California Homecoming (3 page)

Daisy’s tail thumped on the floor.

Mandy opened and closed cupboards as Sarah washed her face in the kitchen sink. “I hope you don’t mind,” Mandy sang out. “I want to get a good idea of what you need. These cupboards could use a do-over.”

The grime came off in Sarah’s hands.
So could I.
Good thing Mandy was the only person who had shown up at her door. If Hunter had come back …

Her skin was hot under her fingertips.

“Now then.” Sarah dried her face with a kitchen towel. “Tea or coffee?”

“Oh, I can’t stay long. Got to be at work in … ” Mandy checked her watch. “Oh, gosh, thirty minutes. I’m always late. Not that I’d be late as your chef. It’s too important to me. Have you talked to the county yet about what’s required?”

“I started to see what it said online and got confused.”

Mandy nodded her head. “Yep. Bureaucrats never make anything simple, but I can help you with that.”

“I can’t afford to pay you.”

Mandy plunked into a chair. “You don’t need to pay me! All I want is a reference when I’m done. It’s learning for me, too. I got my degree at a community college in New Jersey. Regulations are totally different in California and I’ve got to learn them. Let me do this for you.”

“I shouldn’t — ”

“Good. That’s settled. I’ll talk to the manager at the grill, and the health inspector, and safety, and my friend I know at the county commissioner’s office, and — ”

Sarah laughed, her chest relaxing with the release of air.

“What? Are you saying I talk too much?” Mandy joined her in the laughter.

It’s good to have someone to laugh with.

“Are you going to do catering?” Mandy asked. “You know, special parties, weddings? This would be a great place for a wedding. I’ll have to tell Annie.”

“Oh, no — please don’t let Annie know there’s the possibility of events. I do
not
want to start with the wedding of my mother’s best friend.”

“A lot of pressure.”

“Yeah.”

“But you know your mother will mention it.”

“How about we keep this between us?” Sarah asked.

“Pinky promise?”

Sarah laughed again and crossed her pinkie finger with Mandy’s, her mood lifting even further.

Once she relaxed, the urge to lay her head on the table and sleep took over. Surely, it was nap time. She propped her head on her hands.

“You must be exhausted,” Mandy said. She put her hand on Sarah’s. “Something tells me you could use a friend about now. Well, so could I. I’ve never found any in Costanoa. No time, and I never felt I fit in — being from New Jersey and all.” Mandy sighed.

“Thanks,” Sarah said and realized she really did appreciate the offer. Other than her mother, she didn’t have many girlfriends either. Most of her high school friends were off at college, while she … Tears started to fall.
Damn.
Pregnancy was playing hell with her emotions.

Mandy stood, crossed to Sarah and wrapped her arms around her. “It’s okay. You don’t have to do this alone.”

But Sarah did. As Rick had pointed out, she was responsible and she could take care of the baby by herself. Unless she wanted to abort it. Then he’d stick around.

Not going there.

Sarah stiffened her spine and patted Mandy’s hand. “I’m okay. Really. Thanks.”

Mandy let go. “Sure.”

Sarah swallowed hard. “What do you think I need? For the kitchen, I mean.”

“An industrial refrigerator, of course. Six-burner gas stove. Have you got a plumber?”

“Not yet.” She put her face back in her hands. It was all too much.

Mandy glanced at her watch. “Oh my god — now I’m really going to be late. I’ll call you after I talk to everyone. I can’t wait to get started!”

She gave Sarah a quick hug and darted from the kitchen.

Sarah stared at her list. If Hunter came back today and offered to buy the place, she’d definitely take him up on it. What had she been thinking?

She stood, took up her list, and went into the front room. If Mandy was going to handle the kitchen, she may as well work on the rest of the house.

Daisy followed and plopped in what was becoming her normal spot.

Sarah knelt beside the dog and buried her face in the fur.
I wish I could go to sleep for hours and hours and forget all this.

And she did.

After a discouraging day of job hunting, Hunter started his Thursday morning by pounding down the compacted beach sand of Rio del Mar. As he ran, he scanned the ocean cliffs for trouble. He ignored people’s curious stares at his prosthesis, but kept an eye out for any sudden moves.

