Rattle His Cage: The Baxter Boys #4 (The Baxter Boys ~ Rattled)

by Charles, Jane

  “Get me coffee?” I plead. Anything to buy time.

  36

  I assumed it was for her dad. It is a dog tag with a name, date of birth, and date of death. What’s interesting about it is that the tattoo starts with what could be a chain that a dog tag would hang from between her boobs like a real necklace would, but doesn’t go high enough to be around her neck, just half way up each boob. The tag is hooked at the curve in it. Short of being in a tiny top, bra, or naked, nobody would ever know it was there. It has ribbons of turquoise, green, and yellow. I figured they were her dad’s favorite colors, maybe her mom’s, or something like that. What I didn’t expect was her to go suddenly still, basically freeze, and then ask for coffee.

  Grabbing the pot, I refill her cup and my own. Christian is still working on the kitchen, but Mia and Alyssa have left their dirty dishes in the sink. They are probably trying to put their rooms together too.

  “Ready to send the letter?”

  I do need to send it, but I need to get back to Mary. “In a bit.”

  “What’s going on?” He tilts his head studying.

  “Why?”

  “Dude, you came out here and just left her dirty dish in the sink without rinsing or scraping or anything.”

  Normally I would have never left a dish like that in the sink, but all I could think about at the time was getting back to Mary’s room and then getting those little shorts off her. Both accomplished successfully. “Maybe I’m cured.”

  I tuck my laptop under my arm and then grab the cups of coffee again and squeeze back into her room through the small opening we made.

  “Thanks.” She takes the cup from me and then sits in the middle of her bed with her legs crossed as if she’s about to do yoga or something.

  Is she going to tell me or just drink her coffee?

  Do I ask again or leave it alone?

  “It’s for my dad, which I’m sure you guessed.”

  I just nod.

  “The teal ribbon is for PTSD.”

  My stomach tightens. But he was killed in action, or so I thought. If he had PTSD, would he have even been deployed?

  “The green is for depression and the yellow represents suicide awareness military support.”

  What the hell? Her dad committed suicide?

  Mary isn’t looking at me but down into her coffee. “I wasn’t sure which one was more appropriate so I got all three.”

  She takes a sip and then looks at me. “I was young so I didn’t get it at the time. It wasn’t until I was older and put things together. Mom says Dad changed after two tours, but to me, he was my dad. But, he self-medicated with alcohol, which I also hadn’t realized until I was older either.” She takes another drink.

  I don’t rush her. Whatever she is wanting to tell me is really hard for her.

  “It wasn’t until he hurt me that he realized he had a problem.”

  “Hurt you?”

  “It wasn’t intentional,” She rushes to assure me. “That I’m certain of. He was drunk and he hated himself for what happened.”

  “What?”

  “He was swinging a sword around. He collected them. Replicas from the Middle Ages to the most current ones,” she adds as an aside. “I came in the room, Mom screamed at me to leave. She scared me, more than my dad with the sword, so I turned to leave and Dad turned, not realizing how close I was, and slashed me across the back.”

  That explains the scar.

  “As far as I know, Dad didn’t have a drink again. He apologized constantly and kept trying to make it better.” She shakes her head. “I know it was an accident. My dad hadn’t even ever spanked me. He wasn’t a violent guy. But the reality of how badly he could have really hurt me sank in.”

  It’s not okay that she was hurt like that. But people do stupid stuff when they are drinking, and it isn’t like he was abusive.

  “Mom wanted him to get help, but he wouldn’t. He wanted another tour, and if they tagged him with having mental or emotional issues, they wouldn’t send him. So, he pretended that everything was okay. We made a bunch of really good memories before he had to leave. More than ever before, and I had no idea it was his goodbye.”

  A tear slips out of the corner of her eye and I swipe it off her cheek.

  “Dad kept putting himself in danger over there. Wanting to go out on patrols where they knew there was a risk of fighting or explosives. During one firefight, he put himself out there to save one of his guys and was killed in the process.”

