by Rachel Lee
When Betsy joined them, conversation turned to Al and some of his youthful escapades. Laughter accompanied the memories, and Miri took genuine pleasure in watching Betsy laugh. As often as she had played with Al as a young child, she hadn’t realized what a scamp he was at times.
“One of the cats climbed up into a tree one time,” Betsy recalled. “Now I ask you, how many cat skeletons have you seen in a tree? They tend to find a way to get down as long as there isn’t a coyote or something holding them up there. Anyway, Al, all of five years old, was scared the cat would never get down, and it was one he was particularly fond of.”
Miri nodded, smiling as she recalled Al with the barn cats. Betsy and Jack got most of them neutered, but kept some so they could breed. Barn cats served a lot of useful purposes out here. Anyway, Al had loved those cats, but there was one in particular, a black cat with a half-white face that he’d almost turned into a house cat.
“It was Benji who went up the tree, right?” she asked.
Betsy smiled at her. “Yup. Anyway, despite me telling him that Benji could find his way down when he was ready, as soon as I wasn’t watching Al climbed that tree to get him. The next thing I knew, Al was stuck in the tree with a contented cat sitting on his lap, and no way down.”
Laughter passed through the group.
“A tree wouldn’t have stopped him once he grew up,” Gil remarked.
Everyone fell momentarily silent, then Betsy eased a moment that shouldn’t have turned awkward at all. “I have no doubt of that. But at the time I quite enjoyed standing at the bottom of that tree and asking him how much help he’d be now that he was stuck, too.”
“Ouch,” Maxie Walters said. “Did he get mad at you?”
“No, he just said he’d figure it out. Then Benji jumped down, completely unharmed, and Al was stuck up there by his lonesome. The thing was, without the cat he found it a whole lot easier to get himself down. I had to give him credit for that. He said he’d figure it out, and he did.”
“He was like that,” Gil remarked. “Always.” Then he fell silent again, growing pensive.
He looked so weary, Miri realized suddenly. He evidently wasn’t as close to being healed as he’d tried to pretend. It wasn’t just the stoicism that she’d seen at the funeral. He looked exhausted.
A lot of the guests were beginning to say their goodbyes, coming to speak to Betsy and thank her. Betsy left their group and began to urge people to take leftovers with them, most especially if they’d brought it in the first place.
Miri heard her aunt’s voice on the cooling air. “Please. Where will I put it? No one wants all this to spoil.”
“It might freeze tonight,” someone joked, but containers of food began to vanish from the tables. Disposable tablecloths and plates quickly disappeared into the ranch’s huge trash bin.
“We’ll leave soon,” Miri assured Gil. “I just want to help with the cleanup. Are you warm enough?”
“I’m fine. Let me know if I can help.”
Right now he didn’t look capable. She wondered if his ability to recognize his own fatigue had been dulled during all the years of active duty. It wouldn’t be surprising. “Sure thing.”
She went to help roll up the last of the disposable tablecloths and to fold the tables and carry them into the barn. Jack helped her with an extra-long one. “Gil doesn’t look good,” he remarked.
“Tired, I think. He mentioned that the docs told him it would take a while to get his energy back. Something about most of it going to healing him right now.”
“How badly was he hurt?”
“I honestly don’t know. He’s not the kind of person who makes you feel that prying would be welcome.”
“No,” Jack agreed as they leaned the table against the growing stack in the barn. “He also strikes me as the kind of man who must be chafing because right now he can’t help. I was thinking.”
Miri paused and looked at him.
“Even if he wasn’t worn-out, I suspect he wouldn’t be too keen to sit around a campfire tonight. Sure, it’s a treat for the rest of us, but we haven’t spent maybe hundreds of cold nights huddling around one to keep warm.”
“I didn’t think of that,” Miri admitted.
“Just occurred to me. And if I make the offer, he’ll probably feel he has to accept it. Another time. Just get the man home so he can warm up and rest.”
