More Than a Soldier

by Irene Onorato

  “Oh?” With one more groan, noises changed to something more like water trickling into a bucket or pot.

  “Sounds like you broke the pipe loose.”

  “Yup. So, why’d the lady call you back?”

  Cindy tossed a leg over the arm of the couch and switched the phone to the other ear. “She said she could get in a lot of trouble if anyone found out, but she put my claim on the top of the pile. Not only that. She’s already verified my prior employment—easy to do, since I’ve only worked two jobs in the claim period—and told me I could get paid in as little as three weeks’ time.”

  “That’s great. Friends in high places, eh?”

  “Yeah, unexpected friends in high places. It wasn’t as if I was going to starve to death or have to pack up and live in my car if I didn’t get money right away, but I wasn’t looking forward to depleting my savings on day-to-day necessities.”

  “This calls for a celebration. Have you already had lunch?”

  “Not really. Just snacked on a few cookies and some milk.”

  “I should be done under here and have Mom up and running in half an hour. Then I’ve got to go home and clean myself up. Think you can hold out until, say, two-thirtyish?”

  Eyes closed, head pushed deep into the cushion, Cindy smiled and played a mind-movie featuring Hank’s Jeep rolling across the gravel and him getting out and climbing the porch steps. “Two-thirtyish it is. I’ll down another Oreo if necessary to hold me over.” She giggled. “See ya.”

  What could she do while she waited—go grocery shopping? Clean the house? She popped off the couch and pulled the list from under the refrigerator magnet. Shopping first, then cleaning if she had time.

  * * * *

  “Have a nice day.” The cashier at Murphy’s Market handed Cindy a receipt and flashed a pleasant smile.

  Back at the apartment, she hoisted bags onto the counter and hummed a tune while putting the groceries away. “If I only had a brain? Of all the songs that could have popped into my head, I had to pick that one?” Chuckling, she put the cold items in the fridge.

  Cindy cleared the bathroom counter and pumped a few squirts of pine-scented cleaner on the surface. She wiped everything down and scrubbed the chrome faucet fixtures until they gleamed. Next stop—shower stall. She pivoted with the squirt bottle and rag in her hand.

  A rap on the front door stopped her. Cindy set her cleaning supplies back on the counter and peeked at the clock on the bedroom nightstand. “Two-thirteen is close enough to two-thirtyish for me.”

  With light, happy steps, she bounced to the door and put her eye to the peephole. A head with a shock of reddish gold hair turned and faced the door. Cindy recoiled. An instant headache pounded the inside of her skull. She flung the door open, stepped outside and pulled it closed with a bang.

  “What are you doing here, Belinda?” The sight of her sister’s protruding stomach brought a sting of bile to the back of Cindy’s tongue. She swallowed hard.

  Belinda’s jaw trembled. Her lips twitched into a sad smile. “You won’t answer my calls, so I—”

  “So you thought you’d come over here and flaunt your baby belly and your cutesy little maternity top in my face?” Cindy peered through squinted eyes. “You are not welcome here.” She poked a finger toward Belinda’s bulging middle. “And neither is that.”

  Fingers splayed, Belinda’s hand came up like a protective shield covering her unborn. Tears brimmed over her bottom lashes. She lowered her head in a submissive gesture. Droplets fell from her cheeks onto her pale green top. “I’m sorry, Cindy. What I did was wrong, and—”

  “Really? Ya think?” Cindy planted fisted hands on her hips. “Too bad this revelation didn’t strike before you slept with my fiancé.”

  Sobs shook Belinda’s shoulders. Strawberry-blond curls bounced around her face with every shake. “Please forgive me.”

  “Forgive you?” Cindy snorted. In what universe could an offense such as Belinda’s be forgiven? “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Belinda lifted her reddened face and wiped her cheeks with both hands. “You don’t understand. You never had trouble relating to guys while I-I could barely look one in the eye without turning deep red and looking for a place to run and hide. When you introduced me to Eric, he—”

  “He what? Swept you off your feet with his smooth talk and deceptive charm? Would you like me to call and thank him for tearing down the walls of your lifelong shyness?”

  Hank’s Jeep turned into the parking area.

