Giving It All

by Arianna Hart

  “Touché.” Ellie’s grandmother’s health had deteriorated before Ellie had graduated high school. She’d balanced commuting to college and taking care of her grandmother until she’d earned her master’s degree. It was a choice she’d never regret, even if she did sometimes wish she could have accepted one of the scholarships to an out-of-state college.

  “Speaking of hiding, are you still up for going to the Press Club dinner on Friday night?”

  “Absolutely. I never pass up a chance to dress up and mingle with the fourth estate. There is an open bar, right?”

  “Of course. Pressmen never pay for their own booze if they can avoid it. What were you planning on wearing?”

  “Why? Are you going to buy me a corsage?”

  “Very funny. No, but I want to coordinate.”

  “Hold on, I’ll show you.” She turned the burner down to simmer and washed her hands before heading to her bedroom. A shiver of delight zipped through her as she retrieved the dress Mel had convinced her to buy on her last trip to Atlanta. Carefully removing it from the plastic, she carried it out to show Peter.

  “Basic black is always a good choice, but isn’t it a little bland?” he asked, frowning at the high-necked, sleeveless silk sheath.

  “Not when it’s on. The slit in the leg goes up practically to my hip, and when I wear a pushup bra, I can fake having a figure. The high neck keeps me from looking like a giraffe, and the silk clings like a second skin. And look at the way it shimmers in the light.” She used her arm to shift the fabric so the deep blue shimmered under the black like an oil spill.

  “Nice. You should wear the chandelier earrings I got you for Christmas.”

  “I was planning on it. I’m not sure about hair though. I’m figuring up, but with all my layers, it’s hard to keep them confined.”

  “Low bun, and use the hair wax I gave you for the layers around your face. You don’t want wispy with a dress like that, you want sharp. How about shoes? Please tell me you got a pair of stilettos.”

  Ellie frowned as she carefully put the plastic back over the dress. She was 5’10” in bare feet. Peter was 5’8” if he stretched. She loved heels, but even little kitten heels put her at six feet tall. “Mel talked me into this awesome pair of strappy black stilettos, but I’ll look like an Amazon next to you.”

  “Sweetie, this isn’t really a date, and we’re not in the eighth grade. I don’t care if you’re a foot taller than me. Wear the heels, they’ll make your legs look a mile long and give your butt a lift. You’ll have all the men drooling, and they’ll be green with envy that you’re with me.”

  “And the ones who suspect you are gay but haven’t had the guts to ask will be even more confused.”

  “Exactly. Oh, this is going to be so much fun. I’ll pick you up at five. That will get us into Atlanta in time to be fashionably late to the cocktail hour, but not so late as to miss the hot hors-d’oeuvre.”

  “Oh, that reminds me. Did you hear who’s coming back to Dale?” Ellie asked with a smirk as she put the dress away. It wasn’t easy to scoop Peter, he practically had supernatural powers when it came to gossip.

  “I can’t imagine, but I can see you’re fit to bursting to tell me.” He set the table as she fluffed the rice.

  “Grant Anderson.”

  “Sue and Ed’s son, the war hero?”

  “Yes,” she said with a little exasperation at his lack of response. “Grant hasn’t been home except for the occasional visit in ten years. The last time he was here was before he got injured, over five years ago.”

  “It’s good he’s here to help Sue out, but I don’t understand your level of excitement. I don’t recall you getting this giddy when Nadya Sarov came back to Dale.”

  “I barely knew Nadya. She was a senior when I was a freshman. I grew up next door to Grant.”

  “Wait, wait, it’s all coming back to me. Is this the Grant of your teenage fantasies?”

  “I wouldn’t call them fantasies. I was too young to fantasize. More like a childhood crush.”

  “I see. And lucky you, he’ll be living right across the driveway. Do you plan on sneaking out and climbing into his bed? Or maybe he can climb the oak tree by your window and slip into your bedroom?”

