Uncle Sarge

by Bonnie Gardner

  “You skydive?”

  Sherry laughed. “Fooled you! Of course I didn’t skydive, but I could have.” She grinned again. “I don’t consider not being able to do it much of a loss.

  “Seriously. I won’t be able to do much heavy lifting, so I guess a career in weightlifting is out, too.” She reached over, took his hand and squeezed. “You know what I have to be most thankful for?”

  Rich shook his head. Sherry’s hand felt so warm and reassuring, but he couldn’t imagine why she’d give thanks.

  “You,” she said simply. “I was angry with you for so long, and I didn’t even try to find you until…until Mike talked me into it. And then you came looking for me right when I needed you most. How’s that for fate?” Sherry took in a deep, slow breath, then exhaled. “Yes, I miss Mike desperately, and I always will. But I also have my memories. And our children.” She drew Rich’s hand up to her face and pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. Then she let go.

  Overwhelmed at what Sherry had just said, Rich stroked her cheek. Something hot blurred his vision, and he looked away. He blinked to clear his eyes, but they just filled again. After having no one to care about him for so long, Sherry’s sentiments touched him deeply. How should he respond to something like that?

  He sucked in a deep breath and held it. Then he let it out. “How did you do it?” he finally asked, his voice tight, his face averted. “How did you get the nerve to try?”

  “Try what?”

  “To have the whole nine yards. You know, a family. After what we had—our parents—weren’t you afraid?”

  Sherry pulled him around to face her. “Afraid of what? That history would repeat itself?”

  “Yeah,” Rich answered thickly. He shrugged and sighed. “Maybe you could risk it. You don’t look like…him.”

  “Are you really worried about that?”

  “Well, yeah. God, Sherry, all I have to do is look in the mirror.”

  “Rich, Daddy was a sick man. I didn’t know it then, but after I studied it in school, I figured it out. He suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from Vietnam, and that made him drink. PTSD made him scared and dredged up all those bad feelings he hadn’t been able to deal with. He drank for courage, but it made him mean. He drank to forget. Only sometimes he forgot everything else, too. He couldn’t help it.”

  She paused and took a breath. “PTSD is not something that can be passed on like blue eyes or the color of your hair. It happened to Daddy because he wasn’t prepared for Vietnam. War did that to him, not heredity.”

  “Yeah, but I play war every day,” he responded tiredly. “I could find myself in the same situation.”

  “Have you, so far? Rich, you just came back from an awful situation, did it turn you to drink?” Sherry shook her head. “What happened to Daddy was a tragedy. They took a young man, a farm boy out of rural Florida, showed him how to use a rifle, yanked him up out of the States one day, and dropped him down into a rice paddy the next. He wasn’t prepared for it. They do it differently now.”

  She looked at him. “You should know. Don’t they give you all sorts of training?”

  Rich breathed deeply. “Yeah, I suppose they do.” He’d been through all kinds of testing and training before he’d been formally accepted into his elite unit. He’d spent almost as much time in classes as he had on the obstacle course. Maybe he was more prepared.

  He held Sherry’s hand and looked down into pale blue eyes that were so much like his own. “How did you get so smart? Do you think…?”

  “Oh, Rich.” Sherry shook her head and smiled. “I only had to see you dancing with Caitlyn at Rebecca’s wedding.” She paused. “Carter took to you like…” She didn’t finish, but Rich knew what she was trying to say.

  “Don’t let our sorry childhood keep you from making your own happy ending.” She smiled again. “Don’t deny yourself one of the greatest pleasures of life because of our bad luck. You’re a natural daddy, Rich. You deserve it all.”

  Rich couldn’t have felt happier if he’d won the Florida State Lottery. Sherry had told him that he could do it, and if she thought so, maybe he could. Now, all he had to do was convince Jennifer.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rich hung up the phone, then turned to Sherry who was playing peekaboo with Carter. Though she tired easily, she was getting around well, and Rich was beginning to feel like a fifth wheel under foot in her house. So, he’d herded her and the kids into her minivan and taken them for a ride and ended up at his apartment. It might have seemed silly to anyone else, but he enjoyed being able to entertain her in his apartment. It was a simple pleasure he’d never thought he’d have.

