Beyond The Ghosts (Legacy Falls Project)

by Jody Pardo

  The familiar name made me pause. Pierson. I ripped open the edge of the envelope and removed the single piece of tablet paper with his familiar, small, block print.

  15May2016

  Dear Toledo,

  It's been a long time, and I heard you were back home. We should meet up one day soon and have a drink. I will be passing through the area next week. Goemans’ body is being returned to his mother. I’m going be a pallbearer. Text me since your response will probably not arrive before I leave.

  Hurrah,

  Sgt Pierson

  Cell 917-555-1992

  Goemans wasn’t directly under my command but a bunkmate of Pierson’s. They were from the same town and enlisted together as battle buddies. Pierson was an asshole but we served together. For that asshole to reach out to me of all people, it meant that he was alone. I remembered Goemans being the comedian, and Pierson was just his always angry friend. Goemans was the buffer that softened Pierson's actions when he lashed out—the comic relief. I finished my first cup and refilled my mug before returning to my bedroom to text Pierson.

  I sank into my bed with my back against the headboard. Where do you start a wretched conversation?

  Me: Hey Pierson. Got your letter today. This is my cell- SFC Toledo

  Pierson: Hey sorry to be the bearer of bad news.

  Me: It happens.

  Pierson: I driving there. I’m not excited to be on a plane yet

  Me: When is the funeral?

  Pierson: Goemans is still stuck in Germany. Within a month.

  Me: Stop off here. We can have that drink.

  Pierson: It will be a few days. Have the bottle ready.

  I stared at my screen and re-read his message. Crap. We are gonna need a whole bottle? This can’t be good.

  Knocks at my door broke me from my thoughts.

  “Peter, are you awake?” my mom called through the door.

  “Come in. I’m up.”

  My mom opened the door slowly and poked her head around.

  “I see you found the coffee.”

  “Sure did. Thanks, Mom.”

  “I hope you didn’t drink it all. The ladies from the Rotary are coming this morning.”

  “Ooooo, treats!” My mother shook her head at me.

  “I was just warning you. Your father is headed to the shop, of course.”

  “He may have mentioned his dislike for the cackling hens of the Rotary.”

  “Well, the dedication of Pleasant Street Station’s memorial plaque is only ten days away. It’s crunch time. So, I guess I won’t be seeing much of your father.”

  “I’m gonna need bigger pants.” My mother laughed and closed the door behind herself on her way out.

  If the Rotary would be there, so would Christina. I better shower.

  I took my time in the shower, making sure I was well groomed and ready for company. I didn't want to be the topic of discussion for the cackling hens of the Rotary. I felt bad about leaving in the middle of the night but I couldn't take a chance of another nightmare after things went so well.

  I woke up that morning rested. It was the first time in a long while I hadn't had a nightmare. I guess I had Christina to thank for that. My nightmares ranged from full terrors to insomnia—no matter what, it all equated to no sleep.

  Apparently, the Rotary didn't need as much sleep as soldiers. The ladies flocked to our house and were fully assembled before 9 AM. I heard my dad cussing his way down the stairs on his way to the shop. My father's contribution to the Rotary was my mom and an ad for the shop in whatever publication they ever asked them to donate to.

  The Rotary was dedicating a plaque to veterans for the Pleasant Street Station anniversary celebration. The station had undergone major renovations and was the epicenter of our small town. The station house was there before settlers were making their way west to the coast. First carrying cargo, then carrying people—Legacy Falls was built around the station.

  We didn't have an airport; we had Pleasant Street train station. I wasn’t sure why our small town had so many veterans in it, but year after year soldiers came and went on that train taking them to destinations foreign and domestic. The Rotary was dedicating the station to them for their service on Memorial Day marking over two hundred years of military service.

  Every seat at our dining room table was filled and folding chairs filled the spaces to accommodate all the ladies. Papers were spread from one end of the table to the other outlining every detail of the celebration. From seating charts, escape routes, evacuation plans, and cue cards for the guest speakers, the ladies had it covered.