  “He lost his leg below the knee in Afghanistan. I doubt he’s going to be climbing any trees. And he barely knew I was alive before, I doubt he’s going to suddenly fall head over heels for me now. It’s just—” She waved her hands in front of her, looking for the words to describe the feelings churning inside of her. “He was such a huge part of my childhood, having him back in Dale feels, I don’t know, right. Better. Like a piece of my life is back where it belongs. It’s stupid.”

  “No, it’s not, it’s nostalgic. But just like anything else from your past, he’s going to be different now too.” Peter’s face grew serious and he concentrated on dishing out the salad for a moment. “He was a SEAL, right?”

  “Yup. Graduated at the top of his class.”

  “He’s seen things, done things that will have changed him. He’s not going to be the same boy you remember.”

  “I know that.”

  “I’m not sure you do. War hardens a person. I was in Serra Leone for six months, and I still have nightmares about what I saw there. He was on the teams for years. He’d have to have built up a shell just to survive.”

  “Peter, I’m not stupid. I don’t expect him to come back and be the same boy who used to pop wheelies on his bicycle in the driveway. I know he was hurt, and I’m sure he’s damaged in ways I’ll never understand, but he’s alive. That’s what matters to me. I don’t expect to date him.”

  “You’re just happy to admire him from afar?”

  “You make it sound so corny.”

  “That’s because it is. Look, if you like this guy as he is now, not the memory of how he was, I say go for it. You’re an attractive woman and you most certainly need to get laid. Why not make a play for him?”

  “Self-esteem? A severe dislike of awkward situations? Do you forget that I live practically in his backyard? If I threw myself at him and he didn’t make the catch, I’d have to face him every single day. No thank you.”

  “Coward.”

  “I prefer cautious. And really, I think I’d rather be his friend. He’s coming back to his hometown, not as the conquering war hero, but as an injured, divorced man. I think he’s going to need a friend a lot more than a groupie.”

  “Friends with benefits?” Peter asked slyly.

  “No, you dope.” Ellie laughed out loud.

  “Then how are you ever going to get laid?”

  “Maybe Friday night, one of your press buddies will try to steal me away from you, and I’ll let him.”

  “Don’t you dare. Reporters make terrible boyfriends. I should know.”

  Chapter Two

  The ache in Grant’s back was a continuous throb of misery. Trying to fit his 6’8” frame in an airplane seat was a joke. He should have coughed up the extra cash to go first class, but he just couldn’t justify the expense. Now, with his spine contorted like a pretzel, he could kick himself for being a cheapskate.

  Just a little longer and the plane would be touching down. The red-eye flight had been uneventful. He’d slept through most of it, hence the muscle cramps in his back and quads. That reminded him, he’d have to find a new physical therapist and a gym. He doubted Dale had anything that would suit his needs, unless the place had changed a great deal in the last five years.

  God, had it been five years since he’d been back to Georgia? He did the math in his head. The last time he’d been on leave, he’d come home with Chastity for a visit. He’d hoped spending time where they’d fallen in love would help their relationship, but looking back, it had probably only signaled the beginning of the end. Their marriage had been on rocky ground before he’d been injured. He could
n’t blame her for bailing when faced with months of rehab and a medical discharge.

  She’d married a SEAL. She hadn’t signed on to be a nursemaid.

  Damn, he thought he’d moved past the bitterness, but it was apparently still there, waiting to pounce when he least expected it. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to remember what he’d learned from his Wounded Warriors Alumni buddy and let it go. Blaming her for not having the strength to stick with it was unfair and self-destructive. Hell, almost seventy percent of SEAL marriages ended in divorce without life-changing injuries.

  Still, he hated the thought of failing at anything. Getting divorced, no matter how common it was in the teams, was a big failure. Now he was coming back to Dale where everyone would know about his injury and divorce, but no one would talk about it to his face. All his mom’s friends from the Garden Club would stop by with cookies and pies and cluck over him, even as they said they knew his marriage would never last behind his back. His dad’s cronies would slap him on the back and offer him a beer all the while trying not to look at his left leg.

