“Actually, that makes it even better, ma’am. I’m hoping to work nights and sleep days, so the darker I can make the room, the better.”
“I see.” Hoping to work nights. Hmph. Well, to each his own. “There is a pull-down shade on the window as well as the curtains you can close. That should make the room quite dark, especially in the mornings.” She pointed to the nightstand next to the bed. “There is a map and local phone book in that drawer as well as the rules of the house. Your key will open the front door as well as your room, but I warn you that after ten-thirty, I activate the alarm system. I’ll give you a code to disable it once you are inside, but it will automatically reset itself again in three minutes.”
“No problem, ma’am. I’ll leave for work before ten-thirty and won’t be back until eight a.m. Assuming I get the job, that is.”
Mr. Fisher didn’t sound very confident about his prospects, but Dev MacMurphy, the owner, was a former Army man himself, so that ought to help.
“Your room rent includes breakfast. I normally have a buffet when the house is full, but since you’ll be the only guest, it will be easier if I serve you in the kitchen. Do you have any preferences?”
He appeared dumbfounded at this news.
Duh, bed and breakfast? Had he never stayed in one? Then the ‘working at night’ part hit her, and she felt like an idiot. “Or perhaps you don’t eat breakfast after you finish work. Maybe you’d rather have dinner?”
“You don’t have to feed me, ma’am. I’m sure there’s a diner in town where I can get my meals.”
Does he realize he’s still standing At Ease? Or is it so ingrained it’s an unconscious habit? So far you behave as if I outrank you, so let’s see how you take my thinly disguised “orders.”
“You’re entitled to one meal a day here, Mr. Fisher, and I intend to provide it. You decide whether it will be breakfast or dinner you want to eat at eight-thirty in the morning.” She paused for his reaction.
One quick nod. “Yes, ma’am. Breakfast would be fine, ma’am.”
She bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling. “Excellent. After that, Ed’s Diner is two blocks down on the other side of the square. The food there is decent and the prices fair.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”
Okay, enough of this ma’am crap. I may not be a sweet young thing but I’m certainly not in the ma’am category yet.
“Mr. Fisher, my name is Marjorie Matthews. One of the main goals of my inn is to help folks to relax, so generally my guests call me Marjorie or Ms. Matthews if they are youngsters. So please, drop the ma’am. It makes me feel ancient.”
“Yes, ma– aaaaarjorie.” He caught himself and smiled.
His grin hit her with an almost physical force. It transformed his face from merely nice-looking to downright movie star quality. Not the pretty-boy of a runway model but a more rugged Bruce Willis or Jason Statham type. Holy crap! It was her turn to nod, speechless, but smiling like a star-struck teenager. If someone would push the reset button on my brain, I might be able to form a coherent sentence . . .
“Since we’re not being formal, you should call me Lance.” He took a step toward her, a curious expression in his eyes. “Are you okay?”
Reset. She imitated his quick nod. “Fine. I’m fine.” She clasped her hands together. “If there’s nothing else you need, I’ll be downstairs.” She pivoted and headed toward the stairs at warp speed.
“Ahh, Marjorie?”
She stopped abruptly and turned, almost running into him. He’d followed her that quietly? “Yes?”
“I’ll need the key to my room.”
Of course you will. And I need to get my act together or you’ll think your landlady is senile. Maybe I deserve the ma’aming.
“I was just going to get it.” A white lie, since she had forgotten about the key change after the nuclear blast of his smile wiped her memory. Marjorie felt more than heard him follow her down the stairs. For a big man he moved soundlessly. She retrieved the key from its hook and handed it to him, putting her first choice back in its place.
“I don’t suppose you might have a newspaper? I need to find a permanent place as soon as possible.”
Today’s edition of the Easton Star Democrat lay on the hall table, still in its plastic sleeve. “Blue Point Cove doesn’t have its own newspaper, but this one would have listings of whatever apartments are available nearby.” She handed it to him.
