by Sharon Sala
He couldn’t move without giving himself away, but then neither could the man on the ridge. In less than two minutes, he would be engulfed. He could pull the tarp in around him and ride it out, but it was going to be hell on his eyes and lungs.
He could hear the roar now as the storm rolled closer.
“Move, damn it, move,” he muttered, unwilling to waste the past eight hours for nothing.
The air between them was no longer as clear as it had been. What he could see of the sky was getting dark. The wind was beginning to whip at his ghillie suit, and the tarp was coming loose behind him.
All of a sudden the sniper broke. With less cover than Jake, his life was in danger. He raised up less than two inches, probably to assess his best way out, and Jake pulled the trigger.
Jake saw blood spray into the air, and then the man and the blood disappeared as the storm rolled over the hill. Jake had less than five seconds to do what he had to do. He grabbed the tarp and rolled himself in it, pulling the end down over his head and face. He was facedown with less than a six-inch span of space between him and the tarp when the blast hit. The last thing he felt was the weight of the sand and then nothing.
The next thing he heard was the faint sound of cursing. The radio was still active on his earpiece, and he recognized DeSosa’s voice.
“Dig faster. That Georgia boy comes from the mountains. He won’t live long under that sand. Dig, damn it, dig.”
Jake woke with tears on his face. He rolled over and sat on the side of the bed, his lungs burning and his heart pounding, like they had the day they’d found him.
“Damn it, DeSosa, you kept saving me. Why couldn’t you save yourself?”
He closed his eyes, and when he did, he could hear DeSosa laughing.
When your time is up, Georgia boy, it doesn’t matter if you are ready or not. You’ll be gone.
He got up and dressed, then grabbed a cab and headed for the airport. He’d rather wait two hours in the terminal than hang around that room another second.
* * *
Laurel looked toward Jake’s house as she passed by on the way to work. After seeing the red truck in the carport for all these weeks, it seemed lonely now with it gone.
But she had one more task to do this morning before she went to work. She was going by Harper’s Funeral home and sign the visitation book for Melanie Payne. It wasn’t so much that she was heartbroken by what happened, as it was the human thing to do. She’d belonged to that family, and even though they’d rejected her, she wanted to do the right thing. By coming this early in the morning, Laurel was betting there wouldn’t be any family on-site, because if they were, this idea ended here and now. However, when she pulled up in the parking lot, the only car there was the old black Cadillac that belonged to Evelyn Harper, the owner.
She grabbed her purse and headed inside. The door sounded a faint buzzer, and moments later, Evelyn entered the lobby.
“Laurel, good morning, my dear, and my deepest sympathies to you and your family.”
“I just came to sign the visitation book,” Laurel said.
“Certainly, this way,” Evelyn said, and led her to a room down the hall. “I’ll leave you here. If there’s anything you need, I’ll be in the office up front.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Laurel said, and hesitated a moment, then walked into the room.
Floral sprays hung from hooks on the walls. Potted plants and larges vases of flowers sat on the floor around the casket or on tables at both ends.
She felt a little sick and a little sad for what Melanie’s children were facing. She and Bonnie were already living it. When she glanced into the casket, it appeared as if Melanie were just sleeping.
“God bless,” she whispered, then signed the book and quickly left the building.
Today she worked at the Blessings Bed-and-Breakfast until 2:00 p.m. It would be a full and busy day, which she liked. It made time go faster.
It was fifteen minutes to nine when she parked at the B and B. Jake would be boarding about now. “Safe flight, Jacob Lorde.”
She grabbed her purse, locked her truck, and hurried inside to go to work.
* * *
Yesterday, Truman Slade’s one day of industry had petered out before noon. His sheets were clean, one load of clothes was washed and still in the dryer, waiting to be put up. The floor was still as dirty as before, and Truman’s thoughts were jumbled.
He’d tried calling Nester, but didn’t get an answer. He left a message that wasn’t returned. By the time he figured out that Nester was most likely still mad, it made him angry, too.
Hell, if two buddies couldn’t get drunk together and have a little scuffle without getting all bent out of joint, then they were done. He didn’t need all that drama.
After eating the last of his cereal and milk, he decided to run into Blessings and stop at the Piggly Wiggly for a few things. And before he went, he just might drive out toward the Lorde property and see what the hotshot war hero was doing.
He started out the door and then stopped and went back inside to get a coat. The sky was gray, and the day was cold. No time to be casual about what he was wearing.
He drove off with a dozen ideas turning in his head until he drove by the Lorde place and saw that the truck was gone. He drove on down the road to the trailer where Laurel Payne lived, but her old truck was gone, too.
This gave him the perfect time to check out the back side of both properties. Truman believed in being prepared, and one day, he and Jake would have a come-to-Jesus meeting. When it happened, Truman needed to know where the shortest escape routes would be.
* * *
Adele Payne had spent the night on her knees, praying to God for forgiveness, then trying to figure out how to get back into her children’s good graces.
She thought about having a little accident of some kind, nothing serious, but something that would require tending to. They wouldn’t let her suffer alone. They surely wouldn’t let her be ill on her own.
