by Cait Jarrod
The private’s face revealed all he needed to know. His close friend, who’d lived the war with him day in and day out, was dead. “Fuck!”
“Sorry, man. The rifle squad was ambushed. We lost some good men, including Gunny Sergeant York.”
His throat and eyes burned. He slumped to the rear of the truck. A corpsman tugged underneath his arms and dragged him, until he stretched out on a board.
Nothing during the war had affected him so much as losing the men and his mentor. “Damn!”
“It sucks,” the medic said.
If only he’d been quicker on the trigger, hadn’t listened to Gunny when he’d said to take cover. He stared at the cloth-covered ceiling and listened to the hum of the engine as they rode the rocky dirt road toward base. Marines listened to the chain of command. He had no choice, yet when the second order came across the radio, he couldn’t. Every instinct said shoot. He’d take the repercussions. With his injury, he was heading home anyway.
His leg throbbed and burned with an ache so intense, it took his breath. Yet the injury didn’t compare to the pressure seizing him from losing his gunny.
The interior of the truck faded. Voices waned.
The scent of antiseptic filled Trina’s senses. Cold air touched her skin. She reached for the sheet to cover her shoulders and couldn’t.
Panic plowed over her nerves. Am I paralyzed? Her pulse quickened. Where am I?
Darkness surrounded her with flashes of bright light streaming in at all sides. She lifted a hand to rub her head, but it wouldn’t move!
No! Am I blind? What happened? Am I in a closet? No. Can’t be. The air smells clean, like chemicals.
Fragments rushed to her: a red rough surface, someone screaming, a deep voice groaning, and the deafening sound of metal crumpling.
No-o! I was in an accident! Someone had screamed. Who? Gosh! I can’t remember. “Someone help me!” She yelled, but didn’t hear her own voice. Was she deaf and blind?
Emptiness rocked her soul. Tears that should have escaped didn’t warm her face. Breathing grew difficult. A jumble of sounds flooded her ears as if a man spoke. She could hear. Not deaf.
Who’s talking? Bradley? Dad? Matt!
She couldn’t see! I’m in a nightmare!
Alarms sounded. She flinched, yet didn’t move. What was happening?
“She’s okay,” a woman said. “Her body reacts involuntarily, sometimes.”
Who’s she talking to?
Chatter encroached; she couldn’t make out the words but recognized the timbre in the voices.
Mom, Dad, and Bradley. They sounded close, so close.
Mom! Again she didn’t hear her own voice. She couldn’t tell them she was okay, that she loved them.
“The family needs to prepare themselves. Katrina may come out of this and start talking tomorrow, then again, she may not,” a man said with the air of a doctor, his voice deep and sympathetic. The same empathy she’d learned to give toward members of a patient’s family. “The longer your daughter stays in a comatose state, the greater the chance of unforeseen brain damage.”
Comatose?
“It’s been three months,” her father’s voice cracked. “Can you tell if she has any permanent damage?”
What? Three months?
“Dr. Lovett, as you know, the brain is tricky. There are no signs of lasting damage.”
“I used to understand.” He sighed, defeat lacing his words. “You’ll have to excuse me for asking such a fundamental question, Dr. Fitzgerald. I can’t—”
“No need to explain,” the doctor responded. “When it’s a family member, it’s hard to recall your teachings.”
Nothing was wrong with her brain. She could think, decipher, and knew an incorrect diagnoses, if she could only tell them.
“There’s hope since her other injuries have healed quite well,” the doctor said.
Other injuries!
“Any news on her friend, Cadence Duvall?” Bradley’s voice rang weak, exhausted.
Her mouth grew dry, along with the urge to cough. Inside the cocoon of her body, she could do nothing, but she remembered Cadence screaming before the silence. She focused hard, waiting for the doctor’s response.
No one answered.
A warm hand touched her arm, the touch soft and gentle. She could feel! A wet sponge-like thing pressed against her lips, a trickle of moisture slid over her tongue and throat. “There,” her mother said. “You should feel better.”
