by Linda Palmer
It seemed odd not to be rushing around as I usually did. I went to the campus library. I stopped by the book store. I took some photos of the leaves with my cell phone. I wished I could say I felt perfectly safe, but that would be a lie Zander could've seen through in a heartbeat.
I drove myself to a Chinese buffet for late lunch take-out, but diverted when I saw Zander's truck parked at a Mexican restaurant in the same strip mall. Without thought, I chose a spot nearby and went inside to find him. The moment I stepped through the door, I knew I shouldn't have. I spotted Zander and a woman with long auburn hair sitting in a booth. If this was a date, I didn't want to be there.
I began backing out the way I'd come.
"Riley!" Zander frantically motioned for me to join them.
With the eyes of everyone in the restaurant planted on moi, I made my way over to him. "Saw your truck outside. I didn't know you were with someone." I smiled apologetically at her. She didn't smile back.
"No worries. Have you eaten?" He scooted over, clearly inviting me to join them. "Oh, um, Riley, this is Miranda Henry. Miranda, Riley McConnell."
I offered her my hand, which she briefly shook--one of those limp, useless handshakes. I preferred the solid kind, palm to palm, two firm shakes. "I should probably go."
"What's your hurry?" Zander's eyes begged me to stay.
Noting that he seemed a little desperate, I slid into the booth beside him. A waiter popped up. I ordered a cheese dip and punch and waited for their conversation to resume.
Zander broke the silence, but only after he squeezed the hand I'd dropped below table level. A silent thank you? "Miranda is my occupational therapist."
Amused, I squeezed back a you're welcome. "The one trying to convince you to meet with kids in similar situations?"
"Roger that. She wants to set up something for tomorrow afternoon."
"He's talked to you about this?" Miranda asked, her gaze sizing me up. She sounded a little surprised, almost as if she'd assumed he had no friends.
"Yes, and I'm voting with you. He'd be amazing." I turned to Zander. "And you might think about helping out the local cops. I'll bet Sergeant Brian would work with you."
"How could he help the police?" asked Miranda.
So she didn't know. I backtracked just a little. "Zander's had a lot of training in interrogations. I thought he might have something to offer." I gave Miranda another smile. She didn't return it, either.
"Fine. I'll do the kid thing. Don't know about the cops yet, though." Zander drank some of his punch. A chip dipped in the set-up salsa occupied his mouth next.
Miranda leaned closer, her smile strained even though she'd gotten her way. "Excellent. Here are the details." She dug a piece of paper from her bag and stuck it in the pocket of his shirt.
"I sure hope I don't screw up some little kid for life."
I laughed. Couldn't help it. Miranda flashed me a look of irritation. By then, I had my dip, so I dug in without another word. Since the waitress brought their food, too, the only sound coming from any of us was crunch, crunch, crunch. Zander, who'd ordered nachos, pushed his plate toward mine. "Help me eat this, would you? I didn't know there'd be so much."
While Miranda watched, I dug right into the spicy dish, double dipping every other bite, as did Zander. The atmosphere after that got decidedly chilly and conversation dwindled to random remarks about the food and long, awkward silences. Finally we finished. Zander told the waitress to put my dip on his tab. I noticed that Miranda got a ticket of her very own. Not a date. But I'd already guessed that. The three of us walked out together.
"I'll see you at the house." I left them with a pageant wave.
I think that did it for the therapist, who split, too, her heels rapidly clicking against the sidewalk as she stalked away. Just as I stuck my keys into the ignition of my car, Zander walked up and motioned for me to roll down my window.
He leaned down so he could look at me. "Thanks for that. She was starting to weird me out."
"Well, you are pretty irresistible."
He snorted and walked to his truck.
We got to the duplex within minutes of each other. By then I had a million questions I wanted to ask about Miranda. I waited until later, though, when we were both watching TV. "So what's the deal with Mir-an-da?" Her name came out a sing-song.
He groaned and scooted lower on the couch so his head rested on the back. "She wants to be more than my counselor, I think."