But there was always the possibility that a plan like that could backfire. She could wind up really hurt and in a hospital alone. And she didn’t have money to spend on a scenario like that. So she went out onto her back porch and sat down in her rocker with a pipe of tobacco. Not a lot of women smoked a pipe anymore, but her Mammy had smoked and her Granny had smoked, and so she had the habit. She pulled the blanket close around her shoulders as she rocked, while the smoke from her pipe encircled her head before drifting upward.
It was quiet on the mountain, reminding her of the early years when it was just her and her man, before Luke was even born. After that, it seemed the babies came yearly. Beverly was next, then David, then Adam, her baby.
She rocked a little slower and was taking fewer puffs from the pipe. Her eyelids were drooping, and the sun felt hot on her chest. At least she thought it was the sun until she looked up at and saw the gray, overcast sky.
The heat in her chest was spreading and her arm was getting numb. She put out her pipe and laid it down beside her foot, then leaned back and closed her eyes. All she needed was a rest.
* * *
Beverly was trying to figure out where to put her nephew’s clothes until Luke was ready to go home when her phone began to ring. She glanced at caller ID before she answered, unwilling to get into another argument with her mother, then saw it was one of their neighbors, probably just hearing about Melanie’s passing.
“Hello,” she said, and then realized the caller was crying.
“Beverly, this is Esther Wilson. I heard about Melanie and drove up to your mama’s house to pay my respects and… Oh lord, oh lord, I don’t know how to say this. Honey, I found your mama in the rocker on her back porch. She’s gone, honey. I guess the grief done took her home.”
Beverly felt the blood rush and thought she was going to faint, then quickly sat down on th
e side of her son’s bed. “Are you telling me that Mama is dead?”
Esther let out a wail. “Yes, lord, she is. I haven’t ever found a dead body before. I haven’t called anyone. All I could think was to call you.”
Beverly’s head was spinning. Sweet Mother of God.
“Look, Esther, you would be doing me a great favor if you would just stay at the house with my mama’s body until I can get there. You can go sit in your car if that makes you uneasy. It won’t take me ten minutes, okay?”
“Yes, I will do that,” Esther said, and then sat down on the back steps while Beverly was making frantic phone calls to David at his work and Trisha at her home.
Tears were still running down Esther’s face, but she was feeling calmer now that she’d given the burden of this discovery away. She looked out at the trees and the clearing in which Adele Payne’s little house had been built, and then started rocking back and forth, shattered by what this day had given her.
Before long she was singing, her thin, wavery voice echoing out upon the mountain. “Swing low, sweet chariot,” she sang, drawing out the syllables in a slow, mournful refrain.
She could hear a car engine straining as it started up this hill, and yet she kept singing, although part of the verses were drowned out now by the sounds of more than one vehicle speeding up the drive, but she persisted to the end.
“…to carry me home.”
Chapter 13
Jake landed in L.A. without problems, grabbed his carry-on and garment bag, and tried to find his way out of the terminal. It was the constant burst of voices over the intercom announcing incoming flights, delays on others, and reporting lost items left at the gates that made his skin crawl.
He stood a head taller than most and could see from one end of the long corridor to the other. The scuffle of thousands of feet and the underlying mumble of voices all around him was overwhelming. He didn’t like the crowds, and he didn’t like feeling out of control.
By the time he exited the terminal and reached the taxi stand, he was just another traveler in line, getting ready to go somewhere else. When he finally got in a taxi, the relative silence within the vehicle was welcome. He gave the driver the address of his hotel and then leaned back and closed his eyes. He didn’t need to see palm trees or tourist landmarks and wasn’t interested in anything but getting to the hotel. As soon as he was settled, he would call Sophia DeSosa, and if it was convenient, go to the house to pay his respects.
It took forty minutes to get to his hotel. It was somewhat off the beaten path, but the area seemed okay, and spending two nights here was far safer than bivouacked anywhere in Afghanistan.
He asked for a room on the ground floor next to an exit. The clerk gave him a curious look, but didn’t comment other than to ask for a credit card and ID. “Will you need more than one key?” the desk clerk asked.
“No. One is plenty,” Jake said.
“Do you need help with your luggage?” the clerk asked.
Jake shook his head, picked up his bags, and followed the directions to his room.
The room was stuffy, but once he regulated the thermostat to a cooler temperature, it didn’t take long before he began to feel the cold air. He hung up his uniform, put his shaving kit in the bathroom, and then sat down on the side of the bed to collect his wits. It was 5:00 p.m. here, but 8:00 p.m. back home. He wanted to lie down and sleep, but it was time to call DeSosa’s wife.
It rang four times before someone answered, and the noise in the background was obviously making it difficult for the person to hear what Jake was saying. Finally, Jake raised his voice. “I said—this is Jake Lorde. May I speak to Sophia?”
All of a sudden, the young man shouted out, “Everyone! Be quiet! Sophia! It is Joaquin’s friend. It is Jake.”
Jake didn’t know how to react to being a known entity to people he’d never met. Yes, he knew of DeSosa’s wife. He’d seen pictures. He’d heard stories of their life together, but she belonged to a part of the man he’d never known.
