“Well, the practice sure paid off. You know Jeff got Russ Manheim to give a showing at our grand opening Memorial Day weekend, so plan on having a bunch of items ready for sale by then. I’m advertising big time and hoping for a huge turnout. Earrings seem to get the most interest, so stock up on them.”
“I will.”
“If you’re not too busy having breakfast with Lance, of course.” Zoe dug in the bag for more chips.
“How’s Jeff, by the way?” Marjorie could give as good as she got. “Rumor has it he’s spending quite a few nights at the gallery.” She flashed Zoe a wicked grin.
Amanda huffed. “Don’t even go there. Zoe still thinks the man is only using her for sex and there’s no affection involved. She’s blind to the obvious, if you ask me.”
“Talk about the pot calling the kettle . . .”
Marjorie smiled at Amanda’s discomfort. Thank God I’m out of the barrel for a while. “Who’s up for some chocolate cake?”
“Me!” Zoe laughed at Amanda’s scowl.
“A small piece for me, thanks,” Amanda said. “Some of us don’t have the metabolism of a ditch digger.”
Marjorie sliced the cake and served them. She carved an extra-large piece and covered it with plastic wrap for Lance, then noticed the speculative glances from both women. “He helps out a lot around here. The least I can do is . . .”
“Yeah,” Zoe said and grinned. “It’s the least you can do.”
Lance sat in the waiting room, his usual pre-visit jitters noticeable in the restless shift of his body and the deep crease between his brows. He was usually Captain Majewski’s last patient for the day, since Chris was considerate enough to stay late and see him after normal clinic hours. It had become a toss-up as to whether coming after sunset was worth fighting rush hour traffic. Soon it would be a moot point. As April faded into May, daylight lengthened and consequently shortened his evening comfort zone.
Chris opened the door to his private office and called Lance in. “How’s the new job coming along?” he asked when Lance settled himself in the easy chair. While the chair was meant to be comfortable, Lance’s rigid posture took no advantage of it.
“The job is going well, Sir. I’ve still got a lot to learn, but Dev, Mr. MacMurphy, seems satisfied with my progress. Ed Santone is a real stand-up guy and has helped me get into the swing of things at the station. It’s a good place to work. Most of the guys are pretty relaxed, and since I’m on the late shift it’s quiet, too.”
Chris nodded. “I’m glad Dev’s place is working out for you. How about your living arrangements? Are you still renting the apartment at the Blue Point Inn?”
“Yeah. I’m a lucky SOB to have found such a good place. There’s not much in the way of housing near the radio station, and Marjorie is a wonderful woman. That apartment she’s renting to me was supposed to be hers. I guess she told you about that when she called you.” He glanced at Chris for some indication of how that phone interview went.
“She sounded very pleasant on the phone. A bit unsure about what to expect with your PTSD, but I felt she wanted to help you out as long as she didn’t have to worry about any violent behavior.” Chris studied him for a few seconds, then sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. He put a pad and pen on the arm of it and gestured to Lance. “Before we get into talking about the time you spent in Iraq, let’s go over how well you’re coping with stressful situations in your life right now. We’re going to have to begin meeting during daylight hours soon. Will you be able to handle that?”
“I’m doing better than I expected, actually. At least when I’m in my apartment or working on the big house for Marjorie. As long as I’m on the property, I’m good, probably because there is usually just Marjorie and myself. Even if she has guests, they tend to be out and about during the day. I still can’t bring myself to go to a restaurant to eat, though. Too many people, too much noise.” Too much similarity to the mess tent back in the desert.
“Where do you eat breakfast now? In your room? I know you have a mini-kitchen deal, so you could cook and eat alone.”
“A lot of the time I eat breakfast with Marjorie in her kitchen. We sort of got into the habit while I was a guest, and it just kinda stuck. When she has paying guests, she leaves a plate for me in the kitchen and I take it to my room. Otherwise we eat together.”
“You’ve mentioned Marjorie a lot during our sessions lately. Is there anything going on there?” Chris’s gaze sharpened. “You need to be careful, Lance. It may be too early to begin a romantic relationship.”
“There’s no relationship. We’re becoming friends, I think, but that’s all there is to it.” You’d better not be able to read minds, doc, or I’m in a world of shit. The fact that there is no relationship between me and Marjorie doesn’t mean I don’t want one.
“Okay, good enough. You’re making great progress, Lance, and I feel you’ll recover completely, but it won’t happen overnight. How about your co-workers? You get along with them well? Any difficulties settling in?”
“I’ve gotta say, doc, working with so many ex-military guys helps. A few guys get together for beers on Friday nights, but I haven’t tried that, mostly because I’m working nights. Two of them went in on a fishing boat together and invited me along last Saturday. A couple of hours on the water with a rod and reel was pretty damn nice.”
“Good. I’m glad you can get together with some of them outside of work.” Chris picked up his pen. “Let’s go over your final day in Iraq again. The more times we work through it, the easier and less traumatic it will be.”
