The Marine's Baby, Maybe

by Rogenna Brewer

  He pulled over to the shoulder as soon as it was safe.

  Cait still looked confused and half-asleep. “Why is he stopping you?”

  The officer pulled up behind him, got out and approached the U-Haul. Lucky rolled down his window.

  “Have you been drinking tonight, sir?”

  “No,” Lucky answered, clearly sober. It was around last call, 0200 hours. But as far as he knew, Utah was a dry state. Must be the California plates.

  “Driver’s license and rental agreement for this vehicle, please.” The Utah Highway Patrol officer shone his flashlight into the truck cab with his left hand while Lucky reached across Cait into the glove box for the rental agreement. The officer’s right hand rested on the hilt of his make-my-day gun. “Do you have any weapons in this vehicle, sir?

  Give me a break.

  “Yes,” he conceded. “I have a sport rifle locked up in back.”

  He’d just given the guy probable cause to open the truck. But he had nothing to hide.

  “I’ll need to see that registration, too.”

  Any pretense of politeness was gone as Lucky reached into his back pocket for his wallet. Slowly. He handed over his license, registration and all other pertinent papers to the officer.

  He waited for the order to get out of the vehicle and place his hands on the hood. At the very least he expected he’d be opening up the back and taking a roadside sobriety test.

  “Keep your hands on the steering wheel, sir, where I can see them,” the officer said before heading back to his patrol car. This guy was by the book all the way.

  Keeping his hands on the steering wheel, Lucky watched through his side mirror until the beam from the patrol car’s headlights blinded him. It was late and only a few cars passed them on this stretch of the highway.

  “What does he want?” Cait whispered, even though the officer wasn’t within earshot.

  He shrugged, but he had a hunch.

  They’d been making good time until now, despite the frequent stops, which had become less frequent once Cait had fallen asleep. They’d left California at noon, hit the usual traffic snarl in the city, but managed to get ahead of rush hour as he’d continued along I-15 North.

  They were west of the Utah/Colorado state line on I-70 East. Once he hit Grand Junction, Colorado, he’d be another five, maybe six hours from the home he hadn’t seen in fifteen years.

  The officer returned, more relaxed. His hand rested on his belt buckle, not his weapon. “Do you know why I pulled you over, sir?” he asked, handing back Lucky’s license and registration.

  He could guess.

  He just wanted to take his lumps—in the form of a ticket—and get back on the road.

  “You were driving down the middle of the road with your lights off.”

  “Yes.” He realized he’d been busted the minute he saw the flashing red-and-blue lights.

  “Saw some action in Iraq myself. How long you been back?”

  “A week,” he said, rounding up.

  The guy nodded in complete understanding. “I can vouch for the fact that there are no IEDs between here and the Colorado state line. Been back a year and I still look at every piece of roadside trash wondering if it’s going to explode.”

  They talked some more about the trafficking of drugs and illegals along that stretch of I-70, but Lucky felt Cait’s growing impatience beside him.

  “I’m going to let you off with a warning. Keep to your own lane. And keep your lights on.” He rapped on the driver’s-side door. “Welcome home.”

  LUCKY’S HANDS WERE STILL shaking when he pulled over in Grand Junction to fill up. That little incident in Utah was exactly the reason he shouldn’t be the guy responsible for her welfare.

  He could have killed somebody tonight.

  He could have killed Cait. And Peanut.

  Instincts that kept him alive in Iraq weren’t the same ones necessary to function in a society where his biggest concern was how much he was going to pay for this tank of gas.

  He wished she’d say something.

  “I think we should stop for the night,” she said.

  Anything but that.

  “I’ll be right back,” he muttered. For once Cait didn’t get out of the truck right away. He went inside the quickie-mart to pay for his gas and to grab something with caffeine in it and a cranberry juice for Cait.

  “Pump number three,” he said, securing the lid on his large cup of coffee. Her juice was sitting on the counter when he said something really stupid. “And a pack of Lucky’s.”