  I still don’t get how that’s suicide.

  “That’s when Mom got the letter, after she got notification. He had one written and ready to go in case something happened to him.”

  I’ve heard of soldiers doing that, but I wasn’t sure if it was a real thing.

  “He admitted that he had gone to a psychologist, who in turn wanted him to seek psychiatric help and diagnosed him with PTSD. The psychologist was not attached to the military and lived fifty miles away. That’s how much Dad wanted to keep it a secret. Well, Dad refused to go to the psychiatrist. Refused to believe that’s what he suffered from. He comes from a military family. His father, uncles, grandfathers, etcetera, had been involved in Vietnam, Korea, World War II and practically every conflict we’ve been involved in, and they were fine.”

  Denial is probably the worst thing he could do when there is so much good help out there.

  “Since he refused to drink again and refused help, Dad slipped into depression. I remember some dark moments when I’d come across him when he thought he was alone. Just sitting there, staring off, gone and sad. Then when he saw me, he’d brighten up as if I was the most awesome thing in the world. Upon reflection, I now see how much of that was forced. When I look at pictures, the smile is on his face, but not in his eyes, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do.” The haunted look, we used to call it at Baxter. The new arrivals who just stepped out of hell.

  “Dad had decided that he couldn’t live that way anymore. He didn’t want to be the one person in his family who couldn’t cut it. He couldn’t face himself or us anymore and just wanted to die.”

  He intentionally got himself killed?

  “His unit told me all kinds of stories of how he put himself in danger to help others time and time again. A true hero they’d say, when it was really suicide by war.”

  I’d heard of suicide by cop but not by war, but it makes sense.

  “Mom never shared the letter with anyone, ever. Except, maybe Major. I’m sure he’s seen it, but Mom didn’t want anyone to know, especially guys in his unit.”

  “But she told you?” Mary was only ten. That’s a lot to carry for a kid.

  She shakes her head. “No. I found it. I was looking for a necklace to wear to prom when I was about seventeen. It was shoved in the bottom of her jewelry case.”

  “Did you ask her about it?”

  “I confronted her. She wanted me to remember my dad like he was before he left that last time, not the truth of what was happening.”

  “Did she have any idea?” I find myself asking.

  “I think she did. She begged him not to go. His time was almost up in the army. He could have gotten out, but he refused.”

  “I’m sorry,” I finally say because I don’t know what else I can say.

  That’s the first time I ever told anyone about my dad. Until now it’s been the family secret. The thing we don’t talk about. I’m not even sure if my brothers know. They were even younger than me, so I don’t want to ruin what memories they do have especially since Jimmy got into West Point to be a soldier like Dad.

  Hell, Mom and the Major don’t even know I have a tattoo. I’d been planning it for two years before I finally went and got it.

  I don’t know why I told Dylan the truth. Maybe it’s because he has his own pain and maybe he’d get it? Plus, he’s referred to my dad as a hero, he needs to know my dad was flawed too. So flawed that he couldn’t live with himself, but didn’t want my mom to be the wid
ow whose soldier ate his gun. At least, that was his explanation in his letter to her.

  “Do you resent him for doing what he did?”

  “Yes and no.” That is a question I’ve asked myself a lot. “Yes because he didn’t follow through on the recommended treatment and get a psychiatrist. No because he was ill and a person who is suffering doesn’t always make the best decisions for themselves. They see things differently than those who are around them. They feel that invisible pain. And, because he was an adult, nobody could make him get help.” I sigh and take a drink. “But I do resent the fact that he didn’t fight hard enough. He had three kids! We had the best time before he left, but all the time he knew he had no intention of seeing us grow up. That pisses me off.”

  Dylan nods.

  “But, it goes back to a person who is suffering doesn’t always make the best decisions for themselves and nobody knows their pain.”

  “Vicious cycle?”

