by R. R. Banks
I nod. “Twelve years in the Corps,” I answer. “Ten of them in Force Recon.”
“What's Force Recon?” Michelle asks.
I give her a smile. “Special forces.”
“Kinda like Navy SEALS or something?” Kayla asks.
“Something like that,” I say.
“Cool,” they respond in unison.
I can already tell their panties are halfway off. Now, it's just a matter of sealing the deal. Usually, throwing a few war stories out to them did the trick. There's something about war stories that seem to charm the panties right off the ladies. Don't know what it is and don't really care, actually. It does the trick and that's all that really matters to me.
The bartender sets three shots of tequila down in front of me and I hand one to each of the girls. Taking my shot glass, I raise it up.
“What are we drinking to tonight, ladies?” I ask.
“New experiences,” Kayla says, giving me a salacious little smile.
“What do you think, Michelle?” I ask. “New experiences?”
She hesitates for a moment before looking at me, a devilish grin tugging at her mouth. “Absolutely.”
“Excellent,” I say.
We toast each other and then down our shots. I'm in the process of signaling for another round when I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. I pull it out and look at the caller ID, recognizing the number instantly. And it sends a jolt through me.
“Sorry, ladies,” I say. “I've got to take this. I'll be right back, okay? Just sit tight and have a couple of drinks.”
I step away from the bar and answer the call. “Hold on,” I say. “I need to get somewhere I can hear you.”
I walk out of the bar and walk down the sidewalk a little ways, trying to get away from all of the music and noise.
“Mikey,” I say into the phone. “Long time, man. How goes it?”
“I'm good, man. It has been a long time,” he says.
I don't know what it is, but I know he's about to deliver some bad news. I can sense it. Hear the slight flutter in his voice maybe. I can't explain it, but just like I know when I'm not alone in a house, I know when somebody's about to drop some bad news on me.
“So, how you been, brother?” I ask.
“Been good,” he replies. “Wife, kids, all good.”
“That's good, man. But I know this isn't a social call. I can hear it in your voice,” I say. “So, go ahead and lay it on me. What's going on up there?”
I hear him sigh. “It's Rick, man,” he says. “He's – he died, Caleb.”
Although I knew he was delivering bad news, I hadn't expected – that. The news hit me like a sledgehammer to the gut and left me winded for a moment.
“You okay, Caleb?”
“How?” I asked. “How did it happen?”
“Car accident,” Mikey replied. “He got clipped by a drunk driver.”
“When?”
“Couple of days ago,” he says. “Cassie wants you to be a pallbearer.”
I looked up to the sky and felt my head spinning. Death is a part of life – and God knows I've seen my share of death. You'd think I'd be used to it by now. But when it's somebody close to you, no, you never really get used to it.
“Will you come?” Mikey asks. “Come be a pallbearer at Rick's funeral?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, “Of course. Tell Cassie I'll be there.”
“I'll email you the details,” Mikey says. “Just let me know your flight information and we'll have somebody waiting to pick you up.”
“It's okay,” I say. “I'll grab a rental. I'd rather be able to drive around on my own.”
“Cool,” he replies. “I wish it were under better circumstances, but it'll be good to see you again.”
“Yeah, you too man,” he says.
I disconnect the call and sit down on the curb, staring off into the darkness of the ocean across the street. I've lost a lot of people in my life – war does that. But very few who are as close to me as Rick is – was.
“Shit,” I say.
I stand up and walk back to my car lost in memory, all thoughts of the girls inside gone. I'm just not in the mood anymore.
Chapter Eight
I step out of the SeaTac airport and make my way to the rental car lot. There's a nervous flutter in my stomach as I realize I'm back in Seattle and headed back to my hometown – a place I'd put in my rearview mirror a long time ago. A place I'd vowed I'd never set foot in again.
Yeah, death has a way of fucking up even the best laid plans.
It's not that I have all bad memories of growing up in Sheridan Falls – there are some good ones too. Unfortunately, the bad outweighed the good and one conversation a long time ago was all it took to make me realize I needed to go. Needed to move on.
Deep down, I know that what he said to me was all shit I already knew. He simply confirmed it for me. Convinced me that it would be in everybody's best interest if I just – disappeared. He convinced me that nobody would miss me and my disappearance would go unremarked upon. That I was nothing and had nothing to offer the town of Sheridan Falls.
Of course, the fact that the conversation was had with the father of my girlfriend at the time – a man who hated me to his very core – should have made me think twice about leaving. Should have – well, it should have done a lot of things. Set off a lot of bells in my head.
But the truth of the matter is that I was in a bad place. I was – vulnerable. Hell, maybe I was even looking for a reason to get out. To start somewhere new. Fresh. To be somebody different. God knows my home life sucked. I had two drunks for parents – a father that regularly kicked the shit out of me and had a reputation as a no-good drunk around town. And a mother who not only didn't give a damn about her husband kicking the shit out of me, but had a reputation around town of her own – she was the town whore. Of course.
