We’re making cookies, Captain,” Leo said.
“For Mr. Masterson,” Nick added.
Sam gazed around the kitchen. He hadn’t been gone for an hour, only enough time for a short walk and a visit to the library to pick up a couple of paperbacks. What did he find when he got home? The general sitting at the table while Winnie and Leo added ingredients to a bowl and Nick greased a cookie sheet.
Not being much of a cook, Sam knew he didn’t have a single cookie sheet in the house. He didn’t have a bowl or measuring cups or flour. He possessed nothing to use in baking because he and the boys had packed it up and Willow had taken it to the thrift shop. What he did have was a mess in his kitchen and two interfering busybodies—the general and Miss Winnie—who didn’t know the difference between meddling and helping.
But he also had Leo and Nick there. That was good. That felt right. “Hey, guys, how are you?” Then he realized what Nick and Leo had said. “Cookies? For Mr. Masterson?”
“Yes, sir.” Nick waved a napkin covered with shortening. “Your father, the general—” His voice filled with awe. “The general,” he repeated and seemed to savor the words, “said a marine helps others.”
“He said since Mr. Masterson baked that cake for you, we should return the favor,” Leo said.
“Gosh, General.” Sam infused every syllable with sarcasm. “What a nice thing to do. How are you helping in the effort?”
“I’m sampling.”
“He’s telling us what to do,” Winnie said, but her words contained a spark of humor.
“He’s good at that,” Sam said. “He can command and I’ll sample.” Sam sat and placed his books on the table. “What kind are you making?”
“Snickerdoodles. Already in the oven.” Nick nodded in that direction.
Aah, yes, the aroma of cinnamon filled the kitchen.
“And chocolate chip because the general likes those best.” Leo attempted a surreptitious swipe of dough but Winnie spanked his hand.
“They’ll be done soon,” she warned.
“Then what?” Sam glanced back and forth among the four, certain something else was going on. He bet two of them had planned this and two of them were innocent pawns in the duplicitous scheme. But if so—he glanced around the kitchen—where was Willow?
“Mom’s picking us up at five,” Leo said.
Aha, the pieces were falling into place.
Leo glanced at the clock.
“The general says we’re all—you, the four of us cooks, and Mom—going over to Mr. Masterson’s house to give him the cookies.”
“Most of the cookies, ’cause we want to eat a few, too,” Nick said.
Sam glared at the general. “You’ve got to stop butting in.”
The man smiled. Not an answer Sam trusted. Actually, not a response he’d ever seen before except way back when he’d been a little kid, before the general had become the general.
“Might as well give up on that,” Winnie said. “I think that’s how he got to be a general: butting in and ordering people around.”
At five fifteen, before Willow even reached the porch, the boys had waylaid her and explained the plan. As they did, she glanced up as if looking for him. Then the boys came back inside for the wrapped cookies and hurried outside as the general grabbed Sam and hustled him out. Not that Sam really minded or protested too much.
“This isn’t my idea,” Sam said. Somehow—although Sam knew it had been part of the general’s plan—he and Willow had ended up together several yards behind the others.
“You’re moving well.” Willow studied him professionally. “How’s the pain?”
“Can’t we just talk? I mean about something other than my leg or the pain?”
“Sure.” She glanced up at him. “I left the hospital only a few minutes ago. I’m still in physical therapist mode. Let me switch that off.” She blinked then smiled up at him. “There, I’m in person mode. What would you like to talk about?”
He had no idea because he’d been so distracted by that smile he’d barely heard what she said. He only knew what he didn’t want to discuss: his leg and going to a movie with Winnie and the general and Willow and the boys, just the six of them. Instead he asked, “Would you go to a movie? With me?”
She stopped. “And your father and the boys in Winnie’s car?”
He quit walking and stood next to her. “No, only the two of us.” He wasn’t exactly sure how he’d handle that. He would be able to drive his car, but he hadn’t tried yet and he bet a Mustang wouldn’t be the best vehicle for him now. Great car for a single man to show off his machismo. Horrible car for an amputee to try to get in and out of.
“I don’ t think that’s a good idea, Captain.”
He held up his hand. “Please call me Sam. You’re in person mode now.”
“Okay, Sam, but I told you I’m not interested in a relationship and you said you weren’t, so why?”
“I don’t believe I said exactly that. I think I said I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing with my life so probably I’m not in a place where I could pursue a relationship.”
She shook her head. “No, that’s not what you said. I would have remembered that.”
He hunched his shoulders and stuck his hands in his pockets. “What’s wrong with going to a movie? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Winnie and the others are trying to get us together. It’s not going to stop. If you think ‘making cookies to repay Mr. Masterson’s kindness’ is the real reason for this outing, you’re wrong. We’ve been set up.”
She tilted her head and scrutinized him. “Are you saying we should give in without a fight?”
“I don’t know what I’m saying. I want to take you to a movie. Why’s that such a big thing? I haven’t asked you to marry me or to sleep with me or to have a relationship of any kind. It’s only a stupid movie.”
She blinked but didn’t say anything, only stared at him, her mouth slightly open.
Because she hadn’t objected yet, he kept going. “I’m tired of staying home with the general. He’s not a great deal of fun. And, yes, you attract me. And, yes, I want to kiss you again, but it’s only a movie, not a commitment for eternity.” He stopped when he realized he’d shouted the last few words. He took a deep breath before glancing ahead. The others had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk about twenty feet ahead of him to watch his tantrum with great interest.
“Oh,” she said calmly. “Well, if it’s only a stupid movie, fine. I’ll get a sitter for tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at six thirty.”
“I can…” Well, no, he couldn’t drive but he hated that she assumed that.
