Return to Glory (Hqn)

by Sara Arden

  So he walked around downtown exploring some more. Revisiting his past.

  The stunted half howl of a police siren caught his attention.

  Caleb rolled down the window. “You want a ride?”

  “Depends on where we’re going.”

  “My house. I’m on my own for lunch. India’s stopping by her mother’s.”

  “So you guys do everything together? Does she burp you and change your diaper, as well?” Jack taunted.

  “Some days,” Caleb agreed good-naturedly.

  He opened the door and slid into the car. “Look, man, I’m not going to say I’m sorry for what happened at your house. I’m not.”

  “Didn’t ask you to.”

  “If you screw up with Bets, it’s going to happen again.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “You’re too cheery and way too accepting. What happened to the guy who was going to kick my ass for telling him to stay away from my sister?”

  “He talked to India. And Betsy.”

  Caleb drove the short distance to Esplanade and to the ragged old Victorian he was restoring in his off time. “I, uh.” Caleb stumbled over the words. “I’m still here for you.”

  Jack knew that, too. “Sometimes there are some things that can only be said with a good sparring. It’s my own fault I didn’t get the gear.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve got a billon hours of community service to do to keep my job.”

  “That sucks. Didn’t we get community service that time we toilet-papered the Oskaloosa mascot?”

  “I think the police chief is that judge’s cousin or something.” Caleb snorted.

  When they pulled up to the house, Jack said, “Looks like the project is coming along.”

  “Yeah.” He tossed him a block of wood that had fine-grained sandpaper wrapped around it. “This is great for thinking. A lot of time in your own head.” Caleb handed him a piece of lattice trim. “Sanding off the ugly is meticulous work.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Jack didn’t balk at the work, not even that Caleb just expected him to do it. That’s how things were done. They’d spent many a summer afternoon doing this for neighbors. At fourteen, they’d started a “business” together where they did odd jobs for spending money.

  It felt good to have something to do with his hands again. Something where there was a physical measure of his effort. He felt useful.

  “Are you going to sell it when you’re done?”

  “To India. This was her favorite house on the street.”

  “I’d forgotten that. She told us her life would be perfect if she could just live in this house.” Jack studied his friend. “You didn’t tell her you bought it for her, did you?”

  “I sure didn’t.” Caleb grinned. “You know how she is, but I couldn’t tell her now if I wanted to. She’d always think it would be some debt she owed me. Hmm. I wonder why that sounds familiar.” He eyed Jack.

  “Because it would be. You bought her a house. The Badass Barbie dream house. It’s not like you loaned her a hundred bucks to get her by until payday. For someone who’s never had what you and Betsy have with your family, it’s a big deal.”

  “Shut up with that. You and India are both part of our family.”

  “Yes, but it’s just not the same.” Sometimes Caleb was just as wholesomely naive as Betsy. No, naive wasn’t the right word. Maybe the word he was looking for was whole. He’d never had to listen to his parents fighting and wonder if there’d be food on the table. Neither his mother nor his father had ever laid hands on him to hurt him as India’s had.

  Caleb rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you later. Are you coming to dinner tomorrow?”

  “No, I’ve actually got a thing. I promised Betsy I’d go.”

  “You’re going to the support group she was talking about?”

  “Yeah. I told her I’d check it out. I don’t know if it’s going to work for me, but I told her I’d try.”

  Caleb nodded. “I’m glad.”

  “The doc from the Center for the Intrepid set up individual therapy sessions, but I haven’t gone.”

  “Maybe you should?”

  “Yeah. I guess.” They were both noncommittal, but a wealth of things surged and roiled under the surface.

  “Good. You’ll be missed, though. Mama was glad you came last week.”

  “It was good to see her. To see India. To see you.”

  “You’re always welcome, brother.”

  “Even though I’m sleeping with your sister?” Jack teased.

  Caleb cringed. “Yeah, if you could not mention that ever again, that would be good.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind when your dad comes home.”

  “He’ll be home at Christmas. He would have been back sooner, but something happened and they needed him to stay in Sicily. He’d love to see you, though.”

  “I’m not stupid. The man is an analyst for the Department of Defense. I know what that means.” Jack stuffed his hands in his pockets, and silence reigned.

  Caleb locked up his tools inside the house. “Do you want a lift home?”

  “No, actually. I want to walk.” He said his goodbye and headed down the quaint brick sidewalk. He especially liked the places where he could see the brick street underneath the new pavement. It required more concentration to keep his balance, but he liked it anyway. Jack enjoyed the walk across town back to his house. He took joy in the simple fact that he could walk home.

  He hadn’t realized the town he’d tried so hard to get away from would be the balm he needed. A good deal of it was Betsy, but it was the people, too. Like Connie at the Corner Pharmacy. Even Mindy Kreskin. These people, these streets, they reminded him of himself. Not of only his past, but his present, too.

  He cast a glance to the sky overhead and found it clear, but that didn’t mean much in this part of the country. Even though it had been a good day, better than he could’ve expected, Jack waited for the storm.

