by C. B. Stagg
“Bravo!” Rosie squealed as I snuck up behind her and swung her around the kitchen. She was losing weight. That worried me.
“Surprise.” Up on her bare toes, she threw her arms around my neck for a tight squeeze, then held me by the shoulders at arm’s length for inspection.
“You’re too skinny,” she chided, clicking her tongue. “You aren’t eating.” I started to shake my head, but thought better of it. She wanted the truth, but there was no way I’d tell her most of my money was here, invested in this house, this ranch. She’d murder me if she knew how little I kept to live on.
“Well, that’s why I’m here! Nothing compares to your cooking. Feed me woman, feed me!” Her stare held me in place, her face stone-cold sober. She didn’t buy it. But that was too bad. It was all she was getting.
“Why are you here, mijo?”
“Doc mentioned a hard freeze. Thought I’d help him get things ready.”
“Why are you really here?” She dropped her arms and I backed up until I was leaning against the butcher block island where I’d spent countless hours doing homework while Rosie fussed around the kitchen. “It’s that girl.”
Damn that woman and her Mexican voodoo.
“Mama, this again?” I turned to the sink and washed the travel nastiness off my hands. It also justified turning my back on Rosie. Her eyes had fangs that could sink right into my soul and suck out the truth without me even realizing it.
“You love her… “
I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths while I rinsed off the soap suds and dried my hands with a paper towel. Turning back around, I met those big, brown soul-searching eyes again. “Are you asking or telling?”
“Hmmm” is all she said. That usually translated into ‘I’m going to let you figure this one out, then you tell me.’
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, woman. What do you want from me?”
She’d been vigorously scrubbing an already immaculate countertop, but stopped at my words.
“La verdad.”
I ran my hands through my too long hair, applying pressure to my skull as I did. But my headache wasn’t in there, it was standing right in front of me, demanding I speak of things I had yet to even let myself think about.
“The truth? Okay, here’s the truth. I met a girl. She’s spoiled and narrow-minded, entitled and completely out of touch with reality. She’s a princess.”
“And?” Dammit.
“And she reminds me what it feels like to have a heartbeat.”
It took half a day to check the electric waterers and move the hay closer to the feeding area. After a quick lunch of vegetable beef stew, I insulated the pipes on the house and the barn and tested the generator, while Doc checked the fence line in the grazing pasture. By three o’clock, not only was everything almost ready, but the cold front began shifting and it appeared it was all for naught. Still, the time spent working in the wide-open space, breathing in the crisp country air was better than any prescription for beating the blues.
“You know, she’s not asking you to wife up. She just doesn’t want you to be alone forever.” I’d been poking around the barn, looking for an excuse to stay out a little longer and ended up rearranging tack that was perfectly organized to begin with.
“She meddles,” was all I had to say about the matter. I was using the push broom to sweep up what looked to be a decade worth of dust from the tack room floor, dreading another round of The Third Degree with Rosie the Roper.
“She’s sick, Ben.”
The broomstick fell from my hands, but I never heard it hit the floor.
“It was a small lump, I had it removed. No big deal,” she said, as if she was telling us she had to stop at the post office on the way home.
“No, not a big deal.” My eyes rolled back into my head. I wasn’t a moron. “Is that why you have no kids right now?” I looked from Rosie to Doc, but his eyes deferred back to his wife. “Is it? Because you have cancer?”
“Had cancer, Bennett. Had. Past tense.” She stood and walked up the stairs, taking care that we heard every step she took until her bedroom door slammed. She seemed adamant, but I had my doubts.
“I’ve never seen her pissed off.” I said to no one in particular, looking in the direction she’d gone.
“She’s not pissed, Ben. She’s scared. The lump was removed right before you got home. She was treated with a chemotherapy that beat up on her white blood cell counts. She had to have blood booster shots after each treatment. Now, she’s on tamoxifen and her prognosis is good.”
“Wait. Before I got home? So, this summer, while I was home, Rosie was going through chemo?” He nodded.
