More Than a Soldier

by Irene Onorato

  A strain of muted music came from the Chevy’s interior and a head moved on the headrest in the driver’s seat.

  Cindy pounded on the trunk. “Hey! Hey, you in the car. Mind moving this rust bucket so I can open my car door?”

  The Chevy’s door opened and the driver’s boot touched the ground.

  Holding her tongue wasn’t an option. After a day like she’d had, she wasn’t in the mood for playing nice-nice. “If you’d parked any closer, you could have played my radio without leaving your car. What possessed you to—”

  Eric unfolded from the driver’s seat.

  Cindy’s heart kicked into high gear.

  “Hi, babe.” His Mr. Cool smile made her sick to her stomach.

  “Come near me and I’ll scream. I swear I will.” She quick-stepped backward. The grill of a parked pickup truck stopped her retreat.

  “Is that any way to speak to your fiancé? All I want to do is talk. Nothing wrong with talking, is there?” He sauntered forward and stopped inches from her. “Love the sexy haircut, by the way.”

  Eyes she’d once considered dreamy now scared her witless. She had to get away. Run. Find safety in numbers. She slid sideways against the pickup.

  His palm slapped against the pickup’s hood. “You and I have unfinished business.”

  “You and I got nothing. We never did.”

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk. I don’t like it when you raise your voice at me.” Eric grabbed her waist and slid his hands down her hips.

  She squirmed and pushed his chest. It was no use. “Heeelp!”

  “Hey, you. Get away from her!” a deep voice boomed from somewhere nearby. Footfalls thudded on the ground.

  Eric scrambled into the Chevy and started the engine. He backed out of the space. Tires screeched.

  Cindy dove onto the hood of an adjacent car.

  The Chevy’s rear end rammed the pickup.

  Eric sped away.

  “You okay?” Big John from the loading dock offered a hand.

  She took it and slid off the car onto her feet. “I’m all right. Just a little shaken. Thanks for running over to help me.”

  “Did you know that guy?” John glanced in the direction Eric had fled.

  “Yeah. I know him. Unfortunately. He’s the ex-fiancé from hell.”

  “Bummer.” The pickup’s smashed grill and broken headlight drew John’s gaze. “That your vehicle?”

  “No, that’s mine over there. I’ll call the cops. This isn’t the first time my ex came after me. Plus, I’m sure whoever owns the truck will need a hit-and-run report for their insurance.”

  “I’ll wait with you. They’ll probably want my statement too, since I saw what happened. Besides, I don’t want to leave you here alone in case that guy shows up again.”

  “Thanks. That’s very nice of you.” Cindy pressed Vargas’s number.

  * * * *

  Hank parked the Jeep close to Mrs. Baker’s vehicle and sat with the windows open. No use getting out until Cindy’s car pulled into its space in front of the apartment. He grabbed a Louis L’Amour western from the glove box and flipped to the dog-eared page. If she didn’t show up in the next ten minutes, he’d give her a call.

  “Yoo-hoo, Hank.” Mrs. Baker waved from the porch.

  He tossed the book on the passenger seat and joined her. “Hi, Mrs. B.”

  “Brrr. Starting to get a nip in the air.” Liver-spotted hands cinched her pale pink cardigan tighter.

  “Actually, I like it on the cool side. Can’t hardly wait for winter.

  “Not me. The older I get, the less tolerance I have for cold weather.”

  “I expected Cindy’s car would be here since she knew I was picking her up at six. Did she run to the store for something?”

  “I’ve no idea. She should have been home nearly an hour ago.” Mrs. Baker pushed her door open. “Why don’t you come inside and wait for her. Besides, I’d like to talk to you about something.”

  Hank followed her inside and closed the door. “What’s up, Mrs. B?”

  “I’m worried about Cindy. She hasn’t been the same since that beast of a man laid his hands on her.”

  He’d been thinking the same thing. Sullen one moment, exuberant the next, he never knew what to expect from her. “I’m sure she’ll be okay, given enough time.”

