Chased

by Hazel James

  “I am happy. And nervous about my trip. But mostly happy.” The words roll off my tongue with little effort. Pretending to be content when you’re anything but is exhausting—even on antidepressants—so this new peace is a welcome change.

  “Maggie called me.” Aunt Helen’s eyes sparkle like the diamond studs in her ears, my gift to her on her first fiftieth birthday. I wondered how long it would take for her to mention Maggie’s call. I’ve been here for ten minutes; I’m surprised she lasted this long.

  “I figured so.” I purse my lips, but can’t manage to keep the stern look on my face. Maggie means well, even when she’s meddling. Which is pretty much all the damn time.

  Uncle Kurt loads another biscuit and licks a drop of gravy off his thumb, paying no mind to Aunt Helen’s good-natured warning about his last cholesterol check. “So your girl’s a nurse?”

  I point at him with my fork. “You know about this too?”

  “I had the phone on speaker.” Aunt Helen giggles, clearly enjoying her role in this grapevine. I used to dodge questions about my love life with non-committal grunts and questions that turned the conversation to the weather, current events, or what’s happening on reality TV. Anything to keep the spotlight off me. But now? It’s not so bad. Paige is unlike any woman I’ve ever known, and talking about her is easy.

  “Yes, she’s a nurse at Barton. She works in the ER. That’s where we met.”

  “What about that other one?” Aunt Helen asks.

  “What other one?”

  “That dark-haired nurse. She was at Maggie’s house yesterday fussing over baby shower decorations when I dropped Austin off. She asked about you a couple of times, but Maggie stayed tight-lipped.” Aunt Helen’s upper lip curls slightly. She, like Paige, would never last in a poker game.

  “Whitney?” She’s the only other nurse I know by name at Barton, though I haven’t given her a spare thought since I left her house last month. “What about her?”

  “You better watch that one. She’s a snake, and judging by her attitude, she’s not going to take losing you so easy.”

  “She never had me, Aunt Helen.” She tips her head to the right and cocks an eyebrow, which, growing up, meant ‘Don’t argue with me, boy.’ I sigh and nod. “Yes ma’am, I’ll watch her.”

  “Good.” Her take-no-sass expression instantly dissolves into a motherly smile. “Now tell us about your trip.”

  The familiar stab of guilt isn’t as sharp this morning. Certainly, nothing like it was during my last session with Clay before my shoulder injury. The need to punish myself was all I could feel that day. Hell, it’s all I can feel most days, but even that is ebbing, thanks to Paige. Telling her everything was like cleaning a festering wound. It hurt, but it’s necessary to heal properly. “I should get there around lunchtime, depending on traffic. I’m having dinner with Kelsey, Abigail, and Patch’s family, then we’re going to the cemetery for a sundown service.”

  Aunt Helen runs her soft hand over mine. “You be sure to call us when you get there, and again before you leave.”

  “Yes ma’am. In fact, I need to head out now. I have one more stop to make before I hit the road.” I gather our empty plates and take them to the sink, dropping our napkins into the trash along the way. Even at twenty-four, I don’t dare break the ‘we cooked, you clean up’ rule. “Thanks again for the wonderful breakfast,” I say, as we reach the door. I lean down to kiss Aunt Helen’s cheek, then extend a hand toward Uncle Kurt, who pulls me into a bear hug. The familiar scent of his Old Spice surrounds me like a comforting blanket.

  “I’m proud of you, son. We both are,” he says into my shoulder. We stay that way just long enough for words to form around the lump in my throat.

  “Thank you,” I whisper. He claps me on the back and holds the screen door open while we both pretend our eyes aren’t moist. Halfway to my truck, Aunt Helen calls my name. I turn around in the yard just in time to see her scuttle inside.

  “What’s that about?” I call to Uncle Kurt. He lifts a palm, his bemused expression telling me he’s as clueless as I am. A few moments later, Aunt Helen returns to the door with the beat-up yellow cooler we used to take on storm chases with our brownies and milk. When I turned twenty-one, that tradition turned into having a victory beer.

