by Sydney Logan
Her voice breaks, just a little, giving me a glimpse of the emotion she tried so hard to hide from us last night.
“I’m sorry, Cynthia.”
“Thank you. It’s been more than twenty years, but the heartache never really goes away. My beautiful daughter has his eyes and his stubbornness. And while the latter frustrates me to no end, I wouldn’t change her for the world.”
“I don’t want to change her. I just want to . . .”
“Love her?”
I inhale sharply. “Maybe?”
A door creaks open, and I hold my breath. After a few moments, we hear another door close and the shower roar to life.
I sigh with relief.
“If that’s true, then you have to be honest with her,” Cynthia says. “Just remember that her reaction—and it probably won’t be pretty—will have nothing to do with you or the military. It will have everything to do with me.”
I frown. “With you? I don’t understand.”
“Brandon, don’t you see? My daughter’s greatest fear is ending up like me.”
The sadness in her voice is palpable, and I wish I had the right words to make it better, but I don’t. What she says makes perfect sense. Steph’s hatred isn’t irrational at all. It’s a defense mechanism, engineered to protect her heart.
If you don’t let it in, it can’t hurt you.
“I’m so screwed,” I mutter.
Cynthia laughs quietly and pats my hand. “I don’t think so. I think you might just be the incentive my daughter needs to finally remove that bitter chip off her shoulder. Fear and hate will eat at you, Brandon. It can make you cold and distant. It can make you question your instincts and hide your heart. It’s time for my daughter to stop hiding. But you have to tell her the truth, and soon.”
“I will. I promise.”
“That’s good.” Cynthia smiles. “I like you, Brandon, and I apologize for the motherly interrogation. They probably don’t teach that in the military.”
“They should. It’s effective.”
We both laugh just as Steph makes her way into the kitchen. She stops and looks at us as if we’ve lost our minds.
“You guys are way too happy for this early in the morning.”
I chuckle. She is so not a morning person.
After breakfast, I offer to clean up so that Steph and her mom can have a few minutes together before we leave. They head to the living room, and while I can see them on the couch, I try not to listen to their conversation. I still hear my name a few times, but I ignore it and focus on loading the dishwasher. Once the kitchen is as clean as I can possibly get it, I slowly make my way into the living room.
“Ready to go?” Steph asks.
“If you are.”
“I’ll just get my jacket.”
Steph disappears down the hallway, and I grab my own coat that’s hanging on the hook next to the door. Cynthia follows me out onto the porch.
“Thank you for cleaning, Brandon.”
“No problem. Thank you for breakfast . . . and dinner. And the talk.”
She pulls me in for a hug, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Steph appears on the porch and they hug, too. Cynthia makes me promise to drive safely, and we say goodbye before heading down the slushy steps.
Steph is quiet on the way back to campus, and I can’t help but wonder what she and her mom talked about just before we left. But I don’t ask.
Instead, I try to pinpoint why I have such an empty feeling in my gut.
I feel Steph’s eyes on me, but I stay focused on the road. The highway is clear for the most part. Just a few patches of snow and ice here and there. Still, I don’t want to lose my concentration for a minute. That’s how accidents happen.
“Mom really likes you,” Steph says.
“I like her, too. She’s sweet. Just like a mom should be.”
“Was that hard for you? Meeting her?”
“Not at all. I enjoyed meeting her.”
“That’s not really what I meant.”
I feel it again . . . that little twinge in my stomach that I can’t quite figure out.
“My mom can be affectionate,” she says. “She’s a big hugger. I just wondered if it made you feel uncomfortable. Or sad. You know, because . . .”
Because of my mom.
I consider that. I don’t feel sad, exactly, but I wonder if Cynthia’s motherly affection is the reason I’m feeling . . . whatever it is I’m feeling.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been hugged by a mom,” I admit quietly.
“Was it weird?”
“Not at all. It was nice.”
“I’m glad. And I really appreciate you going with me. You didn’t have to do that, but I’m grateful you did.”
“I’d do anything for you, Steph.”
She reaches across the console and laces her fingers with mine. Steph smiles at me with her sweet, trusting eyes, and I know I have to find a way to tell her the truth.
Time to soldier on, even if it means losing her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Brandon
Once a month, ROTC students are required to wear fatigues and volunteer at Magnolia Gardens, a local nursing home for veterans. We play checkers, help with crafts, read stories, or just sit and talk. Over the past few semesters, I’ve gotten especially close to a man by the name of Tom McBride. Tom served two tours in Vietnam and was awarded the Purple Heart after a grenade attack left him completely blind. Despite his disability, Tom went on to graduate from college and became a history teacher. He and his wife never had children, so when she passed away last year—and after he suffered his second heart attack—Tom became a permanent resident at Magnolia Gardens. Tom loved the Army and was deeply devoted to his wife until the day she died.
When I find him today, he’s sitting on a wooden bench out on the deck. He’s wearing a light jacket and his favorite Hoosiers ball cap.