  “I hope you’re right. I miss the old Cindy and her crazy fly-by-the-seat-of-her pants ways. She used to pop over for impromptu visits, but now they’re few and far between. I don’t know why she felt compelled to take that awful job instead of waiting for something better to come along.” Mrs. Baker sank onto her loveseat and invited Hank to sit in the easy chair.

  “You do know that she was denied her unemployment claim because she’d been fired from her last job, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but she could have filed an appeal.”

  “She’d have lost, and she knew it. There was no way to prove she’d been fired unjustly.”

  “You’re right, of course, but— Oh, I think I hear Cindy pulling in now.”

  Cindy’s car door banged shut as Hank stepped out onto the porch. She trudged up the steps, shoulders slumped, purse dangling by the shoulder strap in one hand. “Hey, Hank. Sorry I kept you waiting, but I had a little run-in with Eric in the parking lot after work.”

  “What?” He took her by the shoulders. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No, not this time.” Sadness filled her tired eyes. “But he did some damage to another worker’s pickup truck.”

  “Oh, dear.” Mrs. Baker wrapped an arm around Cindy’s waist. “Come inside and tell us what happened. I’ll make you a nice, hot cup of tea.”

  Cindy dropped her purse next to the couch and sat. “This feels so good. My feet are killing me.”

  Mrs. Baker put a teakettle on the stove. “Go on, dearest. Tell us what happened. We’re listening.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Hank sat beside Cindy.

  “Don’t worry, I’m fine. Really. So, here’s what happened.” She related the incident and dabbed a tear from the corner of her eye. “When Eric left, Big John, the coworker who scared him off, stayed with me. Then, I called Pete Vargas.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” He put his hand over hers. “You know I’d have come running.”

  “I know you would’ve. But I was safe, so there wasn’t any point in you coming. I called Pete because I’d taken a picture of the license plate of the car Eric was driving, and also because there was damage to the pickup truck Eric backed into.”

  “Still, I wish you would’ve called me.”

  The whistling teakettle called Mrs. Baker back to the kitchen. She brought Cindy a cup of tea. “Here you go. It’s that Egyptian licorice flavor you like so much. I put an ice cube in to cool it a tad so you could drink right away. Hank, would you like something? Tea, coffee, a cold drink?”

  “No thank you, Mrs. B. I’m good.”

  Cindy’s phone rang in her purse. She rummaged for it and answered. “Hello, Pete... Yes, I got home all right. Thanks for asking. I’m at my neighbor, Mrs. Baker’s apartment. Hank’s here as well... So, the car was stolen? Figures... Okay, keep me posted... Thanks. Bye.”

  “Did I hear you right?” Hank asked. “Eric added grand theft auto to his rap sheet?”

  “Yes, and don’t forget hit-and-run. Vargas said the cops found the car dumped in the Walmart parking lot. Eric’s such a loser.”

  Loser was putting it mildly. Hank rose from the couch. “Do you need to change your clothes before we go out?”

  “Definitely. I feel like a walking billboard with Casey Mailing Solutions printed on the back of my shirt. Mind if I take this tea with me, Mrs. B?”

  “Not at all.” Mrs. Baker hugged Cindy. “I’m glad that maniac didn’t hurt you.”

  “Thanks. Me too.”

  * * * *

  “I’ll only be a minute.” Cindy closed the bedroom door, pulled off her work T-shirt,
and changed into a navy-blue pullover. Looking in the mirror was a mistake. No amount of fluffing and buffing could make her hair look any better. “Pixie hairdo my foot. Pixie doofus is more like it.”

  “You talking to me, Sassy?” Hank called through the door.

  “No.” She went back to the living room. “Just talking to myself.”

  Hank chuckled. “I do that a lot too. What’re you in the mood for tonight? How about Mexican?”

  “I don’t feel like going anywhere. Bad enough I’ve got to go to work looking like this. If I were independently wealthy, I wouldn’t leave the house until my hair grew back to a presentable length. As manly as I look, I’m surprised I haven’t sprouted a mustache.”