  His dad. Shit, he’d avoided thinking about his father’s condition the entire flight. When his mom had called him and given the news that his father had had a stroke, he’d wanted to fly out immediately, but she held him off, telling him to wait until his father got out of the rehab hospital. Remembering what it was like during his own stint in rehab, Grant had used the time to get his affairs in order so now he could be home for good.

  And he needed to be. Every time he’d spoken with his mother or sister over the last few weeks, he could hear the strain in their voices. There was more going on than just dad’s injury, although how his mother was handling that was anyone’s guess. His father was a big guy, at least as tall as Grant. Helping him to move around with one half of his body paralyzed would be no easy feat, even if his mom was taller than most women.

  But beyond that, his mother was worried and wouldn’t tell him why over the phone. Well, they had a two-and-half-hour ride back home where he could grill her. There’d be no dodging the truth when he had her face-to-face.

  The plane landed and his fellow passengers bustled around, trying to be the first off. Grant waited, not wanting to fight his way through the crowd when he wasn’t sure his back wouldn’t spasm on him and he’d end up stuck in the aisle blocking everyone else.

  As the rows behind him emptied, he worked his way out of his seat, stretching carefully until he was sure nothing would seize up. His quads and hamstrings were tight and the sleeve holding his BiOM prosthesis on chaffed like a bitch, but he’d handled worse. Shit, he’d spent most of Hell Week chaffed and had survived. At least the sleeve was soft and wasn’t covered in wet sand. Grabbing his bag, he headed off the plane in better shape than he expected. Hooyah.

  The airport was crowded, as usual. He tried not to crush the little Asian woman standing next to him on the tram that led to the baggage area. The train was packed and the air conditioning was not up to the job. Sweat trickled down his back and he felt bad for the poor woman whose head was below his armpit. Thank God, the trip was a short one.

  He got off with the rest of the sardines packed into the train and headed to baggage claim. Spotting his mom’s bright blonde hair and signature pink sweater, he jogged over to where she waited, thankful that after years of rehab his limp was all but gone.

  “Grant! You’re home.”

  “Mom.” He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off her feet in a bone-crushing hug. Her familiar scent washed over him and he took a second to breathe it in. “You feel skinnier. Have you lost more weight?” he asked as he set her down.

  “Maybe a little, but I’ve gained muscle. I’ve been doing some of your dad’s exercises with him and I’m getting ripped. Give me another month and I’ll be able to take you in arm wrestling.” She flexed her biceps.

  “We’ll see about that. Wait here. I’ll go grab my bags.” He spotted his two sea bags and hauled them up. In no time, they were headed into the parking garage. The heat and the humidity sucker punched him the second he set foot outside.

  “Damn, I forgot about the humidity. This is going to take some getting used to.”

  “San Diego got hot too.”

  “Not in March, and it was never this humid. I’ll adjust. I’d just forgotten how bad it can be.”

  He stowed his gear in the trunk of his mom’s Camry and pushed the passenger seat back as far as it would go. “Thank you for getting a car with leg room. I swear I spent the last six hours with my knees in my chest.”

  “I bet. I have a bottled water in the cooler behind you if you need to take any ibuprofen. I know how tight my muscles get after a cross-country flight, and I’m a foot shorter than you.”

  “Thanks, but I can handle it.” He’d had enough pain killers to last a lifetime. He avoided taking pills whenever possible now.

  “You always were stubborn.”

  “Not me. I was the good one. Jenny is the stubborn one, remember?” he teased.

  “Neither one of you will ever win points for your ability to compromise. She said to text her when you get home, by the way.”

  “Will do. I can’t believe she’s almost done with college already.”

  “I can,” she said wryly.

  “Not used to having a child of legal drinking age in the house?” he guessed.

  “Not just that, you realize she knows so much more than me with her almost four years of college.”

