Something Like Family

by Heather Burch

  Tuck made his way over to Rave. “Looks like you seen a ghost, boy.”

  Rave closed his mouth. “A miracle is more like it.”

  Tuck followed his gaze to the shop across the square. “Becca, huh? She’s your angel. Just like Millie was mine. What do you say to burgers and fries for lunch at Vernie’s? Then maybe we can stop off and buy those cell phones we’ve been talking about getting for a month.”

  They’d tried once before, but all the information thrown at Tuck had completely worn him out. He’d left the place with a handful of pages of printed information that quickly found their way to the floorboard of the truck. Still, Rave knew Tuck would go the cellular route when he was ready. “That sounds great, Tuck.”

  Tuck opted out of the cell phone purchasing and spent most of the rest of the day chattering about the swap meet. Rave had little to add to the discussion. He was still shell-shocked by the conversation with Becca. He started to tell Tuck several times that he’d be taking Becca on a date later, but each time he’d started to, something stopped him. He wasn’t a big believer in omens, but going out with Becca—it just felt like he’d jinx it if he talked about it. At seven o’clock, he slipped upstairs to shower and change his clothes. He’d bought his own cologne, so he splashed it onto his neck and chest. It was nearly eight when he headed downstairs to tell Tuck he was going out. At the foot of the stairs, he saw it.

  There, Tuck was setting out the shot glasses and filling them from a pitcher of water. Tuck looked up and grinned. “Hey, you dressed up for the memorial.”

  Rave grabbed the banister because the room had suddenly gone into a tailspin. How could he forget? How could he forget tonight was the memorial?

  Tuck placed the pitcher on the table. “You feeling OK, son? You look a little sickly.” Tuck sniffed the air. “You stink pretty, though.”

  “I’m—I’m all right. I just, I need to make a call before we get started.”

  Tuck grinned. “Phone’s in the kitchen. It’s on the charger ʼcause I forgot about it last night.” They really needed to get cell phones. Tuck had insisted that Rave keep all the cash from the swap meets, and now he had plenty to get a phone on his own, but the idea of a family plan—something he’d never experienced—had kept him from moving forward alone.

  Rave made his way into the kitchen and grabbed the phone. It was dead. He placed it on the charger and stared across the kitchen, where the light over the stove flashed 7:52. He’d just tell Tuck they needed to start the memorial a little bit later tonight. No problem. He could run over to Becca’s—it was only ten minutes away—and explain. They could go out tomorrow night. Or the next or whenever she wanted to. But not tonight.

  Tuck came into the kitchen. “You ready?”

  Rave brushed a hand through his hair. “Tuck, I need to tell you something.”

  Tuck nodded. “I know what it is.”

  A breath of relief left Rave. “You do?”

  Tuck placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sure I do. You want to lead the memorial tonight. It’s why you’ve been so quiet today. It’s why you dressed up.”

  Cold shot from Rave’s head down his spine.

  Tuck’s watery blue eyes misted. “I know you’re nervous. I know you want to honor the men the same way I do.” Tuck’s chin quivered. “Rave, you’re afraid of letting me down. You could never let me down. I’m so proud of you.”

  Rave’s eyes closed. He swallowed past the tightness in his throat. He’d already let Tuck down. But he wouldn’t make it worse. “Let’s get started, Tuck. We don’t want to keep the men waiting.”

  CHAPTER 11

  An insistent knock on the front door caused Rave and Tuck both to rise. No one had ever come to the door during the memorial, so Rave didn’t know what to do. He looked to Tuck for the answer. Tuck hooked a thumb toward the door. “You gonna get that or should I?”

  “I’ll get it,” Rave said. It was 8:31. He knew the time without looking at the wall clock because the last thirty minutes had seemed like an eternity. Becca would never forgive him. His gaze had gone to the clock every two minutes. With each passing one, he knew Becca floated farther and farther away.

  He opened the door and there she stood, eyes wide. “Is Tuck OK?”

  Her concern caused him to glance back at his grandfather. “Yes.”

