Trailed

by Naomi Niles

  It was the second time in as many weeks that someone had raised the prospect of children. I would have found it unnerving if I hadn’t already been fully on board with it.

  “Yeah, she’s about the most considerate and supportive woman I’ve met.” I took off my hat and wiped down my face and head. “And I don’t say that out of any disrespect to Christine; she just happens to be really strong in that area.”

  “I get what you’re sayin’,” Dad said. He was staring down at the hole, not at me, but the hole might as well not have been there for all the attention he was giving it. “I hope y’all are happy together for a long time. You deserve to have another shot at happiness. And I know I don’t say this often, but I do love you. I hope you know that.”

  “I do. Thanks, Dad.” It was about all I could manage to say at that moment. It’s a weird feeling to be standing next to your dad and to realize how much you love him. Maybe if I had been more used to hearing him tell me he loved me, I would have been better prepared. But he hadn’t said those words to me since I was a boy.

  I struggled to hold back my surprise and appreciation as we went on digging the post-hole.

  Epilogue

  Two Years Later

  Allie

  I could tell there was something off about Curtis from the moment I woke up that morning.

  I woke up to find him standing over me grinning, holding the cat out with both hands like the monkey in The Lion King. River stuck his tongue out and meowed loudly, looking nonplussed. It had been a couple months since we had lost Phoenix, and lately, Curtis had been trying to show the remaining pets more attention.

  “Mornin’, angel,” said Curtis. “You ever hear that old Charlie Pride song? ‘Kiss an angel good morning / and love her like the devil when you get back home.’”

  “I have never heard that song,” I said, yawning. “I’m not sure I want to.” Curtis had spent the past two years introducing me to his favorite country tunes, but there were still huge gaps in my musical education.

  Still, it was reassuring to know that through all the ups and downs in our relationship, there were some things that remained constant: he was forever trying to get me hooked on country music, and I was forever failing to see the appeal.

  “Anyhoo,” said Curtis, “we need to get the horses out today. They’ve been cooped up in that stable too long because of the rain. And seeing as how this is your day off, I figured we could take a ride up the trail like the ones we used to go on.”

  Curtis hadn’t worked the trail rides for some time. Last summer, he’d had a scare with a heat stroke and nearly falling off Bessie, at which point his mother and I intervened and told him we wanted him to find a new job. After a few frustrated months of unemployment, he had finally landed a position as the regional manager for a local car supply chain. Every day after I left the clinic in downtown Waco where I now worked, I came in and saw him standing behind the counter looking sharp in his finely pressed blue shirt and white tie. He always wore the biggest smile on his face when I came through the doors.

  But he wasn’t usually in this good of a mood, which led me to wonder what was going on. Had he perhaps gotten a promotion and a raise? Was I about to find out that the old manager had been sacked, and Curtis had taken his place? As I watched him washing his hands at the sink, whistling cheerfully and flinging water droplets at the pets, my mind raced through all the possible explanations, each of them as unlikely as the others.

  Curiously, though, by the time we got dressed and hit the trail that morning, he had grown unusually quiet. It was such a striking contrast from the mischievous, boisterous mood he had been in a few minutes earlier. I didn’t know what to make of it.

  It was a breezy and cool autumn morning, and I felt a sense of relief as I looked over at him and realized he hadn’t even broken a sweat. I always got anxious now when we went on rides like this, which we only did for a few months out of the year.

  “You okay, hon?” I asked him as we reached the stony crest overlooking the town. It was always my favorite part of the trip; from here, I could see the entirety of Sulphur Springs, from the Baptist church in the lower corner of the town to the Waffle House on its northern edge.

  “Yeah, I just got a lot on my mind,” said Curtis quietly.

  “Anything you care to share?”

  He paused for a moment as though thinking how he wanted to word it. “I guess I’ve just been thinking about you and all we’ve been through together in the last year. At this point, we’ve known each other longer than Christine and I knew each other before we were married. And you’ve come to mean about as much to me as she did.”

  I wanted to make a joke, to tease him about how I ought to mean that much to him since we had been dating for so long. But he spoke with such gravity and seriousness that I just nodded and waited for him to go on.

  “Sometimes this world is such a lonely place, Allie,” he said. “And the best you can hope for is to find a few friends to carry you along and make it less lonely. After Christine’s death, there was a time when I wondered whether I’d ever be happy again because it felt like the world had lost the best person in it. I couldn’t understand how the world kept on turning.

  “But then we met, and I was stunned to wake up one morning and realize I was really happy.”

  I listened with an increasing sense of foreboding. I had a feeling I knew where this was going now, though I dared not interrupt. Though outwardly I remained calm, I could feel myself being overcome with emotion. Below us, an ice cream truck painted in bright colors was making its way down the highway. I focused my attention on it as it navigated the long ribbon of asphalt.

