A Wedding for Christmas

by Rachelle Ayala

  “Zulu!” he cried at the same time she said, “Ty!”

  “What happened to you?” he asked.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  They collided and hugged each other.

  She was literally nothing more than skin and bones, and Tyler couldn’t help remembering the last time they parted, back in Afghanistan. She had served in the Army as a translator.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said. “Ty Manning. You’re looking spry. Life’s been good to you.”

  He couldn’t say the same for her, sitting on a dirty blanket with a plastic garbage bag at her side.

  He picked it up and pulled her to her feet. “We’re going to get you a proper meal.”

  “Let me finish the hotdog,” she said, but he took it from her hands and threw it into a trash bin.

  “Come with me.” His gut clenched at the thought of her eating from trash bins. “There’s an all-you-can-eat buffet two blocks from here.”

  “You were on your way somewhere.” She peered down the trashcan at the hotdog.

  “It can wait.” He tucked the Bible under his armpit. Tripping over Zulu was no accident. She was obviously another veteran who needed help adjusting to civilian life, and it was his mission to help her.

  Zulu was short for Zuleika, and she was an Afghan-American who had joined the Army to serve as a translator. Halfway through her deployment, she was captured by the Taliban and held hostage for over six months before Tyler led a unit to rescue her. That had been over three years ago.

  He hadn’t seen her after she was put onboard an airplane and taken to a hospital in Germany where America’s war-wounded ended up.

  “When did you return to the States?” He opened the door to a Chinese buffet restaurant.

  She shrugged and pulled the hood up on her raincoat, most likely to hide her unkempt hair. Her bloodshot eyes darted from side to side, and she shrank behind him when the greeter showed them to their table.

  The next half-hour was spent with Zulu scarfing down food while Tyler refilled her plate because she said she wasn’t clean enough to approach the buffet line.

  Tyler waited until she was groaning and holding her stomach, unable to eat another bite. He poured her a cup of tea, and she held it to her lips, sipping it.

  “Tell me what happened,” he said. “Do you have family?”

  Her eyes were wide and watery as she sipped the tea. “My family wants nothing to do with me.”

  “How long have you been living on the streets?” Concern weighed deeply in his heart.

  “I don’t know.” Her hands shook as she placed the cup back onto the table. “You probably have to get going to wherever you were going.”

  He wasn’t about to leave her at her moment of need, but she seemed skittish about telling him details about her life.

  “It’s a prayer meeting, but it’s almost over by now.” Tyler patted his Bible. “You should come. It’s all veterans and their loved ones. We not only pray together, but we also have a support group.”

  “I’m sure the last thing I want to do is dwell on military stuff.” She sniffed as if her nostrils were filled with stench.

  “You never know. It might help. But first, we have to find you a place to sleep. I know of a few shelters.”

  “No. I’d rather take my chances on the streets.” Her head wobbled with a jerky shake.

  “It isn’t safe.” He signaled to the waiter for the check. “Let me at least walk you to a shelter.”

  “I won’t go to one.” She jutted her chin at him. “They’re infested with bed bugs, and the guys who work there want favors for everything. If I have to perform, I do it for cash or drugs—not for a stinking bowl of soup or a filthy cot.”

  Tyler scratched the back of his neck at the memory of bed bugs. When he was homeless, he’d also refused shelters, but at the time, he felt he was being noble—letting the women and children have the beds while he slept under bridges and in the alleyways.

  How much worse could it be for a woman out fending for herself who had to resort to turning tricks?

  “I can’t let you take drugs and sell yourself on the streets.” He grabbed her hand. “You’re coming home with me.”

  “Are you married by now? Got a wife and kids?”

  “Almost married.” He let go her hand. “I’ll check with her.”

  “Don’t bother.” Zulu pocketed the fortune cookies the waiter left on the table. “I have to use the bathroom.”

  She left the table, and he asked for the check.

  “Would you like some coffee, sir?” A waitress walked by. “Or tea?”