  She grabbed Rave by the upper arms. “And you? Bleeding anywhere?”

  “No.”

  She shoved him away. “Then you better have one heck of a good reason for standing me up.”

  Rave moved forward, trying to muscle her onto the front porch, but she pushed past him. He tried to catch her, but he stumbled over Bullet.

  “Hi, Tuck,” Becca said.

  He stood at the table, one hand resting on the back of an empty chair. “Hello, Becca.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  Rave rubbed a hand over his face and followed her in.

  Tuck drew a long breath. “Feeling good. Getting tired. It’s been a long day, and we’re only halfway through the memorial.”

  Her gaze shot to Rave, then to the table, then to Tuck. Understanding dawned. Rave watched it wash over her features. “Actually, Tuck, that’s why I’m here.”

  She sent a stern look over to Rave. He didn’t know what to do, what with his heart pounding out of his chest, so he just split his glances between Becca and Tuck. She offered Tuck her perfect smile. “If it would be all right, I’d like to stay for the rest of the memorial.”

  A frown deepened the lines on Tuck’s face. “You would?”

  She nodded. “You know my dad was in Afghanistan. One tour with his reserve unit. He doesn’t talk about it much, but I think maybe war is war. If I’m not intruding, I’d really like to stay. It might help me understand some of the things he went through.”

  Tuck pulled out a seat for her. “It’d be an honor to have you.”

  They both sat down while Rave struggled to understand what had just happened.

  When Rave finally joined them, Tuck pointed a finger at him. “You did good. Now, I’ll take it from here.”

  Tuck began a story about Joe Malfree, the medic. Rave had heard it more than once, but with a new audience, Tuck seemed to insert details Rave had never known. Since the burden of the memorial would one day fall to him, he needed to remember these side notes.

  Becca interrupted his thoughts and Tuck’s words. “How did the medic not get shot? I mean, if the bullets were flying, and he’s standing over the guy that was just hit, he’d be a target.”

  “Sometimes I’d think Joe was impervious to bullets, like they bounced off of him or something. It was crazy. He’d stand in the exact spot where one of the men had gotten shot and—” Tuck shook his head. “I don’t know, I can’t explain it.”

  “Were you able to call in an airstrike? You said the radio was damaged.” Becca was on the edge of her seat, eyes wide, forearms locked on the tabletop.

  Tuck nodded. “We finally got air support. We were fighting uphill, plus we were pinned down. Worst-case scenario. The airstrike was going to be danger close.”

  “Is that a military term?” Becca again. Rave might as well have been invisible. “I’ve never heard my dad use that one.”

  Tuck nodded. “It means the airstrike is in dangerously close proximity to where your unit is.”

  Becca blew out a breath. “If they were off by one degree—”

  “Yes, ma’am. Radio controller had a high-stress job in a high-stress situation. I can’t tell you how many times he saved our bacon. In those moments, most of us just had to point and shoot. But the Band-Aids and the radio operators—those were true tactical positions.”

  “Band-Aids, is that what you called the medics?”

  Tuck nodded.

  Rave looked from Becca to Tuck and back again. She was leaning forward and hanging on Tuck’s every word. She was either the best actress on the planet, or she was genuinely intrigued by Tuck’s stories.

  They were amazing, no doubt. Even tho
ugh Rave had heard them multiple times, he still found them astonishing.

  Time passed, and as the hours slipped by, Rave could see Tuck’s energy waning. When the memorial was over, Tuck yawned. “I’m headed to bed. You two enjoy the rest of your night.”

  He started to walk toward his bedroom, but Becca stopped him. She placed a kiss on his cheek. “Thanks for sharing this, Tuck.”

  He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “Sorry I messed up your date.” With Rave so close by, he easily heard the words.

  “You knew?” Becca hissed.

  He glanced at Rave, then back to her. “A boy don’t look at a girl like that unless he’s truly smitten with her. And Rave doesn’t dress up for the memorial. Or put on cologne. I hope you two can still have a nice date.”

  Becca reached out and hugged him. “We already did.”