She looked over and saw that Gil had risen and was making his way carefully over to Betsy, the uneven ground giving him a bit of trouble. She wondered why he was even out of the hospital. Right now she had the impression he should be in convalescent care. What the hell had happened to him?
“Go get him, Miri. Just drive your car up there and pick him up.” Jack was firm. “We’ll come by your place to visit him after church tomorrow if he hasn’t already moved on.”
She turned toward Jack and gave him a huge hug.
“What’s that for?”
“You have plenty of reason right now to be hard or bitter. You’re not. I admire you.”
The light was dimming, but she thought she saw him color a bit.
Then she followed orders, trotting over to her SUV and pulling it up close to Gil and Betsy. It was getting colder again. Maybe the thaw was almost over.
She climbed out, feeling the nip afresh, and rounded her vehicle to join Betsy and Gil. “We need to get you home,” she said bluntly.
Betsy laughed. “I was just telling Gil the same thing. Dear man, you look worn to the bone. If it’s all right, Jack and I will stop by after church in the morning.” As Gil nodded, Betsy turned to Miri. “Is that okay by you? I’ll pick up some sweet rolls at the bakery like I used to do for Al. Jack will love me forever. He’s not allowed to have them anymore, but I think we can make an exception this once.”
Leaning very heavily on his cane, Gil said goodbye and eased his way into the SUV. Miri closed the door behind him as soon as he’d pulled his cane inside, waved across the yard to her uncle and gave Betsy a tight hug. “If you need help out here tomorrow, let me know.”
Betsy shook her head. “Not much left. Our neighbors did a great job. Now you get that young man home.”
* * *
Gil had started to feel chilled to the bone, and exhaustion had been annoying him for at least the last hour. He hated his weakness, even though it was temporary, but he’d been taking orders for enough years that following them was automatic. Rest, the doctors said, so he rested. Mostly. Leaving his family behind and driving halfway across the country probably wasn’t what they meant by rest.
Nor was this barbecue, not that anyone had given him a chance to do much except sit in a comfortable chair and mostly listen to the conversation. Nobody had seemed to expect him to speak at any length, which was good. What did he have to talk about, anyway?
“I hope you didn’t leave early on my account,” he said to Miri, feeling a twinge of guilt.
“Absolutely not. Betsy and Jack were thinking about building a fire to sit around tonight, but they were reconsidering. Most of the extended family had already left, too. The air feels like the thaw is almost over.”
“It does,” he agreed almost absently. Night had begun to settle over the land, early as always at these latitudes this time of year. The hours at the barbecue had showed him a bit of why Al had been so proud of his home. People were friendly, he’d always had food on his plate and a beer in his hand, without even asking. Middle-aged angels swooped by every now and then to replace whatever plate he was holding. Often as not, one of the men who’d gathered with him had brought him another longneck.
They hadn’t questioned him, either. No one had wanted to know about his wounds or how they’d happened. Of course, all of them had been in combat and they probably didn’t need exact details. But there’d been the lack of pressure of any kind. They’d simply included him in their group an
d chatted about nearly everything under the sun, mostly things that were happening locally, making him feel welcome and leaving him unpressured.
A pleasant change from the visit with his family in Lansing. It wasn’t that he didn’t love them, because he did. It wasn’t that they didn’t love him, he was sure of that. It was that they wanted a different version of Gil York, and after seventeen years in uniform he wasn’t about to give it to them. That didn’t keep them from pressing him, though. They wanted change. They wanted him home.
And he wasn’t at all sure he was anywhere near ready to go home and stay. Besides, Lansing no longer felt like home. It felt more like a place he visited every year for a week or two. It didn’t even qualify as a vacation unless he rented a car and headed for Lake Michigan or the Upper Peninsula.
Years and distance had put a gulf between him and his family, such that he’d felt more comfortable among a group of strangers today. Maybe because they understood where he was coming from.