"Your sex therapist, maybe?"
Zander winced.
"And you're not interested?"
"What do you think?"
I couldn't believe it. "Not your type?"
He raised his head to look at me. "It's not that."
"You can still have sex, right? I mean, you didn't mention losing anything but a kidney, hip, some gut, and part of the leg."
"Geez, Riley!"
"Just asking."
"I'm fine in that department, okay?" His cheeks had never been so red.
"Keep your cool, Xman. Based on past, um, experience, I thought you were. So I'm trying to figure out why you wouldn't be interested in a woman as gorgeous as Miranda, especially when she's obviously throwing herself at you."
"I prefer to fly solo."
"Because?"
"No woman is going to compromise her lifestyle because of me. I have enough guilt as it is."
Ah. That explained a lot, even if it was more faulty logic. "But you're so mobile, and even if you were stuck in a wheelchair, most things are doable these days thanks to the whole world being more savvy about stuff like that." I wasn't about to use the word disability.
"What if I'm not always like this? What if my other kidney fails? What if--"
I cut him off. "You can't live your life worrying about what might happen."
"Isn't that the banana calling the lemon yellow?"
I bristled. "Excuse me? My fears are based on an actual event, Zander. Some guys tried to kidnap me."
"And my fears are based on an actual event, too, Ri-ley. Several of them, in fact." Now my name was the sing-song. "But the one most relevant is the girl who swore she'd wait forever for me cut a choagy."
"Say what?"
"Split. Took one look at my stump and got the hell out of there."
My face heated in a whoosh of outrage. "What a bitch!"
He burst out laughing. "Maybe, but at least she was honest, and I didn't blame her. She loved sports. Tennis. Golf. Skiing. She even surfed. Dragging my ass around would've seriously cramped her style."
"There are other women out there. Women who aren't into sports, who'd be glad to find a guy who went to war to fight for our freedom. Women like Miranda."
Or me.
"Not interested." He switched gears. "Will you go with me to Children's Hospital tomorrow at one?"
"I won't make you nervous?"
"I'll be nervous no matter what."
"Then I've got your seven." I deliberately plugged in the wrong number.
That cracked him up.
Things were a little cozier when we turned in around midnight. Not that we didn't stay on our own sides of the bed. We did. But the atmosphere was definitely lighter.
A dream about a zombie chasing me from one end of UT to the other woke me at midnight, but once I scooted closer to Zander, I went right back to sleep.
* * * *
Friday afternoon, we discovered that the hospital, a modern brick building with lots of glass, had plenty of parking lots, but most of them were full. After driving around for fifteen minutes, we finally caught a car backing out of a spot that we gladly grabbed. Using directions written on a piece of paper, Zander and I walked to a physical rehab area where a group of kids on crutches, in wheelchairs, and on a gurney waited.
Zander's demeanor hinted at fear that seemed ironic in light of the dangers he'd faced fighting. But I knew children had a way of obliterating negativity, and wasn't surprised to realize he was pretty much himself again in a matter of minutes
.
His kept his injury explanation short and sweet, getting to the point immediately so he could move past it. "I was hurt by an explosion and had to have part of my leg removed." Zander pulled up a chair and sat so he could raise the hem of his jeans. He showed them his prosthesis and explained the parts and what it was made of.
"Take it off," said a little boy sitting on the floor in front of him. Brown eyes almost hidden by a mop of brown hair challenged Zander.
Clearly startled, Zander gave the request several seconds' consideration before he did as asked. I watched with interest since seeing him do this was new to me, too. Without the prosthetic, we saw the gel sleeve that fit his severed leg securely. "This was made just for me and keeps the new leg from hurting. It also helps it stay on."
"Take it off, too." This came from a precious little girl with golden curls, big blue eyes, and a pink tutu. She sat in a wheelchair. I saw that one of her legs was missing. A birth defect? I wondered. Cancer? An accident? Whichever, it just wasn't right for a princess to only need one glass slipper.
