Just One More Chance: Baytown Boys Series

by Maryann Jordan

“No, thank God. Everyone thinks of Virginia Beach as just a large beach city, but no one thinks about the gangs, drugs, hell, dad, even the Russian mafia has a presence there.”

  Just then Marcia walked in with a tray holding three pieces of pie, along with two beers and a cup of tea.”

  Jumping up to take the tray from his mom’s hands he set it on the coffee table. Looking at the beer, he said, “Uh…I think I’ll get some water.” By the time he got back to the family room, his parents were eating their pie, saying nothing, but he could hear the unasked questions hanging in the air.

  Plopping down on the sofa at the opposite end from his mom, he wondered what to say. Oh hell, they know me better than anyone. “Gotta confess, I drank too damn much at the party last night so I’m just taking it easy today.”

  Hoping his explanation would suffice, he took a bite of pie, moaning in ecstasy. “Mom, your pies are the best.” With his mouth full, he looked over to see his mom staring in concern.

  “It’s not like you to drink too much,” she commented. “Especially at the engagement party of one of your best friends. Anything happen last night?”

  He continued to focus on his pie, hoping his voice sounded nonchalant. “Just had a rough night, that’s all.”

  “It didn’t have anything to do with Jillian Evans showing up with a date, did it?” his mom asked quietly.

  Choking on the last bite, he gulped a drink of water to wash it down. Looking up guiltily, he said, “Does everyone in town know about last night?”

  His dad tried to hide his grin as he finished off his piece. “I guess your mom and I just figured you two would finally get together one day. It doesn’t take a lot to see that she’s carried a torch for you since y’all were kids. I gotta say, when you came back from the Army and moved to Virginia Beach, well, I thought you might meet someone there and settle down. But you came home a lot to visit and it seemed like you and Jillian were good friends. When you decided to move back…well, I hoped you two would make it official.”

  Grant leaned back, heaving a big sigh. His dad was more verbal while his mom tended to sit back and observe. He looked over at her, noticing her watching him carefully. Saying nothing, she simply cocked her head to the side. He recognized the gesture—it was her silent invitation to talk or not, but she always left it up to him.

  “Jillian’s a great woman,” he said, stating the obvious. “But people change. Grow up. Not everyone’s as lucky as Mitch and Tori,” he added.

  “You and Jillian want different things out of life?” his mom asked quietly.

  Furrowing his brow, Grant shook his head.

  “You’ve found someone else?” his dad prompted.

  “No, that’s not it,” Grant denied truthfully.

  “You just don’t love her,” his mom stated. “And that’s fine, son.”

  Huffing in frustration, he shook his head again. “I’m…just not right for her. She deserves the best.”

  At that, his parents shared a glance before looking at him, concern in their eyes. “And you don’t think you’re the man for her?” Marcia prodded.

  “Not anymore,” he said, his voice low. The three sat in silence for a moment before he looked at his watch. “Oh, man, Dad, we’ve got to go. The meeting’s in thirty minutes.”

  Remembering the American Legion meeting, Toby jumped up from his seat and leaned over to place a sweet kiss on his wife’s lips. Grant followed, buffing his mom’s cheek before the two men headed out to their vehicles.

  “See you there, son,” Toby called.

  Grant waved at his dad before heading down the driveway. His chest was tight as he thought of the conversation they just had. Glad for the interruption, he drove back into town, determined to focus on something besides the cause of his unworthiness that he had almost divulged. Reasons best left back in the mountains of Afghanistan.

  Chapter 4

  Mitch, the newly elected Commander of the local chapter of the American Legion, rapped the gavel on the podium. Grant’s gaze roamed over the assembly, pride swelling inside his chest. We’ve got a good crowd tonight. He knew Mitch had been worried. It was not hard to get people to come to the first meeting where everything was new, but to continue to sustain that number of attendees once the real work began was a concern.

  Wearing his navy blazer with the American flag pin in one lapel and the American Legion pin on the other, he observed the group as they sat down. Brogan, the Sergeant-at-Arms, closed the doors of the meeting room in the small Baytown American Legion building. With another three raps of the gavel, the members stood.

