Unexpectedly, her hand reached across the seat and upset his careful control. She clutched his fingers tightly.
Mark loosened his seatbelt and shifted to her side. “I’m right here, Libby. What do you need? What can I do for you?”
“I’m scared.” Grief etched the delicate features of her face. Her sad eyes melted his heart and all his resolve with it.
“I know you are,” he soothed. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
“But I don’t want to do this.” Her ragged voice pleaded. Blue eyes gripped his as tight as her trembling fingers on his hand. She bit her bottom lip, and he wanted to caress her cheek, kiss that soft full lip, and carry her far, far away.
“We never want to do these kinds of things, do we?” He bowed his forehead to hers.
“No.” Tears glistened on long lashes as her voice squeaked. “We were supposed to get married, you know.”
He nodded. He knew.
“Not this.” She turned to the solemn spectacle outside her car window as her father pulled through the chain link gates of the airport runway and drove slowly to his designated parking spot. It seemed the entire state of Wisconsin had shown up to welcome their fallen hero home. People were everywhere. Red, white, and blue banners waved in the soft morning breeze. Some held American flags while others held signs that simply stated love for Sergeant Jon Wells. His high school band filled the air with patriotic background music while an honor guard waited in solemn formation at the open ramp of a nearby jetliner.
Jerry parked the car as directed by a young police officer. Chaplain Kenny promptly escorted Jerry and Rosemary to their reserved seating on the tarmac. Sharon and Clark Wells had already been seated. Both gray-haired and tall, Jon’s parents were an elderly couple that clung to each other for support. It was obvious he was their son. He had their height and elegant bearing, his father’s handsome movie-star face and his mother’s quick smile.
Mark hurried to Libby’s side of the car and opened her door. He reached inside for her hand. When she didn’t take his hand, he ducked his head into the car, his cover barely clearing the door as he faced his sad friend.
She sat frozen, her eyes staring straight ahead and breathing hard. She wouldn’t look at him.
“Are you ready?” he asked softly.
She didn’t turn his way. The waterfall of tears had breached the dam she’d tried to maintain and now ran freely down her face. She trembled, and he stifled a groan. He wanted to climb in beside her, hold her, and make time stand still. No. Who was he kidding? He wanted to turn back the hands of time and love her first, kiss her first, and marry her before Jon knew she had ever existed.
Instead, he knelt at her side, his knee to the hot asphalt and his hand resting lightly on her arm. The words of friendship they’d hurled at each other while jumping off her parent’s raft into cold Lake Wissota came to him now. “You take all the time you need, Libby. No hurry. No worry. When you’re ready, I’ll jump with you, okay? You say when.”
She looked at him, and he choked. He was falling again, but not off the edge of some raft on a lake. No. This felt more like a plunge into eternity, a fall he would never recover from. How could she not feel this intense energy between them, this magnetic pull that sucked the breath out of him?
Mark bit his lip. Reality slapped him down and woke him up. She belongs to Jon. That’s why.
Her teary eyes were suddenly lit with that memory of a happier day. His words of comfort must have helped. How funny that a foolish childhood dare brought her strength now. But it did. The sunshine of her love came out for the first time in days. A timid smile tugged at her lips. There she was again, Libby Clifton, the woman of his dreams—and another man’s girl.
She wiped her face and clasped his hand. Mark pulled her gently up from the backseat, their eyes locked on each other’s.
“Thanks, Mark,” she said quietly. “I think I can do this now.”
He acknowledged the sudden strength in her voice. “Yes, ma’am. I know you can.”
All eyes were on the striking blond fiancée of the fallen hero, escorted to her seat by his proud Marine friend and brother. Together Mark and Libby joined the rest of the family. The Clifton’s chaplain went to the head of the casket, and the band played The National Anthem. After that the chaplain thanked Jonathan’s parents for raising such a fine young man. He commended Jon’s friends for their loyalty and friendship. Lastly, he honored Libby’s devotion to the man she loved. The brief service concluded with a prayer.
