by Traci Hall
“I’m going to find a psychiatrist today, and if he agrees, we talked about getting a dog on a very temporary basis.”
Matthew exploded upward from his chair as if launched by a rocket and raced toward Jackson, who barely lifted the mug of hot coffee out of the way in time. Setting it behind him, he enjoyed the hug for a moment before gently taking Matthew by the shoulders.
“Hey, look at me now.”
Matty, still grinning, looked up. “Yeah?”
“Temporary, maybe.”
“I know, geez. I heard you.”
“It’s a lot of responsibility. And I’m not saying yes. I’m saying maybe. You’ll have to do your share. I’m not good with the pooper scooper.”
“I will, I will.”
“I know you will. I’m counting on it.”
Jackson nudged Matty toward the table.
Matthew sat and picked up his spoon to chase the little circles around the milk. “I’ll take him out and walk him. And I know how to use the whistle. But Bandit is so smart, he will help you.” He slurped his cereal. “I know it.”
“How did you know I was thinking about Bandit?”
“Duh. He picked you.”
“You’re a goofy kid, Matty. I love you. Very much. And I’m sorry about the nightmares.”
He looked down into the bowl. “It’s okay.”
Jackson refilled his coffee and sat across from Matthew. “Since I’m doing the psychiatrist hunt, I wondered if you wanted to talk to someone?”
Matty lifted his face, his expression confused. “About what?”
“Your mom. Me. School, heck, whatever you want to talk about.”
Matthew quieted but bravely held his gaze. “Is Mom really going to come home?”
The coffee he’d been drinking rose up, burning Jackson’s throat.
Matthew squeezed his eyes shut as if to avoid crying. “I know that makes me a bad person, not stayin’ positive.”
“You aren’t a bad person.” Hell, his parents had died and it had been Livvie who’d been strong and kept them together. “Your mom has so much love inside her that I know she will do whatever she has to in order to come home to you. Being your mom is the best thing in her world; she told me that.”
“But what if she’s hurt so bad that she can’t?” Matty sniffed and scratched the tip of his nose, looking to him for reassurance.
Jackson lowered his head, feeling pulled apart. His nephew needed him here. His unit needed him overseas. “Then we will handle it, bud.”
“What about your job?”
“That’s just it. Because I’ve been doing it so long, I’m kind of good at it.” He paused, wondering how he’d gotten to be so “good” at war. “And my boss needs me to come back.” He shoved his mug an inch forward with his forefinger.
“So you’re going back to get shot at?” Matthew’s cheeks paled beneath the summer tan.
“It’s what I do, Matty. It’s what we Hardys have always done.” The reason sounded weak when faced with his nephew’s legitimate fear of the future.
Matthew pushed his chair back from the table, the legs screeching across the linoleum floor. “Well, I don’t like it.”
He waited, as if expecting to be punished for saying what he felt out loud. Jackson thought back to what Emma, so earnestly, had told him earlier. “There are no wrong feelings, Matty. Let’s just see what happens. I won’t leave you alone, okay?”
Matty’s lower lip quivered, but damned if the kid didn’t square his shoulders.
“Go hop in the shower, and I’ll make this phone call.”
Matty left the kitchen, head high. Jackson went through the junk drawer beneath the phone in the hall and dug out the stack of paperwork holding the list of doctors’ numbers. He hadn’t planned on using any of them and had scribbled the number for pizza delivery on the page corner.
He sat down at the kitchen table, avoiding putting his elbow in spilled milk. What he wanted to do was talk to Emma. Tell her what he’d seen. Confess to her what he’d done. She was a damn good listener.
But he couldn’t do that—Jackson didn’t want to see the desire in her eyes that she had for him turn to shame.
Chapter Twelve
Jackson and Matthew took the Kingston ferry across Puget Sound to Seattle. Standing on deck, they watched the jellyfish blossom in pink florets in the water. Salmon, seagulls, pelicans. Nothing like this in the Middle East. He hunched against a sudden chill.
