Beyond The Ghosts (Legacy Falls Project) (4 page)

BOOK: Beyond The Ghosts (Legacy Falls Project)
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Lance chuckled at the display and redirected the conversation to my father and the newest calves that had recently arrived.

The rest of dinner was a blur of conversation and mild questioning. I was used to people’s curiosities, and I had pre-canned responses that were politically correct and not too gory or descript that could be acceptable for dinner conversation. While I had a stomach of steel and had seen more than my fair share of destruction and death, it was just not polite conversation over dinner nor something I wanted to get into some political debate over.

As we indulged in Mom’s pies, I was thankful for my own loose blue jeans. I totally related to Lance’s comment about eating pants. I was going to need bigger pants soon if Mom kept feeding me like this. Beth scooped her ice cream contribution onto everyone's pie and Mom served her rocket fuel coffee ensuring the night would continue in the living room for more conversation as they visited a while longer.

After devouring two pieces of pie a la mode, I excused myself and got some fresh air on the front porch. The night air was crisp, but I was full-bellied and warm with coffee so the chill didn’t bother me. The screen door banged behind me, and Lance joined me at my side for his after dinner mint of dip. He tapped his can of Skoal and pinched a bit in his fingers, gingerly placing it in the crook of his gum on the side of his cheek.

“Your mom sure does know how to cook.”

“Yeah, I missed it. I’m so full right now, if I sit, I may not get up again.”

“Need to find yourself a good woman that can cook. I love my wife to death, but good thing I’m a simple man and have plenty of beef around. Can't mess up a steak too bad, you hear me?”

“Mrs. Smith always threw nice parties.”

“Anyone can boil an egg and make little finger sandwiches. I’m telling you, find a woman that can cook, and you will be a happy man. Looks fade, but if she can keep your belly full, you are a blessed man.”

“Are you a blessed man?”

“Oh, don't misunderstand me for one minute. I'm a pain in the ass, and Kim puts up with me. Marriage is finding a great friend who puts up with your crap and can deal with your biggest flaws. Find someone who can sleep through your snoring, and if you don’t mind waiting two hours for her to get ready just to go to the feed store, you're a match.”

“That’s it? That’s your best advice?”

“Yup. It’s that simple. Find a woman that likes your brand of farts.” He laughed and spit over the railing.

“Got it.” I shook my head and chuckled as I stared up at the stars. They were so clear out of town. There was only one big lamppost by the barn but it didn’t take away from the majesty of the night sky. My mind drifted to Afghanistan.

 

I laid on my back and stared at the sky. It was the middle of the night but our base was lit up like Times Square, even in the dead of night it was bright. It made it hard to sleep, and I had bought one of those face masks to block out the light, but Pierson teased me about it, so I never used it. It's not like it was pink or anything, but he ribbed me and asked me if I wanted some cucumber slices and a pedicure after my beauty rest. Pierson was an asshole.

The bright flood lights drowned out the night sky, and it was hard to see the stars. Even on a clear night, the constant traffic kicked up clouds of dust and muddled the view. The moon was a sliver in the sky, and the only reminder that the sky was real and not just dust. I hunted the sky for any stars that might be visible.

I heard the booms before I saw the flashes. Like bottle rockets, the RPGs lit up the sky and descended upon our camp with a whistle in the air. It wasn’t going to be a small bang when they hit, though.

“Peter, you okay?” Lance placed his hand on my shoulder, and I jumped. I felt my eyes dilating and constricting as I tried to focus on my surroundings. 

I wasn’t in Afghanistan. 

I was on my parents’ front porch. 

I scrubbed my hand across my face. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just got lost in thought for a minute.”

“You were in la-la land for sure. Left me here talking to myself.”

“I’m sorry. It’s been a long day of traveling.”

“I’m sure it has. If you ever want to talk, my door is always open.”

“Thank you, Sir. I appreciate that.”

“Let me go get Kim and head on home so you all can rest. If not, she will be gabbing for hours. You have no idea.”

He gave me a pat on the back and went back in the house leaving me on the porch.

I looked up at the sky again and outlined the constellations I could recognize. Stars, not flares—not bombs, just stars.


As much as I was still unsure which direction I was going to take with my future, I fell into a routine quickly at home. Life was just as simple there as it was in the military, minus the gunfire. I woke up every day and ran five miles, did some PT, ate dinner with my mom, and then joined my dad down at the shop. I helped lift large sides of beef, load the bins of scraps to the grinder for hamburger, and wrap my dad’s cuts. I had no desire to learn the art of butchering, but Ronnie lingered on every word and watched intently as he mimicked each of my dad’s strokes at the adjacent workstation. Ronnie would have to do at least a three-year apprenticeship to earn the title of butcher; even then, it would be at my father’s discretion.

There was no school to attend or degree to acquire, it truly was an art. You just did it. I suppose one could study anatomy or veterinary science, but in the end it was you and the meat. One with the blade. My dad prided himself on his work. He gave the customers the perfect amount of fat crusts to rim their steaks and the leanest hamburger around. There were no fillers, no fluff, just beef. He butchered chickens from time to time, but primarily it was beef and pigs when they were plump and ready.