  “Ah, yes, the I-know-everything virus. I know it well. I can talk to her if you’d like.”

  “As I recall, you had your own outbreak of that disease. What makes you think she’ll listen to you any more than to me?”

  “I’m young and cool.”

  “There is that. Go ahead, knock yourself out. Who knows? Maybe she’ll actually listen to you.”

  “So how are things with Dad?”

  “We’re taking it day by day. Some are better than others.”

  “The only easy day was yesterday,” he said, giving her the motto that had gotten him through BUD/S.

  “Amen. He’s looking forward to seeing you. It’s good to have you home.”

  Before he could respond, his mom’s cell phone rang.

  “You want me to get that?” he asked.

  “No, I have a hands-free thingy, hold on.” She fumbled around with buttons on the steering wheel. “Hello? Hello?”

  “Mrs. Anderson? It’s Ellie.”

  “Yes? Is something wrong? Is Ed okay?”

  “Yes, yes, he’s fine. I had to call you though—” excitement tinged the woman’s words, “—Mr. Anderson lifted his arm. By himself. At least two, three inches.”

  “What?”

  “I was giving him some water when Charlie jumped on his lap and started rubbing against his right arm, and he lifted it like he was going to pet him.”

  “Oh.” His mom started crying. “I wish I was there to see it.”

  “He’ll do it again. Don’t you worry. He’s gonna get better and better, just you wait and see.”

  His mom sniffed and wiped her eyes with a tissue. “Thank you so much, Ellie. We’re still about two hours away, but we’ll be home as soon as we can.”

  “Don’t rush. I’m not going out until tonight. I can stay with Mr. Anderson as long as you need me to. Drive safely.”

  “I will. And thanks for calling. You made my day.”

  “Glad to do it. Bye now.”

  “Who was that?” Grant asked as soon as he heard the click ending the call. Seeing his mother cry tore him up inside, but at least they were happy tears this time.

  “Ellie Hall. You remember her, she lived next door to us with her grandma, God rest her soul. She’s been a huge help since Jenny left.”

  “Gangly, brown hair, kind of quiet?” Grant tried to put a face to the name. He vaguely remembe
red huge eyes in a tiny face covered by lots of hair. “She was a few years behind me in school, right?”

  “Yes. She rented the apartment over the garage after her grandma passed and she had to sell the house.”

  “And who’s Charlie?” he asked.

  “Charlie’s a stray cat we inherited. He’s the laziest darn thing, doesn’t do much but lay in the sun all day, but he’s gotten into the habit of sitting with Dad. The therapist said it was good for Dad and he seems to like it, so we kept him.”

  “So you’ve started adopting stray cats and stray girls? Anything else I should know about before we get home?”

  Her face fell and she gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles whitened. “Your daddy isn’t the man he was. I want you to be prepared. He still can’t talk, and the whole right side of his face droops. It can be something of a shock when you see him for the first time.”

  “I’ve been researching stroke patients. The most recovery is in the first three months. It’s already been six weeks.”

  “I’m just thinking about today. If I worry about what’s going to happen next month or even next week, I start making myself crazy.”

  “I get it. Have you joined a support group?” Grant wasn’t much for support groups, but the Wounded Warriors Project Alumni groups had kept him sane during a time when he hadn’t known what to do with his life.

  “Yes, the social worker at the rehab hospital practically forced me to go to a meeting before she’d release Dad into home care. I didn’t think I’d get anything out of it, but I did. I’ve made some friends who I see at physical therapy too.”

  “I’m sure you have. Pretty soon you’ll be organizing them into fundraising groups and having bake sales.”

  “This isn’t the Garden Club. We’re all too busy going to doctor appointments, physical therapy, occupational therapy and taking care of our spouses to worry about much else.” She shook her head.

  “Hey, I’m here now. I can help. What do you want me to do? I can take over the physical therapy part if you want. I need to find a gym anyway.”