How’d her mother know she was thirsty? Did she read her mind? Had she moved?
“Sweetie, please wake up,” her mother sobbed. Something pressed against her belly.
I’m okay, Mom. She wanted to place a hand on her mother, to soothe her as she’d done for Trina when she was small.
“Excuse me, Dr. Fitzpatrick. It’s time for Ms. Lovett’s injection. I need to take vitals.”
“We’ll finish our conversation in the hall,” the doctor said.
No, I need to hear what happened to Cadence!
Chairs screeched against the floor. Footsteps scuffed, then a soft tap signaled the door had closed.
Odd, how those sounds she wouldn’t have noticed previously now boomed in her ears.
“This will feel like a prick.” The nurse said and rubbed something over her stomach.
Ouch!
“There, that was easy.”
For you, maybe.
The nurse wrapped something around her bicep. The motions and sounds of a blood pressure cup squeezed her muscle.
“Trina,” the nurse said. “Just know, I believe you’ll be okay. You’ll make it.” The tightness from the blood pressure cup eased. “One time, a doctor told a little girl’s family to kiss her goodbye.”
Is this supposed to cheer me up?
“Five days later, the three year old woke singing Mama Mia. So you see,” the nurse continued with a laugh and patted her hand, “you’ll be fine. Though, I don’t expect you to sing.”
Okay, maybe the story did help. Thank you, she said but again, no words escaped.
“Can I have a minute with my sister?”
Bradley came back! She wanted to jump out of bed and hug him.
“Yes, of course,” the nurse said. “I put medication in her IV drip to settle her. If she can hear you, which I believe she can, she won’t for long. Soon the narcotic will help her sleep.”
“How can you tell when she hurts?”
“Her heart rate increases.”
“Has it always?” Bradley’s voice amplified with excitement.
“Yes, it happens sporadically.”
“I didn’t realize.”
“Understandable, you’ve been under a lot of stress.” The nurse made a clucking noise. “You’re a good brother. Katrina is lucky to have you.”
I am!
A chair screeched and the door closed. Bradley grabbed her hand and rubbed his thumbs over her skin.
I love you, Bradley. So much. How are you, big brother? Don’t worry, I’m okay.
If she could cry, she would.
“Don’t listen to him! The nerve of that doctor to tell us to expect the worse. What a pompous ass. Sis, you’re a fighter, always have been.” He let out a long drawn out sigh. “The police still haven’t found out who caused your accident. With no license plate on the car, locating the SUV is like finding a needle in a pile of horse crap. They are optimistic. Cal, the dipshit, still hasn’t called to check on you. I didn’t tell you this before, but when I told him about your accident, he couldn’t get off the phone fast enough. He said he’d call when he wasn’t mad. The guy needs to grow a pair.”
Her insides constricted. The day she ended their relationship, Cal was hurt, upset. Still, if he held any compassion, he would have come.
“Cadence is improving,” Bradley said, not hearing a word she thought. “She’s had several surgeries. It’ll be some time before she can come see you. She’s anxious, of course, and said, ‘Tell Trina to get her butt out of bed and g
et the guy.’ Bradley chuckled. “No one needs to ask who she’s talking about.”
Matt! Cadence was referring to Matt.
Bradley stayed quiet so long she thought he might have fallen asleep. “Katrina…” His voice quivered, “there’s something I have to tell you. Since day one, I promised I’d sit with you and not withhold any information.”
Before today, she hadn’t remembered him being there.
“I didn’t keep my promise for fear you’d give up.”
Did he lie? Is Cadence okay?
“Thankfully, what I have to say isn’t as unpleasant as telling you about the death of the driver. Man, that was sad.”
The male who’d groaned. The sting went straight to her heart. She wanted to cry for him, for his family.
“Matt is okay.”
What? Matt? What was Bradley talking about?
“He’s on his way home.”
