That’s why this is such a shit-freaking bad idea. He didn’t need this family. Rich people who couldn’t care less how the other half lived, and died. Were these the people he was fighting for? Nothing was wrong with the family he buried. They deserved to live. What the fuck was the Chief thinking? The Brownlees didn’t want anything to do with him, if he guessed right. No more than he wanted to have anything to do with them.
“We don’t speak military.” That’s a fine legacy for a young man who was probably scared out of his mind and who paid the ultimate price, he thought.
Died for all of them. Even the ones who couldn’t be bothered. He studied his face in the mirror. He looked the same, but he clearly was not anything like the man he’d been a week ago. The whole fuckin’ world had shifted.
But an order was an order. Just get ‘er done. And he did owe it to the Fallen to do his job. That much was clear. He hoped he didn’t have too much incoming when he went back tomorrow afternoon. Wasn’t invited for dinner. Hell, he probably couldn’t eat anyway. And who’d want to be social with a psychiatrist?
What the hell do you say to a man who analyzes people for a living? An excellent living, from the looks of it.
Well, Sir, I sometimes get night sweats, and some awful nightmares when I get back from tour. I like to hole up with a woman the first twenty-four hours when I get home. There are girls only too happy to do this for our community.
Yeah, analyze my dick, why don’t you? But leave my head alone.
Chapter 6
The next morning, Libby woke up to the bright sunshine of San Diego. She lay in bed, lazily watching the patterns on the ceiling. She heard her father leave for work, heard her mother leave for a tennis date with her girlfriends.
Libby stayed busy all morning, cleaning her room, sorting through things she’d left behind when she went off to school. She condensed all her keepsakes into one box. The rest went out to the trash. She looked at Noodles, her tabby cat, curled up next to Morgan on her bed. Some day her favorite teenage toy would have to go, too. But she wasn’t ready yet to do that to the faithful companion who had listened to all her preteen secrets about the boys she liked and hoped to kiss some day. And besides, Morgan kept Noodles company while she was away, in a strange dog and cat thing.
It felt good to say goodbye to part of her past. Get rid of things that no longer meant anything to her, get rid of her prepubescent idea that life and love were meant to be a fairy tale. Time to grow up, accept the challenge she’d been handed, and get on with life. The interchange with Dr. Gerhardt had only cemented her resolve that she needed to recover from the myopic view of life that came from being a trusting, wide-eyed student too long. It had warped her vision. She hoped getting away from it all, coming back home, would give her that chance to regroup.
Soon she realized she was doing whatever she could do to keep her mind off the tall, muscular sailor with the fluid gait who had waltzed onto their porch and awakened something in her soul. Last thing she wanted was to see a guy who wanted to get in her pants. Men were all alike, she thought. Focused on one thing only.
Maybe this sailor is one of the good guys. It was hard to tell. God knew, she couldn’t trust herself to make that judgment any longer. Not yet.
Everything that’s good for you is bad for you sometimes, her father had told her one day. She ruminated those words round and round in her head until they made her dizzy.
She had friends who were married, and she shuddered at the thought. She wasn’t ready to get caught up in the childbearing and soccer practices some of her friends had opted for They looked happy enough, but she knew herself well enough to know it wasn’t on her radar. Not even close.
Libby put three large boxes destined for Goodwill in the garage outside the kitchen door. She made some tea and watched her father’s new gardener work silently on his knees by the walkway that ran from the garage to the house. He lifted his gaze up to her, and then lowered his baseball cap to completely cover his face and eyes. He stabbed the black soil in the grassy mound at the edges of her mother’s zinnia patch, exposing plastic PVC tubing.
Still in her pajamas, Libby brought her tea upstairs and flopped back on the bed. She began reading one of her favorite romance novels. The hours ticked by. She finished the book just as the sun was beginning to lower toward the horizon. She heard her mother return home and deposit groceries for dinner on the kitchen counter, so Libby made a dash to the shower.
