by Cassia Leo
I then excused myself to use the restroom, but I really went to Dane’s bedroom. He got dressed in my clothes. I put on his pajamas and slipped into his bed. He went to the dining room and proceeded to gorge himself on turkey and all the fixings. My mom kept urging him to pace himself, but he hadn’t eaten anything all day, so he really packed it in. The whole family watched in awe. By the time I came out of the bedroom and we revealed the trick, my mom was ready to tackle Dane to get him to stop eating.
Thanksgiving was never the same without my brother. In the two and a half years I spent mostly overseas during my three tours, I missed three family Thanksgivings. Of course, after my last tour, I didn’t stick around very long after finding out about Dane and Nicole.
I hadn’t spent Thanksgiving with my family in six years. I’d never spend another Thanksgiving with Dane. It didn’t feel like I had much to be thankful for today.
As I helped my mom set the dining table with the white plates with the tiny pink roses my mom used when we had company, my phone vibrated in my pocket.
“Is that Emily?” my mom asked as I glanced at my phone.
I shook my head. “It’s my VA social worker. I have to take this,” I replied, bringing the phone to my ear. “How’s it going, Harry?”
“Happy Thanksgiving, Evans,” Harold said in his Texas accent. “I hope I’m not interrupting your festivities.”
“Not at all. Do you have good news for me?”
He cleared his throat. “Well, the nearest facility that does PET is the VA Medical Center in Minneapolis. They operate under the Combat Veteran authority program, which will assign you a priority number based on need. Your priority number will be low because you’re not considered low-income.”
“Does that mean they’ll reject me?”
Harold sighed. “It means you’ll probably get bumped down the waitlist in favor of someone with a higher priority number. The rationale is that if you have money, you can get prolonged exposure therapy anywhere.”
“But the PET program at the VA is better. The military docs know what we’ve been through a hell of a lot better than civilian shrinks.”
“I know it seems that way. And that might actually be true, but you have to understand that the VA is overloaded with these requests and there are only so many doctors. They have to assign priority to those who can’t afford to get help elsewhere.”
“What’s wrong?” my mom asked.
I shook my head and took a few steps away until I was in the hallway just outside the dining room. “I understand. Thanks, Harry. Happy Thanksgiving.”
“You too. Call me if you need anything, anything at all.”
“I will.”
I slipped the phone into the pocket of my jeans and stared at the framed picture on the wall. It was a picture of four-year-old Dane and me on our first bikes with training wheels. We were both wearing blue and white striped T-shirts and red shorts, but my shirt and face were smeared with dirt and my eyes were red.
According to my parents, I had been crying just a moment before the photo was taken because I didn’t want to have the same blue bike as Dane. I was spitting mad that my parents didn’t get me the silver bike. Then, I thought of the raging fight I had with my dad when I told him I was dropping out of college and enlisting. I shook my head as I realized how long I’d been giving my parents grief. It was a wonder they still put up with me.
I finished helping my mom set the table, then I shot Emily a text wishing her a happy Thanksgiving. When Nicole and her new boyfriend Garrett arrived, I still did a double-take when I saw my nephew Ethan. I didn’t know how Nicole was handling Ethan’s confusion. The kid was barely more than two years old. He couldn’t be expected to understand why his daddy, who was in heaven, looked just like his uncle.
“Hey, come here, you,” I said, holding my arms out for Ethan.
He tilted his head and stuck a finger in his nose as he smiled. “Daddy.”
“No, honey, that’s your Uncle Isaac. I told you not to put your finger in your nose,” Nicole said, moving his hand away.
Ethan shook his head and reached up to try put his finger in Nicole’s nose. “Nose,” he said, then he turned to me again. “Daddy.”
I shook my head and took him off her hands as he reached for me. “It’s fine. He’ll figure it out later.” I looked down at Ethan and dodged his finger before he could put it in my nose. “Wanna go say hi to Boomer? Wanna go see the doggie?”
Ethan’s hazel eyes widened and he nodded enthusiastically.
“Is it okay if I take him to see the dog?”
Nicole nodded. “Sure. Thanks.”
“For what?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, for being kind to him. It’s Thanksgiving. I’m supposed to say thanks.”
“Why would I not be kind to my nephew? You know what, forget I asked. You’re welcome.” I turned to her boyfriend, ignoring the elephant in the room, which was that he looked a hell of a lot like Dane and me. “Happy Thanksgiving to both of you.”
My phone vibrated in my pocket as I walked through the foyer and the downstairs hallway to the door leading into the garage. Poor Boomer had been hanging out in the garage since I arrived here about three hours ago. My mom apologetically explained to me that Garrett was allergic to dogs, so we wouldn’t be able to let Boomer in the house until after Nicole left.
Boomer was a tough dog. He didn’t mind getting a little alone time every now and then. When we entered the garage, Boomer yelped with excitement then jumped all over me.
“Boomer, sit,” I commanded him.
He heeded my command, but his butt and tail were still wagging.
I put Ethan down on the ground, but Boomer remained still, waiting for my command. “Break,” I said, and he began sniffing Ethan’s blond hair.