“See that?” Matthew asked, pointing into the distance. “I bet it’s a whale!” Matthew stood on tiptoes, hanging over the rail.
Jackson pulled him back by the collar of his T-shirt. “Careful. Water’s too cold for me to dive in and get you.”
Matthew grinned. “You would, though.”
Snorting, Jackson exhaled and lifted his face to the sun. “Yeah. I would.”
The thirty-minute ride ended near Pike Street Market, and Jackson pointed toward the Ferris wheel. “Tell you what, if we have time after the counseling appointment, we can get clam chowder at Ivar’s and take a ride on the wheel.”
“Really?”
“Sure. It would be fun.” In the month that they’d been together, there had been very little fun. Getting Matty caught up at school so he wasn’t held back a grade, worry over Livvie living or dying, figuring out medical insurance, and trying to parent his nephew had taken everything he had. Time spent with Emma had been sunshine in the rain.
They found a spot in a twenty-story parking garage and he reached for his phone, remembering that he’d told Emma he’d be in touch.
Jackson typed a text, and his thumb hovered over the send button. He reread the text for the third time. Like a kid, he thought, wanting to make sure it sounded just right. At the shrink’s office. No fuss. He sent it and slid his phone in his back pocket.
He’d gotten lucky, getting this appointment the same afternoon—either that, or the guy, Leonard Smith, was a total chump. His receptionist said that there’d been a cancellation, and if he hurried he could have it. Fate?
The military was all about rules meant to keep you fit and alive, but you had to adapt to the situation or wind up with your guts on the sand. Remi used to say you had rules so you could break them.
Remi. Jackson shivered. “Let’s go.”
The garage let out onto First Avenue, and the office building was on Third. He and Matthew walked up the hill together.
“This is a lot busier than where we live,” Matthew said as another taxi whizzed through a yellow traffic light.
“I prefer the quiet.”
“’Cause you’re old.” Matthew snickered.
“Twenty-nine is not old.”
“Is too. I’m surprised you can climb this hill.”
“You better be careful.” He nudged Matthew’s skinny arm. “Not to get grounded for the rest of the summer.”
Matthew rolled his eyes. “Lame. You always say that.”
They reached the tall gray stone and glass office building and went inside the air-conditioned lobby. A bank of elevators was to the right, and a long desk with a receptionist and a series of phones was to the left.
Marble floors shone in the sunlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“Fancy,” Matthew whispered. The whisper echoed across the high ceilings and wide expanse of open floor space.
“Maybe our doc isn’t such a chump after all.”
He’d been given a list of names from Veteran’s Services and chose at random. The receptionist, a pretty Asian woman in her mid-thirties, beamed at them from her spot behind the desk. “May I help you?”
Her cultured tones matched the richness of the wood trim and velvet curtains. Jackson cleared his throat, wishing he’d done more than put on a clean polo shirt. His black jeans were very underdressed for the building, and Matty looked like a street urchin out of Scrooged.
Oh well, he thought, striding toward her, his head high. “Hi. Jackson Hardy to see Dr. Leonard Smith.”
Matthew was stuck to his side much like Bandit had been earlier.
“Welcome. I’ll phone upstairs to let them know you’re here. Take the elevators to the tenth floor.”
“Thank you,” Jackson said with a nod.
They turned and walked across the expanse of marble tile, the soles of their shoes making the occasional squeak.
Once they were in the elevator, Matty burst out laughing. “Awk-ward.”
“You think?” Jackson grinned down at his nephew.
They got off on the tenth floor, the elevator doors opening to understated elegance. Old-fashioned wallpaper and dark wainscoting that alluded to men’s clubs and secrets shared over a whiskey made Jackson think of trust funds and billionaires, way above his pay grade.
The door to the office opened, and a young man in navy blue slacks and a button-up Oxford shirt without a tie held out his hand in greeting.
“Welcome! Come on back.” The man smiled at Matthew. “We’ve got a television in our waiting area with the Discovery channel. Juice and pretzels. I’ll show you where it is, while your uncle is talking to Dr. Smith.”