  “The Color Bearer will advance the Colors.” As the assembly stood, Grant watched as an elderly man from the back marched forward, the American flagpole in his hands, and set it in the floor stand.

  “The Chaplain will offer prayer.” A minister from one of the local churches who served as Chaplain, stood and prayed as the group bowed their heads in unison.

  The POW/MIA Empty Chair Ceremony followed as the members recited the procedures. A chair was designated as a symbol of the thousands of American POW/MIAs still unaccounted for from all wars and conflicts involving the United States of America. The POW/MIA flag was placed on the Empty Chair. The assembly appeared eclectic to the untrained eye. Men…a few women…ages running from about twenty-five to almost ninety. At that moment, in a stance of solidarity, they all turned their faces toward the Empty Chair.

  Grant, as First Vice Commander, stared at the chair for a long moment. A memory of long ago pushed to the forefront of his mind. Grimacing, he closed his eyes tightly, shoving both the image of the chair and the image of a fallen soldier he had held in his arms from his thoughts. Sucking in a ragged breath, he straightened his shoulders as he opened his eyes, training them on Mitch at the podium.

  After the Pledge of Allegiance and the Preamble to the American Legion Constitution, the gavel was rapped once more to indicate that everyone could take a seat. Aiden, as Post Adjunct, read the minutes from the last meeting. Normally joking and irreverent, he adopted the seriousness of the occasion and Grant had to grin at his solemnness. Aiden stepped down from the podium and took his place next to Grant, then looked up in surprise when he was shoulder bumped from the side.

  “Who knew you could handle such an auspicious duty?” Grant whispered, his smile lighting his eyes.

  Narrowing his eyes in mock censure, Aiden lost the serious expression as a grin curved his lips, before grunting as Ginny elbowed him from his other side.

  “Shhhh,” she whispered, her lips pursed in reproval.

  Zac Hamilton, as Finance Officer, stepped up next and gave the report of the finances. Ginny followed Zac and, as the Post Service Officer, gave a brief description of her duties.

  “I’m responsible for bringing to the attention of all veterans and their dependents in the organization the rights and benefits granted them by law. There are a lot of wonderful services available through legion channels, as well as those of other agencies in this community. I will also be serving as Chairman of the Veterans Affairs and Rehabilitation Committee and will work closely with the Children and Youth Committee. I know that we will be spending some time tonight getting those committees staffed for the coming year.”

  After finishing the standard portion of her report, she looked over the crowd and added, “As one of my duties, I will be enlisting the aid of the Eastern Shore Mental Health Group, which consists of several counselors and psychologists, as well as medical doctors, to be available to our members who are struggling with mental health issues from having served.”

  Grant’s gaze darted quickly to the Empty Chair before lifting back to the front of the room. Hoping to be unnoticed, he realized both Mitch and Ginny’s eyes were on him.

  “I realize this topic might be very uncomfortable for many of you. While the military recognizes the importance of the mental health of its members and veterans, it’s often not talked about in ways that encourage you to seek it out. So, to make it easier, I’l
l be contacting each of you individually to share the information that the ESMH group can provide.”

  Forcing his face to relax, Grant watched as she made her way back to her seat, his mind on what she said. He knew Brogan rarely talked about his time overseas and Aiden tried to joke his way through any lingering emotions. And Mitch? Mitch seemed all right, and even if he was not, Grant bet that his relationship with Tori would help. Zac, the most open of all of them, talked about his time in the Navy, but never divulged any problems. Lance, closed off, sat to the side while newcomers, Jason Boswell and Gareth Harrison, sat at the end of the row, their eyes riveted to the podium.

  Glancing over, now that Ginny was back at her seat, he wondered about her. Hell, I work on the police force with her every day, but don’t really know her. It hit him that perhaps she needed counseling as much as any of them.

  Mitch had taken the podium once more, but before he could speak, one of the older men in the Legion asked to speak about what Ginny had just announced. Mitch nodded and assisted the man, walking with a cane, to the front.

