by R. R. Banks
Maybe time does heal wounds. Not all of them, of course. But some of them. Maybe that time and distance away from Sheridan Falls has allowed me to heal and discard those things that hurt me. Angered me. Filled me with a dark, abiding rage I was certain would be with me forever.
At least somewhat. I still have some issues with my past, but I chose not to dwell on them. My life is very different from what it was. I am very different from who I'd been. I've been so determined to make a clean break from my past, from my life here, that I honestly, haven't spent much time rehashing those memories. Have actively avoided dwelling on the past. It serves no purpose.
Of course, getting shot at and nearly blown up on a daily basis for the last decade certainly proved to be a very suitable diversion from my thoughts and feelings.
Still, it's surprising to me that after everything I'd endured here, everything I'd gone through, that my first thoughts and feelings upon setting foot in the place I swore I never would again, were a fond nostalgia.
“Caleb? Caleb Tirico?”
I turn quickly at the woman's voice and feel the smile spread across my face almost instantly as I recognize her – which surprises me after all these years.
“Becky Larson,” I say. “How in the hell are you?”
“Griggs now,” she corrects me. “Becky Griggs.”
“You and Bobby ended up married,” I say. “That's terrific. Congratulations.”
“Married for eight years and two kids later,” she says with a laugh.
Bobby and Becky had been together all throughout high school and it's not all that surprising they ended up together. They were part of our group during our high school years and I remember that while not exceptionally close to either of them, I did like them.
“That's great, Becky. I'm happy for you.”
“Thanks,” she says and a touch of sadness enters her voice. “You back for Rick's funeral?”
I nod and choke back the emotion that was welling up within me. “Yeah.”
She reaches out and gives my hand a squeeze. “I know how close you guys were,” she says. “This must be hard for you.”
“I'm sure it's hard for all of us,” I say. “Rick was one of the good ones.”
She nods. “He was.”
We stand in a deep, sad silence for a few minutes before she clears her throat and puts on a smile – one that doesn't quite reach her eyes. Rick's death is obviously hitting a lot of us really hard.
“So, where have you been all these years, Caleb?” she asks. “You're one of Sheridan Falls' greatest mysteries – the man who vanished.”
Rick is the only one who knew about my life after I left. I honestly didn't feel the need to keep up with anybody else because I figured I'd never see them again anyway. At least, that's how I'd intended for things to be. Now, standing right in front of a face from my past, I have to decide how deep I want to let myself go. How much I want to reveal.
Given that I'm only going to be there until just after the funeral, I tell myself that I can reveal a little bit. But not too much. Just enough to hopefully stop the questions.
“I – I joined the Corps,” I said. “Spent a little more than a decade there.”
“Wow,” Becky replied. “So, right after graduation, you just ran off and enlisted?”
I gave her a smile. “That's about it, yeah.”
She shook her head. “That's – crazy. Wow.”
I laugh. “Yeah, so I've been told.”
Her cell phone rings and she grabs it out of her bag, looking at the display and frowning. She holds up a finger, telling me to give her a minute. I nod and she connects the call.
“Hey, honey,” she says. “Give me just a minute, okay?”
She holds the phone to her chest, an apologetic look on her face. I just smile and give her arm a gentle squeeze.
“Don't worry about it,” I say. “Duty calls for you.”
“Listen,” she says. “Tomorrow night, we're all getting together down at the Wagon for a few drinks around eight. Kind of give Rick a sendoff. Everybody's going to be there. Why don't you come? Please?”
I give her a smile. “I'd like that,” I say. “I'll be there.”
“Great,” she gives me a warm smile. “I'll see you then.”
I watch her walk off, the phone pressed to her ear. I turn and walk down the street the other way, soaking in the apparently new and improved Sheridan Falls. So much has changed and yet, I can already see that so many things have remained the same.
Chapter Twelve
As usual, I was up before the sun and had gone out on my daily five-mile run. It's a habit I picked up in the Corps and one I enjoy. I like running – it gives me some solitude, some quiet time in my own head, to sort through what's up there and either file it or discard it. Having that time alone clears my head and allows me to focus on the most pressing tasks at hand.
And this morning, there is only one task I feel is most pressing. I have a visit to make and it's one that while I'm not dreading it, it's one I'm not entirely looking forward to either.
I hop in the shower and wash away the sweat, letting the nearly scalding hot water cascade down over me. It's little things like hot water that I used to take for granted and really missed when I was overseas. Ever since I came back home, I relished a good, hot shower in a way I never did before. Like I told those two old ladies yesterday – it's the little things in life.
After toweling off and getting dressed, I walk out of the hotel room and drive back down to Main Street. I know there are now shops and restaurants all over town, but I don't know the new Sheridan Falls well enough yet to go venturing out. All I want is to grab some breakfast and go do what I need to do.
When I took my little walking tour of Main yesterday, I was dismayed to find that the Bluebird Cafe was long gone. In its place now, is a Starbucks. Of course, it's a Starbucks. Those things crop up like cancer cells – fast and everywhere. The Bluebird was awesome and I hated that it was gone.