“She didn’t want you to know. She didn’t want you to stay because of her. She wanted you to go to school and make a life for yourself.”
The silence cast a shadow of shame upon my heart.
“Well, I better go check on her. She goes to bed pretty early these days, so once I get her settled, I’ll come find you.” I nodded, only half hearing him.
I’d been home all summer. I’d been working the land, riding the fence lines. I’d been drinking and I’d been running.
The saying, ‘War changes people,’ is often misunderstood. Its literal value isn’t taken into account. War truly changes a person. It injects a blackness into their soul that changes who they are and what they will be forever. But that fall wasn’t too far for me.
We are the sum of our experiences. And my formative years were spent in a home with a sociopathic monster. One who used his discontent to rationalize a level of brutality and violence most grown men couldn’t stomach. His victim being a woman whose need to escape into her next fix burned like a fire in her soul.
During my time in the Middle East, my lack of empathy made me a brilliant soldier. I viewed the enemy as an infection threatening to spread if I didn’t step up and defend my country. The day Chance took his first life, he spent the night puking into a latrine. My first kill was that same night and I slept like a baby.
That alone sealed my fate. I would be career military, like my mentor, Commander Daniel Daniels. Some kids enlisted, did their time, went home, and had a wife and a child within a year. That wasn’t the life I was bred for. That desire for home and hearth was nonexistent for me. I was happiest on the battlefield. I belonged in the thick of it all. But that plan blew up in my face.
The plane ride home from Germany was my walk of shame. The US Army terminated our relationship with an, It’s not us, it’s you, and as a parting gift, offered a pity ride to Texas. So I arrived at the ranch to lick my wounds, and let alcohol replace food. When I no longer got drunk, I stopped drinking and I started trying to outrun invisible monsters, getting nowhere fast.
I unintentionally slept in Sunday morning. I had a bus to catch later that afternoon, but I had some things to say to Rosie and I was sure she had a few words for me as well.
“Ahh, he lives,” she chided, flipping bacon and whipping eggs at the same time, like she had four arms. Mussed and unshaven, in only some green plaid pajama pants from Gap, I lumbered down the stairs and plopped onto the barstool I had always considered my own.
“Coffee.” I dropped my head to the cool granite counter. I slept a good twelve hours and felt like I’d just competed in a triathlon. With the efficiency of a seasoned greasy spoon waitress, she whipped up a steaming mug of coffee within reach before I could doze back off. “Thanks,” I grumbled.
“You’re worried.” It was a statement, not a question. I sat up and took a sip, burning my tongue.
“Well, yeah, I’m worried.” I’m not a robot.
“Not about me though. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” She believed it and I sort of did too. She was a tough old broad. I stood and hugged her from behind as she continued cooking.
“You’re all I have,” I whispered, choking up as the reality of losing her crashed into me like an asteroid to the chest.
“Bravo. Why?” She turned the burner off and the blue l
ight under the skillet went dark. Then she turned to face me. “Why are you so against falling in love? Who is this girl, this princess?”
“She’s… she’s everything.”
“And?” The honest truth? Did she really want to hear that? Did I?
“And I am nothing.”
I’d gone and done the one thing I swore I’d never do.
I’d fallen for someone.
Chapter 14
Jillian
I’D BEEN IN A FUNK for days, and the root of it all was showing up for ‘work’ on Friday night to find that Bennett was out of town. His friendship, if one could call it that, was something I cherished and I physically felt his absence. So when Wednesday rolled around, I may have shown up for our dinner a few, or thirty, minutes early to find Bennett already there, waiting for me.
“Hi, stranger.” I nodded, walking to where he sat on the concrete step behind the cafe.
“Princess.” He tipped his head in acknowledgement as he stood, dusting himself off. Tonight he wore a faded pair of Levi’s and a plaid shirt woven with greens and blues. It was a far cry from his usual cargo-style pants and black or grey T-shirts. And while the shirt was thicker to provide warmth, the jeans stuck to him like Saran Wrap in all the right places.
