ABANDONED: Elkridge Series, Book 3, A novel

by Lyz Kelley

  “Elkridge?” John pointed a finger at his wife. “Isn’t that the little town with that quilt shop you like so much?”

  “There is a quilt shop there, but you’re getting it mixed up with the one in Idaho Springs.”

  John gave him a pointed look. “So what did you find so interesting in Elkridge?”

  Chase rubbed his palm with his thumb, wondering how much to say. Lillia reached directly in front of him for a chip and some salsa. The interest in her gaze was something he’d seen a thousand times in bars across the world. A kind of look that had piqued his interest only a few times in the past, and today wasn’t one of those days.

  “I met some nice people.” And a woman.

  “Oh?” Mrs. Hersham’s eyes widened and her expression lit up like a Christmas tree bulb.

  “That pie is from the café there. The baker makes awesome pastries and pies. I thought you might like one.”

  “Sounds lovely,” Mrs. Hersham said.

  “There goes my diet,” Lillia groaned. “I have to get in better shape before I hit boot camp this summer.”

  “If you’re not in shape beforehand, you will be when you’re finished,” he warned.

  Bobby’s sister gave him that look again. A look informing him he might need to lock the guest room door to foil an attempted overnight rendezvous. Some women seemed to get this odd image of a Marine that didn’t always apply. Especially to him.

  “Is boot camp as hard as people say it is?”

  “I’ve heard regulations have changed from when I went through, but it’s still pretty tough. You’ll get to know your classmates pretty well. They’ll become some of your best friends.”

  “Maybe my Lillia will find a nice military man and settle down.” And have grandbabies, her mother, and wishful future grandmother, left unsaid. “Bobby was adamant about never getting married. He got his wish.”

  Yep, he got his wish. “Bobby was a good soldier, and he didn’t want the distractions.” Chase shrugged. “At least that’s what he said.” Because Chase had witnessed Bobby involved with plenty of distractions.

  “Are you opposed to distractions?” Lillia asked, leaning in a bit too close.

  I’m not. Ashley is.

  “No. In fact, I met a woman in Elkridge.” Chase looked at Bobby’s little sister directly, hoping she got the not-interested hint.

  “So it’s serious with this woman,” John concluded.

  “You could say it’s complicated.” One hand gripped the other and he pushed his thumb into a meaty pressure point.

  “Then why are you here?”

  Chase looked at Mr. Hersham, and then Mrs., confused.

  “I think what John meant is you are welcome here anytime. We invited you for Christmas to make sure you wouldn’t be alone for the holidays. You don’t owe us anything. If you prefer to be with your woman friend, we’d understand.”

  Gotcha. The way Lillia looked at him, any reason might be a good excuse for a quick escape, but going back wouldn’t be one of them. Ashley needed time. He needed time.

  “Like I said, it’s complicated. Besides, I wanted to spend some time here, and whatever you have in the oven smells awesome.”

  The smell of roasted meat and spices and garlic had made his mouth water the minute he walked in the house. He’d been too distracted then, but now his entire body was onboard and wanting some food.

  “I’ve made my special meatloaf recipe. It was Bobby’s favorite. John’s mother gave me the recipe, but I’ve spiced it up a bit.”

  “Wilma likes to cook,” John remarked without taking his gaze off the muted football game, watching players run around on the field with no sound. “Storm’s moving in. Expecting a foot of snow this afternoon.”

  The weather. Football. Food. Small talk. Chase knew about trying to bury pain with the mundane.

  “So are we going to watch some football?” he asked.

  The last syllable of the word ‘football’ hadn’t gotten out of his mouth before the TV announcer gave the score. Chase chuckled at the delight on Bobby’s dad’s face. He needed the distraction. Just as Bobby’s mom needed to cook. Chase suspected Lillia needed to get laid, but she was going to have to look somewhere else. He couldn’t help her out there.

  He grabbed a handful of nuts and settled back into the couch. The room was full of family, not just the people sitting on couches and chairs, but generations of family along the walls in eight by ten frames.

