A Father for Christmas: A Veteran’s Christmas, #1

by Ayala, Rachelle

  “You have to forgive yourself. It’s not your fault.”

  His shoulders heave, and sobs hiccup from his throat. He smashes his fist into the bed, curling himself into a fetal posture, turning his back to me. “Leave me. Never come near me again.”

  I latch onto him from the back. “I’m not giving up on you. I swear to you, Tyler, I won’t leave you.”

  “Why? I’m useless to you.”

  I can do nothing but hold onto him, using my body to press against him, to comfort him. What words are there? It wasn’t his fault, but he doesn’t believe it.

  I rub his back, long strokes down his spine. I pepper him with kisses, tasting the salty tears. I press my cheek against his harsh stubble and hum the lullabies I use to put Bree to sleep.

  My caresses loosen the tight knots of his shoulders and dissipate the stiffness in his neck. After a while, he calms, swallowing and taking deep breaths.

  He closes his eyes, his lips moving as if in prayer. “I don’t deserve forgiveness. Even if I spend the rest of my life helping the children, I can’t bring that boy back. I can’t bring anyone back.”

  “Do you believe in God? Do you believe He loves you?”

  “I’m too screwed up for anyone to love me.”

  “That’s not true. Ask God to forgive you. He’ll hear you.”

  “I’ve already asked, but it’s not enough. I have to do more.”

  “You’re already giving all your money, and now you’re going to start a program for them. What more can you do?”

  A vein throbs in his temple and he takes my hand. “I have only one life to give, and I can’t give it to you. I can’t live a normal life, buy a house, raise a family, retire and travel.”

  It’s a hard pill to swallow. But it’s his life to give. I feel him slipping from my grasp, as if his memory is fading, and our love is already a bygone what-could-have-been.

  I make one more pitch. “You’re giving all to the orphans, but who’s giving to you? Who’ll make you happy and take care of your needs?”

  “I can’t ask you to make that sacrifice. You have Bree. She needs you, so does your mother.” He cups my cheek and his eyes mist. “You made me very happy tonight. But after the holidays, I have a very busy fundraising schedule. Eventually I’ll move to Afghanistan to run the sports camps.”

  “We still have Christmas Eve and Christmas together.” I bite my lip, holding back the tears. “Spend it with me and my family.”

  “It’s not fair to include me. I don’t want to hurt any of you, especially Bree.”

  “She’ll be fine. I’ll tell her you’re an angel sent to bless us this Christmas. Please, come to Bree’s Christmas play. You’ll make her very happy.”

  “Kelly.” He kisses me on the forehead, his lips lingering. “It’s easier if I leave now. You still have time before Christmas to spend with her. Take her last minute shopping, skating, go to the Nutcracker ballet.”

  “Don’t leave me.” Tears well and spill from my eyes. “I’ve never needed a man, never given my heart to anyone until you. We can work it out. You can travel and I’ll be busy with my investigations. There’s email and texting, and you have to come back sometimes to check in with Dylan and Carina.”

  “Those are the physical arrangements. I can do all those things, but my heart, Kelly, I have no heart to give to you. I’ll just be taking from you, feeding off your kindness. I can’t give you what you need.”

  ~ Tyler ~

  Tyler stood in the shadows outside the sanctuary, waiting for the regular attenders to enter the church. He pulled his hood over his face and shivered in the chill of the evening.

  Families, large and small, gathered around the foyer, greeting each other and chatting happily. Children darted between the adults, chasing and playing tag. His heart lumped into his throat at the joy and anticipation everyone had for the children’s program.

  A security guard patrolled the perimeter of the building. Tyler stepped behind a columnar Italian cypress tree, glad he had had the foresight to wear camouflage.

  He shouldn’t be here, but he couldn’t bear not seeing Kelly and Bree. Even though he couldn’t play an active role in their lives, he’d always carry them in his heart and pray for them.

  “Baa, baa, baa,” a little girl’s voice made Tyler jump.

  It was Bree, dressed in her fluffy white sheep costume made of curly yarn and glued-on cotton balls. Floppy ears hung over her blond curls, and her nose was painted into a black dot.

