Chapter Sixteen
Kaiserslautern, Germany January 2010
FRANK’S INJURY WAS only enough to get him back to the unit in Kaiserslautern and a few months of desk duty while he healed. The bullet had shattered a section of his right femur, but his orthopedist was hopeful the metal rod placed in his leg to connect the two sections of bone would knit together. If the procedure failed, it was unlikely he would ever fly again. Satisfied that Frank was resting before his surgery, Mandy drove Lauren to the airport for the long flight home.
“I don’t know when I’ll be back, Mandy,” Lauren said as she exhaled a deep breath. “Or if I ever will.”
“You just take care of Athon. We’ll handle everything here. If you need me to pack your furniture and other things, let me know. My housekeeper is a whiz at packing for the military.”
“I’m not military,” Lauren said softly.
“Helga doesn’t know that. She’ll pack everything under Athon’s name and the military will ship it.”
“I’ve only been here a year,” Lauren said as she looked at the fresh snow beginning to fall. “It’s beautiful here and feels like home. We loved it here so much.”
They remained silent the remainder of the trip. Lauren checked three or four times to make sure she had her ticket home to occupy her time. She looked up when she heard the sound of a large airplane passing overhead. If the medical transport from Ramstein left on time, the plane she saw could be Athon’s.
“The transport has a layover in Greenland,” Mandy said. When she saw the look on Lauren’s face she added, “I asked the doctor when I saw Frank last night. You could make it to Andrews before it lands.”
“What’s the difference?” Lauren said with a shrug. “They probably won’t let me see her anyway.”
“It’s just the way things are, Lauren. You know that.”
“It doesn’t make me feel any better about it.”
“You got the name of that doctor Colonel Stephens gave you.”
“Yeah,” Lauren said as Mandy wheeled into the terminal entrance for the airport.
“I’m sorry you’ll be alone, honey,” Mandy said as she opened the back of her vehicle to remove Lauren’s luggage.
Lauren rolled a large bag to the skycap desk and checked it in before turning and hugging Mandy. “You just go back and take care of Frank. Let me know how his surgery goes. He saved Athon for me. I can never thank him enough.”
A whistle warned Mandy she had stayed too long in the loading area and she hurried back to her car while Lauren walked briskly into the terminal to find her gate. Before she could get comfortable her flight was called for boarding. At exactly their departure time, the big airplane was pushed away from the gate to begin its taxi to the take-off point. She hadn’t slept well the night before. After the plane reached its flight altitude, she pulled a book from her shoulder bag, but thoughts of Athon that lingered in her mind forced their way to the front not long after she fell asleep.
Duvalle, Texas October 2006
THE SOUND OF crashing furniture immediately brought Lauren Shelton’s attention to what was happening in the outer office she shared with two other assistant principals. She handed the student sitting in front of her desk a half-sheet of pink paper assigning his punishment for breaking the rules established to control the students at Carver High School. She cast a quick, tight smile at the student as she escorted him out of her office.
Despite the disruption created by the two armed campus police officers intent on controlling a belligerent, uncooperative young man, the daily routines of the secretaries who ran the office seemed to proceed undisturbed. Lauren signaled with two fingers that the student be brought into her office. Hector Olivera was a dump student. He had been kicked out of every possible educational facility in the county before establishing his residence within the Carver attendance zone. At least it was his residence this week. Lauren felt certain his residence was almost like a floating crap game. Depending on his behavior, the young man had been shuttled from uncle to uncle, aunt to aunt, or various other suspicious “relatives” to avoid both local and school authorities. The fact was, no one wanted Hector Olivera. With the help of the school’s interpreter, Lauren had managed to have one conversation with Hector’s mother. Shortly thereafter mom had been mysteriously called back to Mexico to care for a sick relative. That had been nearly a year ago and Hector’s behavior had plummeted from ditching classes and the occasional macho fist fight and cursing intended to make him appear tougher than the average tenth-grader. Lauren had heard rumors that Hector had become involved with a group of gang-bangers who might or might not be bringing drugs onto the campus.