  He added a pack of gum to his impulse purchase.

  He’d just smoke one.

  Craving that calming effect, he lit up right outside the store. Cait must have gone to the restroom after all. He hurried his cigarette along so he’d be done before she came back out.

  The truth was, coming home felt a lot like unfinished business. He needed a couple of drags just to put it all in perspective. The last time he’d smoked a cigarette was the night he’d left.

  He hadn’t looked back since.

  He put out the cigarette and headed back to the U-Haul.

  That was the night he’d burned his father’s business to the ground. “Welcome home.”

  CALHOUN PULLED INTO THE Best Western parking lot. “I’ll just be a minute,” he said. A few minutes later he came back with two room keys. “The only vacancies they had were on the second floor. Hope you don’t mind.” He handed her a key.

  “I’m pregnant, not handicapped.”

  He grabbed their overnight bags from the trunk of her car and his rifle case from the U-Haul, then double-checked the padlock. “I don’t leave it out of my sight,” he explained about the rifle case, “unless I know it’s secure.”

  He saw her to her room, then disappeared into the one next door. After she freshened up, she changed into her pajamas and got ready for bed.

  Despite the late hour, she had a hard time falling asleep. Why was he driving down the middle of the road with no lights on? Well, parking lights. She wasn’t going to get any sleep until she had an answer. She wasn’t going to get an answer until she asked the question.

  Peeking out her window, she saw Calhoun leaning against the railing outside. He’d been tense since they’d been pulled over by the highway patrol, but that tension had increased since crossing the Colorado state line.

  She stepped outside. Took a deep breath and moved to the rail. The balcony overlooked a swimming pool illuminated by floodlights. It shone a brilliant wavy blue against the black night.

  He saw her but didn’t say anything.

  He still wore his jeans and a T-shirt.

  She noticed the glow from his cigarette. “You smoke?”

  “An old habit I thought I’d kicked,” he said, taking one last drag and snuffing it out.

  “Did you know smoking kills the lining of your lungs, tiny hairlike follicles called—”

  He cut her off with a look that said he didn’t want to hear it.

  “You should try deep-breathing exercises. They release chemicals in the brain to calm you down and make you feel better without smoking.”

  He didn’t say anything. She supposed that sounded like a lecture, too. Caitlin peeled at the chipping paint on the wrought-iron rail, then made herself leave it alone before she caused somebody extra work.

  He was a grown man, and she didn’t want to lecture him, either, so she tried a different tactic. “I couldn’t quite figure out Bruce’s connection to Luke’s team. He wouldn’t tell me. But he did mention that in 2003 he was one of a select group of eighty-eight Marines to train and serve with Navy SEALs.”

  Calhoun continued to stare straight ahead and she continued with her story.

  “I guess he and Luke went to rival high schools and had to learn to work together in BUD/S.

  “It didn’t take me long after that to figure out why he was avoiding me. He lost his leg in the same blast that killed Luke. Except he didn’t want me to find out because he
knew I’d have questions.” She stopped to look at him until he was looking back at her. “I bullied him into giving me answers.”

  Somewhere in the distance a door opened and closed.

  “Bruce says there’s an unmistakable pop when an IED explodes. But you already knew that. You don’t have to explain to me why you were driving down the middle of the road. My husband was killed by a roadside bomb. But then, you already knew that, too.” Her voice was husky as she said, “I bet your men felt really safe with you, Calhoun.”

  She saw everything she needed to in his eyes.

  She sidled down the rail until she was right beside him. Then she took his hand and placed it right over Peanut’s foot. She watched the wonder on his face as they waited for another kick.

  All those hard lines softened.

  “I feel really safe with you. Good night,” she said, backing toward her room. She paused at the door. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. Even the officer didn’t give you a ticket.”

  Chapter Eleven

  CAIT, IN HER BABY ON BOARD T-shirt and shorts, compared the houses on the block to the picture in her hand. “Is that it?” she asked eagerly.