Marjorie hated to be the bearer of bad news, but she suspected his search would come up empty, at least in Blue Point. There were no apartment buildings in this sleepy little town. A few folks rented out a spare bedroom to make a bit of extra money off-season, and there were the older summer cottages standing empty right now, mainly because they had no heat and were not really livable during the winter months.
“I have a pot of tea in the kitchen if you’d like a cup,” she offered.
“Thank you, ma– arjorie.” He winced at the stumble over her name. “But I’ll just unpack and check out the map upstairs.”
“Fine. If you need anything, I’ll be down in the basement working.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She just rolled her eyes and sighed. She doubted he’d be around long enough to break that habit.
It took Lance less than five minutes to unpack. As a single man in the Army for the past fifteen years, he hadn’t accumulated much in the way of personal belongings. Someone over in the Sandbox had packed up his stuff and shipped it to Walter Reed, where he’d spent the past forty days. There wasn’t much—fatigues, spare boots, his dress uniform, socks, a few paperbacks. Most of his civilian clothes were still in a storage locker. If he got this job, he’d have to drive back and empty it.
The Army had offered him a stateside post training new recruits, but he didn’t have the heart for that after losing all but two of his men in the bombing. He forced those images back to the dark hole they lived in, and concentrated on the present.
Chris Majewski, his psych doc at Reed, had gotten him an interview with Dev MacMurphy, who owned an indie radio station that served the communities on the Chesapeake Bay’s lower eastern shore. He was supposed to handle half the nightshift and give Dev a break, since for now he took the whole eight-hour shift himself. Interesting to know the boss took the longest and least desirable shift. Chris seemed to think it was a pretty sure thing. Lance figured he could handle the job, since he wouldn’t have to say all that much anyway. A little patter between songs. A friendly voice in the middle of the night for those insomniacs, like himself, who wanted to hear another human voice to fill the hours until dawn.
There was only one problem. His damn flashbacks. They’d become much less frequent since he began working with Chris, and the meds had helped a lot, but every once in a while he’d get anxious, and with nobody around to talk him down, he’d spiral down into that black hole and lose touch with the here and now. What would he do if that happened while he was on the air? Middle of the night or not, a flashback would be a bad thing to cope with. He shrugged. He’d find out soon enough. His interview was at eight o’clock tonight. Chris must have told Mr. MacMurphy how much he preferred darkness to daylight.
Between now and then he’d search the area for a permanent place to stay. Scouting unfamiliar territory in bright sunlight would be a good test for the anti-anxiety meds Chris had prescribed. He put his clothes away and picked up the phone book and map. He was grateful he was the only tenant here. He would have to explain to Marjorie about his PTSD and hope she didn’t kick him out. She seemed like a nice enough lady. Close to his own age with a pleasant, straightforward manner. She was tall, brown eyed and brown haired, and had a great smile. It made her whole face light up and put a sparkle in her eyes. Captivating. That’s what her smile was. He had to hand it to her; running a bed and breakfast single-handed
was a lot of work, although in a town as off the beaten path as Blue Point Cove, she might not get a lot of business.
He opened the paper and found the classified ads. The closest apartments listed were in Cambridge. That was further away than he’d hoped, but he’d drive over there this afternoon. Maybe he’d get lucky and find a place today.
Four hours later, Lance slumped in the driver’s seat of his rented sedan. He crossed off the last apartment on his list. His fifteen-year stint in the Army hadn’t prepared him for this aspect of civilian life. He’d visited seven apartments. All of them—well, except for the one that stank of mildew and showed signs of mice infestation—were outside of his budget. He had some savings, but considering that he had no furniture or any of the usual household equipment, and that he’d have to keep his rental car until he could afford to buy a used one, that money wasn’t going to last very long. No way was he taking any money out of his IRA. His parents’ difficulties taught him how important it was to save for the unexpected.
