Coach Maddie and the Marine

by Edens, Blaire

  They were still trying to decide where they were going to stage the big Thanksgiving meal.

  One afternoon, while she and Callie were placing books on the shelves in the living room, Callie said, “I know you’re going to be pissed, but I’ve been asking some questions around base about Lieutenant Sterling.”

  “Callie, I told you it was over between us. He betrayed my trust. There’s no going back now.”

  “I know he hurt you, but listen, every single person I’ve talked to says he’s the real thing, a really decent guy who joined the Corps for the right reasons. He just got a Bronze Star. They were giving it to him today at an awards ceremony on the drill field.”

  She froze. “What for? He hasn’t been in combat since Frank’s death.”

  “For doing everything he could to bring Frank home, even in very dangerous conditions.”

  “But Frank was killed. How does that equal a medal?”

  Callie stopped unpacking and looked at her sister. “Lieutenant Sterling did the best he could. He was following orders. No one could’ve anticipated what happened.”

  She thought she’d forgiven him years ago. In her head, she knew that Callie was right. He wasn’t to blame, but the award somehow made things different. Anger, long-buried, surged into her throat. “I know you’re right but I’m still so pissed off.”

  Callie nodded. “That might never completely go away.”

  She shoved a handful of hardbacks into the bookcase with a thump. She couldn’t bear to think about Frank or David. Not anymore. For so many years, Frank had occupied all her thoughts. Then David came along and helped her remember what it meant to be a woman. Now he was out of the picture, too.

  She should’ve trusted her first instincts and refused to get involved. He wasn’t the only one who was to blame for the short-lived relationship.

  Callie and Andrew were the only two people she needed.

  “You’ve already been home two weeks and we haven’t even been to the movies. Let’s go tomorrow afternoon while Andrew’s at Rowan’s. I’ll buy the popcorn,” she said.

  “Can I have some Junior Mints, too? The Afghans couldn’t seem to figure out why anyone would want to mix mint and chocolate.”

  The sound of Callie’s laughter made her heart sing.

  ...

  The package looked normal. Priority mail. His parents’ address in Mississippi in the top left corner. When his mother offered to send it, he’d foolishly believed the day he opened the box would be one of the happiest of his life.

  He couldn’t have been more wrong.

  He didn’t want to open the box, wanted to toss it in a closet and forget it. But he couldn’t. He knew his mother well enough to know she’d included a note and would ask him all about the contents the next time they talked on the phone.

  He took a deep breath and slid his knife from his pocket. “Now or never,” he muttered, and cut into the clear tape.

  There was a note.

  He ripped open the flowered envelope. On the matching notecard, in his mother’s large looping hand, it read:

  Son,

  Sorry it took me so long to get this to the Post Office. I dropped it by the jewelry store and had it cleaned and appraised. You’ll need to keep the paperwork for your insurance. Dad and I couldn’t be happier that you’ve finally met the right girl. We’ll love her just like the daughter we never had. I’ve enclosed your grandmother’s engagement ring and wedding band. We hope that you and Maddie will be as happy as we’ve been. There’s nothing more wonderful than waking up beside your best friend every morning.

  Love,

  Mama

  He’d already disappointed Maddie, and now he was going to disappoint his parents, too.

  He took the ring box and shoved it to the back of his sock drawer. He couldn’t bear to open the velvet box, mostly because he knew he’d spend days imagining the diamond on her hand.

  But he couldn’t imagine putting a ring on anyone else’s finger either.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The only thing David wanted was a stiff drink, one so strong he forgot everything but the burn.

  The desert, the death, the loss. Frank. Maddie. Everything. He needed a release from the grief, the worry, the heartbreak. It was all just too much.

  He craved the warm, mind-numbing relief that only alcohol could bring.

  He strode into the Officers’ Club and grabbed a seat at the end of the bar. The bar was empty except for a group of officers sitting in a corner booth. They were young, loud. Probably just out of training.

  They had no idea what they’d signed up for. Poor bastards.

  “Jack Daniels. Double. Straight up,” he told the bartender.

  The man nodded. “Rough day?”

  “Rough decade.”

  When the bartender slid the drink to him, he took a huge sip and delighted in the fire sliding down his throat and into his stomach. For the first time all day, he took a deep breath and waited for the whiskey to blur the edges.

  He was almost to the bottom of the glass and he still couldn’t get her off his mind. The way her eyes shifted from dark green to light green. The way her hair was curlier after it rained.

  How could she ever love a man who got an award for watching her husband die?

  How could he ever love her?

  How could he not love her?

  The same questions rolled over and over in his mind and he was no closer to a solution. Running hadn’t helped. Making sure Frank got the same commendation hadn’t helped. The whiskey was a bust, too. Maybe he just needed more of it.

  “One more,” he said to the bartender.

  “I hope you’re walking,” the man said with his fingers around the whiskey glass.

  He nodded. “No choice.”

  “Want a cab?”

  “Nah,” he answered, shaking his head. “The walk might do me good.”

  There was understanding in the bartender’s eyes. “Gotcha. One more on the way.”