Ethan giggled and I pulled my phone out of my pocket as I watched them greet each other. I smiled when I saw I had a text from Emily.
Emily:
A very happy Thanksgiving to you too. At least you only have to do this once. My parents are divorced, so I get to endure this madness twice in one day. Pray for me.
Me:
If you’re feeling lucky, you can try for lucky number three. You’re welcome to drop by anytime. I can be your emergency escape hatch.
Emily:
You’re my savior. Call me in three hours, and I’ll make an excuse about why I have to leave. If I don’t answer, send in the Coast Guard.
Me:
You don’t want the coasties coming for you. Your chances of survival are better with me.
The sound of Boomer’s yelp followed by Ethan crying made me drop my phone. I ran over to pick him up, where he’d fallen on his butt on the concrete floor.
“Are you okay, little fella?” I asked, examining his hands and face for injuries, but all I saw was a tuft of dog hair tangled in his tiny fingers.
The door opened and Nicole rushed into the garage. “Is he okay? Did the dog bite him?”
“I don’t think he’s hurt,” I said, handing Ethan to her. “I’m sorry. I turned away for a minute and I heard Boomer yelp. I think Ethan yanked out some of his fur. But Boomer would never bite him. They were playing.”
“You weren’t paying attention?” she said, wiping the fur off Ethan’s fingers.
The way she said it seemed more like an accusation than a question. Almost as if she was implying I wasn’t fit to care for my nephew.
My dad stepped into the garage. “Is everything okay?”
Nicole turned around and blew past my dad without answering. My dad looked at me questioningly, but I shook my head as I scooped my phone up off the concrete floor.
“Come on, Boomer. Let’s go for a walk,” I said, smiling when his tail wagged furiously. “Can you open the door, Dad?”
My dad nodded and pressed the button on the wall to open the garage door. “Will you be back soon? Your mother says dinner will be ready in about half an hour.”
I nodded and headed out into th
e still darkness with my furry partner at my side. I took Boomer for a long, leisurely stroll around the neighborhood. We’d been gone for more than an hour, my fingers starting to go a bit numb in the forty-degree weather, before I doubled back.
I crept past the warmly-lit windows on the side of the house as we headed into the backyard, where my parents enjoyed 175 feet of lake frontage. Passing the wrought iron patio set, I continued down the incline toward the boat slip, where I plopped down with my legs dangling off the side of the wooden dock. Boomer lay down next to me, snuggling his big blockhead against my healing thigh, which was smarting a bit in the near-freezing temperature.
“It’s colder than Nicole’s heart out here, eh?” I whispered to Boomer, but the sound was muffled by the soft splash of water lapping against the pilings beneath us.
“That bad, huh?”
I whipped my head toward the sound and let out a massive sigh of relief when I saw Emily standing on the dock behind me. “You scared the crap out of me.”
She didn’t miss a beat as Boomer stood up to greet her. “I scared you?” she remarked as she stooped down to scratch Boomer behind the ears. “You stopped responding to my texts. I thought something was wrong.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “You drove all the way out here because I didn’t respond to your text?”
“Well, I called your mom and she said you stormed off onto the cold, mean streets of Stillwater.”
“Mean streets?” I laughed.
She shrugged as she took a seat next to me. “You should know something about me. I worry a lot. I’ve been this way since I was a kid.”
I smiled as Boomer lay next to her, placing his head in her lap. “Well, if that’s the case, then you’re with the right guy, ’cause I’ll give you plenty to worry about. Like, did Isaac really just wake up at four a.m. and make the bed with me still in it? Or, did he really get up in the middle of the night and piss out the window? Is that him sleeping on the floor?”
She narrowed her eyes at me as if she was contemplating my warnings. “Oh, okay. Let me try. Does Isaac really look better in this dress than I do?”
I shook my head. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. You must be a glutton for punishment. Probably why you kept leaving me all those voicemails.”
She smiled as she continued petting Boomer. “Actually, my cousin came back from Iraq with severe PTSD.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.”
She shrugged. “Not something I usually share right off the bat. Anyway, he pushed us all away, everyone who cared about him. Then, he threatened his girlfriend and pushed her through a screen door. She tumbled out and damn near fell over a second-floor railing down to a concrete courtyard, while she was pregnant no less.” She stared at the water for a moment as if she was staring into an abyss. “Needless to say, his girlfriend broke up with him and he ended up on the streets because no one in the family would take him in. We were all afraid of him. When he committed suicide, everyone was so outraged. Blaming each other left and right. Hell, I even got in on that nonsense.
“It was such a waste of a good person. Because yeah, he did some shitty things, but he was suffering. Now, those of us he left behind have to live with the question of whether we did enough. And he’ll never have a chance to get better.” She shook her head as she let out a long sigh. “Anyway, that’s why I didn’t give up, why I kept leaving you those voicemails… I guess something told me you needed someone who wouldn’t give up on you.”
“Wow…” I whispered.
“Wow… what?” she asked, sounding a bit self-conscious.
“The way the moonlight shines in your eyes is mesmerizing.”
She rolled her eyes. “Are you making fun of me? Trying to say I’m corny?”
