In Over His Head

by Shanae Johnson

  It was as though he’d disappeared into thin air. It was possible he’d been taken out by the bomb. Brandon hoped that had been Cartwright’s fate. If he’d been captured by insurgents, his end would have been far more gruesome.

  Chase’s eyes opened. His green eyes focused on Brandon like a heat-seeking missile. That strong jaw hardened into steel making Brandon wonder if he were built out of metal like the machine he was accused of being.

  "You good?" asked Chase.

  Brandon wasn't. Chase knew that. None of them were, but they didn't talk about it.

  "I'm good.” Brandon gave a quick nod of his head, not meeting Chase’s penetrating gaze.

  "Did I just wake up in a chick flick?" Ortega stretched his limbs over his head and arched his back with a loud yawn.

  The captain’s voice came on overhead, telling the passengers to prepare for landing. It was a smooth landing. Not even a bump as the wheels touched down on the tarmac.

  They were there. Their final destination after three days of traveling first from a military base, and then the long flight across the ocean, and a somewhat shorter flight to the middle of the country.

  They were travel weary. They each needed a shower and change of clothes. A hot meal was certainly in order.

  All around them, travelers rushed to retrieve their bags and line up in the aisle to be the first off the plane. All three soldiers held their seats. Not one of them was anxious to complete this final mission.

  Once the aisle began to clear, Chase took a deep breath and rose first. Ortega followed suit. And finally, Brandon rose to join the rest of his unit.

  He’d never gone to a family to deliver a death notification. This wasn’t the usual protocol, but Chase had pulled some strings. Reece had served under him since he’d strapped on his first pair of boots. The kid had been like a true younger brother. He’d been about to advance in rank before they’d lost him.

  In his career in the United States Army, Brandon had lost people. But there had been more civilians who’d passed than soldiers. Far more deaths had happened back home due to illnesses and accidents than in war zones. Modern warfare was a different beast these days. Still dangerous, but with new tactics, casualties were down.

  Private Cartwright should’ve still been here but for Brandon's hesitation. And now, he’d have to face the man’s family and tell them that Reece wasn’t coming home. But worse, they had no body to bury.

  "There is nothing you could have done," said Chase.

  They were alone on the plane now. Brandon’s arms were raised in the act of retrieving his duffle, but he hadn’t brought his belongings down to him. He’d just stood their frozen, lost in the memories and guilt.

  “There is nothing any of us could have done,” Chase continued.

  Brandon nodded, though he didn't believe the other man’s words. Just like they were all fine.

  The walk through the terminal was blessedly quiet as the hustle and bustle of the airport whirled around them. Chase’s gaze remained alert as his eyes darted here and there. The instinct to look for threats would never leave any of them.

  Ortega’s dimples were hidden behind a stern look as he gripped his bag with one hand and balled his fist with the other. Sweat threaded his dark brow. Walking in civilian areas were always the hardest. It was always possible that a threat could materialize out of a child or a woman.

  Finally, they made it to the glass doors that spilled out into warm Montana sunshine. The landscape had been breathtaking from the air. It reminded Brandon of the beauty of Afghanistan.

  The middle eastern land was a beautiful oxymoron. Filled with demanding deserts as well as lush valleys. Tall mountains and stunning cities. It wasn't until driving through the human settlements that the ugly underside was revealed. Bombed historic sights, toppled monuments, and decrepit homes where civilians hid, trying to carve out a semblance of life.

  Back on U.S. soil, the buildings he could see from the airport were all intact. Cars made their way down the streets with little to no obstruction. Pedestrians walked without a care.

  Standing on a curb, a man held up a sign with all three of their names on it. He didn’t wear fatigues. He didn’t need to. That he was a soldier was clear in the way he stood and the seriousness of his features.

  Chase stuck out his hand. "Good to see you again, Sergeant Banks.”

  “You too, Sergeant Chase.”

