“I’d rather have been one of those who didn’t make it back. I’d have changed places with Weber in a heartbeat if it meant he’d be able to come back to his wife and son.”
“You believe you’re half a man because of your injuries, but you’d want someone else to suffer them instead of you. Cruel, isn’t that?”
“If it meant he’d be here with his family, then yes, I’d gladly change places with him. Half a man is better than dead.”
“You’re right there, and you should be thankful you’re still alive.” She stood, grabbed one of the small cards she carried, and held it out to him. “My name and number. If you want to talk, call me and I’ll stop by.” When he didn’t take it, she placed it on the bedside table.
“I don’t need your pity.”
“Good because I don’t pity you.” When she reached the door she turned back to look at him one final time. “Think about what I said. You’ve been given a second chance at life. Don’t waste it.”
She forced herself to walk from his room and into the hallway. To see him with such sadness in his eyes tore at her heart. That look was the same one her father had when he returned to the ranch. Only her father hadn’t lost any limbs; he’d had burns over half his body from an incident that had killed the rest of this team. She might have been harsh on Phillips, but if it kept him from doing what her father did, then that’s all that mattered. He needed to accept things as they were so he could move on and begin to live again.
“Any luck with PFC Phillips?” Brenda stood just a few feet away making notes in a chart.
“Not really. He’s angry, and like you said, he’s having a hard time dealing with this. Has a therapist spoken with him? Someone with more training than I have?”
“He has more than enough medical staff pestering him. What he needs is a friend. The only one that’s come to visit him is Gunnery Sergeant Diamond, his old platoon sergeant. Even then, he barely acknowledged him.”
“I’m not feeling very well today, but I’ll come back in a few days and try to talk to him again.”
“You’re not coming down with something, are you?”
“No, nothing like that. Just a headache. My neighbor had a big bash yesterday and it ran late into the night. So with the lack of sleep and everything, it’s not helping. I think I better just head home.” She continued on her way down the hall before Brenda could question her further. It wasn’t a complete lie; she did have a minor headache, but it was due more to the memories that refused to leave her alone than to her neighbor’s party.
She grabbed her bag from the nurses’ station and sped up her pace. For the first time since she’d started coming to the hospital, she was in a rush to leave. She needed to put some distance between her and the PFC. What she didn’t understand was why the memories came flooding back to her now. It had been years ago when her father was in a similar position to PFC Phillips and even then, she’d been just a little girl. What did she know about what her father had actually gone through? All she had to give her any insight about him was an old leather-bound journal he had kept a daily log in.
The journal had been mostly filled with rants, but it was the emotions within the words that got her. So full of hate, passion, anger, and love. The words that filled the pages showed the battle her father had gone through. No one had tried to help him. Maybe she was just one person but she tried to do her best to save just one life—so she did what she set out to do. She used her own tragedy to do something good and stop another family from suffering further loss. If more people helped then maybe the veterans’ suicide rate wouldn’t be so high.
Dad, I’m sorry no one saved you, but I’m doing my part to save my generation.
Chapter Two
Two days had passed since whiskey girl came to visit and Kyle couldn’t get her off his mind. Her sweet country girl accent played through his thoughts. She was the first one who hadn’t tried to pussyfoot around. The heat and sadness in her eyes made it almost seem liked she cared, but why would she? She didn’t even know him. His gaze fell to the card still sitting on the bedside table. He hadn’t moved it because he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with it yet. He wasn’t going to call her but it didn’t seem right to pitch it, either.
With his burns healing and the infection under control, he’d be discharged the following day. Then he’d never see her again. That very idea sent a twinge of sadness through him. “Get a hold of yourself. What would she want with you? She was only here to show sympathy and support, not because she actually cared.”
Why would anyone care when his girlfriend hadn’t even bothered to come see him in person to break things off? After a little more than a year dating, he’d learned her true nature. One he should have seen before but chose to remain in denial of his suspicions. He’d cared for her and hadn’t wanted to see that side of her. She was a flag chaser—a woman only with a service member because of the uniform—and now he had nothing to offer her. She’d gone on to her next target and he was alone.
While he should have been grateful that she had just left him be instead of stringing him along even further, he couldn’t help but see her betrayal as yet another loss. Another thing this war has taken from me. He’d joined the Marines to make a better life for himself. It wasn’t like he had anything else. As a ward of the state, he had been tossed to the curb at eighteen with little money in his pocket and nowhere to go. The Marines were his way out. A way to make a life for himself. Even now, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. He had lived in the barracks on base so he had no apartment to go to when he was discharged the following day. Instead, he would be transported to a hotel, where he’d stay for a few days. Then, he’d either transfer into the wounded warrior housing facility when a space freed up or he could find something on his own and put a request in for off base housing. For now, anything would be better than looking at these pale gray walls and the awful stench of illness and bleach that seemed to cling to the place.
