21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (76 page)

“No, you cannot have my Mustang. When I get home, I want it in one piece.”

She stuck her tongue out though he couldn’t see her. “I don’t want your stinky, old Mustang.” Such a lie, the ’66 hard body classic was to die for, but she couldn’t let him tweak her without returning a volley.

“Well all right then, what do you want?”

“What would you say if I met a Marine that I actually liked?”

“I’d ask why the hell you don’t like the rest of us?” The playful retort was the verbal equivalent of tugging her braids when they were kids.

“No, I mean, like…liked. The I-wouldn’t-mind-dating kind of like.” She held her breath waiting for his reaction. Her brothers backed her father up when it came to the no-dating-on-base rule, and since she lived on base most of the time, it really limited her dating pool. Sure, she experimented in college, who hadn’t—but not with any Marines. There had been the Navy Corpsman, but what her family didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

“Hmm, what unit is he in?” The silky question made her laugh.

“No, you don’t get to beat him up. He doesn’t even know I like him, like I said, I’m just…curious.”

“Curious enough that you’re bringing it up to the one brother over three thousand miles away in Afghanistan. I see how you are.”

“True. And you like my care packages, so you’ll keep my secret.”

“Five boxes of Girl Scout Thin Mints and you’re on.”

“That’s blackmail.”

“Cost of doing business, sis. Besides I’m supposed to check in with Dad tomorrow morning. I could just mention to him….”

“Fine. Done.” But she grinned.
Where the hell do I find Girl Scout Thin Mints in the summertime
? She’d figure it out.

“Seriously though, trust your instincts, Nay. You have good ones. You like him, go for it.” And thus Charlie proved why he earned the title of her favorite brother.

“So I can ask him out?”

“Hell, no. You make him do it. If he isn’t Marine enough to see what a fine catch you are, he can suffer.” Pride and affection mingled in his voice, but he relented. “Just let him know you wouldn’t mind an invitation and then go out with a dozen other people. I gotta go, someone else is waiting to call home. I just wanted to check on you.”

“I love you.” She picked up the phone. “Be safe, okay?”

“You, too.”

The call disconnected and she sighed. Ten years and she always had a brother serving in a war zone—sometimes more than one. She never let them know how worried she was, or how grateful for their calls, or how terribly she missed them. They needed her bright, cheerful, and keeping the home fires burning. She played her part so they could play theirs….

And the song she wrote crystallized for her.

Playing Our Parts
.

***

He rearranged his schedule to meet James early and skipped his workout. Damon came through with a lunch delivered to the apartment, so all he had to do was carry the picnic basket with its cold salads and hot sandwiches down to the park. He might not be up for activating his profile at the 1Night Stand service, but lunch—lunch he could handle. Jethro waited patiently next to the door, leash in his mouth. The dog knew his schedule better than Matt did.

Fidgeting, he hesitated to rush out to meet her and fought the eagerness vibrating through him at the same time. Wracked by the indecision, he paced away from the door and sat down on the sofa. Closing his eyes, he focused on his breathing exercises. The Labrador abandoned his post and came over to lean against his leg. The combination of contact and deep breathing eased the constriction in his chest.

“It’s just lunch, right? We’ve gone to hang out with her a few days now, so why is lunch hard?” He stared into Jethro’s eyes, but the soulful mutt didn’t offer up any ready answers. “Food. Company. Easy stuff, right?”

Maybe he wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to leave her waiting.
Like she’s expecting me? I’m the one going all stalker on her composing spot
…. Still, it didn’t stop her from showing up day after day. If she didn’t want him to listen, would she bother?

Clenching his fist, he rose. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Pick up the basket, get Jethro’s leash, go for a walk. Offer to share lunch with her. Talk about her music. Talk about the weather
….

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he stared at it. He didn’t want to bother James with this, but maybe…he scrolled through his contacts and hit call on Logan’s number before he could over-think it.

“Hey Matt, what’s up?” Logan Cavanaugh was the type of Marine Matt always imagined being, the ideal he wanted to live up to. Despite his injuries—or maybe because of them—Logan remained one of the toughest men Matt knew. In addition to his job as a counselor for incoming vets at Mike’s Place and a volunteer therapist, he worked on finishing a degree specializing in everything he already did.

