by Rachel Lee
But there was still some of that about him. He hadn’t opened up in any really significant way. Maybe self-control of his inner workings was necessary to his survival. Maybe living in a steel tower was a necessity. How would she know?
But watching him now, hearing him wonder if he should have even come to see her family...that seemed somehow sad. And it wasn’t because he didn’t want to talk about Al, as near as she could tell, but because he was concerned he might cause others pain.
Somehow he’d seemed to need to come out here, and now that he was here, he was having second thoughts. Why?
Aw, heck, she didn’t know, and had no way to know what was going on inside that steel box.
She turned down the kettle enough to keep it hot without boiling, and opened her pantry to root around inside. Since her aunt and uncle weren’t coming by with the promised rolls from the bakery, she had to figure out something for lunch. Since Gil had been out walking in the cold, preferably something warm and filling.
Just about the time she settled on grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup, a childhood favorite turned into a comfort food on cold days, the phone rang.
She reached for it, expecting to hear the voice of one of her friends. She almost didn’t recognize Mavis, who had never called her before.
“Mom’s gonna be okay,” Mavis said.
“What happened? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she said almost irritably. “It was a heart attack. Not real bad, the doc says, because she got help quick. Thanks.”
“I’m just glad I found her. So what’s next?”
“She’ll be coming home tomorrow, supposed to take a few days off and start a lot of medicines. She don’t like that idea, but too bad. Anyway, she wants me to open the diner this afternoon in spite of the weather. Might do short hours until she gets back on her feet.”
“I’m sure that’s wise. And everyone’s going to be so happy to hear that Maude is all right.”
“I know I am.” Without another word, Mavis disconnected.
Miri took the receiver from her ear and stared at it until she heard the dial tone. Shaking her head, she hung it up on the wall base. Those two women were something else. She supposed she ought to be glad Mavis thought to call her. And it was good news, too.
Wondering if Gil was going to stay outside long enough to turn into an ice sculpture, she opened the fridge and pulled out Havarti cheese for the sandwiches. That cheese was a bit of an extravagance, but sometimes she refused to cut corners. The market had sliced it for her, making it ready to go on sandwiches.
Then she pulled a couple cans of tomato soup out of the cupboard.
This might turn into a very long day.
* * *
Gil hadn’t pulled on his jacket. Standing outside in nothing but a sweatshirt and camo pants was a fierce punishment as the wind and temperature became more dangerous. It was also stupid.
Like it or not, he’d have to go inside soon, but for now the threat of freezing at least quieted the rest of his body’s complaints. Somewhat, anyway.
It had struck him, when Miri had told him that the Bakers wouldn’t be able to come over because of the weather, that he really had no idea why he’d come here. Sure, his parents drove him nuts with their constant pressure on him to leave the army. They should have gotten the obvious by now: he wasn’t going to quit. He wasn’t a quitter. Period. He felt he still had more to offer, although that was up in the air, given his physical state.
But all that aside, he’d come here ostensibly to talk to Al’s family about his friend. But what could Gil really share? A few possibly amusing stories. Probably very little that would ease their loss one iota. But he hadn’t thought that through clearly, a fact that troubled him.
He wasn’t a man given to self-reflection, probably a good thing considering what he did. But now he was reflecting. It had begun just a little after he’d started to recover from his wounds, but he’d pretty much suppressed it. Why? Because it was uncomfortable? What the hell about his life was comfortable?
He sighed and watched the cloud of his breath blow away. His ears were beginning to feel pinched. Time to go in.
The cold had stiffened his hip. He should have kept moving, pacing the porch maybe. Leaning heavily on his cane, he started to take a step toward the door when he was struck by a moment of piercing self-understanding.
He needed more. Al’s death had awakened that need in him. Life was too damn short, and his army career might not be enough for him anymore. He wasn’t going to quit, no way, but maybe it was time to admit that something was lacking.
Maybe he’d come here to check that out. Unlike him, Al had often mentioned thoughts for the future, had looked forward to returning to work on the family ranch. Gil had never allowed himself to look beyond his eventual retirement. Instead he’d listen to Al spin an occasional dream and tell him he’d make Gil part of it. Not that Gil had ever been sure he wanted to go that way, but maybe Al had been viewing the future for both of them.
Then Gil had had a near-death experience. That might be all that had him unsettled. He could have been killed, and his body had been wrecked. He didn’t want to leave the army, but now he had to face what it meant when eventually he’d have to, now or later. He had too much time on his hands to ignore it any longer.
He muttered a curse under his breath and opened the door. Not only had his body been messed up. His brain felt as if it had been put in a blender.
Chapter Four
A couple hours after a truly satisfying lunch, Gil sat in the living room alone. Miri had excused herself to do some work for school. Teachers, she had told him lightly, didn’t really get time off.
“What about summer?” he’d asked.