  He loved being with the kids again, and he’d enjoyed getting the chance to know his sister as a fully developed adult. He glanced at Caitlyn, quietly playing with a sticker book, and smiled. He hadn’t ruined her with the steady diet of videotapes and children’s television.

  “She wouldn’t talk to me,” Rich said as he paced the room and tried to figure out what to do next. “You heard it. She wouldn’t answer. I know she was there. I know she was.” Sherry was planning a huge Thanksgiving dinner, and she’d asked him to invite Jennifer.

  Considering he’d spent the better part of the week trying to come up with a workable Plan B, Sherry’s dinner party seemed like the best way to break the ice.

  If only Jennifer would answer the phone.

  “Why didn’t you leave a message?” Sherry challenged.

  Rich shrugged. “I guess I wanted to speak to her directly. Hell, I want to speak to her face-to-face, but I doubt she’d let me get close enough to hear what I have to say. So, now what do I do?”

  Sherry didn’t respond, but Rich could see her thinking. He snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Hey, Sis. Are you there?”

  “Hush,” she hissed, waving him away. “I’m thinking.” She closed her eyes, then grinned. “I’ve got it,” she announced after a long minute.

  “What?”

  “You have to play hard to get.”

  He looked at her beaming face and couldn’t help frowning. “Huh?”

  “You know, absence makes the heart grow fonder?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Just trust me, big brother. I know what I’m doing.” She covered her face with her hands and then moved them quickly away. Carter chuckled in the husky, throaty voice that Rich loved to hear. “From today on, I want you to pretend you never met Jennifer Bishop and leave everything up to me. No phone calls, no letters, nothing.”

  “What’s that going to accomplish?”

  “Trust me, big brother. It’ll work.”

  Rich had to admit to himself that his campaign hadn’t been working, but he sure didn’t like it that Sherry was keeping him out of the loop.

  “Don’t worry, Uncle Witch,” Caitlyn said, looking up from her stickers. “Mom and I will make Jen’fer come. And then I can get to wear my weddy dwess again.”

  “Huh?” What did the dress have to do with anything?

  “I said she could wear it for special occasions, and a big, family Thanksgiving dinner qualifies,” Sherry explained, looking over Carter’s fuzzy head at Rich’s frown.

  “Well, let’s go,” he said shrugging. “If we don’t get moving, Carter’ll fall asleep in the car again.”

  Rich liked his interpretation better, he thought as he hustled everybody out the door. If Jennifer would come, maybe Caitlyn would get to be a flower girl again.

  THE WEATHER seemed more like spring than late November, and Jennifer was hot and sticky as she took the pumpkin pie out of the oven. She was having a hard time working herself up into a festive mood, and being uncomfortable didn’t help. She’d offered to bring something to Sherry’s, and she wasn’t going to back out just because the weather had turned decidedly un-November-like, even for Florida.

  Jennifer wasn’t sure she should have accepted Sherry’s invitation to Thanksgiving dinner, but she’d really had no other choice except to be rude and
refuse. And Sherry had assured her that inviting the people who had helped out while she was laid up had been her idea, not Rich’s. She couldn’t help wishing that it had been Rich’s idea. That would mean he still cared.

  Rich had been avoiding her, or so it seemed. Though Nick had assured her that Rich had been part of Operation Sunday School, and the invitation from Sherry had eased her fears that Rich had been a casualty in the mission, she’d still been unsuccessful in getting in touch with Rich by phone. The one time she’d gotten an answer at Rich’s apartment she had spoken to Ski and he’d sounded pretty evasive. Finally, she’d given up.

  Obviously, the invitation had been all Sherry’s idea and not Rich’s.

  After pestering her to death all that time, it irked her to no end that he’d suddenly decided to play coy. Or had he finally lost interest as she’d known he would?

  Even if he wasn’t interested in her anymore, he had a right to know he was going to be a father. And if she couldn’t get him on the phone, then she’d have to ambush him at Sherry’s.

