Scars, page 19
“Stop it, both of you. Before I die laughing.” The satisfaction of a job well done shone in her eyes. “My pleasure. And you’re welcome. But it’s still no for dinner. Plans,” she added, grabbed her purse, and pushed to her feet. “I’m heading out. Make it an A-mazing weekend. See you on Monday.”
When she was gone, Houston grunted. “Jesus, Mack. Can you lay it on just a little heavier? The syrup isn’t quite covering it.”
“Well, we’ll have to practice. I hear it makes things perfect.” Reid winked and slapped a hand to Houston’s shoulder. “I also hear payback is a bitch.”
Houston understood it as a nod to his mentioning of Keira. Only he hadn’t been teasing.
“Smartass.”
“So,” Reid said. “What’s strike two? Anything to do with the American Legion?”
Houston grabbed the office keys. “Let’s get out of here. Feel like a burger and a beer? I’ll fill you in.”
“Sounds good to me.” Reid picked up a box of brochures and a tube of posters.
“See you at Pat’s in five minutes.” Houston locked the door and grinned at his partner. “You’re buying.”
“Not what we hoped for.” Reid picked a fry and slathered it in the massive mound of mayonnaise squeezed next to his fries. “But I’ll take it the meeting was still a success?”
“Yeah, it went great—they’re a fantastic group of guys, and gals. They offered to support us in whatever capacity they can. It just won’t be in the shape of a support vehicle.”
“Damn.”
“I hate to cut his short.” Houston crumpled his napkin onto his plate. “I have instructions to build a kissing booth. I want to get a start on it tonight,” he said when Reid gave him a quizzical look.
“A what?” In tandem with his head, Reid’s eyebrows snapped up.
“You’ve never heard of a kissing booth? Where people kiss for money? Only this one is for dogs to slop people in exchange for money.” Houston’s curled lips held amusement. “Puppy kisses, they’re calling it. My mother. What can I say? She’s volunteered to donate a kissing booth to the dog fest. Dad’s too busy, so that leaves me. And she wants something cute.”
“Oh, brother.” Reid chewed, regarding his friend with a suspicious eye. “You need help?”
“Tess is coming home this weekend for summer break. I thought I’d put her degree in construction management to the test,” Houston said with a teeth-baring grin. “You know—test her cute skills. But you’re welcome to come over if you’re bored.”
Reid laughed. “I may do that. See if your project passes kissing regulations.”
When Houston left, Reid moved to the bar.
“How’s it going? Is this seat taken?” He asked, sliding onto the barstool when the guy shook his head.
Behind the bar, Pat looked up while keeping busy cleaning glasses.
“The usual,” Reid answered the unspoken question. While Pat tapped his favorite, Reid looked up to the row of TV’s above, then skimmed his gaze over the guy next to him and turned on his stool.
“You served?” A stupid question, in light of the ink on the guy’s arm, but a conversation starter. SAPPER ran along the man’s forearm in bold letters.
“You’re a combat engineer,” Reid acknowledged the design with a thrust of his chin.
“Was.” The man finished his beer, eyed Reid, and extended his hand. “Name’s Matt Cox.”
Reid shook with a firm grasp. “Reid McCabe, nice meeting you, Matt.
“Got out about a year ago,” Matt offered. How about you? You a vet?”
“Yep, nine years before getting out on a medical about a-year-and-a-half ago.”
Two beers into the conversation, and swapping info on time-in-service, rank, and duty station, the surface talk turned deeper. But something kept nipping at the back of Reid’s mind. Matt Cox—the guy’s name sounded familiar.
Holy crap, he thought, when it finally clicked. On the day of the radio interview, the first person who’d stopped by had been worried about his brother’s son. What was his first name again? Tim Cox, yes. And the guy next to him was Tim’s nephew.
Reid thought fast. How to get him to talk about what pushed him to the edge of sanity? He glanced around the room. This bar— not a place to wake the demons who’d crawled into the caverns of Matt’s mind. Reid had had his dance with the devil, but the private hell of this man threatened to destroy his family.