  The two men clasped hands. Dylan Banks held on a moment longer. Chase took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was the most emotion Brandon had ever seen the Terminator display.

  "You didn't have to come all this way," said Chase after he released his friend’s grip.

  "It's my honor," said Dylan. "We're all excited to have you at the ranch.”

  “I’m excited to see what you’ve built.”

  Dylan nodded with clear pride. “You'll find a state-of-the-art rehabilitation center. Everything from horseback riding to strengthen injured or missing limbs, gardening to increase the dexterity of injured fingers or improve hand-eye coordination. We even have a therapist. The Purple Heart Ranch treats both external and internal wounds.”

  Brandon frowned at that. He'd accepted the invitation to stay at the ranch for a short duration of time. More of a decompression time before he made his way back into civilian life if, in fact, that was the route he was going to take. He was still leaning more toward re-enlisting and redeploying.

  He couldn’t deny he needed a few weeks of R&R. But Chase had said nothing about internal healing. He was fine. They all were.

  Ortega looked to have the same sentiment. But both Ortega and Brandon held their tongues out of respect for the men of superior rank. Chase would get an earful later.

  "We'll head out now then," said Dylan.

  "We do have to make one stop,” Brandon spoke up for the first time.

  "Oh, don’t worry,” Dylan chuckled. “There’s plenty of food waiting for you.”

  "No," said Brandon. “We need to notify a family." He didn’t need to elaborate.

  Dylan’s face sobered in understanding. "Here in the city?"

  Chase nodded. "Yes, for Reece Cartwright."

  Dylan winced.

  "You knew him?" asked Chase.

  "Not him, his sister. She does volunteer work on the ranch. His parents died three years back before we arrived on the ranch.”

  Brandon remembered that. Reece had been given leave during their training to mourn his parents. He’d come back hardened, even more dedicated to his job in the service.

  “Reegan sings in the choir. In fact, she’ll be at church right now. It's best to take you there. I think it will be better for her to be surrounded by those she loves when you deliver this news."

  Brandon wasn't so sure. He preferred to suffer in silence, in private. But he didn't argue. It would be fine.

  Chapter Four

  On Sunday afternoon people flocked into the church’s open doors as though it were an Easter Sunday service. Many of the worshippers lingered in the doorways catching up with their neighbors. They stood in the aisles and bent over pews to gossip or extend well wishes or kiss newborn babies. The conversations weren’t overlong as most people had seen each other either the day before or a few days ago. But this was the way of their community, and Reegan reveled in it.

  The church members in this congregation were lifelong friends. Everyone knew everyone. People of every age took their seats amongst the pews. Some in their Sunday’s best, which might have been a suit and tie or frilly dress and patent leather shoes. Others were donned in the best that they could do, which might be pressed jeans and a collared shirt or a hemmed skirt with a little scuff to their second-hand shoes.

  Reegan watched as the senior pastor, Pastor Barrett made his way to the pulpit. The man gave her a secret smile as he always did. Pastor Barrett had been the youth pastor when she was a girl. He had been there for her whole life, and she’d spent a lot of time not only under his wing but in his nest making a mes
s with his young daughter.

  Elsbeth Barrett stood at the doors to the church, greeting the stragglers as they made their way in. The pastor’s daughter and Reegan had been best friends from the cradle. They’d shared their toys, their clothes, and their dreams. They’d even shared a best friend between them.

  Reece was the third part of their trio. It made sense that because Beth and Reegan got along so well, and Reece was a carbon copy of Reegan but with boy parts, that they should get along too. And they did.

  Reece looked at Beth as a second sister. Unfortunately, he never looked at her any other way. Even though somewhere around middle school, Beth’s view of her bonus brother had shifted.

  Thinking about Reece made her heart pound. Reegan was missing her brother more and more each day. It had been over a month since the last time she’d heard from him.

  The twins had always had a connection. Reegan swore she could feel when he was upset or hurt. She didn’t feel that now, but she still felt … off.