  “I thought surely the mood would pass in a day or two,” he went on. “But then the strangest thing happened. I kept being happy. And it’s not for any other reason but that you’ve come into my life, and you made it a less lonely place, and a better one. And as I look back on it, I can’t help thinkin’ there’s nothing more I could want out of life than to spend the rest of it with you.”

  He brought the horse nearer to me so that if he had wanted he could have reached out and hugged me. But he didn’t do that. Instead, he reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a thin silver band.

  I froze at the sight, my hands gripping tightly to the horse’s reins. It was one of those moments where the world shifts and you hardly seem conscious of yourself for a minute, you’re so overcome with shock.

  “Allie,” he said, “I know I’m not good with words. When it comes to making speeches, you’ve got all the words in this relationship. But it don’t matter because I know what I feel about you. And all I need from you is a simple yes-or-no answer: will you marry me?”

  By now I was practically in tears, thinking I ought to have seen this coming months ago. All the nights he had stayed over at his mother’s after I left, all the whispers and furtive glances—they had all been for this. For us.

  “Yes, of course,” I managed to say, though he might have seen from the look on my face that there was a yes in my heart. “On one condition.”

  “What’s that?” asked Curtis, motionless in his saddle.

  “That we not wait. I want to have the wedding as soon as possible. I’ve waited too long for you, and I don’t think I can wait anymore.”

  He nodded, looking relieved, and laughed. “We’ll have it as soon as is humanly possible,” he said. “Mama’s already planning the cake she wants to make: one of those enormous vanilla cakes with salted caramel.”

  He leaned forward and put his arms around me, and we kissed. Then, for a long moment, we sat with our foreheads resting on each other. Finally, he smiled and said, “You don’t mind if my mama makes the cake, do you?”

  I laughed through my tears. “No, of course not!”

  He grinned. “Good, because there’s one waitin’ for us right now at the house. Mama spent all last night baking it.”

  We left the ridge and turned towards home—our home, now—our thoughts on the future
, and on the promise of cake.

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  SEAL’D BY HIM

  By Naomi Niles

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Naomi Niles

  Chapter One

  Dwayne

  I knew that we were flying through the air, but I couldn’t fully convince myself that I was in a plane. The light hit the seat in front of me and took on an elusive quality as if it were a mirage reflecting off of the Afghani sands below us.

  Thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack.

  The sound seemed to rise up out of nowhere, almost like I had been dreaming and now I was waking up.

  Thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack.

  I was dreaming. I couldn’t imagine how it happened. The sound of the helicopter rotors drowned out everything, even my thoughts. I had to focus. There was a group of children holed up in a school less than a hundred miles from where we were flying now. It was my job to go in and take out the Taliban operatives holding them prisoner before they killed the kids.

  I tensed up and waited, watching as the Afghani desert passed below us. “Go! Go! Go!”

  I jumped out of the helicopter, my body suspended in that split second before gravity caught me and pulled me back down to the ground. I was staring at a patchy, yellow canvas with jagged gray lines etched in the sand. They called it Allah’s cat box, the place that he forgot.

  I could believe that. Nothing had changed there since Biblical times. The people still dressed in long pieces of cloth draped around their body. Their houses were crumbling mud brick, and they survived off of nothing but opium, wilted pot, and bread so tough it scraped against your throat going down. Life was cheap and fragile, not something to be cherished because it wasn’t worth living.

  It was no wonder the Taliban didn’t have a problem using children as human shields. Everyone was disposable.

  The next thing I knew, I was leaning against the back wall of a crumbling school, a concrete building with barred windows and a caved-in roof that’d long since been abandoned. I could hear the sounds of children, running around in the room on the other side, laughing and playing.

  No, I couldn’t think of the children. I was in the plane. I told myself that over and over. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. I tried to see the rows of seats in front of me as part of the material universe. They existed. I could touch them, and I could smell the air around me – but I could also feel the dust blowing into my eyes as I loaded my weapon.

  I couldn’t do this. I reached out to touch the headrest in front of me. Instead, I realized I was reaching out to the Afghani children staring at me, all lined up in a row, their eyes wide, like they thought I was going to shoot them.

  I shouldn’t have burst in. That was stupid. The children were meant to be a deterrent. The Taliban knew we couldn’t bomb the base and risk losing our rapport with their villages. We had to go in after the kids and hope that we didn’t get killed in doing so.

  The room was dark, save for the light coming in from a hole in the concrete roof. Behind the children, a tall shape was leaning against the back wall, like a pillar, black, save for the sheer fabric around her eyes allowing the woman to see through her costume.

  “Are you really going to kill these children?” I asked her in broken Pashto.

  My response was a hairy hand reaching out from under the burka holding an armed grenade. I looked at it, weighed my options, and decided to run, all in the time span of less than two seconds. I barely managed to get behind a crumbling, mud brick wall before I heard the crack, like the earth itself had been split in two.

  “No!” My throat still hurt from the force of that scream.

