Jordan began walking across the parking lot. The blacktop was so hot, the soles of her sandals were sticking to the pavement. She fanned the hem of her Make Love Not War T-shirt to produce a breeze, but it only made the hot air hotter. She gave up on trying to cool down when she saw a woman in a wheelchair heading toward her.
The woman had a ripped upper body—the well-defined muscles in her biceps, triceps, and forearms rippled each time she spun the wheels of her chair—but her withered legs seemed to swim inside her gray sweatpants, which, in this heat, were apparently worn for camouflage instead of comfort. She had a canvas grocery bag on her lap and a gym bag draped across the back of her wheelchair. Her T-shirt read, Marine Corps Veteran.
Jordan figured the woman must be Tatum, the downstairs neighbor Hayden and Willow had told her about. Willow’s cousin had said Tatum used to be hot. Jordan had news for her. Tatum still was.
Tatum’s medium-length brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, from which a few sweat-dampened tendrils had escaped. Her hazel eyes were intense and focused. With her military background, that was no surprise. Neither was her ramrod straight posture. She looked like she was standing at attention even though she was sitting down.
Her eyes searched Jordan’s questioningly. Uncertainly. As if she were waiting for Jordan to say the wrong thing so she could pick a fight. Apparently, the raging bitch part of Hayden’s description wasn’t too far off. Jordan tried to think of a comment that could be considered innocuous instead of incendiary.
“Your dog’s cute.”
Jordan grinned after her statement provoked a brief smile.
“Thanks, but he prefers to be called handsome.”
Tatum continued on her way and Jordan on hers. Jordan jumped out of the way when Hayden’s BMW, traveling several miles above the posted speed limit, came barreling around a curve. She made it through the close encounter unscathed, but Tatum wasn’t quite as fortunate.
Jordan looked back when she heard a crash and the sound of glass breaking. The instant she saw the telltale yellow spill slowly spreading across the black pavement, she knew Tatum’s newly purchased jar of orange juice had shattered.
“Sorry,” Hayden called out in a singsong voice.
“No screwdrivers for you two tonight,” Willow added, laughing as if she found the situation hilarious.
“Assholes,” Jordan said under her breath, mentally kicking herself for wasting almost two weeks of her life on people who obviously weren’t worth two minutes of her time.
Tatum seemed intent on trying to maintain her dignity as she gathered her scattered belongings. Her reusable shopping bag was within easy reach, but the canvas material was soaking wet and filled with shards of broken glass. She placed the bag on her lap and set her sights on a fallen tomato. Though the tomato had remained intact, it had come to rest tantalizingly out of her grasp. Her dog was barking in her condo’s front window again, obviously anxious to lend her a helping hand. He scratched the double-paned window with one large paw.
“Coming, boy,” Tatum said with a grunt as she leaned over the side of her chair. She stretched as far as she could but couldn’t reach the elusive tomato. As her frustration grew, so did the amount of profanity that spewed from her full lips. She made one more desperate grab for the tomato but came up short yet again.
“Let me help you with that.”
Jordan jogged over to her, picked up the tomato, wiped dirt and debris off the bruised skin, and presented it to Tatum as if it were a gift instead of a possession. “Not quite as good as new, but there you are.”
Tatum took the proffered tomato and tossed it in the wet bag soaking her lap. A dark spot had already formed in the crotch of her sweatpants, making her look like she had pissed herself. She released the wheelchair’s brakes and began to wheel away. “Thanks, but I don’t need any help.”
“You don’t want help from anyone or just from me?”
Tatum turned to look at her, her eyes flashing fire. “I don’t need your help or your pity. If you hurry, you might be able to catch up with your friends.”
“They’re not my friends.”
“You could have fooled me. You’ve been partying with them every day for the past two weeks. You seemed pretty friendly then.”
“Yeah, well, things change.” Jordan didn’t want to be baited into an argument, despite Tatum’s apparent intentions to do just that. She took a deep breath to gain control of her temper before it slipped free of its reins. “Why don’t we start over? My name’s Jordan. I’m in town for the summer. My grandmother and I came down from Wisconsin to sample some of your vaunted Southern hospitality.”
“I’m Tatum.” She gave Jordan’s hand a quick shake and jerked her chin toward the spot where she, Hayden, and Willow had nearly collided. “Those two don’t look like anyone’s grandmother.”
“No,” Jordan said with a laugh, “they don’t.”
“Are they from Wisconsin, too?”
“No, I met them shortly after Grandma Meredith and I arrived. I was hoping to land a job for the summer, but none of my interviews panned out. I was hanging around the beach one day feeling sorry for myself and my lack of prospects when I hooked up with Hayden and Willow. That sounds awful. I mean, I didn’t hook up with both of them. Just Hayden. We’ve been kicking it for a week or so, but—” She forced herself to stop talking. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, betraying her anxiety. “I always ramble when I get nervous.”
“Why do I make you nervous?”
Jordan shrugged, ignoring the unexpected tug of attraction she felt when Tatum turned her intense gaze squarely on her. “I don’t know. You just do.” She reached for the canvas bag on Tatum’s lap but didn’t close her fingers around the straps in case Tatum lashed out with a few more choice words. “Are you sure I can’t help you with that? You’re going to cut yourself if you aren’t careful.”