  Jennifer wasn’t naive enough to think that he’d want to be a part of the baby’s life. Or hers. But she wasn’t going to keep it from him.

  What he did from that point on was up to him.

  Jennifer looked in the mirror and sighed. Maybe, on the outside it didn’t show, but she felt very pregnant. Her breasts were tender and felt even more generous than they already were. And the last thing she wanted to do today was drive all the way to Pensacola and behave as if everything was peachy when she felt like a fallen woman.

  She stepped back and gave herself the once-over in the full-length mirror. At least she didn’t look like one.

  No way would Rich suspect.

  But she would tell him.

  By midnight, she’d know whether she was going to go through this alone.

  By the time the clock struck twelve, she’d either be a princess with a Prince Charming, or she’d be prepared to swell up like a pumpkin all by herself.

  RICH PEERED OUT the living room window with the eagerness of a child waiting for Santa. “Are you sure she said she’d come, Sherry?”

  Sherry laughed. “Didn’t Mama always tell us that ‘the watched pot doesn’t boil’? She’s going to be here. Now, sit down before I find something for you to do.”

  “I’m not watching a pot,” Rich replied irritably. “I’m going out of my gourd.” He turned away from the window. “Give me something to do. I’ll pluck the turkey, chop wood. Anything to keep from twiddling my thumbs and waiting.”

  “You must be in love,” Sherry muttered.

  “That’s no secret. Except to Jennifer. I don’t know why I let you talk me into playing hard to get. She probably thinks I hate her.” Not calling her for the past few weeks had been the hardest thing he’d ever done.

  “Well, today will be your chance to set her straight. Just make sure you don’t blow it.” Sherry opened a drawer in the china cabinet. “Stop pacing, Rich. You’re making me a wreck.” Sherry gestured toward the open drawer. “The silverware is in here. Set the table.”

  “But—”

  “You’ve been driving me crazy all day. You said you wanted something to do, so go set the table. I have to baste the turkey.”

  Rich wasn’t sure about this plan of Sherry’s, but at least Jennifer had agreed to come. He just hoped she wouldn’t back out at the last minute.

  JENNIFER PULLED UP in front of the house in the quiet Pensacola neighborhood and came to a halt behind Rich’s black pickup truck. Relief surged through her. He’s here.

  Taking a moment to compose herself, she looked at the little house. The lawn had been cut, and a row of potted chrysanthemums brightened the tiny front porch. What a difference from that first time when she and Rich had seen it looking so sad and neglected! It looked lived in now.

  Of course, Sherry’s husband was gone, but she was so blessed to have his children. In spite of her tension, Jennifer smiled.

  Those brave, yellow mums seemed to promise that everything would be all right. They almost shouted that life would go on, no matter what.

  Jennifer looked at the row of cheerful flowers, and she had to think that she and Rich would work it out.

  She turned the key, and the engine rumbled down. She looked down at the dark grease she couldn’t get out of the ridges of her fingertips, and hoped what she remembered about cars was right. At one time, she’d regretted taking auto shop because she’d met Duke there, but if her plan worked out today, that class would have been worth it.

  In case she didn’t get a chance to talk to Rich, she’d made sure she’d get time alone with him on the way home.

  Taking in a deep breath for courage, Jennifer pushed open the car door and stepped outside.

  The front door to the house flew open, and Caitlyn, wearing the yellow organza flower girl dress, came running. “I been waiting for you,” she announced as she skidded to a halt at the curb. “Look, Mommy said I could wear my weddy dwess ’cause it’s a special ’casion.” She pirouetted. “Don’t I look beautiful?”

  Leave it to Caitlyn to ease the tension. Jennifer gathered her close and squeezed her in a bear hug. “Oh, I have missed you, you sweet thing. And you are the prettiest girl in the world.” She smiled. “I can’t wait to get my hands on that cute little brother of yours and hug him, too.”

  Hoping to catch a glimpse of Rich, Jennifer looked over Caitlyn’s head toward the house. She knew he was there. The truck hadn’t driven itself, but she didn’t see him. Her eyes misted, but she blinked back the moisture. He was probably helping Sherry keep Carter amused. “Why don’t you take my pocket book so I can bring in the pie?” She handed it to Caitlyn who scampered ahead.