He faced Matt and speculated. What he saw was an ordinary man. Late thirties, he figured. Hard lines in a thin face, a testimony to his suffering? Would he open up to him? Tough to say. In spite of having made a connection, it wasn’t something one would casually weave into conversation. Dammit.
Like the neon sign on the wall behind the bar, Heroes Rise flashed through Reid’s mind. There was one possible way. And when Matt asked about Reid’s medical discharge, it gave him the opening. Reid swallowed hard at what he was about to do. Had Matt noticed the prosthesis? When Reid twisted on the barstool, it brought Matt’s attention to the mangled leg.
“Shit, man; what happened?” Not surprise, but resignation marred Matt’s voice.
The blood sped through Reid’s veins and suddenly the room grew hot as the memory of that fateful day in Afghanistan flashed before his eyes.
“Courtesy of a convoy attack,” he said, “and the reason for the medical.”
Hostility gleamed in Matt’s dark, sunken eyes, and Reid saw the lack of sleep and scorn in the weary expression. Somehow Reid noticed Matt’s grip tightening on his glass. “Damn, man. I’m sorry.”
“No sweat, it’s all right now. Though, at first, I wanted to kill the S.O.B. who did this with my bare hands. The rage I carried inside, it’s all I could think of. My leg had been blown off from under me, and if this wasn’t messed up enough, the head-screw that came with it?” Reid paused. “I’ve never really left the battle zone.”
He reached for his glass and drank deeply to cool the flares inside his stomach. Sharing his combat-related PTSD with this man, who, in a twisted way, was no stranger, was something he’d never once contemplated before.
“I hear you, brother,” Matt mumbled. With his gaze fixed on some point behind the bar, it appeared to Reid as if he’d retreated to a different place and time.
“But,” Reid continued, “The hard fact is, life goes on. Thanks to my therapist—a tough-love kind of guy—I’ve figured it out. Let me tell you something, if someone had told me back then I’d be hoofing it across the US for a year, I would have said he was out of his fucking mind.”
Matt’s gaze snapped back to Reid with his eyes wide. “Say that again?”
Reid kept it on the low when he brought up the organization, the mission, the hike. He didn’t push, didn’t preach. Just a friendly conversation between brothers-in-arms about life after the Army. Matt said little—giving no clue of having heard about Heroes Rise from his uncle, Tim. Every now and then, he fiddled with the bill of his ball cap. Occasionally his eyes flicked to Reid, but mostly he leaned against the backrest with his arms crossed and his gaze on something else. But he kept listening.
When Reid finished, he rapped a knuckle against the socket’s hard shell. “Most people think I’m crazy to attempt a walk cross-country with this.”
“Most people,” Matt sneered, “don’t give a crap.”
Reid regarded Matt with a tilt of his head. “The brotherhood. You miss it, don’t you?”
“I do.” Two words that held too much weight.
“Tomorrow,” Reid paused. Once he’d push, there was no taking back. “You’d be interested in going rucking with me tomorrow?” And though Matt didn’t answer right away, there’d been a flash of confidence piercing through the fatigue.
A grin spread across Matt’s face, eyes lit, a sudden vigor smoothing out the wrinkle of despair.
“Hell, yeah. Brother.”
Red heat, the color of an angry sunburn, blotched Bill’s face as he stood by the kitchen counter, listening to the voice mail a second time. Carol wasn’t coming home.
She’d called twice—this morning, and again in the afternoon, which he’d ignored both times. Bill saw no reason to call her back; she hadn’t bothered to leave a voicemail.
Did she not get it through the wooden block of a head that he didn’t have time for petty crap while on the job? A man’s work was important, and he didn’t need interruptions and the nagging about some meaningless crap. She gave him plenty of that when he was at home. Carol knew to leave a message if it was something urgent. But it never was. Besides, she was coming home today; she’d yak his ear off tonight.
When Bill pulled into his driveway after a stop at Pat’s, Carol’s car wasn’t parked in the garage. What the . . .? He couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling rising from his gut when he called her name a second time. Carol? You home?