Matthew darted an anxious glance at Jackson, who felt the same nervousness but hid it behind a casual smile. “Sounds great, Matty. See you in a few.”
The young man pointed to a partially open door to the left, as he and Matty went right. “Go on in, he’s expecting you.”
Jackson wished he could hang out and eat pretzels with Matty instead but knocked once on the polished dark wood door and pushed it all the way open.
A man about sixty with silver hair and silver-framed glasses looked up from a mug of tea. Orange spice wafted toward him.
“Welcome, Captain Hardy.”
Dr. Leonard Smith got up from behind his desk with his hand outstretched. “Thank you very much for your service to our country.”
Jackson froze. Not the response he was expecting. He shook the man’s smooth hand. “Thanks. Not sure the VA expects to pay for this kind of service. Honestly, I thought I’d be in a shadier part of town. No offense.”
“Call me Leonard.” The shrink, no, doctor, gestured to a dark brown leather seat with brass studs creating a diamond pattern along the back cushion. “Talking with our soldiers means a lot to me. I served in the Air Force. During a peaceful time. Still stressful, though. Can’t imagine…” He paused. “Well, I can imagine what you all are going through. Which is why I do what I do.”
“Which is?”
“Listen,” the doctor said.
Jackson sat, and to his surprise, the psychiatrist grabbed his mug of tea and sat in the chair opposite him.
“Want a cup?”
“No, thanks.”
“I love this. They sell it at Pike Street Market. I was glad when they made a decaf version.” After a sip, he leaned back with a contented sigh. “Now, what can I do for you, Captain Hardy?”
“Jackson.”
“Jackson.”
He’d had a speech prepared about Livvie, about Matthew, about his commander. But under Leonard’s compassionate gaze, Jackson said, “So, I guess I have these nightmares. My nephew told me about them, but I didn’t remember them, really, so I figured he was exaggerating.”
His heart raced, and he studied the brass stud on the armrest of the chair. The leather was more of a ripe Bing cherry color than wood, he decided.
“And?”
“Little turkey videotaped me having one. Couldn’t deny it after that.”
The sound of gunfire played in the back of his mind like mood music during a film. He put his hands over the armrests, centering himself by the feel of the leather beneath his fingers. Soft. The brass, cool.
He smelled blood instead of tea and turned his head.
“I guess not,” Leonard agreed with a low chuckle. He cradled the mug between his hands and sat back, relaxed. “Did you bring the video?”
“Yeah.”
“How did it make you feel?”
That was a shrink question, Jackson decided. “Shitty.”
“Why? Because he took the video without your knowledge?”
“Partly.” He pressed down on a brass stud as if it were a button and he could stop time. It didn’t work. “And because then I couldn’t deny it. Now, memories I thought I’d buried are right behind my eyes, taunting me.” His voice cracked. “With sounds and smells and tastes.” Remi’s blood pooling over Jackson’s boots. Iowa’s bloody cot.
Leonard nodded and removed his glasses with one hand to set them on the desk. “Buried emotions rarely stay buried.”
“I need to put them back,” Jackson informed the doctor. Get to work. Finish my time.
“Why don’t we examine them?”
“I can’t afford to fall apart, Doctor, er, Leonard.” He forced himself to meet the man’s gaze. “My nephew is eleven. His mom is in a medically induced coma in Swedish Hospital with a brain injury after a car accident. His dad’s out of the picture, and we have no other family. I am a career Marine. That’s what I am.”
The psychiatrist hmmed, the sound oddly comforting.
Jackson hadn’t figured himself for the type to spill his guts, but his back was against the wall. All of the videos he’d watched last night on other Marines, other soldiers—some of those stories had ended up with vets being on the streets, homeless. Stuck in the vicious cycle of drugs and alcohol—to try to cope. Well, he might be stubborn, but Jackson knew he needed to ask for help to have a healthy life.
“How many years do you have in?”
“Ten.”
“Halfway hump.”
