Home Town, page 3
part #1 of The Long Road Home Series
He needed to find out when he was getting out of there. Not being cleared for active duty while stuck at a camp teeming with action wasn’t doing him any good, mentally.
Time to get out of this purgatory. Time to go home.
Chapter Five
The reality of being back at his unit’s base in Florida made Corey long for the seemingly endless days of waiting for transport in Djibouti.
That thought brought about a fresh wave of guilt. Make that a tsunami of guilt.
Survivor’s guilt.
The shrink at his mandatory mental health appointment had suggested it was normal, just before Corey denied having it. That wasn’t even totally a lie. The main source of his guilt wasn’t that he’d survived when others hadn’t. At least it wasn’t mainly that.
The main reason for his guilt was that he’d simply had enough. With all of it.
Enough with the briefings and repeated recounting of his version of the events.
Enough with the questions from everyone.
It seemed as if every single person he came in contact with wanted to discuss the attack, ad nauseam. Military. Civilian. Peers. Command.
Like Monday morning quarterbacks, those who weren’t anywhere near the region discussed and analyzed and second-guessed the events and decisions of those who had been there. While all Corey wanted to do was tell every one of them to shut the hell up.
He’d had it. He was done with the never-ending postmortem of the attack. He wanted to move on but how could he here where so many had been affected?
Worse, and the most guilt-inducing of all, was that he’d had enough of dealing with all the death.
He’d donned his dress uniform again that morning. It was the fifth time in as many days. He’d attend today’s funeral knowing there were five more left. One later that afternoon as families were forced to double up on some days to get the services all in.
He fought the thought running through his head.
The thought that he’d rather be anywhere doing anything else than attend one more funeral. Rather than stand, stoic and stone faced, as the deceased’s family fell apart in front of yet another identical coffin.
Some were crewmen he knew from the Eisenhower, at least by name or sight. Some he didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. He attended anyway as they all blurred into a rote routine of sameness.
All of them except for Rabbit’s funeral.
He had been one of the many flown to Germany. And Rabbit was one of his shipmate’s who hadn’t made it. Corey had learned that when he’d landed in Florida.
Rabbit’s funeral was scheduled to be the last of all the services, happening just hours before Corey’s flight home, but it was going to be the hardest.
Always cheerful, always upbeat, Rabbit had been the best of them. Always there with a smile, no matter what, but now he was gone. And no amount of rehashing the attack was going to change that.
He dreaded the day of that final funeral as much as he anticipated it for being the end of this torturously long line-up of final goodbyes.
A knock on his barrack’s room door brought Corey back to the present.
He reached for the knob and yanked open the door to find Jones standing there wearing, like Corey, his dress uniform for the funeral.
“Ready?” Jones asked.
Corey reached for his cover on the table. “As I’ll ever be, I guess.”
“Halfway,” Jones said.
“Halfway,” Corey echoed somberly knowing it didn’t matter they were half done with the ten funerals because the worst one was still ahead.
As Corey pulled the door closed behind him, Jones asked, “Looking forward to getting home?”
Corey scoffed. “Yes and no.”
Jones shot him a questioning glance.
“I’m not looking forward to a whole new batch of people to rehash what happened with, starting the moment they hear I was on the Eisenhower,” he explained.
The attack on the aircraft carrier had turned out to be the deadliest assault on a US military vessel since the USS Cole two and a half decades before, hence why it was all anyone wanted to talk about.
“I hear you about that.” Jones snorted. “Maybe we should all just start lying about it.”
Corey let out a short bitter laugh. “Maybe.”
“No, I’m serious. Picture it. You’re at a bar or wherever. Someone—doesn’t matter who—asks where you were before this. And we just… lie. Say Bahrain or Djibouti or something. Anything. Who would know?”
“Anyone who knows us,” Corey supplied with a raised brow.
Jones shot him a sideways glare. “Well, yeah. But it’ll work for anyone who doesn’t. And for those who do know us, we can just start to tell them to shut up. We’re tired of talking about it.”
For once, Corey was in one-hundred percent agreement with Jones. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but he knew one thing—he might have to give that lying thing a try.
Jacksonville, Florida to Albany, New York by way of a stupidly long layover at Atlanta Airport was the best Corey could do if he wanted to get out of town right after Rabbit’s funeral. So that’s what he booked.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time, escaping as soon as possible.
Now, as he made his way out through security to get to the USO at ATL to face a three-and-a-half-hour layover, he regretted not booking the flight tomorrow morning with the one hour stop in Charlotte even though it did cost two hundred dollars more.
Too late now. At least he could chill in the relative quiet of the USO where no one would bother him.
“Hello and welcome! My name’s Blessing. Come on in, please. I’ll get you checked in and then find you a nice comfy seat. I can see you need to sit.”
Maybe not so quiet or unbothered after all.
The female volunteer was too bubbly and talkative for Corey who was still recovering from Rabbit’s funeral. And damned if her sunshiny demeanor didn’t remind him of Rabbit, which was the last thing he wanted right now.
