by Lyz Kelley
While Chase didn’t know Bill Mason, he knew a lot about the man. Where he’d fought. What he saw. The visions that kept him awake most nights. It didn’t matter whether the guy was a cook or mechanic or on the front lines, every soldier tasted war long after they’d left the service. Whether the guys came back from the field or in a casket didn’t matter. Marines understood Marines. Chase wondered if the man had the same kind of recurring dreams.
Bill stopped at the air filter section just as Chase’s cell phone rang. He went to press ignore, until he recognized the number.
“I apologize. I need to take this call.”
Bill nodded and gave him privacy. Chase stepped around the end of the aisle.
“Yo. What’s up?” he answered.
“Banker, you’re an asshole,” Jimmy’s voice blared from the phone.
“Nothing new there,” Chase responded, feeling himself smirk. “You out chasing bones, Fido?” He leaned and placed his hand on the metal shelf.
“No, man. Skirt chasing days are over. Katie and I got engaged over Thanksgiving.”
Loneliness crept up and sucker-punched Chase in the throat. He swallowed hard. “Glad to hear it. Congratulations.”
Jimmy was the last guy Chase had ever expected to settle down.
That’s what three bullets do to a person.
“You steady?” Jimmy suddenly sounded way more serious, and Chase heard his concern.
Steady…as in mentally. Too many guys he’d known had put a gun to their heads, but he wouldn’t be one of them, no matter how bad it got. He’d seen firsthand what leaving like that did to people left behind. The unofficial Facebook page was full of memorials, reminiscences from loved ones. He’d even talked a few of the guys off the proverbial ledge.
“Like a rock,” he said.
“Good to hear. When are you coming back?”
“Not sure yet.”
He considered telling Jimmy about the woman he’d discovered. He’d get a kick out of knowing Chase managed to find a woman in a small town when he couldn’t find a suitable one in any of the dozens of places they’d been deployed. But something stopped him.
Chase studied the oversized display of batteries in all shapes and sizes. “You going to be around later? Found an old snowmobile at the place I’m staying. Needs some repairs. Might require some Jimmy Reed expertise.”
“Anytime. While I have you on the phone…”
His gut clenched. Shit. No more bad news. He’d had enough for a while, but from hundreds of miles away, and after being off the grid for a few days, he couldn’t guess.
“Fido, you got a bone stuck in your mouth. Spit it out, my man,” Chase said with a gut twisting cautiousness.
“Banker, I know how you don’t like to open that wallet of yours, but I was hoping you’d be the best man at my wedding.”
The guys might make fun of him for being a tightwad. Foster care could do that to a man. But, he’d gladly open it for Jimmy. “It would be my honor.” The fifth time to stand-up at one of his military brothers’ weddings. And, he was even a godfather four times already. He wasn’t sure he had the qualifications to be a godfather because he wasn’t sure he believed in the Big Guy. Then again, if God was real, Chase certainly didn’t want to piss him off, so he hedged his bets. “You’re wearing dress blues, right?”
“None other.” The pride in his buddy’s statement resonated even through the phone.
“I’ll be there. Just let me know when and where.”
There was a time he didn’t think Jimmy would be standing, much less walking. He still hadn’t gotten the feeling back in his left leg or right shoulder, but thanks to Katie’s physical therapy, he was making progress.
“You won the bet,” Jimmy said. “You’re the last one, my man. We owe you six hundred bucks.”
There had been seven. Bobby, Jimmy, and he were the only ones not married. They had sworn off commitment, but as time went on and life got tough, the others had found someone to share their lives. Several even had kids on the ground or pending. The loneliness emptied Chase’s reserves and left him dry.
“Tell the guys to keep their money. A late wedding present from me and Bobby.”
“Banker, I know Bobby meant a lot to you, but dude, you gotta quit blaming yourself.”