  “Peter, come take a look,” my mother called from the dining room as I tried to sneak into the kitchen to grab a snack.

  “I don't know what I'm looking at, Mom.”

  “The celebration, of course. You're going to be there, correct?” my mother gave me a look over her reading glasses for public confirmation.

  “Of course, Mom, just tell me when and where, and I'll be there.”

  “I just don't want you to be there. This is for you and your men. We need you to come in uniform.”

  “Um, uh … Yeah, sure, I think that can be arranged.”

  “And get a haircut. You're starting to look scruffy.”

  My mother went back to her lady friends, and I hurried past her before she could wrangle me for anything else. I walked right into the open refrigerator door.

  “Ouch.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” Christina stood there with her Vernon College t-shirt covered in milk. “You left in a hurry.”

  “I didn't want to wake you.”

  “I was wondering if I would see you here today.”

  “I was wondering if you came with any of those bear claws?”

  She uncovered a platter full of cinnamon-crusted pastry on the countertop before offering me one. I popped the whole thing in my mouth moaning with delight.

  “You had these at your apartment last night?” She nodded in affirmation. “You're lucky I didn't see them last night or they wouldn't be here today,” I said before pulling another in two and chomping it down half at a time.

  “Are you going to leave any for anyone else?” Christina asked with her hands on her waist.

  “There is plenty of other stuff for them to eat.”

  “Don't be greedy.”

  “You mean these aren't just for me?”

  Christina opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She blushed and bit at her lip in encouragement to form words.

  “Are they?” I pressed her against the countertop where she was biting.

  “I made a little more than usual since you enjoy them so much.”

  “I enjoy you very much.”

  The pastry was sweet, but her lips were sweeter. I needed to get out of there before I made a mess of my mother's kitchen and spread Christina across the counter. My dick was begging to come out and play. I would have enjoyed eating every one of those pastries off of her. Her eyes bulged and Christina gasped a big gulp of air as I pulled her hair back, exposing her neck and ground my growing erection into her abdomen. There was no discrepancy to my arousal.

  “I better get out there. I was supposed to bring milk out. Their coffee is probably cold by now.”

  “Are you cold?”

  She looked at me bewildered. I took off my running jacket, and her eyes grew wide again. I pulled my black PT shirt over my head and handed it to her. She stared at my bare chest, transfixed. I gave her a quick peck on the lips before putting my jacket back on, zipping it up.

  “You can change in the mudroom. Just stick your shirt in the washing machine, and I'll make sure it gets done.”

  “Oh, yeah, that.” She snapped out of her daze and scurried off to the mudroom to change.

  I grabbed the milk decanter and refilled it, taking it out to my mom in the dining room.

  “Oh, thank you, dear. Did you see Christina in there?”

  “Yes, she asked me to bring this to you.
See you later, Mom. I'm going to the shop to help Dad.”

  “Don’t forget to get a haircut,” she called after me before the screen door slammed.

  Over the next week and a half, our house became headquarters for the Rotary. Their weekly meetings usually drifted from host house to host house, but with the Memorial Day celebration in just three days, the ladies were full throttle and camped out. That meant endless treats and food.

  To battle the bulge, I ran an extra five miles a day after work. If they wanted me to be squared away and looking sharp, I needed the extra run. The easier alternative, of course, would have been to stay away from the treats, but there was no fun in that. Besides, the ladies liked to feed me, so I let them. Every day was a new recipe, and I was their guinea pig.

  I was sitting on the porch post-run when a hunter-green Ford F-150 pulled up the driveway with old school Metallica blazing out the open windows. Pierson had his hat pulled low over his Oakley sunglasses and a Marlboro Red hanging out of his mouth. The military may have taken his long hair, but they could never remove his metalhead roots or his smoking habit.

  He stayed in the car until the song was over then both the radio and the engine were quiet. He flicked his cigarette out the open window, and then realizing what he did, scrambled out the truck to retrieve it.