“Excuse me?” He frowned over her comment about him needing to sit.
“I can see you’ve been recently injured.”
“How—” How the hell did she know anything about him?
“You’re moving a bit gingerly. Not to mention just a tad bit of bruising is still visible.” She touched the side of her own face to indicate the spot on his cheek where he knew he’d been badly bruised from his fall after he’d been knocked unconscious. “I am sorry. I know it’s been hard. And I know you’re probably tired of talking about it so—”
She touched the tips of her thumb and forefinger together and ran them across her lips, as if to zip them closed before she pushed a sign-in sheet forward.
“Just your John Hancock on that please then we’ll find you a seat to rest until your flight home.” She smiled and though he wondered about why she’d assumed he was flying home—perhaps she’d thought that because of his injury—it seemed easier to just do as she asked than to question it.
He signed in and followed her to an area where the seating did indeed look comfortable, but most spots were already filled. He glanced around for somewhere else. Somewhere with less people and less potential for chatter.
Before he could express his desire to not sit here, Blessing had begun the introductions, making it impossible to escape without seeming rude.
She whipped through the names of the one female and the two males already seated. Names he had no hope of remembering, especially now with his recently scrambled brain. She told him they were all heading home just like he was—even though he had never confirmed that fact with her.
Then the bubbly, overly helpful volunteer moved on, leaving him there to be bombarded with unwanted conversation from the group of strangers.
The discussion covered the usual. Where home was for everyone. What kind of refreshments the USO offered for them to enjoy while they waited. The woman—Kathy? Kate?—even offered candy to them all from a bag she had brought with her.
They were one big happy group of travelers, trapped together, forced to socialize until boarding time.
He was just thinking he’d make it through the wait fairly easily when the conversation turned to the inevitable question—the one he’d been dreading—how he’d gotten injured.
In a Hail, Mary attempt to avoid the conversation he did not want to have about a topic he couldn’t avoid no matter how hard he tried to dodge it, Corey finally channeled good old Jonesy.
With a move that would have made his fellow aircraft carrier drone pilot proud, Corey drew in a breath and delivered a lie that spilled out of his mouth as smooth as silk, “My FOB blew up.”
He left it at that. Nothing more. And damned if it didn’t work. No one questioned a thing.
He’d have to text Jonesy and tell him his idea was freaking brilliant. Then again, Jonesy didn’t need any more reason to be cocky and think better of himself.
All that mattered was that Corey was feeling better already. For the first time in weeks things were finally looking up.
Chapter Six
“Peanut Butter! No!” Josie yelled as the orange kitten perched on the rim of the glass tank, poised to dip one paw into the water in pursuit of the fish contained there.
Or maybe the two-month-old would dive right in and try to go for a swim. After only two days with the foster cats, Josie wouldn’t be surprised by anything the tiny terrors did.
“Jelly! What are you eating?” She dove for the white-pawed marmalade.
Wrapping her hands around his fat little belly, she peered into his mouth.
She grabbed the tail end of the twist-tie from the loaf of bread she’d made the mistake of leaving on the counter just in time before the kitten swallowed it.
“Ugh!” She put the cat down and stomped to the kitchen, burying the deadly piece of plastic deep in the kitchen garbage pail before glancing around the space for more possible threats.
How did her mother and father handle these little monsters? She didn’t know, but she was determined nothing bad was going to happen to the creatures on her watch. Even if she had to baby proof the whole damn house.
As she bent over the screen of her phone and the Amazon app thinking maybe some cat toys would keep the little troublemakers occupied, the cell in her hand lit with an incoming call.
She tapped the screen that displayed her best friend’s name and photo.
“Everything okay?” Josie asked in lieu of hello.
Bailey’s weary voice came through the speaker phone as she said, “Everything’s fine. And you don’t have to ask me that every time I call.”
“Quinn is away doing God only knows what, who knows where. And you’re there in California in the house all alone while I’m all the way across the country in New York, so yes I do have to ask. Every time.”
But since everything was fine according to Bailey, Josie navigated back to the shopping app and typed Kitten Toys into the search bar.
“The neighbors are so close we can see inside their windows—you know this—so I’m not exactly alone.”
Josie let out a snort of a laugh at the truth of Bailey’s words.
Their neighbor had a habit of walking around in his underwear in clear view of the window that faced their house—what they could see of his underwear beneath his beer belly. Not that she was looking. She desperately tried not to but sometimes accidents happened.
“I’m fine here,” Bailey continued.
“Can we put a ban on the word fine for the duration of Quinn’s mission or op or whatever he’s away doing and for the rest of the time while I’m here?” Josie asked as she added a package of three catnip mice bargain priced at $1.99 with free shipping to her shopping cart, then added the suggested item—a bag of plastic balls with bells inside them.
“Why?” Bailey asked.
“Because fine is a non-word. Seriously, it says nothing. Gives no description at all.” Josie hit to make the purchase, happy to see the items would arrive the next day before turning her complete attention back to the debate with Bailey.