  I step onto the porch and she lifts the lid, revealing a bouquet of red flowers lying on a bed of ice. “I picked this up for you yesterday. I thought it would make a nice gift for Kelsey.”

  “Poppies.” I brush my fingertips over the paper-thin petals. The pages of my memory flip backward, landing on Patch’s funeral. I wasn’t supposed to go, but I threatened to leave the Veterans Affairs hospital in San Antonio AMA—against medical advice—if my doctor didn’t clear me for the trip. I was too injured to be a pall bearer, so I sat in my hospital-issued wheelchair two rows behind Patch’s family. One of our teammates read In Flanders Fields by John McCrae during the eulogy. The second stanza still haunts me.

  We are the dead; short days ago

  We lived, felt dawn, saw sunsets glow,

  Loved and were loved, and now we lie

  In Flanders fields.

  Flanders fields could have been in Afghanistan or right here in Moore. I didn’t die the day of the explosion—or on its first anniversary, despite my attempt to—yet I was still lying there, unable to move. Except now, it’s more like the field of poppies outside Emerald City in The Wizard of Oz, and with the help of my blue-eyed good witch, I’m finally waking up.

  “Thanks, Aunt Helen. They’re beautiful. I’ll let Kelsey know you and Uncle Kurt send your regards.” With a smile and a final wave, I close the cooler lid and head for my truck again, ready to get on the road… right after a quick detour.

  The sterile smell of Barton Memorial greets me as I stride through the automatic glass doors of the emergency room. It’s seven in the morning, but judging by the steady buzz between the nurses’ station and patient beds, it doesn’t look like Paige is leaving anytime soon. One of the first things I learned as a PJ was that shifts end when you’re done with your patients, not when the clock hits a certain number.

  Aunt Helen’s warning echoes through my head as I spin around at the sound of Whitney’s voice. “DH! What are you doing here?” She slithers into my personal space, her come-hither eyes oozing with intent, and slides a hand up my side like its hers for the taking. My feet instinctively retreat one step back, forcing her to break contact.

  “Um, hey. I just came to drop something off for someone.” I frantically search for Paige, and breathe a sigh of relief when I spot her standing at a portable computer in the hallway. “In fact, I just found her. If you’ll excuse me…” I turn and make a beeline to my girlfriend.

  My girlfriend.

  Damn, I love the sound of that.

  I pause behind Paige, appreciating the way her pink unicorn scrub pants show off her assets, while she finishes a chart. The second she swipes her badge to lock the screen, I pounce.

  “Hey there, beautiful.” Paige turns, her tired eyes landing on my chest. By the time they reach my face, she’s beaming.

  “DH! What are you doing here?” That’s the second time in two minutes I’ve heard that question, but this time it doesn’t make my skin crawl.

  “I’m heading out, but I wanted to see you before I left. And I brought you this.” I hold out the small cherry limeade I picked up from Sonic. She groans with pleasure, alerting the lower half of my body that it’s near the motherland. For as much as I’d love to throw her over my shoulder and take her straight to my bed, I maintain a safe distance—two squares in the worn hospital linoleum—and tuck my hands in my jeans pockets for everyone’s safety.

  Her eyelids flutter as she takes a sip, and her satisfied sigh hits my ears and travels straight to my veins like the first jolt of caffeine after a night of no sleep. “Thank you. I really needed that. How’d you know I had a crazy night?”

  “I saw your bat signal and knew I needed to swoop in with reinforc
ements so you could continue saving Gotham City. It’s a civic duty, and I’m glad to do it.”

  She inches closer to me and drops her voice. “Then I’ll have to show you my appreciation when you get back.”

  Christ almighty. My fingers flex against their denim prison, begging for parole so they can get their fill of Paige before I leave. Except, we’re in a busy emergency room, where the only reasonable privacy is in the curtained patient rooms.

  Bingo.

  “Do you hear that?” I tip my ear toward the empty room to my right.

  “Hear what?”

  “Running water. It sounds like it’s coming from in there.” I wink at Paige and walk to the sink, praying she follows. I turn the faucet handle slightly so I’m not technically lying, then twist it to its off position when Paige is two steps away. “There I go again, saving Gotham City from high utility bills. I expect a thank you note from the mayor.” My eyes dart past her to the empty hallway, confirming we have a few moments of solitude.

