Chapter Eleven
WHAT’S WRONG? Grace thought the minute she saw Kinlaw’s face. But she didn’t ask. Nothing was ever wrong with a Marine. Unless he said so. First.
In lieu of making unwelcome inquiries, she stood with Elizabeth on her hip, holding the front door open with her foot because she had a can of tomato soup in her other hand—Elizabeth’s preferred toy at the moment. She hadn’t seen him since the cookout, and regardless of his having been on her mind a great deal of late, he was the last person she expected to find on her doorstep. Marines en masse, yes. This particular one, alone, no.
“I can’t deliver fish today,” she said finally, just to get the ball rolling.
He almost smiled. Elizabeth held out her small hand to him and he took it long enough to make a growling noise against her fingers—apparently just what she expected. She giggled and gave him her other hand for a repeat.
“I was wondering if you’d go somewhere with me,” he said when he had finished playing. “Now,” he added before she could ask.
Grace could see the Indian parked in the driveway. Surely he hadn’t come expecting her to hop on the back of a motorcycle again, she thought, regardless of the precedent she’d already set. She pursed her lips to ask him to kindly elaborate, then didn’t because he was looking into her eyes, something he didn’t do very often in her experience.
“I’ve got Elizabeth,” she said, as if she would actually brave neighborhood opinion and ride off with him.
“We can take her, too, if you drive.”
“To where?
“Funeral,” he said in a completely non-committal voice. Seemingly offhand or not, the response was no less unexpected and startling. And asking was hard for him, she realized, regardless of the neutral tone. He didn’t have his Marine face on for nothing.
“Whose?” she asked with some concern, suddenly afraid that it was one of Josh’s entourage.
“Chuck Dodge died.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.”
She didn’t say anything else because she sensed that he was bracing himself for an onslaught of questions. She also thought he was expecting her to say no. She had a good enough reason to do just that, and regardless of her recent widowhood and her likely aversion to funerals, he still asked. He wasn’t going to say he needed moral support, however—if, in fact, he did.
“I . . . called last night,” he said, surprising her again. “I wanted to tell you about Chuck. But I . . .”
“What?”
“I bailed. I can say I wanted to tell you about him, but mostly I wanted you to talk me out of getting drunk.”
“I see. Did you? Get drunk?”
“No. I probably scared Allison, though—calling and not saying anything.”
“I don’t think you scared her. She would have said something.”
The conversation lagged.
“Anyway, we’d be skipping the funeral home. It’s a graveside thing.”
She looked past him into the yard, but she had already decided what she wanted to do about his request.
“I’ll go change.”
“Actually, you don’t have time. They’re on a tight schedule. We have to leave right now. I’ll hold Elizabeth while you get your car keys.”
Grace looked down at the clothes she was wearing. They were suitable for a reluctant motorcycle passenger, but hardly funeral-appropriate. Apparently that didn’t matter to him, and it certainly wouldn’t matter to Sergeant Dodge. She handed the baby over and went into the kitchen to get her purse. She’d started carrying a caregiver’s purse again, one big enough for a spare diaper or two, baby wipes, a box of juice and a plastic sandwich bag full of Cheerios. She was amazed at how quickly she remembered the fine points of baby care and transport. Unfortunately, remembering was one thing. Stamina was something else again. She’d forgotten how many deep knee bends were required to take care of an almost toddler.
She picked up her purse, thinking about Chuck Dodge and what a sad man he’d seemed to be the day she and Kinlaw had delivered a meal to him. She set the purse down again so she could leave a note, just in case any of the rest of the household came home before she and Elizabeth returned.
We’ve gone to Charles Dodge’s funeral with Kinlaw.
—Mom/Grace and Elizabeth.
It was clearly not your everyday kind of refrigerator note.
When she returned to the foyer, Elizabeth was holding onto 43qaSZDXfcgthnbujilaw’s fingers and trying to walk him toward the den, stepping high and leaning hard to get him moving.
“She’s almost ready to solo,” Grace said, bending down to check her diaper.
“It’s good to see her well again. And happy.” He turned Elizabeth around and picked her up, holding her high over his head for a moment before he opened the door for Grace to go outside.
Was Elizabeth happy? Grace thought.
Yes, she decided.
Incredibly, she had forgotten how tentative Elizabeth’s being here still was. They were waiting for the test results before they made any kind of decision, and they had no way of knowing when that would be. The lawyer Josh had found to help him satisfy the legal system and the Marine Corps had no confidence in on-line testing labs, and there was nothing speedy about the one he preferred.
“The clock is ticking, Mrs. James,” Kinlaw said. She didn’t think he meant the rush to get to Sergeant Dodge’s funeral.
“I don’t know what we’re going to do about Elizabeth yet,” she said.
“You could forget about the test—just go with the circumstantial evidence.”
“I could. But I don’t think Josh is going to go off and leave her with a stranger.”
“You’re past the ‘stranger’ stage, regardless of what a DNA test says. Or is it not working out, the two of them being here?”