Today’s run wasn’t the same as dashing down the beach as a kid, but he was thankful technology had gotten to a point where he could be almost good as new on the outside. Whenever he stopped by the Veteran’s Hall, the old, bearded Vietnam vets in wheelchairs saddened him. How might their lives have been different if they could have walked?

Was his life going to turn to be out any different from theirs in spite of his physical ability?

He increased his pace, wet sand flying behind him.

The salt-laden air filled his lungs, cleansing them further from the stale smells of hospitals and rehab facilities.

He watched a seagull lift in flight, soaring against the wind in takeoff. Hunter longed to have that ultimate freedom, but running was as close as he was going to get.

It would have to do.

A few surfers off in the distance caught his eye. Unfortunately, he’d never be able to do that again. He’d been learning to surf in junior high school. Only in Santa Cruz could you get gym credits for surfing.

At least he was in laid-back Santa Cruz. He’d dreamed of the beach town ever since his father had yanked the family out of the city when Hunter was fourteen. He’d never forgiven his father for the change.

A sudden movement made him shy. Hunter’s adrenalin surged and he automatically reached for a weapon, before his therapy kicked in. He forced himself to examine his surroundings. Tiny clusters of snowy plovers played tag with the waves, a pelican dove beak-first into the waves, and a pair of dolphins crested the waves.

His breathing slowed and he eased his pace. His muscles ached and he tired more easily than he had before the injury. The doctors had told him his physical abilities would improve over time.

That’s how he tried to think of it — a simple injury. Just an accident that had cost more than he’d ever wanted to give.

Right.

Sweating, he reached the parking lot. Even in mid-January, the California coast could generate some heat. Today was the second in a string of perfect days the weatherman promised.

Perfect except that Hunter had to figure out how to live. His mother wanted him to come home so she could baby him. The VA wanted him to go to job training.

All Hunter wanted to do was get back to construction work. But construction work was hard enough to find if you had all your limbs. Hiring bosses took one look at him and shook their heads.

So much for supporting veterans.

Hunter toweled off, glanced at his watch, and got into the car. Just enough time to change before he went to see Joe. If Joe didn’t have something for him to do, Hunter would be stuck behind a desk for the rest of his life.

He needed a job of some kind to get back to the living — and maybe go out on a date.

He smiled as he pulled onto the highway, the image of a pixie-faced, chestnut haired girl clear in his mind.

God he had it bad.

• • •

Hunter pulled up in front of the tiny bungalow a few blocks from Pleasure Point.

The gate squeaked as he opened it and a pink plastic tricycle barricaded the middle of the sidewalk. He grinned as he walked through the obstacle course. Joe’s one-track mind had never had room for straightening up. His wife Mary wasn’t much better. Concentrating on her kids’ happiness was more important, she’d always claimed.

He knocked on the peeling gray door and a preteen girl in purple pajamas immediately opened it.

His best friend’s daughter launched herself at him.

“Hunter!” she yelled.

He hugged her small body close and set her down on the floor. She ran toward the back of the house yelling, “Hunter’s here! Hunter’s here!”

Mary entered the room, dish towel in her hand. “He’s around back.”

“Still dealing with the surfing bug?”

Mary shrugged and smiled. “It came with the man. I’d rather he be out there building surfboards than in the bar.”

Or in the Middle East.

She didn’t have to say it. Joe had survived a tour of duty before Mary had convinced him the family needed him more than the military.

“Cup of coffee?” Mary asked.

“Got a pot on?” When she nodded, he said, “Sure,” and followed her to the bright yellow kitchen in the back of the house.

“Were you able to get the house?” Mary asked.

“No, someone bought it a few hours before I got there. She says she’s going to make it an inn.”

“She?” Mary handed him a chipped cup of brew.

Hunter smiled. “Yeah. Cute little shrimp of a girl who looks like she’s ready for anything.”

Mary laughed. “Took more than a passing interest in her, did you?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Apparently.”

“So are you going to ask her out?”

“Naw. She doesn’t need someone like me.”

Mary glared at him. “You know I won’t allow you to talk like that. You’re still the same guy I’ve known since seventh grade. A little worse for wear, true, but it only adds to your charm.”