He put the car into gear and drove back to Blue Point Cove. He’d stop at Ed’s Diner and grab some take-out to eat back in his room. He didn’t much care for being in a crowded diner with a bunch of strangers. A quiet dinner in his room was much safer than eating out. Eventually, maybe. But he wasn’t ready for socializing yet. Good thing the drugs helped with anxiety, or tonight’s job interview would stretch his nerves to the breaking point.
Tomorrow he’d have breakfast with Marjorie. Explain about his PTSD. That thought wasn’t particularly comforting, but he found himself looking forward to it anyway.
Chapter 2
Lance parked in front of the weathered redbrick building at seven fifty-five. He’d almost missed the turn from the two-lane road in the dark. Other than the tall antenna tower behind it, the building sat alone, empty fields stretching for miles, and broken here and there by stands of trees. The sky was full of stars and reminded him of the skies over the desert, where no lights competed with their magnificent display. His breath puffed clouds of white as he strode toward the door.
There was no one in the front office, but he heard footsteps coming down the corridor behind it. A tall, lanky young man dressed in jeans and a turtleneck sweater came through the doorway and stuck his hand out.
“Hi. You must be Lance Fisher. I’m Ed Santone. Dev asked me to give you the nickel tour and answer your questions until he gets in.”
Lance shook hands. “Glad to meet you, Mr. Santone.”
“Call me Ed, please. We’re not much on formality around here.” He motioned toward the corridor. “Come on back.” He introduced Lance to Johnny Miller, the audio engineer holding down the seven p.m. to seven a.m. shift.
Lance stood in the control room between Ed and Johnny, jotting notes down as the other men explained the functions of the audio board.
When Devlyn MacMurphy arrived, they shook hands. Lance, I assume Ed and Johnny are showing you the lay of the land?”
“Sir. Yes, Sir. They have both been very patient with me.”
“No need to call me sir, Lance. Dev is fine. We run a pretty relaxed show around here, as I’m sure you’ll find out quickly enough once we get you on a regular shift. Chris Majewski tells me you’d prefer to work nights, is that right?”
Lance glanced quickly at Ed, then at the floor. Both Dev and Ed picked up on his discomfort, and Ed immediately said, “I’m done here for tonight, Dev, so if you don’t mind, I’ll be heading home.”
Dev nodded. “Thanks again, Ed. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.” He motioned to Lance. “Let’s go to my office, and we’ll get the rest of the paperwork out of the way.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Want some coffee?” Dev nodded to the break room as they passed it.
“No, sir, I’m good, sir. Lance winced at the second sir. “Sorry, S— Dev. Hard to break the habit.”
“Don’t sweat it, Lance. You’re a few years older and several ranks higher than I was, so just try to envision me as a new recruit and we’ll get along fine.”
“Don’t think I could do that, S— Dev. I gave new recruits a pretty hard time.” And all the pain I put them through to toughen them up didn’t keep them safe from the bastard who blew them to hell. The dark hole where he stored his memories inched open and Lance quickly shoved that door closed.
Some of his grief must have shown on his face, because Dev eyed him a thoughtfully. “Just so you’re aware, most of the guys here are trying to lose their military baggage, but that doesn’t mean there still isn’t plenty left. Since we all have our ‘problems,’ you’ll find everyone is pretty tolerant of each other’s idiosyncrasies. If something bothers you, it’s best to point it out right away. Don’t let it eat at you, or eventually there’ll be an explosion that will be much harder to recover from. No one will take offense as long as you’re not a smart ass about it. If you have a problem you don’t want to talk about with the rest of the staff, you can always come to me. If it’s something I can’t handle, I’ll kick it up the ladder to Chris. He stops by every couple of weeks to give me a hard time, and to check on the guys he’s sent over here.”