  He waited for the black, gritty reminder of the dark. Pretty words, pretty people and kind smiles didn’t take away what had happened or the places he’d been. He wondered if the thunder, the lightning, would always put him back in the dark and bring the fear that made him little more than an animal.

  If a storm rolled in right at that moment, would he have to run for cover?

  He knew he would.

  Jack was determined to try to pass the night with no whiskey. Even if the nightmares came, he wanted the things he’d seen that were possible more than he wanted relief.

  After all, if it was just relief he wanted, he could have filled every chamber in his .357 with a round.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  JACK DIDN’T SLEEP.

  He closed his eyes, but all he could see behind his lids was fire. His throat had been dry all night, his mouth cottony, and that amber liquid beckoned with a siren’s song promising him sleep, tranquility and peace.

  Though like a siren’s song, he knew it to be a lie, and also like a siren, it would swallow him whole.

  Every sound the house made caused him to go on alert, and every possible scenario crept through his head, a stealthy poison. What-if played on a continuous loop until he gave up and turned on Netflix. He clicked on the first movie that popped up and stared blankly at the screen, grateful for the distraction and faux company.

  He dreamed, and he knew he was in a dreamscape. He was so thirsty, his throat parched and gritty. There’d been days when he knew what that felt like, to have sand up his nose, down his throat, in his ears, the corners of his eyes...

  Jack was on fire, flames all around him, but through it all, he could see Betsy in the distance. He knew if he could just get to her, she could make the pain stop. He ran and ran, but he never got any closer to her. She was still just as far
off as she’d been when he started.

  When he awoke, fevered and sweating, he knew exactly what the dream meant. He was looking to someone else to put out his fires when he had to do it himself. Jack knew that. He didn’t need some dream to tell him.

  His stomach roiled and his head pounded. Jack felt as if he’d been run over by a Mack truck. He had a hangover from not drinking. The light coming in the windows was bright and hurt his eyes. It made his head pound harder and feel as if his skull were trying to slide out through his nose.

  He stumbled from the couch to the kitchen, where he poured himself a glass of water and popped a couple ibuprofens and fish oil caplets.

  Part of him wanted to call Betsy, curl up in her and lose himself. The only pain he wanted was to feel her digging her nails into his back while he made her come. He was under no illusions that he’d be in any kind of shape to be in her presence after the group.

  He’d tried a support group once before, but all of the emotional vomit followed by backslapping and regurgitated self-help affirmations made him nauseated. He hadn’t been ready for it then, but he was ready to try it now. Affirmations and all, if that’s what it took.

  Around four that afternoon, a knock on the door surprised him.

  Betsy stood outside the screen, eyes hopeful and tremulous, with one of those purple boxes. “Hey.”

  “That for me?”

  “Sort of. It’s for you to take with you to group. If you’re still going.”

  He accepted the box and peeked under the lid. “What flavor?”

  “More of the anise pumpkin with cinnamon smiles. I made way too many of those. I also thought maybe I could give you a ride. You took me to the river all the time, so I’d like to. If that’s okay.”

  “Yeah, Bets.” Something in him warmed.

  “Do you want me to stay with you?”

  “No, I’ll be okay. You go on and have dinner with your family. I’ll walk home after the meeting.”

  “That’s a long way.”

  “It is, but you know, I can do it.” That was important to him, to be able to do those things.

  “I’m still advocating the trade thing we have going on.” Color stained her cheeks. “I asked you to go and I know it’s a big deal, so maybe think about what you want for your turn.”

  “So this would be the time to ask for something big?” he teased.

  “Whatever you want, Jack.” She bit her lip.

  He couldn’t look at her mouth now and not think about the shower, her lush lips wrapped around his shaft, but he’d had that. He wanted a fantasy of her that he hadn’t experienced. Something to store up and keep. Something that only felt good, with no bad memories attached. The shower could never be a bad memory, but it had been born out of desperation and panic, rooted in fear.

  “The kitchen in Sweet Thing. I want you to bake for me.”

  “I already bake for you. All the time, I’m thinking about what you’d like, what you can taste.”

  “No, Betsy.” He let his gaze rake over her slowly, memorizing every curve and remembering what it was like to have his hands all over them. “The fantasy we talked about. You. Naked. Cookies.”

  “Monday after the shop closes. Four,” she said shyly.

  Jack found it to be a paradox that when she was naked, she’d say or do most anything, but dressed and in the light of day, she blushed so sweetly.

  “The things I’m going to do to you, sweet thing.”

  “You can’t get too carried away until whatever you decide you want me to bake for you is done or we’ll burn the place down.”

  “We might anyway.” He flashed a naughty half grin. This was when he felt the most confident. Jack knew he brought her pleasure. He knew just how and where to touch her, how to play her body like a finely tuned instrument. This was something he excelled at.

  She put the cookies on the table and embraced him. “I want you, Jack. I want you so bad it hurts. Maybe you should come to the bakery tonight.”

  He wasn’t going to turn her down, but he still wanted to wait for his fantasy until it was free and clear from the dark. “I still want my day on Monday.”