She thought about the hero in the novel. Though the author had described him as dark-haired, Libby saw the face of that SEAL bending down to kiss her, just like she’d imagined the Brazilian painter would do in her novel. She put on a black pair of lacy underwear, which made no sense at all. She slipped on her jeans and an oversized deep pink cotton shirt she felt comfortable in. She walked through a spritz of her favorite perfume.
Libby heard a sound outside, and looked through her bedroom window as Cooper’s muscular frame detached itself from—a scooter? The shiny red thing looked like it belonged to a tanned San Diego coed. The SEAL’s black slacks hugged muscular thighs and a tight, swimmer’s butt. He leaned back and cracked his back. She could see a trace of treasure trail peek just above his fly as the white shirt inched up just enough.
Lord, has it been that long?
When she dropped her hairbrush on the hardwood floor, he looked up into her open window and spotted her staring back at him.
So much for looking disinterested. She’d been chastising herself all afternoon. Her heart was racing in anticipation of being in the same room with this guy. She wasn’t sure whether it was attraction or the sense of danger hovering like a cloud above him, which was strangely exciting. It defied logic. And she liked it.
Her mother had opened the front door with a loud squeak, her elegantly mannered voice welcoming and fresh. Libby couldn’t make out the words, but the SEAL grabbed his helmet and climbed the porch steps slowly, smiling. She held her breath as he disappeared from view. Into her home.
There was a light tap on her bedroom doorframe. Dr. Brownlee poked his head in.
“Brownie, you think I can just send him away?”
“Oh, Dad. Didn’t know you were home already.”
“Just got here. You up for this?”
“He’s here to see you. This isn’t my show. He wants to tell you something.”
“Yea? Well I want to tell him something too—”
Libby was surprised at the acid tone in her Dad’s voice. “Dad, everything all right? This is just some sailor with a message from the Navy of some sort. Not a big deal, really.” She saw his frown and gave him a gentle peck on the cheek, stepping back.
“They send someone who’s just lost his family, so I can’t tell him what I really feel about this whole war and the military machine that runs it. Smart, aren’t they?”
“That what you’re upset about? The war?” She wanted to bring up Uncle Will’s name but something told her to be cautious. She was getting more and more nervous as she noticed the changes in her normally casual and confident father.
“I just don’t like it. Not now,” he said.
Why not now? “They aren’t doing anything. Besides, you always told me to watch out for they and them.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go downstairs and face this sailor together.”
Dr. Brownlee sighed, then stepped ahead as Libby followed him down the sweeping curved staircase to the lobby below. Cooper was in the kitchen, nursing a glass of ice water.
“Hello, son. Austin Brownlee.” He extended his hand to the SEAL.
“Calvin Cooper.” He said as he shot a quick glance at Libby. She felt her heart race.
Dr. Brownlee seemed to wince as the SEAL’s large hand enveloped his. Libby sensed the civility of the evening had just passed. She braced herself.
After her dad extricated his paw from the sailor’s grip, Cooper nodded to Libby. She felt her cheeks flush. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a frown wash over her father’s face
.
“I’m Libby.” She did not extend her hand.
“Libby,” the SEAL said and tipped his head.
“We do serve alcohol in this house. What can I get you?” her father asked.
Coop held up his glass, tinkling the ice cubes. “I’m good.”
The silence was awkward. Did he have a past drinking problem? Growing up, Libby’s family discussions often centered on addictive cycles.
“Probably wise in your line of work.” Her dad dismissed Cooper’s comment and stepped up to the wet bar off the kitchen. Libby felt concern when she watched him pour himself half a tumbler of amber liquid and down it in one gulp. Although she knew her father had been dreading this little party tonight, she didn’t think it had anything to do with his drinking. And he was dosing, self-medicating. Something was very wrong with the famed psychiatrist.
“Please,” her mother interjected, gesturing to the front of the house. “Let’s go sit in the living room, shall we?”
Libby watched as both men inhaled sharply, and in tandem, while they moved into the expansive room. She knew this was not a meeting either one of them wanted.
Why did he come?