Zander rolled off the sleeve, exposing his scars, which still looked pretty raw to me. Nonplussed, the little boy on the floor scooted closer so he could see better. Others followed his lead and even touched the injury. Soon surrounded by curious patients, Zander shot me a what-now glance before his gaze moved beyond me. I turned and saw Miranda standing in the doorway, watching us, her arms crossed over her full breasts. Though clearly not thrilled to see me there, she managed to give Zander a thumbs up. I noted that her lipstick and nails matched her tight sweater.
How serious was her crush on him? As bad as mine? I dragged my gaze back to Zander just in time to see one of the kids showing off his own amputation. Were they really comparing wounds? Guys. You had to love 'em.
Zander began talking about his therapy, sharing his schedule and explaining how he got better every day, all of which was news to me. He talked about playing basketball and asked them what they liked to do. By the end of the visit, he had seven kids at his feet and one on his lap, a rapt audience that clearly adored him, the hero soldier they'd known less than an hour.
"Is she your girlfriend?" asked an African-American boy, pointing to me. He was probably five years old.
"She's a friend that's a girl."
"Do you go on dates?" This came from the cutie in the tutu.
"Why?" Zander said. "Are you asking me out?"
Goldilocks collapsed into giggles.
A little boy with no hair and a bright red Superman cape spoke up next from the gurney on which he lay. "Are you going to fight the bad guys again when you're all better?"
Zander shook his head with a wry smile. "I'm going to find another way to serve my country."
"My daddy's a soldier, too. He's coming home in this many days." Superman held up ten fingers.
"What are you two going to do first?"
"Go fishing at my grampa's."
Zander grinned. "If you've got an extra rod for me, I'll bring the crickets." They shared a high-five.
To say he was a hit didn't do him justice. My hero had clearly lifted spirits and made some friends for life. As for me, well, I was a bundle of emotions ranging from sorrow to elation.
"You're incredible, you know that?" I said once he'd let the kids help him put the prosthesis back on and walked over to me. I added a hug for emphasis, ending it only when Miranda approached us.
She totally ignored me. "What'd I tell you?"
Zander just shrugged, but anyone could see he was pleased.
As for me, I fell in love with him for sure and for always right then and there.
Zander
We left Miranda as soon as we could without being rude.
I couldn't believe that she'd ever gotten my butt there-- Riley, not Miranda--and that her confidence in me had resulted in finding the courage to step out of my comfort zone. I'd never been more proud.
Was I starting to hope?
Concern abruptly replaced my pride, tainting today's minor victory. It would be so easy to get caught up in Riley's butterflies and rainbows world. But if I did, my real life would be that much more hopeless when she moved on. That she would, I never doubted.
I was going to make sure of it.
Wanting to delay our being alone in the apartment, I detoured to my old haunt, Brookside. I slowed the truck when I got to my wingman's trailer, but passed it because his car wasn't there. After driving a little farther to our usual hangout, I spotted my comrades in rehab sitting on their lawn chairs as usual. I killed the engine. We both got out of the truck.
"Hey, Xman," Simms called out, waving his arm cast in greeting. "Where're you bunking now?"
"With her." I winced. "Scratch that. We're just splitting rent." And sharing a bed, but, unlike Riley, my lips were sealed.
Each and every guy blatantly inspected Riley, who couldn't have looked sexier--hair tangled by the breeze, brown eyes laughing, kissable lips spread in that amazing smile. I tried not to let their stares bother me, focusing instead on basking in their obvious envy as I introduced everyone by last name only. Well, except for one guy, who we called Sparks because no one could pronounce his real name. Wilson, Simms, Patrick, Rogers-- She met them all. Someone rounded up an ice chest for us to sit on.
Too small.
I automatically sat and patted my good leg. Without hesitation, she sort of backed up to straddle my thigh. Man, did I get some wistful looks when I put a hand on her leg to steady her.