When the band began the soft sad strains of ‘Til We Meet Again, Libby reached for Mark’s hand. She whispered in his ear. He nodded, took her arm, and together they walked to the casket. Reverence silenced the watching crowd as the heart-rending music continued softly.
Libby stood at Jon’s side again, quaking. She placed her palms face down on the flag draped casket over the sea of blue and stars of white – over the place where his heart should be, gulping back tears. It seemed she had fainted when her knees buckled, but she’d simply thrown herself onto the casket, the way she would have thrown herself into his arms if he had come home alive. One last time she embraced the man she loved.
Mark stood blinking hard and fast, listening to her whispered words to the flag. “Why Jonathan? Why wasn’t I good enough? I would have loved you forever.”
Through the hushed crowd, Rosemary’s quiet sobs joined her daughter’s. Another woman sobbed, but all Mark cared about was Libby. Every sinew and nerve in his body urged him to pull her back from the casket and protect her, to take her away, to hide her some place where she would never be hurt again. But that was not a notification officer’s duty. Mark stood like the soldier he was and stared, his jaw clenched tight and his heart tighter while she sobbed, seemingly unable to let Jon go.
Mark reached for her shoulder, and she nodded, but the poor thing had no tissue, and neither did he. Mark peeled one glove from his hand and pressed it into hers. She looked up, for a moment not understanding. Tentatively, she lifted it to wipe her nose. He offered one small wink.
Take my glove. Take the shirt off my back. Take all of me. You already have my heart.
With that accomplished, and her sad face blotted semi-dry, he secured her hand over his arm once more. Slowly, they resumed their place with the family. The lovely strains of the hymn ceased. Another call to attention sounded, and the honor guard carried the fallen hero to the waiting hearse. Jon’s high school band played God Bless America.
People cried and offered condolences. Libby accepted hugs and handshakes with tearful grace. Mark stayed at her side. The hearse pulled away.
Jonathan William Wells was home.
Three
“You’re coming over for dinner tonight.”
Jerry reached into the room to shake Mark’s hand, extending the invitation like it was already accepted and a done deal. Libby’s father looked like most farmers, tanned from years of work in the weather, strong as an ox, and bright eyed. His handshake was the same—firm, solid, and no-nonsense. “Can’t have you sitting here all by yourself now, can we?”
“The girls would love to see you again.” Rosemary referred to Libby and her two sisters, Faith and Marie. The four women in Jerry’s home looked more like quadruplets than a mother and her three daughters. They might be separated by a few years, but all were blond-haired, blue-eyed, and pretty. “Besides, I made that dumplings and tomato sauce you liked so much last time you were here. You’ll come, won’t you?”
He hesitated. He’d taken a room at a motel in the nearby city of Eau Claire. A good hour’s drive from Spencer, he kept a respectable distance from the families he had just dealt a devastating blow to. So he was surprised to see Libby’s parents standing there, Jerry in his farmer’s overalls, and Rosemary in her Sunday go-to-meeting dress. But tomato sauce and dumplings? The thought alone was enough to make a man drool. Darn, that had been a good meal. He had almost forgotten.
“You folks are very kind, but—”
He wasn’t late.
As required in the Clifton household, Mark’s hands were washed, and he was seated in his appointed chair at the dining room table by the time the blessing was offered. Faith and Marie sat across the table. Libby sat next to him, close, but withdrawn, and a definite wall between them.
Apparently Chaplain Kenny was either not invited or had other pressing responsibilities. That didn’t help. Mark planned to eat fast, make up an excuse to leave, and hightail it back to the motel before dark. There was no sense staying. Libby didn’t want him there.