Her sister only lived a two-hour drive away. What the hell took so long? After a rough day at work, he expected to come home to Carol waiting on him, with supper on the table. A whole week of heating TV dinners and ordering take-out, and she couldn’t make it back in time to fix a decent meal?
A few minutes ago, she’d called again. Just when he had taken a piss. This time she did leave a voice mail. Carol wasn’t coming home today. Or next week. She wasn’t sure when she’d be coming back, that it depended on him. No longer the peacemaker, defiance spiked her mild tone.
She’d given him an ultimatum. Bill grunted and slammed the phone on the kitchen counter. Counseling. She said he needed help. So, he could come to terms with Billy’s death. She wanted him to see a goddam grief counselor! He had a problem? Bill could feel his blood pressure rising. Would that bring Billy back? Hell no. So, there is your answer, Carol.
He stomped to the fridge and tore open the door—that damn sister of hers. Bill grabbed a beer. He just knew she’d fed Carol a bunch of horse manure. Just knew it. Bitch! He popped the top, gulped.
Rage churned inside his gut and the need for confrontation roiled just under his skin, eager for release.
After work, he’d stopped in at Pat’s—it was about time to meet that asshole McCabe head-on. He’d keep his wits about him and only have a couple of pints, or so he’d told himself.
Perched on a barstool, Bill kept vigil from his corner spot with his ball cap turned low. Where the hell was McCabe? Turning and craning his neck, his glazed eyes had scanned the bar and dining room. When Reid finally came into the bar, Bill sensed more than saw him enter. Somehow the air grew into a thick haze, and a fiery blaze set Bill’s chest on fire. Much as he wanted to kick the crap out the traitor, he was at a disadvantage. Bill was sloshed, hadn’t stuck to the two pints he’d promised himself. And he wasn’t a fool. He didn’t need a repeat from last time, and he needed to get a hold of McCabe away from his sidekick, Miller. Seeing the cocky punk strutting around so self-assured had kept the fire burning.
Now Bill plunked his butt into a kitchen chair, and the beer can onto the table. He rubbed his fist. The itch to smash McCabe’s face was powerful; he could all but feel the cartilage smash into matchsticks under the weight of his punch. He could see the rush of blood, could smell it like a shark three miles away. Bill’s eyes latched onto the phone, laying on the kitchen counter.
She had given him a fucking ultimatum.
Chapter 25
“This is Yard,” Reid introduced Matt to his dog when the mutt jumped out of the Jeep.
It was Saturday morning, and cars and trucks filled nearly every spot of the smaller parking lot of the town’s park—although it appeared devoid of people.
Matt stretched his arm and opened his palm to Yard. Bending down to the dog, his T-shirt hung loose on his tall, skinny frame. Yard sniffed Matt’s hiking boots and jean-clad legs up and down and sideways. Another sniff, and he lost interest, wandered into a brushy area, and marked a fallen tree branch.
“He’s handling it well,” Matt said as his eyes followed Yard, his fingers raking back dark blonde strands of hair that had fallen over his forehead. “Getting around on three legs.”
“Yard doesn’t care. He doesn’t know he should have four legs.”
“Lucky for him.” Matt hoisted his old Army rucksack. Stuffed away with the rest of his military things, he’d pulled the bag from a corner of the basement last night. Despite little sleep, Matt had gotten out of bed with a refreshed mental attitude. Morning stubble covered his hard-edged chin and hollowed cheeks, but his grey-blue pupils shone clear.
“You ready?” Reid whistled, and Yard fell in beside him. A pat on the dog’s head and the men were off.
Hiking five miles around the lake, mostly through a wooded area, Reid hoped for the calm surroundings to work against the darkness within Matt.
Reid drew in the wood-scented air. “Ah, man, this is great.”
“I haven’t been out here in ages,” Matt confessed. “Unfortunate, considering I live just a couple of miles down the road. We used to bring the kids here.” Matt pointed to the pavilion on the other side of the lake and the playground next to it. “Let them run around and let off steam. And on the rare occasion we were without the kids, Shelly and I would come out here to walk, talk, and clear our heads.” Matt paused. “But that was before. . .”