  “I'm so sorry, Sarge. I didn't mean disrespect your house like that.” He quickly shoved the butt in his pocket before extending his hand out for handshake.

  “Good to see you, Pierson. How was your ride?”

  “Can't complain. I've been stopping here and there just checking out the sights. Too bad it's not Mardi Gras season down here. I would've enjoyed losing some beads and seeing some of those sights.”

  “You’re a little far north for that but pay attention while driving; the girls like to mess with the truckers. The distractions are very pretty.”

  “I wish I could say I was making the trip for better kind a reunion. Me and Chris go way back. His mom is all alone now. There was no way I could miss saying goodbye.”

  “Do you have bag? Come sit down. If you want something to drink we got coffee and beer, of course.”

  “What are you drinking? I will have what you're having.”

  “Coffee it is, then.”

  "Two sugars if you have it."

  I went into the house to grab his cup of coffee and refill my own. When I returned, Pierson was still standing in the same spot. I handed him his cup but he remained standing.

  “You going to stand there all day? Have a seat, stay awhile.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “At ease, Pierson. You’re my guest. There is no need for formalities here.”

  “Sorry, Sir. Force of habit.”

  “I know it. Don’t get it twisted. I will still turn you on your ass if you show it.”

  “Understood.”

  “So, when did you get back?”

  “I shipped back shortly after your platoon did. I have been stateside about three weeks now.”

  “Been home?”

  “I’m not quite sure where that is, Sir.”

  “Weren’t you guys from New York? Why you headed to Texas?”

  “I picked up my truck in New York. Had it in storage with the rest of my stuff. Well, whatever is in the bed, really. That’s about it.”

  “I know that feeling. So, why Texas?”

  “Fort Hood was Goemans last duty station, and he moved his mom down there a few years back. She might as well live in his Apache Estates house; he wasn’t using it on deployments. The winters are easier on her too. She is old.”

  “So, that’s where he is being sent?”

  “Yeah, just waiting for his body to get back.”

  “What happened? Weren’t you guys in same platoon?”

  “He was 94Frank. Those guys stayed behind to disassemble all the computer stuff. They were the last scheduled to leave.”

  “I thought everyone was out. Our outpost was shut down.”

  “It was. Not too sure on the details. I asked around, and all I could gather was they were doing their thing and humping all the equipment out for re-distribution and the building he was in came under fire.”

  “And no one saw this coming …?”

  “It was quiet for a long while. They dismantled the systems. He died of crush injuries from structure collapse.”

  “That sucks. That means it wasn’t quick. I’m so sorry.”

  “I just feel bad for his mom. She was really proud of Chris. His brother, Charlie, was always the family fuck up and died about five years ago of a heroin overdose. It wasn’t a question of if, just a question of when. I’m just glad it happened before Chris. After Charlie died, that’s when his mom finally agreed to get out of New York. She wouldn’t leave Charlie behind.”

  “I hope she has some friends down there by Ft. Hood.”

  “She does a lot of volunteer work. She doesn’t sit still. For an old lady with bad legs and double hip replacement, she sure gets around.”

  “Speaking of volunteers, be prepared for the ladies of the Rotary. They are dedicating a plaque to the Pleasant Street Station this weekend, and our house somehow became headquarters for their operations.”

  “Nice. Any cuties?” He waggled his eyebrows excitedly.

  “If Ben-Gay and coffee are your thing, help yourself. You got your blues with you?”

  “Hurrah. Yes, Sir.”

  “Good. You’re gonna need them. At least you can wear them happy for a little while before Texas.”

  “Sounds like a plan, Sarge.”

  “Go grab your stuff. I will show you the guest room and you can relax. There is plenty of food. Like I said, with a house full of hens, you won’t go hungry.”

  Pierson shuffled down the three steps off the porch, walked over to his truck, and reached into the bed pulling his ruck sack out and throwing it over his shoulder.