“Well, don’t you look spiffy.” I wiggled my eyebrows and saw color creep onto his cheeks. My heart was beating in my throat.
“Yeah, well. I grabbed some clothes from home over the weekend.”
This was the first time I’d ever heard him talk about a ‘home’ and I wanted to know more, but later. We had a bet to tend to first.
“Tonight, you’re going to meet Rafael and he’s a little different than the others you’ve met so far. Raf had to leave a newborn son when he was drafted to fight in Vietnam. He was never quite the same after he returned, but he held it together for his son, Rafael Jr., or RJ. Last year, RJ took shrapnel to the chest and died before he could be lifted out. That’s when things spun out of control for Raf.”
We’d walked around to the front of the cafe, but stopped before entering the building, so Bennett could finish giving me his instructions. “He won’t talk, and probably won’t even look at you, but he’s listening. And if he’s got something to add, he will. Just be patient. This is a man who’s had his heart broken again and again by fate. There’s a lot to gain from someone who’s lost so much.”
The mood in the cafe was somber, or maybe it was just me. I’d been fed a lot of information on this particular case and I hadn’t fully wrapped my head around it. Raf was easy to spot, huddled over a plate of enchiladas, beans, and rice like someone was going to take it from him. He was protecting his plate with his life.
I’d seen him once or twice before, and a month ago, the thought of eating with someone like Rafael would have sent me running for the hills, but now I was almost drawn to him.
“I’m going to go sit down, can you get my plate?” Bennett nodded, but the whole way over to Raf’s table, he never took his eyes off me. Was he concerned for my safety? If I wasn’t, he sure shouldn’t be.
“I see you have an extra spot here. Do you mind if I sit down?” The man remained oblivious, hunkered down over his food, awkwardly gripping a fork in his left hand while occasionally shoveling some rice into his mouth like a feral child.
“Raf, my name is Jillian. I’m a friend of Bennett’s. It sure is nice to meet you.” He stiffened at the mention of his own name, but other than that one tiny flinch, he continued eating, so I decided to carry on a conversation with myself. We hadn’t beaten the rush this time and the food line was long, so Bennett would be a while.
“I’m from Georgia, just outside of Atlanta, but you probably figured that out by my accent. Most people do. Have you ever been to Georgia? It’s real nice, a lot like Texas with the heat and humidity. When I was a kid, I had two best friends, CJ and Jerome. I lived on a big plot of land and way toward the back, there was this creek that separated my lot from CJ’s family estate. Luckily, someone had built a bridge between our two pieces of land. During the summers, we traveled that bridge so many times I knew every swollen, splintered board like an old friend. But sometimes, when it was just so hot you almost wanted to peel your skin right off, we’d skip the bridge altogether and go jump in that creek, clothes and all. I mean, of course I kept my clothes on, all my runnin’ buddies were boys.”
Raf had put his fork down and instead of staring straight down at his plate, he was watching my hands, folded in front of me. I shot a glance at Bennett and he was laser focused on our table, ready to strike at the first sign of trouble. It was times like these, the military in the man was so visible. I gave him a thumbs up and kept talking.
“So anyway, we’d jump in that creek every chance we got, me and Jerome and CJ. The thing was, I could never let my momma find out. She would paddle me seven ways to Sunday if she knew I was wearing my nice, embroidered jumpsuits in that nasty old creek water. She’d tell me I was from Georgia, not Mississippi, and young ladies from Georgia were good and proper. They didn’t go running around the woods with dirty old boys and they certainly didn’t swim in muddy creeks.”
“I know that’s what she’d say, because one day, Jerome’s momma—an accomplice when it came to our secret creek visits—had to go to town on a last-minute errand and wasn’t there to wash my jumper when I snuck in the back door looking like a drowned cat. And let me tell you, all hell broke loose that day. But, do you think that stopped us?”
“No?” Raf spoke, raising his head and looking me dead in the eye. And Bennett, bless his heart, was just in time to witness it.