My lovely mother had been responsible for the breakup of a couple of marriages I knew about because she didn't really care who she slept with or the consequences of doing it. Not that my father was any better about screwing around. About the only thing that could be said for him was that at least, he didn't actively pursue married women.
So yeah, I came from a real white trash family. And my girlfriend's dad only confirmed those things I believed about myself. Those things that deep down, I always feared were true. I did my best to be different – I got decent grades, played sports, had a lot of friends. I tried to be – normal. But I was never able to outrun the shadow my family's reputation cast over me.
So, I'd taken what he'd said to heart and left quietly in the middle of the night. I'd just turned eighteen, enlisted in the Corps and the rest is history, more or less.
There are very few people I kept in contact with after leaving Sheridan Falls. Rick is – was – one of the few. He'd been my closest friend in high school and I probably spent more time at his house than I did my own. His family knew my situation and they treated me like one of their own – and never made me feel strange or bad about it.
Rick was the one person I always confided in. The guy I knew I could spill my guts to and never have to worry about it being used against me. There are only a few regrets I have about leaving Sheridan Falls, leaving everything and everybody behind, and he's one of them.
And now he's gone.
I've been so lost in thought, the hour and a half trip from SeaTac to the outskirts of Sheridan Falls passed in the blink of an eye. I've been gone a long time, but somehow, some way, I found my way back without having to think about it too hard. Apparently, some memories never fade – no matter how hard you try to scrub them from your mind.
I turn off the main highway and followed the directions on my GPS. There's a stop I need to make before I get into town.
It doesn't take long before I come to the site of the accident – a narrow stretch of road with thick forest on either side. Miller's Road. Flowers, candles, stuffed animals, and a wide array of personal gifts are gathered i
n a cluster on the side of the road. I pull off the road and stop the car. Staring through the windshield, I look at the colorful display. A lot of people paid tribute to Rick. Rightly so. He was a stand-up guy. One of the best I ever knew. And I'm going to miss the hell out of him.
With a sigh and a heavy heart, I get out of the car and walk over to the memorial display. There are pictures, handwritten notes, and little mementoes that marked Rick's life. I sit down next to the display and pull a flask out of my pocket. Twisting off the top, I raise it high.
“I'm going to miss you, brother,” I say.
I take a long pull of the liquor, wincing as it burns its way down my throat. It's a cheap whiskey – not my usual drink of choice anymore. But it's what we used to drink back in the day, so it seemed only fitting to imbibe the cheap old stuff. I smile at the memories that come floating to the surface of my mind.
I've seen Rick a bunch of times over the years I've been gone from Sheridan Falls. We kept in touch and met up somewhere to hang out more than a few times. Even into adulthood, we remained as close as we'd been back in high school. Losing Rick is leaving a huge fucking hole in my heart.
“That's a little disrespectful, ain't it?” he says, shattering my reverie. “Drinking to honor somebody who died in a drunk driving accident?”
I look up and see a man in a Sheridan Falls sheriff's uniform. I'd been so caught up in my own head, I hadn't even heard him pull up – but a quick glance showed me the cruiser parked behind my car. I know I recognize the voice, but it takes me a minute to place the face. And then it hits me.
Arnold Walker.
Arnold and I were in the same grade back in high school. He and I had never exactly been – friends. Truth is, I never liked him one bit. Always thought he was a bit too prissy and stuffy. Arnold was the kind of guy who always thought he was better than everybody else. He was the rule following, brown nosing kid who seemed to live for making others look bad.
Which is why I don't find it all that surprising that he became one of the town's cops. It's just another way for old Arnold to lord his supposed superiority over other people. His voice is slow, high-pitched, nasally, and annoying as hell. Some things never change.
“Just toasting an old friend,” I say.
As I sit there, I wonder if he recognizes me. I know I've changed quite a bit since high school. I've filled out a lot more. I was always a fairly muscular kid back then, but after joining the Corps, I seriously bulked up. I sported a thick, dark beard these days and I thought I just looked a little harder. A little rougher. War can do that to a man.
I know with absolute certainty that I don't look like that fresh-faced eighteen year old that left Sheridan Falls in the middle of the night.
“You ain't been around in a long time,” Arnold says, which tells me that he recognizes me after all.
“Nope,” I reply. “I haven't.”
“Where ya been?”
“Away.”
Arnold nodded as if that answers his question entirely. Although Arnold was always one of the smarter kids in school – something he seemed to enjoy holding over people – he wasn't exactly a deep, critical thinker. In a lot of ways, he's a simpleton.
“Back for Rick's funeral, I assume?” he asks.
I look pointedly at the memorial I'm sitting next to. “Yeah. Looks that way.”
Arnold looks up one side of the small two-lane highway and down the other. There's no traffic coming in either direction – Miller's Road isn't exactly a major thoroughfare.
“I could cite you, you know,” Arnold says. “You ain't supposed to be drinkin' in public like this. Especially not when you're drivin'.”
I shrug. “So, cite me, Arnold,” I say. “Do what you have to do.”
He looks at me as if he's actually considering citing me. But then shakes his head a moment later.
“Nah, I ain't gonna cite you,” he says. “But just cut it out. Put the flask away.”