  “That’s it,” Lucky confirmed. It was hard not to be excited for a woman who looked for a man’s strengths and not his weaknesses. And while he hadn’t forgiven himself for last night, she had.

  Now if only he could live up to her expectations without letting her down again.

  Lucky pulled into the gravel driveway, if you could call the two weeded ruts a driveway, and stopped at the side of the house in front of a detached garage. The garage doors opened on hinges like a shed. A For Sale sign leaned up against one of those doors, evidence of how quickly the house had been taken off the market. Less than a week ago.

  The house itself was a simple rectangular floor plan.

  Two bedrooms, one bath. A thousand square feet.

  A fresh coat of exterior paint. White with black trim.

  Cait dug out her key. As soon as he stopped the U-Haul, she sprang from the truck to the side porch to do the honors. The porch was little more than two steps and a concrete slab with wrought-iron handrails and grillwork. Lucky followed her up those two steps. More wrought iron supported the shingled triangle that extended from the roof.

  He couldn’t remember anyone ever using the front door. It was always the side door. “I’m so nervous,” she said. “Look, my hands are shaking. I can’t even fit the key to the lock. Here, you do it.” She gave him the key and he opened the door for her. She stepped into the kitchen while he flipped on the light switch.

  The interior had a fresh coat of white paint, as well.

  She worried her full bottom lip as she ventured farther into the house, the living room, the two bedrooms. The bathroom. All small. She opened doors and looked into drawers and cupboards. There was a laundry room/back porch add-on off the kitchen and a big backyard that needed attention.

  “I’m sorry it’s not what you expected,” he said when they wound up back in the kitchen. It was exactly as he’d expected. Only smaller than he remembered.

  “It’s perfect,” she pronounced. “It needs some color, but with a coat of paint and furniture…Can we start bringing it in?”

  “If we’re going to paint, we should do it before you move the furniture in,” he suggested. Of course, she wasn’t going to be painting or moving furniture. He was.

  What was his plan? Drive her here and leave.

  He added painting and unloading to the list.

  It was already late afternoon, and they’d just driven how many hundred miles? “First things first,” he said. “How about we go find a bed for the night and some help for tomorrow?”

  LUCKY KNEW WHERE TO FIND BOTH. He just didn’t know how welcome he’d be after fifteen years.

  He thought about calling ahead, but he didn’t think that would make this homecoming any less of a shock.

  Less than a mile in distance, he pulled up to the curb of his mother’s and stepfather’s/uncle’s house. He turned off the ignition and sat in the truck a moment to collect his thoughts. He had no idea what he was going to say to them. It wasn’t as if he never spoke with his mother, but…

  “Why don’t you wait in the car,” he suggested to Cait.

  Getting out, he closed the truck door and made his way to the front. The place looked the same. Same basketball hoop over the garage. Same crack in the driveway. Same landscaping. Same color brick and neutral siding.

  If the other house represented his early years, this house represented all the years that followed.

  He rang the bell and waited.

  A few seconds later the door opened and Keith stood there dressed in team colors with a basketball under his arm. He was a whole hell of a lot taller than Lucky remembered. Keith looked past him to the U-Haul at the curb. “Is that Cait?” he asked.

  Lucky looked over his shoulder to see Cait waving. She’d gotten out of the truck. Probably had to go to the bathroom.

  “Yeah,” he answered.

  “Are you Lucky?” his brother asked.

  Lucky swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yeah.”

  “I kind of remember you from that trip to Disneyland in California when I was seven.”

  “I remember you.”

  “I’m taller than you,” bragged the teen.

  They weren’t exactly on even footing here—the kid was up a step—but he’d give him that. Lucky had about fifty pounds on him, though.

  “You kind of look like dad,” Keith added. Meaning Keith’s dad. Lucky’s uncle.

  “Yeah, yeah, I do.” They could be standing here all evening going through a checklist of similarities and differences. “Hey, is Mom home?” he asked.