  “Exactly!” I shrug. “He was my dad and despite his pain and actions, he loved me. He loved all of us. It was just too painful for him to stay.” At least that’s the conclusion I finally came to that I could live with. Otherwise, the questioning, the wondering, and being angry would solve nothing. It can’t be undone and nothing I do can bring my dad back so it’s best to just concentrate on the man he was before he left and what he was going through, and honor him. “It’s funny,” I finally say. “I’m good with family memories and pictures and seeing my dad how he was. The soldier who was hurting. When I get pissed and resentful is when Mom tries to make me visit his grave, or see his medals, and hear stories about how brave he was when I know that every time he saved a soldier, he was choosing not to try and save himself. I don’t want to hear about what a hero my dad was because he wasn’t.”

  “You are going in circles, aren’t you?”

  “I have been since I learned, and I probably always will.”

  He just nods. “I get that. But, at least you have some good memories.”

  I smile. “Yeah, I do.”

  “And that’s what you need to hold onto.”

  37

  “Where’s Mary,” I ask Alyssa and Mia when they get to the brownstone.

  “She had other plans,” Alyssa hedges, not looking me in the eye.

  “What plans?” I left Mary about three hours ago. She was still surrounded by boxes, but we made a dent in getting stuff put away. I’d talked about dinner tonight and that Joy insists on a First Friday Dinner so we can all check in. When I left Mary, I kissed her and told her I’d see her later. She never said a damn thing about other plans. I assumed she’d be coming to dinner with everyone else.

  “Dinner with Nelson,” Mia says and then ducks into the kitchen.

  It’s as if someone dropped a stone in my stomach. “Who is Nelson?”

  “Guy that lives down the hall,” Christian says. “Helped us move Mary’s boxes out.”

  “That’s really nice of him,” I say. “But, why is she having dinner with him?”

  “Kelsey says that they’ve been trying to get together for months.” Alex acts like this is no big deal.

  Do I ask if it’s a date? Alyssa and Mia seem to think it is, but Alex is unconcerned. Trying to get together for months doesn’t sound like a date.

  Nobody knows what Mary and I did earlier today, nor will they ever know. But, how often did Patty and I have sex and she met up with another guy later?

  Stop it! Mary is not Patty, and I need to let go of that shit, and let go now. Mary is honest and genuine. And even if I couldn’t trust my own judgment, my friends like her. Hell, two of them are living with her now.

  I need to remember who I was four years ago. A year after walking out of Baxter when I had the world by the balls. Nothing shook my confidence then, and I’ll be damned if I let it now. Mary and I have something good. It’s fairly new, but it’s good.

  “Mary says they are just friends.” Ryan is shaking his head as he comes out of the kitchen. “She has no clue Nelson has a thing for her.”

  “He does?” Stupid question, what guy wouldn’t have a thing for her?

  “Yep. But she’s seriously clueless and pointed out that guys and girls can be friends.”

  “Where’s Kelsey?” Alyssa asks Alex.

  “Decided to join Mary and Nelson.” Then he grins at me as if he knew the doubting demons were filling my mind.

  He’s such a shit!

  “They are all friends. Lived down the hall from each other for over a year.”

  The table is set for 13 so I take two plates away, kind of disappointed that Mary and Kelsey aren’t going to join us. Mary more than Kelsey. Mary a lot more than Kelsey, but at least Kelsey is with Mary, which helps relieve some of my concern about Mary having dinner with Nelson.

  “Kels also thought it should just be us at the dinner?”

  This takes me by surprise.

  “Why?” Zach asks.

  “Joy was talking about how we need to spend more time together. A check-in to make sure everybody is okay,” Alex explains.

  “So?” Christian asks.

  “She just felt like it should be the eleven of us checking in. The friends and family before she moved in.”

  I frown. “I’m sure that isn’t what Joy meant.”

  “That’s what I told Kelsey, but she said it would be good for us, and I think she wanted to spend time with Mary too, since they haven’t really hung out like they used to.” He shrugs. “They have a friendship outside of us just like we do outside of them so I think she wanted to just check in with her friend.”