  His boss, General Rodgers, chose the worst possible time to walk in and claim the seat next to him. “Sure you need another one, Lieutenant?”

  “Yes, sir,” he answered. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”

  “Give me a Glenfiddich on the rocks,” the general told the bartender.

  When both drinks arrived, the men sipped them in silence for several minutes.

  “Is this drunk about the Bronze Star I pinned on your uniform?” General Rodgers asked.

  He nodded. “In a way.”

  “You earned it, Sterling.”

  “No, sir. I didn’t. The Corps gave me that medal for failure. A man lost his life and I was his commanding officer. I should’ve been able to prevent that.”

  The general shook his head. “That’s where you’re wrong. You did everything by the book. You were the model commanding officer.”

  “A model commanding officer would’ve saved Frank.”

  The general took a big swig of his scotch. “Do you think you’re the only one who’s ever lost a man in war? Do you think Westerfield was the only casualty?”

  “No, but he was my responsibility.”

  “He knew the risks when he enlisted. So did you. It could’ve been you instead of him.”

  He had never thought of it that way, but it could have just as easily been him. “But it wasn’t.”

  “No, it wasn’t. But if you had been the one who died instead of Westerfield, would you want him to live the rest of his life mired in guilt?”

  The whiskey was starting to work on his brain. Everything looked fuzzy, but even through the haze, he saw that the general might have a point.

  “You can’t live your life in the past, Sterling. You’ll be my age with a metric ton of regret and resentment. I’m sorry Westerfield lost his life. I’d change it if I could. But in the Marine Corps, we’re in the war business. It’s an unfortunate fact of life. His loss would be a bigger tragedy if you choose not to live your life, too. What woul
d he give for the opportunities you have in front of you?”

  What would Frank give?

  Despite the alcohol, he had a moment of clarity. Frank would give anything he could beg, borrow, or steal to have the choices, the chance at love, the chance to have a family.

  Three whiskeys. The world was blurry, soft, like the edges had been smeared, but he had to get to Maddie. He finished his glass, paid, and tipped the bartender with a twenty. “Thanks.” He turned to the general. “Thank you, sir. That was just what I needed to hear. You’ve helped me more than I can ever tell you.”

  General Rodgers smiled. “I’m happy to hear that, Lieutenant. Can I drive you home?”

  “No, sir. The walk will do me good.”

  When he passed his car, he gave the door handle a rattle to make sure it was locked and headed toward the main gate.

  He was halfway to her house when he decided to turn around. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and leaned against a rock wall.

  He was in no condition to see Maddie. He was loaded. He needed to walk it off, rethink things. Make sure the general really did have a point when the liquor haze wore off.

  But even the impressive amount of whiskey coursing through his veins wasn’t enough to convince him to double back and walk the other route.

  The night was cold with a hint of winter in the air. He walked briskly, determined not to look at her house as he passed. He even crossed over to the other side of the street, focused on the sidewalk, the ground.

  The November night was clearing his head, the buzz fading quickly. His thoughts became sharper, and he realized Frank’s death was a terrible tragedy but it didn’t mean that he needed to suffer every single day of his life. It didn’t mean he should refuse happiness, love. Belonging.

  He knew Frank well enough to know that he’d tell him to grab ahold of life, live big, enjoy every moment. Tunnel vision. It had always been one of his flaws. He’d had it with Robert’s death, and then again with Frank’s.

  He loved Maddie. He needed her.

  What kind of a fool would let the perfect woman walk out of his life just because he couldn’t see past his own baggage?

  The porch light went on. At first he thought the alcohol was playing tricks on his brain but one glance across the street and he realized the light was real.

  She stood on the porch, bundled up in a ratty-looking robe.

  She was so beautiful that he stopped breathing for a minute.

  He ducked into the shadow of a tree, hoped she didn’t see him.

  He watched her. Watched the way she moved, the way she sat on the front step with a slump in her shoulders.

  Noticed her hair was straighter than normal.

  Maybe he hadn’t blown it. Maybe there was still time.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next morning, David was up at daylight. He felt better than he had in months. Years. He was finally beginning his new life. After a short run and a cup of coffee, he hopped in the shower.

  Thirty minutes later, he was clean, freshly shaven, and crisply dressed in khaki pants and a blue button-down.

  The ring.

  He stuck his arm all the way to the back of his sock drawer and breathed a sigh of relief when his hand closed around the crushed velvet box. He said a silent prayer that she would say yes.

  If she didn’t, he’d just have to convince her.

  He parked in front of Helen’s Florist on South Main. He walked into the store, handed Helen a wad of cash and begged her to give him the most incredible flowers a hundred dollars could buy. He left the store a few minutes later, his arms laden with a mixture of carnations, roses, daisies, tulips and a lot of other flowers he couldn’t name.

  The next stop was the candy shop. He pulled out his credit card and bought two pounds of their best chocolates. He left the candy shop with two large gold boxes filled with a mixture of chocolates. He put them in the backseat beside the flowers and rushed to the grocery store.

  “Do you have any balloons?” he asked a teenager stocking produce.

