More Than a Soldier

by Irene Onorato

  “Not really. I just bumped into something and added to my bruise collection first thing this morning. That’s all. What’s up? Any word from the crime lab?”

  “That’s what I was calling about. It’s confirmed. The fingerprints on the car belong to Eric.”

  “Imagine that.”

  Pete chuckled. “Yeah, who’da thunk?”

  “Pete, I hate to cut you off, but I’ve got to get ready for work.” Water trickled down her leg onto the bath mat. “Thanks for letting me know about the prints.”

  “No problem. Have a good day. Bye.”

  “Bye.” She set the phone down and got back under the shower.

  It wasn’t likely she’d have a good day. Not at Casey Mailing Solutions. The nerve of her boss, dogging her out for taking Friday off even after she told him her sister had almost been killed in a wreck. Insensitive jerk. He’d acted as if he’d never had a family emergency in his life. One of these days, he—

  Was that the phone ringing again?

  Cindy stepped a foot onto the mat and picked up the phone. MOM flashed on the caller ID.

  “Everything all right, Ma?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Nobody calls to chit-chat this early in the morning. Is Belinda okay?”

  “Yes, she slept much better in her own bed last night. Her leg and wrist were aching, but the pain meds took care of that. Cindy, there’s something I need to say to you.”

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “I’m so pleased that you’ve forgiven your sister. That was a hard thing to do. What Belinda did to you was terrible. I never meant it to sound as if I condoned or defended what she did. If it came off that way, I’m sorry. I love you, sweetheart.”

  “I love you too, Mom.” It warmed her heart to know her mother hadn’t sided with Belinda after all. “Thanks for calling and telling me this.”

  “I meant every word of it. I’ll let you go so you can get ready for work. Buh-bye now.”

  “See ya.” Cindy tossed the phone back onto the vanity, grabbed the shampoo bottle and lathered her hair. Suds stung her eyes. “Oww, oww, oww!” She turned toward the showerhead and let the water hit her face full-force.

  The phone rang again.

  Cindy shook soap off her hands and stepped out of the tub, her eyes burning and vision blurry. “Does this look like Grand Central Telephone Station? Come on, people. I ain’t got time for this.”

  She dried her hands and face on a towel and snatched the phone on the third ring. The caller ID was a blur. “Hello.”

  “Hey, babe. How’s my girl doing this morning?” Eric’s buttery-smooth voice churned Cindy’s stomach.

  “I’m not your girl, you murdering slime-bag. How does it feel to know you killed your own son?” A string of curses lined up on her tongue, ready to be spewed. She bit her lip and held them back.

  “I paid Belinda good money—seven hundred bucks, not that it’s any of your business—to get rid of that little problem. She wouldn’t get the job done, so I did it for her. By the way, I heard Belinda survived her unfortunate accident. That’s too bad.”

  “Accident my foot. Your fingerprints were all over her brake system. When the cops find you, I hope they shoot you full of holes.”

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Didn’t I tell you I don’t like it when you talk like that? Be sweet.”

  “Drop dead, Eric.”

  “Tell your sister she owes me seven hundred dollars. And Cindy?” Eric sniggered.

  “What?”

  “Watch your back, babe.” He hung up.

  * * * *

  Cindy stepped inside Mrs. Baker’s apartment, closed the door, and slid the deadbolt in place.

  “Goodness, Cindy, you’re shaking like a leaf. What on earth is wrong?”

  “Eric just called and threatened me.”

  “What! But I thought Hank blocked Eric’s number from your phone.” Mrs. Baker hurried to the window and took a nervous look through the blinds.

  “He did. But Eric called from a different number.” She spared the details of having shampoo in her eyes and not being able to see the caller ID clearly at the time of the call. “I’d better call Detective Vargas.”

  “Yes, do it right now. I’ll pour you some coffee. A sip of something warm might be good for soothing your nerves. Come sit.” Mrs. Baker patted a stool as she passed into the kitchen.

  Cindy took a seat, called Pete, and told him about Eric’s phone call.