Jerry passed plate after plate of delicious food as they served themselves. The platter of hot bread dumplings was followed by a steaming bowl of rich homemade tomato sauce full of tender chunks of beef and herbs. That aroma was filling enough, but then came cauliflower drenched in melted Colby cheese, slices of fresh-from-the-hothouse early tomatoes, a relish tray of last fall’s spiced crab apples, sweet gherkin pickles, and pickled herring. It might have been June, but Mark could not have imagined a better feast at Thanksgiving.
“You want another Leinie?” Jerry asked. “I’ve got plenty. Amber Ale? Berry Weiss? Maybe some Summer Shandy?”
Mark had already downed one of the tasty beers from the famed Leinenkugal microbrewery in Chippewa Falls. He lifted his second brown bottle. “Still nursing this one. Thanks.”
“I’ll bet you haven’t had home cooked food in a while, have you, son?” Jerry eyed the young man at his side. “There’s plenty more. You eat up.”
“Not since the last time I was here.” Mark passed the homemade bread to Libby at his left. She took the wooden tray without looking at him. Their fingers never even touched.
“Rosemary will send some back with you to your motel. You do have a refrigerator in that little room they got you crammed into, don’t you?”
“Dad,” Faith interrupted as she smiled fetchingly across the table. “They don’t have refrigerators in motels. Besides, he’ll be coming back for dinner tomorrow night, too.”
“He is?” Jerry asked at the same time that Mark asked, “I am?”
Both men looked at each other in surprise, but Faith continued as if the impromptu invitation were already cold, hard fact. “I don’t know why you’re surprised. There’s no sense in him eating all by himself in Eau Claire when we’ve got plenty to share, now is there?”
“I guess you’re right as rain, little girl.” Jerry looked to Mark in amusement. “Looks like you’re coming for dinner tomorrow night, too.”
“I really shouldn’t.” Mark started to politely refuse, but Rosemary’s hand was already on his arm as she stood behind him to fill his water glass.
“No sense arguing with these two.” She winked kindly. “You won’t win. Besides, we’d love to have you join us. We have plenty.”
“That’s the spirit,” Jerry exclaimed. “We might be going through a tough time right now, but we’ve always got room at our table for a good friend. Besides, you’re more like family, Mark. You oughta know that by now.”
Mark lowered his head and gulped. Jerry meant well, but that day was done. Family didn’t do to each other what he had just done to the Cliftons. He caught Libby’s glance, her blue eyes sad and tired. For one nanosecond, she had actually looked at him. His heart pounded. Who does she see when she looks at me, the beast who broke her heart – or me? Should I leave? Should I stay? Why did I come here?
“Please come,” she said softly. Cobalt blue forgiveness spilled between them. Her fingers strummed the table beside her plate of uneaten food like she might reach for him again.
Before he could answer, Jerry shoved the platter of dumplings into his hands. “Help yourself. So how long are you in for? And how’s the Corps treating you?”
Mark turned back to Libby, but she was gone.
He speared one more dumpling to make Jerry happy more than anything else. The appetite he had come with had vanished. Early departure became an urgent need. Just like her insistent father, Faith offered the bowl of tomato sauce, her blue eyes lit with gentle flirtation. Her eyes were lighter than Libby’s, more pale than full of the deep color of Jon’s girl. Mark accepted the serving and set the bowl on the table.
“Actually, I’m leaving the Corps at the end of summer, sir. It’s been good to me, but I’d like to try my hand at something besides the military for a change.”
“And what will that be?” Jerry passed the relish tray, his brow arched.
Mark scooped a couple spiced crab apples and passed the tray along. “I’ll be working for an outfit that specializes in security for federal agencies. I start with them the same week that I out-process from the Corps.”
“Sounds interesting. What’s the job about?”
“They’ll keep me busy with surveillance, bodyguard duties, and things like that.”
“It’s a good thing you’ve already got a job lined up. There are too many guys coming home from the service who can’t find one these days.”
“Yes, sir, that’s what I thought. It’s good money. Worth a try.”
“Where will you be working? Anywhere nearby? Chicago? Minneapolis?” Jerry’s brows peaked at the options he had just presented.