Lance nodded, already feeling his breaths begin to come in short, fast gasps as he remembered that terrible morning. “The sun was up and already blistering by seven a.m., so I headed toward the mess tent to get some scraps from the cook for Spike. I’d fed him once when he seemed like he was starving to death, and from then on, he was my shadow. The cook always managed to save something for him, and I’d feed him, then tie him up out back to keep him from pestering everyone in the mess tent.” Lance rotated his head on his shoulders to ease the stiffness that always settled in his neck by this point in his narrative.
That mutt was one of the few things he’d loved in that pest-ridden village. The unrelenting heat, the dust, the constant smell of animal dung that hung in the air like a miasma . . . he’d never forget that shit. But Spike greeting him at the end of his workday, tail wagging, tongue lolling out, had eased his loneliness and gave him some relief from the bleakness of his surroundings.
“As usual, the guys gave me a ration of shit about Spike, but that never bothered me. I told them Spike was a lot better trained than they were, so they’d better get their asses in gear or the dog would get a promotion before they did.” Lance dropped his chin to his chest and concentrated on evening out his breathing. Chris waited quietly for him to continue. Lance felt the burn begin behind his eyes as he stared blindly at the wall. “I loved that dog, and there was damn little to like in that God-forsaken sandbox, so he filled a lot of empty hours.” Returning his gaze to Chris, Lance continued, his voice subdued, his fingers locked together in a grip that whitened his knuckles.
“That morning, Spike began to bark and wouldn’t stop, so I went to see what was stirring him up so. Before I got to him, he stopped barking and yelped once.” Lance stopped to clear his throat. He took a slug of water from the bottle Chris always put next to his chair. “When I found him he was just . . . lying there, in a puddle of blood.”
As always, Lance felt the rush of grief he tried to keep hidden. It didn’t seem right to be so saddened about a dog. The loss of his men was more devastating, but that didn’t make Spike’s death any easier or less important to him.
“Before I could even check him out, a blast tore through the mess tent and threw me about twenty feet, against a concrete wall. I still don’t know if th
e impact knocked me out or if I just don’t remember what happened next.” He felt sweat trickle down the back of his neck. His hands clenched into fists, Lance rocked slightly back and forth.
“Remember your breathing exercises, Lance. Slow it down. Space them out. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”
Lance gave a curt nod, and did his best to comply. “The next thing I remember was the rumble of the plane. They evaced me to Landstuhl. There was an IV in my arm, and I was strapped into a litter. I think the flight nurse must have given me something for the pain, because my head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and my vision was blurry. I still hurt like a mother though. And I was angry because no one would tell me what the hell had happened. I’m pretty sure I cursed that poor flight nurse out, but she just stuck a needle into that IV tubing, and next thing I knew I was in Germany.”
“How long was it before you found out what had happened to your unit?”
“Not until the next day. They did some surgery to stabilize my hip and knee, then told me they were going to ship me to Reed. I told them I wasn’t going anywhere until someone told me what happened.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “A damn suicide bomber killed all but two of my men that day. And the bomber was one of my trainees.” Lance finally leaned back in the chair and studied the ceiling. “Goddamn that motherfucker to hell. What keeps me awake most nights is why didn’t I see it coming? I should have noticed something. Shouldn’t I?”
“It’s hard enough to detect a fanatic among men born and raised in your own culture, let alone those whose belief system and cultural attitudes are very different from yours. I’ve told you before that not recognizing the bomber wasn’t your fault. But I know you’ll never completely absolve yourself of the blame. It is natural for you to feel responsible for the deaths of your men, especially since you’ve told me that several had become close friends. The anger you feel toward yourself should fade with time, but the sadness and regret will always be there.”
Lance scrubbed his hands over his face and blew out a breath. “You’re right about that last part, doc. That’s for damn sure.”
Chris jotted a few more notes on his pad, then stood. “You’re making progress, Lance. You got through today’s session with less distress than last week. I’ll be driving down to Blue Point to see Dev and check up on a few others next week. Why don’t we plan to do your session at your apartment and save you the drive up here?”
“Sounds good, doc.”
“It will be nice to meet Marjorie and see this apartment you seem so happy with.”
Lance frowned. Had he mentioned Marjorie too often? He didn’t want Chris to think there was anything going on between them. If he wasn’t careful, he’d get a lecture about ‘relationships’ from his shrink. A lecture he’d have no intention of taking to heart.
Chapter 5
Lance knocked on the back door and waited. After a minute or two and several more knocks, he tried the handle. Unlocked. Damn it. Hadn’t he told her not to leave the doors unlocked? Yes. Then she overruled him by stating that, as a bed and breakfast, she kept the front door unlocked in case someone arrived needing a room. Like he had that first morning, remember? And if the front door was open, why bother to keep the back door locked? Female logic. If he used the term oxymoron here, she’d probably haul off and sock him in the jaw.
“Marjorie? You home?” He stepped into the kitchen and listened. The big house was quiet. He noted the dishes on the drain board and spied a piece of chocolate cake on the counter, wrapped neatly in plastic. For him? He hoped.