Home? She mimicked a recorder, repeating Bradley’s words.
“A bomb detonated near him.”
Heaviness pressed on her chest. Hurry, what’s the rest?
“I don’t know the details, but he’s in rehab and doing well.”
The weight lessened.
“Mom and Dad don’t want me contacting him. In the emergency waiting room, Mom snatched my phone when I went to the restroom and deleted his number from my cell. They’re evil. They said since you haven’t spoken to each other for a year, there was a good reason, and demanded I keep my nose out of it. They believe whatever happened between you two would make you worse.” Bradley made a sneering noise. “I don’t agree. He’ll help you, I know he will. I heard from a buddy of mine that he’s coming home soon. Trust me, sis, I’ll find him.”
Excitement and anxiety intermingled. She wanted to hear Matt’s dreamy voice, feel him touch her; yet would it affect him to see her lying in bed not moving?
Her thoughts grew groggy.
Weeks had passed since the doctors removed the lower half of Matt’s leg. Today he flew home, back to the area where he’d lost the most. Losing a leg was hell but didn’t compare to losing his parents and his best friend.
He and Trina were finished. A fact, yet not something he accepted or wanted to think about. The dark place his mind wallowed in wouldn’t go away. During rehab, the doctors had talked until they threw their hands in the air and stormed out of his room. He didn’t blame them. He didn’t like being in his mind, either.
“Take care,” said Private Driscoll, the lone person he let close since his buddies had taken fragments from the bomb to vital parts of their bodies. Even Liz, soft and sweet, who recently joined the platoon, didn’t survive. “I’ll catch you stateside.”
“Looking forward to it,” he replied, knowing he wouldn’t see Driscoll again.
He maneuvered the steps to board the plane. The prosthesis still irritated him, more mentally than physically. He hobbled to a seat and flopped into it. Other men and women under medical release sat nearby. One man lost an arm; another wore a patch over his eye. He didn’t inspect the people sitting in the rear. No doubt, they had similar injuries and wanted to be left alone. He relaxed in his seat and closed his eyes. In no time, the plane landed and he disembarked. The fact he slept for over ten hours didn’t escape him. He’d been beat and hadn’t been able to rest much with all the rehab.
Outside, he breathed in the humid air and searched the crowd, waiting on the tarmac.
Travis’ face was tight, his mouth firm. He inspected him like his father would have, with compassion, caring, and the I’m-sorry-for-what-you’re-going-through expression.
Matt blinked and swallowed the sour taste in his mouth.
“Hey!” Travis pulled him in for a hug. “Damn, I like having you home.”
“I’m half the man, I was,” he said, not releasing him.
“You can never be half a man, squirt!” His brother patted his back. “Never.”
He chuckled at the childhood nickname. “Who are you calling a squirt?”
Travis cocked his head and searched his face. The deep concern in his eyes about broke him. “Damn glad to see you again.”
Another tight squeeze, and Travis reached for Matt’s duffle.
“I can carry it.”
“I know, but I want to do this.” Travis placed a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go home.”
Appreciating his big brother’s comfort, he walked in silence to the silver truck.
Pulling out of Andrew’s Air Force base and heading northwest toward home, Travis said, “I assume you’re staying at the house.”
“Where else?” He stared out the window.
“Dunno. That’s why I asked.”
Travis tried to behave as if nothing had changed, but not him. Everything he’d held dear, the things making him tick, had disappeared within a few months. Eerie, how life transformed so quickly. One moment he loved life, feeling good, and ready to take on the world. The next, he didn’t much give a shit what happened.
“What about finding a job?” Travis asked after an hour-long stretch of silence.
“I may contact the fire department.”
“You haven’t mentioned being a fireman since,” Travis paused. “Since before...”
“Yeah, I know.” Matt’s decision to become a sniper happened the day Dad had died.
“Dad would have been proud of you. Mom, too, but Dad would have been showing all his buddies your commendations.”
Their dad had bragged endlessly to his friends about his boys. “I miss them.”