Tatum looked at her lap, where bright red drops had begun to mix with the dark gray stain. “To tell the truth, I think I already have.”
“I’ll take this.” Jordan grabbed the grocery bag and held it at arm’s length. Orange juice seeped from the saturated material. “Let’s get you inside so you can get cleaned up.” She began to walk toward Tatum’s condo. “That one’s yours, right?”
“You don’t take no for an answer, do you?”
Jordan grinned. “Not if I can help it.”
Tatum hurried to catch up, then wheeled past her. “Careful,” she said as she slipped the key into the lock. “As soon as I open this door, all hell’s going to break loose.”
Heeding the warning, Jordan took a step back. Tatum pushed the door open and spread her arms as her German shepherd vaulted into her lap. He covered her face with doggie kisses and wagged his tail as if he hadn’t seen her in days when, in actuality, it had probably only been a few hours.
“See?” Tatum said between laps of the dog’s big, pink tongue. “I told you he was vicious.”
“I can tell.”
Tatum patted the shepherd’s haunches and pointed to the ground. “Lincoln, down.”
The dog obediently jumped off Tatum’s lap and stood next to her chair. Cocking his head, he leaned toward Jordan and tentatively sniffed the back of her hand before giving it an enthusiastic lick.
“I think he likes you,” Tatum said as Jordan’s entire hand practically disappeared into the dog’s mouth.
“I doubt it’s me. It’s probably the orange juice.” Jordan dried her hand on the back of her shorts and scratched Lincoln between his ears. He closed his eyes as one of his hind legs thumped against the walkway in canine bliss.
“Definitely not the orange juice. Come on inside.”
Jordan crossed the threshold and took in the condo at a glance. “Nice place. Did you just move in?”
“No.” Tatum wheeled into the living room and tossed her keys on the coffee table. “I’ve lived here for a little over two years.”
�
�Oh.”
“As you can probably tell, I’m not big on feng shui.”
Jordan took another look around. The place was a blank slate devoid of personality. In the small living room, a brown loveseat and matching armchair were angled toward a flat-screen TV. The open kitchen a few feet away featured the standard appliances, but the battered microwave obviously received more use than the stove. No paintings or photographs adorned the beige walls. The only accessory of any kind was a hideous ceramic sea turtle on the coffee table.
“Someone gave me that as a going away present when I joined the Marines,” Tatum said. “During down times when there wasn’t anything to do except count grains of sand, my buddies in the Corps took turns painting the turtle’s shell. Some of the paint jobs were so bad a kindergartener could have done better; others were pretty impressive. Not like it mattered. After a few beers, no one could tell the difference anyway.” She reached for the grocery bag. “Thanks for your help, but I can take it from here if there’s someplace you need to be.”
“I’ve got all summer. What’s a few more minutes?” Jordan headed to the kitchen and set the grocery bag in the sink. She began to pull pieces of broken glass out of the bag and toss them in the trash. “Go get cleaned up. And don’t forget to disinfect those cuts.”
Tatum watched her unpack the bag, obviously torn between whether she should stay and supervise or trust a complete stranger to have free rein in her kitchen.
“Go,” Jordan said. “I’ve got this.”
“Keep this up and I might have to hire you as a maid.”
“Don’t say that too loud or I might ask you about salary, benefits, and performance bonuses. I am on the lookout for a job, you know.”
“Permanently, or just for the summer?”
“Just for the summer. I want to finish my senior year before I lock down something long-term. If you hear of anything, let me know.”
“I don’t know if Willow or Hayden told you, but I work at one of the hotels in town. Summer is our high season and we’re especially packed this year. I could use an extra person to help deal with the influx of guests. If you’re serious about wanting a job, stop by sometime and fill out an application.”
“Cool. Tell me when and where.”
“The Remember When Inn tomorrow afternoon around one. I’ll let HR know you’re coming. The owner, Bud Norman, has final say on all hiring decisions. He drops by every day after lunch. He’ll take a look at your application, ask you a few questions, and show you around the property.”
“So I’m brown-nosing the wrong person?”
“You don’t have to stop on my account, but I’ll let Bud know to expect you.”
“I’ll be there. Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me now. You haven’t gotten the job yet.”
“Details,” Jordan said with a wink.
Tatum wheeled to the bedroom and pushed the door almost closed. “Stay.”
Lincoln stationed himself outside the door and lay with his head on his paws, his eyebrows arched in anticipation.
“Where are you going to school?” Tatum asked through the partially open door.
Jordan raised her voice so Tatum could hear her in the other room. “Berkeley.”
“Really? That’s a great school.”
Jordan heard a grunt of effort and assumed Tatum was transferring in and out of her chair in order to exchange her wet sweatpants for something dry. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
Tatum’s voice sounded farther away. Like she’d left the bedroom to go into the bathroom. Jordan hoped she remembered to put antiseptic on the wounds in her legs. The cuts were plentiful but, hopefully, they weren’t very deep.
“Do you need some help?”
“No, I got it,” Tatum said. “I’m almost done.”
