Dorothy Garlock - [Tucker Family] (16 page)

“Since I’m about ready to pitch over on my face,” Vinnie chuckled, “I figured I oughta bum a smoke offa you before I do it.”

“They’re German,” Holden told him.

“As long as they ain’t wet, I don’t give a damn if they’re Chinese.”

The men lit each other’s cigarettes and were content to smoke for a while in silence, watching as the sun began to peek over the horizon.

“Damn, that hits the spot!” Vinnie said after taking a long drag. “Maybe those Germans know how to do somethin’ right, after all!”

“Say,” Holden asked, “If you’re over here, who’s guarding the other side of the pasture?”

“Don’t worry about it. The Nazis are fifty miles east of here by now and gettin’ farther by the minute. Besides, ain’t havin’ somebody to talk to a helluva lot betta than pacin’ back and forth, dreamin’ ’bout sittin’ in fronta that fire? Lucky stiffs! It’s so cold out here a fella could freeze his meatballs off if he wasn’t careful!”

Holden couldn’t help but laugh. And Vinnie did have a point; company on a morning like this sure beat standing alone.

“I ever tell you ’bout my cousin Sal and the two Sicilian broads he was supposed to pick up at the docks?” Vinnie asked, but he didn’t wait for an answer before starting in. “Sal’s always drivin’ that taxi of his, though everyone knows he got the job ’cause his deaf uncle on his mother’s side knew this one guy who imports bananas who called in a favor. Anyways, he…”

Even though Holden and every other guy in the unit had heard this particular story, along with all the other ones Vinnie was so fond of telling, he had no desire to interrupt. But just as he started to chuckle to himself, recalling how the tale of Vinnie’s cousin ended, a faint sound pulled at his attention.

“Hang on, Vinnie,” he said, listening intently. “Do you hear that?”

Carried on the wind, barely audible over the slowly stirring birds, was a steady droning, a noise not unlike the rhythmic buzzing of bees; the sound sent a shiver running down Holden’s spine.

“Airplanes.” Vinnie nodded.

“But whose?”

“There ain’t no way German planes are still flyin’ round these parts.” He chuckled. “I told you, they’re
miles
from here. So anyway…”

Holden’s unease wasn’t so easily calmed. He scanned the skies above, straining to find the source, but it was hard to localize the sound and the closeness of the trees didn’t allow for much visibility. The noise grew steadily louder and ever closer. Vinnie was probably right; it was probably a squadron of American Mustangs or British Spitfires, nothing for them to worry about. But Holden couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong—

Suddenly, they were nearly startled out of their boots by a pair of planes roaring over the edge of the forest, their wings scarcely clearing the treetops, hurtling past the field in which the men stood, dumbfounded, before banking over La Boissière. As they turned, their insignia were visible in the morning sunlight.

“Germans,” Holden said, his mouth going dry. “Those are German planes.”

“Aw, shit,” Vinnie muttered.

Though the aircraft had thundered past them at tremendous speed, they were already making a turn. Holden had no way of knowing what the pilots had seen, if it had been him and Vinnie standing in the pasture or if they’d somehow noticed the vehicles sheltered beneath the trees, but there was no doubt that they were coming back for a reason.

“Run, damn it! Run!” Holden shouted, pulling Vinnie with him.

La Boissière stood nearly two hundred yards away; Holden knew there wasn’t much chance of reaching it before the German planes caught them, but the possibility of safety was enough to get him moving. The ground was uneven, a mess of furrows and holes, causing him to stumble, nearly going down, but he somehow managed to stay on his feet, desperate to get away.

“We’re gonna make it,” Vinnie huffed beside him. “We’ve gotta!”

Holden felt as if his legs were submerged in molasses, as if time were standing still, but only for him and Vinnie. He didn’t dare look back over his shoulder, understanding that death was pursuing them.

Halfway there, Holden heard the unmistakable sound of the airplane’s machine guns roaring to life, spitting out bullets that chewed up the earth all around them. Holden and Vinnie both dived to the ground, their hands over their heads, their helmets pushed down around their ears. The sound was deafening. At any moment Holden expected a bullet to pierce him, ripping into his flesh and taking his life, but by some miracle it didn’t happen. Instead, the planes raced over him and away. For an instant, he felt a tremor of hope.

