His Forgotten Love (A McGinty's Of San Antonio Series Novel Book 4)
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His Forgotten Love
Copyright © 2016 by Donalyn Maurer
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2016
ISBN 0-9000000-0-0
Falling Anvil Publishing
123 Mesa Street
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Dedicated to
My son, Sergeant Patrick C. Maurer, U.S. Army
And
To all the brave men and women who serve to protect us each and every day.
In memory of
Staff Sergeant Russell Jeremiah Proctor, US Army,
Specialist Dylan Jeffrey Johnson, US Army,
Sergeant Nathan Michael Higginbotham, US Army
And so many others who gave their lives in service to our country
~You will never be forgotten~
Romans 15:1- 2 Now we who are strong have an obligation to bear the weaknesses of those without strength, and not to please ourselves. Each one of us must please his neighbor for his good, to build him up.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
Call 1-800-273-8255
Available 24 hours everyday
To support the Wounded Warrior Project
Visit their website at
-woundedwarriorproject.org-
Or make a donation
OTHER PAYMENT METHODS
By Phone: 855.448.3997
By Mail:
Download this form and mail to:
Wounded Warrior Project
PO Box 758517
Topeka, Kansas 66675-8517
Veteran Crisis Line
1.800.273.TALK (8255) – Veterans Press ‘1
* * *
National Veterans Foundation Hotline
1.888.777.4443
* * *
Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network (RAIN) (24 Hours)
1.800.656.4673
* * *
National Domestic Violence Hotline
1.800.799.7233
* * *
National Council on Alcoholism and Drug Dependence Hope Line
1.800.622.2255
* * *
Gulf War Veteran’s Hotline
1.800.796.9699
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Playlist
Acknowledgements
My dad, a veteran of war and my hero, Command Sergeant Major Jackson Holloway, of the United States Army, had one of the top decorated careers in the military. He stands six feet two inches and easily weighs two hundred pounds and all of that is muscle. He's tough as nails with his troops but at home he never raises his voice and is always loving and gentle. If I or my brothers upset him, the only warning to stop was a slight tilt of his head and raised eyebrow. I’m not sure what would happen after that subtle indication that we were out of line. Since me nor my brothers wanted to find out, we never tested him.
The walls of our home are covered with medals, plaques and awards noting his service and he has always flown a flag outside our house showing pride and honor for our country and those who serve it.
I remember when I was a little girl he would give me rides on his shoulders. I felt as though I was on top of the world. I was on top of the world. My dad is my world. So are my two older brothers, Cody and Patrick.
My dad has the deepest green eyes and dark brown hair. When he smiles, which is often; his dimples take the edge off his tough appearance. You can only look so menacing with dimples, but still, when he walks into a room he is given complete respect from his troops. Not because of his size or demeanor, but the dedication, respect, and support he has for each of them. He's as dedicated and respectful to his troops as they are to him. He's the youngest Sergeant Major in the United States Army to be appointed to a command.
My brothers, Cody and Patrick and I all look just like him. I’m not six feet two but my brothers are. I only stand at five foot five inches, same as my mom. Even so, my mom still complains that she doesn’t know why she was included in the process of having us. None of us look anything like her as according to her, height doesn’t count.
Cody always jokes with her. “Mom, I got your feet.”
“You’re the lucky one, Cody, your dad’s feet are like Sasquatch. The search is over. We found him.” She points an accusing finger to our dad’s size thirteen feet.
When Cody, Patrick and I were younger, we were inseparable. We moved a lot then so we tended to stay together and developed a deep bond. It wasn’t until later in my dad’s career did we come back to Texas and settle down. We always promised that no matter what or where we went, we’d stay this way.
As we got older, my brothers left for summer camp or to have sleepovers with friends. Since they were close in age they’d go together and I’d be left behind, alone. Then dating. Oh, brother. The girls. Some were sweet and invited me along when they went out. But some were not. If any girl treated me badly, they didn't last long.
During our times apart, I would try to be strong. Mom and Dad would take me do things that cheered me up but nothing replaced the emptiness I felt while they were away.
It never failed, and before they left, I’d cry. I couldn’t help it. The older I got, the reasons they left changed. Military deployments would take them away for months and months. Knowing it would be over
a year before I would see them again, I’d go to my room in an attempt to hide my tears or show how scared I was for them, but they knew. They would come to me, hug me and make promises.