For the most part, Lauren enjoyed her job, especially working with the students who actually gave a damn about getting the best education they could. There were a number of advanced and special programs specifically designed to better the lives and minds of Carver students. But no matter what the school did, there was a persistent ten percent who did nothing and constantly made Carver look like a home for wayward, delinquent youth. Because of its location in a low-growth area of the town, Carver, once an affluent school, had been dubbed “a ghetto school” and local real estate agents had been overly zealous in their efforts to make sure newcomers did not mistakenly buy a home within the Carver zone.
“What’s up that’s so important so early in the day, Hector?” Lauren sighed with a glance at the police officers. From the red eyes and uncoordinated speech, Lauren was sure the boy was high again. “Did you search him?” she asked the officers.
“Yes, ma’am. Didn’t find anything, but definitely on something.”
“I got a cold, man,” Hector sniffed.
Lauren reached for the phone on her desk and looked at her computer screen as she dialed. “I’m suspending you for the remainder of the day for resisting arrest. You can return Monday morning.”
“I want my lawyer,” Hector mumbled.
“You don’t need one for this,” one of the officers said.
Lauren explained the circumstances of Hector’s problem to his current guardian, who promised to retrieve him within the hour.
“Escort him to the detention hall until his guardian arrives,” Lauren instructed.
Hector Olivera became the first in a procession of students involved in various teen drama scenarios Lauren had to deal with. The flow of students in and out of her office continued until she was forced to grab her walkie-talkie and make her way to her duty station in the cafeteria lobby. In spite of the raucous noise made by the myriad conversations taking place at each table, Lauren was relieved by the change of scenery. She wondered if they had been as predictable when she was a student as they were now. Regardless of changes in the laws around the nation, students insisted on self-segregating into ethnic groups.
“Miz Shelton!” a girl called out as she approached, shoulders slightly forward, reminding Lauren of a small, determined steamroller.
Lauren greeted the student by wrapping her arm around her shoulders and squeezing lightly. “What’s up, Tiara? Having a good day?”
“Except for that fool Markees. The boy is following me around like a lost puppy. He’s gettin’ seriously on my last nerve.”
“Maybe he’s working up his courage to ask you to the prom,” Lauren said with a smile.
“As if I’d go anywhere with his sorry self. I’d rather stay home.”
“Try to imagine what he might look like say in ten years. He could be a righteous hunk when he’s all grown up.”
Tiara bent over at the waist, laughing hysterically. “Well, he looks like Erkel now.”
“I dated a guy once who was skinny, wore glasses, and was shorter than I was. I finally caved and asked him to the prom. Then I found out he didn’t even have a driver’s license and I had to pick him up.”
Tiara patted Lauren’s back. “That had to be a hundred on the humiliation meter.”
“I shouldv’e hung on to him since he’s now a rich engineer who
drives a fancy sports car. The last time I saw him, he had grown into a very handsome man.”
“Well, I’m not that confident in Markees’ ability to grow into much of anything.”
“The line’s gone down some so you better get some lunch while you still can.” Lauren glanced at her wrist watch. She would have to leave soon and it wasn’t something she was looking forward to.
LAUREN STEPPED OUT of her vehicle and straightened the skirt of her black suit. It was a moderately warm day, but she reached into the car and took out the suit jacket, slipping her arms into its sleeves and pulling it up on her shoulders. She adjusted her sunglasses and began her way up a small rise, following others paying their last respects to Marvin “Pudge” Fitzgerald. Lauren first met Pudge when she was a teenager and knew he was a man who should be respected. From the top of the rise she saw six uniformed men standing at the back of the hearse. She was surprised the coffin had not yet been removed. To her left she watched as an officer in full military dress stepped out of the family limousine and extended a white-gloved hand to assist Bridget Fitzgerald Hauser, Pudge’s daughter, out of the long, black vehicle.