Right. Jimmy had to go there. If Chase hadn’t made a comment about his toothache in the vicinity of his commanding officer, Bobby wouldn’t have been on that road. He’d lived with the ache for a month and was planning to do something about it stateside, but no, his commander told him to report to medical and get it checked out. When the evac call came in, he knew Bobby had gone on recon that morning in his place. Chase had hopped a ride with the medical crew as security cover, and the crew was first to the scene—God, the destruction. Bodies and trucks and everything, mangled.
“I hear ya.” He took an unsteady breath. “Hey, Fido. I need to get going. Send me the date and I’ll be there.” He ended the call before Jimmy could say anything more.
Shit. He needed to stay busy. Have some fun. Get some rest. Get his head screwed on straight. Target something besides Bobby and bombs.
He looked around till he found the right spark plug, then moved back to the filter aisle and found what he needed there before perusing the tool section. While he ogled the sanders and drills and ratchet sets and other things he’d love, but had nowhere to keep, his phone rang again.
Thinking Fido was calling him back, Chase moved to press the ignore button, but the sound of monks chanting identified the caller. “Pastor Chris.” He forced a note of cheer into his voice. “How’s your flock?”
A pause. “Are you real? This isn’t voice mail? A miracle! It’s a miracle!”
Guilt pressed in and made it hard to breathe. “I just got in-country. You know what it’s like. Being in the backcountry of Somalia isn’t much different from Afghanistan. Phones aren’t always accessible. Plus, I’ve had some things to attend to.”
“I heard.”
He liked how Pastor Chris was a man of few words. The tall, thin guy didn’t look like a man of God. He didn’t talk like one, either. During a game of one-on-one, Chase discovered Chris traveled to Ethiopia and Somalia and Kenya a lot. Over a burger and fries, Pastor had filled Chase’s fifteen-year-old head with vivid pictures. He talked about the lack of clean water and food, the diseases that ravaged the countryside, the civil unrest, and the genocide. After a while, Chase realized failing algebra wasn’t the end of the world.
“You want to talk about your friend?” Pastor Chris asked without judgment or pressure, just kindness, his way of caring for his people.
“No. I think I need to let that one rest for a bit. I do have a question for you, though, about…” Women? Marriage? Fatherhood? All of those, and yet none of those topics seemed right.
“About?” The Pastor had more patience in his little finger than most people tallied in total.
He took a deep breath. “About me, I guess. You know my background. My mom’s addiction and the losers she brought around. The abuse. The foster care. You and Coach have been the only two stable people in my life. You know?”
“Go on.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking of that ‘man’ poem, by Kipling. The one called ‘If.’ I’ve been thinking a lot about it lately…well, not the poem, more about being a man. You know, marriage, having kids. I don’t feel I’m qualified.”
“I see. Chase, no one is really qualified. There isn’t a handbook for such things. Those who end up being good at it work hard. Sometimes fail. Sometimes succeed. I might be biased, but I think you’re more qualified than most. You know what it’s like to be hurt by someone you love. And I bet you’d be careful not to hurt anyone else the way you’ve been hurt.”
“Some say drug addiction and physical abuse are hereditary.”
“And I say the human spirit can overcome any obstacle. You just have to keep trying. You’re a good man, Chase. I’m as proud of you as I would be my own son.”
He didn’t want to dwell on the kind words. Words he couldn’t quite believe. “How did the animal thing go?”
“Not so good. We took cows, sheep, and three dozen chickens to the village. When you’re hungry, the animals look like food, not milk and eggs and wool. Plus, we had to run off poachers. Change isn’t easy.”
“What you’re saying is you just have to keep trying.”
A snort of a laugh came through the phone. “That’s right. I just have to keep trying.”
“A five hundred-dollar check might help replace one of those cows. It’s the least I can do.”
“Like I said before, Chase, you’re a good man. Reach out if you want to talk about your friend.”
“I will. Go tend your flock, Pastor. When I get back to Jersey, you owe me a game of basketball.”
“Hope to see you soon. And take care, my friend.”