He suddenly became aware of the silence in the SUV as they made their way back to Miri’s house. Silences didn’t usually trouble him, but this one did. He was being discourteous.
“Al’s friends and family all seem like great people.”
“Most of them are,” Miri agreed.
A quiet chuckle escaped him. “Only most?”
“There are problematic people everywhere.” She laughed. “Some can be enjoyed as characters. Others need to be watched out for. But by and large, I agree with you. Jack and Betsy are great people. So are most of their family. They raised Al, didn’t they? And they attract the same kind of people as friends.”
Small talk just wasn’t his thing. Ordinarily not a problem, but it felt like one right now. He’d spent so much time involved in operations and their executions with a bunch of guys who had a lot of shared experiences to talk about, whether humorously or seriously. Miri was making him aware of a lack in himself. She’d been welcoming, sharing her house with him, feeding him, taking him to the barbecue... Sitting here is stony silence almost seemed like an insult.
“Was it getting colder, or was that just me? I mean, I know the day was fading, I’d expect the temperature to drop, but it was beginning to feel bitter.”
“It’s dropping,” she agreed. “I think our midwinter thaw is over. Anyway, we’ll get you warmed up and then you can decide how much is the weather and how much your own fatigue. You can burn an awful lot of energy trying to stay warm.” Then she laughed. “I guess you know that. I’ll check the weather report when we get home.”
When they reached Conard City, he paid attention to the place for the first time. He’d been so tired when he drove in yesterday, he hadn’t cared. But now as they drove down the winter-bare streets, he saw compact charm left over from an earlier time. There wasn’t much to jar a visitor into remembering time had moved on, apparently leaving this town in its wake.
He tried to focus, but didn’t quite make it. He was in a lit-up town again, but the drive home had been a struggle. They’d been far enough out that there’d been no lights to interfere with the star-studded sky.
And for a minute or two, just briefly, he’d been cast back to Afghanistan. He’d managed to cling to the present, but a sour, troubled feeling remained. As did some unaccustomed anxiety.
“Is there some well-lit place where we can get coffee or something?” he asked abruptly. He knew what he needed.
“Sure.” Miri didn’t even question him. He wondered if she could begin to guess what a relief that was after being at home with his family. He’d been constantly questioned. Understandable, but not comfortable.
“Do you want a bar or a diner?” she asked.
“Diner.” He’d been plied with delicious food for hours, but now he was hungry. Really hungry. He’d also been served enough beer that he wasn’t sure how many weeks it would be before he wanted to see another. A friendly group, good company, and now somehow he felt as if he’d been through the wringer.
Before he went home with Miri, he needed to be sure he’d silenced the demons that had been awakened by a very dark Wyoming night.
They’d merely whispered to him, but he wanted them firmly shoved down into their pit before they grew louder and possibly disturbed Al’s cousin, who’d been so kind to him.
She pulled into a space in front of The City Diner near the center of town. Through the windows he could see a chunky woman at work wiping tables, and only a few other people.
Plenty of space. He needed it.
“Maude’s diner,” Miri said cheerfully. “Everyone calls it that because Maude has owned it as long as anyone remembers, and she’s quite a character. She’s even been known to pick your meal for you. I would label her as graceless but not mean. As far as I know, anyway.”
He felt miserably stiff as he climbed out of the vehicle and walked into the diner. A lot of things hurt because of his injuries, but other parts seemed to be screaming because of the cold, or maybe years of abusing his body. At this point he couldn’t tell anymore. When you let things rest, they had time to stiffen up. Problem was, right now he had to let himself rest, moving only as much as necessary to keep scar tissue loose. He’d failed at that one today.
Inside, the diner was warm. Patched leatherette covered stools, chairs, and benches in the booths. His hip made dealing with a booth problematic, but he chose one anyway, because it would put his back to a wall. The need didn’t always trouble him, but tonight it did. Maybe because the drive through the darkness had stirred up some of his PTSD. Sometimes there was just no avoiding it.