Everyone around the family stopped as Bridget took the officer’s arm and was escorted to a seat beneath a canopy next to the grave site. The officer leaned down and spoke to Bridget for a moment, then pivoted and walked to the back of the hearse. The coffin slowly slid on a set of rails until it stopped in front of the officer. Lauren heard a low, crisp order being issued, followed by the six military pall bearers grasping the rails on the coffin. They carefully side-stepped away from the hearse before turning to face the gravesite. The officer gave a subdued “forward march” and followed as the pall bearers took one step and stopped, one step and stopped, until they were ordered to halt. They lowered the coffin onto the bier over the open grave and stood at attention as the minister recited a prayer to comfort the assembled mourners.
Sharp verbal commands led the pall bearers through the ceremonial folding of the flag that had been draped over Pudge’s coffin. Lauren watched intently, absorbed by the significance of the ceremony and the honor being paid to a former warrior against whatever cause Pudge had once fought. When the final edge of the flag was tucked into the familiar triangular shape, the officer at the head of the coffin grasped the folded flag and pressed the edges together securely, then placed one gloved hand beneath it and another on top and accepted the flag. The officer drew the flag against his chest, took a step back, did a sharp right turn, took four steps forward and a left turn that ended immediately in front of Bridget.
The officer leaned over and presented the flag to Pudge’s daughter, saying, “On behalf of a grateful nation.” The officer came to attention and slowly brought his right arm up into a salute. The officer held the salute as Lauren heard the first strains of a bugle beginning the haunting and mournful strains of “Taps”. A second bugler, farther in the distance, echoed the first and Lauren felt her throat begin to constrict slightly as a shiver ran down her spine.
As the final note of the bugle and its echo faded away, the officer slowly lowered his arm. A precise about face and the officer marched away, the pall bearers following. The military portion of the service was over and Lauren heard a collective sigh from those gathered for their final farewell. The service had been emotionally moving and Lauren was surprised at the number of people who had turned out to bid Pudge Fitzgerald goodbye. She didn’t really know Bridget Fitzgerald, and hadn’t seen her since she was a teenager, but moved along the line of well-wishers. The Army officer returned and stood next to Bridget, almost acting as a bodyguard. The temperature had become warmer as the graveside service went on. The officer lifted the low dress hat off and used a handkerchief to wipe his brow. Someone spoke to him and he turned, flashing a dazzling smile at the individual speaking. Lauren felt as if someone had sucker punched her in the abdomen and forced the breath from her lungs. She would know that smile anywhere, even though she last saw it nearly twenty years earlier.
She debated stepping out of the line and retreating to her vehicle before the military officer with short, blonde hair and piercing blue eyes looked at her. But something drew her forward and within minutes she was offering her condolences to Bridget. Lauren shifted her rusty brown eyes up slightly and fell into the blue she had once known so well.
“Thank you for coming, Lauren,” the officer said softly. “Pudge would have liked that.”
“How have you been, Athon?” Lauren asked as their hands touched. She wondered if Athon still felt the same, familiar electrical current that had always passed between them when they touched one another. The passage of time had not diminished the shock of it. Nor the sting. Not waiting for a reply, Lauren hurried away from the people beneath the canopy and made her way back to her vehicle. She would have sworn she felt Athon Dailey’s eyes staring into her soul again, but refused to look back. The past was the past and deserved to remain a distant memory. Lauren didn’t really believe that, but thinking it saved her from bursting into tears.
Chapter Seventeen
Duvalle, Texas October 2006
AFTER BRIDGET SPOKE to the last well-wisher, Athon escorted her back to the family car. She slid in next to Bridget and her husband and removed her hat, setting it on her thigh.
“It was a very nice service,” Bridget said after blowing her nose. “Daddy would have liked it.” She gripped the folded flag and held it against her chest.