  She ran, screaming ‘baa,’ chased by a shepherd boy.

  Tyler skulked behind the row of trees, his heart pounding, his senses on full alert.

  Bree swung around the end of the row and shrieked as the boy tagged her. “Gotcha, you’re it.”

  Laughing and giggling, Bree turned on the boy and yelled, “Baa, baa, baa.”

  Tyler blew out a breath of relief, but his heart was still beating too fast. He’d better pull himself together. There were no threats here. Again, he scanned the checkpoints, noting the cars entering the driveway and the people filing toward the church auditorium.

  Where was Kelly? How could she let Bree run around where she could get hit by a car or snatched by perverts? The sole security guard was useless. He waved his flashlight aimlessly and seemed more interested in flirting with the young women than watching for danger.

  Tyler stalked the children, keeping himself low and in the shadows of the wall and trees. A Sunday school teacher blew a whistle and corralled the children into the multipurpose room. Meanwhile, the adults set up their video cameras and tripods.

  Kelly, her mother Peggy, Ella, and Jaden hustled past Tyler. He caught a glimpse of Kelly’s face. Her skin was paler than usual, and she was silent. Jaden and Ella cracked jokes and seemed to go out of their way to make Kelly smile, but when she did, her eyes remained serious.

  “Hey, you need any help?” The rent-a-cop slapped his baton on his palm. “The hot meals are in the morning, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

  “Actually, I’m here to worship.” Tyler shrugged. “Just making sure the women and elderly have enough chairs to sit. I can stand on the side.”

  “Okay, we’re closing the doors. It’s the Christmas Pageant, so we’re keeping interruptions to a minimum.”

  Tyler slid into the auditorium and parked himself in the corner hidden by the large flag behind the piano. He’d get a good view of the stage, but stay out of sight of the congregation.

  The lights were dimmed after the pastor’s welcome and prayer, so Tyler settled on the steps leading to the choir gallery.

  Parents crowded around him with their video cameras and cell phone cameras. Fortunately, Jaden was taking the video, and he seemed oblivious to Tyler’s presence.

  The play started with the shepherds standing on a patch of artificial turf. Sheep pranced and frolicked. Tyler’s heart warmed at the sight of Bree as she scampered, yelling her one line “Baa” at the top of her lungs with the same exuberance she’d once asked him to throw her into the air and catch her.

  Three shepherds waddled with their staves, made a half-hearted attempt at herding the sheep, then sat on the turf. From the left side of the stage came three wise men who were actually boys dressed in long robes. They wore turbans and false beards.

  The spotlight trained on a boy wearing a crown. It was King Herod. His robe was well stuffed. He patted his chest and proclaimed. “I order you to find the baby and bring me word.”

  “Yes, your majesty,” one of the wise men said. They turned and walked off the stage.

  The boy with the crown swaggered around, holding his bulging robe. “Ha, ha, ha. I will kill all the baby boys in Judea. Not one shall escape.”

  He shifts the bombs under his robe and holds up his hands. There’s a detonator! He’s going to blow. Unlike the other boy, this one’s smiling. He’s taunting the shepherds and sheep. “You die. You all die.”

  I can’t shoot. He’s only a boy. I lunge at him. I don’t care if I die t
oo. I grab his wrist and twist his arm behind his back and search his vest for the bombs. They’re hidden behind white pillows.

  The villagers scream and shout. All the shepherds flee, leaving their sheep who run after them crying. One of the sheep comes to thank me for saving her.

  “Tyler, Tyler.” A female soldier grabs me from behind. She throws the water from her canteen at me.

  “Kelly?” Tyler’s eyes grew wide. What was going on? A stampede of church members filed for the exits. From the side, the rent-a-cop approached, his billy club pointed at Tyler, as if he were a rabid dog.

  “Calm, calm,” the guard said. “Put your hands up against the wall.”

  “Don’t hit him,” Kelly said. “He needs help. He’s a veteran.”

  “Ty!” Bree ran toward him right in front of the guard who took a swipe with his club.

  Tyler scooped Bree out of the way and pushed out the side door. Cold air slammed into his lungs. He swung Bree over his shoulders and sprinted for the row of trees.