“’Bye.” Chase ended the call and stood in the small tool aisle, trying to rationalize Pastor’s final comment.
A good man. Was he really? Was he a good friend? He hadn’t been there for Bobby, and with flashbacks freezing his brain unpredictably, being around him wasn’t safe.
Getting out of the Marines meant no job. How could he be a good husband and father?
With the flashbacks, how could he be a good soldier?
He walked to the counter and placed the air filter, oil, spark plug and a pack of gum on the counter. “Sorry about that, Mr. Mason. I needed to take a few calls. Been out of the country for a while.”
“Call me Bill.” The store owner nodded his understanding. “If you want help, just let me know. I’ll be happy to stop by on my way home.” He glanced at the register. “That’ll be twenty-two dollars even.”
Chase reached for his wallet, hesitated to do some calculations in his head, and then studied the computer screen. The twenty percent discount at the bottom caught his attention. He looked at Bill. The guy didn’t respond because that’s just how the Marine family worked. When a brother needed something, it might appear on his bunk, or in his shaving kit, or on his plate. An understanding passed between them. “Thanks,” he said and handed over some bills.
“You know, Ashley was in here a couple weeks back looking for a mechanic to work on that piece of shit VW Bug she’s been driving. Hank, over at the station, broke his hand a couple months ago and hasn’t been able to work on cars since. If you ask me, she should shoot the thing rather than try to fix the rusted piece of tin.”
Chase agreed. When Ashley had driven off, he noted the car sounded like it should have been spare parts in a wreckage yard. A few minor repairs wouldn’t fix it, only keep it going for a bit longer.
He wouldn’t mind getting a nut-and-bolt kind of action going with the woman. She intrigued him. She smelled nice, had a great smile when she chose to share it, and an electrical charge vibrated between them any time he got within three feet. That kind of attraction hadn’t happened for him in quite a while, if ever. But the one sticking point he couldn’t ignore was the fact she didn’t like the military.
“I’ll keep that in mind if I get the sled working.” And stick around long enough. “Thanks for the help.” He lifted the bag of supplies and gave the retired soldier a nod.
Stepping into the afternoon sun, he felt the odd sensation of bitter cold and bright sunshine and slid his sunglasses into place. At the familiar beep notification on his phone, he swiped a thumb across the screen. Two missed messages. Another call from Coach Jon. And a follow-up call from a buddy who’d left him a message telling him he’d better call him back pronto, or he’d beat him bloody the next time he saw him. Fat chance.
Everyone was worried about him. He got that, but what they didn’t get was he wanted some time alone. He opened the truck door and slid behind the wheel.
If it hadn’t been for Coach Jon and Pastor Chris, he might have ended up in a gang or prison at the rate he’d been racking up juvie violations. Both men had somehow hammered into a stubborn kid’s head that he had a choice. A choice about what he wanted out of his life.
Enlisting in the Marines had put food on the table, provided him a built-in support system, and twisted his childhood frustration into a positive blessing—although the frustration part was a massive understatement. Red-hot anger might have been a bit more precise.
He dialed Coach’s number from memory, but got no answer. He’d try again later.
Today Pastor Chris had suggested he keep trying. Maybe he’d become a better man, but was he a good enough man to get involved in a relationship?
The sweet image of Ashley warmed his grief-stricken heart.
Maybe.
Then again, as emotionally busted up as he was, maybe he shouldn’t go there.
Chapter Five
Chase blew on his hands, trying to warm his numb fingers while he surveyed the café. Six a.m. on a weekday morning, and the place was packed. Sitting at the counter, Harold Talbott turned and gave him a nod, so he moved in that direction.
“Bring the man a coffee, quick. He looks like he needs defrosting,” Harold shouted to Maggie, who was halfway across the room. Harold gave him a thorough inspection. “Looks like you haven’t slept in weeks.”
