by R. R. Banks
“I spent twelve years in the Corps,” I said. “Ten as a Force Recon sniper. Spent a lot of my time running ops mostly in Afghanistan and Pakistan. But we did a couple of jobs elsewhere in the Middle East as well.”
Her eyes widen slightly at my admission. “I had no idea,” she said quietly. “That must have been terrifying.”
I give her a grim smile. “It had its moments, that's for sure.”
“Are you still serving?”
I shake my head. “No, I rotated out about a year ago,” I reply. “Thought about going career, but honestly, I woke up one day and realized I was done. I'd seen too much. Had done too much. The never-ending stream of death and destruction was taking a toll on me. I didn't see that we were accomplishing anything anymore and I finally hit that wall. Pulled the pin.”
She gives me a soft smile. “I'm just thankful you made it home, Caleb.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Turner,” I say. “I'm glad to be home.”
I take a long draw of coffee and swallow it down. There's a long moment of silence between us and I find myself at a loss for words. There's a lot I need to say. A lot I need to express and make her understand. I don't know why, but it's important to me that Rick's parents know and understand what their whole family has meant to me. But I'm having trouble finding the right words.
“Richard was so proud of you,” she says. “He was proud of everything you were doing, Caleb. I think it's important you know that.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Turner,” I say. “That means more than you know.”
The tide of emotion is rising within me and I feel a lump in my throat. I take a minute to collect myself before I speak. I don't know if it's the right words that popped into my head, but I know I need to say something.
“I just want to say thank you, Mrs. Turner.”
She cocks her head and looks at me. “For what?”
“You know what I came from. You know – my story,” I say. “And your family took me in. You guys treated me with respect. You didn't owe me anything and yet, you treated me like one of your own. Being here – with your family – it helped me in ways you don't even understand. And I've always regretted skipping town the way I did – without word or explanation to you. I owe you so much and I think it’s important for you to know that.”
She gave my hand a gentle squeeze and gave me a soft smile. “You certainly don't need to thank me or apologize for anything, Caleb,” she says. “I understand why you left the way you did. And honestly, I'm so glad you got out. If you'd stayed – I shudder to think what might have happened. But you got out and you made something of yourself. You became something so much greater than your circumstances. And for that, I'm as proud of you as Richard was.”
I stand up and pull her to her feet, wrapping her in an enormous hug. “You're the family I wish I'd had.”
“We are your family, Caleb,” she replies, her voice thick with emotion. “Always have been and always will be.”
We embraced for a long moment, both of us letting the emotions sweep over us. When I finally step back, I wipe the tears from my eyes and she does the same. We give each other an awkward smile and sit down at the table again.
We spend the next couple of hours talking and catching up on each other's lives. There is a lot of laughter and good feeling, but hanging over our heads, is the dark cloud of what brought me back to Sheridan Falls in the first place. It's the elephant in the room and the thing we can't escape from. Rick's death. It casts a pall over our little reunion. How could it not?
“I should probably get going,” I say, getting to my feet. “But thank you for sitting and talking with me for a while.”
“No, thank you for coming by, Caleb,” she says. “And for coming back to Sheridan Falls for Richard. I know how difficult that must have been for you.”
“Like you said, we're family,” I quote her words back to her. “And for family, you sometimes need to be willing to do or sacrifice anything – especially, your own pride and comfort.”
Her smile is soft and warm as she embraces me again. “We'll see you again soon,” she says. “I know Mr. Turner will want to say hello to you.”
“I'd like that.”
I left the Turner home, glad that I took the time to see Rick's parents. Or his mom, at least. But it felt good to get that thorn out of my side. To apologize to them for vanishing and to give them some sort of explanation.
I'm not the kind of guy who enjoys wading too deeply into the emotional waters though. In fact, I'd probably enjoy a colonoscopy without lube about as much as I enjoyed sharing my feelings. But Rick's parents deserved it. They deserved an explanation.
Sharing that much though, left me feeling awfully thirsty and feeling like I need a little liquid therapy. I climb into the car and point it back toward town. All I want in that moment is to have a drink and be alone.
Chapter Fourteen
The bar is quiet and a little seedy – exactly what I was looking for and exactly what I need. I'm feeling a little overwhelmed by all the old faces I'm seeing, not to mention that marathon emotional purging session I just had with Rick's mom. It's something I'm really not used to and something I really don't dig very much.
Yeah, it's not quite noon yet, but fuck it, I need a drink.
I sit at the bar, looking at the flat screen TV hanging on the wall across from me. It's muted so I can't hear what the two anchors are saying, but I don't need to. I don't really care. I'm content to just sit there, sip my drink, and watch the silent highlights from all of last night's sports action.
Not that I'm particularly a huge fan of sports. I just want to shut the brain back down and stuff all of that emotional garbage that leaked out back into its box where it belongs – deep in that dark attic in the back of my brain.
There's another stop I want to make today – one that I'm dreading beyond words. But one I almost feel obligated to make. And for that, I think a little liquid fortification is probably wise.