They had pushed for a medical halfway home to help him, but he had refused. He had been fitted for his prosthesis, and physical therapy to learn to walk on it would begin soon. In the meantime, he was stuck in the wheelchair.
Nothing screams cripple like a fucking wheelchair.
At least, he’d be out of this place and he could get some whiskey. His mouth watered at the very thought of that earthy flavor, so full bodied that it burned its way to the gut.
“Knock, knock.” The woman from the other day stood in the doorframe. Her blonde hair, full of golden highlights, looked windblown while at the same time making her more attractive. The jeans and light brown sweater gave her an innocent look. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-one.
“You again?” The emotions that swirled within him were too numerous to count. He didn’t want to see her but a small part of him was intrigued by her. What brought her to this hospital? She didn’t work on base, wasn’t military; she was just a volunteer. What did she know about the struggles the patients here were dealing with? Sure, she was nearly finished with her degree in physical therapy, but she could work with anyone. Why amputees?
“Mind if I come in?”
“Suit yourself.” He fiddled with the edge of the sheet as she strolled toward him. She grabbed the only chair in the room and came to sit next to him.
“I hear you’re being discharged tomorrow. I’ll bet you’re glad to leave this place.” She crossed a leg over the others and he couldn’t tear his gaze from it as she did.
“I’m going from one prison to another. I’ll spend the next several days at a hotel until I find somewhere else and get my request for off base housing approved. Somewhere wheelchair accessible until I’ve learned to walk with my prosthesis. At least I’ll be able to have some privacy instead of staff popping in every two minutes.”
“There are always benefits to every situation if you only look.” She tipped her head to the card that still sat on the bedside table. “I see you still have that. Please, take it with you a
nd call me if you want to talk.”
“There are others here that need your help. Why take pity on a lost cause?”
“You’re not a lost cause. Actually I think you have a lot of potential if you can get through this, and if you let me and the others help, you will.” They sat there in silence for a long moment before she leaned forward. “So, Private First Class Phillips, tell me about yourself.”
Private First Class. Would there ever come a time those words wouldn’t send shooting pains through his chest and ice his veins? One damn moment changed everything.
“Private…”
“Kyle!” His voice rose but he couldn’t help it. “Please, Kyle, just Kyle.” He said it over and over again as if he could forget his title as a Marine and just be Kyle. To rewind to a few years earlier when he was but a kid, living life to the fullest—to just before he’d gone to the recruiter. Then, none of this would have happened.
“Okay, Kyle.” She placed a hand on the bed, but didn’t touch him. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” He took a deep breath and forced the memories away. “What do you want to know?”
“One of the nurses said you haven’t had any visitors since you’ve been here, except your Gunnery Sergeant. Where’s your family?”
“You go for the heart of things, don’t you?” Not that he had any doubt about that. She had already proved she was feisty. “If we’re going to do this, then we play by my rules. For every question you ask, you have to answer one about yourself. Deal?”
She paused and seemed to be considering it for a moment before she finally nodded. “This isn’t how it normally works, but okay. My question still stands.”
“I was a ward of the state until I turned eighteen. No parents or siblings. Even my best friend is…dead.” He swallowed the lump in his throat at the very thought of Weber. “What about your family?”
“My mother’s still in Kentucky where she’s a veterinarian. She’s unhappy that I’m not following in her footsteps. No siblings.”
“What about your father?”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought this was one question each. I’ll answer it but it will cost you two. My father died years ago. Now, your turn. Why did you join the Marines?”
He pressed the button to raise the bed a little. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t get away from that topic. Just as the foster care was a part of his life, so were the Marines, and neither topic was one he wanted to discuss. “I aged out of the system and needed something. Joining the military seemed to be the best idea because it gave me everything I needed. As for the Marines, that just kind of happened. I went to the recruiting office and a Marine spoke to me. I signed up and shipped off to boot camp a week later.”
“Since you just fell into the military, what did you grow up wanting to do?”
“Crazy as it sounds, I wanted to be an accountant. Something about numbers always drew me in. Math was the one class in school I excelled at. Everything else I goofed off and hated every moment of it.” He thought back to his high school math teacher, who’d inspired him to do better. She told him he could do whatever he wanted if he only applied himself. “Why physical therapy?”
“It’s a means to an end.”
“Huh?” He wasn’t sure what she meant.
“It’s kind of a long story.” She adjusted and scooted her chair closer to the bed. “When I was young I wanted to be a doctor. I wanted to help people, but I was raised on a horse ranch and I’ve always wanted to own one. There’s a certain one I’ve had my eye on for years. When I sat down and really thought about it, I realized that dream was more important to me than being a doctor. This will get me there.”
“A ranch—interesting. What made it more important?” He realized he’d asked a second question before she got to slip in hers.
“My father was a horse trainer and always wanted to own one but life had other plans. So I’m going to do it in his memory. But now, I get two questions. Why have you turned away those who have tried to help you?”