He shook his head. “If I ever decide to try online dating, I’ll be sure to have you write my profile.” He gestured with the cup of coffee. “Thanks. I’ve got some things to check out with Joe — topics that don’t include my love life.”

Mary gestured to the back kitchen door. “You know where to go.”

Hunter went outside to the shop housed in what used to be the garage.

When Hunter walked in, Joe looked up from sanding a surfboard. “How’s it going?” he asked. “How’d you deal with your folks last weekend?”

Hunter sighed and leaned against a workbench.

“That bad, huh?” Joe said.

“Yeah. Dad hasn’t changed. He didn’t think much of me before I went to war. Now he can barely look at me. Mom wants me to sit at home and ‘rest’ all the time.”

Joe nodded and kept sanding. “It’s tough for civilians to get it. Even though it’s good to be home, I miss the guys.”

“Yeah. Know what you mean.”

The rasping sandpaper soothed the silence.

Time to ask.

“Joe, doing nothing is driving me nuts. I need a job. Do you have anything?”

Joe’s motions were steady and rhythmic. “We’re not really busy, Hunter. A couple of roofs while the rains hold off. Maybe some indoor work — sheetrock, that kind of thing. Not much for a man of your talent.”

“I’ll lay sheetrock, Joe, I don’t care. Just give me something.” Hunter tried to keep the desperation out of his voice.

Joe finished up and picked up a rag to wipe his hands.

“Okay,” Joe said. “I do have something you can do. Sheetrock job on the west side of Santa Cruz.” He scribbled something on a scrap of paper and handed it to Hunter. “Tell Chris Joe sent you.”

Hunter grinned and held out his hand. “Thanks, bro.”

Now all he had to do was find a more permanent place to live. Maybe it was time to tackle the woman at the inn again. The roach motel that was his temporary quarters wasn’t going to satisfy him long term.

But first things first.

By noon the next day Hunter was covered in sheetrock dust. He flexed sore muscles, grateful for the pain of making a living, instead of the pain of rehab. Chris, his new boss, seemed nice enough. After a few hours watching Hunter work the sheetrock, Chris had left him alone to go to another job location.

It suited Hunter just fine until the monotony of the task took over and he began to think too much.

Staying in a motel, even a cheap one, wasn’t going to do for the long run. He had some savings and a disability check that would last a little while longer, as long as VA benefits weren’t drastically cut by Congress. But making ends meet was never going to allow him to build the life he wanted on the tiny strip of land between the mountains and the sea.

He fit the 4 × 8 sheet snug next to the last one he’d placed on the studs, picked up the loaded screw gun and drove in the first screw.

He’d bet his last poker chip Sarah wasn’t married. But there was something going on with her. He’d seen it in her face. Why did she have to be the one to get
his
house?

He forced his mind back on the work and soon drifted to an automated state of mind — get sheetrock, screw it in, get sheetrock, screw it in …

An hour later, he took a break and chugged a bottle of water from the cooler stocked for workers, staring idly through the kitchen window at the curve of the bay in the distance. He wondered what kind of cabinets Joe had in mind for the high-end kitchen.

What had happened to the cabinets Hunter had made before he left for Iraq? He’d started a set of freestanding cherry wood cabinets from slabs he’d found buried in the back of an old lumberyard. His parents’ basement had provided a refuge and the wood had come alive in his hands. For the first time since his family had left Costanoa, he’d felt peaceful.

Until that final argument with his father, the one that had driven him to enlist.

Much as he didn’t want to, he was going to have to go to Sausalito for the weekend and see if he could find those cabinets. Were they as good as he remembered them? Could he build a business of his own making cabinets and freestanding furniture?
Something to explore with Joe.

Hunter picked up another sheet of drywall and slid it into the next opening.

In spite of the cool of the day, he sweated from the intense work, the moisture driving dust into the pores of his skin.

Should he find an apartment? The West Side was overrun with college students, but maybe he could find an apartment further south, although the places he’d checked out a few weeks ago were well beyond his budget. Ironically, the same economic collapse that had destroyed the housing market had driven rental prices up. Perhaps all he could afford was a room in an old house.