I place my hand on his shoulder. “Afternoon, Tom. The sun’s nice today.”
He lifts his face to the sky. “Hello, Brandon. Yes, it is. Unseasonably warm for mid-February. Better enjoy it. I heard someone say we might have thunderstorms tonight. Hard to believe we had snow last week. But of course, that’s to be expected. You know what they say about Indiana weather.”
“If you don’t like the weather, just wait a few minutes. You know, we say the same thing in Kentucky.”
“Huh.” He slides over, making room on the bench so I can join him. “How’s school?”
“Very busy. Between my classes and PT, I’m wiped out.”
He nods. “Making good grades?”
“So far.”
“Good. Dating any pretty girls?”
I frown. “One pretty girl, yeah.”
“You don’t sound too happy about that.”
“I’m happy. It’s just complicated, Tom.”
“People make it complicated. Love. Honesty. Respect. That’s all you need. What’s so complicated about that?”
I don’t have an answer.
“Want to talk about it?”
With a heavy sigh, I lean back against the bench and gaze out across the lawn where a few residents are taking advantage of the sunshine. Most are in wheelchairs, and I always wonder if it was the military or simply old age that made the chairs a necessity.
“Tom, I’m in love with this girl. She’s perfect for me in every single way imaginable, except for one.”
“Which one?”
“She despises the military.”
He sits up a little straighter, and I worry that I’ve offended him. Instead, he surprises me by asking, “Does she have a reason to hate it?”
“She never met her father. He was killed in Desert Storm before she was born.”
“I see. And because of that, she resents the military and everything it stands for.”
“Isn’t that crazy?”
Tom shakes his head. “It’s human nature, Son. For a long time, my wife wouldn’t talk about my ti
me in Vietnam. You see, Connie blamed the war for my blindness. She couldn’t be mad at me, because she loved me. I bet that’s how your girl feels. In her mind, the war took away her father. She can’t be mad at him, so she lashes out at the thing that took him away.”
That makes sense. It still doesn’t help my situation.
“She doesn’t know I’m in the Army. I haven’t told her.”
Tom sighs deeply. “Remember what I said? Love. Honesty. Respect. It’s hard to have one without the others. You have to tell her.”
“But I could lose her.”
Tom reaches for my hand. He finds it and gives it a reassuring pat.
“Love. Honesty. Respect. Trust me, Brandon.”
A nurse comes out onto the deck, telling Tom it’s nearly time for his meds and his afternoon nap.
“A few more minutes,” he says.
The nurse nods and smiles at us before heading back inside.
“Wearing your uniform today?”
Thankful for the change of subject, I sigh with relief and glance down at my camo.
“Yeah. Just fatigues and ID tags.”
“Don’t say just fatigues and ID tags. Be proud of them. It’s an honor to serve your country, Brandon. Not everyone can do it. Not all young men and women have the determination and drive.”
I don’t tell him I’m questioning my determination and drive these days. Instead, I offer to read to him from today’s newspaper. He’s always interested in the news, especially sports, so I make sure to hit the basketball highlights. After a while, I notice he’s grown quiet. I lower the paper to find Tom with his eyes closed and his chin resting against his chest. Panic swells inside me, but then he lets out a deafening snore. Chuckling, I wave to one of the nearby nurses.
“Mr. McBride’s out like a light,” the nurse says. “You must have a soothing voice.”
“Or I’m boring, Take your pick.”
She laughs and gently wakes Tom. We say goodbye, and the nurse takes his arm to help him to his room.
I spend the rest of the afternoon helping with some holiday craft that involves making carnations out of tissue paper. That’s when I realize February 14th is just a few days away. I have no idea what to give Steph for Valentine’s Day.
The truth would be nice.
My stupid conscience is becoming pretty vocal, keeping me up at night and making me an irritable ass during the day. I’m just trying to find the right time. The right place. The right moment.
Call me crazy, but something tells me Valentine’s Day isn’t the answer.
A clap of thunder jerks me awake, interrupting the first decent night’s sleep I’ve had in weeks. Lightning flickers through my window as rain and wind pound overhead.
Tom was right about the storms.
I’ve always found something cool about severe weather, especially when tornadoes are involved. Then again, maybe I just find them interesting because we don’t get a lot of tornadoes in eastern Kentucky. Living in Indiana, where tornado warnings can be a weekly occurrence depending on which part of the state you’re in, has certainly opened my eyes to the damage that can come from even the smallest twister. Last year, when an F-2 hit a small town just outside of Evansville, our class spent a weekend repairing roofs and removing uprooted trees in the community as part of our field training exercises.
After that experience, I had a much deeper respect for Mother Nature’s fury.
I climb out of bed and throw on a pair of jeans. I head to the bathroom, but as I step out into the hallway, I notice a flicker of light coming from the living room.
Weird.
I peek around the corner, and that’s when I see her. Steph is on the couch, wrapped in a blanket with Bangle in her lap. Candles are lit around the room.