  Bobby had been family. Chase had loved him like a brother. He missed his smartass remarks, his carefree smile, and his boundless loyalty. Nothing and no one would ever fill Bobby’s boots. Bobby was certifiable, one of a kind, unique. He was his friend. And the loss would be felt as long as Chase lived. The sting behind his eyes made him clamp his eyelids shut. He’d spoken his piece at the cemetery. Alone. Privately.

  Last night, he’d spoken to Ashley with animosity founded on his insecurities. This morning, he wanted to apologize, but Ashley had left the house early with Lucky without saying good-bye. He probably deserved it.

  Things weren’t finished between them. Not by a long shot. However, building a relationship took two, and she didn’t want to go there.

  Right now he had obligations to meet. Spending time with Bobby’s mom and dad was something he needed to do, for Bobby, for himself. He’d picked out a few clean stories, ones he could share with family or a priest. He wanted to share the friend he knew, and get to know the son and brother his family had lost.

  He wanted to see if he could stitch up the open gap in his chest a bit more, but more importantly, he wanted to help Bobby’s family heal.

  Chase popped a peanut into his mouth and draped his arm over the back of the couch to watch Lillia squirm. “So what’s the score?”

  “Who knows?” She rolled her eyes, more interested in him than the game.

  “What are you doing to prepare for boot camp?”

  “I’ve been running and lifting weights. One of my friends is entering the same class, and we’ve been working out together. Of course, now Mom’s not too thrilled with me going.”

  “Working in the intelligence office, you most likely won’t be on the front lines like your brother. You should be fine.”

  “That’s what the recruiter said.” She studied her father and said quietly, “He’s having a really hard time. I don’t think he’s been out of his chair in weeks. He even sleeps there.”

  “Give him time. Everyone needs to heal in their own way.”

  “I guess.”

  Lillia talked about her hopes for her assignments, and Chase managed to keep the conversation away from other topics. He wasn’t going to talk about the war, or killing people, or what it was like over there. She’d find out soon enough. After a while, she figured out he wasn’t going to sensationalize his experiences or show off his battle scars, at which point she got bored and made an excuse to disappear downstairs.

  Shortly before the second quarter finished, Mrs. Hersham disappeared into the kitchen. He’d spotted a sheen in her eyes he wished wasn’t there, and felt the need to check on her.

  “Mrs. Hersham?”

  She stood at the kitchen sink, staring out into the backyard. He suspected she wasn’t really seeing anything. He walked up beside her and let the silence settle around them.

  “He was a good boy. I didn’t know him as a man like you did,” she offered in a voice so frail, he had to lean in to hear. “He didn’t like coming home much. Said this town made him feel claustrophobic.”

  “He was a good friend. And well-liked. He was also a good soldier, but I think he was a better man.”

  Bony fingers reached for his hand. “I’d like to think he was happy.”

  Chase remembered the last few weeks of the deployment. Everyone was tired and miserable and waiting their turn to go home. Fights broke out easily. Some guys got drunk. Some gambled too much. Some hit the weights to relieve stress. Some disappeared into their inner worlds.

  He and Bobby played cri
bbage to pass the time. Neither of them had been particularly thrilled about the conditions, and often voiced complaints about this injury or that ache or even a stupid toothache. Chase remembered bitching about his tooth and being questioned by one of the NCO’s in the mess. If only. He couldn’t allow the heavy burden of guilt to sidetrack him now. He had an obligation.

  “Bobby was happy,” he reassured Mrs. Hersham. “He was a good friend.”

  “Thank you for your kindness. But I worry about Lillia and John. Especially John.”

  “Lillia will have a good career in the intelligence office. The military needs smart people like her. And John? Right now he needs to escape, and football’s a good choice, as opposed to the other options he could have chosen.”

  “You’re smart. Now I know why my Bobby liked you.” She patted his chest with a tired hand. “I better get the potatoes on. Can’t have meatloaf without some good whipped potatoes.”