  He stood, slightly stooped, as Mitch lowered the microphone. One gnarled hand gripped the top of his cane as the other held on to the podium. Mitch stepped back, but remained just to the left of the man in case he needed more assistance.

  “My name’s Chester. Chester Barnes. Served in World War II. Didn’t go to Europe…I was in the Pacific.” He shook his head for a moment and said, “Back then…when we came home, we didn’t talk. People just accepted that we fought and we didn’t have to put up with any of that nasty stuff that our Nam brothers had to deal with.” He eyed a few of the men in the room who had served in that era. “But still, we were expected to come home, get jobs, get married, and start families.” His rheumy eyes gazed out over the crowd and Grant was mesmerized along with everyone else.

  “So that’s what I did. I had some nightmares…things I saw…things I had to do. But no one talked about counseling back then. Hell, we didn’t even know the words mental health. ’Bout fifteen years ago, when I was seventy-five years old, we had a preacher here in the Methodist Church in town that started meeting with some of us who had served back then. His father had served and, once back, became an alcoholic. Some of you might remember that preacher…he was a good man. Anyhow, he talked to us and, more importantly, got us to talk.”

  Chester shook his head a little sadly as he continued, “Wish I’d known seventy years ago about the kind of relief that comes from unburdening your soul.” Standing up to his full height, which only came to about Mitch’s mid-chest, he added, “So I’m glad Ms. Spencer is taking up this cause and I want everyone to think long and hard about using the services. Especially you younger ones.” He pinned the front row with his stare, saying, “You’re gonna need it.”

  With that, Chester turned away, allowing Mitch and Zac to assist him back to his seat. Grant’s heart pounded and hoped no one else could hear it, but also wondered if there were others whose hearts were pounding just as fiercely.

  Before he could ponder more, Mitch turned the program over to the committees’ reports and then they discussed the new youth teams. Finally, with decisions made and new meeting dates established, they were ready to finish.

  The chaplain led them in a prayer once more and then, with three raps of the gavel, the saying of the Commander’s Charge, and the retiring of the colors, the meeting came to a close. The group hung around for a few minutes talking and Grant observed the easy camaraderie between the older members and the younger ones.

  The group of friends finally headed to Finn’s Pub, having already decided to end their meetings with a drink. The pub’s entrance held a dartboard to the right and an old fireplace and sofa on the left. The original building had been a bank, one of the early brick structures in the town. While renovated, it retained much of the original brickwork walls and floor from years gone by. The bar ran the length of the right side with tall, mismatched bar chairs up against the counter. The left contained tables already full of patrons and the kitchens were in the back.

  Grant observed the eclectic group. Callan, one of the original Baytown Boys, was still in the Coast Guard but luckily served at the small station in the Baytown harbor. He brought along a few of his CG buddies, all who had joined the American Legion. Aiden and Brogan ran the bar as usual with lighthearted, familial banter between them. The two large men, both with long, dark hair and similar builds, were often mistaken as twins.

  Jason, a heavily tatted biker, had opened a garage in town and was working on opening an adjoining tattoo parlor as well. Long hair in a ponytail, shaggy beard, and bulky muscles, he appeared incongruous next to Ginny’s petite, button-down persona. Gareth sat in a booth with them as well. Tall, with dark hair and dark eyes, the private investigator’s easy going manner belied his sharp observations of everyone around. Lance was in the corner talking to Mitch quietly and Grant knew that crowds were not his scene. The conversation from the group behind him rolled to the youth league and plans were made to meet up at the town’s baseball field on the next Saturday.

  Lost in thought, Grant did not see Ginny coming until she slid onto the bar stool next to him. He eyed her suspiciously, not saying anything as he took a swig of the one beer he was allowing himself. She sat silently until he finally broke down and asked, “Got something on your mind?”

  Ginny pulled out a card from her pocket and slid it toward him on the polished surface of the bar. “Don’t worry, you’re not the only person I’m giving this to tonight, but you’re the first one I thought of.”