Dr. Brownlee went to the mantle over the fireplace and retrieved the picture of Uncle Will, an exact younger copy of her father’s face. The smiling young man was wearing a sailor uniform. When Libby was little, her father had told her what every bar and stripe and medal meant. She focused on the SEAL Trident that was prominently displayed at the top. It was especially painful today to look into the eyes of her father after she’d gazed at the baby-faced picture of young Uncle Will, who died more than twenty-five years ago.
“This is Will.” Her father deposited the gold-framed photograph into the large hands of the SEAL. Then her dad turned and filled his glass with ice as he prepared himself another drink, leaving the young man to ponder the face of the fallen soldier.
That’s your third, Dad. Damn it, what’s wrong?
Cooper was breathing hard, and Libby knew he was working to keep strong emotions in check. He held the frame carefully, almost delicately. Then his expression changed into a faint smile of recognition, like he was staring into the face of a young, innocent child. Slowly, the SEAL rose, and, using both hands, he carefully placed the picture back on the mantle. Then he adjusted its position, perfectly centered on the painted mantelpiece. He stared at it a long time before he turned, looked directly into Libby’s eyes, and then diverted his gaze down.
Dr. Brownlee cleared his throat, his refreshed drink in one hand, and seated himself on the sofa next to his wife. Libby sat to their right. Brownlee took his wife’s hand and spoke to their entwined fingers.
“So, you want to tell us what this is all about, son?”
Cooper stiffened, raised his chin like his shirt was too tight at the neck. He gave a shrug of his massive shoulders and started a difficult speech Libby suspected had been rehearsed several times.
“We are given a KA-BAR knife when we get our Tridents, upon graduation from BUD/S. Each one is engraved with the name of a fallen SEAL, someone who was a specialist in our chosen discipline. I’m a medic. I believe Will—your brother—was a medic as well.”
“Yes. He wanted to be a doctor.”
Cooper nodded. “I have thought about that myself.” He slipped his hands into his pockets, cleared his throat and shrugged. “I’ve been asked to find out about the family of this fallen hero.”
“Son, excuse me if I differ. He died in a helicopter crash. At base.”
Libby felt her spine straighten, her hands turned to ice water.
“Which he wouldn’t have been on if he hadn’t been a SEAL going on a mission. “ Cooper gave her father a stern look. Mrs. Brownlee turned to her husband, alarm written on her face. Dr. Brownlee nodded and continued to look at his wife’s hand tucked inside his own.
“Austin,” Mrs. Brownlee whispered. She softly placed her palm at his heart. Libby could see her mother’s radar go into high alert.
“Look,” Dr. Brownlee started. “Oh, hell.” He disentangled his hand and stood up. “You will forgive me if I don’t have the stomach for some long sad tale of loss, ten Hail Marys and a couple of God Bless Americas. My brother died for nothing. Nothing!”
Cooper crossed the room and stood a few feet from doctor. “Well, maybe he died for me and not for you. I for one am grateful, sir. What you do with your grief is your deal. Maybe he died so you could get rich and play around in your garden, and drink too much. I don’t care what the hell you do with your life. I will honor him like he deserves.”
“Well, son—” Her father didn’t get very far.
Coop stiffened and pointed at the doctor. “Don’t you fucking call me son. A better man than you called me that. And his body is spread all over the Nebraska farmland he loved.”
Cooper strode over to his jacket and helmet. He turned and added to Dr. Brownlee’s back. “You know something? I never saw him in a suit. Never. Even when my sister—” Cooper’s voice broke. “Fuck,” he said to his helmet. Without looking up, he mumbled, “Excuse me, ma’am.” He stomped across the room, and into the lobby toward the front door.
Mrs. Brownlee was up and tried to block his way.
“So sorry, Ma’am. I can see this was one huge mistake. Pardon me for ruining your evening.”
Without as much so a slight glance towards Libby, Cooper was out the door. She could hear him mutter a string of choice words until her mother closed the door behind him. Libby jumped when she heard the growl of the small scooter engine. For some reason, it made her giggle.