  “No, nothing. I’m waiting for my friend who’s in the bathroom,” Tyler said.

  Fifteen minutes later, Zulu still hadn’t emerged from the bathroom, so he asked the waitress to look for her.

  She came back and shrugged. “She’s gone. The bathroom’s empty.”

  “I figured.” Tyler left the tip.

  He should have expected her to escape. She was a soldier, after all, and she hated the thought of having to be rescued. She’d rather fight her battles living on the streets than accept help from civilians. That had been his thinking two years ago when he was in denial about his issues.

  There was nothing worse than being discharged and deemed unfit to serve. The camaraderie was gone and there was no more mission. No purpose. Discarded. Useless. Alone. It left a gaping wound that no amount of alcohol or drugs could fill. Only hope and a new purpose could begin the healing, and Zulu needed it desperately.

  Tyler zipped up his leather jacket and picked up his Bible. Through the years, he’d imagined Zulu had reunited with her family and was getting on with life—maybe married with a child or two. Tonight, seeing her broken, lost, and destitute was like a raw punch in the gut.

  He hadn’t saved her from the Taliban hellhole only to have her prostitute herself on the streets of San Francisco for drugs. He was responsible for her, and he would find a way to help her.

  Tyler exited the restaurant and pulled his collar up against the biting wind, unable to get Zulu’s haunting green-gray eyes from his mind.

  He had to find her and get help for her, and he had to let Sawyer know. His buddy had had a major crush on Zulu, or Zuleika Namir, when they first met. He’d been on a different mission at the time of her rescue. Tyler had never gone into detail about Zulu and the condition he found her in, and Sawyer hadn’t asked.

  There were some things one didn’t have the luxury of thinking about while in a war zone, where death and destruction surrounded them.

  He texted Kelly. I’m going over to the Recon center to find Sawyer. Will be home late.

  She texted back. Thought you were there already. What happened?

  Ran into someone I knew back in Afghanistan. I’ll tell you later.

  Sure. Guess I have to take the dog for a walk then?

  I’ll try to get back. He tucked the phone in his pocket and headed for the veteran center.

  He was burning the candle at both ends with the two jobs and the volunteering he was doing, but as long as he kept himself busy, he had less time to dwell on his wartime experiences. He’d come a long way from the frequent flashbacks he used to have—ones that were so lucid, they threw him back into the warzone, unable to snap out of the living nightmare.

  By the time he arrived at the Redwood Recon Center, the prayer meeting had adjourned.

  Sawyer and Ella, Kelly’s sister, walked out holding hands, and Tyler wondered whether he should wait until Ella was out of earshot before springing the news about Zulu on his buddy. Sawyer and Ella had been dating for almost a year, but according to Sawyer, it wasn’t going anywhere fast.

  Ella had graduated from college and was working at an investment banking firm as their charitable contributions director. Meanwhile, Sawyer was the lead guitarist in a garage band. Which meant their hours were completely opposite.

  Still, they seemed comfortable together, and both were happy with the status
quo—seeing each other once or twice a week and not making life-changing commitments.

  “What happened to you?” Sawyer grabbed Tyler’s hand and clapped his shoulder. “They keep you busy at work?”

  “I actually ran into an old friend, but I’ll talk to you about it later.”

  “An old friend?” Sawyer’s eyes lit with interest. “Which squadron?”

  “I’m sure you and Ella have somewhere to go right now,” Tyler said, deflecting Sawyer’s question.

  “We were on our way to the Club Rachelle,” Sawyer said. “It’s talent night, and they have a few comedians we wanted to get a bead on.”

  “Actually, I’m going to bow out early,” Ella said. “I have a meeting with the east coast team early tomorrow morning.”

  “Don’t let me cut your date short,” Tyler said. Usually, they went to a club after the prayer meeting to check out the up and coming bands. Sawyer had an eye for talent, and Ella was always in need of entertainers for the charity events she organized.

  “No, really, you guys talk,” Ella said. “I need to stop by and work with Kelly on the wedding. We still have to finalize the menu with the caterer and put together gift baskets.”

