Soldier On (16 page)

“They should. It’s effective.”

We both laugh just as Steph makes her way into the kitchen. She stops and looks at us as if we’ve lost our minds.

“You guys are way too happy for this early in the morning.”

I chuckle. She is
so
not a morning person.

After breakfast, I offer to clean up so that Steph and her mom can have a few minutes together before we leave. They head to the living room, and while I can see them on the couch, I try not to listen to their conversation. I still hear my name a few times, but I ignore it and focus on loading the dishwasher. Once the kitchen is as clean as I can possibly get it, I slowly make my way into the living room.

“Ready to go?” Steph asks.

“If you are.”

“I’ll just get my jacket.”

Steph disappears down the hallway, and I grab my own coat that’s hanging on the hook next to the door. Cynthia follows me out onto the porch.

“Thank you for cleaning, Brandon.”

“No problem. Thank you for breakfast . . . and dinner. And the talk.”

She pulls me in for a hug, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Steph appears on the porch and they hug, too. Cynthia makes me promise to drive safely, and we say goodbye before heading down the slushy steps.

Steph is quiet on the way back to campus, and I can’t help but wonder what she and her mom talked about just before we left. But I don’t ask.

Instead, I try to pinpoint why I have such an empty feeling in my gut.

I feel Steph’s eyes on me, but I stay focused on the road. The highway is clear for the most part. Just a few patches of snow and ice here and there. Still, I don’t want to lose my concentration for a minute. That’s how accidents happen.

“Mom really likes you,” Steph says.

“I like her, too. She’s sweet. Just like a mom should be.”

“Was that hard for you? Meeting her?”

“Not at all. I enjoyed meeting her.”

“That’s not really what I meant.”

I feel it again . . . that little twinge in my stomach that I can’t quite figure out.

“My mom can be affectionate,” she says. “She’s a big hugger. I just wondered if it made you feel uncomfortable. Or sad. You know, because . . .”

Because of my mom.

I consider that. I don’t feel
sad
, exactly, but I wonder if Cynthia’s motherly affection is the reason I’m feeling . . . whatever it is I’m feeling.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been hugged by a mom,” I admit quietly.

“Was it weird?”

“Not at all. It was nice.”

“I’m glad. And I really appreciate you going with me. You didn’t have to do that, but I’m grateful you did.”

“I’d do anything for you, Steph.”

She reaches across the console and laces her fingers with mine. Steph smiles at me with her sweet, trusting eyes, and I know I have to find a way to tell her the truth.

Time to soldier on, even if it means losing her.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Brandon

Once a month, ROTC students are required to wear fatigues and volunteer at Magnolia Gardens, a local nursing home for veterans. We play checkers, help with crafts, read stories, or just sit and talk. Over the past few semesters, I’ve gotten especially close to a man by the name of Tom McBride. Tom served two tours in Vietnam and was awarded the Purple Heart after a grenade attack left him completely blind. Despite his disability, Tom went on to graduate from college and became a history teacher. He and his wife never had children, so when she passed away last year—and after he suffered his second heart attack—Tom became a permanent resident at Magnolia Gardens. Tom loved the Army and was deeply devoted to his wife until the day she died.

When I find him today, he’s sitting on a wooden bench out on the deck. He’s wearing a light jacket and his favorite Hoosiers ball cap.

I place my hand on his shoulder. “Afternoon, Tom. The sun’s nice today.”

He lifts his face to the sky. “Hello, Brandon. Yes, it is. Unseasonably warm for mid-February. Better enjoy it. I heard someone say we might have thunderstorms tonight. Hard to believe we had snow last week. But of course, that’s to be expected. You know what they say about Indiana weather.”

“If you don’t like the weather, just wait a few minutes. You know, we say the same thing in Kentucky.”

“Huh.” He slides over, making room on the bench so I can join him. “How’s school?”

“Very busy. Between my classes and PT, I’m wiped out.”

He nods. “Making good grades?”

“So far.”

“Good. Dating any pretty girls?”

I frown. “
One
pretty girl, yeah.”

“You don’t sound too happy about that.”

“I’m happy. It’s just complicated, Tom.”

“People make it complicated. Love. Honesty. Respect. That’s all you need. What’s so complicated about that?”

I don’t have an answer.

“Want to talk about it?”

With a heavy sigh, I lean back against the bench and gaze out across the lawn where a few residents are taking advantage of the sunshine. Most are in wheelchairs, and I always wonder if it was the military or simply old age that made the chairs a necessity.

“Tom, I’m in love with this girl. She’s perfect for me in every single way imaginable, except for one.”

“Which one?”

“She despises the military.”

He sits up a little straighter, and I worry that I’ve offended him. Instead, he surprises me by asking, “Does she have a reason to hate it?”