“You want descriptive?” Bailey asked. “Here you go. Busy. Stressed. Pressured. Overwhelmed, overloaded, swamped… Oh, and burnt out and possibly getting sick.”
Come to think of it, her friend’s voice did sound a bit scratchy. Josie closed the app and frowned. Bailey had her full attention now. “What’s happening?”
“The label wants all the new songs for the album not just written but recorded two months ahead of the original schedule.”
“Why?”
“Because they can?” Bailey suggested.
“Because your manager is letting them. Tell Xander to put his foot down. Do I have to call him and set him straight? I’ll do it,” Josie threatened.
If Quinn were there he’d do the same. Bailey was too much of a pushover sometimes. And her workaholic manager Xander had no problem taking advantage of that fact to push her too far.
“It’s not Xander—at least not just Xander. It’s me too. There’s a… time sensitive opportunity.”
“Another concert tour?” Josie guessed.
“Yes. International this time.”
“Wow.”
“Exactly. So how can I say no?”
“Well first of all you definitely can say no and you should if this is all too much for you. But if you want to do it and you can get it done in time without killing yourself, then yeah, you should do it.”
Bailey was quiet for a moment, then said, “You’re right.”
Josie sniffed. “Am I? Can you record yourself saying I’m right and then play it for Quinn every time he’s being a dick to me?”
“No,” Bailey said firmly. “You know I don’t get in between you two. There lies madness.”
“So poetic.” Josie rolled her eyes.
“No, just smart,” Bailey corrected. “So how are you doing there?”
Motion caught Josie’s eye and she leapt just in time to stop Jelly from falling into the fish tank as he joined his sister on fish watch.
Scooping the kittens up one at a time and putting them on the floor, she said, “I’m rethinking my desire to own a pet. These two kittens are devils.”
“Quinn will be happy to hear that.” Bailey laughed.
The pet versus no pet debate had been ongoing since they’d all moved in together.
“Or maybe I’ll bring these two little ones home with me as a gift for my darling brother.” Josie smiled at her own ingenuity, liking that idea. Torturing Quinn was one of her favorite pastimes.
“Again, I’m not getting involved. But I’m glad you have company there, even if they are devil kittens. You’re so worried about me being alone here but you’re alone there too with your parents gone on their road trip.”
“Alone is just the way I like it,” Josie said. “No one to fight me for control over the remote. No one to argue with about what kind of take-out we should get for dinner.”
No having to hear her best friend and her brother in bed—or in the shower—doing it…
“And if I need for anything, there are always the neighbors. You remember how small this town is,” Josie continued.
She wandered to the window to glance out at one of those neighbors’ houses now--and stopped dead.
Eyes widening, she breathed out, “What the hell?”
“What’s wrong?” Bailey asked, fast and with concern.
“Corey Jacobs, that’s what’s wrong.”
“Corey your neighbor? He left home while we were still in school, right?” Bailey asked.
“Yeah, well, he’s back.” And currently shirtless.
Josie scowled at the muscles of his back and arms glistening with sweat as he mopped the perspiration from his face with the T-shirt he must have just taken off after a run.
He always had been a runner. Winter. Summer. Freezing cold, or withering heat. It didn’t matter.
He’d sure run fast enough away from her after they’d been together…
“He must be home to visit his mom,” Bailey suggested.
“Great,” Josie growled out.
“Why do you hate him so much anyway? What did he do to you?” Bailey asked.
Josie narrowed her eyes in hatred but didn’t turn away from the window until Corey finally went inside. “Nothing. I just don’t like him.”
Bailey might have been her best friend all through high school, but Bailey had left for New York City early that summer to get settled in for college. She’d missed Josie’s entire relationship with Corey—if she could even call it that. And Josie hadn’t shared.
“It must have been something,” Bailey argued. “He seems to really get to you.”
“Not at all,” Josie lied as she realized her hands had begun to shake just from seeing him again. Jeezus. How could he still have power over her all these years later?
The meeting for the committee her mother had volunteered her to be on was in half an hour, across the street, in the Jacobs’ house—where Corey currently was.
A little detail she hadn’t known when she’d agreed to attend. She silently bit out an obscenity.
“I don’t know…” Bailey began. “It seems like something’s up between you two.”
“Nope. It’s nothing. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” With that, Josie realized that maybe fine was a useful word after all.
Chapter Seven
“Mom. Stop. What are you doing?” Corey dropped the sweaty T-shirt he’d carried inside in his fist on a chair and leapt forward.
He reached up to brace one hand on his mother’s lower back as she balanced on top of the counter in the kitchen.
“I have to get the coffee pot down from the top cabinet.”
“There’s a coffee pot right on the counter,” he said as he tried to figure out how to safely get her down.
“Not that one. The insulated server that keeps it hot.” His mom, not quite five feet tall, reached for a shelf over her head. But as Corey’s level of panic reached a new high, she emerged triumphant with the item in her hand.