  Sawyer gave Ella a puzzled look. “Is everything okay?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” She yawned. “I’m kind of tired, that’s all.”

  “You gave me two different excuses which contradicted each other. Actually three, because now you’re tired.”

  Ella pursed her lips and glanced at Tyler.

  Great. He’d just cock-blocked his buddy.

  “Actually, I have to go home,” Tyler said. “I need to take Brownie on his walk and help put the kids to bed.”

  “Hold it,” Sawyer said. “You came here after the meeting was already over, dying to tell me about this buddy of ours you ran into, and now you’re going to back away? Why don’t we all go to your place? Ella can help Kelly with her plans and you can give me the four-one-one while we walk Brownie.”

  “I’d rather go home,” Ella said. “It’s late and I still have work I have to catch up on.”

  “I don’t think Kelly will be up for guests, either,” Tyler said. Besides, he wasn’t going home just yet. He had to go track Zulu down.

  “Okay, guess we’ll call it a night,” Sawyer said. He leaned down and kissed Ella lightly on the lips. Taking her hand, he nodded his goodbye to Tyler and walked away with his date.

  They were an odd couple, for sure. Sawyer was a black man, well over six feet tall and big as a linebacker while Ella was a petite little thing—small, with pixie-cut blond hair.

  Sawyer was his best man, and Ella was Kelly’s maid of honor. Not that it was any of Tyler’s business, but things could get awkward if they broke up before the wedding.

  5

  ~ Tyler ~

  Tyler came home too late to take the dog out. Instead of heading straight home, he’d gone around to his old haunts and asked around for Zulu.

  Some of the homeless knew her, others didn’t. She was a loner, and word on the street was that she traded sex for drugs and shelter. One homeless woman offered sex to Tyler in exchange for a bed for the night. When he turned her down, she said she could sleep in his garage—no big deal.

  He gave her money and asked her to go to a shelter, but deep inside, he knew she wasn’t going anywhere but to score drugs and drink. He left his phone number with her to contact him if she saw Zulu again, and she gladly agreed after he pressed another twenty dollar bill into her palm.

  The house was dark when he arrived, and the children were in their beds. Kelly was gone, probably around the block to let Brownie do his night duty.

  Maybe he should have thought three times before bringing a dog into their hectic lives, but Brownie was his Christmas gift to the children the year before.

  He texted Kelly. Hey, I’m home. Come back and I’ll finish walking Brownie.

  She didn’t reply, but a few minutes later, the door opened, and she stepped in, wearing a big frown. She unleashed Brownie who padded over to Tyler.

  “I waited and waited, but Brownie had to go. You know I hate leaving the kids here.” She hung the leash on a hook near the door. “A dog like Brownie needs a large yard so he can run free.”

  There she went again, hinting they should rehome Brownie. She’d never come right out and say it though, because Brownie had saved his life several times.

  “I’m sorry.” He rubbed the dog’s head and gave him scratches behind the ears.

  “I know you’re excited running into this buddy of yours, but we have kids. We can’t just run around like we don’t have responsibilities.” She swept her honey-brown hair over her tired-looking face.

  “I said I’m sorry.” He let Brownie into the kitchen.

  Kelly followed him into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of water. “How well do you know this cousin of yours? Did you know his son is Matt Sanders?”

  “The one Bree fights with all the time? I didn’t know he’s Ford’s son.” Tyler grabbed a soft drink. “I lost touch with Ford after college and only recently reconnected.”

  “I don’t think we need to have a ring bearer.”

  “Do whatever you want to do.” Tyler rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the stress. Ford’s son would have been his only relative in the wedding party.

  Kelly blew out an exasperated breath. “Only now, Bree has a crush on him. You should have seen those two, all excited about being ring bearer and flower girl together. Bree even batted her eyelashes at him, and of course, he still pulls her hair, but she giggles instead of getting upset.”

  Tyler coughed and choked on his soda. He set the can on the counter and fanned himself. “When did this happen?”