  Cindy shifted her weight to one leg and crossed her arms. “That’s Hank, the guy I’m seeing now. Maybe you’d like me to introduce you to him so you can— What is that?” She touched the ring on the hand covering Belinda’s stomach. “I can’t believe you’re still wearing the purity ring Dad gave you. Take it off. Now!”

  Still sobbing, Belinda pulled the ring off her finger. Cindy snatched and pitched it off the porch. “Now get out of here, and don’t ever come back.”

  * * * *

  Hank cut the engine and sat with the breeze blowing through the open windows. Something small and metallic bounced of the Jeep’s hood with a chink and landed several feet from Hank’s door. On the porch, Cindy breathed hard and shot ocular daggers at the back of a curly-haired pregnant lady who descended the steps crying as if her heart would burst. The woman went to a white Nissan sedan and looked back. “Cindy, please, I—”

  Cindy speared the road with an index finger. “I said get out of here.”

  The Nissan pulled away and took the woman’s grievous bawling out of audible range.

  Visibly shaken, Cindy folded her arms, dropped them to her side then fidgeted with her hands. Hank met Cindy’s gaze for a fraction of a second before she looked away, hugged herself, and strode to Mrs. Baker’s side of the porch. Head held low, she stood next to the rocking chair with her back facing him.

  Hank picked up the shiny object Cindy had thrown—a gold ring with two hearts looped together and an inscription running around the band that repeated the words love waits. He dropped it into his pants pocket and climbed the wooden steps.

  “Hey.” Hank rested his hands on Cindy’s upper arms. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” Her voice barely broke a whisper.

  “Didn’t look like nothing to me. Who was that you were just talking to?”

  “Talking to? You mean screaming at, don’t you?” A wave of shivers shook her. “That was my sister. Belinda.”

  Hank caressed Cindy’s smooth arms and kneaded her tight muscles with gentle massages. If she wanted to talk, he’d listen as long as she needed. Like her brother, she didn’t seem the type who could be easily coaxed into spilling her guts.

  Hank moved closer until his chest brushed Cindy’s back. He whispered into her ear, “You okay?”

  Satiny hair rubbed his cheek as she shook her head. “I hate the angry, cynical person I’ve become, and I don’t know how to change.” She winced. “I’m so messed up, Hank. It’s a wonder God doesn’t just kill me and get it over with.”

  “Shh. Don’t even talk like that.”

  “I love my sister, but—”

  “Leave it at that. No buts.” He turned her around. “I don’t know what Belinda did to deserve the way you treated her. Maybe it was justified. Maybe it wasn’t. I don’t know the situation, and I’m not your judge. Either way, it’s good to hear you admit you still love her, and usually love conquers all.”

  He lifted her chin. “Why don’t you go splash some water on your face and take a few minutes to pull yourself together. I’ll wait for you by the Jeep.”

  * * * *

  Cindy nibbled the end of a crispy French fry and sipped iced tea through a red and white striped straw. The cheeseburger she’d ordered sat untouched in its wrapper.

  How awful her reprehensible behavior toward her pregnant sister must have appeared to Hank. On the porch earlier, shame had made her want to make hers
elf smaller—shrink from his sight, and disappear. Even now, her disgrace made it hard to look him in the eye.

  Across the table, Hank gobbled a Whopper with huge bites that sent globs of ketchup and slices of pickle splattering onto the paper-lined tray in front of him. He wiped his mouth with a fistful of napkins and slurped down his soft drink until the straw rattled the cup.

  “I can’t deny my love for fast food.” Hank dipped a couple of fries into a small, corrugated cup of ketchup and sent a smile her way. “But Burger King wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said we ought to celebrate.” The fries disappeared in two chomps.

  She shrugged. “Guess I wasn’t in the mood for anything snazzier.”

  “By the looks of it, you’re not in the mood for eating anything right now. What’s the matter, are you still upset over what happened between you and Belinda?”

  “I wish I wasn’t, but, yeah, I am.” She pushed the burger toward him. “You want this?”

  “No, but I’ll save it for Cricket. She can eat the meat.”