The man didn’t stop and didn’t allow anything to stop him.

“I need a favor.”

“Name it,” Logan said.

Noise echoed in the background, weight machines, muted voices offering encouragement and the faint thrum of music. The clanging rattled Matt. Closing his eyes, he forced another noisy exhale.

“Hey, Matt…just breathe through it, man.” The noise faded. Logan must have moved away from it. A door thudded closed and cut it off completely. “In for four and out for four. You know the drill.”

“Yeah.” Dammit, he
was
better, why couldn’t he act it?

“You know there was a guy once who fell in a hole and he shouted for help. This doctor comes by and writes a prescription, throws it in the hole. The guy is still down there and he shouts again, and a priest comes by. The guy asks for help and the priest writes him a prayer and throws it down. He even promises to light a candle for him.” Logan’s voice took on an easy cadence, and with every word, Matt’s breathing grew easier. “But the guy, he’s still in the hole and he’s getting hoarse from shouting. His buddy comes by and the guy yells up to him. His buddy jumps down in the hole with him. The guy can’t believe it, he clenches his fists and demands to know why his friend did something so stupid, now they’re both stuck. His buddy tells him, ‘but I’ve been down here before and I know how to get out.’”

Matt’s heart rate slowed.

“I’ve been in this hole, Matt. I’m down here for as long as you need me to be and we’ll walk out together, okay?”

“I like this girl.” He blurted the words out before he could think too hard about it.

“Yeah?” A smile rolled through the single syllable.

“Yeah. She’s—her name is Naomi. She’s a songwriter. I keep running into her practicing and we’ve hung out.”

“Okay.” He didn’t push, he didn’t prod, only waited.

“Damon sent a lunch over and I wanted to take it with me today, you know—surprise her with it.” He pushed past the hesitation. “Am I insane?”

“Because you want to take her lunch?”

“No, I want a whole lot more than lunch.”

“But you’re just taking her lunch, so that’s not crazy, and if she keeps going to the same spot to practice, you’re not bugging her. Is this Sparks? Congressman Sparks sister?”

Her last name was Sparks, but he hadn’t drawn the connection to any political figures. “Maybe? I don’t really keep up on that stuff.”

“Jazz mentioned her. She’s been doing some fact finding for her brother while she’s here. He’s one of our bigger supporters. Look—take her lunch. Eat food. Talk about the weather. It’s okay to enjoy yourself.”

Really?

Logan added, “I know it doesn’t seem like that and you’re probably feeling guilty for enjoying yourself. But you don’t have to. In fact—let’s make this an order. Go spend a couple of hours and forget everything but having a good time.”

Oddly enough, that helped. “Yes, sir.”

“You good now?”

“I think so.” More than a little. His breathing relaxed and the shake in his hand eased. The thought of the sandwiches made his stomach growl. “Thanks, Logan.”

“Like I said—I’m in the hole. We’ll go when you’re ready, it’s right this way….”

“Yes, sir.”

He hung up and looked at Jethro. “Let’s do this.”

The dog bounded up and raced for the door. This time, Matt didn’t slow. He clipped the leash on his collar and grabbed the basket. Hopefully she would be hungry.

He sure as hell was.

***

Naomi worked through another series of bridges and chords. The blank sheet music and pencil sat ignored next to her. She couldn’t really focus on composition when she looked at the trail every other minute. Every day she sat there and Matt showed up with his dog. They chatted for a few minutes and then he threw the stick while she played.

And today he’s not here…and I’m not writing
. Music and the arts were not a career path her father encouraged. In her particular situation, Naomi agreed with him. Whether by accident or design, over half the songs she scored and wrote focused on life in the service—or the family life of someone in the service.

As if with a will of their own, her fingers switched chords to Toby Keith’s, “Made in America.” She loved the song, and the meaning behind it. Closing her eyes, she played the music and hummed along until she got to the red, white, and blue and the Semper Fi on his arm—raising her voice, she sang about King James and Uncle Sam.

