it as possible, as if she might dive through the open window if he made a wrong move. Her shoes squished and water dripped from the end of a very pretty nose…and chin.

  Barry stared at her profile, searching his memory banks and coming up empty. He reached into the backseat and pulled a sweatshirt from his duffel bag. “Here, put this on.”

  “Thanks,” she mumbled, pulling the sweatshirt over her head. It swallowed her, but the shivering subsided.

  “Where to?” he asked.

  She didn’t look at him. “I’m staying at the boardinghouse, straight ahead.”

  He put the Jeep into gear and drove slowly. “You’ll have to show me when we get there. I’ve been away for a while.”

  “I know.”

  He frowned. “So how do you know who I am?”

  Her mouth tightened. “We went to school together…here.”

  Surprise shot through him. “Here in Sweetness? I’m sorry, I don’t remember. What’s your name?”

  She finally turned to look at him. “Lora Jansen.”

  The last name rang a bell because there had been several families named Jansen in the area, but he couldn’t place the sweet, heart-shaped face of the girl next to him. Her eyes were as green as grass, framed with a dark fringe of lashes. Her mouth was wide and curvy, and he had the feeling if he could coax a smile out of her, dimples would appear under those high cheekbones. How could he forget such a face?

  “Were you behind me?” he asked. Their high school had been small, a couple hundred kids at most.

  “Actually, I sat directly behind you in sophomore English.”

  He squinted. “We were in the same grade?”

  She nodded and pulled at the hem of her wet shorts. “What brings you back to Sweetness?”

  He took in her fresh face and wide-eyed innocence, and felt a surge of gratitude that she would never have to see the things he’d seen. “A favor for a friend.”

  She pointed as they approached the downtown area. “The boardinghouse is the large building with the porches.”

  Barry looked around at the collection of structures that were so different from the original downtown area—in addition to the boardinghouse was a diner, a general store, a city hall building, a medical clinic, and a strip of storefronts that housed a hair salon and other businesses. Pedestrians bustled around on new sidewalks. In the distance, he saw a new school. “I can’t believe it,” he murmured. “They really have rebuilt the town.”

  She nodded. “The Armstrong brothers are the driving force for pretty much everything around here. The town’s expanding every day. You can let me out here.”

  He pulled into the parking lot of the diner that sat across from the boardinghouse. She’d jumped out before the Jeep stopped. When she banged the door closed she chirped, “Thanks,” and turned to go.

  “Wait,” he called. “Can you tell me where I can find Porter Armstrong?”

  She gestured toward a narrow side road. “He’s usually at the construction office. You can park here and walk—it’s not too far.”

  “Thanks…Lora. Sorry I got you wet.” He scratched his temple. “And I’m sorry I don’t remember you from school—I guess it’s been too long.”

  She gave him a flat smile. “I went by another name back then.”

  “What was it?”

  “Metal Face.” She lifted her hand in a wave, then looked both ways before jogging across the road.

  Her words resonated in his head like a gong. Metal Face—the name he and his buddies had given to a gangly dark-haired girl in their class who had a mouthful of braces and big, wire-framed glasses. They had teased her mercilessly…how miserable she must’ve been, and how much she must’ve hated him. He didn’t remember directly taunting her, but he certainly hadn’t done anything to stop it. And what did it say about him that he couldn’t even remember her real name?

  Well, if it was any consolation, Lora Jansen had shown them…Metal Face had grown up to be a knockout. Good for her.

  Shoulda, coulda, wouldas flitted through his head as he parked the Jeep. Barry reached for the wood box in the floorboard and hopped out. After collecting a cane from the rear seat, he turned in the direction of the construction office. It would be nice to see Porter Armstrong again after all these years.

  *****

  “Ooh!” Lora closed the door to her room with more force than necessary. It was so like Barry Ballantine to breeze back into town and humiliate her all over again, as if he was still the most popular jock in school and she were still Metal Face. She yanked off the sweatshirt he’d given her, along with her wet T-shirt, then grabbed a towel to dry her arms and squeeze more water out of her hair. Her hands shook, more from anger than cold.