  Melted ice diluted her tea to a tasteless brown-tinged liquid. She pushed the cup to the center of the table. One day she might share her private pain with Hank. Not today, though, after the sight of Belinda and her baby bump had started her heart bleeding all over again. She rolled her shoulders back a few times and stretched her neck.

  “Muscles stiff?”

  “Mm-hmm. Very.”

  “Stress does that.” Hank folded more limp fries and popped them in his mouth. “They’ll unwind after a while.”

  “I hope so.”

  Hank gathered the trash onto his tray. “Ready to go?”

  She nodded and went to the car with him.

  “You always seem so relaxed.” Cindy coiled her legs under her while Hank drove with one hand on the wheel. “Don’t you ever get stressed out?”

  “Everyone does. I’m no exception.”

  “So what do you do about it? What’s your coping mechanism?”

  “Stress drives me up a wall. Literally.” He shot her a peculiar, twinkle-eyed smile. “And that’s exactly what stress is going to do to you today.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Hank bumped over a low-lying curb at the entrance to a mostly empty parking lot and pointed at the sign on the building ahead. SULLY’S INDOOR CLIMBING GYM. The plate glass window allowed a panoramic view of different colored walls with hand and toeholds randomly spaced on them.

  Hank parked, turned off the engine, and hung his hand on her seatback. “After I teach you the basics, you’re going to climb up and down those walls like a chimp. When I’m through with you, you’ll be so worn out you won’t have the energy to think about your problems.”

  “Not thinking about problems sounds good to me.” Cindy pulled the handle and pushed open the door with a sigh. “I’m not sure this is going to help, but on your say-so, I’ll give it a try. Can’t make me feel worse, that’s for sure.”

  Chapter 16

  Not a single job from the local paper’s online want ads piqued Cindy’s interest. She typed in the link the unemployment office had given her and checked their listings. Not much to look at there, either. Wasn’t anyone within a twenty-mile radius looking for an office worker with excellent computer skills? She closed her laptop and started a pot of coffee.

  Two lousy job interviews in the last seven days. She wouldn’t have accepted if either had made an offer, especially the secretarial position with the private eye wannabe who couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off things she preferred to keep private. Cindy puffed a silent laugh. Hard to believe she’d actually snapped her fingers and said, “Are you interviewing me, or my sweater?”

  No use dwelling on her joblessness. Hank would be over shortly. She twiddled the section of hair that hung over her shoulder. “Good night, Sassy. 'Night Sassafras. Adios, Sassy pants.” However he phrased them, Hank’s parting good-byes came served with friendly hair tuggings. If her heart had a face, it would be smiling at the very thought right now.

  Gravel crunched outside, announcing Hank’s arrival. Cindy pushed away from the kitchen counter she’d been leaning on, peeked through the blinds, and hurried to the door. She paused with her hand on the knob. Wait for the knock. Appearing too eager might give him the impression that she— She what? Liked him more than she cared to admit?

  She pulled open the door at Hank’s third knock. “Good morning, you’re just in time for fresh coffee.”

  “Smells good in here.” Hank accepted a cup with thanks and straddled a stool. “The weather looks good for camping this weekend. What do you think? Want to go?”

  “Yes!” Short, crisp, and spoken with a little too much enthusiasm, she needed to work on not jumping on his every suggestion like a kid pouncing on a Christmas present. She hid her frozen grin behind a steamy cup of joe. “Do you already have a specific campground in mind?”

  “Campground?” Hank’s head jerked backward, and his brows nearly kissed in the middle. “Why would we want to go to one of those?”

  Cindy laughed. “Where else would we go camping, in the living room under a tent made of blankets strung between the couch and chair?”

  “Smart aleck. I was thinking more along the lines of hiking into the woods, exploring the lay of the land, and...” He stared at her for a moment and thrummed his fingers on the counter. “Okay, we’ll go to a campground. My kind of wilderness treks might be a bit much for you right now.”

  Wilderness trek? A shaggy-haired, loin-clothed Hank ran through the forest of her mind and chucked a spear at a saber-toothed jackrabbit. That would be a bit much for her, all right. A laugh wheezed from her nose.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing.” She pushed an open package of Oreos toward him. “You think I’m ready for some outdoor climbing?”