For the next hour, we shot the breeze. Riley clearly enjoyed herself, laughing when someone cracked some lame-ass joke and making us explain every time we spouted the colorful slang so specific to military life. Simms had her sign his arm cast. Patrick, standing with the aid of crutches, showed off some of his worst scars, which, I'll admit, were pretty impressive, especially his mutilated foot. He'd be getting a partial prosthesis any day. Wilson demonstrated the dexterity of his bionic hand. Sparks, who had a shoulder wound and a girlfriend, didn't openly flirt as the others did.
Riley never flinched and had them all in her pocket in no time. The best part? She didn't have a clue that she did.
"Where's Kyle?" I glanced toward his trailer for at least the tenth time. It had been days since I'd talked to him. I wanted to catch up. "I've been trying to get him all week. Did he go home or something?"
The guys exchanged quick looks. No one spoke.
My heart dropped into my stomach. "What?"
"Kyle moved back to his parents' farm on Monday," Patrick told us. "They found him hanging from a rafter in their barn that night."
Riley gasped. "He killed himself?"
Wilson nodded. "Yeah. Funeral was yesterday. Hobbs went."
I went ballistic. "Why the hell didn't someone call me?"
Simms fielded that one. "No one had your number, man, and you know how the VA is about giving out personal shit, even when it's important."
My heart thudded in my chest, but I'd never felt so dead inside. To the one, my friends talked about Kyle's suicide like it was something that happened every day, which, I knew, it did. Twenty- two times a day according to the latest statistics. And the numbers were rising.
God, I'd miss him.
Already did.
Riley abruptly repositioned her legs so she could drape an arm across my shoulders. I swear I almost lost it. Could she feel me trembling?
"Sorry to hear that," I managed to say, my tone deliberately as flat as theirs so I wouldn't fall apart. "He was one of the good guys."
Abruptly hopping off my lap, she tugged on my sleeve. "We should go, but first you need to give somebody your number."
Five guys simultaneously dug cell phones from their pockets. I rattled it off and tried to enter theirs into my phone. Couldn't with my hands shaking so badly. Riley coolly took my cell and did the honors. She also entered all their numbers into her own cell phone and gave out hers in return.
I'll admit that got me. What'd she need their numbers for? And why give th
em hers? With my luck, one of those jokers would actually use it.
"It was so nice to meet all of you." Riley made the circle of friends, offering each a hug and getting some back.
"She's a keeper," Rogers told me with a sly wink. He sat in a brand new sports wheelchair that enabled him to play the rough games he loved--hockey, football--and even the tamer ones like basketball and baseball.
I didn't say a word, but I did put my arm around her in a bullshit show of possession. Did she pull away to put me in my place? Nope. Not the girl with the big heart. Instead, she put her arm around me. We walked to my truck accompanied by their wolf whistles and laughter. Riley waved as I peeled out, smiling as if everything was fine.
But it wasn't and might never be again. My world was the worse for Kyle not being in it, and even if I lived forever, I'd never understand why he or any of the others who lost everything were dead and I wasn't.
Had God flipped a coin?
Heads he lives?
Tails he doesn't?
Nothing else made any sense to me.
Chapter Twelve
Riley
The moment we hit the highway, I dropped the façade and buried my face in my hands. "Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God."
That did it. Zander choked and lost it. I made him get off the road at the first opportunity. He turned the truck onto a dirt track that disappeared into autumn-tinted woods. When he killed the engine, he bolted from the truck. I gave him his space and sobbed for yet another fatality of a war that wouldn't end for our troops even after they came home. I gave Zander a few minutes alone before I got out and joined him at the back of the truck. "I'm so sorry about Kyle."
"Me, too." He wiped his face on his sleeve, avoiding my gaze. "I knew he was struggling, but I did not see that coming."
I lowered the tailgate and climbed onto it, sitting and dangling my legs. "How long had you known him?"
"We were both in Kandahar for a while. He got transferred. We reconnected on a plane coming home." Zander sat beside me. The truck dipped with the added weight. "He was so damn funny. Kept me laughing even though I didn't have shit to feel good about." He swiped at a stray tear tracking his flushed cheek and still wouldn't look at me.
