by PJ Sharon
Heaven is for Heroes
By
PJ Sharon
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, or as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission from the author. Please respect the hard work of the author and do not support piracy.
Cover stock photos were legally obtained and all licensing fees paid to 123rf.com
Front and back Cover design by Addy Overbeeke
Heaven Is For Heroes
PJ Sharon
Copyright 2011 by PJ Sharon
REVIEWS
Kristan Higgins, NYT and USA Today bestselling author says,
“Filled with the complex emotions of grief, confusion and first love, HEAVEN IS FOR HEROES is a rich, uplifting story that will touch a reader’s heart.”
Robin Tucker Lapidus, Ed.D., NCSP School Psychologist
“The characters are well developed and portray believable, contemporary individuals. The narrative is compelling and keeps the reader interested until the story ends. As an adult reader, I enjoyed “Heaven is for Heroes,” and recommend it highly to older adolescents and young adults.”
Gina B. (Adult reader of all genres)
"HEAVEN IS FOR HEROES is a story of family tragedies, determination, the joys and frustrations of falling in love, and discovering the truth about a hero, all woven together with humor, emotion, and the day to day reality of a seventeen year old girl. Jordie kicks-butt in taking charge of her life.”
Acknowledgements
I must, of course, start with Carol Lacoss who taught me all I know about misplaced modifiers and proper sentence structure. Thanks Carol. I’m still learning, so keep your red pen handy. I would also like to acknowledge my wonderful critique partners, my beta readers, and the vast network of friends and associates I’ve met through the CT chapter of RWA and YARWA. I have been blessed by knowing each of you.
Since the outset of this journey, a host of clients, friends, and family have encouraged and supported me. Thank you for cheering me on. You know who you are, and I love you all!
Thanks to Dave Wemette and Dennis Robinson for their great insights into military life, and for their service to their country. You guys rock.
I’d like to add a special thanks to my husband, Addy, who created the book cover, handled all the formatting issues, and is my constant technical support in more ways than I can count. You are an amazing man, and I am the luckiest woman in the world.
Dedication
I dedicate this book to all of the men and women who serve in the Armed Forces.
And to the families who love them.
CHAPTER 1
The crack of gunfire exploded in the air…once…twice…three times. I flinched with each pop, the smell of gunpowder thick in the warm mist raining down over the cemetery. The crowd around me faded into a mass of black suits, women in dark coats with their high heels sinking into the sodden grass, umbrellas overhead, and a sea of Marines in dress blue uniforms. I clung to my mother in the folding chair beside me.
The military report must be mistaken. Or maybe someone was covering up—lying. But why? My insides shifted and tightened. If Levi’s death was anything other than an accident, Mom would never be able to live with the truth. I wasn’t sure if I could either.
An eerie silence fell and then was broken by the sound of a bugle blaring out the soulful notes of Taps, the signal for the end of a long day for a Marine…or the end of his life. My grandfather saluted his comrades, his face stony and expressionless, deep lines etched between his brows and around his mouth the only evidence of his sorrow.
The canopy overhead protected us from the rain, but tears soaked my skin. Two Marines lifted the American flag from my brother’s coffin, moving with mechanical precision. In their shiny black shoes and perfectly starched uniforms, they stretched the edges taut and began folding and creasing, folding and creasing, until the stripes disappeared into a compact triangle with just the white stars showing against the navy background. One of the folders and creasers, nearly faceless beneath his round white hat with its polished black visor, presented the triangle of flag to my mother, who clutched it to her chest and released another shuddering sob. I gripped her shoulders tighter as she collapsed against me.
I scanned the crowd, tuning out the final words of Father O’Keefe as he committed Levi’s soul to God and his body to the earth. Friends, family, neighbors, and military personnel surrounded the scene, rows deep. I recognized my friends from school, half of next year’s senior class turning out to show their support. Katie, Samantha and Penny from Somerville all stood up front, crying openly and holding hands. The pain in their eyes reflected what my heart refused to let in. I felt hollow and cold, almost dead inside. A terrible numbness resided in my limbs, as if I’d fallen asleep in a snowbank and my body had frozen there. Except that I was here and there was no escaping the reality. My eyes darted through the faces, each expression as painful as the last.
So much love, so much sadness, so much grief. Whether they knew him or not, people turned out to mourn the death of a young hometown soldier. A Connecticut boy killed in combat. My brother…my brother Levi was dead. My mind let the thought in, trying it on as if maybe I could send it back if it didn’t fit. The casket, the scent of roses—it all made my stomach curl into a tight knot. What Daddy would have called “angel tears” falling from the heavens, gently caressed the broken hearts of the mourners—it felt surreal. I wanted to believe it was a bad dream, a made for TV movie that me and my family were playing in as extras. My mother shook in my arms, the scent of her strawberry shampoo waking me to the reality. This wasn’t a dream or a movie. This was real life—and real death. But I couldn’t let myself believe it, because then everything would be different.
The faces blurred. I closed my eyes, my ears disconnected from the words of the priest, and I gasped for breath. Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and heavy. Then my lungs expanded. I was still alive, still breathing. My heart resumed beating. I opened my eyes and swiped at my cheeks, sniffling to gain control. I searched deeper into the crowd, wanting only to see one person.