Her car was in the garage, and she wasn’t outside. He’d checked. His eyes narrowed. Unlocked doors made the back of his neck itch. This silence made the hairs on it stand up. Shit. Maybe he should scout around. He crossed the kitchen and opened the cellar door. No lights down there. He shut it and walked down the hall toward the front door. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard footsteps coming down from the third floor. He blew out a long breath.
When she rounded the head of the staircase and saw him standing below, she jerked to a halt and put a hand to her throat. “You startled me. I didn’t hear you knock.”
“And that’s a big problem, Marjorie.” He frowned as she continued down and stopped two steps above him. Don’t think those few extra inches will give you an advantage this time. You’re going to listen to me if I have to strap you down and force-feed you safety precautions. “Believe me. I knocked a few times, called your name a few more. Then I got worried and started searching for you.”
“You worried about me?”
He narrowed his eyes at her pleased expression. “Of course I worried,” he growled. “You’re a single woman, living alone, who lets any Tom, Dick, or Harry walk right in off the street. I could have been a thief, or a serial killer.”
At that last statement, Marjorie went pale and her pupils dilated. Good. Maybe if he put some fear into her, she’d be more careful.
“Actually, since I knew I’d be upstairs for a while, I locked the front door. I just left the back one open in case—”
“What? In case only thieves and killers who use back doors could make it inside?”
Her head snapped back as if he’d slapped her. Her eyes now sparked with temper. “No. I left it open so you could come in and get a piece of cake I saved for you. How foolish of me.” She brushed past him and hurried toward the kitchen.
He followed, feeling like a total jerk now, but still wanting to make a point about her safety. “Listen, Marjorie, I’m sorry if I came on a little too strong.”
Marjorie snatched the plate up and whirled to face him. “No problem. I got the message. It’s a miracle I haven’t been murdered in my bed sometime in the past two years.” She shoved the cake plate into his hands. “Here. Enjoy. You can let yourself out. I’ll make sure to lock the door behind you.”
Damn. Apparently this woman had a very short fuse on certain topics. This one was, in all honesty, none of his business. But still . . . He held the plate in one hand and rubbed the back of his neck with the other. “Okay. You’re right. This is your house. Your business. You run it the way you want. I was out of line, and I apologize.”
She gave a curt nod. “Apology accepted.”
He made no move to leave.
She tilted her head. “Was there something else?”
“I came to see how your scalp wound was doing.”
“Oh.” Marjorie sighed. “It’s fine. Thank you for asking. And thank you again for helping me with it.” She clasped and unclasped her hands.
“I’m glad I was here to give you a hand.” He studied her face. Her temper had brought color to her cheeks. There was something off about her eyes though . . . Then it hit him. Her eyes didn’t appear angry now. Her pupils were dilated. As if she were afraid. Shit. Not of him, he hoped. He let the silence between them stretch until it reached the awkward stage. He knew he could outwait her. He could be an ass, but politeness and hospitality came with her job.
“I could get you a glass of milk to go with that cake, if you’d like.”
“That would be great.” He hid his grin at the win.
She took the plate out of his hand and set it on the table. Put a fork and napkin beside it. Then she slid it around to his usual place, where his back was to the wall. “Have a seat. I’ll get you some milk.”
While she poured, he noted that her hands were trembling, ever so slightly. “Aren’t you going to join me?”
Finally, she smiled. “Sure.” She poured herself a cup of tea and sat.
“No cake?”
“I already had a piece at lunch. I’m watching my waist.”
That made two of them. Though she kept that part of her anatomy well hidden.
“I’m sorry I was so rude before.” She nodded in the direction of the stairs. “I kn
ow you were only watching out for me, and I appreciate your concern. I, uh, I’ll try to be more careful.”
She rose from the table and went to her desk. When she came back she placed a key on the table next to his plate. “You can keep this. If you want to come in, any time, you’re welcome. I’ll make sure the doors are locked from now on.”
He stared at the key. Studied her face. “You trust me to have this?”
“Of course I trust you. If I didn’t, you wouldn’t be living in the apartment over my garage.” A faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
If the mayor of New York had given him the key to the city, he couldn’t have been more surprised. And touched. Unable to find the words to express his feelings, he merely nodded and put the key in his pocket. “You want to talk about what’s frightening you?”
“What? No. Nothing’s frightening me.” She made herself busy clearing the table.
Yep, there was something. He wondered what it could be, but respected her right to privacy. “If you ever do, I’m here.”
“Thank you. You should know I’d return the favor. If you ever wanted to talk. About . . . anything.”
He nodded. “Thanks.” Yeah, it would be a cold day when he’d share the horror of his last day in Iraq with this lovely woman. Her offer was heartfelt and he appreciated that, almost as much as the key.
After Lance left, Marjorie sat back down at the table and had another cup of tea. While she had been struggling to put her past fears behind her, his concern for her safety brought them all back. Her birthday had passed a few days ago, and as always, it left her antsy and sad and . . . nervous. She thought back six years to the fateful spring day that changed her life.
Theirs by Chance Page 5