I do as he says and put the flask back into the interior pocket of my jacket. “Done,” I say.
“Okay then,” he says. “Just be careful on the road now. Last thing I want to see is another memorial on the side of the road.”
“I'll do my best not to clutter up your town, Arnold.”
“I'd appreciate it.”
I shake my head as he walks back to his car. I stay where I am as he drives off, giving me a brief honk and a wave as he goes.
“What a fucking putz,” I mutter.
Taking the flask back out of my pocket, I twist off the top and take one last pull as I look at all the photos on the memorial that show Rick through the years. I get to my feet and dust myself off. It's starting to get late in the day and I need to get a room somewhere.
“Okay, buddy,” I say to the memorial, “I'll see you in town.”
I turn and walk back to my car, climbing in and taking one last, long look at the memorial – and realize I'm simply stalling at this point. I never intended to set foot in Sheridan Falls again, and yet here I am.
With a sigh, I start the car and pull back out onto the road. It's not far from town now, so I need to suck it up and get my head right. I take a deep breath and do my best to steel myself as I emerge from the wooded road and get my first sight of Sheridan Falls in more than a decade.
Chapter Nine
Abby
Finished with my last client of the day, I lock up my office and head down to the garage. It's only two, so I figure that I'll swing by the shop and check in on Brooke. I hop in my car and head over to Greenwood's, the old family store started by my grandfather and passed to my father. And now, it belongs to my sister and me.
Because I have my practice, Brooke ends up doing most of the day to day work in the store. But she seems to enjoy it. In fact, most days when I show up, she shoos me out the door. It's a completely different Brooke than the one I'd left when I went to school and live in New York.
Back then, Brooke had been something of a party girl. A wild child. She liked going out, getting drunk, and screwing around with whatever boy tickled her fancy at the time. But when I came home, I came home to a whole new Brooke. One who is responsible, works hard, is pretty straight-laced, buttoned down, and serious about the business of running a business.
Sure, she still likes to go out and have some fun from time to time, but her idea of a good time these days is completely different than it was back in the day. She's happy to go out, have a couple of drinks with a few girlfriends, and call it an early night.
The turnaround in my sister is shocking to me. But I actually kind of like the change. I like seeing her grown up and mature. I like seeing her shed her good time girl skin and be something more. I think it suits her.
I pull into the parking lot behind the shop and punch in the code that unlocks the door. I make my way inside.
I greet Rhonda – one of our three part-time employees – on my way to the back office. I have to admit that Brooke is really on top of things at the store. She's hired our staff and I love them all. They're hard workers, great with the customers, and genuinely nice people. The store is always clean and orderly, well-tended to, the shelves always stocked, nothing in disrepair.
It's a testament to my sister. As much as I love my father, he tended to let things slide and the store didn't always look its best. But under Brooke's surprisingly steady hand, the store looks great and is flourishing.
And though we're both technically co-owners, the store doing so well is all Brooke.
“Hey,” I say as I step into the back office.
Brooke looks up from the computer screen and gives me a wide smile. “Hey there,” she replies. “I didn't expect you in today.”
I drop into the seat across the desk from her. “Light day,” I say. “I only had a couple of clients. Thought I'd come in and help you out.”
She leans back in her seat. “Kind of a quiet day here too,” she says. “I don't know that there's much for you to do, honestly.”
I give her an
even look. “Come on, sis,” I say. “You're making me feel bad. You do all the work around here and I just sit back and collect checks.”
“You've got your practice to concentrate on,” she says. “You're doing important work and lots of people need your help. Besides, you do a lot around here.”
I laugh. “Yeah, not really. I'm hardly ever here,” I reply. “Maybe we need to think about changing how the profits are split.”
She waves me off. “You want to do something?”
“I'd love it,” I say.
She slides a clipboard across her desk to me and smiles. “Okay then, go inventory the beer and wine, please,” she says. “I've got to place an order soon.”
“Done,” I say as I pick up the clipboard. “And I expect that you'll have some other tasks for me when I'm done. I'm not above sweeping the aisles, you know.”
Brooke laughs. “Okay, I'll come up with something for you to do then.”
“Excellent,” I say. “I appreciate that. It's about time I start contributing around here.”
I look at my sister and smile, still struck by the difference in her. She looks down at her desk, but not before I can see the color rising in her cheeks. She's not comfortable with me staring at her like I am.
“What?” she finally asks with a nervous giggle.
I shrug. “Nothing. I'm just proud of you, Brooke,” I say. “Can't I be proud of my little sister?”
“There's nothing to be proud of,” she says. “I'm just doing my job.”
“And you're doing it incredibly well, sis,” I say. “Better than me. Hell, better than Dad ever did.”
“That's not true.”
I nod. “It's absolutely true. And he'd be the first person to say it,” I say. “You know that.”
She didn't dispute the statement any further and judging by the look in her eye, she knew it was true. Our father was definitely aware of his shortcomings and was honest enough about them. He would have absolutely no problem praising Brooke for the job she's doing.
“I – I guess I just want to make them proud,” she says softly. “After they passed, I...”