  That’s all I need.

  “What was tha—” Before she can finish her question, I stride toward her, plunge my fingers into her mess of curls, and crush my mouth to hers, savoring the taste of her cherry lips and the way her body instantly molds to mine. Then, with the self-discipline of a saint, I release her.

  “Fuck, I wish I didn’t have to leave this weekend,” I groan.

  She smiles and pats my arm. “It’s just for one night. And I have a feeling this trip will be good for you.” I nod and reluctantly walk back into the hallway just as someone steps into the curtained room beside us. Perfect timing. “Thanks for coming to see me, and for the drink.” Paige drains the last of her cherry limeade, then tosses her cup into the trash can next to the computer. “Report won’t be so bad now.”

  “My work here is done.” I dust my hands off for effect, which makes her laugh. “I’ll call you tonight, Nurse Paige.”

  I turn my rock music up a little louder as I approach Cooke County, Texas. Being in the same vicinity as my father makes me want to hurl. He’s not up for parole for another couple of years, and my only hope is that he fucks up before then and earns a life sentence. I’m not too worried about Sheila, though. I’d bet money that she’ll be back in jail before Christmas. She never could resist the call of drugs.

  The sound of ringing interrupts my music, and Clay’s number flashes on the radio display. I punch the Bluetooth button to answer his call. “What’s up, dude?”

  “How you feeling, Goose? Talk to me!”

  I groan at his shitty Top Gun impression. “You do realize that neither of us were in the Navy, right?”

  “Aw, don’t tell me you’ve lost that lovin’ feeling already.”

  “It’s gone, man,” I joke.

  He laughs, but quickly shifts into the reason behind his call. “You’re in Cooke County.”

  “Jesus, Clay. Do you have a fucking tail on me?” I glance in the rearview mirror, but there’s no one behind my truck.

  “No tail. Just Find My Friends.”

  Oh yeah. Last summer, after the tornado, I saw Clay twice a week. He asked if he could track my phone’s location through an app, that way he could find me if I became suicidal again. “You’re such a stalker. But yes, I’m in Cooke County.”

  “Any thoughts of turning around and coming home?”

  I glance at the photo album and yellow cooler in the passenger seat like they’re a source of strength. “Nope. I’m ready to do this. It’s been a long time coming.”

  “It has. Send me a text tonight after the service.”

  “Yes, Mother,” I chuckle.

  “Are we still on for our session tomorrow evening?”

  I breathe a small sigh of relief once I pass the exit for the jail. “Yeah, I’m leaving San Antonio early, so I’ll be there.”

  “Good. I have something I want to talk to you about when you come in. And don’t forget about that charity event next Sunday.”

  “Charity event?”

  “Jesus Christ, you’re worse than Dory. The dinner and bachelor auction? The one you agreed to last month?”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I recall as the details float back. “The one at the Skirvin. I got it.”

  “You’d better. I’m counting on you to bring in some money.”

  According to urban legend, the hotel is haunted by the ghost of a maid who had an affair with the man who built it. It’s a fitting place to have our event, since many of the guys who will be up for auction are haunted by their own ghosts. The whole thing was Clay’s idea. The proceeds are going toward our new Oklahoma City chapter of VETSports, a non-profit that uses sports and community involvement to improve the overall health of veterans. I could have used something like this last summer, but I’m glad we’re getting it now. There are so many veterans in our area who need help and are either too afraid of mental health counseling, or are too stubborn to do it.

  It’s a feeling I know all too well.

  “Watch, I’m going to get some seventy-year-old granny as my date,” I predict. I’d almost prefer that. I agreed to the auction before Paige was in the picture and I don’t want her to think anything will come of my date with the winner.

  “And she’ll still try to score with you, just so she can say she screwed DH Rhoads before she dies.” Clay’s deep laugh pours out of my speakers, filling the cab of my truck. “She’ll take off her bra and her tits will drop down to her knees. But you’ll need to be gentle, or she could break a hip.”