“She never met her father. He was killed in Desert Storm before she was born.”

“I see. And because of that, she resents the military and everything it stands for.”

“Isn’t that crazy?”

Tom shakes his head. “It’s human nature, Son. For a long time, my wife wouldn’t talk about my time in Vietnam. You see, Connie blamed the war for my blindness. She couldn’t be mad at
me
, because she loved me. I bet that’s how your girl feels. In her mind, the war took away her father. She can’t be mad at him, so she lashes out at the thing that took him away.”

That makes sense. It still doesn’t help my situation.

“She doesn’t know I’m in the Army. I haven’t told her.”

Tom sighs deeply. “Remember what I said? Love. Honesty. Respect. It’s hard to have one without the others. You have to tell her.”

“But I could lose her.”

Tom reaches for my hand. He finds it and gives it a reassuring pat.

“Love. Honesty. Respect. Trust me, Brandon.”

A nurse comes out onto the deck, telling Tom it’s nearly time for his meds and his afternoon nap.

“A few more minutes,” he says.

The nurse nods and smiles at us before heading back inside.

“Wearing your uniform today?”

Thankful for the change of subject, I sigh with relief and glance down at my camo.

“Yeah. Just fatigues and ID tags.”

“Don’t say
just
fatigues and ID tags. Be proud of them. It’s an honor to serve your country, Brandon. Not everyone can do it. Not all young men and women have the determination and drive.”

I don’t tell him I’m questioning my determination and drive these days. Instead, I offer to read to him from today’s newspaper. He’s always interested in the news, especially sports, so I make sure to hit the basketball highlights. After a while, I notice he’s grown quiet. I lower the paper to find Tom with his eyes closed and his chin resting against his chest. Panic swells inside me, but then he lets out a deafening snore. Chuckling, I wave to one of the nearby nurses.

“Mr. McBride’s out like a light,” the nurse says. “You must have a soothing voice.”

“Or I’m boring, Take your pick.”

She laughs and gently wakes Tom. We say goodbye, and the nurse takes his arm to help him to his room.

I spend the rest of the afternoon helping with some holiday craft that involves making carnations out of tissue paper. That’s when I realize February 14
^th
is just a few days away. I have no idea what to give Steph for Valentine’s Day.

The truth would be nice.

My stupid conscience is becoming pretty vocal, keeping me up at night and making me an irritable ass during the day. I’m just trying to find the right time. The right place. The right moment.

Call me crazy, but something tells me Valentine’s Day isn’t the answer.

A clap of thunder jerks me awake, interrupting the first decent night’s sleep I’ve had in weeks. Lightning flickers through my window as rain and wind pound overhead.

Tom was right about the storms.

I’ve always found something cool about severe weather, especially when tornadoes are involved. Then again, maybe I just find them interesting because we don’t get a lot of tornadoes in eastern Kentucky. Living in Indiana, where tornado warnings can be a weekly occurrence depending on which part of the state you’re in, has certainly opened my eyes to the damage that can come from even the smallest twister. Last year, when an F-2 hit a small town just outside of Evansville, our class spent a weekend repairing roofs and removing uprooted trees in the community as part of our field training exercises.

After that experience, I had a much deeper respect for Mother Nature’s fury.

I climb out of bed and throw on a pair of jeans. I head to the bathroom, but as I step out into the hallway, I notice a flicker of light coming from the living room.

Weird.

I peek around the corner, and that’s when I see her. Steph is on the couch, wrapped in a blanket with Bangle in her lap. Candles are lit around the room.

“Steph?”

Her head snaps up.

“Hi.”

“What’s wrong?”

She doesn’t answer, so I slowly walk over to the couch. I don’t sit down, though. I wouldn’t want to invade her space if she’d rather be alone. I also don’t want to be clawed by her evil cat.

“Can I sit?”

Steph nods stiffly, and I know something’s wrong.

“Crazy storm, huh? Did it wake you up, too?”

“No, I haven’t slept.”

“Not at all?”

She shakes her head, and I glance down at my watch.

“Steph, it’s three in the morning.”

“And it’s been storming on and off since midnight.”

Really?
I actually couldn’t remember falling asleep. I was so exhausted after the nursing home, I’d barely undressed before collapsing against my pillow.

Thunder crashes overhead, making both of us jump. Steph exhales a quivering breath and holds her cat a little closer.

“What’s with the candles?”

“The power went out about an hour ago,” she says, her voice trembling. “Bangle . . . she doesn’t like storms. I mean, she’s seriously afraid of them. She has been since she was a little . . . kitten. “

“Why didn’t . . .
Bangle
wake me? I could have kept the two of you company.”