Meagan's Marine (Halos & Horns) (19 page)

Between the two of them, they got the
truck unloaded quickly. Mitch set the several gallons of paint in the utility
room, and unboxed the new heater. To Mitch’s surprise, it looked more like a
fireplace than an electric heater. “No assembly required?” He rolled it out of
the box in one piece and ran his hands over the solid wooden mantle and trim in
a rich walnut stain. “This is a nice piece of furniture.”

Roger nodded as he leaned over to plug
it in to an outlet. “We’ve enjoyed ours so much and since this place is kind of
small, the wife figured it would work nicely in here.” He pulled the remote out
of the box and put in the batteries. “Watch this.” He pointed the remote at the
heater and realistic flames lit up the logs in three different settings.

“Well kiss my ass!” Mitch nodded.
“That’s pretty cool, and that fan is blowing some hot air but you can barely
hear it.” He beamed down at Mr. Roger. “Just in time for that cold front we’re
expecting tomorrow night.”

“Oh Lord, I know. I hope it doesn’t come
in earlier and ruin trick or treat. Bessie must have bought five hundred bucks
worth of candy. If we don’t give that crap away I’ll go into sugar shock for
damn sure.” His deep chuckle rumbled in the air. “It’s kind of difficult to
hide that much candy from an old Marine scout with a sweet tooth, but every
year, my wife sure as hell gives it her best shot.”

He looked around to survey the place.
“Somebody will be in tomorrow to get measurements for flooring for me. When the
painting is done, I’m having new wood and vinyl flooring installed throughout
the house. Hope it won’t be too much of an inconvenience to you.”

Mitch laughed and waved at the sparse furnishings.
“What few things I have can be moved from room to room pretty easily.”

He grabbed two mugs from the cabinet and
turned. “How about some coffee, Mr. Roger?”

The older man nodded. “Sure, if you
don’t have some place to be.”

“Nope. Normally I’d be sleeping right
now, but that plan got shot to shit when I got a two a.m. message and had to go
check on a friend.” He poured the coffee he’d programmed to brew fifteen
minutes earlier.

“I take mine black.”

Mitch handed him a mug and poured a
second for himself—also black. In the absence of a dining table, they sat in
the living room with their coffee.

“Did I ever tell you how this happened?”
Mr. Roger held up his stainless steel hook.

“No, and I didn’t want to ask.” Mitch
sipped from his own mug.

“Damn grenade blew off the arm. While I
was knocked out, I caught a bullet in the jaw when my buddy was dragging me to
safety. Hell of a thing to wake up with no arm and only half of a jaw.” He
sipped his coffee and set down the mug on the makeshift coffee table.

Mitch stared down at Roger’s arm and
utilitarian claw. “Has it held you back? Did it keep you from doing what you
needed to do?”

The older man lifted his mug from the
makeshift table and smiled. “Wanted to do? I couldn’t bring myself to pick up
my guitar again. Need to do?
Naw
…I built a successful
business, bought several pieces of real estate that have allowed me to provide
for my wife. We never could have children and they wouldn’t allow us to adopt
because of our combined medical histories.” He waved his right arm to indicate
his jaw and prosthesis. “I had this and my wife has had insulin controlled
diabetes all her life. I guess they thought we wouldn’t be able to raise a
child properly.” He shook his head. “Sons-a-bitches! The worst thing is that
they’ve deprived us of grandchildren. Man, we see all our friends with their
grandbabies and it just twists my insides, you know? Poor Bessie became a
kindergarten teacher so she could be a part-time mother to those kids.”

After several moments of Mitch not
knowing what the hell to say to that, Roger’s gaze landed on Mitchell’s own
guitar.

“Please tell me you play. It’d be a big
disappointment if a man with a vintage Gibson LG-2 sitting in his living room
couldn’t play it.”

Mitch laughed at his coffee drinking
guest and picked up the guitar to break into
Bottle of Wine
.

“Damn, that’s a mighty fine sound coming
out of there. That wood has got to be aged at least a good fifty years.”

Mitch ran his hands lovingly along the
stock. “Closer to seventy; it’s a 1946 model and it was my dad’s. It’s about
the only material thing I’ve given a damn about since I joined the Corps.
Twenty five years of playing it has only increased my appreciation for its
sound.”