He missed his unit, his job. The guys were his brothers. “Retirement with full benefits is hard to pass up.”
“Why do you say it like that?”
It terrified him, the idea of walking away from all he’d known. He was grasping at other options, desperate for an answer that fit. “Matty’s worried about what will happen if Livvie”—he closed his eyes and breathed deep—“dies. We have no other family. I would have to take care of him, and that scares the crap out of me.”
The doctor cradled his mug, eyes understanding.
“When I got the call that Livvie was in a bad accident, I was happy to take leave and care for Matty. We hadn’t spent a ton of time together before now, but we are family.” His throat clogged with emotion. “Now, I just love that kid—crazy, huh?”
Leonard smiled, the skin wrinkling at the corners of his mouth. “Parenthood. I’ve got three girls, so I do know.”
“I’m not his dad, but even if things go back to normal, I can’t imagine not being around.”
“What does that mean to you?”
“I will be involved.” As much as he could be. Maybe he’d buy a house nearby and stay for when he had time off. Two weeks, three weeks…would it be enough?
“You’ve mentioned your career in the military—why did you join?”
“Fourth generation.”
“Besides that. Did your parents expect you to do so?”
“They died before I joined, but…” He thought of what Emma had said about his dad being proud of him, no matter what. He didn’t believe that was true, but he would never know—how could he?
“I’m sorry to hear that. Did your sister feel obligated to join the military?”
“Livvie was in ROTC in high school, but she didn’t continue in college—she’s a dental hygienist. A great mom.” He gritted his back teeth. “Was a great mom. Will be again. She has to get better.”
“How do you feel right now?” Another shrink question. He’d have to warn Emma not to sound too much like a therapist when she talked to her patients.
He paused, digging deep. “Angry. Helpless. I’m used to acting.”
He sighed. There was so much out of his control.
“You say you took leave?” Orange spice wafted upward in a ribbon of steam from the doctor’s mug.
“Yeah.” He sat back against the cushion of the chair and crossed his legs at the ankle. “Family leave—but my
commander sent me an email that he’d like me back, sooner than later.”
“Ah.”
Ah? Jackson exhaled. “What?”
“Well, if I hear you correctly, you’re getting bombarded with other people’s wants. I’d love to hear what you want.”
“Me? I’m the last guy on the totem pole.”
Leonard chuckled and set his mug next to his glasses on the desk. “You hold everything else together, Jackson. The glue.”
He slumped forward and tucked his feet beneath the chair. “It seems that way. Sometimes.”
“So what are your options? If I were a wagering man, I’d bet you’ve thought of every possibility. Tell me.”
Jackson lifted his gaze from the beige carpeted floor to the curtained window overlooking the city below. He lifted his hand and pressed one finger down. “First, and most important, is Livvie getting better.”
“As you said, you have no control over that.”
“Matthew’s well-being.” He put down a second finger. “My unit—you’ve served so you know what that’s like—a different kind of family. I can’t let them down.” Jackson waited, but Leonard stayed quiet. “Third.” Emma sprang to mind—tall, slender, strong. Freckles. He closed his eyes against the guilt that tore at his conscience. He’d pushed Emma away, knowing she was so much better a human being than he would ever be. He put his pinky flat to his palm. “I wonder if I could be a good civilian, after the things I’ve done.”
Opening his eyes to the light in the room, he pressed his back into the brass studs in the cushion. “My nephew tried to steal a service dog to help me with my nightmares. Guess there’s a way they can sense one’s coming and wake you up?”
Leonard’s expression held compassion, but he said nothing. Waiting. Listening. Making sure that Jackson was finished speaking. Jackson’s throat was too clogged to do any more talking. Matty. Livvie. Even Emma. What wouldn’t he do for his family?
“I knew you’d have some ideas,” Leonard said, sitting up and resting his forearms on his thighs. “I can help you address all of these things, Jackson.”
He sank into the leather seat.
The doctor hmmed and sipped. “If you don’t mind me saying, it sounds like your self-worth is wrapped up in your idea of serving our country.”