I’ll be back before you know it. Then we’ll do something together. I promise. Their vows did little to calm me.
Over time I found they never broke their promises, though. Always making time between work, girls and drills to take me to the movies or the lake. Once in awhile we’d go to the gun range or paintballing. Paintballing was the best. My brothers would fake a mission. I was the package; they had to get me unharmed to jefe de mama y papa or be shot, executed. They layered me with so much clothing I could hardly move. Most times one of them just picked me and ran with me tucked under their arm. I would laugh so hard I could barely breathe.
When we played football with the neighborhood kids, my brothers would make me the quarterback and hand me the ball. I didn't know much about the game, but what I did know was everyone would be gunning for me if I had that ball. They'd bring me into a huddle and Patrick would instruct me.
“Allie, when I hand you the ball, run to the end zone, the Barnes’ driveway.”
My terrified look would have Cody winking at me and cheering me on. My name is Allison but my brothers always called me Allie and it took hold. Now everyone calls me Allie.
“No one will touch you. I promise.” He’d rub my hair and point to our next door neighbor’s driveway. “Just run fast.”
I never doubted either of them and I never looked back when I got the ball. I would take off running just like Cody told me to. I’d reach the end zone, make the touchdown and whip around to see where they were. They’d be right behind me with a dozen kids lying about the yard. One would put me on their shoulders or swing me around, showing me how proud they were of me. “You did it!” They’d praise. I never really understood what I did, but I loved when they were proud of me.
Rainy days were interesting to say the least. I’d be playing with my Barbie dolls and they would show up with their GI Joes’. It would switch from Barbie wearing a sparkling evening gown while on her way to gala event to her being a double agent. She would be assigned a mission. Failure was not an option. If Barbie returned unsuccessful, she would have to be taken out—as in dead! Other times she would need rescuing from the enemy. Mom even found her camo clothes and my brothers marked her face with permanent markers which never came off, but I didn’t care. I just loved being with Patrick and Cody even if it meant sacrificing Barbie.
Our parents are amazing; they're each other's best friend. Always holding hands when we’re out or snuggled together on the couch. They didn’t have individual personal space. They had ‘their’ space.
My dad plays guitar and sings. He taught us to play and sing and bought each of us our own guitar. What Dad didn’t teach us, we taught ourselves. It isn’t out of the ordinary to hear my dad singing love songs to my mom after we're in bed.
Tara, my mother, is a stay-at-home-mom that bakes, sews and cleans. She's far from good at any of them, but Lord help us all she tries. I remember often, okay, not often, all the time her burning our dinners. The smoke alarms blaring and my brothers running around opening windows trying to stop the buzzing, all the while laughing. Mom couldn’t help but laugh too. Dad would come in from work, smell the smoke and tell us all to get our shoes on then take us out to dinner. One time she tried to iron his uniform but left a giant burn mark on the back. She was so upset. He came home, tossed it in the trash then gave her a huge kiss while chuckling. “Thanks for trying. I love you.” From that point on Dad began taking his uniforms to the cleaners. But he never complained about her lack of domestic skills, not once.
I thought we’d stay that way forever, happy, loving and close, but a single day in September changed it for all of us. One day was the beginning of the fall of our family.
Past: January 31st
I just began my junior year at Texas State University and after my classes, I rush straight home. Cody is here for two weeks from his deployment. He’s visiting us for a few days before reporting back to Fort Bragg where he’ll travel back to the Middle East to finish his tour. He looks tired, worn and he’s withdrawn. I know things happened over there, it’s a war after all. He never talks about what he sees while he’s away but I know it’s haunting him. During his few days home, he won’t meet any of our gazes head on. He just stays in his room. Dad and Patrick are constantly reaching out to him, but for the first time ever, I heard Cody and my dad arguing, yelling at each other. Cody told my dad to back off and then left the house, slamming the door behind him. My mom cried while my dad went after him. I’m feeling panicked. Our family has never been like this. We’re close and loving. We’ve never been hostile to one another.
