The War Within

by Yolanda Wallace

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  By the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Part One The Journey Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Part Two The Destination Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Books Available From Bold Strokes Books

  Synopsis

  Meredith Moser served as an Army nurse in Vietnam. She went to Saigon in 1967 looking to help those in need. She didn't expect to meet the love of her life along the way. Forty-seven years later, a summer vacation with her granddaughter, Jordan Gonzalez, puts Meredith on a collision course with someone from her past and sends Jordan on a journey toward an uncertain future.

  When Meredith comes face-to-face with Natalie Robinson, a woman whose heart she once broke, can a love once lost be regained? When Jordan meets Natalie's niece Tatum, wheelchair-bound as a result of injuries she suffered when her Marine unit came under fire in Afghanistan, will her anti-war beliefs prevent her from falling in love?

  The War Within

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  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  By the Author

  In Medias Res

  Rum Spring

  Lucky Loser

  Month of Sundays

  Murphy’s Law

  The War Within

  The War Within

  © 2014 By Yolanda Wallace. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-117-8

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: July 2014

  This 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 persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Cindy Cresap

  Production Design: Susan Ramundo

  Cover Design By Sheri (GraphicArtist2020@hotmail.com)

  Acknowledgments

  Most novels begin with a germ of an idea. This one actually began with a walk on the beach.

  Jekyll Island offers miles of dog-friendly beaches that my partner, Dita, and I haunt each summer because our boxer, Joey, adores the water. During one of our visits, I turned to Dita and said, “Wouldn’t it be great to set a novel here?”

  I had already heard feedback from several readers who felt there was a decided lack of romance novels featuring older characters and I had heard from others who expressed a desire to see more tales of women in uniform. As the waves crashed around our feet (and paws), I began brainstorming a way to tackle both requests. Thus the idea for The War Within was born.

  This novel might be the most challenging one I have ever written. Probably because it is my most ambitious. Four main characters, a timeline that spans more than forty-seven years, and love formed—or, in some cases, destroyed—by the crucible of war. What was I thinking? It wasn’t an easy feat to pull off, but thanks to guidance from my editor, Cindy Cresap, and encouragement from Dita, I think I managed to make the pieces fit. The result is my most personally rewarding novel to date. I hope you like it, too.

  My thanks, as always, to Rad and the rest of the BSB team for taking a chance on my initial submission and pushing me to dig a little deeper each time I put pen to paper.

  Thank you, also, to the readers who continue to take the journey with me, not knowing where it might lead.

  And, last but not least, thank you, Dita. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I wouldn’t be here without you.

  Dedication

  To those who served. Thank you for your sacrifice.

  Prologue

  Meredith Moser wasn’t expecting the call. She and her granddaughter, Jordan, had spent every summer together since Jordan was four. Sixteen years of road trips, rental houses, bug bites, and sunburns. This was the year Meredith thought the streak would come to an end. This was the year Jordan would choose to spend the summer hanging out with her friends instead of being cooped up with her boring grandmother for three months. All the signs were there.

  In addition to turning twenty-one, Jordan had recently finished her tumultuous junior year at Cal-Berkeley, where she seemed to be majoring in activism instead of marketing. Or were they one and the same? Either way, Jordan had chalked up so many arrests protesting one cause or another she would probably have a great deal of explaining to do the next time she sat down for a job interview. Meredith admired Jordan’s passion, even if it sometimes felt misplaced.

  When the call came, Meredith was glad she had been proven wrong. This was not the year her warm relationship with Jordan began to cool. This was not the year the little girl she had watched grow up became the woman who couldn’t find room for her in her busy life. This was not the year her own life was turned upside down. Again.

  “Hey, Gran,” Jordan said. “Where are we heading this year?”

  Meredith smiled as she held the phone to her ear. “You tell me. You’ve always been the one in charge of selecting the location. My only job is getting us there.”

  “Don’t forget footing the bill. That’s the most important part. Hold on. Let me find a map. Dad’s got one around here somewhere, but it’s so old Columbus probably drew it. Thank God for GPS, right?”

  “A tool invented to give men yet another excuse not to stop and ask for directions.”

  Jordan laughed uproariously the way she had even before her pigtails had given way to a purple-streaked shag. Meredith heard her rummaging through drawers. She could picture the scene. Jordan, with the phone clamped between her shoulder and cheek, a line of concentration creasing her brow as she focused on the task that had captured her attention. Her earnest expression never changed whether she was building a sand castle when she was five or marching against the war in Iraq when she was eighteen. Now that the military had pulled out of the battle-scarred country, what would become Jordan’s next cause célèbre? Meredith suspected she was looking for much more than a place to spend the next three months.

  “Got it,” Jordan said at last. Meredith heard paper rustle as Jordan unfolded the map. “Okay, here we go.”