  “Don’t worry, Cindy,” Pete said. “We’re going to get him. I promise. Forward me the number he called from and I’ll see if we can track it down. It’s a long shot, but worth a try. Eric’s smart. I wouldn’t be surprised if he called from a burner phone, or even a stolen one.”

  “I’m afraid for Belinda. Eric’s already admitted he meant to kill her and the baby. What if he tries to hurt her again?”

  “I don’t think he’d try anything with your parents in the apartment with her. But I’ll make sure the guys who patrol her neighborhood are aware of the situation. What time do you have to be at work?”

  “In twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll be over in five to escort you. Hang in there, Cindy. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  “Thanks, Pete.” Cindy ended the call. Her hand shook as she sipped the coffee Mrs. Baker put in front of her. “Pete’s coming over to make sure I get to work okay.”

  Mrs. Baker dampened a sponge and wiped a few drops that had sloshed out of Cindy’s cup onto the bar. “Are you sure you want to go to work today? Your hands are shaking so badly you can barely drink your coffee in peace.”

  “I have to. I can’t afford to lose my job.”

  “I hate to see you go to that hellhole day in and day out. Surely you can find a better job than that.”

  “I know. I hate it too. But until something else comes along, and I have been looking, I need the money.” Cindy’s head throbbed. “Oh, how I wish I could talk to Hank, but he’s still not answering my calls.”

  “Then you know what you have to do, don’t you?”

  “No. What?”

  Mrs. Baker came around the counter and cupped Cindy’s cheeks in her hands. “Go find him.”

  Chapter 33

  The phone in Cindy’s pocket buzzed against her backside for a second time in a few short minutes. On the far wall by the loading dock’s roll-up door, the digital clock seemed stuck on 10:52 a.m, eight minutes before her scheduled lunchtime. She’d have to wait until then to see who called or texted. Getting caught peeking at her phone, if only for a second, would certainly earn her another pink slip. She couldn’t risk it.

  At the stroke of 11:00, Cindy hurried outside and whipped the phone out of her pocket. Edward had left two texts. How’s your sister? and Call me.

  She pressed his number.

  “Hello, Cindy.” The sound of Edward’s voice eased some of her tension.

  “Hi, I got your texts. Sorry I didn’t call this weekend, but I was busy with Belinda.”

  “No problem. I figured as much. How is she?”

  “She has a broken leg and a couple of broken fingers. She’ll be okay. But the baby—” Her façade of strength dissolved and she couldn’t help but cry.

  Edward stayed silent for a few moments. “Are you trying to tell me the baby didn’t make it?”

  “Yes.” She could picture every feature of the little one’s precious face. “Belinda named him David. We got to hold him for a long while. His body, that is. He-he was beautiful.”

  “Aw, sis, I’m so sorry. I wish I could give you a hug. Sounds like you need one.”

  “I wish that too.”

  “Belinda still in the hospital?”

  “No, my parents drove up from their house in Florida and arrived Saturday night. Belinda was released from the hospital yesterday, and we got her situated back in her apartment. My parents will be staying with her for as long as she needs them.”

  “T
hat’s good. After an accident like she had, Belinda’s going to need all the help she can get.”

  “Edward, what happened to my sister and her baby wasn’t an accident. Eric messed with Belinda’s brakes, and this morning, he called and told me to watch my back.”

  “What?” Edward whooshed a hard breath into the phone. “I can’t believe they haven’t caught that guy. That really ticks me off. Especially since I can’t do anything to protect you, being so far away.”

  “I know. But I’ll be okay.” At least she hoped she would. “I was going to call after work, but now that I’ve got you on the line, can you tell me where Hank lives? I desperately need to talk to him. All I need is his street address, and I’ll plug it into Google Maps.”

  Edward gave a joyless laugh. “Hank lives off the grid and doesn’t have a street address. His house is out in the boonies. Tell you what. I’ll draw a map and text it to you. It’ll be easier that way.”

  “Okay, thanks. That’ll be great.”