Last night, after Cody and Dad returned back home, things seemed to settle. Dad and Cody talked privately for a while in the kitchen. Their deep rumbles whispering so I couldn’t hear what they were saying but not long after that conversation we all went to bed. Later I woke up and heard Cody softly crying. I felt his pain like it was my own. Our rooms are next to each other and I laid in bed, silently crying with him. He began softly playing his guitar so I sat up and walked to the wall between our rooms and slid down against it to hear him better. He sings so beautifully. The song he’s playing is When You’re Young by Three Doors Down, and it’s not a happy song. I knew it so I reached over and grabbed my guitar that was leaning against the wall a few feet away. I listened for a few moments and when he started the chorus, I joined in. I just needed to make a connection. When he heard me playing, he stopped. So did I. Before I put my guitar down, he picked the song back up and we played together while he sang the lyrics of the sad song.
We finished the song but I didn’t move. I just stayed sitting against the wall feeling lost and scared. I jolted in surprise when I heard a light knock before my door creaked open. Cody slid down the wall next to me, pulled me to him and held me while we both cry. I held him tight as tremors rumbled through him.
Oh, God, What’s happened to him?
After he calmed we talked and I convinced him to go to Austin’s Sixth Street the next day after I get out of my classes. He loves that. I just know this will cheer him up.
Austin is the music-mecca for Texas and we love going to the clubs and listening to the bands on Sixth Street. Cody and I even played a couple of times on open-mic night. Patrick doesn’t like singing in front of people but he enjoys playing while others sing. Whenever Cody takes the stage, the room goes to a hush. His voice, it’s just like my dad’s, beautiful. Cody and I have a dream of opening a bar and dancehall. We’re going to have live music and an open mic night right here in New Braunfels. We used to talk about it all the time, but he hasn’t brought it up once this visit. I know things are tough right now, but I’m not giving up on him or our dream.
One day our dream will come true.
I run out of class, hop in my car and make the drive down the interstate to my house. I can’t wait to get home so Cody and I can make our way to meet Patrick. Early this morning I called Patrick and told him to meet us there and he was excited and relieved to know Cody agreed to go.
I exit the highway singing along to the radio, but when I take the turn to our street I turn it off and slow. Our street is lined with police cars, an ambulance, and as I continue down the road, I pass a black suburban from the County Coroner office. I pull up to the curb, stop and take it all in.
An elderly couple lives next door to us. Mr. and Mrs. Barnes and I know Mr. Barnes has medical problems. 911 have been called to their home several times in the last two months.
His poor wife.
I grab my purse, and start up the sidewalk, focusing in on my house. I freeze in my steps taking in what I'm seeing. It’s not the Barnes’ house everyone is at. It’s mine.
NO! GOD! PLEASE! NO!
I think I’m I screaming these words in my head, but I’m not. I’m crying them out loud. My dad hears me and he whips around, our e
yes meeting. His face has transformed from the man I know, to a man who's aged a hundred years older. He’s standing in our front yard, completely lost.
No, he looks destroyed.
He starts towards me but I take off running, dodging him. Running so fast I can’t breathe.
Cody, I’m coming!
I’m almost there but stop when I hit a hard chest and big arms wrap around me like a vise. No matter how hard I fight, I can’t break free from the hold.
“Settle, sweetheart. It’s too late. Cody’s gone.” Patrick whispers. His words sound like they're choking him to death.
“No Cody. I’m coming. Please don’t leave me, Cody. PLEASE, wait for me!"
My struggles die when I see two men walk out of our home carrying a gurney with what I know is Cody’s body covered in a black velvet blanket. Drops of water are falling into my hair and on my face. I look up at Patrick and he has tears running down his face. So many I have to absorb his overflow.
My mom collapses on the lawn and Dad goes to her. I struggle against Patrick’s hold, free myself and run to them. We sit there, in the middle of our yard, in the middle of our neighborhood with all the neighbors, police and firemen watching us, most crying along with us until eventually Patrick and my dad take us inside.
I knew something was wrong with Cody. I saw the light going out in his eyes. I knew he was in pain, we all did.
Why didn’t we do anything? Why didn’t my dad do anything?
I can’t help my emotions when I look at our beautiful broken Dad and scream my hurt at him.
“This is your fault! He followed you! You could have stopped him! WHY DIDN'T YOU STOP HIM?!”
My dad’s body jerks at each word before nodding in agreement and hanging his head.
On September 11th, 2001 my life and the lives of my family changed. As did for our country and most of the world. Promises were broken and new ones made. Both my brothers vowed to join our military to fight and protect our home, family and country on that day. When Cody graduated from high school, he walked into the local Army recruiting office and joined the military. Two years later, Patrick followed.