But then he heard the whistling…

Holden had been a soldier long enough to become familiar with that noise; it was the sound of a bomb plummeting to earth.

Paralyzed with fear, Holden saw his life flash before his eyes; images of his family, of Longstock, of the future he’d so desperately sought, all shot past him, tantalizingly out of reach. Once the bomb struck, everything he had built toward, everything he’d ever wanted, would be taken from him.

“Move, damn it all!” Vinnie shouted, yanking Holden’s arm so hard that it was nearly pulled from the socket. “Move!”

Though Holden managed to make it to his feet, he couldn’t find the strength to go forward, tottering unsteadily, as Vinnie continued on without him. Holden’s ears were filled with the shrill sound of the bomb’s descent. In the face of such overwhelming fear, a part of him had already given up.

When the bomb exploded, Holden saw everything clearly: how the German pilots had understood the greater strategic importance of the huge manor house, how firing their machine guns at him and Vinnie was likely an afterthought on their approach, and that by running to La Boissière he and Vinnie weren’t rushing to safety but to their doom.

The worst was what happened to Vinnie; Holden was looking right at his friend when the bomb exploded short of the house, tearing him limb from limb. Flesh, bone, and blood rained down on Holden, while Vinnie’s helmet was hurled over Holden’s shoulder and back into the pasture behind. In an instant, Vinnie was gone.

When the other soldiers in his unit raced out of La Boissière, their shouts tinny in the deafening aftermath of the explosion, Holden hadn’t moved an inch, his eyes wide and his voice gone, covered in the gruesome remains of Vinnie Burretti, frozen shock still, except for the violent tremors racing down the length of his left arm. Crushed in his palm was a pack of German cigarettes.

For Holden Sutter, one fight had ended, but another had just begun…

When Holden finished telling Christina what had happened to him in France, he was surprised to discover that she had been correct about one thing; unburdening himself
did
make him feel a bit better, as if a tremendous weight had been taken from his shoulders. Dredging up the memories of that fateful morning, remembering a day that had haunted him ever since, had been difficult, but he understood that he’d taken a huge step forward, one that might someday lead to his recovery, and it was all because of Christina.

“I…I don’t know how to thank you,” he said.

“But I didn’t do anything,” Christina protested, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. “It was you. You’ve unlocked the door to your memories.”

Holden shook his head. “I may have been the one speaking, but if it wasn’t for your coming here,” he explained, looking at her, trying not to lose himself in her remarkable beauty, on both the inside and out, “I would never have told another soul…never…”

“You would have talked about it eventually,” she disagreed. “Someday, you would’ve told Tyler or your mother. Maybe you would have shared it with your uncle. But I’m still glad you decided to tell me. I’m honored.”

Holden knew that Christina was mistaken in her belief that he would’ve eventually opened up to someone else, but the last thing that he wanted, right then, was to argue with her. From the first moment he’d met her, he’d known Christina was
special
, different from any other woman he’d ever encountered, and nothing that’d happened since had caused him to question that belief. He even allowed himself to think that maybe she was right; maybe there was a chance he could get back the life he’d thought lost…

“So what do I do now?” he asked.

“You just took a huge step.” She smiled, making his heart beat faster. “Now you need to figure out what the next one will be, and then the next, and then the next, until you’re right where you want to be.”

“But I…I thought that…you would just tell me…,” Holden answered, momentarily confused.

“Only
you
know the answers.”

“But I
don’t
!”

“Yes, you do,” Christina said, rising from the bed and carefully making her way toward the door.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To dinner. That’s why I’m here. Your mother invited me.”

“But I wanted to talk.”

“Then come with me.”

Holden was surprised by how easily she suggested it, as if it were as simple to do as breathing or writing one’s name. But he knew that he couldn’t do it, he just
couldn’t
, not yet, not so soon. He opened his mouth to protest, to argue that she was asking too much, but suddenly stopped short.