  Tuck went to bed while Becca helped Rave clear the table of the shot glasses. Once Tuck’s door was closed, Rave said, “I’m so sorry, Becca.”

  She winked. “It’s sweet, Rave. You weren’t willing to leave him alone. You’re a good grandson.”

  “I was so excited when you said you’d go out with me, I forgot it was memorial night. And that ancient cordless phone is dead half the time.” Rave went into the kitchen and left the shot glasses by the sink. He opened the fridge and found a pitcher of iced tea. “Can I pour you some?”

  She chewed her bottom lip. “Should I go home now?”

  “No. Let’s sit out back and watch the lake for a while. Give you time to process everything you heard tonight.”

  She followed Rave with Bullet just behind them. Rave scooted the two lounge chairs together, and Becca sat on one while he took the other. “It’s not too late, if you’d rather go to town, get some food or something.”

  But Becca had already rested her head against the lounger and closed her eyes. “No. This is perfect.”

  “Did it help you understand more about your father?”

  Becca looked over at him. “It really did.”

  “I didn’t know your dad was a veteran.”

  “Lots of vets in town. I don’t know why they don’t reach out to one another. They’re all carrying the same kinds of burdens, even though years and technology separate their journeys.”

  Rave watched the beams of the moon splash across the dark water.

  Becca took a drink of her tea. “I wish there was a way to unify them. Did you know that during World War Two Barton received national attention?”

  Rave leaned forward.

  “Barton was a small town back then.”

  Rave chuckled. “Smaller than now?”

  She gave him a mock glare. “Way smaller. In fact, every family in town had sent a firstborn son to war. One by one, they were all killed in action. Barton became known as the Firstborn Miracle Town.”

  Rave sat up so he could look at her fully. “Why would it be considered a miracle town if all the firstborns had died?”

  “Because of the town’s spirit. Barton didn’t allow the tragedy to dampen its spirit, its zeal for life and for supporting the young men who were still over there. Lots of second- and third-born sons were still fighting. Instead of the town wallowing in its grief, it banded together and began sending multitudes of care packages not only to our young men but others. The fire spread, and soon towns from hundreds of miles away were sending care packages to GIs they’d never met. The boxes all had one thing in common: they all said, ‘From the Firstborn Miracle Town.’”

  Rave let the story saturate him. Why hadn’t he heard that before? He’d been there almost two months now and had never heard that. “How did you know about it?”

  “We learned it in school. I’m sure there is information on the Internet. Also, the town library has an area devoted to it. It’s sort of our town’s big claim to fame.”

  “It seems like everyone should know. I mean, that’s a really big deal, Bec. There should be a plaque as you enter town or a monument or something.”

  “More than a dark corner of the library?”

  “Yeah.” For a town to have the grit to lose so much but still honor the men who continued to fight . . . it was inspiring. Like Tuck’s memorial was inspiring. Why didn’t everyone know about things like this? Before coming to Barton, Rave had given little thought to the men and women who’d died for his country. Now they filled his mind. He pushed to his feet and paced the porch. Bullet sat up and watched him. “Tuck has a memorial for the men he lost, but no one knows about it. I just wish I could do something. I wish there was a way to make their sacrifice known.”

  Becca stood and walked to him. “Can I help?”

  For an instant, the idea was gone. There was only her and Rave and a moonlit night, and they were alone. She smelled like soft flowers and woman and strawberry shampoo. Without warning, the desire to kiss her swept into his system, stealing its way through every nerve ending and settling around his heart. Rave reached out and ran a hand through her hair where the soft breeze had tumbled the strands.

  When she didn’t move away, but rather leaned closer to him, Rave stepped in and pressed the lower half of his body to hers. They were less than a breath apart, and when Becca’s tongue darted out to moisten her lips, he knew she knew his intention. His lips met hers gently, and he gave himself a moment to drink her in while their mouths mingled. Then, the timbre of the moment changed. He captured her head in his hand, deepening the kiss. She was soft against him―a woman’s flesh, so different from his own. But she wasn’t weak. She was strong. Powerful. A force in her own right, and the feel of her mouth on his only added to her power. He could drown in the sea of Becca. Still, this was their first date. And their first real kiss, and though he’d love nothing more than to continue on this track, he knew he shouldn’t. With reluctance, he broke the kiss.