“No, it’s working. Elizabeth is a delight. Allison and Lisa both adore her. Josh is a very unobtrusive guest, actually. He pulls his weight. He’s making us exercise for our own good and he buys groceries. He even does his own laundry, as well as Elizabeth’s. You should see him intimidate Lisa’s gentleman callers—especially Joe-B. And he tries not to swear.”
“No real complaints, then,” he said as he opened the car door to buckle Elizabeth into her seat.
“Well, I’m not sure Lisa is happy about the exercise program. The best thing is Allison’s makeover. Did you know the Marines took her shopping? She loves her new clothes. And one of them cut her hair. It’s so cute,” she said with a laugh. But as they walked to the car, it suddenly occurred to her that Josh Caven was doing exactly what he’d had to do when he was a boy—work hard to stay in a place where he wasn’t necessarily wanted. And how he must hate it, even if he was doing it for Elizabeth’s sake this time. Once again it occurred to her that in that respect, their childhoods had actually been similar. She’d gone out of her way to fit in and not cause problems when she’d moved in with Aunt Barbara and Sandra Kay. Unfortunately, she’d tried to handle the problems in her marriage in the same, don’t-rock-the-boat way.
“Western Boulevard,” Kinlaw said as she backed the car toward the street.
He didn’t say anything more, and neither did she. Elizabeth had no such reticence. She babbled happily in the back seat.
“What happened to Sergeant Dodge?” Grace asked when they were on the Boulevard.
“Turn here,” he said instead of answering the question. “Two klicks, then turn left.”
“You want to tell me what a ‘click’ is?
“Kilometer,” he said.
“So . . . that would be ‘klick’ with a k, then.”
“Correct.”
She kept driving—and wondering whether she really wanted to do this.
“I hear Lisa’s decided to go to the prom with Joe-B,” Kinlaw
said.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure you’re worrying enough?”
It took her a moment to register the bantering nature of the question.
“I could probably ratchet it up another notch or two.”
“He’s been briefed,” Kinlaw said. “I think he’ll behave. He’s been carrying a torch for your daughter for a while.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. A big one. You need to get on Highway 24 toward Swansboro.”
“How far away is it, klick-wise?”
“Not sure,” he said.
The information was hardly helpful, but Grace didn’t ask anything else. She drove. And drove.
“He’d been saving up his pain pills for a long time,” Kinlaw said, at one point. “Chuck. He lied to me when I asked him about it. He said they weren’t working anymore, but he wasn’t taking them.”
Grace didn’t know what to say; she only knew that it had been hard for Kinlaw to tell her this.
“Turn here,” he said abruptly when she was about to drive past a sign that indicated a church was somewhere on a side road to her left. She made the turn and continued driving.
“That’s it,” he said when they eventually came to a white wooden church set back off the road in a stand of tall pine trees. “Pull in here.”
“Here” was an empty gravel parking lot.
Grace parked the car under one of the pines. “Are we . . . early?” she asked. Looking around, she saw no other vehicles.
“No,” he said. “We’re it.”
Grace glanced at him, but she didn’t say anything. He got out and opened the door to take Elizabeth out of her car seat. The church grounds were neat, the church old-fashioned-looking and quaint. There were two wreaths of yellow flowers—forsythia, she thought—hanging on the double front doors. She could see the cemetery behind the church just beyond a row of crepe myrtle trees that wouldn’t bloom until the heat of summer. She could also see an open grave and the machine that must have dug it.
She got out of the car. It was very quiet in this place. She could hear birds singing and the wind in the pines from time to time, but that was essentially it.
Kinlaw looked at his watch, then at her. “His son got married here. Right before he was deployed.”
A car went down the road. Elizabeth was beginning to fret and Kinlaw set her on the ground where she stood, happy once more now that she was on the ground, holding on to his finger. She reached for Grace’s hand as well. Together, the three of them made a slow round among the pine trees. Finally, Grace could see a black hearse and a large black SUV approaching. For a moment, she thought they were going to drive on past, but the vehicles continued to a small driveway farther down the road, one that circled around to the other side of the cemetery.
“I’ll carry her,” Kinlaw said when she moved to pick up Elizabeth. Several men were getting out of the SUV—paid pallbearers, Grace supposed. With practiced ease they removed a plain steel gray casket draped with the American flag from the hearse. There were no flowers.
A man in a dark gray suit walked in their direction. He had a business-size white envelope in his hand. Elizabeth was growing fussy again. Grace took the bag of Cheerios out of her purse and gave her some.
Grace took a deep breath, missing the man’s name when he introduced himself. This funeral was nothing like Trent’s, but it was still a funeral.
“Thank you for coming,” the man said as Elizabeth offered him a Cheerio. He smiled, obviously having enough experience with children to know she didn’t mean it.
“It’ll take just a minute,” he said to Kinlaw. His graveside team was nothing if not swift. When he looked in their direction, one of them motioned for him to come.
The funeral director led the way; Kinlaw and Grace followed. She tried not to step on the markers as they walked across the cemetery to the other side.
When they reached the open grave, the director indicated where he wanted them to stand. Elizabeth leaned forward for Kinlaw to take her, and the paid pallbearers moved respectfully off to the side.
“As you know, the sergeant—” the funeral director said.