  I shudder in my seat. “That’s fucking disgusting.”

  “You might even have to resuscitate her with mouth-to-mouth.” He’s in hysterics now, and I can’t help but join in.

  “You’re going to Hell, Clay. Straight there, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.” His only response is more laughter. “I’m hanging up now.” I punch the button, and startle when my rock music takes over the radio again. No longer needing a musical diversion, I turn the volume down and push the scan button, stopping at the chorus of a song that sounds like it was written for me and Paige.

  Everything Has Changed.

  It has. Finally.

  PULLING UP BESIDE PATCH’S HOUSE is like stepping back in time. The corner lot gives me a perfect view of the fire pit, swing set, and jungle gym we built the summer before our last deployment. Abigail was three, and Patch, being the family guy he was, wanted to create an oasis for her while we were gone. The guys on our team didn’t mind helping out with the manual labor; Patch and Kelsey paid us in beer and barbecue, and that beat the hell out of chow hall food and greasy takeout. I survey the rest of the back yard on the walk to the front of the house. The vegetable garden Kelsey started along the fence must have tripled in size since I saw it last. She dreamed of growing food for her family, and from the looks of it, she could feed half of her neighborhood, too. She’s obviously doing well, which makes me happy.

  “Impressive, huh?” The screen door bangs shut as Kelsey steps off the front porch with a grin that lights up her face, and for a moment, I’m back on my bunk in Afghanistan with an armload of mail and care packages. I expected Patch to scavenge through my boxes like he always did, but he was too busy with his own letters. I read all about Austin’s latest adventures in preschool, what was going on at the auto shop, and the update on my parents’ legal proceedings, but Patch was still MIA. When I popped my head up to his bunk, he was staring at a photo of Kelsey and Abigail in a field not too far from their house. Technically speaking, the picture was beautiful. The warm glow of the evening sun made halos around their heads, and the wildflowers, Mother Nature’s gift to Texas, were in full bloom. But Patch didn’t mention any of that. All he said was, “Dude. Her smile.” He was starry-eyed all night.

  “Very impressive,” I say, coming back to the present. I shift the bouquet and photo album into my left arm and hug Kelsey with my right when we both reach the driveway. Her head still stops at my chest, something I used to tease her relentlessly for. My favorite practica
l joke was putting phone books in her car so she’d have a booster to see out the windshield. The guys on the team got in on that one, and together we loaded eighteen copies of the Yellow Pages into her Toyota Camry. “You should use some of that Miracle-Gro you’re spraying in your garden. It might help you out.”

  “It’s good to see you too. Hey, while you’re up there, do you mind checking my gutters?” We share a laugh, but the weight of the moment hits me when we break apart. If this was two years ago, Patch would walk out and shake my hand, and we’d head to the back yard so I could kick his ass in corn hole while Kelsey and Abigail cheered from the sidelines.

  “Sorry I didn’t come sooner.” My throat tightens.

  She squeezes my arm. “It’s okay.”

  “I just—”

  “DH,” she interrupts. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. Grieving is a bitch, and we all do it in our own way and on our own time.”

  I let out a soft chuckle. “You always did have a way with words. Here,” I say, holding out the bouquet. “These are from Aunt Helen and Uncle Kurt. They send their love.”

  Kelsey takes an appreciative sniff and unleashes another megawatt smile. “They’re perfect.” We turn toward the front porch as the screen door swings open, revealing a little girl with shoulder-length auburn hair and soft hazel eyes—a miniature version of Patch that punches me square in the gut.

  “Who’s that, Mama?”

  Kelsey tugs on my arm to get my feet moving again. “This is DH. He came to visit us.”

  We climb the top step and I kneel in front of Abigail. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I remember you. You’re a lot bigger than you were the last time I saw you.”

  “That’s because I eat a lot of vegetables,” she declares. “Except I don’t like peas, but Mama says I have to eat them anyway because they make me strong.”

  “Peas definitely make you strong. Maybe we can arm wrestle later and we’ll see how big your muscles are.”

  Her tiny brows draw together and her bow-shaped lips form a perfect pout. “I’ve never arm wrestled before.”