Walter’s Canteen
Pensacola Beach, Florida
Taylor shoved her cell phone to the edge of the table. She needed to stop. She glanced at Will sitting across from her, his eyes glued to the three hotdog surfers fighting the December waves. She grabbed the phone again. This time she shut it off, then reached over and dropped it into the tote bag she’d left on the extra chair between them.
She did need to stop it. Why did it drive her so crazy? She and Jason were not officially in a relationship. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Instead, he’d gone overboard trying to do everything expected. And yet, it bugged her.
No, that was too mild.
Fact was, it pissed her off that he preferred playing poker with his buddies when he could have been here having dinner with her and Will.
He claimed he didn’t prefer playing poker. It was a commitment he’d made to spend time once a week with these men. She understood that it was more therapy than some drunken excuse for them to get away from their significant others. Benny and Colfax didn’t have wives or girlfriends. The Segway House didn’t even allow alcohol.
Damn it! She was becoming one of those women she despised. If she was being honest with herself, she’d have to admit that it wasn’t about the weekly poker game. It hadn’t been a problem before. Not until recently, when the guys started including Brodie.
Jason never hid the inclusion. On the contrary, he seemed pleased that it was helping her get out and socialize. Put aside her fears. Give her a sense of self-confidence. Yada, yada...oh, she was tired of hearing about it.
Maybe she was being insensitive. She knew some of the tragedy Brodie had suffered. She had been taken as an eleven-year-old and held captive for years. What was it? Fifteen or sixteen?
To be fair, Brodie never played the victim-card. The first time she met her, Taylor knew nothing of her past. And what she saw was a tall, willowy, young woman with a natural beauty and gorgeous eyes that listened intently. What was worse, she was one of those women who didn’t know she was pretty. Or care how she looked or dressed. How could anyone compete with that?
Jason didn’t see it. Not yet.
But Taylor had noticed the way Brodie looked at him.
Taylor shook her head. She really needed to stop thinking about it. Jason was a nice distraction, but she needed to focus on Will. He was what mattered most.
He had his sketch pad out and his head down. One hand held his marker, the other blindly fetched popcorn shrimp, bringing them to his mouth without taking his focus off his drawing.
“Can I see?” she asked.
“Not yet.” He switched up markers. But the other hand continued with the shrimp.
“How about we go shopping tomorrow and get you those new sneakers you’ve been wanting?”
This earned her a look up. “I thought I had to wait for Christmas.”
“Maybe you’re getting other presents.” She pointed to his worn, dusty pair under the table. “You need new ones.”
He smiled—a wide, happy smile—then went back to sketching. No other trace of suspicion that his mother could be overcompensating because something might screw up their Christmas.
She sat back. Forced herself to take a deep breath, then let her eyes wander out across the water. The emerald waves sparkled in the last rays of sunset. There were very few diners on the patio. Too chilly for most. But Will loved it out here and never forgot his jacket so they could have their once-a-week dinner watching the sun go down. Walter always saved them this table. “The best view in the house,” he told Will.
Walter Bailey, the owner, was a retired Navy commander. He wore jumpsuits—sometimes tan, green, blue, even red—reminiscent of the ones he probably wore as a Navy pilot. His full head of hair was more white than gray. That, along with a slow, saunter and arthritic-bent fingers were the only signs of his age. He had a laugh that was full of life, deep-throated and genuine. When he called her “a lady,” it was out of respect, an old-world gentleman. She was glad that he and Will had become instant friends.
This was a good place for her and Will to start their new life together. She didn’t care if Dora didn’t approve of her too-small apartment above a marina shop. Harold was another good man. Another veteran. Taylor had run from military men when she came back to the States. In an effort to rid her mind and stop her nightmares, she thought it would help to be surrounded by people who didn’t share the same experiences. Only recently did she realize her mistake. Those shared experiences and talking about them were what she needed.
Just in the last six months she’d created a community of friends—all men, all veterans—and she’d never felt so mentally healthy. Being able to talk about the nightmares, listen to stories more horrible than her own...that was what she needed to feel whole again.
Dora lost her son. Mike had said his mother didn’t want him going to Afghanistan. She’d even gone as far as to say she hadn’t paid for him to be a doctor, only to have him go off and get shot at. As a result, she didn’t like Taylor “exposing Will to so many military men.”
As a mother, Taylor actually understood this. At one time, she may have even agreed with Dora. But Walter, Harold, Jason, Benny and Colfax were some of the best men she’d ever met. And she wanted her son to know them.
“How are my two favorite customers doing?” Walter Bailey weaved his way through the tables.
Will looked up and grinned at him.
“More shrimp?” he asked the boy.
“No, I’m good.” He glanced at his mom, then added, “I’m good, sir.”
“Did you save room for key lime pie? Freshly made this morning.”
“Can we, mom?”
She was trying to get him to slow down on the sugar. “How about one piece and two forks?”
“And coffee for the little lady?”
“Yes, please. Can you join us, Walter?”
“I’d love to. I’ll have Rita bring the pie and coffees,” he stopped and gestured to Will, “and a milk?”
Will nodded.
“I have something to finish,” he told them. “Then I’ll join you. I’m anxious to see that latest creation.” He chin-pointed to Will’s sketch pad, garnering yet another grin.
“I like him,” Will said when Walter was out of earshot. He started working on his drawing again, but suddenly, his head bobbed up as he remembered something. “Do you know what happened to my real grandpa?”
Taylor’s father had died from a heart attack when she was in college. She had told him this, so he was referring to Mike’s real father. In their short time together, Mike had never talked about him. Or at least she couldn’t remember.
“Have you asked your nanna?”
“She said it’s none of my concern. But Miss Rosa knew him. She worked for him a long time ago. She said I look a lot like him. She told me he liked to paint, and that’s probably where I got my...I think she called it inherent talent.” He sounded out the word inherent, breaking it into three words.
“Are there any paintings of his on the walls?”
He shook his head. He’d obviously asked.
“Miss Rosa said he was murdered.”
“Oh, Will, I’m sure you must have misunderstood.”
“Do you know what happened to him?”
She felt bad she had no answer. Usually, Will’s questions about his father were easy. But she knew nothing about his grandfather.
How could she tell her son that his father didn’t talk much about his family? That he’d joined the mobile surgical unit partly to get away from them. And worse, that she never really knew his father very well.
They were never a couple. They were together only a few times, and it was only sex. A stress relief for both of them. No emotions or love attached. In Afghanistan, they worked in close quarters. They drank a whole lot of vodka together to forget the images of the wounded men that they’d spent their days piecing together.
So much tension and urgency. So much frustration because all they could do was staunch the bleeding before releasing their patients to an airlift that could get them to a proper hospital.
The fact that she had gotten pregnant surprised both of them. She remembered Mike saying that maybe it was a sign. Maybe they were meant to have a normal life: a home and family after all the blood and death they’d experienced.
Will was waiting for an answer. She wondered why he was so curious about his real grandfather. And at the same time, she felt a pang of guilt for not being able to provide him with one.
“I’ll see what I can find out,” she promised.
“Okay.”
Satisfied, he capped the last marker and set it aside. Then he lifted the sketch pad for her to see. Taylor did a quick glance out at the water and back to the pad. Three abstract figures rode their surfboards over the waves that were wild and brilliant. Somehow, he had managed to even capture their movement. The sky behind them was ablaze with the setting sun.
“Oh, Will! It’s absolutely gorgeous.”
Dora was wrong. Her son was definitely not a doodler.