“Sergeant Dodge,” Kinlaw interrupted as he handed Elizabeth over to Grace.
“Yes. Sergeant Dodge planned his own service. His only request was that I read this letter if Joseph Kinlaw was present.” The man opened the sealed envelope and took out a folded piece of coffee-stained notebook paper. Then he cleared his throat and began to read.
“Bootch. You know me better than anybody. You know I’m not what I used to be. Not even close. Now, goddamn it, I’ve had enough. I don’t want to drag around like this anymore. I miss my boy and that’s the bottom line. So don’t go thinking you could have changed anything. I don’t need you to watch my back anymore. I’m glad you’re here to see me off, though. I hope Gracie came with you.
“I’m not much on goodbyes. This is pretty much it. Stop by and see me sometime. But don’t come drunk and piss on my grave, you son of a bitch, or I’ll haunt you . . .”
Kinlaw smiled at this, but the smile quickly faded.
“If you want any of my stuff, you can have it. Don’t go looking for the medal. It’s in the box with me. Give the rest of whatever you come across to Goodwill or somebody. I don’t care. Okay, that’s it. Do it better than I did, brother. Simper fi, you sorry bastard. Chuck.”
The funeral director cleared his throat again. “If you’d like a prayer . . . ?”
“Just do what he told you he wanted.”
“Right,” the man said. “Just the reading, then.” He motioned for the other men to come and remove the flag. They were proficient at that, too, folding it quickly and handing it over to him. He offered it to Kinlaw, and when he didn’t take it, to Grace. She hesitated, then accepted the flag, not knowing if she should or not. She stood there, waiting for Kinlaw who was clearly lost in his own thoughts. She held onto the flag and to Elizabeth, who urgently wanted to get down.
The wind made the pines sigh from time to time. The sky was very blue overhead, but there were dark clouds gathering on the eastern horizon. It would likely rain before they got home.
A flock of crows squabbled in a line of trees across the road. Elizabeth put her head on Grace’s shoulder as they laid Sergeant Charles Dodge to rest. Without fanfare, without anything—except an old, and perhaps a new, friend’s regard.
GRACE STOOD LEANING against the kitchen counter, waiting for the coffeemaker to finish its cycle. Not that it mattered. She didn’t think either of them wanted any coffee, but it would fill the glaring gaps in the conversation. Kinlaw had said almost nothing on the drive back from the cemetery. She glanced toward the windows. It was raining hard—the supposed reason for his still being here despite his penchant for riding the Indian around in bad weather.
She looked over her shoulder because of a slight noise. Kinlaw had returned from carrying the sleeping Elizabeth upstairs to her crib. She smiled slightly, awkwardly, as he walked into the kitchen because she knew from the way he looked at her that something had changed between them. She kept expecting him to say something, but he didn’t. He leaned against the counter, arms folded, his mind somewhere else.
But then he did look at her, letting her see both the sadness and the purpose. When she would have spoken, he moved around in front of her. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t give her the opportunity to avoid what they both knew was about to happen. It was just as well; she had no intention of being coy. For once in her life, she wasn’t weighing choices and consequences. When he put his hands on her shoulders, she tilted her head back, lifting her mouth to his. The kiss was tentative at first, but then it deepened, leaving her breathless. She turned her face away and leaned into him, resting her head against his chest, realizing as she did so how long she’d wanted to do this. She closed her
eyes as his hand slid upward to caress the back of her neck. She could hear his heart beating.
Joseph.
Maybe she said his name out loud. She wasn’t certain. She tilted her head back to look into his eyes, to kiss him again, hard and hungry this time, open-mouthed and wanting. His hands searched for bare skin up under her shirt, and all the while, some part of her marveled that she was in this kind of situation, and she didn’t feel afraid or guilty. All she felt was sadness—his and her own—and intense, raw desire . . .
She could hear a key rattling in the front door. Lisa and Allison were home from school and for once, not bickering. Grace stepped out of Kinlaw’s embrace, only to step right back into it and kiss him one more time. Then she quickly turned away and got down the coffee cups, pulling her shirt straight, trying to make her breathing less ragged. Kinlaw stood for a moment, then picked up the folded flag she’d left on the counter.
“I’ll take a rain check on the coffee,” he said.
“Okay,” she said, still not recovered, still not daring to look at him.
“You don’t have to worry about . . . this,” he said quietly. “It’s not the end of the world.”
Then he left. Grace could hear him tell the girls hello on his way out.
“Mom!” Allison called as she came bouncing into the kitchen. “Today was so good!”
Grace took a deep breath and tried to find familiar ground. She was the mother of teenaged daughters, and Allison was still basking in the peer response to her new look. “Wowed them with another outfit, I take it.”
“It was so cool, Mom.” Then she stopped. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, why?”
“You sound funny. Maybe you’re getting a cold. Anyway, everybody liked my hair and my outfit. They still don’t believe I went shopping with a bunch of Marines, though. You’ll back me up, if anybody asks, right?”
“Absolutely,” Grace said. She could hear the rain and the sound of the Indian fading into the distance.
The Marine (Semper Fi; Marine) Page 14
