Wind Chime Café (A Wind Chime Novel) (22 page)

She heard Taylor’s laughter out in the yard where she was laying in the grass with Riley, catching the leaves as they spun down from the trees.

Will took one step into the room and Annie’s fingers curled around the chime.

“Annie,” he said quietly.

She crossed the room to where he stood, walking into his arms.

When his mouth came down on hers, she kissed him back.

And for the first time in her life, she wished more than anything that she had the power to make a man stay.

O
n Monday, Will made his way across the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center campus in Bethesda. He’d spent most of the past weekend with Annie and Taylor. He wasn’t surprised that the more he got to know Annie the more he liked her, but he hadn’t expected to enjoy hanging out with her eight-year-old daughter so much.

Taylor was different than most kids her age. After everything she’d been through this year, they could understand each other.

He’d asked Annie what had happened to Taylor’s father. She’d said they’d both been really young when she got pregnant, and he hadn’t been ready to be a father. But Will had a feeling there was more to the story than that.

He’d decided not to press it. For now.

Walking into the Prosthetic Care Center, he signed in at the front desk. The receptionist pointed him down a hallway and he followed the sound of voices to the fitness center, where a dozen injured veterans and active duty service members were lifting weights inside a large room filled with exercise equipment. Physical therapists and prosthetic technicians were tracking their progress, and a few family members were on hand for moral support.

Scanning the room for Colin, he spotted the former SEAL on a treadmill in the far corner. Six months ago, when Colin had been medevac’d out of Afghanistan, Will hadn’t known if he would survive. He should have known better.

Colin was a fighter.

Will stepped into the gym and several people glanced up, including Colin.

His former teammate’s face broke into a smile as he paused the belt and stepped off the machine, walking with a slight limp on the prosthetic. “Long time no see,” he said, holding out his hand.

Will took it, not at all surprised that from the waist up, Colin could have still passed for a SEAL. His upper body hadn’t lost an ounce of its active duty bulk. “You look good, man.”

“Thanks.”

So did most of the people in this room, Will realized. It didn’t matter that they’d lost legs or arms. They were working hard to restore their bodies back to the shape they were in before they got hurt.

He would be doing the same thing if he were in their shoes.

Will drew his hand back, looking down at the prosthetic attached to the lower half of Colin’s left leg. “How does it feel?”

“Not bad,” Colin said. “It takes a little getting used to when they make an adjustment, but I can’t complain.”

No, Will thought, Colin wouldn’t complain. Several years ago, they had spent forty-eight hours in a 115-degree Somali desert to gather intelligence on a high-ranking Al Qaeda terrorist. They had lain perfectly still in the scorching sand for two days while flies chewed on their faces.

Colin hadn’t complained once.

They wove through the exercise equipment to where a young black man, about nineteen or twenty years old, was doing resistance training on the mats. He wore prosthetics on both legs. “Sergeant,” Colin said, helping him to his feet. “I’d like you to meet my former teammate, Lieutenant Commander Will Dozier.”

The young man held out his hand. “Vince Morgan, sir. It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Call me Will,” Will said as several more pairs of eyes in the room swung toward him. “Are you the same Vince who talked Colin into signing up for the run in Baltimore?”

He stood up straighter. “I am, sir.”

“How many miles are you up to now?”

“Only one. But I’ll get there.” Vince squared his shoulders. “We’ll all get there.”

Colin smiled. “He’s got eleven of us signed up now.”

“Eleven?” Will looked back and forth between the two men. “I’m impressed.”

“I’m aiming for twenty-five,” Vince said.

Colin looked back at Will, his voice sobering. “Everyone’s committed to raising a thousand dollars to go toward a handicap-accessible home for one of the guys in his unit. His friend was paralyzed from the waist down. He’ll be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life.”

“How old is your friend?” Will asked Vince.

“Twenty-three.”

Will shook his head. Twenty-three was way too young to be paralyzed. He gestured to the metal contraptions that had taken the place of both Vince’s legs. “Did this happen at the same time?”

Vince nodded. “Our convoy ran over an IED in Kandahar. I was one of the lucky ones.”

One of the lucky ones.
Will glanced back at Colin. For the past six months, he’d lost sleep over severing his friend’s career as a SEAL, for killing his marriage before it even happened. But did Colin feel the same way Vince did? That he was one of the lucky ones—lucky to be alive?

“If we can raise $25,000 for the run,” Vince continued, “my friend will have enough for the down payment of the house and a live-in nurse for the first few months.”

Will looked at Vince’s dark, determined eyes. Twenty-five grand wouldn’t set up the disabled vet for the rest of his life, but it was a start. The government was only going to do so much for these guys. Who else was going to step up and help them if not their fellow service members?