“Beautiful…nice full neck you can wrap
your palm around. That’s what I liked about that style. It was kind of like
holding a full-bodied woman. I don’t know why everybody goes crazy over those
bony assed models on television and magazines. And whoever the hell that Victoria
chick is, she can keep her damn secret as far as I’m concerned. Sheesh…those
gals are nothing but skeletons with skin.”

“And wings, Mr. Roger…don’t forget the
angel wings.”

Roger threw back his head as he laughed.
“They look worse than some of the guys we rescued from those ‘non-existent’
Vietnamese POW camps.”

Mitch nodded. “I
gotta
agree with you. I like a woman with muscular thighs rather than toothpicks, and
some meat on her. To me, there is nothing appealing about a woman whose butt is
too damn bony to do anything but slip right out of your hands when you grab
hold of it.”

Roger’s laughter rang out in the no
frills interior of the room.  “
Kinda
sounds like
you got your eye—or your hands—on some particular girl. Give this  nosey
old man the scoop, son.”

Mitchell’s mood grew somber at the
thought of the only woman he’d ever considered as more than casual
entertainment. “I, uh…I’ve got some issues to deal with before I can even think
about that.” Keeping his gaze averted, he felt, rather than saw, the man’s eyes
on him.

“Do you have any other family members
around, Master Sergeant?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a sister here.” After
filling him in on his twin nieces and new brother-in-law, he looked over at the
man. “How about you? Do you and your wife have any other family around?”

The old man’s eyes grew dim as he delved
deeper into his family history. “I had two brothers. I lost both of ‘
em
the same year I got injured. One, was a pilot in the Air
Force. He got shot down before I was hit. Our younger brother got his head
split open in a riot protesting the same war we were fighting. Called us both
murderers to our faces the last time we saw him.” He sent Mitch an amused look.
“Didn’t make for a very pleasant family gathering. Son of a bitch brought his
supply of drugs into our parents’ home, even lit up his bong in his old
bedroom, yet still had the nerve to accuse Wayne and me of being irresponsible
adults.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Don’t get
me wrong, I loved my baby brother, but he was always spoiled ass rotten. The
irony was that the dude who cracked him with the bat was also protesting the
war. Assholes were on the same side. That guy was too high to know who the hell
he was swinging at. Denny’s
girlfriend
got the whole thing on her 8mm
recorder.  Screwed her up so bad she shot herself. Left behind the roll of
film, along with a letter saying she blamed herself because she’d been the one
to introduce Denny to that whole ‘scene’ in the first place. Said she realized
what a cop-out it was after the fact, but couldn’t live with it.”

“God, that’s
gotta
suck, for everyone affected.”

“I know. Little brother had brains, too.
The kind that could have changed the world, made it a better place for
everyone.” The old man wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. “What a
waste.”

After an entire pot of coffee and a
two-hour visit that went by surprisingly quick, Mitch walked his landlord out
to his truck. They’d made several agreements during their talk. For one, Mitch
had offered to do the prepping and painting of the interior himself, as well as
installing the new flooring afterwards. He also agreed to draw up a floor plan
for the place with his laptop’s drafting software and get it printed to scale.
Roger was thrilled at the prospect of free labor, as long as Mitch agreed to
put it toward six months with no rent.

“Oh hell, I almost forgot to give you
this.” Roger reached inside his truck and handed Mitch a plastic container full
of tarts. “Here you go, son…fig pies and sweet potato pies, courtesy of the
wife. You won’t find any better.”

Mitch opened the container and tried a
fig pie, rolling his eyes in appreciation. “Oh man, is that good, or what? Tell
the lovely Ms. Bessie I said
merci
beaucoup
, and any old day of
the week she feels like spoiling me, I’m available.” He took another bite and
nodded again. “Yup. I’m about to go all quart of milk ballistic on a few of
these babies.”

“She’ll be glad to hear that. It makes
her feel good to pamper people. Oh, by the way, in case you were thinking about
going out to buy any pieces of furniture, you might want to check out our
storage unit first. All of our rent houses started out as furnished years ago,
but over the years, most of our renters have begun to bring their own
furniture. So we just started keeping some stuff in a climate controlled
storage building.”

He pointed to the house. “I noticed you
don’t have a dining table, and I’m pretty sure there’s one in storage, along
with a set of chairs, some end tables, and night stands, too. It’s a shame to
have it all just sitting there when someone could be using it.” He handed him a
key. “Here you go, it’s the storage facility behind the Market Basket on East 7
^th
street, right across from the bakery. Use whatever you think you can fit in
here.”