  They’d gone longer stretches where he couldn’t communicate. It didn’t make it easier. She knew he’d be home soon for some downtime when his enlistment with the army was up. But she also knew that Reece had every intention of re-enlisting. Service was her brother’s passion, and she was a proud Army Sister.

  "You good, Reegan?”

  Reegan turned to look beside her. Cassie Ramos sat beside her, her hand resting on her belly bump. The slight young woman was more belly than anything else these days.

  "I'm fine," said Reegan. “Don’t worry. You won’t have to step in for me.”

  Cassie, who had the soprano voice of an angel, had been doing her fair share of solos since joining the choir only six months ago. But her voice had changed during her pregnancy. It would often pitch lower in the middle of a song. It was as though she were going through an adolescent boy’s puberty.

  “Good, cause this kid is kicking up a storm today,” Cassie said. “He’s got too much of his daddy in him.”

  Her husband, another armed forces vet, looked up from his place in the congregation as though he’d heard his wife invoke his name. With their young daughter in his lap, Xavier Ramos kept an ever watchful eye on his wife. Reegan had to look away as a secretive smile crept across his face, causing his dimples to make an appearance.

  The doors to the church opened again, letting in the last of the setting sun. Four men came in. The first man she recognized.

  Dylan Banks walked smoothly down the aisle. Only someone who knew the man would know that his right leg was a prosthetic one, put in place after he lost his leg in the service. The man strode with easy confidence until he found space for himself and the three soldiers behind him.

  The other three men were dressed in the familiar green uniform her brother wore. Their faces were serious. Their postures stiff.

  Reegan was certain they had likely just come off a base where they’d been steeped in training. Or perhaps they’d come from time overseas. They had that look about them that her brother had when he returned home for his short stretches.

  As they sat, their bodies were ever alert. Backs straight. Gazes roaming, darting here and there. Sizing up everyone and everything in their periphery for a sign of threat.

  It had alarmed Reegan the first time she’d seen her brother react that way to the people he’d known all his life. But he’d explained that hyper-vigilance was a soldier’s greatest defense.

  All three soldiers had dark hair, but Reegan's gaze caught on the one lagging behind. There was no height difference making him taller or shorter than the other two. His body wasn’t broader or leaner than the others either. Though one soldier had striking dimples that rivaled Xavier’s, and the other had striking green eyes which had already caught the attention of a few of the single women in the congregation.

  Reegan’s gaze caught and held on the third soldier precisely because he did not look up. He looked bone-weary tired. The dark circles under his eyes called out to her, begging her to run her thumbs beneath them to clear some of the dusk away. The firm set of his jaw urged her to say something to tickle his funny bone. He looked like he definitely needed a good laugh, but she knew that even a grin would be hard won.

  The tap of the microphone brought her attention back to the service. Looking over, Reegan noted the new youth pastor Walter Vance was taking the pulpit. Pastor Vance nodded at Pastor Barrett. The young man of God’s enthusiasm at giving his first sermon was hard to miss.

  “The reading today is from Genesis 2.18.” Pastor Vance waited while everyone found the place in the Bible. “The Lord God said ‘it is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him.’”

  Pastor Vance gave a pointed look to Elsbeth who had taken her seat in the front pew. Reegan knew the man was interested in the pastor’s daughter. She knew the two had gone on a few dates. But Beth had kept a tight lip on the relationship … or perhaps it was only a friendship? Reegan wasn’t sure of Beth’s level of interest in Walter.

  “The companionship of women was designed by God,” Walter continued. “God made Eve, but that wasn't the end of it. Adam and Eve made sons and they begat sons, who begat sons, who begat sons, who begat …”

  The audience giggled and chuckled as Pastor Vance took a deep inhale to replenish his lungs after all the begetting. Reegan couldn’t deny that the man knew his way around a pulpit.

  “Until eventually we were all here. We are all made up of different chords of the same music. We are meant to be played together. In our community, in our relationships, we are called to come together in harmony and unity. You're not meant to be alone.”