  Chase caught a glimpse of a list as the refrigerator opened. He moved to the take a closer look when Wilma had closed the door.

  Change the furnace filter.

  Caulk the back window.

  Repair bathroom faucet.

  John’s to-do list.

  The listless man in the living room continued to stare at the screen. Chase doubted he saw much, either.

  Each family member had disappeared into their inner world to mourn and find peace. As he had, but his way to cope with grief was to keep busy. A slow warmth spread through his limbs. Fixing little things, those irritants in everyday life, might not be a lot, but he could ease a bit of John and Wilma’s burden.

  If only for a little while.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Silence has a sound, an attitude. Ashley hadn’t understood that before.

  Before her mother had died, and Chase had left, she craved space. For two days, a dark and mindless depression raged. She’d breathed in the silence, lived inside it. She embraced the earth’s pulse, the movement of wind and cloud and tree. She accepted the movement of her jaw muscles mashing food into swallow-size bits, but lost her sense of taste or smell. Experiencing anger and fear and loss, she curled up into a ball and slept, running from the nothingness, not wanting to worry about finding a job or a place to live.

  When the morning sun rose, she opened her eyes to see a dog who needed her, eBay packages requiring sending, and a sink full of dirty dishes needing to be washed.

  She couldn’t escape.

  If she couldn’t escape, then she needed to do something about it.

  She stretched her stiff body and willed her feet off the couch. Movement caught her attention. Out the front window, snowflakes floated, swirled, and fell to the ground.

  She studied the concerned dog’s face. “It’s snowing. Tomorrow will be a white Christmas. You’ll like the fresh, fluffy snow. Want to go out?”

  Lucky’s hind end jostled from side to side while she walked to the kitchen door to let him out. As she walked past the kitchen table, her footsteps faltered when her gaze landed on the box her father had sent. Moving to the living room, she lifted the plastic bins full of letters, and re-read her dad’s brief, to-the-point note again. Tilting the first box, she noted the catalog card at the end—typical of her father. The same numbers and dashes appeared on her mom’s envelopes.

  She had an idea. The niggle of excitement started in her fingers then spread through the rest of her, body and mind.

  Rushing up and down the stairs, she carried the rest of the letter boxes to the family room and then pushed the coffee table to the side of the room, built a fire, and invited Lucky to join her on the floor. If her family couldn’t be with her on Christmas Eve, maybe she could be with them. Ordering the boxes by date, she pulled the first box in each pile toward her. Looking at the dates, she started with her mom’s letter.

  Her parents had met at a Fourth of July parade—her mom fifteen, and her dad eighteen and preparing to go to boot camp. Ashley got the notion her maternal grandparents weren’t thrilled about the relationship because in the third letter, her mom hinted at missing correspondence. The next few were nothing more than I miss you, why haven’t you written, and then in a letter her dad wrote, she found a treasure, the mysterious numbering scheme. The first few numbers indicated the letters being responded to, the second the sequence of the letter sent. She fanned the bundles from both stacks and found her mom’s conclusions had been correct—six dated envelopes were missing.

  Many of the letters were emotionally difficult to read. Passion fueled the words—the anger and frustration of being apart, of not being able to talk to or hold each other, yet their love and respect for each other underpinned everything. She saw her mother’s absolute refusal to let go of the relationship. Her dad encouraging the love of his life to live, not wait.

  Ashley held the crumpled stationery to her chest, feeling the anguish her parents had lived, when the doorbell rang.

  Chase.

  She rushed to the foyer, sliding on her stocking feet across the tile to rip the door open. “Maggie…a…hi.” She plastered on a smile to defuse the disappointment seeping into her heart.

  The woman brushed past her with arms full of packages and gifts to lay them on the kitchen counter. “When you didn’t stop by the café for my special eggnog, which I know you love, I thought I’d better check on you.” Maggie turned to say something else, but stopped when her gaze captured a living room filled with letters scattered across the floor. “What’s all this?”

  “Years of my parent’s letters. I thought maybe…I could…um, understand what happened between them. You know…understand why my dad left. Why they didn’t just divorce.”