Christina had already gone, leaving open the door to the hall.

W
HEN CHRISTINA CAME
down the stairs from Holden’s room, she found Tyler talking with his mother in the kitchen. He was giving her a hug, the door open behind him, as if he’d just arrived. He looked up and smiled, his features instantly brighter.

“My mother says you’re joining us for dinner,” he said. “I suppose enough time’s passed for you to forget how horrible it is to sit across from me.”

“This time, I expect you’ll be on better behavior,” she answered.

“I wouldn’t bet on it.”

“He will be,” Clara added, “or he’ll spend the night in the garage!”

Christina was undeniably happy to see Tyler; a couple days had passed since he’d taken her to visit his beehives and she hadn’t realized how much she missed spending time with him. Still, she doubted that he had any idea that she’d come to speak with Holden; either Clara had chosen not to tell him or there hadn’t been time. Something between the two brothers had been broken; Christina hoped that there was still time for it to be fixed.

“I haven’t had a chance to thank you for my gift,” she said to Tyler once Clara had left the room.

“What gift?” he replied, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“Who else would have brought me honey? Did the bees enjoy my visit so much they flew a jar all the way across town?”

“I thought you should enjoy the fruits of my labor,” Tyler admitted.

“
Your
labor? Don’t the bees do all the work?”

“Hey now!” he answered in mock indignation. Pulling up the right sleeve of his oil-stained work shirt, he showed the underside of his forearm; angry welts reddened his elbow. “They might
make
the honey,” he chuckled, “but it isn’t easy getting it out!”

Christina laughed; she was really beginning to enjoy what was growing between them. Though Tyler was still a rascal, it was easy to spend time with him, to laugh at his jokes. One moment was comforting, the next exciting. It also didn’t distract from her pleasure that Tyler was as handsome a man as she’d ever met.

Still, Christina kept thinking about Holden. Listening to what had happened to him during the war weighed heavily on her heart. His having witnessed the harsh, brutal death of his fellow soldier and his continuing fear that danger was everywhere were partially the cause of his tremors. Recovering from such a trauma was hard, but it
wasn’t
impossible. Christina believed what she’d told him; the only way he was ever going to get better was to talk about it. Together, they’d taken the first step, but there was still a long way to go.

Christina had been sincere when she’d invited him to come down for dinner; she doubted he’d accept her offer but had extended it just the same. She
wanted
to help Holden any way that she could. Though she’d unquestionably started off on the wrong foot with Holden, just as she had with Tyler, she found their odd relationship growing stronger.

Who knew where it could go?

Just like the first time she’d come for dinner, Christina found Clara’s table to be a smorgasbord of plenty. Another thing that remained the same was that a place was set at the table for Holden; a plate, silverware, a glass, and a napkin were arranged in expectation; Christina hoped that they might be used someday soon. After saying a blessing, Clara encouraged them to dig in.

Christina loved everything on her plate; she hoped that she’d eventually be as good a cook as Clara. It was turning out to be a wonderful evening and Christina was happy that she’d been invited, even if she’d gone about it a bit underhandedly. While Tyler wasn’t as obnoxious as he’d been during the first dinner, he was still feisty.

“So where’s Uncle Samuel tonight?” he asked between chews. “It isn’t like him to miss a free meal.”

“I invited him, but he said that he couldn’t make it,” Clara explained. “He said something about not feeling well.”

“He looked a little drawn at the clinic,” Christina agreed.

“I just
bet
he’s been under the weather,” Tyler mumbled. “He probably gave himself too big a shot.”

“Tyler!” Clara shushed him. “You shouldn’t say such a thing!”

“Why not?” He shrugged. “It’s not like I’m lying!”

“Don’t talk like that in front of company,” she scolded, glancing quickly over at Christina.

“You think she doesn’t know yet?” He chuckled. “Heck, she’s spent every day since she got to town with him. Trust me, she knows.”

Christina had wondered whether Dr. Barlow’s family was aware of his morphine problem; obviously, they knew. She’d contemplated saying something to Tyler in the hope that he might have some advice, but now she understood that all he would’ve given was ridicule.