It was a comfortable routine. I guess I had grown accustomed to routines and working with Dad was just another itinerary. My sister, on the other hand, was a glaring reminder there was more. She bounded through the door of the shop and made her way to the back cutting room. I was wrapping the last of the latest grind of lean hamburger when she called my name.

“Peter? Hey, Daddy, where is brother?”

“He’s by the grinder. What are you doing here?”

“Busting him out.
Peter
. Come on. Let’s go.”

I wiped my hands on my apron after clamping the roll of hamburger I was filling shut and placing it on the stack of one-pound packages I had on the workbench.

“What’s going on?”

“Okay, you have been home two weeks now. It's time to start living. Daddy, is he done?”

“Are you, son?” my dad asked for confirmation. 

“I finished up the rest of the hamburger. Got anything else for me?”

“There is always stuff to do around here,” he said flatly. Ronnie’s pleading eyes from behind him peered at me around my dad’s shoulder.

“Ronnie is here. Right, Ronnie?” I gave him a chin lift, and his face lit up with a smile.

“I’m here Mr. Toledo. I don’t have anything going on. I can stay as long as you need me.”

My father deliberated and shook his head slowly no doubt counting the tasks he hoped to accomplish the rest of the day. “I suppose Ronnie and I can manage here. Go on, have fun.”

“Ronnie. Take care of the old man for me.” Ronnie beamed with pride and gave me a half-assed but very excited salute at attention.

“That’s how you get blood in your hair. Get back to work; we got four more sides to get through before quitting time.”

“Yes, Sir.” He slumped back into his work before him on his workbench, and I took off my apron, hung it on its respective hook on the wall, and washed my hands.

My sister waited not-so-patiently by the door trying not to look at my dad as he drew his blade across the intercostal space removing the loin in one beautiful piece. The grimace on Beth’s face was priceless. I wondered if she would be as fond of chicken parmigiana if she saw dad cut up some chickens.

“Ready?” My voice broke her gaze, and she happily tugged me to the door.

Once on the sidewalk I asked, “Where are we going?”

“Out. Get in.”

She hit the door unlock button on her remote to the Beetle, and I climbed into my sister’s car and fastened my seatbelt. I needed all the protection I could get with her behind the wheel.

“Are you gonna tell me where we are going?”

“First, you're gonna go home and take a shower because you smell like death. Then, you are gonna put on a nice shirt and some pants and we are going out dancing.”

“Sis, if you haven’t noticed, I haven’t done much dancing lately.”

“Well, it’s time you started, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

She wasn’t wasting any time getting to the house, either. She trimmed at least five minutes off a ten-minute ride. How she was still alive was incredible. She must have gotten driving lessons from Dale Earnhardt himself.

“Pick you up in an hour.”

“Geez, sis, I won’t nearly have enough time to do my hair.” I pawed at my short high and tight and made duck lips at her.

“Whatever, diva. One hour. See you in a bit.” My sister was on a mission. I wasn’t sure exactly what that mission was, but I would be ready in an hour. I only needed maybe fifteen but I would humor her.

Funny how my sister was perpetually late for everything else except when she needed or wanted to be somewhere. Then, it was an emergency, and you better be ready. I climbed into her Beetle and braced myself for the ride.

“Don’t you have any dress clothes?”

“What? What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? You said a shirt and pants. I am wearing a shirt and pants.” I took inventory of my attire, and I was wearing a solid, royal-blue, button-down, that I was always complimented on when I wore because it brought out the blue in my eyes, and a clean pair of khaki chinos. I even wore dress shoes and not my requisite duty boots, which were a hell of a lot more comfortable than the loafers I found at the bottom of my closet.

“You look like you are ready for country club social. We are going dancing not high tea.”

“If you don’t like how I’m dressed, you should have given me orders in writing, a detailed itinerary and outlined what was required.”

“Whatever. It’s gonna be dark anyways. You will be fine.”

We drove about twenty minutes out of town and took a right onto a dirt road. It was bumpy and not really well-equipped for the little, low-to-the-ground Beetle, but it was obvious she knew the road well as she weaved around each pitfall and pothole. She pulled into this little honky-tonk bar with neon lights that spelled out “Craw Dad's Bar” on top of a thatched roof. It looked like a bayou fire hazard. The band blared from within, and Cajun two-step music spilled off the porch and into the parking lot as people danced with their beer bottles in hand.

“Is this place even legal?”

“Of course, they have a liquor license and all that. Why?”

“Just asking.”

“Don’t be a party pooper. Come on, let’s go get a drink.”

The music was even louder inside, but the open air frame of the bar made it bearable. Sawdust, straw, and peanut shells riddled the floor of the bar but provided a smooth glide to the dancers on the floor. My sister saw friends and greeted them on the way to the bar that was bustling with customers. We found an opening in the crowd and waited to place our order.

BOOK: Beyond The Ghosts (Legacy Falls Project)
7.3Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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