  “I get it. It’s smart,” Sean finally says.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Because, Alex and Kelsey, as tight as they are, haven’t been together all that long and whatever is happening between Dylan and Mary is practically a newborn,” Mia explains. “None of us know what’s going to grow and be awesome and what is going to crash and burn. We’ll always have each other and they will too.”

  “I still don’t want them to feel like they have to skip out on First Friday,” Zach says, which I agree on.

  The front door opens and Joy comes in with Kate and Zoe. She stops and looks around. All of the guys are already here too. “Where is Kelsey and Mary?”

  Well, at least that answered the question in the back of my mind that I was afraid to ask—whether Mary and Kelsey would be welcome.

  I grab the food as Alex explains and brings it to the table while Zach gets out a couple of bottles of wine.

  “Well, maybe it’s better,” Kate finally says.

  “Why?” Doesn’t she like Mary?

  “Not so guarded or watching what we say about Baxter if it gets mentioned.”

  She has a point. Mary knows we went to high school together. She just doesn’t know what kind of high school, and I hate having to tiptoe around a topic. If it was just me, I wouldn’t be so concerned, but Baxter isn’t my secret alone.

  “Who first?” Joy asks.

  “Who first what?” Sean asks.

  “The check-in.”

  “What, we are really going to go around the table and talk about our life since we last saw each other?” Ryan asks.

  “Yep.” Joy scoops an enchilada out of the pan. “I need to make sure everybody is good.”

  “We were together a few nights ago,” Sean says.

  “Why did you decide we have to do this now?” Ryan asks.

  “Because we didn’t before.”

  “And we are fine,” Zach assures her.

  “No we aren’t. If we were, Scarlett would be here too.” Then she turns to Mia. “So let’s start there. Has your mother learned anything from her investigators?”

  Scarlett used to be one of us.

  No, she is one of us. Came to Baxter sophomore year along with the rest of us. We all got there about the same time and bonded over being the newbies in a strange, clean, and safe world. Scarlett was always the most restless one. She pushed through high school, then college, but w
hen she couldn’t find a job to support her after graduation, she packed up her things and headed west without even talking it over with anyone. Then, she just disappeared. Stopped replying to texts and stopped taking phone calls, then her phone was out of service. I think it’s been five months since anyone had contact with her, and all of us are worried that something really bad happened. Why would she just cut herself off from her friends—family? Her mother is institutionalized and both her dad and brother are dead. We were all she had.

  That’s when Mia’s mother stepped in. She, and her former husbands, are all wealthy, and while Mia’s mother was traveling the world with whichever sugar daddy she happened to have caught at the time, Mia was left in the care of nannies because her biological dad thought sending child support each month was enough involvement in her life. It wasn’t until recently that Mia’s mother decided to be, well, a mother, and is trying to do anything she can to win Mia over and trying to develop a close bond with her daughter. One of those things is hiring investigators to find Scarlett since nobody has been able to find her.

  “She left Las Vegas in October,” Mia says. “She was headed to the coast.”

  “That’s a long coast,” Sean states the obvious.

  “They’ll find her,” Mia insists.

  My phone dings and I glance. I’ve got an email.

  It’s rude to read it with everyone here, but the letter to my brother was sent off to Mary’s stepdad earlier today and he was going to forward it on to Noah. I can’t ignore any mail.

  “Are you sure they won’t mind?” I ask Kelsey as we leave the subway and start walking toward the brownstone. She lives there. I don’t.

  Alex and the guys and girls are having a dinner. First Friday to check in. I knew when Alex was talking about dinner that he expected me to be there, but I wasn’t exactly asked either. It was kind of awkward when the girls were headed out. They asked if I was going, but since I already had plans with Nelson, it saved me. The eleven of them are close—like family, and have been since high school. And, I wasn’t surprised when Kelsey sent me a text asking what I was doing. She was kind of friends with them in high school but lost touch in college because she was a year younger than the rest of them. Until she walked in to get a tattoo, she and Alex actually hated each other.