Then there was a soft voice in his ear, and the image of her face slid through his mind. Now he knew what she sounded like. “Hello, this is Sophia. Is this you, Jacob Lorde?”
“Yes, I’m here in L.A. Just got to the hotel a few minutes ago.”
“You are coming here, are you not?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am, if it’s okay.”
There was a slight catch in her voice and then a soft laugh. “You also sound like the Georgia boy. Tell me what hotel, and I will send family to pick you up.”
“No, ma’am, there’s no need for that. I chose one close to your address. I’ll take a cab to your house. If you want, someone can bring me back then.”
“As you wish,” Sophia said. “You will eat with us. You will laugh with us, and if you wish, you can also cry with us. It is what we do. We will see you soon, Jake Lorde.”
There were tears in Jake’s eyes when he hung up. He called the desk about a cab, then made sure he had all of the addresses he needed. After washing up, he decided to change shirts and was absently eyeing his scars as he stripped off the dirty one. They didn’t define him, but the simple act of bathing or changing clothes was a constant reminder that they were there.
After getting to the lobby, he waited an extra ten minutes for the cab to arrive, and then it took another ten minutes to get to the right address. The farther he rode, the more anxious he became.
And then they were there.
He got out, pausing momentarily on the sidewalk as the cab sped away. The Spanish architecture of the house was evident by the tiles on the roof as well as the arched doorway and windows of the beige stucco house. The landscaping was cactus plants and palm trees—about as far removed from Blessings, Georgia, as a man could get.
And then the front door opened, and a dark-haired woman in her midthirties came out and met him on the sidewalk halfway to the house.
Her hair matched the color of her eyes, and the smile on her face was welcoming. “I am Sophia. Welcome to my home, and thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for the plane ticket and the invitation.”
There was one small moment of uncomfortable silence, and then she threw her arms around his waist, and the moment she did, he gathered her to him in a quiet embrace. He felt her shaking and knew that she was crying.
It was the saddest day of his life.
For Jake, the next few hours passed in a haze. It was healing and exhausting, and by the time he was ready to leave, he had turned loose of the guilt of being alive when Joaquin was not. The DeSosa family accepted Joaquin’s death as a result of his choice to serve his country, and they were proud of what he’d done.
Finally, it was Joaquin’s brother-in-law Miguel, who took him back to the hotel. They said little on the ride over until Jake was about to get out.
Then Miguel spoke. “Thank you for coming. It meant everything to Sophia.”
Jake struggled with the words until he finally said what was in his heart. “I owed your brother so much, but I came because I loved him. He was the brother I never had. He saved my life, so I am taking the job of living it well very seriously. I would never want it to be said that I did not appreciate the gift.”
Miguel reached for Jake’s hand and shook it. “Joaquin was always a good judge of character. You have proven that already. We will see you tomorrow. Someone will be by to pick you up at eleven thirty in the morning. You will eat with us again, and then we will all go to the service together.”
“Thank you for the ride,” Jake said.
Miguel smiled then. “Joaquin had a saying.”
Jake interrupted. “I know that one. ‘Life is the ride.’”
Miguel chuckled. “Sleep well, my friend.”
“And you,” Jake said, and then got out and went inside as Miguel drove away.
He nodded at the night cle
rk as he strode past the desk and walked all the way to the end of the hall to his room. Once inside, he checked his belongings to make sure they had not been disturbed and then locked himself in for the night.
He was tired but he needed to unwind. It was midnight at home. Too late to call Laurel. So he sat down and sent her a text. She would read it the next morning. Maybe she would call. He wouldn’t mind being awakened in a few hours, just to hear her voice.
Spent the evening with my friend’s family. His service is tomorrow at two. I’m tired. I’m sad. I will be glad when this is over. Hope you and giggle girl are good.
He hit Send and then began getting undressed. In less than five minutes, he’d set the alarm and was ready for bed, praying with everything in him that there wouldn’t be dreams. After adjusting the thermostat for sleeping, he crawled between the covers and was reaching to turn off the night-light when his phone signaled a text. His pulse kicked as he picked it up.
It was from Laurel.
Giggle girl and I are fine. Adam’s mother, Adele Payne, was found dead in a chair on her back porch. I feel brave enough to say this, since you cannot see my face. I miss your presence in our lives. As Bonnie would say, I am sorry for your sad.
Jake sat reading the message countless times until all he saw was: I miss you. Without thinking, he sent back one last text.
I miss you, too.
* * *
Laurel had awakened instantly when she’d heard her phone signal a text. Reading Jake’s message made her sad for him and, at the same time, elated that he’d reached out in a time of despair. Her heart was pounding as she sent her text, and then the moment she’d hit Send, was wishing she could take it back. She shouldn’t have said that, about missing him. She threw herself backward onto the bed with a flop.
“Way to go, lady. You are such a dumbass. He will never want to see your face again.”
She was still bemoaning her mistake when her phone dinged. Her heart skipped a beat as she sat back up and reached for the phone and read the text.
“He misses me, too?” She giggled. “He misses me, too!” It took a few moments for all of the implications to sink in. “He misses me,” she whispered, and then put herself back to bed with the phone in her hands, because his words were all she had of him to hold.