Athon took Bridget’s hand. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, Bridge.”
Bridget squeezed her hand. “You did a wonderful job today. Daddy was always so proud of how you turned out, honey. It was like you was his own daughter.”
“He was the father I never had,” Athon said as she stared out the window
“You stayin’ at the house while you’re home?”
“If it’s all right,” Athon said.
“That old camper is still parked at the back of the lot. Just like you left it,” Bridget chuckled.
Athon laughed. “I can’t believe Pudge didn’t get rid of that thing.”
“It reminded him of you, honey. It was your home.”
When the conversation seemed to dry up, Bridget asked, “How long you plannin’ to stay?”
“I told them my father passed away and got ten days leave,” Athon said with a grin. “I have to report back to Benning in about a week.”
“Lauren looked good today, don’t you think?” Bridget asked, watching Athon’s reaction.
“She’s changed, but I guess we all have. I didn’t know she was back in Duvalle.”
“Been back two or three years now, I think. Listen, Athon, we’ll never eat all that food people brought over. How about I bring half of it over to the house for you while you’re here?”
“That’s fine. You need to come over and get whatever you want anyway, so plan to eat dinner at Pudge’s tonight.”
ATHON PICKED UP her rental car at the funeral home and drove to Pudge’s. She took in the changes that had taken place along the way. She hadn’t been back to Duvalle in nearly five years although she called Pudge every couple of weeks. A few years earlier she had a laptop delivered to him and asked Bridget to teach her father how to use e-mail. It was cheaper than calling when she was stationed overseas.
A whoop-whoop sound snapped her back to the present. She looked in the rearview mirror of her rental car and glanced at the speedometer as she signaled and pulled to the shoulder of the highway. She was sure she hadn’t been speeding, but pulled her wallet from the inside pocket of her dress jacket, opened the console under her right elbow and fished out her rental agreement before lowering the driver’s side window and letting the warm outside air flood in. She turned toward the window in time to see a gun belt about eye level.
“Step out of the vehicle, please,” a gravelly voice ordered.
Athon opened the door and stood up. She placed her hat back on her head and waited.
“Still breakin’ my speed limit,
Dailey?” Sheriff Cosper asked, hooking her thumbs in her belt.
“I didn’t think so, but this is a rental. Speedometer could be off,” Athon said, handing over her license and a copy of the rental agreement for insurance.
“You here for Pudge’s funeral?” Raynelle Cosper asked as she gave the paperwork a cursory glance and handed them back.
“That’s right, Sheriff. Leaving again in a few days.” Athon couldn’t stop a grin as she looked at Sheriff Cosper. The woman had always worn aviator-style sunglasses with a silver coating that hid her eyes. Now Athon was wearing a similar pair.
“Where you stationed?”
“Georgia right now, but we’re transferring to Germany in a few months.”
Athon saw the sheriff’s head move slightly as she looked her up and down. “You’re lookin’ mighty spiffy all dressed up in that uniform, Dailey.”
“Thanks, Sheriff.”
Sheriff Cosper leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Just so’s you know, me and old Pudge have been mighty proud of everything you’ve accomplished.” She clapped Athon on the shoulder. “Just wanted you to know that. You take care and come home safe.”
Athon grinned and swallowed past a lump in her throat. She’d never had anything but trouble in Duvalle, Texas, but it felt good to know there were people there who had believed in her. She clasped the sheriff’s hand firmly before settling into the car again.
Athon unlocked the front door to the old house and removed her hat when she stepped inside. She tucked it under her arm as she walked slowly around the house. The air inside smelled musty and she set her hat on the dining room table to open the windows in the front and back of the house. A nice breeze sent the curtains fluttering as she smelled the mustiness leave. She was shocked when Bridget told her Pudge left the house to her in his will. Athon protested that she traveled too much to take care of the place, but Bridget promised to look after the property until Athon could decide whether to keep it or sell it.
Picking Up The Pieces Page 10