Then I spotted him, standing shoulder to shoulder with several other Marines in the third row. He was the only man in uniform who stood round shouldered and slouched, leaning on the crutches that held him upright. I couldn’t see his eyes beneath his hat, but his face was pale and his lips were drawn in a straight, tight line. I shivered in spite of the balmy June air, the dampness seeping into my bones and chilling me to the core.
The service ended. The crowd slowly dispersed, each person laying a single white rose on the casket as they said a final good-bye. One by one, they turned away, faces sad and tear stained. I waited for Alex to approach, but he didn’t. He just disappeared into the crowd. I stood and looked through the sea of umbrellas, catching sight of him flanked by two Marines who were assisting him to a nearby black sedan. Awkwardly negotiating his crutches, he hopped on one foot, his right pant leg drawn up and pinned neatly below his knee, the lower part of his leg no longer there to stand on. My stomach twisted and salty tears burned my throat.
“Jordan, I’m so sorry for your loss.” Alex’s mother stood in front of me. Her hand rested gently on my shoulder. “Levi was…he’ll be missed.” I looked back to the casket where my mother was standing with her back to me, my grandfather’s arm tight around
her waist as she broke down again and cried inconsolably.
“Thank you, Mrs. Cooper. It means a lot to us that you and Alex were here today.” My eyes followed the black sedan as it pulled away from the curb. “This must be terrible for him.”
“The doctors didn’t want him to leave the hospital, but you know Alex….” She pushed a stray wet hair off my cheek, her eyes filled with emotion. “They’re taking him back now.” She glanced at the Government Issue vehicle working its way along the narrow drive of the cemetery, crawling along in the parade of cars. “I’d like to follow and see him get settled in his room again. Tell your mother I’ll stop by soon.” By this time, my grandfather was leading my mother away from the casket, nearly carrying her toward the limousine that awaited us.
“I’ll tell her.” My eyes felt hot and puffy like big caterpillars ready to burst. Everyone had gone and Mrs. Cooper turned to leave. A part of me wanted her to stay. She looked so put together, her blond hair neatly pulled up in a twist, an umbrella protecting her from the rain. I envied the calm professionalism that rolled off of her, the black business suit with pin-striped pants and sensible flats that said she was in control. My own hair hung in long strands, wet on my face, darkened by the rain—not its usual sun- streaked red and gold pulled into a ponytail. The last thing I felt was put together. I called after her. “Tell Alex I’ll be by to see him at the hospital as soon as I can.”
“I’m sure he’d like that,” Mrs. Cooper stopped and turned, her eyes moving to the coffin one more time. The entire surface of the dark mahogany was covered in white roses, not fully in bloom. The scent clung in the damp air as if they knew the box they lay upon would soon be buried under six feet of dirt. Before Alex’s mother walked away, she said, “Again…my deepest sympathies, Jordan.” She cleared her throat, hesitating a moment longer. “I know it’s hard to imagine, but a year from now, everything will feel different.” Then she was gone.
I stood by the casket alone, my own flower in hand. A moment of crushing silence gripped me—nothing except for the drizzling rain and the distant caw of a crow. Mrs. Cooper was right. It was difficult to imagine how I might feel a year from now. I understood that time faded the pain of loss, but I also knew that grief had a way of scarring a person. I glanced over at my father’s headstone, his funeral so far back in my memory, the images were all but lost. A year from now, things might feel different, but they wouldn’t be different. Levi would still be gone, Alex would never have his leg back, and I was pretty certain the scars on my heart would remain raw and painful for a very long time.
I imagined the deep hole beneath the thin layer of green carpet, an abyss about to swallow my brother. He wouldn’t have liked this at all. He told me he would rather be cremated, an idea my mother had immediately dismissed. “Catholics bury their dead so on the last day, they have a body to rise up into when Christ returns,” she’d said. I knew Levi well enough to know he wasn’t concerned about the “last day” as much as he was about being buried in a box in a deep hole where his body would decay and his flesh would be eaten by worms.
I shivered again, my sweater growing heavy as the drizzle turned to a full-on rain. Long strands of hair had fallen from my barrette and stuck to my cheeks. I brushed them off my face and tucked them behind my ears.
“Oh, Lee, how could you? What have you done?” My eyes burned as the words fell on the moist spring air, my voice weakened by sadness and drowned out by the sound of the rain pattering on the muddy ground. “I’m sorry I didn’t…” But there was no point in being sorry now. “I’ll…miss you,” I whispered as I laid the final rose on the mound of flowers. As I let go, it hit me. I would never see him again. The realization slipped one level deeper into my consciousness, penetrating my carefully placed wall of denial. The searing jolt to my heart dragged a sob from my lips.
Familiar footsteps registered behind me. “You about ready to go?” My grandfather laid a large, firm hand on my shoulder.