  “You’ll be safe with me. No one’s going to hurt you. No one.”

  “Whee!” Bree said. “Throw me higher.”

  “No time, sweetie. Got to get away from the enemy.”

  “Tyler, Tyler.” Kelly’s voice carried from the building. “Come back with Bree. Tyler, please.”

  “Save Mama too,” Bree said. “I want Mama.”

  Tyler snapped his head around. Lights were trained on him. Kelly held out her arms. “I can help you. Let me help you.”

  “No.” He put Bree down. “I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”

  Drawing his hood over his face, he vaulted over the cinder block wall and sprinted down the alley. Sirens rang in the distance as he scrambled down the stairs of the BART station. He had enough on his fare card to take him across the Bay.

  There’d be a manhunt. Charges filed. The child was not a suicide bomber; he was playing King Herod.

  They’d say he tried to kidnap Bree. His darling Bree who wasn’t afraid of him, who trusted him. They’d turn her against him. Tell her he was a crazy vet. Someone to be pitied. Not good enough to be normal.

  He arrived at the West Oakland BART station without being detained. No one cared about a single homeless man, one dressed in camouflage fatigues. Invisible, to be shunned and avoided.

  Tyler crossed under the busy interstate and hopped a fence into the railyard harboring rows and rows of freight trains. One was slowly pulling out of the station.

  With one easy leap, he pulled himself into an empty boxcar covered with graffiti. The train picked up speed, rattling to its destination to points unknown. Tyler sat against the wall and put his head between his knees.

  God, forgive me. Take this worthless man and do with me what you can. I give up. I need help. I need You.

  21

  ~ Kelly ~

  “He can’t have just vanished.” I pace back and forth in front of Tyler’s friend, Sawyer. We’re in the Oakland BART station following up on a tip.

  “No one here’s seen him so far. Is he answering his phone?”

  “Of course not. His battery must be dead by now.”

  It’s been two days since Tyler disappeared.

  “Hold on,” Sawyer says. He approaches a man meditating on a blanket.

  “Yo, Raj.”

  The thin, bearded man ignores him.

  Sawyer bends with his hands on his knees and blows in the man’s face.

  The man’s eyes snap open, and it takes a moment before they focus with recognition. “Sawyer? Tom Sawyer?”

  “Sawyer McGee. But I’m not here for yoga lessons. It’s about G.I. Joe. You seen him?”

  “G.I. Joe? Army man?” Raj scratches his head, then scratches his armpits. “Little green Army men.”

  “Not little. Real guy. My homie, Tyler Manning.”

  “Yes, he’s wearing green camouflage. Not desert gray. It was green jungle.”

  “That’s him.” Sawyer snaps his fingers. “Think, think. He get off or get on. Which train?”

  “He got off. Cold night. Drizzling. Headed toward the train yards. He asked me which way to go. I told him.”

  Sawyer slips a fiver to Raj. “Good job, man. You see him again you tell me.”

  “Not going to see him. He said goodbye. Have a nice life, and the next life after. He’s gone. I saw into his soul, gray aura, death.”

  I shudder as a chill creeps over my shoulders and wraps around my scalp. “Tyler wouldn’t kill himself, would he?”

  Sawyer takes my arm. “Nah, he’s too strong for that. He’s probably taking a vacation. Going to see the sights. I bet he’s headed to Colorado. His family used to have a farm there.”

  “Did he tell you about it? Do you know where? What town?”

  “No idea. Sorry. He only talked about it in general.”

  It’s times like this I wish I had a smartphone and a browser. “I don’t have a clue where he’s from.”

  “Know anyone who knew him back then? Any former girlfriends? High school sweethearts?”

  I hang my head. “He never talked about anyone other than an uncle who had a tree farm. Of course his parents are gone.”

  “We could put out an ad or contact the press.”

  “No, Tyler would hate the publicity.” I’ve already stopped the church from going public. After Tyler’s episode, I held a meeting with the congregation, telling them Tyler’s story, minus the part about killing the boy. Everyone agreed to keep it out of the press and to pray for him.

  I try his phone again, but my call goes directly to voicemail. “Let me call my sister. Maybe she can do some research on the internet. I want to find him before Christmas.”

