A Chance of a Lifetime, page 11
“Okay, I see your point.” Joe stepped away so quickly that it was a wonder she didn’t lose her balance. Had he realized she was getting too close? Had he wondered what she was about to do? Or had he been totally unaware of her savoring his scent right next to him?
Joe could be totally clueless at times, no doubt about that. And her tender ego preferred to believe that than to think he’d moved away deliberately.
He went into the store room, returning with a stepladder. Collapsed, it fit neatly between the wire rack and the wall; unfolded, she could reach any shelf in the room. Then he moved the trays down three shelves, where she could retrieve them without risking her dignity or her life. “Better?” he asked.
Four feet and a stepladder between them? Enough space that she couldn’t be sure she still smelled a hint of his scent or whether it was memory tempting her? So far apart that if she swooned, she would face plant right onto the cushy rubber mat that fronted the worktable instead of his arms?
She smiled weakly. “Yeah.” So much better.
* * *
Normally, Calvin didn’t sleep worth a damn, but Saturday night was an exception to the rule. He’d conked out on the couch while watching TV, staggered into the bedroom somewhere around midnight, and would still be snoring if the ring of his cell phone hadn’t woken him shortly before one in the afternoon. As far as he could guess, he’d slept about fifteen hours. Who knew that could make a man feel as crappy as only two or three hours?
He’d showered and just finished dressing when the bell sounded at the door. Trying to rub away the thickheadedness that plagued him, he opened it without checking the peephole. His mom, dad, and Gran, all dressed up from church, stood together, broad happy smiles on all their faces.
Something surged deep inside him. Not happiness exactly. Maybe it was pleasure. He’d gotten so far from good emotions that when they occasionally reappeared, it was hard to identify them precisely. But seeing his family smiling like that, so obviously glad to see him, made him want to smile in return.
Elizabeth stepped forward first, hugging him, running her fingers through his hair as if there was enough of it to need straightening. “You look like you just got out of bed, son, and here it is dinnertime. You’re getting lazy in your old age.”
“Huh. Don’t malign all us old folks. I’m seventy-six, and I don’t sleep till afternoon.” Gran moved his mom aside, and he bent low to accept her hug, the brim of her hat flopping against his face. She kissed his cheek, then pulled a white handkerchief from somewhere and wiped away the lipstick. “You’re a handsome boy, but harlot red just isn’t your color.”
“Mama!” Elizabeth exclaimed, but Justice just shook his head as he extended his hand. “You missed a good service today.”
“I bet you say every service is a good one.”
“I wish I could, but this pastor doesn’t often hit the target, and on the rare occasions he does, he still bores the congregation to sleep before he does it. Today was one of his better days.”
“Justice!” Mom exclaimed, then shook her head before linking her arm with Calvin. “Give us a tour of your new place, son.”
It was a one-bedroom apartment, nothing much to see: living and dining room, small kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom. It was a world away from his last apartment, though, back in Washington. Chaplain Reed, the only person to ever visit him there, had taken one look around and known that something had gone seriously wrong in Calvin’s life. That was how low he’d sunk.
Pushing that thought away, Calvin extended his free hand toward the living room. “That’s where I watch TV. Over here is where I microwave the food you sent home with me last week.” He gestured toward the kitchen, then led them the few feet to the bathroom door. “Here’s where I shower. Notice—no wet towels on the floor. And here’s the bedroom.”
“Not nearly inviting enough to sleep away the whole day,” Gran muttered after poking her head through the door.
“Hey, I’m up in time for dinner. That’s what matters, isn’t it?” he retorted.
“I’m sure your mama would say it’s church that matters, but you can’t nourish the spirit if you don’t nourish the body.” Gran gave him a poke. “And my body’s in need of nourishment. Come on. If we don’t get to the restaurant before the Mount Zion congregation, they’ll polish off the buffet like a flock of vultures.”
Calvin blinked. “Restaurant? We’re going out to eat?”
