A Soldier's Promise

by Cynthia Thomason

  “Yes, I’m sure you will. Carrie and I had a nice talk. I think she might be a bit lonely, being new to the area and all. I don’t think she meant to worry you. She was just reaching out...”

  Mike leaned on his truck hood and gave Brenna a top-to-bottom scrutiny. “Miss Sullivan, I’m sure your intentions were good, but a fourteen-year-old girl doesn’t need to be out on her own at night. If she wants to reach out, she can darn well tell me she’s doing it before she goes off to the house of someone I don’t even know.”

  Brenna bit her bottom lip as her temper flared once more, heating her face. She couldn’t argue that a child shouldn’t be going places without telling the parent, but the last time she looked at her clock, it had said 8:30 p.m. Hardly a dangerous hour for people to be out, especially in Mount Union, Georgia. But maybe Mike didn’t realize how safe his new town was.

  “I think we know each other better now, Mr. Langston,” she said. “And I’m starting to know Carrie. I’m going to make myself available to her whenever she needs to talk.”

  Brenna shuddered. Had she actually stated outright that she intended to become involved with a student?

  No doubt about it. She had.

  “I’ll be checking in with her,” Brenna added. “Just so Carrie knows she has someone older to talk to, a woman. It can’t be easy living with a father only.”

  “Nothing’s easy about this, Miss Sullivan.” Mike scrubbed his hand down his face. He suddenly looked tired. “You check to your heart’s content, but I don’t want my daughter in your house or anyone else’s without my knowledge. I hope I’m making myself clear.”

  “Crystal.” Brenna managed a smile and a wave at Carrie in the truck. When she turned back to Mike, she made sure her features displayed the seriousness of her intent. “You have a good night now,” she said.

  He strode around to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel. When he turned the ignition, Brenna felt the rumble of his truck engine through the soles of her sandals. Carrie stared out the window while the truck pulled away. Brenna stepped onto the curb and watched them until the vehicle had rounded a curve in the road and the taillights had disappeared.

  * * *

  THEY HAD ALMOST reached the town boundaries when Mike spotted the Golden Arches ahead. He turned to his daughter and spoke the first words he’d uttered since they’d gotten into the truck. “You want something from the drive-through?”

  “No. I ate at Miss Sullivan’s.”

  He continued past the McDonald’s. “You like her, this teacher?”

  “She’s okay. She seemed real nice in class. Made it sound like we’d have fun trying different things this semester. I thought she might be like Mrs. Grant, my history teacher at home.”

  Mike gripped the steering wheel. He wished Carrie would start thinking of Georgia as “home.” But no, she kept referring to the small California town near Camp Pendleton that way. Mike couldn’t blame her. After thirteen years in the military, he was having a hard time adjusting to civilian life in quiet, tradition-bound Mount Union. But they both had to try. Mike didn’t want to go back, and in his heart, he believed a break with the old life was best for his daughter, too.

  “You know why I was so upset about what you did, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Not really. I mean jeez, Dad, this town must be, like, the safest place in the universe.”

  Was she kidding? Did all kids assume they were invincible? “I’m figuring you had your cell phone with you.”

  “I always have it.”

  “Then why didn’t you call?”

  “Come on, Dad. I’ll be fifteen in a couple of weeks. I shouldn’t have to call you every time I decide to take a walk.”

  “Sorry, but yes, you should. I want to know where you are all the time. It’s my job to know.” That sounded harsh. “I mean, it’s my responsibility.”

  “I would have called eventually, when I needed a ride. I didn’t call right away because I knew you’d come get me immediately.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “I thought I might get lucky and you’d work late. Sometimes you do.”

  She felt lucky when he worked late? He could only shake his head. For his part, he always worried about Carrie when he was at the garage late. “My work hours have no bearing on what happened tonight,” he said, getting back on topic. “I need to know about you all the time.”

  She gave him a look that had to have been followed by an eye roll. Thank goodness he couldn’t see her expression in the dark truck cab.

  “What you need, Dad, is to back off once in a while,” she muttered.

  “What’s that?”

  “Never mind.”

  “You are not old enough to be out on your own. And we haven’t lived here very long. It’s all new. So when you’re not in school, I have to know exactly where you are.”

  “Yeah, like I’m ever anywhere but that stupid cabin.”

  That stupid cabin was Mike’s attempt to start over. It was small but cozy, and he considered it perfect for the two of them. “We go places,” he said. “We’re not always in the cabin.”

  “Places little kids go with their dads.”

  He thought back over the past three months. He’d taken Carrie fishing and boating. They’d gone into Savannah for an overnight and seen the sights. They had a trip planned for Atlanta soon, where they’d visit the capitol building and see historic homes. Okay, maybe he hadn’t exactly asked his daughter what she’d like to do, but Mike had thought he was managing pretty well.

  He drove silently until he reached the narrow path to his grandmother’s cabin. The lane was rutted and dark. He still had numerous holes to fill in with new gravel; he’d get to it soon. He’d eventually make all the improvements on his list. It was the least he could do to thank his grandmother for suggesting that he and Carrie move here, far from the painful memories.