  “This afternoon. I went to have a word with Mrs. Sanders, and the two of them came out of school together, asking for a play date to practice.”

  Groan. Tyler’s heart clenched at the thought that a mean boy like Matt would get his clutches on his sweet little Bree.

  “I hope you told them absolutely not,” he said. “Bree’s too young for play dates with boys.”

  “Not to worry, Mrs. Sanders nixed the entire ring bearer thing. She has family over, and it’s Christmas Day.” Kelly rinsed the glass and put it in the dishwasher. “Since the ring bearer was your idea, you can tell Bree we’re not having one.”

  None of this was his fault, since he had no clue Ford’s son was Matt Sanders. For one thing, they didn’t have the same last name. It wasn’t his fault Kelly and Matt’s mother didn’t get along.

  Rather than argue about it and say something he might regret, Tyler decided to sleep on the couch. He finished his soft drink and snapped his fingers for Brownie. “Come on, boy. Looks like you’re going to have to share with me tonight.”

  ~ Kelly ~

  I hate when I’m fighting with Tyler, especially a few weeks from our wedding, but he really needs to be more responsible.

  Sure, he’s come a long way from the homeless vet I met two years ago, running around hallucinating and refusing to go to therapy. Now, he’s holding down a job and volunteering at the veterans support group. He’s even coming to church with the rest of the family, but he’s still sporadic about coming home for dinner or sticking to a schedule.

  I wash up and wait for Tyler to come to bed. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so harsh on him, but I’m the one who has to take responsibility for everything: two children, a dog, and a man who forgets to pick up the slack. He’s busy. I get that, but so am I. My job is stressful, dealing with fraud investigation in the banking industry, but I’m also a mother, and Tyler rarely helps me change a diaper.

  The dog is the last straw. When he gave Brownie to Bree, he promised he would do all of the walks, morning and evening. He said he would cut back on his travels and stick to a schedule.

  That hasn’t happened.

  Sometimes, I swear he has attention deficit disorder, which is a whole lot better than post traumatic stress disorder, but he’s always out
there chasing dragons and tilting at windmills. An idea gets ahold of him, and he’s off and running, whether it’s a new promotional event for a charity or a program for the veterans.

  I throw off the covers and pad to the living room.

  Dual snores greet me from the sofa. Tyler is wrapped up with Brownie, who isn’t so little anymore. The puppy he brought back from Afghanistan last year has grown into a large furry beast. Wikipedia says these mixed-breed Afghan-kuchi dogs can get up to eighty pounds or more. They are shepherds, guardians, protectors, and generally fend for themselves, not being pampered pets.

  I perch on the arm of the sofa and watch the two of them sleep. A wild man and a wild dog—the way they snuggled together in the harsh mountains of Afghanistan—and regret my resentment toward Brownie.

  He’d kept Tyler warm at night while on the run from the terrorists, and he’d loyally followed Tyler and his captors on a forced march through the Hindu Kush mountains. His feet bled, and he was nothing more than skin and bones, but he kept a close eye on Tyler, and at the first opportunity, when Tyler escaped, he caught up with him—even when he had no food to offer.

  And now, a dog suited to wide open territories, hunting and fighting and ranging free, is trapped in a row house in San Francisco, holding his pee all day, and waiting for the once around the block to relieve himself.

  I rub my hand over the dog’s head, and the tip of his tail wags. Kuchi dogs are fiercely loyal with incredible strength. When we first got him, he wasn’t very big. His fur was matted and he was thin and malnourished. But he grew, and grew, and grew. I don’t want to say anything, but he needs to be out on a ranch somewhere.

  Bending over, I kiss Tyler on the top of his forehead and stroke his hair. Maybe he’s a lot like Brownie, a man who needs a free range to wander around—a man who cannot be tied down to schedules, carpools, and family.

  If so, he won’t be happy with me—a woman who needs order and routine to feel secure. I love him, and he loves me, but at what point is love not enough?

  6