“Don’t act so surprised,” his mom said. “We do that from time to time.”
“Not on Sunday. Never on Sunday.” The first time in his entire life that he’d ever sat down to a Sunday dinner at anyplace besides his mom’s table or a church basement table was at basic training. It hadn’t seemed right at all.
“The benefit of eating out on Sunday is the same as every other day,” Gran put in. “No planning, no cooking, and no dishes to wash.” She grinned. “And the buffet at Zeke’s is a thing of beauty. Now let’s go before the Mount Zioners beat us to it.”
Calvin followed them out, locked up, then offered to show Gran to the elevator. She flashed him a chastising look, grabbed hold of his arm, and made her way regally down the stairs. It was a nice day, the sun shining, a little chill in the air. Brown leaves clung to the trees, and acorns crunched under their feet as they walked to the car.
On the drive off post and across town to Zeke’s, Elizabeth and Gran chatted about who’d been at church and who’d missed, who had worn what, said what, and acted how. Idly he wondered if Bennie had been there, if she was still a regular or if time and circumstances had made it easier to occupy herself elsewhere on Sunday mornings.
Running into Rickey Duncan yesterday had been a surprise. Turning at the sound of the store bell and seeing Bennie had seemed…right. He’d never known her to have a creative bone in her body, though she threw one hell of a fastball and could outfish everyone he knew. Though she’d been dismissive of any potential crafting talent, he tried anyway to imagine her knitting or sewing, but nope, the image wouldn’t form. The Bennie he’d known had liked to be on the move, not stuck inside doing girly things.
If she had a more girly nature now that she was grown, it was only fair, because she’d certainly grown into a girly sort. Her curls, her flawless skin, her laughing eyes, her curves…he would never be able to think of her as just one of the guys again. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to remain oblivious to her charms back when they saw each other every day.
The parking lot at Zeke’s was mostly full, though Gran noted with satisfaction that she didn’t recognize any cars from the Mount Zion congregation. “That pastor of theirs tends to be long-winded. It takes a lot to get him to shut up.”
“Speaking of people who don’t shut up,” Justice murmured to Calvin as they followed the two women across the lot.
Calvin grinned. Elizabeth and Emmeline were both talkers. An awful lot of his childhood memories included one or both of them going on about something, while Justice read his newspaper, worked his crossword puzzles, or watched his football games.
“Miss Sunday dinners at home?” Justice asked.
“I go away for eleven years, and they get rid of the tradition.”
“Nah, it’s not gone. Just sometimes your mama doesn’t feel like cooking, and Emmeline’s on a no-fried-foods kick, and no one can agree on what they want. So once a month or so, we come here. But trust me, Cal, nothing’s changed, nothing important, at least. We still host the Fourth of July cookout, we still volunteer at children’s church, we still get together and complain about having to go to your auntie Mae’s for Thanksgiving, and we still fill every spare space in the freezer and the house with pecans when the picking starts out at Mayville’s Nut Farm.”
“Just like squirrels storing acorns for winter.”
Justice grinned as he held the door open and gestured for Calvin to enter first. “That we are. And it pays off, too, in the dead of winter when the trees are shaken bare and we’ve got a fresh pecan pie sizzling in the oven.”
When they got inside, two lines formed. Zeke’s was a pay-before-you-stuffed-yourself buffet. The food tables were so long, so many, and heaped so high that it was almost shameful. After Gran found a suitable table where she could see all the comings and goings while they ate, Calvin picked up his plate and approached one end of the line, just strolling along, looking at all the choices. There were breakfast foods, fresh fruits, salads, and rolls. Next up came the hot meats: Beef roast, steak, meat loaf. Chicken fried, grilled, baked, or cooked with dumplings. Grilled fish and fried shrimp and ham and pork chops, and a half-dozen sides for every entrée. There were bars for hamburgers, hot dogs, tacos, and baked potatoes, and another six long tables filled with desserts.