Mark caught the hopeful tone in his voice. “I’ll be working for a company called The TEAM. They’re located back east in Alexandria, Virginia.”
“Darn. That’s too bad.” Jerry pursed his lips. “I was hoping you’d settle down around here. Last time you were here, it struck me you were a farm kid.”
“Dad.” Faith scowled at her father and then shot another smile to Mark. “Leave him alone. He’s trying to eat.”
Jerry shrugged. “I’m just making conversation.”
“Actually, I did grow up on a farm,” Mark offered with his mouth half-full. “My family is in Ohio, so yes. Guess I’m a farm boy at heart.”
“See?” Jerry smirked at Faith. “I was right, and you was wrong.”
Faith blushed, and Mark looked away. He didn’t want to encourage her.
For the rest of the meal, the table conversation remained on light and easy topics. Before long, Mark was well fed and planning a polite exit strategy. He’d eaten too much, but as good as everything tasted, he was not about to overstay his welcome. Libby hadn’t said another word to him, not like she had spoken much to anyone else either. Despite her need for his comfort at the airport, she didn’t seem to need him now.
Rosemary foiled his plan when she brought a frosted can of homemade ice cream to the table. Libby followed with steaming apple pie while Faith and Marie cleared the dishes. Mark stood to help, but Libby pushed him back into his chair with a gentle shove to his shoulder blade.
“You’re our guest,” she declared quietly. “You don’t get to help. You only get to eat. Besides, there are enough of us girls to clean up.”
“But your family’s been too kind. Let me at least help with dishes.” He tried to stand again, but her hand hadn’t moved.
“We have a dishwasher. Eat your pie.” She sounded stern as she slipped a plate of steaming apple pie in front of him. The delicious fragrance of nutmeg and cinnamon assaulted his nose in a very good way. He breathed it in, closing his eyes as the mental comfort of it took him instantly back to another table when his mother was alive. For a nanosecond, he was just a carefree kid again instead of a battle-weary Marine. He was loved and cared about. When he glanced up at Libby, she stood watching him with a funny glimmer in her eye, the ice cream scoop in her hand suspended above his slice of pie.
“Say when?” she asked, her eyes alight with tenderness.
When. His heart responded quickly, but that’s not what she had meant. He recovered the use of his brain. “One scoop will be fine. Then I need to get going.”
“Why?” She cocked her head, waiting
on his answer.
“Because your family’s been too kind and—”
Rosemary handed him a new fork and a fresh cup of coffee. She winked at him like she knew exactly what he was trying and failing miserably to do.
“I don’t want to overstay my welcome,” he said.
“You men. Always leaving. Never staying.” Libby shook her head. Covering his pie with three scoops of fresh homemade vanilla ice cream didn’t help his exit plan, but neither did the stern expression on her face. “Shut up, Mark. Eat your pie.”
So he did. The evening had taken a sudden turn for the better. She was talking to him.
After dessert, the family moved to the cool of the porch, and Mark with them. Boston ferns hung from the ceiling, their long straggly fronds draping over and around the white wicker furniture. The Clifton porch wrapped the entire house in white-rails and screens, all open to invite the evening breeze.
Mark took his place with Jerry on the stoop. The weatherman said it was going to rain. That meant Jerry would have to hurry and get the latest crop of grass hay baled and in the barn. Mark deliberated extending his visit to help with the chore. Tossing hay bales would be a nice change from soldiering. He could work with Jerry in the field and maybe catch sight of Libby while he did. That might be nice.
Rosemary, Faith, and Marie discussed the food they needed to prepare for the meal after the funeral, where they would have to store it, and the logistics of moving all that food from their place to the hall at the church. Libby sat by herself in a white peacock chair in the corner. Surrounded by family, she still seemed alone, listening to the conversations whirl around her, but not partaking in any of them. Mark noticed how quiet she was, and that she watched him.
Mark (In the Company of Snipers Book 2) Page 2