“I’m sorry about this,” Clara said to Christina, clearly upset.

“That’s all right,” she answered. “Tyler is right, though. I
have
noticed…things…”

“See?” Tyler jumped in before forking another bite into his mouth, not knowing when to quit.

“Actually,” Christina continued, ignoring him, “I’d hoped that we could talk about his problem. The other day—”

Before she could say another word, Christina fell suddenly silent; what had stopped her, what seemed to snatch the air out of her lungs, was the sound of footsteps.

Holden stopped halfway down the stairs, his heart pounding in his chest. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead and his nerves felt frayed. At any moment, he expected his left arm to start shaking; carefully, he steadied himself by placing it on the wood banister and taking a deep breath.

You’re almost there…hold yourself together…

He wasn’t anxious because he’d left his room. Almost every night, Holden unlatched his bedroom window, carefully sneaked across the porch’s roof, and shimmied down a trestle to roam Longstock’s streets. But this was the first time he’d allowed others to see him. He could only imagine what his mother’s reaction would be. Tyler’s, too. But in the end, there was only one person whose response
really
mattered.

Christina
.

Holden couldn’t believe the impact she’d had on him; it was hard to imagine that he’d met her only a couple of days earlier. Regardless, he found himself wanting to please her, to show her that he’d listened to what she’d said. Because of her, he knew he had to change and had started to
believe
that he could.

Even the fear of his arm trying to shake itself loose from its socket no longer paralyzed him. He knew that he wasn’t cured, that at any moment he could lose control of his own body, but now that he’d unburdened himself
everything
suddenly felt possible, including returning to the life he’d once so desperately wanted.

Holden felt he looked like a wreck. Before he’d left his room, he’d tried to make himself more presentable, putting on a different shirt and combing his hair. Still, he hadn’t been able to look at himself in the mirror for very long; he didn’t much like the man who looked back.

Well…here goes everything…

Holden slowly made his way down the rest of the stairs and, with his heart twisting itself into a knot, stepped into the dining room.

Because she’d heard him coming, Christina was looking at the doorway to the dining room when Holden entered. Immediately, tears sprang to her eyes. He appeared tired, his heart and body exhausted from his telling her about what happened during the war, but when his gaze met hers he gave her a smile that brightened his whole face.

“Is there room for one more at dinner?” he asked.

Hearing her son’s voice, Clara gasped, dropped her silverware with a clatter, and nearly leaped from her chair. Seeing Holden in the doorway, smiling faintly, sent tears coursing down her cheeks; for a long while she didn’t say anything, her mouth open, wondering if what she was seeing was real or a cruel dream.

“Ho…Holden…,” she managed. “Am I…are you…?”

“Yes, Mother,” he replied.

“Oh, my boy!” Clara cried, rushing to embrace him tightly.

With her arms around Holden, her face pressed to his chest, Clara finally set her emotions free from the shackles she’d placed on them, shaking and sobbing so hard that when she spoke no one could understand a word. Incapable of moving, Holden instead tried to comfort his mother, placing his hand on her back and trying to hush her hysterics, but it did no good.

“I see that there’s still a place set for me,” he said, looking over her shoulder at the table.

His words managed to break through Clara’s tears. “I knew…I
always
knew that you’d get better! I knew it!”

“There’s still a long way to go, but today,” Holden said, looking over at Christina, “someone helped me take the first step.”

Clara followed Holden’s gaze and, when she understood that he was looking at Christina, her face glowed as brightly as a Christmas tree. “This is all because of you!” she gushed, wiping the tears from her face. “I don’t know how, but you’ve given me my son back! Thank you, oh, thank you!”

“I…I didn’t do anything, really,” Christina answered, a bit self-conscious.

“Don’t be so modest, dear! Of course you did!”

Christina was embarrassed by Clara’s praise. She knew how hard it’d been for Holden to talk about the war; because of that,
he
deserved all of Clara’s congratulations. Still, Christina took some pride in getting him to join them. Clearly, he
wanted
to recover; the fact that Holden was standing in the dining room was proof of that. Thrilled by what was happening, she turned to Tyler, ready to share in the joy he must be feeling at having his brother back.