  “Good luck. He could be anywhere.” Sawyer shakes his head. “I heard there’s a blizzard descending over the Rockies. If I were him, I would have gone south to Mexico.”

  ~ Tyler ~

  Tyler huddled in the rear cutout of a grain hopper he’d caught at Salt Lake City. Snow blew through the opening, and a freezing wind pummeled him.

  The first day was relatively smooth crossing through Sacramento and into Nevada. But when the freight train stopped in Salt Lake City, Tyler had jumped off. He’d bought a parka, snow boots, gloves, sleeping bag and backpack from a secondhand store, then skulked around the yard waiting for a train headed east.

  He’d finally caught this one headed for Denver, which meant it had to go near his boyhood town right outside of Grand Junction.

  Tyler tucked himself into the waterproof sleeping bag. Gingerly, he fumbled through his backpack and counted his money. Twenty dollars and change left from his advance. He still had the smartphone, but he’d have to mail it back. He itched to turn it on and let Kelly know he was okay, but with the fancy tracking devices, he couldn’t risk it.

  His chest ached at the disappointment and embarrassment he’d caused Kelly. That hurt look on her face while she’d pleaded with him. I can help you. Let me help you.

  Did she even know what it would take to help a man like him? Had she a clue how he’d drain all the happiness out of her life? Deplete her until she had nothing left to give? Suck the life out of her?

  The outlook for veterans with PTSD, especially ones who had lucid flashbacks and outbursts was grim, and Tyler didn’t want to saddle anyone with his nightmare.

  The miles rattled by as Tyler dozed off and on. Near evening, the train slowed and entered the Grand Junction railyard, the hub of transportation for the fruits and agricultural products grown in the fertile Grand Valley.

  Tyler kept his eyes peeled for the rail cops and waited until his car was in between parallel rows of boxcars. Once the train was barely above walking speed, Tyler hefted his backpack and bag and hopped off. He took a bathroom break and zigzagged between tracks to get out of the yard.

  “Hey you,” a man yelled through a bullhorn in his white pickup truck. He gunned the accelerator and drove straight at Tyler.

  Tyler scrambled over a flat car, then ran the opposite direct
ion. With a mile of freight train between them, he cut several banks of tracks and climbed up an embankment. Fort Manning, Colorado was only a few miles north.

  ~ Kelly ~

  I’m on my way to Fort Manning, after flying into Grand Junction on a puddle jumper from Phoenix. It’s after five and the sun is setting.

  “There are only two motels and I’m not sure they’re even open this time of year. Sure you don’t want to stay in Grand Junction?” the cab driver asks as we drive past a chain motel on the interstate.

  “No, I’ll figure it out when I get there.”

  “Okay, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” the driver said. “When we get there, I’ll stick around and get a cup of coffee in case you change your mind.”

  “Thanks, that’s nice of you. Actually, I’d like you to take me to the local cemetery after I get a room.”

  “It’ll be dark, ma’am. You sure you know what you’re doing?” He turns and stares at me over his shoulder.

  “I’m meeting someone out there.”

  His eyes bug out, and he makes the sign of the cross, before turning his attention back to the road.

  I’m surprised how flat it is out here. I always thought of Colorado as mountainous. Instead, the snow barely dusts the ground, and flat top mesas loom in the distance.

  The road gets narrower as we ascend toward one of the mesas. The snow covered rock walls gleam ghostly over the red earth. A gas station and two small buildings sit at a crossroads. One of them is boarded up, and the other is hidden under a pile of snow.

  “This is it,” the driver says. “I’d ask at the gas station which one is open, but then again, it’s a coin toss.”

  ~ Tyler ~

  Tyler trekked the remaining miles on foot after hitching a ride with a farmer. When Tyler told the man he was going to Fort Manning, the old farmer had said, “Mannings never give up. Too bad there aren’t any more Mannings left in these parts.”

  Tyler rubbed his cold hands and cut through a field, skipping the single crossroad in town near the highway. Back at Grand Junction, he’d filled his backpack with food and bought a wreath, but he didn’t dare show his face in the small town, especially one named for his ancestors.