  “You’ve had only a week’s worth of indoor practice,” Hank crunched into a cookie, “but I think you can handle an easy climb. Nothing too strenuous though.”

  “I feel like I’ve gotten stronger with all this working out at Sully’s.” Fists balled, Cindy coiled her arms and flexed her biceps. “Go ahead, give them a good squeeze. Hurry up, though,” she grunted with arms quivering. “Can’t hold this position forever.”

  Hank felt her muscles and gave a little whistle. “Very nice. Clip someone on the chin with those guns, and you’ll knock him on his a—. Tsk. Almost slipped again.” He smiled. “Hard habit to break.”

  Cindy shook out her arms. “Let’s talk about camping. Do I need to buy a tent, sleeping bag, or—”

  “I’ve got all that stuff. I’ll take care of the equipment, make the reservations, and get us there. Why don’t you take care of the food?” He patted his stomach with both hands. “Feed me, and I’ll be happy.”

  “Deal.” Smiling, she thrust out a hand, and they shook on it.

  Zzzz-zzzz. Zzzz-zzzz. Zzzz-zzzz.

  Hank swiveled left, then right on the stool. “Where’s that buzzing sound coming from?”

  Cindy laughed. “I think it’s the phone vibrating in your back pocket.”

  “Oh.” Hank grabbed for it. “Seems like every time I download an update, all my settings change. Must have turned the ringer off this time. Hello? Hey, Tony. What’s up?”

  He covered the mouthpiece. “Sorry. Job related. I’ve got to take this.”

  “No problem.” Cindy refilled their cups and took hers to the living room. Eavesdropping from the kitchen might be too overt, but if she happened to hear Hank’s conversation from the easy chair, well, that was a different story.

  “Did I receive an invitation from who?” Hank listened without saying anything for a few seconds. “Stop and rewind. Did you just say Prentiss Hollingsworth?”

  Phone glued to his ear, he slid off the stool and faced the living room. “Of course I’ve heard of him, but... Okay, okay, I’m listening.” He looked at Cindy and lifted a single-shoulder shrug. Clearly, her nosiness didn’t seem to bo
ther him.

  Cindy slid to the edge of the cushion. Who hadn’t heard of Prentiss Hollingsworth? Labeled as everything from philanthropist to philanderer, the famous real estate developer’s money and James Bond looks had earned him more than a few front-cover appearances on national magazines over the past few years. But what kind of invitation could he have possibly extended to Hank?

  “A square envelope, you say? Probably thought it was another junk-mail invite for one of those wealth-building scams. Let me go check the Jeep. I throw that kind of stuff in a box and use it as tinder to start fires.” Hank broke into a laugh and started for the door. “No, dude, I’m not the Bronx arsonist. I swear. Let me call you back, okay?”

  He pocketed his phone and looked back at Cindy. “Be back in a minute.”

  * * * *

  Hank set the invitation aside and pushed the junk mail he’d dumped on the backseat back into the cardboard box on the floorboard. With a nudge of his foot, he pushed it aside then tore open the envelope and pulled out the card inside. He mumbled the highlights to himself. “Next Saturday, seven p.m., black tie, invitation for two, Golden Crest Hotel, New Rochelle, New York. Dinner, music, dancing. Brief presentation of proposed projects for Southeast Asia. Hmm.”

  He poked Tony’s number for the callback. “Okay, I found it. What ‘proposed projects’ is he talking about?”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Tony laughed. “Don’t you read business news at all?”

  “No, why should I? It’s boring.”

  “Hollingsworth plans to build super malls, upscale retirement villages, luxury resorts, etcetera in Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, and other countries in the region. Most of the areas have existing structures, some quite formidable, that need to come down. Now do you get it? He’s networking for investors, architects, builders, and, wait for it, Boom! Demolition experts. A gig like this could keep a couple of bums like you and me busy for months. Years, maybe.”

  “How’d he get our names?”

  “Who cares? I don’t know about you, but for once in my life, I’d like to schmooze with the upper echelon, even if I have to wear a stinkin’ tux to do it. If I land a long-term job while wining and dining my girl and dazzling her on the dance floor, even better.”