Chase cringed, not liking the attention, and hoped the friendly man didn’t guess what kept him from sleeping, or the irrational need to keep a sharp knife under his pillow.
He took the seat next to Harold. “I spent the first part of the night trying to get the space heater to work, and the other part shivering. I’m just not used to the hundred-degree swing between the desert and the mountains. I’ll adjust. Always do.”
Maggie flipped his cup and poured a cup of java that smelled so good he couldn’t wait to taste his morning liquid booster. “Want some breakfast?” A napkin-wrapped silverware set landed in front of him.
“Depends on if I can pay this time.”
“You good with a screwdriver?”
His tired brain wondered what pancakes and tools had in common, and then it dawned on him. “I can find my way around a toolbox. You got something needs fixing?”
“I’ve had a new handle and lock for the back door for about six months. Never have found anyone to replace the broken lock. Think you can manage?”
The soldier in him winced. The small town wasn’t a military installation, where security was a matter of routine. Here, people probably left their wallets and keys in their cars as well. Bad shit didn’t just happen in big cities and foreign countries. Nowhere was safe. “I should be able to fix a lock.”
Slapping a menu in front of him, she pointed. “You help me, and you can order anything on that menu.”
“How about you have him install that security system while he’s got the toolbox out.”
Maggie glanced down the counter toward a guy who looked about Chase’s age and was wearing a sheriff’s uniform. “Joey, just ’cause you come in here lugging a security system doesn’t mean it’s going to be my first priority. I don’t need some fancy system to tell me what’s going on in my place.”
“Maggie, you know as well as I do a security system’s like buying insurance. You don’t need either until the day you do.” The man got up to extend his hand to Chase. “You’ve probably guessed I’m the town sheriff. My name is Joe. I understand from Harold you’re passing through on leave.”
“More like finding a quiet place to rest.” Chase winced for giving away too much, especially when talking to a man he suspected saw more than just the words spoken.
Joe pulled out his wallet and tossed several bills on the counter.
“Now, Sheriff. What did I tell you about overpaying?” Maggie chastised.
Joe pointed at the bills. “Tell you what…you get that security system installed, and I’ll stop leaving a few extra dollars. How’s that sound?”
“I’ll install that camera, but it won’t just be to get you to stop over-tipping.” Maggie’s hands lifted to her hips. “You need to find the guy who shot your brother so the whole town can rest easier, and you can help your new bride stop worrying so much. What do you think of that idea?”
“Catching a killer takes time, Maggie, but every bit helps. Thank you.”
Chase studied the boulder-sized burden on the sheriff’s shoulders. The distant look in his eyes created a connection for Chase and a sense of empathy.
“If Maggie will let me, I’ll see if I can take care of that security system for her.” Chase extended his hand to the sheriff.
The woman behind the counter gave him a direct stare. She was built like a tank, and tall enough that if he’d been standing, she’d have looked him directly in the eye. He hoped she didn’t mind the offer, especially when a stack of thick, rich, maple syrup covered pancakes was on the line.
As overbearing as she was, Chase detected a little softness behind the bravado. The way she took care of the townspeople told him she was the type of person who collected stray cats and dogs and gave them a safe place to stay, put food in their empty bellies, and gave them a gruff, but loving scratch behind the ear every day.
She pointed at the menu. “So what’ll it be?”
“I’ll have a stack of pancakes.” He handed the menu back. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Maggie,” she said in her no-nonsense way. “Call me Maggie or don’t bother me. And after breakfast, see Ted about that lock and that box of electrical stuff.” She pointed to the cook, whose face suddenly appeared in the window behind the counter, and then moved along to fill coffee and takeout orders. Chase turned to watch the sheriff’s patrol car pull from the café’s lot.
Harold leaned into his space. “Don’t worry about Maggie. She barks, but she doesn’t bite unless she has a good reason. Just a warning, though. If you ever see a baseball bat in her hand, hightail it the other way. She took a bat to Bill Mason’s place one night. It wasn’t pretty.”