  Each year, Jordan would spread a map of the United States, close her eyes, and point. Meredith would drive them from Wisconsin to whatever city Jordan’s finger landed on. Jordan’s selections had resulted in a lifetime of memories. Over the years, they had spent time cruising along Route 66, fishing for crawdads in Louisiana, swimming with dolphins in Hawaii, riding horses on a working ranch in Montana, and running from a hurricane bearing down on the Florida Panhandle.

  “Where’s your magic finger taking us this year?”

  “Jekyll Island, Georgia. Do you know where that is?”

  Me
redith slowly drew in air through her nose as if to relieve the discomfort of a stitch in her side, but the pain she felt emanated from the center of her chest. “Yeah, I know.”

  She had resigned herself to one fate long ago. Now she had an opportunity to take a second chance on a future she had once thought impossible. With Jekyll Island as the end point for this year’s trip, the journey would be more important than the destination.

  Sandwiched between ritzier destinations in Hilton Head, South Carolina, and Amelia Island, Florida, Jekyll was almost an afterthought. It had been years since Meredith had been introduced to the tiny resort town on Georgia’s coast. Yet she thought about it every day. A tranquil island she had never seen and a woman she thought she would never see again.

  “Jekyll Island. How long a drive is that from here?”

  Jordan’s voice pulled Meredith out of the past, but only temporarily.

  “About twenty hours.”

  “Let me drive. I bet I can make it there in half that time.”

  “I appreciate your enthusiasm, honey, but when we do arrive, I want to do it in one piece.”

  Meredith stared out at the pond in the backyard of her Racine, Wisconsin, home as she tried to stop her mind from wandering to a ravaged hotel room in the swirling cauldron of war-torn Vietnam. A decision she had made in that room had shaped the rest of her life. The decision had cost her dearly yet enriched her in so many other ways. Would she soon see the effect her choice had had on the woman she had left behind?

  “See you soon, Gran.”

  “Yeah,” Meredith said absently. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Part One

  The Journey

  Chapter One

  Jordan Gonzalez settled into a booth in the Wildcat Diner in Paducah, Kentucky, and reached for a menu. Her friends in Berkeley would be mortified by most of the dishes listed on the laminated paper, but half the fun of a road trip was gorging on food you’d never eat at home. The fare served at this greasy spoon definitely qualified.

  “Good morning, ladies,” the waitress said as she filled Grandma Meredith’s heavy ceramic cup. The woman’s drawl was as thick as the sludge that was supposed to be coffee.

  Jordan took a pass on imbibing the viscous liquid, but Grandma Meredith happily acquiesced. Grandma Meredith could probably use the caffeine. She had tossed and turned all night in their cramped room in a hotel just off the interstate. This morning, she hadn’t risen promptly at five to do an hour of yoga like she usually did. Instead, she had lounged around until a respectable but unheard of for her seven thirty. Then she had hit the shower while Jordan tried to find an outfit that wouldn’t prove too upsetting for the denizens of Middle America.

  Jordan knew better than to ask Grandma Meredith what was bothering her, though. Grandma Meredith was ex-military. When she felt like she was being interrogated, the only information she divulged was her name, rank, and serial number. Better to wait for her to open up on her own than to try to drag anything out of her. Jordan had three months to solve the mystery. No need to go chasing after red herrings on the second day.

  The waitress—the name tag pinned to her ample bosom read Debbie—placed the steaming coffee carafe on a corner of the Formica-topped table and hovered a gnawed-on ballpoint pen over the order pad in her hands. Her bottle blond hair displayed a good three inches of dark brown roots. She had the raspy voice of a chain-smoking fifty-year-old, but Jordan was willing to bet she wasn’t a day over twenty-five. She was cute in a backwoods kind of way. She looked a little like Cameron Diaz doing Method preparation for a movie role. “Do you know what you want, or do you need some more time to look over the menu?”

  “Give us a few minutes, please, dear,” Grandma Meredith said.

  “Sure thing.”

  Jordan watched Debbie walk away in a swish of Day-Glo polyester.

  Grandma Meredith chuckled as she peered at the selections on the laminated menu. “Brittany might have something to say about how you’re looking at our waitress.”

  Jordan started at the mention of her girlfriend. If that’s what she still was. The way they’d left off, it was hard to tell.

  “Just because I’m not looking to buy anything doesn’t mean I can’t do a little window shopping.”

  “Brittany might see things differently. What’s she doing this summer?”

  “She and a friend were planning to drive up to Seattle to join the latest round of protests.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t go with her.”

  “I wasn’t invited.”

  “Oh.” Grandma Meredith looked as surprised as Jordan had felt when Brittany had announced her plans and Jordan realized they didn’t include her. “When was the last time you talked to her?”