  “And Cindy?”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s no guarantee he’ll be there. When Hank wants to get away from it all, he sometimes goes to a remote cabin in the Gunks that he inherited from his grandfather. You’d need my help to find him if that’s the case. It’s too long a story to tell right now, but that’s where I met Audra. Way out in the wilderness.”

  “Well, let’s just hope he’s at his house so we don’t have to traipse all over the Shawangunk Mountains looking for him.”

  “LT, come on. Class is about to start,” yelled a voice in Edward’s background.

  “I have to go, Cindy. I’ll get that map to you ASAP. Love you.”

  “Love you too. Bye.” She ended the call and thumbed Mrs. Baker’s number. “Mrs. B, I’ve made a decision. I’m going to do what you suggested and go look for Hank.”

  “Wonderful. When?”

  “Today, as soon as I get off work. Wish me luck. I think I’m going to need it.”

  * * * *

  Edward hadn’t been kidding when he said Hank lived in the sticks.

  Cindy stopped at the intersection where Paper Birch Trail crossed Moss Road and zeroed her odometer as noted on Edward’s map. She continued straight on Moss Road, travelled exactly 1.7 miles then pulled onto the shoulder.

  According to the map, Hank’s driveway lay directly to her left. But at a glance, nothing was over there but woods, woods, and more woods.

  She got out of her car and jogged across the hardtop. Sure enough, an unobtrusive dirt road wound around trees and down a slight grade. To call it a driveway would be a stretch. Edward had dubbed it the Ho Chi Minh Trail, and by the looks of it, he wasn’t far off. She went back to the car and started down the bumpy road.

  A glistening lake appeared through the trees, then a rooftop and a white clapboard house in a clearing by the water. Her heart sped at the sight of Hank’s Jeep. She parked beside it, cut her ignition, and got out. As if by instinct, she stroked the Jeep’s hood as she circled the front bumper. The cold metal confirmed the engine hadn’t been running recently.

  She went to the front door and knocked. “Hank, it’s me. Cindy.”

  No answer.

  She knocked harder.

  Silence.

  Cindy cupped her hands around her eyes and pressed her forehead to a window. Nothing stirred inside the sparsely furnished living room. Maybe it was just her imagination, but Hank’s presence seemed real and near. She started toward the water, but changed direction and aimed for the tree line.

  “Hank! I know you can hear me. Can we talk? Please?” She strode to the edge of the woods on the other side of the house. “I’m not leaving until I talk to you.”

  Cindy went back to the house. The front door wasn’t locked. She pushed it open a few inches. “Hank, are you in there?” She crept inside and closed the door.

  Two worn leather recliners and an equally scuffed leather couch stood on an unfinished plank floor. A few strategically placed oil lamps and a cast-iron potbelly stove completed the room’s furnishings. The décor matched Hank’s personality: Rugged and not at all fancy, yet full of warmth and character.

  Cindy paused for a glance in the kitchen then walked down the short hallway toward the back of the house.

  A door on her left stood ajar.

  “Hank?” She waited a second then pushed it open.

  Bare mattress, empty dresser tops, nothing on the nightstand. Guest room, no doubt.

  Cindy crossed the hall and entered the second bedroom where the door stood wide open.

  A patchwork quilt hung haphazardly off the side of the king-size bed, its corner touching the floor near the footboard. Propped in its frame on the nightstand, the photo Mrs. Baker had taken the night of the Hollingsworth party shined up at her. She traced Hank’s image with her finger. How handsome he looked in his tux. She didn’t look so bad either, if she did say so herself.

  Something white, the hem of a T-shirt perhaps, hung out of the top drawer of Hank’s bureau. She pulled the drawer open a few inches and flipped it back in.

  “What’re you doing here?” Hank’s figure filled the doorway.

  Cindy flinched and slammed the drawer shut. Heat flashed up her neck and burned her cheeks. “I was looking for you.”

  “In my underwear drawer?” Eyepatch, beard, shaggy hair. His wild-man appearance made reading his expression impossible.

  “Can we talk? Just a few minutes? Please?”

  Hank stared for an uncomfortable few seconds, glanced at the bed, then bobbed his chin. “Okay, but not in here.” He led the way to the living room, sat in a chair, and motioned for her to sit on the couch.