Dev slid some paperwork across the desk and pointed to a chair. “Have a seat, Lance. There are a few papers you have to fill out. This one is your W-4. If you’re not sure about deductions you can speak with our accountant, Ms. Adams. She can help you on most matters that have to do with money. Did you find a place to stay?”
“Right now I’m staying at the Blue Point Cove Inn, but I plan to rent something else as soon as I get a few paychecks. One of your employees gave me the address of a private home that takes in boarders. I appreciate the trouble he went to but I really need a place all to myself, Sir. Dev.” Lance squared his shoulders. Best to get his PTSD out on the table and deal with the consequences.
“You asked me about working nights,” Lance said. “I’m sure Captain Majewski told you I might have flashbacks. They’re worse in the daytime, or when there’s a lot of noise. I, uh, can get kind of loud myself, you see, so it’s better if I live where I can’t disturb other folks.” He kept solid eye contact with Dev, determined to make sure he knew the worst. “I do better when it’s quiet and dark. That’s why I want to work nights. I take some medication that helps, but I can’t promise I won’t have one when I’m on duty. Will that be a problem, Sir?”
“I’m glad to see you’re being straight-up with me, Lance. I’d hoped you could take over half of my night shift, but I won’t bullshit you. Having a flashback while you’re on the air would be a disaster.”
Lance blew out a breath and nodded. Chris had been very encouraging but Lance had figured getting a job this easily was too good to be true. Turned out he was right. The weight of supporting himself in civilian life settled more heavily on his shoulders. If he didn’t want to go back to the Army and he couldn’t find a civilian job, what the hell would he do? “I understand, Sir. I’ll call Captain Majewski in the morning and thank him for the opportunity. There was a night watchman opening at a warehouse in Salisbury that might still be available.”
“Hold on, Lance. Let’s not jump to conclusions.” Dev studied the man’s paperwork for a few minutes. “It says here that you quit college at the end of your junior year to enlist in the military. What made you quit?”
“My dad was in construction. He hurt his back and couldn’t work anymore.” Lance shrugged. “With two other kids in high school, my folks needed financial help. The Army was the quickest way to a steady paycheck. I figured I could finish college and get my engineering degree while I was in and start my career a little later than I planned.” He rubbed his right leg and stretched it out in front of him. “I got a few courses under my belt before I was deployed. First to Kosovo, then to Iraq for a couple of tours, one in Afghanistan, and, finally, back to Iraq. Enlisting didn’t work out exactly the way I planned.”
; Dev nodded and scratched his chin. “Being an on-air personality is not a good idea for you, Lance, at least not right now. But how would you feel about an engineering slot? The two men I have are each doing twelve-hour shifts, and I’ve been searching for a third guy to share the load.”
A wave of relief washed through Lance. He’d been counting on this job, mainly because he knew other guys with similar backgrounds worked here. That in itself would take a lot of stress off the switch from the military to civilian life. “I’d like that, Sir, but don’t I need an EE degree to do that kind of job?”
“Actually, no. I used to think that, too, but we’re both behind the times by about thirty years.” Dev chuckled. “I’m not saying there won’t be stuff you have to learn. Nowadays this position is a combination of audio engineering and program management. I’ll have you talk to Mike Kovak, our chief engineer, and he can tell you what you’ll need.” Dev stood. “For now, let’s get back to the control room. You’ve already met Johnny Miller. He can give you an idea of what the job is like before you commit to it. We’ll talk salary later, but I have to tell you that until you’re able to fly solo, I’ll have to cut your pay by twenty percent. Think it over while you’re here tonight and give me your decision in the morning.”
“I don’t have to wait till morning, Sir. Dev. I’ll take the job.”
They shook hands and Dev clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s get you started, then. The first rule around here is to be on time. That means announcers should be in the booth ten minutes before they’re due on the air so the hand-off goes smoothly. I’ve got to be in the booth by about ten-forty-five. Between now and then I can catch up on paperwork.” He grimaced. “I hate the damn paperwork.”
Theirs by Chance Page 2