  “Don’t you own a suitcase?”

  “Why? Everything I need is right here.”

  “Fair enough.” I shook my head because he was right.

  After setting Pierson up in the guest room and taking a shower, just a few Rotary women remained helping my mother wrap up the leftover snacks and clean up.

  "Hi, Mom."

  "Oh, Peter, you're home. I hope we didn't wake you."

  "You're fine. I was in the shower. Hey, one of the guys from my unit is up in the guest room. He is gonna hang out for a few days on his way to Texas."

  "Why didn't you tell me? I would have freshened the room up before he got here. How embarrassing."

  "He is just a grunt, Mom. Trust me he doesn't care."

  "That's no way to speak of your friends, Peter. I will set an extra place for dinner for him. What's your friend's name?"

  "Pierson."

  "Must be one of those Yankee yuppie hipster names. What kind of name is Pierson anyway?" The two remaining Rotary hens bobbled their heads in agreement while wiping down counters and fawning over my mother.

  "It's his last name, Mom. His first name is Danny."

  "Well, that's better. Honestly, I just don't know where some of these parents come up with the names for their children. But Daniel is a good Christian name. Is he a Christian, Peter?"

  "I'm not sure, Mom, but feel free to pray for him."

  "We will add his name to the prayer list, Anna. See you tomorrow." Mrs. Jones embraced my mom followed by the other lady before they left.

  "It's nice to see you making friends, Peter."

  With those words, I was fifteen again and a freshman in high school. Not that I had a problem making friends—I played sports. I don't really think my mom saw me as a grown man sometimes. She was happy in her delusion and everything she did was out of love so I let it go.

  "So, where are you from, Daniel?" my mom asked after everyone was served.

  Pierson kept shoveling food in his mouth and didn't respond.

  "Pierson." He looked up at me and stopped mid-chew. "Mom wants to know where you are from, Dani
el."

  "I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm originally from New York."

  "Where do you live now, Daniel?"

  "Wherever the Army sends me, ma'am. Forgive me. It's been a long time since anyone called me Daniel."

  "It's your name, dear. When the good Lord calls you to his house he isn't going to call you by your boys' nicknames. Remember that."

  "Yes, ma'am." I had never seen Pierson so humbled. "This is delicious, Mrs. Toledo. Thank you."

  "If Peter would have told me you were coming, I could have made a real dinner. I just threw this together."

  My mom's idea of “throwing something together” was big, fat, Delmonico cuts, twice-baked potatoes piped into ramekin boats, baked beans, and corn salad. No man would dare to complain at her “worst”.

  "Will you be staying through the weekend?" I could see where she was going. Pierson was still shoveling food into his grill. I spared him the breath.

  "Daniel will be joining us for the dedication, Mom."

  "If you boys need anything starched or pressed, you just let me know."

  "How long you on leave, son?" my father addressed Pierson.

  "Just a couple weeks, sir. After Goemans ... I mean Chris' funeral, I go back to Fort Hood and rejoin our unit. My platoon has orders to return to Germany end of July."

  "Germany?"

  "Not quite sure the final destination yet, Sarge. You know how that goes. A lot can change between now and July."

  "Enjoy your time off."

  "I could say the same to you, Toledo. Are you coming back?"

  "What is he talking about, Peter? I thought you were home and done with the Army?"

  "For now. I'm not sure yet, Mom. I told you that."

  "Does that mean you're going back overseas? For how long? But you just got back."

  "Mom, please. Don't get yourself all worked up. Can we just enjoy dinner?"

  "Anna, Peter is right. Him and his friend are home, for now. Let them enjoy a little peace."

  "What about our peace? Honey, I just want to be able to answer the phone without having my heart in my throat. Answer the door to someone in uniform or just the paperboy in camouflage pants without my blood pressure going through the roof. I worry every day and every night." My mom was panting and was thoroughly worked up. My father reached out for her hand, and she pulled it back. "I just want you safe. Excuse me."