  Pastor Vance paused for effect. He repeated that last phrase, pointing to people in the pews for effect.

  “We are meant to serve. It is His design. He called for us to come together in harmony and unity with one another and be one. I don’t know about you, but that makes my heart sing.”

  A chorus of amens sounded through the hall, rising to the rafters. Reegan chanced a look at the three guests clad in uniform. The green-eyed man smiled politely, but it wasn’t clear if the message penetrated. The dimpled soldier nodded his head and mouthed the word, amen. But the third soldier, his head stayed bowed. Reegan knew it wasn’t in supplication. Though she could no longer see it, she knew he was still looking discreetly at his phone.

  With the sermon delivered, the chords of the piano began. The choir rose. Reegan took her place out front to perform her solo.

  She inhaled deeply, asking the butterflies gathered there to settle. She’d sang in this choir, in this very spot, more times than she could count. But something was different about today.

  At first, every chorister’s voice rose in harmony, just as Pastor Vance had preached. But then accompanying voices died down, leaving Reegan’s voice on its own.

  Reegan took a deep breath and opened her mouth. She belted out the lyrics only to be slightly off-key. There were a few frowns amongst the congregation. They knew what she was capable of and waited for her to shine.

  Her gaze found the soldier still on his phone. She had the misfortune of catching his right eye wince at her blunder.

  He lifted his head then. Dark eyes met hers, and she felt as though they penetrated past her heart and into her soul. From somewhere beyond, an angel started to sing. Her voice was lighter than a harp’s strings. It had more whimsy than a flute could muster.

  The soldier’s gaze widened. That firm jaw loosened, and his mouth went slack. He sat up taller, his phone forgotten as the voice continued its joyful noise. His eyes were locked on Reegan as though he’d just seen a wondrous sight. And then Reegan realized; that joyful, angelic sound was coming from her.

  Chapter Five

  Brandon's stomach grumbled as he sat on the uncomfortable wooden bench. People in the pews in front of him turned to look back at him. He shrugged apologetically. What could he say? Church had never agreed with him.

  As a kid, he'd tugged at his shirt collar which always had too mu
ch starch. He’d scrunched up his toes in the pinching dress shoes which he was never allowed to play in and only wore a couple of times a month. He only ever had to go to church services with his grandma. Mostly on holidays or if his grandma had someone to impress on a given Sunday.

  Brandon’s parents were happily holiday Christians who only ever went on Easter and Christmas. They called out to God a lot and not in a prayerful way. Typically, in elaborate, sailor-wincing curses, which Brandon had perfected during his time in the military.

  But sitting still in a church? That was not his thing. He'd rather have to sit still in a foxhole.

  However, this was his duty. And he'd do it. He owed it to Reece. And so he sat still ... for all of five minutes before pulling out his phone and looking for a distraction.

  As always, his mind raced when he was forced to sit still. It went back to that village in Afghanistan. Back to the smoke swallowing Reece whole. Back to the explosion ringing in his ears. Back to the crushing guilt he felt for his moment’s hesitation.

  What he wouldn’t give to take it back. To yank Reece back to him with certainty. Unfortunately, that was one thing in this life he was certain of, you couldn’t go back and correct your mistakes. You had to face them and move on.

  All around him, the congregation murmured praises and amens. Brandon should relax in the comfort of their exaltations. Pretty soon, their gazes would turn on him in despair and disappointment when they learned the news that their favored son was gone.

  Brandon knew that Reece Cartwright was a devoted Christian. He carried a worn Bible with him wherever they went and wore a gold cross around his neck alongside his dog tags. He could imagine the young man sitting in the pews listening to the sermon and making notations in his book.

  Listening to the young pastor speak, Brandon decided he liked that the man spoke to the congregation and not at them like the gray-haired men that had always lorded over his grandmother’s church. However, the sermon wasn't one he felt pertained to him.