  Dropping his gaze to the print of the card, he recognized the ESMH contact information. Jerking his head around, his eyes wide with confusion, he bit out, “Me? Jesus, Ginny, we work together every day. We’re police officers, going out every fuckin’ day. Are you telling me you don’t think I’ve got my head screwed on right?”

  Her brown hair was sleeked back in a tight pony-tail and Grant realized he had never seen her when she was not completely professional. Her hazel eyes assessing his, they stared at each other for a long moment.

  “I never said I thought you didn’t have your head screwed on right,” she stated firmly. “If I wasn’t one-hundred percent sure of your commitment to the police force, we wouldn’t be sharing duties.” Her gaze dropped to the card lying on the bar between them. “But there’s not one of us who couldn’t use someone to talk to about what we saw and did over there. You included.”

  Shaking his head in frustration, he growled, “I swear if one more person brings up the party the other night, I’m gonna—”

  “What Grant?” she bit out, interrupting. Heaving a sigh, she said, “Hey, I don’t know your history with anyone in this town. I’ve only been here for two years. But it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to see that underneath your cavalier exterior lies someone who’s hiding things.”

  “Oh, yeah? And just what are you hiding, Ms. Spencer?” His frown met hers and his eyes pinned her to the seat.

  Pushing the card over toward him slightly, she replied, “We all have something to hide, Grant. Even me. And that’s why I’m talking to the ESMH group this week.” With that pronouncement, she slid from the barstool and moved over to some of the others.

  A shadow passed in front of him and he lifted his gaze to see Katelyn helping her brothers behind the bar. Her dark-haired and blue eyes resembled her brothers’ Irish looks and her temper could match theirs any day. He expected to be on the receiving end of more shit since she was Jillian’s best friend, so he made a move to leave.

  “You need another beer or you good?” she asked, her voice and expression neutral.

  Eying her speculatively, he said, “Naw, I’m good.” As an afterthought, he added, “Thanks.” Still bracing, he was pleasantly surprised when her gaze moved to the group behind him, listening as they talked about the youth sports’ league.

  Nodding toward the patrons behind him, she said, “It’s a good thing y’all are doing here. I hope we can start a Legion Au
xiliary soon. There’re plenty of family members who’d be good for it.”

  Swinging his head around again, Grant smiled at the thought of the good they wanted to accomplish. “You’re right, Katelyn. This is a good group. It was, way back in the days of the Baytown Boys, and still is now.”

  He watched as a small, faraway smile settled on her face as she said, “I just wish…well, never mind. Life’s too short for wishes. Gotta make the most of what we’ve been given.” With that she turned and walked into the back, leaving him dumbstruck. Philip. Fuckin’ hell, Philip. He knew Katelyn had been hit hard when her boyfriend did not come back from Afghanistan—they all had. He had considered Philip to be one of his best friends back then, but the sadness still in Katelyn’s eyes struck him right in the chest.

  Turning back to the group, he noticed Gareth’s gaze following Katelyn as she made her way to the back of the bar. The idea of the two of them together seemed right and for an instant he wondered if he could help that along. What am I thinking? I’m no matchmaker! Hell, I can’t even take care of my own relationships, much less think of someone else’s!

  As the group of friends began heading out of the bar, he slid off the stool, tossing some money onto the polished counter and stared at the ESMH card for a second before sticking it into his pocket. Walking out into the fresh ocean air, he threw his hand up in a wave goodbye. With Katelyn’s words ringing in his ears, he thought about Jillian as the card burned a hole in his pocket. Life’s too short for wishes…gotta make the most of what we’ve been given.

  Chapter 5

  Jillian nervously peeked out the front window as she stood in the galleria. Smoothing her hands down her red skirt before making sure her hair was tucked neatly, she checked her makeup in a small mirror. The last thing Mr. Dobson needs to see is some country-bumpkin hoping to showcase his pottery.

  With three painters, a local sculptor, woodcarver, a jewelry designer, plus a few others on board, and now with Lance agreeing to display his sea glass artwork in her shop, she was hoping to snag the potter.