  Her breathing was jagged. He liked that. Becca licked her lips again and flashed a quick smile. “You . . . you didn’t answer my question about helping.”

  Rave drew her closer and tucked her beneath his arm. “You can help. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She pressed her head to his chest, and Rave buried his nose in her hair.

  “Thanks,” she whispered. “I’ll set up a meeting with the mayor.”

  Rave cringed. “What? Why?” He was a street kid from Tampa who’d spent his adult life washing dishes at a greasy spoon. He wasn’t someone who waltzed into the mayor’s office for a chat. He wasn’t someone who walked into anyone’s office for anything. She wrapped her arms around his waist. “We have to start somewhere.”

  Tuck used the key around his neck to unlock the door to Millie’s sitting room. He didn’t look at the unfinished paint or the empty, etched water glass. He went straight to the closet and grabbed the photo albums. Unable to take this particular trip down memory lane in the room where Millie died, he carried the albums to his bedroom.

  Tuck fought the onslaught of emotions as he went through the photos. Three albums full of pictures. Pictures that hadn’t seen the light of day for years.

  Rave was living at his home now. But the young man remembered nothing of the life they’d shared when he was a baby. When Sharon and Rave lived there under the same roof. In the room that became Millie’s sitting room after Sharon broke their hearts and fled with two-year-old Rave.

  Tuck ran a thumb over the grinning baby face in one photo. He didn’t know what to do with the photographs now. He couldn’t leave this life without Rave knowing the truth. He couldn’t leave without asking the boy’s forgiveness for never wanting him to be born.

  Tuck wiped a fresh batch of tears from his face and stared at the child in the photograph. A white T-shirt and striped pajama pants, hair tousled and sleep still in his eyes. Just like he’d looked that Sunday morning weeks back when they’d attended their first church service.

  But in this photo, a coastal breeze pressed against them. Rave had wanted to see the ocean. He was only two. His momma, a few years into her drug-addicted lifestyle, had been doing better�
�or so they thought—and so Tuck and Millie loaded Sharon and Rave into the car, and off to Florida they went. They’d gone straight to the Gulf of Mexico when they arrived. Millie had said to let Rave sleep, but Tuck nudged the little guy until he woke. “Are we there?” were the first words he’d said.

  Tuck had taken him in his arms and carried him down the long wooden boardwalk that led to the water’s edge. Rave had pointed out palm trees as they went. He’d never seen a palm tree before and asked Tuck if they were magic trees.

  The ocean slapped at the shoreline, and Rave stood in awe of the massive body of water. His bright eyes the size of saucers when he said, “Big, big, big.”

  Tuck grinned.

  Tiny toes wriggled into the sand. Then fingers followed, his striped behind still in the air. “Oooohhh.” Rave held his hands out and scrubbed them together, watching the bits of sand catch the light from the sun. Behind him, Millie and Sharon watched as they made their way to the shore. Millie snapped picture after picture. For the briefest of moments, everything was right with the world. His daughter was off the drugs. His beautiful little grandson was experiencing a first. Tuck was so filled with love, it felt as though the moment could last forever. He hadn’t known. He hadn’t known that drug addicts were expert liars. He hadn’t known his daughter was just as bad off as she’d been before, and this was a last-ditch effort to coerce more money from Tuck and Millie. He hadn’t known that in three days, when they returned home, he’d have to take drastic actions.

  And he hadn’t known those actions would have devastating consequences. Sharon had overdosed, nearly died. Then left the hospital before she’d been released. Tuck was going to have her committed and take steps to get custody of Rave. But Sharon found out. And she ran. And though they’d searched for a year to find her, she’d completely dropped off the grid. With the grandson Tuck and Millie had grown to love.

  The same grandson he hadn’t wanted Sharon to carry to term.