  “Most definitely. Maybe Tuesday, too. Wednesday, if you’re not busy...”

  “I like how your brain works.”

  “Maybe then we should have a quickie before you go. Right here up against the wall, if you’re feeling spry, soldier.” She winked at him.

  He was instantly hard and feeling more than spry. He felt as if he could conquer the world.

  “I may not be wearing panties,” Betsy said, spurring him on.

  “You’re a bad girl, Betsy. You wear this sweet little face, but deep inside,” he said as he pushed his hand up beneath her dress and between her thighs, “deep, deep down—” Jack thrust his fingers into her heat “—you’re all kinds of bad, aren’t you?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” she agreed, wriggling to get closer to the sensation.

  “This right now is my turn, too. Because I said so. I want to take something good with me, and this is what I’m going to remember,” he said as he manipulated her swollen flesh. “Not the pretty image of swollen lips after I kissed you and you said goodbye. Not the past, but now. Here.”

  She moaned and rubbed herself against him. “Now is so good.”

  “Yes, it is.” Her responsive body, slick and hot for him, was better than anything she could’ve said to him, anything she could’ve done.

  For the first time, even though Jack was still waiting for the storm, he wondered if the sunny days like this one would be enough to balance out the darkness.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  BETSY WAS SO proud of Jack for going to the support group.

  She hoped that he meant what he said, about getting his life back.

  The look in his eyes that morning as he’d held the .357 in his hands—it had been a grim determination. A sorrow. Even a sense of horrible purpose. She’d felt so many things in that moment. Acute loss, pain for him and how much he suffered to have considered something so awful, and anger. Anger because he was failing her, wanting to abandon her like everyone else.

  When the thought resonated, she realized that was truly how she felt. Even though Caleb and India were still in her life and she still had her mother, she felt as if everyone had left her alone and she had no one. It was a revelation because Betsy wasn’t that girl. She knew she had so much to be thankful for.

  Guilt flooded her that during his darkest moment, she’d been worried about herself and how his actions would affect her. For as long as she’d known Jack, he’d always put her first. When he pasted that fake smile on his face, she knew that was for her benefit, too.

  Until he told her he could taste the bacon. She smiled thinking of it.

  It was a big deal to drop him off for the support-group meeting, both in that he was going and that he let her drive him. He had a hard time asking for or accepting help in any part of his life. But this dinner today was going to be a moment of reckoning. Caleb had had no right to do what he did to Jack. He’d already felt bad enough about something that was an accident. He hadn’t actually hurt her. Jack was probably in more pain about having bruised her than the bruises themselves caused her.

  Betsy passed her mother in the hall. “Where is my brother? I saw his car.”

  “He’s hiding in his old room.”

  “If you hear crashes or bangs, don’t worry. I’m just beating the stupid out of him.”

  “He’s a Lewis man. There’s no beating the stupid out of him,” Lula said absently as she continued on into the kitchen to mind what smelled like pot roast.

  “Is that roast?”

  “Yes, it’s what Caleb wanted today. He put in a special request.”

  “Why do we ever deviate from the fried chicken? I really wanted
fried chicken. That’s another reason to hit him.”

  “If you punch him, you won’t be able to knead the dough for your bread. You know he’s got a jaw like a brick.” Lula’s nonchalant attitude had been born from years of her children inflicting terror and revenge on each other. This wasn’t anything new. “Don’t break anything of mine. You know, when you both moved out, I thought I could finally have nice things.” She sighed.

  “If he wouldn’t do stupid things, this wouldn’t be a problem.” Betsy stomped up the stairs in a fury and flung open the door to his room like the reckoning she planned to deliver.

  “Look, Betsy. Be mad. But there are some things that are sacred against all outside influences. Or even inside. You’re my sister. He hurt you.” Caleb held up his hands either in surrender or maybe to block her blows.

  “He didn’t. Are you going to come beat up my oven every time I burn myself? Think about the logic there.”

  “The oven is your own fault. You know it’s hot. The oven doesn’t have a conscious choice about its actions.”

  “Neither did Jack. He was asleep.”

  “Betsy, there is nothing you can say or do to defend him that’s going to make it okay. But we worked it out. After India Tased us.”

  “She Tased you, too?”

  “Yeah.” Caleb looked uncomfortable. “You know, with all of this, he was hurting himself, too. It was a guy thing.”

  “A guy thing? No, not buying it. Every time you do something I don’t agree with, you say it’s a guy thing. That’s not cutting it. Speaking of India, where is she? I can’t wait to hear this story.” Discomfort changed to outright pain. “What happened?” Betsy put her hand on his shoulder.

  He raked his hand through his hair. “I can’t tell her story for her, you know?”

  Betsy nodded. “I understand. But when we were talking about Jack, she said she knew how haunted he was and how broken. I think it’s not because she sees his pain, but because something happened to her, too. She told me not to give up on him, and it seemed important for her to know that no matter what, I wouldn’t.” She hugged her brother. “I also told her that she can trust you and that no matter what happened to her, you’d understand and you wouldn’t give up on her, either.”