I did find a place that looked like a reasonable substitute though. I park on a side street, get out of the car, and head for the Sunny Side Up Cafe. Honestly, it looks a lot like the Bluebird did. Which means, it looks like a greasy little hole in the wall – which is exactly what I want.
I step into the place and it's half-full of people getting their morning dose of grease and coffee – a terrific American tradition.
“Sit anywhere you want, hon,” the waitress calls to me from the counter where she's pouring a cup of coffee for an older gentleman.
I give her a wave and take a seat in a booth near the back of the diner. The morning crowd is a mix of what looks like the typical old timers who like to have a cup of coffee and a chat in the morning and business professionals who were stuffing their faces before heading in for their nine-to-five grind. Yeah, so glad I avoided that pitfall upon coming back to the States. PI work may not be glamorous, but it wasn't soul-sucking like cubicle life can be either.
I take the menu and give it a once over – not that I don't already know what I want. I just want to make sure the place isn't some secret vegan restaurant and my only options would be tofu-flavored gruel, brussel sprouts, or whatever it is those people eat.
“What's it gonna be, hon?”
The waitress has a kind face and genuine smile. She just looks like the kind of woman who laughs a lot and finds a lot of joy in life.
“How's your chicken fried steak?” I ask.
“Best in the state of Washington,” she replies.
“Sold,” I say. “Hash browns – crispy. Two eggs over easy, a short stack of pancakes, sausage, and a cup of coffee, black.”
“A man who knows what he wants,” she says with a mischievous grin. “I like that.”
“When it comes to food, I don't mess around.”
“Clearly not,” she says with a laugh. “It's a good quality to have in a man. I like a man who knows how to eat.”
I laugh and give her a smile as I motion to the ri
ng on her hand. “A quality I'm sure your husband must have in spades.”
“That he does,” she chuckles. “Believe me, that man can eat.”
“Judging by the smile on your face, I have no doubt about it,” I say.
The woman cackles and blushes, shaking her head at me. “I'll go grab your coffee, hon.”
She leaves the table and returns a moment later, setting a mug of coffee down in front of me. She's still laughing and shaking her head, unable to speak, so she just walks away. I grin as I pick up my mug and take a sip, savoring that first splash of coffee on my tongue.
A few minutes later, she brings out my food – and I'm almost dismayed by the size of the portions. They're huge. My stomach grumbles though, letting me know it's not going to be a problem.
“Can I get anything else for ya, hon?” she asks.
“Not at the moment,” I say. “But I may need a forklift to haul me out of here when I'm done.”
“Good thing we've got one out back for those kinds of emergencies,” she says. “Give me a holler if you need anything.”
I nod. “Will do. Thank you.”
Digging into my mountain of food, I grunt with pleasure. The food is good – maybe even better than the food had been at the Bluebird. Whoever's in the kitchen knows what they're doing back there.
I devoured almost everything and when I finally push my plates away from me, my stomach feels ready to burst. I didn't normally gorge myself like that, but I was hungry and it was amazingly good. The waitress came back and cleared my dishes, nodding in approval at the cleaned plates.
“My compliments to the chef,” I say. “It was incredible.”
“You gonna need that forklift?”
“I think I might be able to roll myself out,” I reply. “But thanks.”
“Anytime,” she says and gives me a wink. “Really, anytime.”
She laughs and drops the check on the table as she walks away. I pull my wallet out and pay the bill, leaving her a generous tip. Feeling bloated but satisfied, I waddle out of the diner and look at my watch. It's a little past eight in the morning. Meaning, it's time.
With a sigh, I climb back into the car and pull away from the curb. I may not know where everything is in this new city, but I know how to get to where I need to go right now.
Chapter Thirteen
My stomach is actually in knots as I stand on the porch, facing the door. It's a door I know well – one I've passed through thousands of times. But as I stand there, it suddenly feels alien to me. There's no real reason for it – the people beyond that door have been nothing but loving and supportive of me – but still, that feeling persists.
I take a deep breath and let it out, reaching out and pushing the doorbell button before I can think about it anymore. I hear the chime sound inside and I wait. A moment later, I hear footsteps approach the door and after a brief pause, it opens.
A middle-aged woman looks back at me with confusion in her eyes for a moment. And as I stand there silently, I see the light of comprehension dawning in her face.
“Caleb,” she says softly.
“Mrs. Turner,” I say. “It's been a while.”
“I'll say,” she says, holding a hand to her chest. “It's been a very long while. How are you, Caleb?”
I nod. “I'm doing okay, thank you,” I reply. “How are you and Mr. Turner doing?”
She nods and gives me a small smile, but I see the tears shimmering in her eyes. She sniffs and wipes at her eyes, refusing to let them fall. Rick's mom is made of some tough stuff, but I can see the pain of her loss is weighing heavily on her. I reach out and give her a reassuring squeeze.
“I'm very sorry, Mrs. Turner,” I say softly. “I came as soon as I found out.”