“We get about a month off, from the time we finish closing up our classrooms until the meetings for next year begin. Everything from refresher training to organizing and planning. It’s not what most people see from the outside. I work every evening on planning and homework, and fit in at least a few hours every weekend. You should see me in early August, when we start band camp three weeks before classes. I’m running constantly.”
Things he had never thought about. Things he’d never had a reason to think about. There was probably a whole lot of that, given the structured, mission-oriented life he’d chosen.
If he were to be honest, perhaps that constant focus he’d developed had been a sort of protection. It wasn’t as if he never had time to look outside his box. He just hadn’t. Didn’t.
He stared out the front windows at a world that was steadily going nuts. Just yesterday it had felt like spring. Now the fierce wind was beginning to blow snow around. Snow that hadn’t existed twenty-four hours ago.
Much as he suddenly wanted to get in his car and leave, he understood two things: he couldn’t drive safely in the approaching weather, and he couldn’t leave himself behind. He had become uncomfortable baggage in his own life.
Then there was Miri. He didn’t want to be rude to her. She’d opened her house to him, welcoming him almost as family because of Al. Unfortunately, one reason he wanted to leave was because of the sexual heat she awakened in him. It had been a while, but now he was experiencing a virtual storm of hunger inside himself. Even if she felt the same, casual sex would be a lousy way to repay her hospitality.
So far she’d exhibited none of the desire to attract a man that he was used to. No makeup, not that she needed any, hair in that long braid rather than carefully coiffed and clothes that steamed his brain when they clearly weren’t intended to: jeans far from skintight, loose sweatshirts or flannel shirts, and either socks or boots on her feet.
Everything about her was laid-back and casual. But then, maybe that had something to do with living in this small Western town. He couldn’t imagine who would have to dress up around here. Maybe the ranches had been dictating local styles
forever.
Then his thoughts flashed back to the funeral, to Miri standing there in a long, dark blue dress, and appearing so small to him, even when she approached to speak to him.
She’d had the strength it took to play “Taps” for her cousin, so he figured her for a very strong woman. “Taps” had a way of bringing people to helpless tears, especially at a funeral for someone they loved. Yet she had stood tall and proud, and not a single note had wavered.
Kudos to her. He’d admired her then, and he admired her now. For example, the quick way she’d responded to Maude. He’d seen the older woman go to the back of the diner and it had never occurred to him there was something wrong. Then suddenly Miri had sprung into action and found Maude in trouble.
Because, according to Miri’s explanation later, the coffee was never allowed to cool down at Maude’s diner. So Al’s cousin was observant and astute. She didn’t just brush it aside. She went to see what was going on.
A caring woman, from everything he’d seen, caring and strong. And maybe the nicest thing about her was that she seemed happy with her life.
The phone rang, and she must have answered it in her tiny office space in the corner of the bedroom he was using.
Sitting there, thinking it was time to move again before he began to freeze up, Gil wondered what it would be like to grow up in one town, to know so many people, to have friends you’d known all the way back to childhood.
He couldn’t imagine it. His home was his unit. And unfortunately, too many people he had known were gone, some for good. If he had any roots, they were planted squarely in the army...and that was temporary. Never at any point had he viewed it as permanent, simply because every single mission raised a possibility that he wouldn’t come back, or would come back as he had this time.
And while he hoped they’d keep him on, even if it meant taking a desk job, he knew damn well that when his convalescence was over they might give him a medical discharge.
Hardly surprising that he was beginning to think about matters he’d held at bay for a long time. He might need to carve out a very different future.
Al’s pipe dreams of them working the ranch together had merely been a time-filler for Gil. Something to think about, but something he’d never planned to follow through on. Now it appeared that it might be time to find a plan for himself.
“Hey.”
He looked up from his rather gloomy thoughts to see Miri hovering in the doorway. She was smiling.
“Need anything?”
“I’m pretty much okay, except that I’d like to take another walk.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen right now.” She waved toward the window and he realized that while he’d been wandering unfamiliar paths inside his own head, trying to take charge of them, the world outside had disappeared in white. He could barely make out the shape of the house just across the street.
“It looks like a snow globe,” he remarked.
“Worse.” She entered the room and perched on the edge of the rocker. “We’re only supposed to get a few inches, but with the wind blowing this way it might wind up looking like ten feet. You must have seen plenty in Afghanistan and other such places.”
He nodded slowly. “Sure. Up in the mountains it wasn’t unheard of to get several feet overnight. Of course, that could happen a lot of places when you get into the mountains. I don’t need to tell you that.”
“Nope. Last I looked, we had some mountains around us,” she teased. “But we’re in what’s called their rain shadow. The dumping usually occurs at higher elevations before it reaches us. Usually. Not always.”
He glanced out the windows again. It looked wicked and this had barely started. “But it’ll clear out by tomorrow?”
“Maybe not. That phone call I just got was from one of my friends, telling me we’re going to have a conference call with school admin this evening. Depending on how it looks, we may cancel school.”