  Now that she was here, Jennifer couldn’t help thinking everything would work out. If Sherry could pull herself together, so could she. She opened the passenger side door and picked up the cardboard box containing the pie.

  “Come on, Jen’fer. Hurry up. We’re all hungry,” Caitlyn called from the front door.

  Jennifer hurried, not because of what Caitlyn said, but because of her own agenda.

  She was greeted with the rich aroma of turkey and spices and yeasty bread. Her heart lifted. The festive mood she hadn’t been able to find earlier appeared. She spotted Rich, belly down on the floor, playing with Carter, and her spirits soared higher.

  Then Rich got up and left the room.

  That hurt worse than not finding him waiting for her, but she wasn’t going to jump to conclusions. He probably had something to do for Sherry.

  Jennifer pasted a bright smile on her face and carried the pie into the kitchen where Sherry was cooking, surrounded by clouds of aromatic steam. Rich wasn’t there.

  Determined not to let the slight get to her, Jennifer chatted with Sherry about nothing in particular. By the time she’d exhausted all the safe topics, Rich came in through the back door, a greasy rag in his hands.

  He must have been surprised to see her there, for he stopped short. He smiled, and the room seemed to fill with light. “Glad you could come,” he said. Then he went to the sink and washed his hands as if she weren’t there.

  He turned to Sherry. “Let’s get this show on the road. I’m starved.”

  SITTING THROUGH dinner and making polite conversation as if his life didn’t depend on it was a damned sight harder than storming a radar site on some godforsaken island, Rich couldn’t help thinking. And trying to avoid Jennifer had been even harder, considering how small Sherry’s house was.

  He’d wanted to corner Jennifer somewhere and tell her he loved her and demand that she marry him, but he wanted to do it with some finesse. He wanted to make it a little romantic. He didn’t want an audience.

  And if he could just hold out for another hour, he’d be able to complete Operation Jennifer.

  Jennifer sat across from him and just next to Sherry. Feeling her eyes on him had made avoiding her all the harder for Rich. Why was Sherry insisting that he continue this stupid charad
e? It was one thing not to call, but something else to ignore the woman he loved when he was sitting across the table from her.

  Having Jennifer so close had all but ruined his appetite. Though his stomach was in knots, he forced himself to eat. As long as he kept his eyes on his plate it wasn’t too hard.

  Finally the endless meal was over.

  “Would you like some pumpkin pie, Rich?” Sherry passed a piece to Tom. “Jennifer made it.”

  “I don’t like pies made out of jack-o’-lanterns,” Caitlyn announced. “Just give me some whipped cream.”

  Sherry looked sternly at her daughter. “Caitlyn,” she said, her expression disapproving. “Jennifer made this just for us. It’s rude not to try it.”

  Funny how his appetite had just picked up. Rich started to say he’d eat Caitlyn’s, but she interrupted.

  “I said I would try the whipped cream. That’s p’lite, wight?”

  Jennifer struggled to conceal a smile. Even Sherry’s mouth twitched.

  “I tell you what, Caitlyn. You and I can share a piece. I don’t really like whipped cream that much.” Rich glanced at Sherry. “Will that work?”

  Sherry laughed. “Sure, Uncle Rich. Undo all the hard work I’ve done to keep this child from growing up a heathen.” She sliced the pie, heaped on a generous portion of whipped cream, and gave it to Jennifer to pass to Rich.

  This was the closest he’d come to her all day, though he’d seen the simmering glances that she had been sending his way when she thought no one was looking. Covert tactics were his specialty; he’d noticed. Those looks were all that had kept him going.

  Making sure their fingers touched, he took the pie from Jennifer, and he felt the sizzle of awareness arcing through them. The current was too strong to be one way.

  He glanced at the grandfather clock above Sherry’s head. It was almost four o’clock. Soon it would be dark, and once darkness fell, he could resume working on Operation Jennifer.

  “Hey, Uncle Witch. You’re holding my whipped cream.” Caitlyn stood at his elbow, her hands on her hips.