  “You’re gorgeous, and there’s nothing manly about you or your hair. Get over it and move on with your life. You look fine. Come on, let’s go out.” Hank opened the front door.

  “Are you kidding me?” She slammed the door. “If I look fine, how come when I accidentally dropped a receipt at Walmart the other day a man chased after me with it calling, ‘Excuse me, sir, you dropped this’? Answer me that, Hank.”

  “The guy made a mistake. So what? Why are you yelling at me? All I meant was—”

  “How can you possibly stand there so smugly and tell me to get over it and move on with my life? I didn’t ask to be handcuffed to the bed and have my hair lopped off with a knife. You have no idea what it’s like to have someone overpower you and violently alter your physical appearance in a split second.” She turned and stepped toward the kitchen bar.

  “Is that your signature move, turning your back on me whenever you’re upset?”

  Her jaw quivered. But, no, she would not let herself cry. Not this time.

  “I want you to think hard about what you just said.” Hank reached around her, pressed something into her palm and closed her fingers around it. “I’ll be waiting in the car.”

  The front door closed and Hank’s footfalls echoed down the steps.

  Cindy opened her hand. Hank’s glass eye looked up at her.

  Chapter 27

  Oppressive emptiness filled Cindy’s apartment. Her ordeal with Eric paled in significance when compared to what happened to Hank. Yet, despite his catastrophic losses, Hank never voiced pity for himself or lashed out at others. His resilience in the face of adversity boggled her mind.

  Not shaped like a ball as she’d expected, the phony eye was nothing more than a curved piece of glass or plastic with an iris and pupil painted or somehow embedded in it. Installed in Hank’s eye socket, it seemed alive and happy. In her hand, it spoke of loss and pain and saddened her to the core.

  Cindy hung her purse over her shoulder and left the house with Hank’s prosthetic eye secure inside her clenched hand.

  A Louis L’Amour Western novel lay on the Jeep’s passenger seat. Cindy moved it to the dash and got in. Hank didn’t so much as look at her. After the way she’d snapped at him, she couldn’t blame him.

  “I’m sorry, Hank. I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately. Sometimes I feel like another person is living in my skin. I’m angry nearly all the time, and I don’t know what to do about it. How do you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Have such a good attitude toward life. You, of all people, have every reason to be bitter. How is it that you’re always so happy?”

  “Easy. I wake up every morning.”

  “You wake up every morning, and what?”

  “That’s just it, Cindy. Don’t you understand?” Hank twisted to face her. Reddish-pink flesh peeked out from behind the lids and lashes of his empty eye socket. “I have the privilege of waking up every morning. The same can’t be said for four others who were killed in the blast that profoundly altered my life. I’m happy to be alive.”

  “I’m happy you’re alive, too.” More than she could ever express. “You mean so much to me, I can’t imagine what my life would be like if we’d never met.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that. I feel the same.” Hank’s small smile relieved the tightness in her throat.

  “I shouldn’t have gone off on you like I did. It’s not my hair so much that bothers me. It’s the betrayal, the realization of how helpless and scared I was, and how things spiraled out of control so quickly that twists my guts into knots. Not to mention being robbed of the donation to Kiddie Wigs. Every time I touch my hair or see my reflection, it reminds me of those terrible truths.”

  “I know.” Hank took the glass eye from her hand and studied her with a one-eyed gaze. “How about we forget what just happened and get back on course for having a meal and enjoying the evening together?” His smile grew and lightened the mood.

  “I would like that.”

  “All right, then.” Hank left the Jeep, walked around, and opened her door. “Let’s go back inside so I can pop my eye back in. I’m sure I’ve sufficiently grossed you out enough for one day.”

  Cindy stood to her feet. “I’m not grossed out. Curious, yes, but definitely not grossed out.” She moved closer. “Mind if I—”

  “Go ahead.” Hank widened his empty socket with a thumb and forefinger. “Nothing wrong with being curious.”

  “It looks raw and painful.”

  “Nah.” Hank dropped his hand and blinked several times. “It’s all healed up and nothing hurts anymore.”