  “Oh, hon.” Maggie pulled her into her arms for one of her all-encompassing squeezes. “There’s no sense in asking why. Even if you knew the answer, you’d only want to have more answers, and there isn’t any satisfying explanation of why your dad didn’t come home more.”

  Ashley sucked in a startled breath and the sting of tears made her blink several times, trying to clear the emotion.

  “When we moved here, I thought it was because he didn’t want us anymore. Then I discovered Mom wanted to be here. Weekly, she would disappear for several hours. One day, I followed her on my bike to the cemetery. There was a little headstone carved with the name Dillon Joseph Bryant. A brother I never knew. I knew better than to ask Mom about him. She wouldn’t have told me about my sibling anyway. She didn’t like discussing the past.”

  “No, she didn’t. Tell me, are you just going to sit here all alone on Christmas Eve, reading your parents’ letters?”

  “What else am I supposed to do? Huh? It’s the last Christmas I’ll have in this house. For just one day, I want to be with my parents. Both of them. I want to get to know them, and the only way to do that is through their letters.”

  “Then what? Are you going to live in the past—get stuck—constantly questioning why?”

  A searing fear settled in her gut. “I don’t know.” Her voice sounded so small and pathetic, she hated the sound.

  “When Chase comes back from wherever he is, I suggest you turn on some music, dance, maybe make some popcorn, and watch a movie.”

  Longing gripped her at the romantic picture Maggie presented, but she quickly brushed the enchanting scene away. That fairy tale wasn’t for her. “Chase isn’t coming back. He left.”

  “What? Why? That boy’s a rutting buck in love.”

  No he’s not. He wouldn’t have left if he loved me. “I needed to focus on getting on with my life, so I sent him away.”

  Maggie’s fists pulled to waist level. “Now, why did you go and do a thing like that?”

  “I’m not what he needs. I have to straighten my life out.”

  “And you think sitting in the dark, reading your parents’ letters is the right way to do that?”

  “What do you expect from me? My parents are gone. I don’t have a job. I have no way of putting a roof over my head. My mother thought I was a loser be
cause she didn’t give me the skill sets to be an adult. And she’s right. I am a loser. I don’t know how to fix all this. I’m supposed to figure out what to do next, and I don’t know how. I’m all alone, Maggie.”

  “What am I? Chopped liver?” Maggie’s eyes sparked with annoyance, then softened. “I’m sorry your mom died, but you can’t just sit here on the floor feeling sorry for yourself and reading your parents’ letters the rest of your life. The only thing you are going to get is a numb butt, and a horrible, pathetic lonely life. You have a chance at something real and good. What are you going to do with your life?”

  A flash of anger sizzled through her chest. “You’re always giving people advice. You tell me what I need to do.”

  Maggie’s brow arched up, just like her mother’s had so many times. “Girl, you’re the only one who knows what you want to do. You’re not stupid. Figure it out. I’ve watched you these past three years do what ninety-nine percent of the people in this town couldn’t. You kept a roof over your mother’s head, kept her fed, relieved her pain. And I’m talking both her mental and physical pain. She needed you and you stayed. If I was honest, I couldn’t have done it.”

  “That’s not true. You take care of everyone in this town.”

  “Giving a person a meal now and then isn’t the same as washing, clothing, and giving a person meds. Nor is it the same as taking the abuse she dealt. If someone talked to me like that, I’d kick their sorry butt out of my place.”

  Ashley shook her head in disagreement. “Anger. It was just her way of dealing with dying. I wish she were still here. She’d tell me what to do, like she always did.”

  “Would you just get your head out of your ass? You don’t need someone else telling you how to live your life.” Maggie’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You want to wallow. Is that it? Have a one-woman pity party? Feel sorry for yourself?”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, hon. I do know.” A flash of pain crisscrossed her face. “I’ve been there. Tell you what. You get one day. One day to wallow. That’s all you get. Then you start living your life. Promise me. No more of this sitting in the dark. You have to promise me.”