He kept moving slowly, staying out of everyone’s path, remembering the days at Lewis-McChord when, if he went home from work without grabbing fast food, he just didn’t eat until the next day. There hadn’t been a meal worthy enough of getting dressed and going out for the sole reason of buying it.
He’d been really depressed then. As opposed to mildly overwhelmed right now. The lines were long, people taking their sweet time while overfilling their plates, and the noise level was somewhere between jet engines and too-close-for-comfort artillery fire. Crowds and noise were just two of the things that made him edgy.
Suddenly Justice appeared at his elbow. “Come on down here. I’ll show you the best stuff they have. Their roast beef is almost as good as your mom’s, though I’ll deny saying that till I go to my grave. The mashed potatoes have just the right amount of garlic and butter, and the collards are—well, collardy. The fried okra is as good as your mama’s, too, and when you’re done with all that, they have a blackberry cobbler that, I swear, they lifted from her recipe.”
Calvin was relieved to follow along. Food was supposed to be simple: You’re hungry for this, you eat this. You’re hungry for that, you eat that. The problem was, he was hardly ever hungry for anything. He knew he had to eat, so he settled for protein bars or whichever of his mom’s dishes was up next in the freezer.
“Looks like we’re sharing a table,” Justice said as they began weaving their way back to their seats. “I’d never admit Emmeline’s right, but if you want a decent meal on Sunday, you do have to get here before the pastor finishes up the sermon at Mount Zion. They overrun the place, and everyone else just has to try to work around them.”
The table for four the family had originally chosen was now pushed together with another one. His parents had the seats at the nearest end; two hats with ribbons and flowers were bent over the middle of the table until their brims bumped while the two old ladies talked; and one occupied seat waited at the end with an empty chair for him.
Occupied by Bennie.
“What a coincidence,” he said as he placed his plate on the table, then squeezed into the seat, bumping Mama in the process. She turned, squeezed his cheek with her fingers, then pulled his face to her neck for a quick hug without missing a beat in her conversation with Gran.
“The ladies get tired of cooking and planning and cleaning,” Bennie said as she slipped a paper wrapper from her straw.
“So I’ve heard. But what happened to Mama and her too many choices is too many choices?”
Eyes open wide, Bennie shrugged. “Things change, you know.”
Oh, hell, yeah, he knew.
Bennie was meticulously buttering a sweet yeast roll. Watching her calories and cholesterol? Or just trying not to slather butter over her pretty church dress? It was purple, not a pale, puny shade but dark, vibrant, the color that used to be reserved for royalty. The rounded neck showed a hint of cleavage, and the sleeves hugged her slender arms. That was all he could see with her sitting. Did it end above her knee or closer to her ankle? Was the skirt full and swishy, or did it cling to the curves it covered? Were her shoes sensible, utilitarian, or did they have heels that did her legs justice?
Dampness warming his forehead, he swiped a napkin across it, then crumpled it to one side without looking at her. There should be a warning going off in his head: inappropriate thoughts about an inappropriate woman. She was his childhood friend—J’Myel’s widow, for God’s sake.
He was out of the diving-into-danger business for good, he reminded himself grimly. And if he got back into it for any reason, it damn well wouldn’t be with J’Myel’s girl.
Chapter 8
It was a strange thing to sit in a room filled with happy, talking people and be half afraid to lift her gaze from the plate of food in front of her. It wasn’t even as if Bennie hadn’t been prepared for this. When Miss Emmeline decided she wanted to eat out after Sunday morning services, she always insisted Mama and Bennie come along, and it was fair odds from now on that Calvin would come, too, even though he’d skipped church. Eating dinner together on Sundays was a family thing; it was what the Sweets and the Fords and the Pickerings did.
As she reached for the pepper, she risked a quick peek at Calvin. He hadn’t shaved this morning, not that it made much of a difference. J’Myel had grown a mustache at fifteen, a beard at sixteen, while Calvin was still lamenting his baby face when they left for basic training.