  “Not even when you insert the prosthesis?”

  “Nope. It bothered me at first, but now I’m used to it. You can watch me put it in if you want.”

  The offer didn’t seem the least bit strange coming from Hank, and something inside her wanted to see how the task was done. “I’d love to watch.”

  “Okay, let’s do it.” Hank turned toward the house.

  Cindy grabbed his arm. “Wait. One last thing before we go inside.”

  “What’s that?”

  She cupped his face and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for putting up with me.”

  “And now, you’ve just made my day.” He gave her hair two tugs. “Come on. Once I shove my eyeball into my head we can order something to eat.”

  * * * *

  Chopsticks stuck up like antennas from empty Chinese food cartons on the kitchen bar. Hank tossed all of it into the trash and wiped the surface with a damp sponge. “There you go. Your belly’s full, the kitchen’s clean, and you didn’t have to lift a finger. Don’t get no better than that, does it?”

  “Not much.” Cindy turned on the stool and hiked her legs onto the adjacent one. “The only thing that would make me feel better is if my feet and legs would stop throbbing.”

  “Your sneakers look worn out. You might consider replacing them with a new pair. And don’t go cheap with them either. Your feet are worth spending a little extra on.”

  “You’re right. I’ll do that this weekend.” She rubbed her calves and smiled. “You never told me how your trip to Albuquerque went.”

  “That’s because you never asked, and wouldn’t answer your phone the whole time I was gone.”

  “Uh-oh. Guess I’m in the doghouse.” The glow of her smile dimmed. “Did you see Charlotte Hollingsworth while you were there?”

  “Do I detect a little jealousy?”

  “I’m pleading the fifth to that question.”

  “How could you possibly be jealous of a middle-aged married woman?”

  Cindy sat upright with a quirky little smirk. “First of all, I never said I was jealous. Second, Charlotte is a very pretty woman. Who knows, she might be quite the cougar. Mrrroww.” She clawed the air then laughed.

  “So, you’re saying I’d be a good catch for a prowling cougar?” Hank went around the bar and stood with the toes of his boots close to her stool. “Admit it. You’re jealous.”

  “If you were my official boyfriend, maybe I would be, but—”

  Her smartphone rang on the bar. The caller ID displayed MOM.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

  “No.”
She picked up the phone, sent the call to voicemail, and tossed it back on the bar. “I already know what she’s going to say, and I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Something going on between you and your mom?”

  Cindy brushed past him, went to the bookshelf and thumbed through DVDs. “I have a Sam Elliott western here you’d probably like. It’s a Louis L’Amour story, and I know how much you like those.” She turned toward him, movie in hand.

  “Why are you mad at your mother?” He crossed the room and took the DVD case from her.

  “Who said I’m—”

  “What’s going on, Cindy?”

  Her shoulders sagged. “My sister’s been crying on Mom’s long-distance shoulder, sniveling about how hurt she is because I won’t have anything to do with her. Mom makes like Belinda did nothing more serious than borrow a dress or pair of my shoes without asking. She’s got a lot of nerve asking me to forgive Belinda for what she did.”

  “Don’t be hard on your mom. Being a liaison between two daughters she loves equally is a precarious position.”

  Cindy snatched the DVD case. “Can we watch a movie and not talk about this anymore?” She sidestepped to move around him.

  He blocked her way. “Your mother is right about you forgiving Belinda, but—”

  “I can’t believe you’re siding with her. Just because Belinda plea-bargained with alligator tears dripping down her face doesn’t mean she automatically gets her felony charge reduced to a simple misdemeanor. It’s easy for you, my mom, and even Mrs. Baker to tell me to forgive. None of you—”

  “Can I finish what I was starting to say, or are you going to cut me off every time I open my mouth?”

  Cindy looked away, but stood firm.

  “Forgiving someone doesn’t mean all’s forgotten and you’re back to being buddy-buddies. Trust has been broken, and only time will tell if that breach can ever be repaired. All I’m saying is you should take the first step and forgive her. Let God work out all the other details.”