“Prying.” He tugged the blankets up farther, trying to ease his discomfort. “I don’t need help.”
“Liar.”
“That’s not a question,” he pointed out.
“You haven’t answered my question honestly, so it still stands.” She uncrossed her legs and leaned closer. “You’ve been through a lot. There’s so much pain in your eyes but you refuse to talk to anyone. Why?”
“What I’ve seen isn’t any worse than what others have witnessed or lived through. All they want to do is give me drugs. I don’t want drugs that will make me forget, cloud my judgement, or act like a zombie. I’m learning to live with my ghosts.”
“You don’t want prescription drugs; instead you’d prefer whiskey. Alcohol will only help you forget for a little while. You’ll need to talk about it to move forward.”
“What do you know about it?”
“More than you think.” She stood and moved away from the bed. “My father…his Army service changed him. Not just physically with his burns, but also mentally. He came home to us different. At first, he chose alcohol as a way to keep the memories at bay, but as the weeks passed he had to drink more and more to do the job. Eventually, it wasn’t enough and he took other means to end the horrible thoughts…permanently.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, but things are different for me.”
“Isn’t that what everyone thinks?”
She kept her back to him and, had it been months ago, before he’d ended up as a cripple, he’d have gone to her. Comforted her. Instead, he lay in that bed, useless, and it confirmed once again that he’d never be good enough. Stop taking up space and resources that could help someone else. You’re not worth it any longer.
“I lost my father because no one helped him. Maybe he was like you and wouldn’t let anyone in but Mom tried to shelter me from his problems. The only time I had any quality time with Dad was when she was on a vet call and we were on the ranch together, taking care of the horses. We bonded over that but I could tell something was wrong. It wasn’t until my senior year in high school that I found his journals.”
“Journals.” It might have been sexist but he had always thought that was more of a woman thing.
“Yeah.” She turned to glance at him. “Don’t sound so surprised; a lot of men keep journals. It’s also not uncommon for those in counseling to do it. Dad never went to see a counselor so I’m not sure why he started writing one. Maybe it was because he did it with the horses. He kept a journal of their lives for the owners. Accomplishments, training, everything. He might have thought getting it down on paper would help. I’m not sure, but it left me with an insight about him that I never had before.”
“So that’s why you’re here? You couldn’t save your father, so now I’m what? A surrogate?”
She spun around on her heels to face him, her face alight with anger as she glared at him. “How dare you?”
“Hit a sore spot?” The pain in her eyes almost stopped him—she didn’t deserve him lashing out at her—but the need to keep her off him proved too overpowering. “Well, I don’t like being a replacement for someone you couldn’t save. I’ve said it a thousand times before and I’ll say it again: I’m fine. I don’t need anyone’s help, pity, or anything else.”
“Fine. I know there’s plenty of others here who would love the company.” She nearly ran to the door, but paused before she passed through. “I wish you all the best. Don’t let the people that care about you down because you don’t like me. You can get through this.” With that, she was gone.
Don’t let people down…if only I hadn’t already. If only I hadn’t changed places with you, Weber, you’d still be alive. Crippled but alive to be with your wife and child.
Staci spent the next two hours visiting with those who actually wanted her company. Yet, even as she tried to make small talk with the ones she had come to know, her thoughts continued to wander back to PFC Phillips. He’d tried to hide it but
the pain he felt inside dug deeper than she had imagined. No one could help him until he was ready, but even with that knowledge, she couldn’t just sit on the sidelines and wait. Tomorrow, when he was discharged, he’d turn to the one thing her father had sought comfort from as well—alcohol. Even if he found solace in it, this would only be temporary. What the bottle led to would be worse, possibly even fatal. That wasn’t something she could live with.
She wanted to wander back down the hall to his room to get him to see reason. It wouldn’t be as easy as that. She could try as much as she wanted but until he could see what he was doing to himself and became aware he did still have a future, she might as well try to help a solid brick wall fall down with her bare hands.
You’re only doing this because you couldn’t save your father…
Maybe he was right. She had started to volunteer with service members because of the impact of her father’s return from war and his suicide had on her life, but it wasn’t what kept her going day after day. She continued to volunteer because of what she saw. She watched as those who’d seen unimaginable horrors came to terms with their grief and made their lives better. They didn’t let the horrors they’d witnessed keep them down. Rather, they lived for the ones who would never make it back home to their families. They took joy from the little things. They’d watch the sunrise as if they’d never seen it before.
That’s why she did what she did.
It didn’t matter if someone was for or against the war. What mattered was, America was there for those who put everything on the line to stand up and fight for freedom. America is what it is because of those who are willing to fight for the land and the people’s rights. She was only doing a small part to give back. I’m not giving up on you, PFC Phillips. You’re worth fighting for.
Touch of Home (Blessing Montana Book 2) Page 19