  “The day I left California. I’ve left her a couple messages since then, but she hasn’t called me back.”

  “She will.”

  “We’ll see.”

  College was so much harder than she’d thought it would be. In high school, she had been the smartest student in all her classes. In Berkeley, she was closer to the middle of the pack than the front. She wasn’t used to being average. In her native Kenosha, her ever-changing appearance was considered borderline shocking. In Berkeley, her chameleonic look was par for the course. She didn’t feel completely at ease in either city. Perhaps she could find a home in a third. If only for a little while. Three months in a new locale and a healthy dose of Grandma Meredith’s tough love. Yeah. That was exactly what she needed to help her find her footing.

  “Have you made up your minds?” Debbie asked when she returned to the table.

  “I’ll have an egg white omelet, two slices of wheat toast, a side of turkey bacon, and a glass of orange juice, please,” Grandma Meredith said as she poured sugar in her coffee. The good stuff, not a lame blue-packeted substitute.

  Jordan envied her metabolism. Grandma Meredith was pushing seventy, but she had the body, the energy, and the vitality of a woman thirty years younger. She should. She was on the go so much it was like she was still in the Army. When Jordan got to be her age, she hoped to have half her get-up-and-go and a fourth of her independence.

  “What about you?” Debbie asked. “What’ll you have?”

  Jordan took another look at the menu. Lunch was hours away, but she wasn’t in the mood for breakfast food. “Is it too early for a Hot Brown?”

  The Hot Brown was an open-faced turkey sandwich covered in cheese sauce, topped with bacon, and broiled or baked to crispy perfection. Regional delicacy or a heart attack on a plate? Hard to tell. Either way, it looked too good to pass up.

  “It’s never too early for a Hot Brown.” Debbie cast a hard glance at Jordan’s T-shirt, which featured the iconic Change poster created for Barack Obama’s first presidential campaign. “And it’s not too late to change your politics.”

  Jordan’s pulse began to race. Few things got her juices flowing like a good old-fashioned debate even if, as she suspected was the case here, she might be engaging in a battle of wits with an unarmed combatant.

  “The last time I looked, my side won. If you seriously examine the alternatives, I think you’ll find them sorely lacking in—”

  Grandma Meredith cleared her throat. One eyebrow inched toward her close-cropped silver hair. On someone Jordan’s age, Grandma Meredith’s haircut would be considered gamine. On her, it was just cool. Heeding her warning look, Jordan changed course.

  “I’ll have a Hot Brown, a side of home fries, and a bottle of mineral water. And I like my politics just fine the way they are, thanks.”

  “Whatever.” Debbie recorded her order, snatched the menu out of her hand, and walked away in a huff.

  “Is it something I said?”

  “It usually is,” Grandma Meredith said with an indulgent smile.

  “You fought for the rights of the oppressed to express themselves without fear of reprisal. Why do you seem so surprised whenever I use mine?”

  “You’re forgetting I wasn’t
on the front lines. I patched up the unfortunate few who were.” Based on the expression on her face, Grandma Meredith obviously wanted to say something else. She toyed with her napkin as she organized her thoughts. “It seems to me you could be a bit more discerning about choosing your battles. The wars you wage are either lost causes or moot points.”

  A rejoinder immediately came to mind, but Jordan didn’t verbalize it. She had nothing to gain from comparing the figurative wars she fought to the literal one Grandma Meredith had contested. Nothing to gain and a whole lot to lose. Beginning with Grandma Meredith’s hard-won respect.

  She looked at her phone, hoping one of her friends had sent her a cheeky text or a funny e-mail she could share to ease the unexpected tension. No dice. Just another blog about the government stalemate in Washington and yet another picture of a same-sex military couple who were using the dissolution of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell as an excuse to engage in some very active PDA while in uniform.

  With no escape route, she tried to find common ground.

  “I made a few phone calls before we left Wisconsin. I have three job interviews lined up for the day after we hit the island. If one of them pans out, I’ll have a chance to earn some cash this summer so I can stop mooching off Mom and Dad every few months.”

  Last year, she’d worked as a lifeguard in San Diego. The year before that, she’d been a waitress in Seattle. That was after serving as a cage cleaner in a vet’s office in Austin. Hands down, her least favorite job ever. This year, she’d learn to scoop ice cream, bag groceries, or man a tollbooth. Her final option was working as an unpaid intern for the weekly local newsletter handed out gratis to each visitor to the island. Given a choice, she’d rather ditch the paying gig in favor of on-the-job experience, but she wanted to feel like she was pulling her weight for once. Grandma Meredith always insisted she hold on to the money she made each summer, but why should she force her to pay all the bills if she didn’t have to? Every little bit counted, right?