  Cindy took a seat. “First of all, I want to apologize again for hurting you. I’m ashamed of myself, and—”

  “My voicemail is filled with your apologies. You’re sorry. I get it.”

  His verbal smack stung her heart. “I didn’t know what else to do. Please don’t hate me, Hank.”

  “I could never hate you.” Hank studied her with a one-eyed gaze. He gulped loud enough for her to hear over the painful silence of the moment and cleared his throat. “I forgive you, Cindy.”

  “You mean it?” Her eyes instantly flooded, wetting her cheeks. “For real?”

  “Yeah. For real.”

  “Thank you, Hank. Thank you.” The words didn’t come close to conveying the depth of her grateful heart.

  “I can’t say I’m not angry. I wish I could, but I’d be lying.”

  “I understand.” Hank had every reason to be mad at her. But his forgiveness lifted a heavy weight off her chest and sparked hope that one day their relationship still stood a chance.

  * * * *

  Sniping at Cindy hadn’t made Hank feel any better, and seeing her cry only made him feel like a vindictive lowlife. Part of him wanted to snatch her off the couch, hold on tight, and tell her how much he loved her. But it would take some time for his mountain of anger to shrink to a manageable size before he could push it aside. “Was there something else you wanted to talk about?”

  “Yes, a couple of things, actually. I know you’re sick of my apologies, but I have one more to offer.” Cindy dragged her sleeve across her nose and sniffled. “I’m sorry for the lopsided way I’ve treated our relationship. Everything’s always been about me, as if I were the center of the universe, when I should have cared more about you, your problems, and your wants and needs. I would do a lot of things differently if I had the chance to start all over again.”

  Cindy’s self-defamation and remorse chipped away at his defenses. It had to have taken a lot for her to come, sit before him, and bare her soul with no guarantee it would do any good. He had to give her that much credit.

  “There’s something else I have to tell you.” Cindy sat erect twisting her hands together on her lap.

  “What’s that?”

  “I went to see Belinda and told her I forgave her. You were right. I had to let i
t go and let God be Belinda’s judge.”

  “That’s great news, Cindy. I’m really glad to hear it.” There was hope for this crazy girl after all.

  “I’m still torn up inside over what she did to me. So you see, I really do understand how you could still be mad at me.” She gave him a small, sad smile. “There’s one more thing I want to tell you if you’ll let me have another minute or two.”

  “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

  “Remember the day you pulled up and saw me screaming at Belinda on the porch?”

  “Yeah. What about it?”

  “When Belinda and I turned sixteen, our Dad gave us identical rings—purity rings he called them—and asked us to promise not to give ourselves to any man until our wedding nights. I went ballistic when I saw Belinda was still wearing hers that day on the porch, and demanded she take it off. When she did, I pitched it into the parking lot.”

  Hank hadn’t forgotten the sound of the ring pinging off the hood of the Jeep or Cindy’s ferocity toward her sister.

  “Once I’d made peace with Belinda, I realized it had been wrong of me to throw her ring away. I searched the parking lot, but couldn’t find it, so I gave her mine.” Cindy used the edge of her sleeve to blot her cheeks. “I had taken off my ring the night I found out about Eric and Belinda, believing I’d never find a man who would think I was worth waiting for.”

  A misty sheen glimmered in Cindy’s eyes. “But then I met you.”

  If he sat listening to her another second, he’d turn into putty. He rose to his feet. “Stay here a sec. I’ll be right back.”

  “’Kay.” Cindy hung her head like a defendant waiting for a judge to hand down a harsh sentence.

  Hank went into his bedroom and got the ring from his nightstand drawer. He brought it to the living room, pinched it between his thumb and forefinger, and held it toward Cindy.

  She popped onto her feet, her eyes wide. “Belinda’s ring!”

  “No, it’s your ring now. Give me your hand.”

  Cindy stuck out her left hand.

  Hank slipped the ring on her finger and dropped his hands to his sides. “You’re worth waiting for, Cindy. Don’t believe any man who tries to convince you otherwise.”