  “Mom!” Keith called over his shoulder. “Lucky’s here! Gotta go. You should come to one of my games.” He scooted past Lucky and out the front door. Keith waved to Cait as he headed to the ’90 Thunderbird in the drive. The car was as old as the kid.

  “Ohmigod, ohmigod!” his mother screamed as soon as she spotted Lucky standing in the doorway. “John, come here!”

  Lucky felt his hackles rise and rolled his shoulder as soon as she mentioned his uncle. As a teen, he hadn’t always been respectful of the man and was unsure of his welcome. But Lucky had always liked him a lot better than he liked Big Luke. It’s just that he’d been about ten when he’d discovered his mom and his paternal uncle were sleeping together. They were married a short while later.

  Not that there was anything wrong with that. They weren’t related except by marriage, a marriage that had ended badly long before their affair had started—just like it would be if he and Cait…Lucky stopped that thought in its tracks.

  It felt wrong to think it, let alone want it.

  His mother wrapped him in her arms.

  “I can’t believe my eyes,” she said, hugging him to her breast. He felt an ache in his chest when he hugged her back. Finally, she stepped back to get a good look at him and he got a good look at her. She was older, of course. A little heavier. She still wore scrubs and an ID badge that said she still worked at the VA hospital. “John, come here!” she hollered again.

  His uncle met them at the door. Lucky acknowledged him with a nod. His uncle offered his hand and they shook. John was the opposite of Big Luke. Quiet, reserved. Sincere.

  So Lucky believed him when he said, “Welcome home.”

  “Who’s that?” His mother had turned her attention to the pregnant woman and the U-Haul.

  “That’s Cait,” he said.

  His mother looked to his uncle, then back to him. “Luke’s widow-bride Cait?” she asked.

  FINALLY, CALHOUN WAVED HER TO the door. He’d just saved her from having to knock on a neighbor’s door to use their bathroom.

  She was nervous and that didn’t help.

  “Hi,” she said to John, whom she recognized from the funeral.

  “This is my mother, Evelyn,” Calhoun said.

  “Hi,” Cait said again.
“May I use your bathroom?”

  “Yes, of course. Come in,” his mother said as if just realizing they were still standing on the threshold.

  “Top of the stairs,” John said, giving her directions.

  When Cait came out of the bathroom, Calhoun was standing at the top of the stairs with her overnight bag. “What a terrible first impression I make,” she said.

  “Don’t worry about it.” He showed her to a room with bunk beds across the hall. “This was my and Bruce’s room.” It looked as if it had been semi-converted to storage space, but other than that it looked like a boys’ room.

  There were a lot of basketball and motocross trophies lining the walls. She took one down. Luke Calhoun Junior. “You told me Luke was a dirt rider,” she accused him. “You never told me you were.”

  He shrugged. “Must have slipped my mind.”

  She put it back and did a complete turn of the room, taking it all in. “Where are you sleeping?”

  “On the couch,” he said. “The plan is dinner after Keith’s game in half an hour. Mom said to tell you if you’re tired, don’t feel obligated. She can fix you something now.”

  “I’m fine. I’d like to go to the game.”

  THE CROWD ROARED IN THOSE FINAL seconds of the Englewood versus Alameda game. She’d been torn between teams when Calhoun informed her that Luke had played for Alameda High.

  She’d tried cheering for both. But in the end she was rooting for Keith. He’d played his heart out on that hardwood and scored a three-pointer from midcourt to win the game by one point.

  “That was exciting, wasn’t it?” She didn’t know anything about basketball. Would her son have the basketball gene? Would Calhoun be attending any of those games? Calling out the official on those bad calls?

  Why had he stayed away from his family for so long?

  “Did you say something?” he asked, leaning in closer to her.

  “I just said it was an exciting game,” she said, raising her voice to be heard above the crowd this time.

  “Great game,” he agreed, taking her hand to help her navigate the bleachers and the crowd. Their hands were still locked when they stepped outside, waiting for John to pull around in the Explorer.