“Yeah, I guess so.” I wiped the tears and rain from my face. We stood there for another minute, the two of us saying a silent good-bye to Levi, any promise of a future snuffed out in one horrible tragic event. But I knew that was how Levi had wanted it, probably even planned it. He told me more than once that he didn’t belong here in this life, that God had made a mistake. He’d been a reckless daredevil since we were kids, self-destructive in a way that wasn’t natural. He’d led me and Alex into more trouble than any kid could possibly find on his own. That’s how I knew it was all a lie.
The military report had to be wrong. Part of me wanted to let it go and let them be right—to forget what my brother was capable of and blame it all on Alex. But the part of me that knew it wasn’t true couldn’t let Alex take the blame, even if it meant I had to take as much responsibility as anyone. If I had told someone…things could have been different.
In my mind I could see Levi running headfirst into a bad situation knowing there was a good chance he wouldn’t come out alive. His preoccupation with death had been a topic of concern since the first time he cut himself on purpose when he was ten. With every destructive act after that it became clearer—at least to me—that Levi was capable of killing himself. Mom stuck her head in the sand and tried to wish it all away, but I knew what my brother could do. The same way I knew that there was no way Alex would have led them into danger. It must have been Levi’s idea. He’d been good at persuading people. The military had the facts wrong. That’s all there was to it. “I need to know what really happened,” I said, my words coming out stronger than I thought myself capable of.
My grandfather let out a slow breath. “Sometimes it’s best to let things be. Your brother died a hero. There is no greater sacrifice than to lay down one’s life for a friend. It’s a good way to go for a soldier.”
My teeth pressed together. “So the truth doesn’t matter?”
“It won’t change anything. And your mother…” His voice lowered and I heard the weariness creep in. “Your mother needs to believe there is a purpose and a plan in all this.” He wrapped a strong arm around my shoulder and led me away from the gravesite. My feet resisted even as I leaned into his broad chest.
“I don’t get it, Brig. What purpose is there in a twenty year old being put in the ground? Or Alex losing a leg?” My voice carried the sound of defeat. I walked with him toward the limo, dreading the ride back to the house where, no doubt, there would be another crowd to contend with. Exhaustion ran bone deep inside me, fighting with the growing anger that fueled my need for answers. I recognized my grandfather’s tone to mean he wouldn’t help me dig into the details surrounding Levi’s death. He and my mother would be just as happy to believe a lie. If I wanted the truth, I would have to find it myself.
As I climbed into the back of the limo and slid across the seat where my mother was already reaching for my hand, a rush of adrenalin ran through me. The first place I would start was with the one person who was there when it happened. Whether he was ready to talk about it or not, Alex was going to tell me what I needed to know.
Chapter 2
My quest for answers would have to wait. Despite my six phone calls to the hospital, Alex was still refusing visitors. Besides, I had my hands full at home. Mom stayed in bed for three days while Brig and I took turns bringing her food and trying to coax her back to life. As much as I wanted to lie down and disappear beside her, I knew Levi wouldn’t have wanted that.
So I got up every morning and went for my usual six mile run around the lake. I ran cross country for Somerville High and was one of the fastest long distance runners in the state, but no matter how fast or how far I ran, I couldn’t escape the heaviness in my heart or the constant lump in my throat that had taken up residence ten days before when two soldiers showed up at our door with the news. Levi was killed in action and Alex had been wounded.
Running had to be better than hiding in my room crying—my mother’s MO. I did better if I kept busy. School was out for summer and I needed some kind
of routine to make me feel normal, proof that my life would go on even if Levi wasn’t there. As I took to the trails, I focused on my stride and disappeared into the sensation of soft pine needles underfoot.
I ran past the Coopers’ house, one of the largest homes on the lake. The sweeping lawn led up to a large deck surrounded by a rose garden just coming into bloom.
It always seemed sad to me that such a big house was occupied by only one person. Mrs. Cooper stayed on alone after her divorce and her son Alex’s hasty departure into the military at the end of his senior year of high school. With her busy law practice, it was no wonder we didn’t see her much. She had stopped by the house as promised, but Mom refused to see her, screaming loud enough to get the message across that she wanted nothing to do with the Cooper family.
As I ran the path around the lake, each heel strike drew me deeper into the numbness I sought for my soul and farther away from the grief that threatened to paralyze me. I tried to focus on the unfurling of new leaves on the maple trees as they flashed past and the smell of moss covered stone—anything to keep my mind off my brother and the million questions I had. How had I come to be a seventeen year-old girl with a dead father, a dead brother, and a life filled with such uncertainty?
My feet pounded on the trail and sweat trickled down my back.
My father had died from an aneurism when I was four. After a couple of rough years of living in the volatile household of my mother’s sister Theresa and her cop husband, Ted, who fought incessantly, Mom took us to live with Brig. I was six and Levi was nine then. I had a vague recollection of Brig showing up and packing us into his car and getting us out of there, but I didn’t have any clear memory of why.
Not that there was anything wrong with living at the lake with Brig. Thompson Lake was a community-owned property ten minutes outside of Somerville. A thousand acre lake surrounded by cottages, cabins and a few good sized houses for the full-time residents who enjoyed the whipping winds and heavy snows of winter in the Litchfield hills of Connecticut.