Reid wouldn’t push Matt to reveal his past trauma, maybe give him a nudge. Definitely nudge, but not push. “There’s no better place for that than nature.” He only knew this too well. “It’s where I pull myself together when shit gets tough.”
Skirting a muddy section with a protruding rock, Reid continued. “Not so long ago, I felt as if I’d never hike in the woods again. But now? Life is good once more.” A crumb on the road, Reid hoped Matt would follow.
A mile-and-a-half into the trail, woods flanked on the left, and the lake shimmered through trees on the right. The air felt warm and smelled of water and vegetation. Soft ground cushioned the men’s footfalls. At the restrained silence from Matt, Reid shot a quick glance at his hard-set face. “You all right, man?”
Matt opened his lips as if to speak, but pinched them together again. A sharp look at Reid, a moment of hesitation, and a stunning confession burst from his mouth.
“You know, my family’s worried I’ll blow my brains out.”
For a moment, the words hovered in the air. The statement rattled through Reid’s bones. Tim had said that much. But hearing the confirmation directly from Matt? He turned around and trained his eyes on Matt’s blank expression.
“And sometimes I think it would be for the best. You ever feel that way?” Strangely, Matt’s voice held no emotion. Just a matter-of-fact statement, uttered in the same vein as “pass the butter, please.”
There it was—laid open, raw, and rotten. Suicidal thoughts. A grunt broke through pressed lips as Reid failed to answer. His chest was a drum, banging wild and loud against his ribs.
“You want to talk about it, brother?” Reid felt at a loss for words.
Without losing the momentum of stride, eyes forward-facing, the men kept walking while Matt kept talking. As if on a military mission, they kept pushing. There was no room for weakness.
While they walked side-by-side, Reid met the devil riding Matt’s back. He showed himself in the form of dead bodies, forced to endure things beyond human imagination. The tapestry of the evil feats tortured Matt’s mind. Because the bodies weren’t dead—they lived, begged, and shrieked in Matt’s head.
Reid saw tears shimmer in the corners of Matt’s eyes when he recalled his first night back at home. How he’d scared the shit out of his wife. After touching him in his sleep, he’d clamped his hands around her neck in a fit of perceived danger.
Sleep. Would he ever sleep again without nightmares and medication?
And Matt had spoken of his suicidal thoughts of last summer.
After his wife and boys left for the city pool, he’d grabbed his gun and slunk into the basement. The details were shocking and vivid as he described himself seated in the ugly, red chair, its fabric torn by his wife’s neurotic, little dog.
Reid could smell the stale air—impregnated with sweat, fear, and hopelessness. He could feel the cold steel of the handgun weighing in his lap as perspiration dripped and mingled with tears. And he heard the voices of despair begging for an end to the torture.
“Shit, man,” Reid uttered. This summed it up. Nothing else needed to be said.
As they continued walking side-by-side, Reid shot a gaze at Matt. He had been in Matt’s boots and experienced the same horrors. He wanted to believe that opening up, recalling the ghosts of the past with someone like him, had cleared Matt’s head. At least for now, because Matt raised little objections to Reid’s advocating professional counseling. A small victory. Understanding that Heroes Rise would stand for Matt and everyone like him settled over Reid in a wash of gratification.
Back in the parking lot, Reid shrugged the straps of his rucksack down his arm. “As I said, you’re welcome to hit the road with us on Monday, brother. Think about it.”
Yard hopped into the car, and Reid slid behind the wheel. “Oh, man.” Filling his lungs with a deep breath, he felt the weight of Matt’s admission with unexpected force. And gray slithered into his soul.
At Barkville Rescue, the phone rang just as Keira stepped into Haley’s office.
The director seemed frazzled. “Keira, this is amazing. This phone has been ringing all morning like crazy.” In a dramatic gesture, Haley flattened her palms to her cheeks, her mouth forming a silent scream.
When she dropped her hands, she smiled. “No complaints, though. Everyone wants to visit today to look at our kids.”
Keira smiled back. “I hope it’s a happy day for the furry ones.”
“Your mom dedicating a whole page of Oak Creek Magazine to Barkville?” Remarkable. It’s beyond generous. Thanks for making it happen.”