At this time of the day, the bar is pretty much empty. Just me and a couple of old guys sipping beer and arguing loudly about everything from sports to politics. Yeah, I'm sure they're a blast to have at a party.
I glance at my watch and realize I've been sitting there nursing my beer for the better part of an hour. I know I'm just trying to put off the inevitable. And I ask myself once more why I feel like I have to go run this errand. And once again, I have no answer for that question other than I feel compelled to do so. No logic, no reason, no nothing other than it just feels like a loose end I have to tie up.
With a sigh, I push myself off my stool and drop some money on the bar. I nod to the bartender as I wander out into the early afternoon sunlight. The sunlight is bright, so I slip on a pair of sunglasses and walk back up to Main Street. If there's one thing I love about Sheridan Falls, it's that even on bright, sunny days, the temperature is mild. Unlike Southern California – when the sun's out, it's usually pretty damn hot. And personally, I had enough of the heat back in Afghanistan.
I'm walking down Main and see a cute little blonde heading in my direction. She's about five foot two and has some curves that are sexy as hell. There's something about her that rings that bell of familiarity in my head – it's faint, but it's there.
I quickly write it off though – being back in Sheridan Falls is throwing me for a complete loop and I'm seeing familiar faces everywhere. Even though I realize the city has grown so much, I know far fewer people than I think I do.
Still, there's something about the blonde that I can't quite shake. She's looking at me though and I start to think that maybe she could be a very good distraction for me this afternoon. Something to pass the time with until I'm supposed to meet everybody at the Wagon later this evening.
We're within ten feet of each other and the blonde is giving me a serious up and down look. I'm pretty sure this one is in the bag already. I figure all I have to do is smile real nice, throw a little charm her way, and those panties will practically fly off.
“Caleb?” she asks, her voice filled with disbelief. “Caleb Tirico?”
I look at her and can't place her. Instinct – or maybe, just a keen sense of self-preservation – told me to deny that was my name, turn around, and walk the other way. But a morbid sense of curiosity in me wanted to find out who this hot little blonde was and how she knew me.
“You don't remember me, do you?” she asks.
I frantically run through names and faces from my past in my head. And nothing is coming to me. I'm drawing a complete blank. A complete and utter fucking blank.
I give her a big grin. “I'm sorry, doll,” I say. “I haven't been in Sheridan –”
“For about twelve years now,” she says. “I know. And yeah, call me doll again and I'll stab you right in the eye.”
I laugh and shake my head. The girl is feisty. Another quality I like in a woman. But for the life of me, I can't place her. She looks at me with an expression that is somewhere between amusement and irritation. You'd think I'd remember somebody like this.
“To be fair,” she says. “I was a kid the last time you saw me. I was what, thirteen or so?”
And when she says that, I suddenly realize who she is and feel a jolt of adrenaline course through me. Holy shit. I know exactly who she is.
“Brooke?” I say. “Brooke Greenwood?”
She nods and gives me an uncertain smile. “In the flesh.”
“Wow,” I say, looking her up and down. “You – grew up.”
“Yeah, that happens as the years pass.”
“Still a smartass I see.”
“Like that's ever going to change.”
I mentally smack myself for giving her the once over again. I know she's an adult now, but there's something about sexualizing somebody you knew when they were a kid that just feels wrong. Perverse. She's grown into a gorgeous woman, no question about it. But learning who she is suddenly killed the desire to get her into the sack.
I remember her being a kid – a young, goofy kid who had ears too big for her head, a chest flatter than a table top, and a complete disdain for boys. But looking at her now, I can see that she's – well – blossomed. Blossomed very well, actually.
I mentally kick myself again, pushing all of those thoughts out of my head.
“So, how have you been?” I ask.
I force myself to look her in the eye, trying like hell to keep my gaze from wandering down to the full, perky tits straining against her shirt. It's a Herculean fucking effort though. Brooke has an amazing body – as much as I want to kick my own ass for thinking so.
“I'm doing good,” she says. “Running the store now.”
“Wow, you're the big boss, huh?”
She nods. “Yup. Sure am,” she says. “But that's not really the important question right now. The important question is – where in the hell have you been for the last twelve years?”
I cleared my throat. “I've been – away.”
“Yeah, obviously,” she says. “But where?”
I scratched at my beard. I wasn't here for a lot of reunions. I was here for Rick's funeral and after that, I was getting the hell out of Sheridan Falls again. I didn't owe anybody any explanations. I didn't owe anybody shit. Least of all, Brooke Greenwood.
But I also know that if I blow her off, she's going to keep annoying the piss out of me. That's how she'd been as a kid and I can tell by her attitude, that she hasn't changed all that much.
“I – joined the military,” I finally say.
“The military?” she asks. “As in – the army or something?”
“Marines, actually.”
“And you couldn't call, couldn't write, couldn't do – anything like that?”
I shrug. “I just thought it would be better that way.”
“Better for you maybe.”