  “Yes, sir, back right-hand corner of the store.” The kid pointed.

  He rushed through the store; other shoppers quickly moved their carts aside to allow him room to pass.

  He was obviously a man on a mission.

  When he reached the counter, he said, “Two dozen purple balloons and throw in five or six of those foil ones. Do you have one that says ‘I love you’ or something?”

  The bored eyes of a teenage girl met his. “When do you want them?”

  “When? Now.”

  “It’ll take me a while to blow all those up. At least,” she checked the large clock mounted on the wall behind her, “thirty minutes or so. And I go on break in fifteen minutes. You want to pick them up tomorrow?”

  “No,” he said, harsher than he intended. “I want them now. Right now.”

  She stared back at him, not giving an inch. Her eyeliner was coal black and ended in a strange flourish near her temples. And he couldn’t put a name to the color of her hair—somewhere between jack-o-lantern and raging inferno.

  “Look,” he said, plastering what he hoped was his most charming smile on his face, “a few weeks ago, I skipped out on my girlfriend. It was a really shitty thing to do and now I realize that I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I’m guessing she’s about twenty degrees past pissed, and I really want her to forgive me, so I thought some balloons might do the trick. So, you see, it’s very important that I get them right now.”

  “So what you’re saying is,” she blew a round, pink bubble with her gum, “you totally screwed her over and now you’re going to go crawling back and beg forgiveness and you need my help. Is that right?”

  “Look,” he squinted to read the name tag on the green smock she wore, “I’m begging you, blow up as many as you can in the thirteen minutes before your break and I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “Are you going to shit on her again after you talk her into marrying you?” Amy asked.

  “No. I’m not going to… Please, I’m begging you, blow up a couple of damn balloons and I’ll give you an extra twenty.” Bribery was his last hope.

  “Whatever.”

  She dug under the counter and found a handful of lilac balloons, then blew them up using the helium canister to her right. She tied each one with a long ribbon and handed them, one by one, to him. When she got to twelve balloons, she looked at the clock.

  “Lunchtime,” she said, holding out her hand.

  He dug into his pocket, and after scrounging around for several seconds, he found nineteen dollars and twelve cents. He handed it to Amy.

  “Oh, so now you’re a cheap bastard that doesn’t keep his promises. Sheesh,” she said as she stomped toward the back of the store, presumably in the direction of the time clock.

  He struggled to the front cashier, paid for his balloons and walked to the car. He shoved them into the backseat and breathed a sigh of relief.

  All he lacked now was a brass band.

  He pulled the ring box from his front pocket and opened it. He held it up to the sunlight, letting the diamond catch the light and send out a rainbow of colors. It was beautiful. Set in white gold, a huge emerald cut diamond glittered in between several smaller baguettes. It was going to look gorgeous on her finger.

  The balloons made it hard to see out the back window of his sedan. People were honking and waving as they passed him. They probably thought he was on the way to a kid’s birthday party. The smell of all those flowers filled the car. He was like a mobile gift shop.

  Her car was parked in the driveway. His heart began to pound; his palms sweated. He was nervous.

  He took a deep breath, wiped his hands on a handkerchief and vowed to make the moment perfect, something they could tell their kids about someday.

  And he’d thought being a full-time martyr was a hard gig.

  “Come on in,” Maddie yelled when she heard the doorbell chime. “I’m getting dressed. I’l
l be there in just a second.”

  Maybe this was going to be easier than he thought. He smiled to himself. A second chance at that body of hers sounded terrific.

  He turned the knob and stepped into the living room. He tied the balloons to the arm of a chair, placed the flowers on the coffee table and carefully arranged the two boxes of chocolates beside them. He took a deep breath and fingered the outline of the velvet box in his pocket.

  She stepped into the living room, her hair still wrapped in a towel from the shower. He stepped toward her. She screamed at the top of her lungs.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she shouted, her face turning redder and redder by the second. “Get out.”

  She grabbed his arm and shoved him toward the front door.

  “Please, calm down. You told me to come inside.”

  “In the first place, I thought you were Callie. In the second place, what makes you think you can just disappear for weeks, even months, without so much as a phone call and then just waltz back in here with all this stuff,” she gestured toward the coffee table, “and convince me to forgive you? Forget it. Now get out.”

  “I can explain.”

  “Lieutenant Sterling,” she spat, “I am going to tell you one last time: Get the hell out of my house.”

  She opened the front door and gestured to him.

  “Just let me say one thing,” he said, stopping near the door, “I know you’re angry. But I am a man of my word. I told you the night we made love that I wanted to marry you. That was the truth then and that’s the truth now. I have the ring right here.”

  He pulled the velvet box out of his pocket and held it out. She stared at it but made no move to touch it. Her eyes burned with pure anger.

  He raised his hands in surrender. She was in no mood to work things out. “I’m going to go. But if you ever change your mind, all you have to do is call.”

  He walked to the door. She stood, still as a statue, holding the doorknob.

  “One more thing.” He turned to face her. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. Don’t think I’m surrendering. I’m just retreating until the dust clears.”