It wasn’t a baby face any longer. The softness was gone; lines etched into the skin at the corners of his eyes and mouth, and his eyes were shadowed, as if he’d seen things he would never forget. The last eleven years had been tough. The war had changed him. Changed everyone. How much was the only question.
How much had it changed J’Myel? She honestly couldn’t say. Sure, he’d grown up, lost some of that boyish charm, gotten a bit more serious. He hadn’t been the kind, though, who talked about bad things. In his e-mails and calls, he’d always been upbeat, telling jokes, relating funny stories. He hadn’t wanted to worry her, had wanted to keep things as normal between them as they could be when they were thousands of miles apart.
But if he’d come home, would he have had memories he couldn’t share, feelings he couldn’t express? Would the rest of his life have paled in comparison to the adrenaline-fueled years in combat?
Would he still have loved her?
Would she still have loved him?
Always. Maybe with a few changes, but always.
Sad, grim thoughts, and drat it, Bennie was not a sad, grim person.
“How are you settling in at Fort Murphy?” she asked, forcing normalcy into her voice.
Calvin’s fingers tightened on his fork, and the little shrug he gave barely caused a ripple. “It’s okay.”
“Did you ever think the Army would send you right back where you started?”
“It was pretty much inevitable.”
She wondered what he meant by that. The Army had plenty of forts all around the world. Every soldier got to see his share of them, though when she’d asked J’Myel once what the odds were of him getting assigned there when he returned from Afghanistan, he’d replied slim to none. Of course, according to Calvin, J’Myel hadn’t wanted to come back here. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Mama would say J’Myel’s death made it a moot point.
“So what keeps you busy besides work?”
“Not much.”
That was one subject shut down. On to the next. “Have you replaced your car yet?”
“I’ve looked. Haven’t found anything I liked.”
“Why? Because they all have four doors, hoods and trunks, and windows that actually work?” she asked with a snicker. J’Myel’s first-ever car had been a brand-new Mustang with the biggest engine available, even though the payments and insurance had eaten him alive. Calvin’s had been a beater that even Gran had looked at with disdain.
The question earned her a smile, sending something coursing through her—satisfaction or maybe even pride that for just an instant, she’d lightened the somberness in his eyes. “It’s transportation,” he said. “My old cars get me where I’m going just like the new, expensive models.”
“Being frugal is one thing, but you could compromise. Get something that hasn’t flipped the odometer three or four times and doesn’t need industrial adhesive to hold the mirrors on.”
“I’ve had a car or two with all their mirrors intact.”
“The one that was stolen?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact. Though two of the windows were broken out. Hey, plastic, Velcro, duct tape, and superglue can fix anything.”
She laughed, and for a moment, the sensation was so familiar, so dear. Laughing was how they’d spent most of their time together. It felt sweet and innocent, lifted her mood, and brightened her day.
“Your own car didn’t look brand new the other night.”
“It’s not. It’s five years old, and it’s been a good and faithful servant. Besides, I’m a poor college student.” She didn’t add that she loved her little red Volkswagen as much as he’d loved his beaters.
“You know, the Army will pay for your schooling if you agree to be their good and faithful servant for a few years.”
“Pfft. Me wearing combat boots and saluting and PTing? Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” She caught Mama glancing her way and winked at her. “I’m staying right here where the good Lord planted me. Besides, St. Tony’s is picking up some of the costs, and they can’t stand me at attention or send me anywhere in the world on a whim.”
“Yeah, there is that,” he murmured in agreement.
The older folks began gathering their things, preparing to leave. She and Calvin obediently followed suit, rising, pushing their chairs back under the table, trailing them out the door.
In the parking lot, Gran linked arms with Mama before smiling blithely at them. “Calvin, why don’t you ride home with Bennie so Maudene and I can talk awhile longer?”
Mama’s smile was just as innocent. Bennie, Calvin, even Elizabeth and Justice, gave the two old ladies chastising looks, but they wandered on, pretending to be oblivious, though everyone knew they were never oblivious.