He soon saw what Miri had meant about Maude, but she didn’t trouble him in the least as she slammed cups on the table along with menus. The coffee was poured quickly, hot and aromatic. It might drive the day’s cobwebs away for a bit.
Holding the mug in both his hands, he raised it to his lips and drew a deep breath of the aroma. “Perfect.”
“Are you hungry, too?”
“Considering how much food I ate today—all of it delicious, by the way—I probably shouldn’t be. I might want a tank topper, anyway.”
“Then I suggest Maude’s pie, whichever kind she has. She’s famous for it.”
He managed a faint smile. “It’s been a while since I ate pie.”
He rested his elbows on the table, holding the hot cup of coffee right in front of his face, watching as tendrils of steam wafted upward, seeing Miri through it. Beautiful woman. Kindly woman. Today he’d had the sense that a lot of people at the barbecue were welcoming him on Al’s behalf. A tight-knit community. And the vets who had dominated the group that had gathered around him...
He closed his eyes briefly, feeling it all over again. And he had felt it—men he didn’t know, brothers-in-arms, and the brotherhood had come through. They’d surrounded him, trying to make the situation easier for him, as if they understood.
Well, of course they understood. They’d all walked in his shoes and knew that a crowd of strangers could be uncomfortable, at least for a while. The safety net gone, out there all alone, and in many places that had been a threat. It was hard to ease past all that, hence him sitting here with his back to a wall.
He opened his eyes in time to see a large wedge of pie slammed down in front of him. “Dutch apple,” said the woman, her tone almost challenging. “What about you, girl?”
“One scoop of vanilla ice cream.”
Maude arched a brow. “Reckon you ain’t heard it’s a cold night.”
Miri laughed. “Got me there, Maude. But it sounds good, anyway.”
Maude stomped away and Gil looked down at the pie in front of him. “It’s warm,” he remarked, the scents rising up to join with the coffee he still held. Very warm. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had warm pie.
“A special favor for you,” Miri remarked, smiling. Maude returned with her ice cream in a metal dish, then marched away,
disappearing into the bowels of the diner behind the counter somewhere.
The last two people in the place got up, threw some bills on the table and headed for the door, nodding as they walked past.
Suddenly the world shook itself back into place, and Gil was able to sip his coffee and dig into the pie. “You were right,” he said, after he swallowed the first mouthful. “Best pie ever.”
“Be sure to tell Maude.” Miri scooped a small amount of ice cream onto the tip of her teaspoon, but paused before she ate it. “What happened, Gil? I could feel something change when we were driving back.”
He made it a rule never to open up about most of his experiences to civilians. Yes, something had changed on the drive back, but he wondered what he could recount that wouldn’t upset Miri. He’d lived a violent life in service to his country, but he could see no damn good reason to let that violence touch someone like this woman. Yet he sensed he might annoy her, or upset her, if he just shut her out. She was asking sincerely and deserved some kind of answer.
“I don’t talk much about my service,” he said finally.
“Al never did, either. But after he began to go on missions, when he came home he was different. It was like he knew he was coming from another planet that we couldn’t even begin to understand.”
“That nailed it,” Gil admitted. “Miri, it’s a simple fact that I know what I’m capable of in a way most people never will. And it’s not something I want to dump all over anyone like you. Someone who’s never been there.”
She nodded. “I get that. Honestly. Al was frank about it, too. But it seems so sad, like he could never come home again. Like you can’t.”
Truer than she knew, he thought. But she needed some kind of answer. She’d evidently felt his demons trying to escape during the drive back. He owed her something, given the hospitality she had offered so freely.
“It’s dark out there at night,” he finally said. “You don’t find that kind of darkness in a lot of places these days. But you find it in Afghanistan and other places in the Middle East. Jolting down a road in the dark... I guess it stirred some memory or other.”