“You think that was funny, Brownie?” said her father, who glared at her. She felt suddenly afraid.
“Austin, I think you’ve done enough for one evening. Your manners. Where did they go?” Libby’s mom injected.
Dr. Brownlee emptied his drink, closing his eyes like he was savoring his last. “My manners? Right now I think they’re buried with Will. How dare he come waltzing in here, dredging up old wounds? The Navy took Will. What right do they have to ask me to dig up my memories to benefit some bullshit code of honor?”
When Libby looked up, she noticed her father’s face was lined with tears. She had never seen him cry.
She excused herself. Listening to the heated discussion between her parents, she climbed the staircase to her room and closed the door behind her. Her father’s drinking was weighing heavily on her mind. His sudden hatred of the Navy surprised her, too. She’d not heard this much about it until tonight, and she wondered why.
Dad’s got something going on. She’d felt it the moment she called to tell them she’d be visiting for a few days. She saw it in his face when she first drove up. Something was distracting him, preoccupying him. The one man she needed to lean on, and all of a sudden he wasn’t available.
It also wasn’t like him not to be respectful and cordial, and here he’d practically tossed the young sailor out of his house. That wasn’t the father she knew and loved. She shivered at the thought of the dark man who had replaced her usually warm and kindhearted father.
She thought about Cooper. It wasn’t right he had been sent away thinking they were freaks. The guy was following orders, he’d said. She knew the SEALs were honorable men, and, even if it was to honor the memory of Uncle Will, her dad should not have treated him this way.
To distract herself, she picked up one of her books, and put on her iPad headphones to drown out the sounds of the argument brewing downstairs. She soon fell asleep.
Libby woke up later, noticing the sky had turned dark. The house was mercifully quiet. She got her keys and slipped downstairs to her car. ‘Never let the sun set on a disagreement,’ her dad had always said. Well, it was past sunset, but maybe she could fix this just a little bit. Then she’d sort out the rest of it later. Maybe it was time to stop running and start facing the truth.
Chapter 7
Fuck me. What was I thinking?
Cooper rounded the turn and almost clipped a vintage Dat
sun convertible driven by a blonde in a sun visor.
Fucking hate this part of town. Rich people are useless. Clueless.
He looked upon row after row of professionally landscaped front yards, lawns looking like they were trimmed with scissors, blooming plants framing arched windows in courtyards behind stucco-fenced walls. Just about every home had some variety of bisque-colored tiled roofs. Lots of BMWs, Mercedes, Jags and even Bentleys.
Don’t belong here. Never did. Don’t want to come back. Ever.
Cooper decided he’d just tell Timmons the family had refused all contact. It was partially true, after all. The ladies would have gone along with his visit, but Dr. Brownlee, no, he would forever be on the wrong side of anything to do with the Navy, and the SEALs in particular.
That man doesn’t deserve the sacrifice his brother made. Whatever this man’s beef with the Navy, it was his own shit to wear. And why? He was the fuckin’ asshole who got to live in the big house with the pretty wife and…and…
The thought and resulting lack of focus caused him to swerve over the centerline. He got a honk from a green four-door landscaping truck towing a trailer and blaring Mariachi music.
Adrenaline and his well-trained reflexes kept him from hitting the vehicle. He let out the power and his scooter lurched safely back to his proper lane. The impact with the old truck would surely take away all his pain, he thought. It would be damn quick, but it would hurt like a son of a gun.
Looks like Gunny’s old truck. Gunnery Sergeant Joseph Hoskins, who owned the rusty old gym Team guys frequented for their PT duty, had bought an old truck from the Forestry Service last year at auction. The thing was as stubborn as Gunny, and just as temperamental. Fredo had one, too. Maybe if his death wish didn’t subside, he should get one as well. Might be safer. After all, he was more comfortable under the carriage of an old truck or tractor than meeting a pampered know-it-all psychiatrist and his…
Fallen SEAL Legacy Page 5