  “Howell!” I was back on the plane, and my commanding officer Jacobs was sitting next to me. “Get it together, soldier. You can’t let that happen.”

  “What are you talking about?” I never told anyone that I was shell-shocked.

  “You just yelled.” Everyone was looking at me. My head fell into my hands. “You’re going to need to learn how to stay in the moment if you want to make it on the outs.”

  I nodded my head.

  “How are you feeling about the discharge?”

  “Jesus,” I leaned back against the headrest. “I’ve been a SEAL since I was eighteen.”

  “You’re institutionalized. Reintegrating back into civilian life is a process. It won’t just happen overnight. Now, I need to know that you’re not going to have another flashback and start attacking people or something.”

  “What? You’ve known me for years. Have I ever done anything that stupid?”

  “No, but I’m not taking any chances. Drink this,” she handed me a shooter of whiskey, “and calm yourself down.”

  “Alright.” I downed the shot, ignoring the sickening feeling of the alcohol sliding down my throat.

  “What are you planning on doing about work?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I thought so.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a card. “My brother runs a security company in Chattanooga. When I heard that he needed help, your name was the only one that came to mind.” She handed me the card. In the middle, etched in dark green letters were the words, “Granger Security.” I stashed the card in my pocket.

  “Sounds like a lot of standing around and doing nothing.”

  “It’s something to consider.”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s a good job. They pay well, and you’ll be treated with the respect you deserve. If you want, I can call him when we land and set you up right away.”

  “I don’t see how I can turn down something like that.”

  “Smart boy.” She patted me on the shoulder and walked back to her seat.

  I closed my eyes and rested my head back, determined to get some rest. If I could get rid of this panic, slow my breath, and calm my heart, then maybe I could stay in the moment. It’d worked before. I just had to perfect the technique.

  I focused straight ahead and tried to get lost in the rhythm of the in and out. I could feel the world sliding away and my muscles relaxing. I smiled. It was working.

  I’d learned the trick from one of the other recruits. They were one of those semi-profound eastern philosophy types. They called it mindfulness meditation. It was a way for people to turn their mind away from anything that was distracting them from being fully present in the moment.

  I’d focus on my breath for a few seconds, then catch my thoughts drifting. Every time I did that, I thought, Breathe, like a mantra to bring my focus back to my breath and the world around me. I stuck with it until I started to forget where I was and drifted off to sleep.

  “Hey.” The sound of Jason’s voice jolted me awake. I opened my eyes. He was standing in the aisle. “Scoot over.”

  I did. “I was almost asleep.”

  “Sorry, Jesus. Can’t expect me to sit here and twiddle my thumbs the entire flight.”

  “You are the worst partner imaginable.”

  He laughed. “What’d sour pussy have to say?”

  “Her brother owns this security company in Chattanooga. She wants me to go work for him.” I sighed.

  “She wants your jock.” He elbowed me, and I scooted to the edge of my seat away from him.

  “I’m sure that’s the last thing on her mind.”

  “Please, a sour old bat like that — she’s probably got a vibrator stash the size of an armory.” He laughed at his own joke.

  I was getting tired of seeing his bald red head. “I don’t know.”

  “I can’t wait to leave, man.” He made a sound like his body
was deflating. “The second we do, I’m going to find the nearest titty bar and drink until I forget where I am.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “I’ll bet you can’t wait to find something to sink your dick into.”

  “Guess so.” I leaned back and closed my eyes.

  “Isn’t it crazy? We’re leaving at the same time.”

  “Yeah… I’m getting tired, man. I think I’m going to pass out.”

  “Ah,” he groaned, “you’re no fun.” He finally got up and walked back to his seat.

  Jason had attached himself to me the moment he met me. At first I thought he was just lonely or upset about everything that we’d seen in Afghanistan, so I gave him some slack, but over time my patience started to wear thin. He would keep me up late at night asking about my life. At first, I didn’t tell him much, just quick one or two word responses, but he would keep pushing until I had to answer just to get him to shut up long enough to let me sleep.

  That was a mistake. The second I’d opened my mouth, he latched onto me like we were best friends. He followed me around everywhere, constantly yammering about one thing or another. He was vulgar and moody with the sense of humor of a grade schooler, laughing about farts and talking about boobs. I couldn’t respect a man like that.

  I was relieved when the Navy announced my discharge. I was certain that I’d finally get a chance to get away from him. That lasted for about three hours. Then he ran into the dorms to tell me that he was getting out the same day. Now, I was stuck listening to him talk about everything he wanted to do and how I should visit and drink with him and all the things that we could do together.

  I almost told him to leave me alone when I first met him, but it occurred to me that he would probably be hurt by it. He was sensitive. He internalized everything, and I needed to be able to rely on him when I was in danger. Now that we were leaving and it didn’t matter, I decided to keep quiet to avoid having to hurt his feelings.