Throwing her arm up after the last chord, she clenched her fist and exulted in the feeling of the song’s message. Quiet applause brought her back down to Earth. Matt stood there, in T-shirt and jeans rather than his usual running gear. He held a basket in his right hand and Jethro’s leash in the other.

Her face warmed. “Hey.”

“Hey. Don’t suppose you know ‘Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue’?”

Grinning, she adjusted the guitar and started playing the fitting tribute to soldiers. Matt closed the distance and sat down to listen. His head bobbed in time to the rhythm and he joined her in the bridge.

“Brought to you, courtesy of the red, white, and blue.”

She loved the guitar movements, slowing the chords as she warned of what happened when you rattled the big dog’s cage, because they would put boot to ass for messing with the U.S. of A. Matt’s grin grew, but deeper shadows clouded his beautiful blue eyes. He sang with her, but he wasn’t in the moment until Jethro rubbed his head against his shoulder. His gaze cleared and he exhaled a strangled laugh on the last note.

“Damn. You’re good.”

The vehemence of the compliment floored her. “Thank you.” She bit her tongue before she asked if he was okay. She’d seen that distant look in Brent’s eyes—in Charlie’s, in Toby’s and in the eyes of every man who served. For the briefest of moments, Matt had been back on those front lines. It answered her unasked question of what he did at Mike’s Place, though she’d had her suspicions.

Pushing past the cloak of concern, she nodded to the basket. “What’s that?”

He glanced down as though he’d forgotten. “Lunch.” The corners of his mouth curved. “I figured I always got the better end of the deal listening to you play so…I brought lunch to say thank you….” The words trailed off and he looked vaguely uncomfortable. “You know, if you’re hungry.”

“Starving.” She set the guitar into its case. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Shaking off his distraction, he unclipped Jethro from his leash. The well-trained dog didn’t take off. Instead, he stretched out between them within easy reach of the Marine.

Is he a PTSD dog
? She wished she could see his tags or dared ask, but she didn’t want to make Matt any more uncomfortable. She’d heard such amazing things about the program. It was actually on her list to learn about as soon as she finished recording the album. Maybe she could donate a portion of her proceeds to the funding. Too many veteran recovery programs needed money to stay operational.

“Naomi?” He said her name as though repeating it and she blinked.

“Sorry, composing in my head.” She said the first thing that came to mind rather than point out her internal speculation. “What do you have for lunch?”

“Salads—looks like pasta salad, some hot roast beef sandwiches and iced tea.”

Her stomach let out a vociferous growl and her face heated. “Sounds tasty.”

They divvied up the food and conversation lagged as they dug in. She couldn’t help but watch him as he ate. The lack of a healthy appetite was a lingering symptom of PTSD, along with nightmares, jitters, and a pathological avoidance of things that might remind them of what they desperately wanted to forget.

She read all the brochures.

“This is excellent.” She mangled the gratitude around a mouthful. “Thank you so much for bringing this.”

“You’re welcome.” The words garbled in his mouth too, and they both laughed.

“Can he have some?” She gestured to the dog and Matt shrugged, pulling apart his sandwich and feeding some of the roast beef to the Labrador. Jethro didn’t question the etiquette and gobbled it down. The smart animal swung his gaze to her and she obediently handed him some as well.

“Okay, now I feel like it’s a picnic. Doesn’t seem right to eat in front of the dog and ignore him.”

“No, ma’am,” he agreed. “Though he’s pretty good about not begging.”

“He’s a good dog.” Wiping her hands on a napkin, she studied Matt. “Thanks for coming out here every day—seriously. You inspire me.”

He hesitated, one hand on his Styrofoam cup. “I do?”

“Yeah, composing can be kind of lonely, but you show up and give me someone to play for—an audience is always inspiring.” Dodging the more obvious answer proved the right choice when the tight lines around his eyes eased.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve performed in front of people before.” Matt packed away the trash, stacking it neatly in the basket then stretched out to lie on his side. Jethro crawled forward until he could sprawl against Matt’s chest. Jealousy admired a dog who took what he wanted and tried not to envy him.

“Yes and no.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve sung for my friends, played on the quad at college—played for my family. Stuff like that. But not for people I don’t know and definitely not my own material.”