“Me too,” Travis said. “Every day.”
An awkward silence stretched between them until the sting grew too much. “I plan to call a few fire chiefs, see if any of them are willing to take on a one-legged vet who can’t run into a building or climb a ladder.”
Travis pulled into River Grill’s parking lot.
He tugged on the handle, but his brother was faster and locked the doors.
“Food after you recover from your pity party.”
“Here we go,” he said, “acting like my parent.”
“Fuck. I don’t want to be anything but your big brother, but I have all three jobs.”
Another guilt he wore like a badge. “And who’s your parent? Who watches out for you?”
Travis’ face flushed. “I thought it was obvious. You are.”
He jerked his head toward Travis so fast he heard a bone in his neck crack. “Say, what?”
“We’re it.”
“I know we’re it,” he scoffed. “You’re five years older than me.”
“So? Does that make it any different? Maybe at thirteen and eighteen it did, but not anymore. Hell, you fought in a war. Seen the worst in life.”
The dangerous places Travis flew scared the hell out of him. “You find people who no one believes survived.”
“Same, but different,” Travis said. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“No.” His curt tone left no room for discussion.
“Okay, then are you good with the River Grill for supper?”
“Here works.”
Travis unlocked the doors, and he climbed out of the truck.
The scent of grilled burgers and fries cooking in oil produced a growl from his stomach. “I’ve missed this.”
“Lots of memories,” Travis grinned and opened the restaurant door. “You want the usual?”
“Yeah.” Just like they’d done numerous times, Travis ordered while he gathered napkins, straws, and condiments from a nearby counter and found a clean booth.
“You don’t want to talk about what happened,” Travis said a little while later and placed the tray of food in the center of the table. Groaning, he unwrapped his burger and bit into it, waiting for the next question he didn’t want to answer.
“Will you tell me about Katrina Lovett?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” He shoved a fry into his mouth and swallowed some soda to wash it down. “We were friends, now we’re…not.”
“Why?”
Trina wasn’t up for discussion, not with his brother or anyone. “Want to share about your women?”
“I’ve got nothing to tell.”
“You sure?” He prodded. Instead of inquiring about the near miss Travis had on the last search and rescue, he teased about women. A safer subject that wouldn’t open wounds. He knew too well, a person talked when they were ready. “Maybe the problem is you don’t know where to start. Too many women want a part of the great Travis Carson, rescue pilot.”
Travis didn’t appear impressed by his comment and bit his burger more eagerly than a dog eating a steak.
“You’re as warped as me,” he said around a mouthful of food. “We’re too screwed for anyone to get close.”
Travis lifted a shoulder and balled the hamburger wrapper. “Listen, I rented a cabin in Montana. Want to go?”
Montana, his parents’ dream destination. After an anniversary trip, they had fallen in love with the mountains. “You’re doing the same thing as me. Living their dream.”
Travis picked at his napkin. “While I’m out there, I’m looking to buy some land.”
He straightened in his seat. “Really?”
“I’m ready for a change. What if I use our inheritance to buy land out there? Would you consider moving?”
The idea sounded great, but he didn’t know what he would do the next minute much less plan for the future. “I’ll think about it.”
“At least head out with me for a couple of days.”
As much as coming home bothered him, his mental wounds needed a chance to heal. “Nah, I need to stay here. At home.” Before Travis changed his mind and decided he shouldn’t be by himself, he added, “Alone.”
Releasing a sigh, Travis stretched out his legs. “I need some recon time myself.”
His mission to find a four-year-old girl lost in the Blue Ridge Mountains nearly ended when his plane’s engine cut out. He’d almost bit the bullet, or mountain in this case, but his exceptional piloting skills had saved him.
“Dad would have been bragging about you, too.” He diverted his attention to his knee, rubbed it right above the prosthesis to ward off the moan he wanted to release for missing his parents.
Travis coughed. “Does um…” He coughed again. “Does your leg hurt?”