  He parked in front of their house, but didn’t get out of the truck right away.

  Carrie looked over at him. “What?”

  “I just bought you that new smartphone,” he said. “The one with all the gadgets you just had to have.”

  She took the phone from her pocket. “And I love it, and I said thank you.”

  “Yes, you did. You also promised to use it to stay in touch. You don’t have any excuse for me not knowing where you are and what you’re doing.”

  “Fine. I get it. It’s either your rules for the cell phone or handcuffs. Those are my options.”

  So much drama. Even after being in a war zone for years, Mike didn’t know how to handle basic family dynamics.

  They got out of the truck. As Mike walked to the house, his mind buzzed with the changes he’d been facing recently. When had teenagers become complete cyber citizens? Every kid in town seemed to have a fancy phone or a tablet or some other techie instrument that kept them occupied in their homes and on the streets. Carrie had moved to Georgia with her own state-of-the-art laptop, which she kept fired up all day, every day. Getting her away from the computer was like coaxing an otter out of the river.

  He’d given in to the new phone, but he’d made a mental note to keep tabs on whom she was talking to.

  And teachers? What the heck? Mike didn’t remember having a teacher who looked even remotely like Miss Sullivan. He’d taken notice of her in the parking lot earlier and had liked what he saw. Not that he was looking. But a few minutes ago, despite his anxiety over Carrie, he’d gotten an even better view of the teacher. Her reddish hair, which had been bound in some type of bun thing at school, hung to her shoulder blades in a wavy ponytail, looking touchably soft in the streetlight.

  He’d caught a scent of something nice and citrusy, too.

  He put his key in the lock and opened the old plank door. What’s gotten into you, Mike Langston? His wife hadn’t been dead a full year yet and here he
was thinking of his daughter’s teacher as if he was starved for learning. Well, it had been a long time. A full year in Afghanistan without visiting home and then the loss.

  Carrie followed him in the door. She wrinkled her nose. “It stinks in here.”

  He sniffed. “I don’t smell anything. What does it smell like?”

  “Like mold and dust because everything in here is a thousand years old.”

  “These are your great-grandmother’s things. Of course they’re old.”

  “Right,” Carrie said, passing by him and heading to her room. “I’m going to check my email.”

  He had to quit thinking of his own needs. No sacrifice was too great when a man found himself trying to be a full-time father for the first time in his life and apparently messing up on a daily basis.

  * * *

  THAT EVENING MIKE had the same dream he’d suffered from night after night just after his wife had died. He was running along a nearly abandoned tarmac, trying to reach one lone plane. The whine of the jet’s engines punished his ears. The passenger door closed. He was going to miss the flight so he ran harder, shouting for the pilot to stop. Sweat poured down his face and chest so that when he woke, panting and feeling his heart pounding against his ribs, he had to grab a towel and dry off.

  He had the dream only occasionally these days, when he had a problem with Carrie or the familiar crushing guilt weighed heavily upon him. A chaplain had told him Lori’s illness was God’s will. The camp psychologist had told him it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t believed either one of them. If he’d only known about it. If he’d been there for her...maybe things would have turned out differently.

  He got up, pulled a pair of sweatpants over his boxers, went into the kitchen and filled a glass with water. Sometimes he smiled at his grandmother’s choice of glassware. This one was an old jelly jar featuring Yogi Bear. Mike didn’t smile tonight. He simply reached for the pill bottle, dropped one white tablet into his mouth and swallowed. First anxiety-busting drug he’d taken in four weeks. He was doing better. He’d commit himself to a hospital before he’d allow his system to become addicted to the things.

  His hand over his chest, he sat at the table and took several deep breaths. “It’s okay,” he said aloud, careful to keep his voice low so he wouldn’t awaken Carrie.

  The men in charge of the army’s elite rangers corps were good men. Dedicated professionals. They treated their special-force soldiers with respect. Still, what happened to Mike a year ago was unforgivable, the ultimate betrayal by both his commanding officers and his wife. The message from the general had come in the early-morning hours. Mike had still been at mess in the tent the army had erected outside of Kunduz. The instructions from the general had been simple and direct: effective immediately, you are hereby relieved of duty to attend to a personal matter.

  The “personal matter” had been his wife’s terminal illness. He’d made it home two days before she passed. He was able to say goodbye, make the promises she needed to hear and forgive her for her decision not to tell him about her health problems. But he hadn’t forgiven her and maybe never would.

  He still grappled every day with her reasons for not telling him she was sick. The army had known. His daughter had known. He hadn’t until it was way too late. How can a wife not tell her husband she’s dying just to avoid interrupting his life, his goals?

  His breathing normal now, Mike stood, carried the glass to the sink and left the kitchen. He had to be at work in a few hours, though not to advise how to keep his division vehicles running in the fight against terrorism, but to see why someone’s 1998 Chevy or Honda or...whatever was stalling out. He could tell them why, though being a mechanic was not the job he’d always envisioned for himself. Not the position he could have achieved by taking advantage of G.I. college money. But Alvin’s Garage was just another stall in his life right now, and fixing cars was a lot easier than fixing his life.

  * * *

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Diana asked when she saw Brenna thumbing through the attendance record. “Let’s go to the cafeteria and get lunch.”