  Of course he would have matured into a gorgeous man, his sandy hair still sun-kissed, his blue eyes even more arresting, his chiseled jaw even more…chiseled, darn it. She hated how she could look into his eyes and revert back to her fifteen-year-old self, clumsy and tongue-tied. She’d heard through the grapevine that Barry had joined the military, which the Naval insignia on the sweatshirt he’d lent her seemed to bear out.

  She released her ponytail and walked to the window while she towel-dried her hair. Barry had parked his Jeep and emerged, taking her advice, she presumed, to walk to the construction office. It came as no surprise that he was tall and wide-shouldered, but she was shocked to see him using a cane and favoring his left leg. As she watched his awkward gait, she zoned in on the injured leg with a practiced eye. The top part of his jeans leg was filled out with a powerful thigh, but the bottom part of his pants billowed loosely around a stiff core. Lora covered her mouth with stunning realization.

  Barry Ballantine was walking on a prosthetic lower leg.

  Chapter Three

  LORA COULDN’T get her mind off Barry Ballantine, not even after she started her afternoon shift at the Sweetness Family Medical Center. When Dr. Nikki Salinger had brought her on board as a physical therapist, she’d had her doubts that a town the size of Sweetness—even if it was growing every day—would offer enough patients to keep her busy. But with the army of men and women the Armstrongs had employed to build the town, there was always a back, neck, limb, or joint that needed to be rehabilitated. Today between Mr. Tyler’s trick knee and Ms. Jacoby’s carpel tunnel, she found her mind going back to Barry again and again. She felt horrible for being so short with him—it wasn’t as if he’d splashed her on purpose. And it seemed petty to hold him accountable for all the unkind teasing that had come her way in high school. That was, after all, more than a decade ago.

  On the other hand, she didn’t want to fall into the trap of feeling sorry for the man simply because he’d lost part of his leg—amputees were not to be pitied. But she was sensitive to the fact that it was likely he’d lost it defending his country, and to the fact that his life would always be harder than a person who had two healthy legs.

  By mid-afternoon, the man had worn a rut in her mind. So when she walked a patient to the lobby and she spotted Barry coming into the clinic, she thought she’d conjured him up. She watched him move, took note of his alignment and how it threw off his gait. He stopped in front of the receptionist’s desk and spoke briefly. When the woman gestured toward the waiting area, he headed toward a row of chairs. Before he could sit, he noticed her and stopped.

  Lora felt obliged to move toward him. Her pulse clicked higher with every step. “Hello,” she said simply.

  He straightened and subtly moved the cane behind him. “You again.” He tried
to smile, but she noticed the pinched look around his mouth.

  “Me again.”

  “Are you a doctor?”

  “No, I’m a physical therapist.”

  His eyes clouded. “I’ve seen my share of those.”

  She inclined her head. “How long have you had the prosthesis?”

  Surprise flickered over his face. “About three months.”

  “Is it trans-tibial?”

  “Yeah, I got to keep my knee, thank goodness.”

  She nodded. “Do you mind if I ask what brings you in to the clinic?”

  He gave her a tight smile. “I need a prescription.”

  “For painkillers?” When he didn’t respond immediately, she added, “I can tell you’re in pain.”

  “Damn foot still thinks it’s down there.”

  “Have you tried massage?”

  His mouth tightened. “No offense, but the pain meds work for me.”

  She kept her tone light. “No offense, but I can get you off that cane.”

  Anger flashed in his eyes. He brought the cane around front and leaned harder. “I’m okay with the cane—I think it adds character.”

  Lora inclined her head as she backed away. “Sorry to intrude. I’m sure Dr. Salinger will get you what you need.”

  *****

  “I think you need more physical therapy,” Dr. Salinger said.

  From the exam table where Barry sat, he tamped down his irritation. “I’ve had six months of physical therapy.” He thumped the exposed metal prosthesis, then rolled down his jeans leg. “I’ve gotten as good with this thing as I’m going to get.”

  The doctor gave him a little smile. “Maybe.”

  “I’m not addicted to the painkillers,” Barry said. “I take them only when I really need them.”

  She nodded. “I believe you. I completed my residency at a veterans’ hospital, so unfortunately, I’ve treated many amputees. I think the right physical therapist would not only increase your mobility, but also decrease your pain. I don’t know how long you’re planning to stay in Sweetness, but we have an excellent therapist here at the clinic.”