“Steph?”
Her head snaps up.
“Hi.”
“What’s wrong?”
She doesn’t answer, so I slowly walk over to the couch. I don’t sit down, though. I wouldn’t want to invade her space if she’d rather be alone. I also don’t want to be clawed by her evil cat.
“Can I sit?”
Steph nods stiffly, and I know something’s wrong.
“Crazy storm, huh? Did it wake you up, too?”
“No, I haven’t slept.”
“Not at all?”
She shakes her head, and I glance down at my watch.
“Steph, it’s three in the morning.”
“And it’s been storming on and off since midnight.”
Really? I actually couldn’t remember falling asleep. I was so exhausted after the nursing home, I’d barely undressed before collapsing against my pillow.
Thunder crashes overhead, making both of us jump. Steph exhales a quivering breath and holds her cat a little closer.
“What’s with the candles?”
“The power went out about an hour ago,” she says, her voice trembling. “Bangle . . . she doesn’t like storms. I mean, she’s seriously afraid of them. She has been since she was a little . . . kitten. “
“Why didn’t . . . Bangle wake me? I could have kept the two of you company.”
“Cats can’t open doors, Brandon.”
I hide my grin. She has to be the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met in my life.
“Well, I’m here now. Do you think Bangle would mind if I sat with her until the storm ends?”
Thunder booms again. This time, Steph jumps into my lap and buries her face against my neck. Finally free, Bangle takes the opportunity to make a mad dash for the bedroom.
“Traitor,” Steph mumbles.
I chuckle and wrap the blanket around us. Steph lays her head against my shoulder, and I hold her close as the rain batters the roof.
“I’m in your lap,” she says quietly.
“So you are.”
“That’s probably against the rules.”
“Probably.”
Regardless, she doesn’t move, and I’m not about to make her.
“I’ve always loved the rain,” she says. “Mom’s house has a metal roof. It can be so peaceful, as long as it’s just rain.”
”Metal roofs are the best when it rains. We have one, too. It’s just one of the many things I miss about home.”
Steph lifts her head and gazes at me thoughtfully. “For someone who misses home, you don’t talk about it much. Why is that?”
I don’t talk much about a lot of things.
“What do you want to know?”
“Tell me the things you miss.”
I ghost my fingers along her spine. “I miss the mountains. I miss the sound of the river and the smell of the pines. I miss my church. It’s this little country church buried in the woods. We have a congregation of about thirty people, but it can still get pretty loud. I miss my family. My sister needs her brother, and my nieces need their uncle, and I’m not there. And I really miss my dad.”
I don’t tell her that missing my father is nothing new. I’ve missed my dad for the past three years. She wouldn’t understand, and I’m not ready to explain it.
Lightning continues to flicker in the window, but now that she’s distracted, she doesn’t even notice the storm. I still hold her close, because I can.
“I miss my dog. His name’s Duke.”
She frowns, and I know what’s coming.
“Duke? As in university?”
“As in Hazard.”
She dissolves into a giggling fit.
“Stop that. I named him when I was nine. By the time I was old enough to realize I had named my beagle after one of Kentucky’s biggest basketball rivals, it was too late.” I shake my head and sigh. “Anyway, you asked. That’s what I miss about home.”
“It sounds nice. I’ve never seen the Appalachian Mountains.”
“Never?”
She shakes her head. “Mom worked two jobs. That didn’t leave a lot of time for vacations.”
“I’d like to show you the mountains.”
“I’d like to see them.”
<
br /> “I’m going home for spring break. You should come with me.”
The offer slips out before I even realize what I’ve done. Am I nuts? Taking Steph home to Applewood is the worst possible idea in the world.
Then why does the thought make you so happy?
My mouth goes dry. It’s just not possible. Not yet. I’d have to ask my family to keep their mouth shut about the Army.
“I don’t know,” she says hesitantly. “I wouldn’t want to impose on family time. Plus, I planned on spending that week with my mom.”
I ignore the disappointment I feel and thank my lucky stars instead.
“I understand.”
We sit quietly, wrapped in the blanket and listening to the rain above our heads. Her hand rests on my stomach. She slowly slides her fingers down a little, causing my ab muscles to clench.
“Brandon?”
“Yeah?”
“That no-touching rule is stupid.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“Then why haven’t you tried to break it?”
“Because it’s important to you.”
“It’s not so important to me anymore.”
The blanket drops to the floor as she shifts on my lap.
Facing me. Straddling me.
This is definitely against the rules.
Steph presses her entire body against mine, and my hands automatically find her waist. She shifts again, making us both groan.
Face-to-face.
Heartbeat to heartbeat.
It’s torture.
It’s heaven.
I close my eyes as she leans in, softly kissing each corner of my mouth. My right hand remains on her hip as the other slides into her hair. She shifts against me again, and I hold her tighter as her lips trail along my neck.
Let her lead.