“You’re right. It didn’t. But because of that day, I learned how to use the washing machine. Then Nanny B (that’s what we called Jerome’s momma) would make me wash my own muddy creek clothes.”
“You… go… home…?“ His words hardly even qualified as a murmur, but by God, I was going to find out what he was saying.
“I’m sorry Raf, I couldn’t hear you. Could you repeat that?”
He cleared his throat and tried again. “Do you go home and swim still? With your boys?” I smiled as I tried to swallow the myriad of emotions welling up inside of me. Of all the things in all the world I could possibly be talking about—with what clearly was a homeless man—this was not a topic I expected to land on.
“No, Raf, I can’t do that anymore.” I tried to telepathically apologize to Bennett for what was about to come out of my mouth, because I refused to lie to the broken man in front of me. “You see, Jerome and CJ both went to Iraq to fight in Operation Desert Shield and, well, only one of them came back.” A hot tear slipped down my cheek, mirroring the one falling down Raf’s face.
“RJ?” He asked, as hope bloomed in his eyes.
“No, my friend was CJ. He never even told me what the letters stood for, or I’d tell you. He died over there.” I swiped under my eyes, drying my face in the process. “But Jerome came back. He was a medic and he did great work over there.”
“Did he know RJ?” Questions swam around in my head as I wondered how to handle the predicament I had no one to blame for but myself. Raf’s eyes held the innocence of a child and I wished that I could say something to ease his troubled mind and wounded soul.
“You know what, I’m not sure if Jerome ever got to meet RJ or not, but if he had, I’m sure he would tell us your son was strong and brave and a true hero. Because that’s what I think about RJ and that’s what I think about you, too, Raf.” My eyes sought out Bennett’s. Yes? Did I do okay? I used every facial expression I knew to seek approval, but as it turned out, I didn’t need it.
“You are brave and strong, Jillian. Just like RJ.” A smile graced Raf’s face as he spoke.
“Thank you, Raf.” He handed me his napkin, which I gladly took, before he hunkered down and finished his dinner. Only when he stood to leave did I notice that Raf only had one hand.
“That, Princess Jillian, was amazing.” I preened at his compliment. Once Raf was gone, we’d jum
ped in to help the understaffed volunteer group, which put me serving and keeping the ice machine full, and Bennett in the kitchen trying to tackle the mountain of dishes before it started spilling out the back door. At some point, a soda spigot grew a mind of its own, soaking me from chest to knees. But Bennett swooped in, replacing my sodden apron with his own, ever the gentleman. It was nice when we finally met up again in the dining room, exhausted but alive, after the events of the night.
“I was worried about mentioning the war, but I didn’t want to lie to him.” And it was true. The man had given not only his sanity, but his son for the country. The least we could do for him is tell him the truth.
“I think your honesty was a refreshing change from what he’s used to. He was more engaged with you than I’ve ever seen him. The only way I know his backstory is from the lady at the shelter, who got the information from his sister when she came looking for him.”
“Wait, he has a sister and he’s living in a homeless shelter?” I’d been searching through my purse for my keys, but his declaration got my attention and sent my blood boiling.
“Calm down, Princess.” He placed a hand on my shoulder and I wondered if he knew my heart did funny things when he touched me. “He stays at the shelter by choice. His sister isn’t in any shape to care for him and, though she would, he’s levelheaded enough to recognize that. Plus, he has an arrangement with the shelter. He has his own room, which is really more of a closet, but in exchange he cleans and fixes things around the place. It’s really a win-win for everyone.”
“Well, no wonder he’s depressed. He’s not a whole person anymore. I mean, how does he clean and fix things with only one hand? My daddy used to make jokes about my brother being as useful as a one-armed wallpaper hanger, but only in close company. This is the first time I’ve ever actually put an image to the saying.”
When I felt my face scrunching up picturing the stump where his hand used to be, I schooled my features, but Bennett saw right through me. The corners of his mouth turned down and his whiskey-colored eyes lost some of their spark. For some reason, the idea of Bennett being disappointed in me sat in my gut like a concrete block.