But when she looked, she found that Tyler was staring at
her
, not Holden, and that his eyes held a simmering anger.

Tyler looked at her for a moment longer, the edges of his mouth turning up into a vicious sneer, before turning to look at his brother.

“You’re nothing but a coward,” Tyler spat, wading up his napkin and throwing it down on his plate.

“Tyler!” Christina shouted sharply in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“Ever since they shipped you home, you just stay in that damn room of yours and make our family the butt of every joke in Longstock!” Tyler kept on, his voice growing louder with every word. “You’ve refused everything we’ve done to help you! You have no idea how many nights I’ve had to listen to Mother cry because of how you’ve treated her! And now we’re just supposed to forget everything you’ve done, all because,” he added, glancing at Christina, “someone’s told you you’re better? You’re pathetic!”

Holden received his brother’s hateful words in silence; Christina didn’t know if the reason he didn’t defend himself was because he agreed with Tyler or if he didn’t want to upset his mother. But neither did he bow his shoulders under the weight of Tyler’s accusations. Instead, Holden stood taller, listening to every word, unblinking and unwavering.

Clara could no longer bear to hear one of her sons speak so viciously. “How can you say such things, Tyler?” she wailed, her tears returning with a vengeance, no longer full of joy and relief but confusion and pain. “He’s your brother! Your family!”

“No, he’s not!” Tyler growled back, standing up so quickly that his chair clattered to the floor behind him. “To me, he’s dead!”

Before anyone could say a word, Tyler stalked from the room, slamming the kitchen door behind him so loudly that it sounded like a gunshot, leaving everyone left behind dumbfounded.

Banging the door shut as hard as he could, Tyler leaped down the short stairs, skidding to a halt in the tall, dew-laden grass of the backyard. Anger constricted his chest and his hands were balled into fists. He thought about screaming or finding something hard to hit but instead stared up into the cloudless sky, wondering if his rage would subside if he counted the countless stars; he doubted if even
that
would help.

“Damn you, Holden,” he muttered. “Damn you…”

Seeing him appear in the doorway had almost stopped Tyler’s heart. He’d been struck speechless. It’d been so long since he’d even tried to reach out to Holden, so long since Tyler had even
seen
him, that it was as if he’d somehow forgotten who he was. But then Tyler had followed Holden’s eyes, finding where they’d gone, listening to what his mother said, that Christina had encouraged him.

Christina Tucker had mesmerized Tyler. Remembering the afternoon he’d taken her to see his beehives had dominated his thoughts for the last couple of days. She was so
different
: challenging, intoxicating, nothing like any of the other women he’d ever met. He liked that she didn’t take his guff but gave it back instead. When she looked at him, he saw someone he wanted to get to know better, whom he wanted to allow to see the real him.

But now Holden was interfering.

Fearful that if he looked over his shoulder, Christina would be staring back, Tyler chose to walk away. When he’d learned that Christina would be coming to dinner, he would never have imagined that it would end as badly as the first time, but here he was, retreating to the garage after again making an ass of himself.

Damn you, Holden.

For the second time since she’d come to Longstock, Christina sat at Clara Sutter’s dining room table, amazed that a family could behave in such a crazy way. Christina’s ears still rang with the sound of the kitchen door slamming shut, as she struggled to accept that Tyler had
again
made a scene. She found herself unable to say a word, her voice lost.

“Why does he have to be that way?” Clara wailed. “How could he say such terrible things to his own brother?”

Christina had no answer. She and her sister, Charlotte, were certainly different from the Sutter brothers. Their bond of family was unshakeable; even when they’d been children, Christina could never remember their saying such hurtful things. It was almost unbelievable, though she’d heard every word.

Her eyes couldn’t leave the door; she held on to a sliver of hope that Tyler would reappear, explaining that it was all a terrible joke and rejoicing at his brother’s recovery. But with every passing second, she understood that Tyler had meant every word…