Mitch took the key from him. “Thank you,
sir. I’ll take a look, if you’re sure you don’t mind. I don’t have much because
I don’t need much…a bed and a recliner and a couch from my sister. But maybe I
could save you the rent from having to store the furniture.”

Roger chuckled as he started his old
truck and threw it in reverse. “Oh, we don’t have to pay to rent it—we own the
place.” He pulled out of the drive and waved as he drove off.

More than a little curious as to what
he’d find in the storage unit, Mitch remembered he needed to do some grocery
shopping, and the grocery store was near the storage facility. He went inside
just long enough to grab his truck keys off the counter and yank the grocery
list from the fridge.

chapter
22

Storage Units and Chance Meetings

“Holy crap.”

Mitch stared at the conglomeration of
‘stuff’ in the storage unit. He inched his way to what looked like a table,
yanked off the blanket used as a dust cover and nodded in appreciation. It was
one of those retro looking tables from the fifties, all chrome and covered with
red and gray Formica. Judging by the spots worn smooth and pattern free, this
was no reproduction. He pulled tarps from the three stacks surrounding it to
find six chairs, all covered in red vinyl.

Turning in a slow circle, Mitch saw
several items he could use, such as end tables, lamps, rocking chairs and
various other forms of additional seating. Everything from antique
chifferobes
and dresser drawers to an old china
hutch just like his and Sarah’s old Maw
Maw
Dee used
to have in her home. A good half of the items in the storage facility looked as
though they could have held a place of honor in that old woman’s house. The
other half was a hodgepodge collection of pieces of furniture that didn’t seem
to match anything else in the room.

He left the storage unit, satisfied with
his little foray, and promising to pay a return visit once he’d completed the
minor house-remodeling project.

****

Fifteen minutes later, he rounded the
fruit section, nearly colliding with a small boy wearing a brace on his arm. He
grabbed the child by the shoulders to keep him from falling. “Whoa, sorry
little man!” The boy lifted his face, staring up with familiar blue eyes as
Meagan’s voice reached Mitchell.

“Don’t run, sweetie. You already have
one broken arm.”

Mitch grinned down at the small boy.
“Hey, Buckaroo!”

Buck stared at him until it clicked. “I
know you. You gave me a pterodactyl.” He turned to face the woman just rounding
the corner. “Mama, look who’s here!”

Meagan stopped, the smile for her son
frozen on her face. “Oh. Hi.”

“Try not to get too excited.”

She gave a light snort. “Why should I?
Experience is a wise teacher, and it’s taught me it does no good where you’re
concerned.”

He winced. “I guess I had that coming.”

She nodded. “Yes, you did.”

“I apologize, Meagan.”

“For what? Scaring the crap out of me in
the wee hours of the morning or calling me a liar?”

He grabbed his shopping cart to keep it
from blocking the aisle. “Both, I guess. I don’t know where the hell that text came
from but I know you didn’t send it.”

She nodded before turning to examine a
bin full of apples. “I accept.”

He grabbed a bag of oranges from the
shelf and dropped it in his basket.  When he turned, she was facing him
wearing a curious look.

“How can you be so sure?”

He assumed an at ease position, his
shoulders relaxed. “I just know.”

She crossed her arms, as though daring
him to lie to her. “Yeah, right.”

He glanced at her buggy, saw her
backpack in the front section. “I see you found it.”

“I left it at the club, just as I
thought. But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

“I
sus
—” The
lift of her brow stopped him from going through with the lie of omission. “I
went by the club after I left your place and saw it, right where you left it.”

“You broke my phone.” Her tone was dry
and accusatory.

“I did not.”

“Don’t you lie to me.”

“I didn’t. I just—it fell.” He huffed,
annoyed that she knew. “The damn thing flew across the counter and fell on the
floor. It broke into a few pieces but I put it back together.” He shifted
uncomfortably, rested his hand on his hip. “How’d you know?”

“I suspected.” 

Just when he thought her glare was
equivalent to no further explanation, she spoke.  

“We were the last two people to leave
the club. I woke Red this morning to ask him to come unlock for me.  He
told me
you
were the only other person who has a key to this place. It
didn’t take a genius.”