“Come on,” Colin said, nodding toward the rest of the room, “I’ll introduce you around.”

Over the next hour, Will talked to every wounded warrior in the room. He heard their stories, their struggles, and their triumphs. He listened to their fears about their future. A few of them were planning to stay in the service, but the ones who’d been injured too badly to serve were worried about the transition to civilian life.

He didn’t blame them. He’d heard enough disturbing accounts of vets who couldn’t adjust, who couldn’t find work, who slowly withdrew until they became completely isolated, even from their friends and family.

By the time he and Colin left the Prosthetic Care Center, he was beginning to wonder how many more former service members were out there struggling, too proud to ask for help?

“Are you still planning to work on your father’s reelection campaign through the fall?” Will asked as they crossed the lawn to the parking garage. He could hear the traffic on Rockville Pike zooming by in the distance.

“I am,” Colin said, shouldering his gym bag.

Will noted the resigned tone in his friend’s voice. “You don’t sound too happy about it.”

Colin shook his head. “I want to support my father. He’s done a lot of good things for the state. But I don’t want to be a prop.”

“What do you mean?”

“He wants me to come to his speeches, stand on the stage, show off my leg. Look at my son, look what he sacrificed for the country, look how patriotic we are.”

“To help get the military vote?” Will asked.

Colin nodded.

“Why don’t you just say no?”

“I could, but I haven’t come up with a better plan yet. To be honest, I spend most of my free time here. Some of the patients, especially the ones in the beds,” he said, nodding toward the main hospital, “don’t get as many visitors. I come here a few times a week to hang out with people, see if they need anything. A lot of them just want to talk. But I wish I could do more, figure out how to help them get back on their feet.”

Will let that sink in as they walked into the garage and rode the elevator up to the floor where they were both parked. They stepped out onto the top level, navigating through the rows of cars. “When does your father’s campaign get rolling?”

“Not for a couple of weeks.”

Will paused when they reached his SUV, a plan slowly beginning to form. “Didn’t you used to have an uncle who was a carpenter?”

Colin nodded. “I spent all my summers in high school and college working with him.”

“Feel like swinging a hammer for the next few days?”

Colin lifted a brow. “What did you have in mind?”

“I could use some help fixing up my grandparents’ place.”

“The one you’re trying to sell?”

“Yeah.” Will unlocked the SUV, wondering why that question suddenly left such a bad taste in his mouth. “The one I’m trying to sell.”

“Tell me something,” Colin said, studying him. “Does the
complication
you mentioned over the phone a few days ago have anything to do with a woman?”

Will leaned against the vehicle, looking back at his former teammate—a man who he’d been on countless missions with, who he’d graduated BUD/S with, who he’d learned how to dive with, jump out of helicopters with, fire a sniper rifle with. A man who he’d trained with and fought with for over ten years. “Have you ever known me to let a woman complicate things?”

“No.”

Will smiled. “Then, no.”

“But there is a woman, isn’t there?”

“There are a several women on the island.”

Colin smiled back. “Then count me in.”

Annie rummaged through
her closet, searching for something to wear. Behind her, Della sat on her bed, sipping a wine cooler and flipping through a
Southern Living
magazine.

“How’d we do today?” Della asked.

“Good.” Annie pulled a black wrap dress off a hanger and tossed it onto the bed. “Better than I expected.”

“Good enough to keep the bank off our backs for another week?”

Annie nodded, glancing over her shoulder. “I might even be able to cut you a paycheck on Friday.”

Della beamed. “I told you we’d be back on track in no time.”

Annie turned back to the closet, passing over a gray jacket and two more black cocktail dresses. “The only reason we’re back on track is because you called every person on this island and begged them to come in and have lunch this week.”

Della flipped the page in the magazine. “There’s nothing wrong with calling in a favor now and then.”

“But that’s the second time you’ve called in a favor for me.” Annie slipped a black pencil skirt off the hangar and laid it on the bed. “What are they going to expect in return?”

“These things have a way of working themselves out.” Della picked up the skirt, shaking her head. “This looks like something you’d wear to work at an office.”

Annie tossed it back in the closet. “But what if no one comes back next week? What if they only came in because they were doing us a favor?”

Della smiled. “They’ll be back.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“You need to have a little faith.”

Annie’s fingers closed around the sleeve of a blue wrap dress. “I should stay in tonight. I have too much to do.”

Della set down the magazine. “You are
not
staying in tonight.”

“The Waterfowl Festival is less than two weeks away. I need to update the website, start building some buzz on social media.”