Jordan opened the refrigerator and began to put away the groceries. She felt almost domestic. Was this how it felt to be married? Too bad this was probably as close as she would ever come to finding out.
When Tatum came out of the bedroom, Lincoln scrambled to his feet and trotted to the front door. He grabbed his leash with his mouth and turned to look at Tatum.
Jordan dried her hands on a dish towel. She had put away all the groceries, washed the canvas bag, and left it on the Formica-topped counter to dry. “Looks like someone’s ready to go for a walk.”
Lincoln dropped his leash and barked once in agreement.
“It’ll have to be a short one. I have to come back, take a shower, and get ready for work.”
Jordan tossed the dish towel on the counter and reached for her carryall. “Do you mind if I go with you? Lincoln reminds me of my girlfriend’s—” She stopped and corrected herself. “My ex-girlfriend’s dog. They look so much alike they could be litter mates.”
“What was her name?”
“Who, the dog or my ex?”
“Take your pick.”
“My ex’s name was Brittany. Her dog’s name was Blue, but I called her Yellow because she was afraid of everything that moved.”
Tatum laughed. “No wonder Brittany’s your ex-girlfriend.”
“You know, that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile for more than two seconds at a time. You should do it more often. It looks good on you.”
“I’ll get right to work on that.”
Tatum’s bone-dry sense of humor reminded Jordan of Papa George. She figured it must be a military thing.
Tatum waved Jordan over. “Come on if you’re coming.”
Tatum clipped Lincoln’s leash to his collar and opened the door. He nearly pulled her arm out of its socket as he dashed outside. Jordan walked beside them as Lincoln explored the shaded complex, stopping to smell every tree, plant, bush, and blade of grass that came within ten feet of him.
“How long have you had him?”
“About eighteen months. My aunt bought him for me. My doctors suggested I seek counseling after I was injured, but I’m not much of a talker. My aunt decided Lincoln was the next best thing. He and I are still getting to know each other.”
“That’s surprising. I would have sworn you’d known each other all your lives.”
Jordan could have said the same thing about herself and Tatum. How was it possible to feel so comfortable with someone she barely knew?
“Are you in the military?” Tatum asked, pointing to the dog tags dangling around Jordan’s neck.
“Oh, God, no. I prefer to fight my battles with words instead of a gun. These are my grandfather’s. My grandmother gave them to me after he died. Prostate cancer. Probably brought on by all the Agent Orange he was sprayed with when he was in the bush. I wear these tags when I want to feel close to him.” She curled her fingers around the worn metal tags. “Papa George died when I was a kid, but, this summer, I feel like I’ve lost him all over again.”
“How long was he in Vietnam?”
“A little over six years. My grandmother was stationed there, too. Not as long, but she got into some serious scrapes during the twelve months she was there.”
“My aunt served, too. Listening to her stories prompted me to join the NROTC when I was in high school and to enlist when I graduated. My father hated the stories for the same reason I loved them: they made me want to follow in my aunt’s footsteps.”
“Do you regret enlisting, considering what happened to you?”
“Not for a second. Where was your grandmother stationed?”
“All over. Saigon, Long Binh, Hanoi.”
“When?”
“From 1967 to 1968. When her tour ended, she thought about extending, but she and my grandfather decided to get married instead. They came home and started a family. My mother was born nine months after the wedding, so it isn’t hard to figure out what they did on their honeymoon. Given what she told me during the trip down here, I wonder if she was thinking of someone else the entire time.”
“What do you mean?”
“My grandmother
said she’s always had feelings for someone else. Someone she met during the war.”
“She was in love with another man?”
Jordan shook her head. “Another woman.”
Jordan expected Tatum to have some kind of reaction to the response, but Tatum didn’t even flinch.
“What’s your grandmother’s name?”
“Meredith. Meredith Moser now. Back then, she was Meredith Chase.”
Tatum switched Lincoln’s lead from one hand to the other and wiped her palm on the front of her fresh pair of sweatpants. “Was she a nurse during the war?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
Jordan wondered if Grandma Meredith and Tatum’s aunt had served together during the war, but Tatum’s reply quickly put her theory to rest.
“Lucky guess. Most female service members back then were either nurses or secretaries. I had a fifty-fifty shot.”
“True. Grandma Meredith and I ended up here by accident, but she believes it’s fate. The woman she had feelings for used to live here, but I’m not sure she still does. Grandma Meredith has been looking for a couple of weeks, but she hasn’t been able to find her. I tried for a while, but I didn’t get very far.”
Not to mention her heart hadn’t been in it.
“You are in Dixie, you know. Locals aren’t very forthcoming with Yankees.”
“So I’ve noticed. I’ve tried to convince Grandma Meredith too much time has passed, but she has her heart set on making things right.”
“Did they end things on bad terms?”
“To put it mildly.”
“What was the woman’s name?”
“Natalie Robinson. Do you know her?”
It was a long shot, but Jordan felt obligated to make the effort. She had made Grandma Meredith a promise, after all. Tatum answered the question with one Jordan had been asking herself for weeks.
“Why is your grandmother looking for someone she hasn’t seen in more than forty years?”
The War Within Page 17