“Why decide so early?”
“Because around here, school buses have a very long way to go to reach all the kids. Just as importantly, the plows may not be able to get to many places early enough.”
“I hadn’t thought about that.” But remembering the drive out to the Baker ranch, he figured a school bus would take even longer. “I don’t recall Al saying anything about it, not that it’s the kind of thing to come up in conversation.”
“I doubt it would.”
He sensed her studying him in a way that didn’t quite go with the casual, pointless conversation they were having. Of course, he wasn’t used to this kind of conversation unless it happened over a few beers in a bar with some of his friends. Then they’d get casual, often with humor that might shock outsiders. But inside that circle, humor blew off steam, and it was often black humor.
Then Miri astonished him by asking, “Do you ever let your hair down?”
His gaze jumped to her face. She was serious. “What do you mean?”
“At the funeral, I likened you to granite poured into a uniform. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone express so little emotion. I didn’t know if that was the real you, or if you were under tight control because of the circumstances. But now you’ve been here since Friday and I still feel like you’re granite. Oh, you’ve smiled and even laughed from time to time, but it doesn’t go deep, does it.”
She wasn’t really asking, and he felt no real need to explain anything to her. He was what he was, mostly because life had happened to him the way it happened to everyone. You did what you needed to get by...within reason.
But the image she had painted of him caught his attention. Granite? He wasn’t sure he liked that. He wondered if he should apologize, although for exactly what, he wasn’t certain. But she forestalled him.
“Al was a little like that when he came home, too. There were parts of him well beyond reach. It felt kind of strange to me, because I’d known him so well when we were children. I figured it had to do with experiences none of the rest of us could ever share. But you know what I wondered?”
“What?”
“How many of those parts of him had been left behind on his missions, not just buried but gone for good. Or whether they were still there but had changed.”
“My knowledge of Al is limited to the years we served together, Miri. I wouldn’t venture to guess how much they changed him.” Especially since he’d been going through changes of his own at the same time, and probably pretty much at the same rate, he had no way to measure any of it.
But he wondered what she was hoping to discover. More than one person he’d known in spec ops had noted that when they went home they felt like aliens. No secret in that. Most combat vets probably felt the same way. They’d seen things and done things nobody who hadn’t been there could truly comprehend. Best to shut your damn mouth and do your utmost to pretend you’d left all that behind.
“It changes us,” he finally said, even though she’d already figured that out. “We don’t quite mesh with the rest of the world anymore. Inevitable.”
“So you shut down?”
He definitely didn’t like this line of questioning. Shut down? He didn’t think so. But he was extremely careful about how he spent his emotions. Too big an investment could cost heavily.
Nevertheless, her words struck him even as he argued internally with them. Nothing had been the same since he’d regained consciousness and faced the degree of his injuries, the dawning realization that no amount of recovery would be able to put him back in the field, no matter how hard he tried.
Perhaps the changes had begun even earlier with Al’s death, when he’d just put more cement in the chinks in his armor—a temporary patch, it had begun to seem.
But the fact remained that he’d been dealing at some level with the realization that nothing was going to be the same. No amount of denial was going to alter that.
&
nbsp; As he looked at Miri, her face so earnest and concerned, he felt obliged to admit something to himself. “I tried to be granite. I guess that made me less than a whole person.”
Just saying it caused his mind to teeter on the edge of something deeper and darker. How much of himself had he amputated to do his job? And what would those parts think of him if he brought them back? Being stone had been useful. Being human might give him a whole new set of problems.
Dropping back into civilian life caused a lot of difficulty for many vets. It was never seamless, and sometimes it got crazy and painful. Gil didn’t want to be one of them, but he had to admit that as long as he had the job the demons didn’t rise very often. No room for them.
That was changing. He’d been fighting it, but he knew that sooner or later he was going to lose. Sooner or later he’d have to find a way to deal with all he’d done and experienced. There was no shame, but there was understanding that he was no longer like people who’d never walked the paths he’d walked.
“It’s daunting,” he said, though he hadn’t meant to. This woman didn’t need to hear any of this, nor was he sure he wanted to share it. Outside, even though the light had dimmed a bit with the waning afternoon, he saw the whirling, blinding snow and figured that was probably pretty much what was going on inside him. Or would be going on when he dropped the protective barriers and gave up the denial.
“What’s daunting?” she prodded gently when he didn’t speak for a while.
“The idea of being a civilian again.”
She rose, then surprised him by sitting beside him on the sofa. She surprised him even more by reaching out to lay her hand on his arm. He’d been avoiding human touch for a long time now. It had the potential to slide past his defenses. His skin tightened beneath her hand, tensing at her touch even through his shirtsleeve.
“Why is that daunting?”
“Because the person I’ve become doesn’t fit. Because I’ve got things locked away I don’t want to risk letting escape. Because like everyone else who’s ever gone to war, the only place I fit anymore is with others like me.”