I laughed and reached for her, grabbing her jaw to turn her face toward me. “I’m not making fun of you,” I said, my gaze landing on her mouth. “But the light shining in your eyes reminded me of something.”
“Of what,” she murmured, her chest heaving as I leaned closer.
I smiled as my lips hovered over hers. “I’ll tell you later.”
I heard her breath hitch as I brushed my lips over her jaw, the tip of my nose grazing her earlobe.
“You smell like cinnamon,” I whispered in her ear.
She chuckled nervously. “It’s the pumpkin pie,” she replied, then gasped as my other hand landed on the small of her back and I planted a soft kiss on her neck. “Oh, God.”
I dragged my mouth lightly over her jaw, my hand still holding her face gently as I turned it toward me again. She licked her lips and I took that as my cue to kiss her. Her lips were soft and wet and tasted like whipped cream. Sliding my tongue in slowly, I got hints of cranberry and cinnamon.
“You taste like a holiday,” I murmured, and her lips curved against mine. I slowly pulled my head back, smiling at the dazed look on her face. “You’re gorgeous.”
She bit her lip and grinned as she continued petting Boomer. “So are you.”
With a bit of prompting, I got Emily to tell me more about herself. She told me that, other than today and when she dropped me off the other night, she had never been to Stillwater. Her family moved to Minneapolis when she was sixteen and she was pretty sheltered until she went to college in Chicago. She graduated two and a half years ago and moved back to Minneapolis.
“Stillwater is literally one of the most beautiful cities in the world,” I said, incredulous. “I’m gonna have to give you a tour of my hometown soon.”
“So how about you?” she said. “You said you were a sniper in the military. Did you earn any awards or medals?”
I smiled. “A few. But the ones I’m most proud of are my marksmanship badges. I have five rifle qualification badges and a silver and bronze pistol badge. I’m what they call a ‘Distinguished Marksman.’”
“Ooh, fancy,” she teased me. “Do you use your pistol to scoop Grey Poupon out of a jar?”
I shook my head. “I have more distinguished jobs for my pistol.”
She laughed. “Wow. I really walked into that one, didn’t I?” She shrugged as she looked down and realized Boomer was asleep on her lap, prompting her to lower her voice a little. “Do you ever miss the military?”
“Every day,” I replied without hesitation. “One of the reasons I enlisted was to be able to see the world. To see how other people lived… I still want to travel, but it feels like I kind of missed the chance to go to college and study abroad. Not many exchange programs for old, mentally ill combat vets.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I told you I work as a freelance Mandarin translator. So I spent a year abroad in China, and I think there were a couple of exchange students in their late twenties. I don’t know. I could be totally wrong about their ages. I’m bad at guessing that stuff.” She looked at me, studying my face for a minute. “How old are you? Twenty-three?”
“Ha-ha. Very funny,” I said, leaning back on my hands. “I’m twenty-eight. Twenty-nine in January. How old are you?”
“Twenty-four. Twenty-five last June.”
I shook my head. “No shame in hitting that quarter-century milestone. I know plenty of guys who wished they’d made it there.”
“I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me.”
I laughed. “No, it wasn’t. You were making a joke about your age. Don’t ever feel like you have to handle me with kid gloves, especially when it comes to humor. I’ve learned to see humor in even the darkest of circumstances. It’s the only thing that gets me through sometimes.”
Chapter 9
Laurel
I left my second group counseling session feeling a bit better than I had since my last conversation with Jack. I’d spent most of the past few days sulking in the guest bedroom at Drea’s house. She finally coaxed me out yesterday with the threat of manual labor. She threatened to make me cook the entire Thanksgiving dinner if I didn’t stop moping.
“It should be illegal to have a hol
iday dedicated to being grateful, that also requires slaving over a dozen different dishes so complicated you only make them once a year,” were Drea’s exact words.
As I slid into my SUV, I shot off a text to Drea letting her know I’d be there soon and asking if she needed me to stop and get anything at the supermarket. Not that I wanted to brave the grocery store on the night before Thanksgiving.
Drea:
All I need is you and your American gratitude. My British cynicism is about to throw this turkey out the window and order takeaway.
Me:
No one will be delivering food tomorrow. It’s a national holiday. Fear not. My gratitude and I are on the way.
I arrived at Drea’s house precisely twenty-two minutes later, and walked into the kitchen to find her attempting to pull open the refrigerator door with her elbow. “What are you doing?”
“I need the lemons, but I have turkey fingers!” she bellowed.
I laughed as I pushed her out of the way and grabbed three lemons out of the fruit drawer. “Your cheeks are fire-engine-red. You look like you’re ready to pass out.”
She used the back of her forearm to brush the bangs off her sweaty forehead. “The stupid turkey wasn’t fully defrosted. Fucking Butterball website and their stupid thawing calculator. I just spent fifteen minutes wrestling the bag of giblets out of its… crevice.”
I smiled and grabbed a tumbler out of the cupboard to get her a glass of cold water. “Here,” I said, placing the cup on the counter next to her, then quickly grabbing it before she could pick it up. “Wash your hands first.”
“Oh, right. Of course,” she muttered as she headed for the sink.