He looked down at his feet, adjusted his
stance. “If I broke it, I’ll get you a new one.”

“It’s not broken. But did you find what you
were looking for?” Mitch didn’t answer so she repeated the question. “Did you?”

“It erased the damn call history when it
fell.” The words rushed out of his mouth in a jumble. The rest was a low
murmur. “Before I could check it.”

Her face transformed from stern,
school-teacher glare to an unexpected grin as she released a deep-throated
chuckle. “I
know
I should be more pissed at you for snooping, but the
thought of you panicked, with my phone in pieces, and wondering how the hell
you’re
gonna
explain it?” She giggled. “Well, that’s
just funny, right there. I don’t care who you are.”

Mitch would have been looking for a hole
to crawl into if Buck hadn’t come to the rescue. The boy started pulling on the
bottom of his shirt.

“Hey Mitch, guess what I’m
gonna
be for
twick
aw
tweat
? Guess!
Twy
to guess!”

He looked down at the boy, admiring his
energy and excitement, and always amused at his inability to make the ‘r’
sound. “Oh, I don’t know…a pterodactyl?”

“No, not that! Guess again.”

“
Frankenstien
?”

Buck’s face twisted in confusion. “Who?”

Mitch waved off the choice. “Never mind.
I guess you’re a little too young for that. Uh, can you give me a hint?”

“He’s
gween
and has
big
muscles!”

“Oh…and he goes like this?” Mitch bowed up
with his two fists and attempted a somewhat quiet Hulk-like roar.

“Yeah! The Hulk!” Buck gave an identical
roar only much, much louder.

“Okay, okay! Not here, please.” Meagan
hissed, trying to shush them. “You two are
gonna
get
us thrown out of here.”

Mitch laughed and ruffled the boy’s
hair. “Well, I bet you get a ton of candy tomorrow night.” 

Meagan groaned. “Yeah, just what he
needs.
More
sugar in his system.”

Buck nodded excitedly, his face lit up
with a huge smile. “Aw you coming with us?”

“Um, I volunteered to pull the hay ride
trailer full of parents and kids for trick or treating tomorrow evening. Red
insists that a single trailer is less dangerous than everyone going in separate
cars.” 

She nodded, keeping her arms crossed
tightly at her chest. “We’ll be on that hay ride, also.”

Mitch squatted in front of Buck and gave
him a big smile. “Well, then I guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow night, little
man.”

“Okay, see
ya
!”
Buck took off down the aisle like a shot, followed by his mom, who grabbed his
hand to stop him.

“Buck!” she hissed. “What did I say
about running in the store?” 

He stopped long enough to face her.
“Um—it’s not safe?”

She raised her finger to point at his
nose. “That’s right. You could hurt yourself or someone else, remember?”

He nodded once. “I
wememba
,
Mom.” He went to wipe his nose on his sleeve.

“Don’t you dare!” She pulled a tissue
from her pocket and wiped his nose. “Blow.”

He did as his mom asked and grinned up
at Mitch. “Bye!” He waved just before he headed off down the aisle.

Mitch laughed as he watched the boy
bounce from one side of the aisle to the other. “Man, I wish I had that kind of
enthusiasm for life.”

Meagan stuffed the tissue in her pocket
and pulled out a small bottle of hand sanitizer from her backpack. “I wish I
had that kind of energy. Just for a week or two, anyway.” She squirted some of
the clear gel in her hands and rubbed them together. “I could make a serious
dent in my to-do list.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. So, how
long does he have to wear that brace on his arm?”

“It’s been two weeks and the doctor said
at least four. It’s just a hairline fracture rather than a full break, but he
didn’t want to take any chances with it not healing as it should.” She stared
off after Buck.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Yeah, but don’t worry,” she said,
stuffing the bottle into the zip compartment of her backpack. “You’ll be too
busy driving to see much of us.”

“Meg—”

She raised her hand to cut off his
reply. “Look, I get that you’re not ready for a relationship, Mitch. It’s cool.
Forget it.”

Mitch watched her push her buggy over to
her son, just in time to thwart Buck’s efforts to reach a bunch of bananas from
the top of the heap.

He knew he’d hurt her…again. What he saw
as pure and simple concern for her safety, she deemed as nothing less than
rejection. Considering his words and actions in the past, he couldn’t very well
blame her.

Forget it
,
she’d said.

If only it were that simple.