“I know this can't be easy for you. For many reasons,” she says. “But I'm glad you're here. Thank you for being here.”
“Of course,” I reply.
“My husband will be glad to see you, but he's out on the lake fishing this morning,” she says. “He needs some time alone to process it all.”
“That's understandable.”
She ushers me inside. “Come in, let's have a cup of coffee.”
“I'd love to.”
I follow her through the house and down to the kitchen I knew so well. Though they'd done some minor work in the house, changing small things here and there, it looked much the same as it had back when I was practically living here.
I take a seat at the kitchen table and Mrs. Turner pours us both a cup of coffee, setting them down on the table before taking a seat across from me. I wrap my hands around the mug and stare down into the dark liquid, not even sure how to begin.
“You've been gone a long time,” Mrs. Turner said. “Not that I don't understand your reasons.”
I nod. “I thought I needed a fresh start somewhere.”
“Of course,” she says. “Richard kept your confidences very well, but he did mention that you had joined the military.”
The Turners are the only people in Sheridan Falls I feel completely comfortable opening up to and know I can tell them anything without fear. Although I can't tell them everything I did overseas because of the classified nature of some of our ops, I feel like I owe them an explanation. They'd been so good to me and had always treated me like one of their own – that I up and disappeared on them like that is a constant thorn of guilt in my side.
“I spent twelve years in the Corps,” I said. “Ten as a Force Recon sniper. Spent a lot of my time running ops mostly in Afghanistan and Pakistan. But we did a couple of jobs elsewhere in the Middle East as well.”
Her eyes widen slightly at my admission. “I had no idea,” she said quietly. “That must have been terrifying.”
I give her a grim smile. “It had its moments, that's for sure.”
“Are you still serving?”
I shake my head. “No, I rotated out about a year ago,” I reply. “Thought about going career, but honestly, I woke up one day and realized I was done. I'd seen too much. Had done too much. The never-ending stream of death and destruction was taking a toll on me. I didn't see that we were accomplishing anything anymore and I finally hit that wall. Pulled the pin.”
She gives me a soft smile. “I'm just thankful you made it home, Caleb.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Turner,” I say. “I'm glad to be home.”
I take a long draw of coffee and swallow it down. There's a long moment of silence between us and I find myself at a loss for words. There's a lot I need to say. A lot I need to express and make her understand. I don't know why, but it's important to me that Rick's parents know and understand what their whole family has meant to me. But I'm having trouble finding the right words.
“Richard was so proud of you,” she says. “He was proud of everything you were doing, Caleb. I think it's important you know that.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Turner,” I say. “That means more than you know.”
The tide of emotion is rising within me and I feel a lump in my throat. I take a minute to collect myself before I speak. I don't know if it's the right words that popped into my head, but I know I need to say something.
“I just want to say thank you, Mrs. Turner.”
She cocks her head and looks at me. “For what?”
“You know what I came from. You know – my story,” I say. “And your family took me in. You guys treated me with respect. You didn't owe me anything and yet, you treated me like one of your own. Being here – with your family – it helped me in ways you don't even understand. And I've always regretted skipping town the way I did – without word or explanation to you. I owe you so much and I think it’s important for you to know that.”
She gave my hand a gentle squeeze and gave me a soft smile. “You certainly don't need to thank me or apologize for anything, Caleb,” she says. “I understand why you left the way you did. And honestly, I'm so glad you got out. If you'd stayed – I shudder to think what might have happened. But you got out and you made some
thing of yourself. You became something so much greater than your circumstances. And for that, I'm as proud of you as Richard was.”
I stand up and pull her to her feet, wrapping her in an enormous hug. “You're the family I wish I'd had.”
“We are your family, Caleb,” she replies, her voice thick with emotion. “Always have been and always will be.”
We embraced for a long moment, both of us letting the emotions sweep over us. When I finally step back, I wipe the tears from my eyes and she does the same. We give each other an awkward smile and sit down at the table again.
We spend the next couple of hours talking and catching up on each other's lives. There is a lot of laughter and good feeling, but hanging over our heads, is the dark cloud of what brought me back to Sheridan Falls in the first place. It's the elephant in the room and the thing we can't escape from. Rick's death. It casts a pall over our little reunion. How could it not?
“I should probably get going,” I say, getting to my feet. “But thank you for sitting and talking with me for a while.”
“No, thank you for coming by, Caleb,” she says. “And for coming back to Sheridan Falls for Richard. I know how difficult that must have been for you.”
“Like you said, we're family,” I quote her words back to her. “And for family, you sometimes need to be willing to do or sacrifice anything – especially, your own pride and comfort.”
Her smile is soft and warm as she embraces me again. “We'll see you again soon,” she says. “I know Mr. Turner will want to say hello to you.”
“I'd like that.”
I left the Turner home, glad that I took the time to see Rick's parents. Or his mom, at least. But it felt good to get that thorn out of my side. To apologize to them for vanishing and to give them some sort of explanation.