I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “Look,” I say. “I'm just back here for Rick's funeral. Sorry if my going away caused you any sort of hurt – not that it should have. I needed to do what was right by me and I don't owe you an explanation, Brooke. But don't worry, after the funeral, Sheridan Falls is in my rearview mirror again.”
She gives me a long, level look. “It's not me you need to apologize to,” she says. “It's Abby.”
“Yeah, well, that's a little difficult when she's in New York.”
Brooke gives me an inscrutable expression, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. She looks smug. Like she knows something I don't and is lording it over me.
“What?” I finally ask.
“You really don't know?”
“Obviously not, Brooke.”
“Abby moved back about a year ago now.”
I look at her, completely dumbfounded. The adrenaline that shot through me before seemed like nothing compared to the absolute stream of it tearing through my body at that moment. Abby is in Sheridan Falls? Fuck. She is about the last person I want to run into while I'm here.
“She is going to shit herself when she finds out you're back,” Brooke says.
“I'm not back,” I say, my mind racing in a million different directions. “I mean, I am. But only for a couple of days.”
She shakes her head. “Do you even know what you vanishing like that did to her?” Brooke asks, her eyes narrowing, her face a mask of anger. “Do you even fucking care?”
“Of course, I care,” I say – or at least, I did care.
“You absolutely devastated her,” Brooke says. “She was wrecked for years, you insensitive asshole. You may not owe me an explanation, but I think – no, I know – you owe her one.”
I can't believe what I'm hearing. The last I'd heard – the last thing Rick had told me – Abby was married and living in New York. I figured she'd moved on with her life and was happy – and that's all I ever wanted for her, to be happy. And happiness was something I knew she wasn't going to have with me. Her father had made that abundantly clear.
After finding out she was married, I never asked about her after that. But I would have thought Rick might have mentioned the fact that she'd moved back to Sheridan Falls.
“Listen, Brooke,” I say, still trying to gather my thoughts, “she can't know I'm here. Please, don't tell her.”
“What, you don't think she's going to see you at the funeral?”
“She's going?”
Brooke gives me a look of pure contempt. “Yeah, probably. Rick was her friend too, you know.”
“Great,” I say and run a hand over my face.
“Maybe it's time you man up and give her an explanation, Caleb.”
I look to the sky, at the white, fluffy clouds drifting by overhead. If I hadn't already spoken to Rick's parents, I might just pack up and go right now. Maybe I could talk to them, explain the situation, and slip out of Sheridan Falls anyway.
I didn't want to face Abby. Not after what I'd done. The last thing I want to do is cause her any more pain than I already had.
“Yeah, maybe you're right,” I say, trying to buy myself some time to figure out what I'm going to do. “I owe her an explanation. But, can I ask you for one favor?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, that look of contempt still on her face. “You can ask.”
“I just need a little time,” I say. “You're right, I owe Abby an explanation. And I'll give it to her. Just – let me do it in my own way. Just don't tip her off that I'm back in town for now. Please.”
She let out a small snort of disgust. “She's my sister, Caleb –”
“I know,” I reply. “But don't you think she's been through enough already? Don't you think that dropping something on her like that might hurt her? I think it's better if I talk to her face-to-face.”
Brooke shakes her head. “Yeah, maybe,” she snaps. “Fine. I'll keep your secret. For now. But you had best talk to her, Caleb. Before the funeral.”
“I will,” I say. “I promise.”
She
looks at me for a long moment and shakes her head. “Unbelievable,” she says.
Without another word, she turns and walks off, shaking her head in disgust the whole way.
“Yeah, that went well,” I mutter to myself.
My mind is awash in emotion and I'm having a hard time sorting through it all. Honestly, I don't even know where to begin. With a sigh, I turn and head for the car. Focus on the task at hand – and that's completing this errand I have even less desire to take care of now.
Chapter Fifteen
I'm standing at the two small, simple headstones that bear the names of my parents. Obviously, they hadn't been able to afford anything nice – not the polished marble or smooth granite headstones that filled the cemetery. No, my parents were off in a corner of the graveyard, their headstones small and unremarkable.
It was rather fitting for how they lived their lives, actually.
I squatted down before the two headstones and looked at the names and the dates of their deaths that had been carved into the rough, coarse stone. I hadn't been here when they died – I'd gotten word while over in Afghanistan, of course. I was offered bereavement leave to come back for the funerals, but had declined. What was the point? It wasn't like I had any special affection for either of them.
My father had been a drunk – a vicious drunk at that. He'd often used me and my mom as a punching bag whenever he felt wronged by life. And he felt wronged a lot. My mom hadn't been as vicious as he was. At least, not physically. My mother's particular skill was using her words – and she could use them in a way that made me wish for a physical beating from my father instead.
Cuts and bruises healed – the impact of my mother's words had a longer lasting effect.
I looked around at the other graves and noticed that most of them had flowers or some small token from a loved one. There were obvious signs that the people who resided in those graves were missed. When I looked down at the plain plots that housed the remains of my parents, I saw that there was not one flower and not one token placed upon them. They quite obviously, were not missed. By anybody.