  “Yeah, I will,” Brenna said. “Just a minute.” She found what she was looking for and took a student punch card from the homeroom reports of absences for the day. “Great.”

  “Who are you looking up?”

  Brenna hadn’t talked to Diana since Friday afternoon. Diana didn’t know that Carrie Langston had shown up on Brenna’s doorstep. Or that she’d had words with the girl’s father. She waved the card in Diana’s general direction. “One of my third-hour students reported sick today.”

  Diana took a step back. “And you’re making that sound like a national disaster because...?”

  Brenna tucked the card back in the pack and walked around the counter. She took Diana’s arm and led her into the hall. “It’s a long story, but if you want to hear it...”

  “Can you tell me over a sloppy joe and iced tea?”

  “No. I don’t want anyone to hear.” As briefly as she could, she explained about the happenings of Friday evening.

  “Wow,” Diana said. “This girl is the daughter of Mr. Tall, Dark and Mechanically Inclined?”

  “Yes, she is. And she’s a troubled kid, just the kind you like to bring home.”

  “And yet...” Diana paused. “Apparently she didn’t have a map to get to the right place and ended up with you instead.”

  “This isn’t funny,” Brenna said. “I think her father, the guy you obviously regard as Mr. Wonderful, is keeping her home so she won’t have contact with me or anyone else. Or worse.”

  “I don’t regard Mike the mechanic as anything in particular,” Diana said. “I just pointed out that he was a hunk and available.” She waited before adding, “But for the record, I didn’t see anything in his quiet nature that would suggest he’s holding family members captive.”

  “Come on, Diana,” Brenna said. “You barely spoke to the guy the other day. And besides, it’s the quiet ones you have to watch. Don’t you ever see the news?”

  “Look, if your instincts are telling you that something is wrong in this case, why don’t you have BethAnn call the house and talk to the girl?”

  “Get the guidance counselor involved? No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Brenna learned five years ago that getting officials involved could be devastating.

  “Brenna, you tell me all the time that you don’t want personal relationships with your students, and if you really feel that way, referring your concern to a guidance counselor is the thing to do.”

  “But Carrie indicated a trust in me. I have to handle this.” Whether I think it’s the best thing to do or not.

  “Fine. You call the house, then.”

  “I’ll do better than that. After school I’m going to Alvin’s Garage.” A few seconds passed before she smiled at Diana. “Coming in this morning I noticed a clunk coming from under the hood of my car. I should probably get it looked at by a professional.”

  Diana studied Brenna’s face.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” Brenna asked.

  “I’m just trying to figure out if you’re a pod person who managed to inhabit my best friend’s body.”

  Brenna smirked. “Granted, this is unusual behavior from me.”

  “Sure is. As I recall, the only life you like to interfere in is mine,” Diana added.

  Brenna smiled. “But I’m all done with yours, and this is a special case. This kid came to me seeking help or advice or maybe even compassion. I don’t know.”

  “But you’re determined to find out.”

  “I guess I am.”

  “Then go get that junker of a car you own checked out. You can’t be driving around in an unsafe vehicle.”

  Brenna nodded. “Exactly. Who knows how many lives I could be putting in jeopardy?”<
br />
  “Now can we go to lunch? I’m starved.”

  Within minutes of the dismissal bell that afternoon, Brenna pulled out of the parking lot and headed to Alvin’s Garage.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “LANGSTON, YOU GOT COMPANY!”

  When he heard his boss holler, Mike poked his head out from under the hood of a ’92 Ford SUV and stared across the garage to the office door. How could he have company? He hardly knew anybody outside of his work buddies. Except...

  Yeah, he knew that redhead talking to Alvin.

  Mel Francher, who’d worked at the garage for more than ten years, came up and nudged Mike in his ribs. “You got the good-looking teacher coming to see you,” he said. “What’d you do? Poke a hole in her transmission fluid when she wasn’t looking?”

  Mike scowled at him. “Never. I wouldn’t do anything to encourage her to come to the garage.”

  Mike wiped his hands on a clean rag and slowly approached his boss and Miss Sullivan. In pale denim slacks and a loose-fitting white shirt, she looked more like a “Miss Sullivan” today and less like the woman who wore shorts and a T-shirt and lived in the neat little bungalow. She still looked good, but he missed the legs.

  “You remember our schoolteacher, Mike?” Alvin said. “You worked on her car Friday.”

  “Sure, I remember. What can I do for you, Miss Sullivan?”

  “Call me Brenna,” she said. It was a simple gesture, but it came out more schoolteacher and less friend.

  “Brenna said she heard a strange sound coming from under the hood this morning,” Alvin said. “She asked for you to take a look since you’re familiar with the car.”

  “I’m familiar with the battery,” Mike said. “But sure, I’ll look.”

  “I appreciate that, Mr.... Can I call you Mike?”

  “I’ve got no objection to that,” he said. “Is your car in the lot?”

  “Yes, right out here.” She led the way outside.

  Mike got behind the wheel of the Mazda and turned on the engine. He leaned out the door and listened. “What did it sound like?” he asked Brenna.