“Don’t get all macho on me.” She glared at him. “I have your records. I know you haven’t driven yet. Forgive my self-interest, but I prefer to get there and home alive. If we go out again, after you’ve practiced, you can drive.”
He nodded and stayed on the sidewalk as she walked toward her sons. He watched her, thinking that that had gone a lot easier than he’d expected. On top of that, she’d said he could drive the next time they went out. Maybe not exactly those words, but that’s how he interpreted them. They would go out again.
Of course, he still had no idea what to expect or what he wanted in the future, but one thing was sure. He felt good being with Willow. Cheerful. Even optimistic, a little, as much as he allowed himself to be.
The shouting had felt good, too. It had opened something inside he’d kept closed up. It had loosened his frustration. Maybe he should yell more often.
He watched Willow and her sons as the whole crowd went up the steps, rang the bell, and handed the box to Mr. Masterson. After a minute of chatting, the do-gooders turned and started back.
“Mr. Masterson really appreciated that.” Nick hopped toward Sam. “He said we could come over and make a pie with him sometime.”
“He said thank you and didn’t even mention the time we were in his backyard,” Leo said.
“Yeah, I know how he felt. I remember the time I found two short, redheaded, very noisy marines in my backyard.”
“Captain.” Nick ducked his head and laughed.
“But you like having us around and you were glad to see us,” Leo said. “Once you got used to us and stopped drinking.”
These were great kids. He hated that they knew, that they’d witnessed his worst traits. Maybe if he behaved really well, they’d forget that drinking-too-much part.
Maybe they could even accept him and their mother being together. He bet they’d like that. In fact, he knew they’d be on Sam’s side.
Could he get them to influence her? He didn’t think that would work. She didn’t look ready for more, and she wouldn’t like him using her sons to further a romance.
But at least he and Willow were going to that stupid movie together.
“I need you to do two things for me.” Sam hated to ask the general for help. Wouldn’t have a few years ago.
The general stood by the stove, turning the bacon. With that idiotic pink towel hanging from his belt, he didn’t look as imposing and inaccessible as Sam remembered him.
“What do you need, son?”
He’d never called him that, “son,” when he’d wanted to hear it. Not in high school when he’d won letters in football, track, and baseball and had gone to state in the hundred-meter. Not even when he’d gone to A&M on a football scholarship. The general hadn’t paid him much notice at all until Sam had gotten his leg blown off, the biggest foul-up of his life.
“I need to practice driving my car. Would you help me?” The request hadn’t hurt at all. “I’d thought about getting hand controls,” Sam explained as if the general had asked that. “But they told me at Walter Reed I should be able to drive once I got used to this new prosthesis.”
“Fine. When?”
“In an hour?”
The general nodded as he put a plate in front of Sam, and the few words of conversation ceased.
As he was shaving after breakfast, Sam considered his reflection. He looked a lot healthier. His face had filled out some, possibly due to the good cooking of the Widows and the big breakfasts the general served.
But his hair took more time to wash and dry than he wanted to spend. It took hours to groom the mess and a fortune on what they called “product” to tame it, but if his long hair didn’t bug the general, what fun was that? It looked as if the general had won this fight without even fielding a platoon.
When they arrived at the high school parking lot, the general took out some books he’d stowed in the trunk and placed them on end to mark a course for Sam to maneuver through.
“You’re doing fine, son,” the general called out as Sam knocked down six books in a row. “Be patient. Give yourself time.”
It wasn’t that Sam couldn’t steer; that was easy. It was controlling the speed that caused him problems. Alternating between the brake and accelerator felt as if he had to pull his foot from thick mud. He didn’t have the motion down well, which meant he didn’t slow as quickly as he’d like.
“You’re getting better.” Although he had paled when his son nearly mowed down a post near the entrance, he didn’t cringe when Sam barely missed the chain-link fence surrounding the area. Of course the man had faced bombs, mortar, and grenades in battle.
The two near wrecks had taken place only moments after Sam had taken control of the car—or not taken control, because the vehicle had taken off on its own. After fifteen minutes of intense effort, Sam seldom headed toward total destruction of the Mustang or the fence or the general, who occasionally had to leap out of the way. Yes, his driving had improved but the pressure on his knee and the stress of attempting to drive perfectly had worn him out. Not that he’d tell his fa… Not that he’d tell the general. He stopped the car, got out, and walked around to settle into the passenger seat.
“We’ll come back tomorrow,” the general said as he strapped himself in the driver’s side.
Sam nodded. “I want to get my hair cut.”
Did he detect a grin on the general’s face? A quick shimmer of gloating in his eyes? But all the man said was, “Okay, let’s get to the barbershop.”
“Not the barbershop. Aunt Effie used to take me there when I was a kid. They shaved me. Head for the strip mall on the highway east of town. I saw a place there.”
They found themselves in a shop with neon pink chairs and curtains that he hadn’t thought the general would enter. Now the man sat in the reception area on one of those feminine chairs and leafed through a book on hairstyles as if he planned to dye his hair blue or get a Mohawk.
When the stylist had completed the cut, Sam studied himself in the mirror.
“How do you like it?” the young woman asked, razor in hand.
He nodded. It looked better. He looked better. Nearly human again. Would Willow like it?
Crap. He hadn’t done this for her. Maybe for the boys, so they wouldn’t get the idea that long hair was masculine. For himself because it was easier, but not for Willow or the general or anyone else.
But the questions remained: Would she like it?
“Nice cut.” Willow admired the new Sam after he settled in the passenger seat. He’d been great looking before, but now he looked gorgeous and tough. She could barely drag her eyes away from him to watch the road.
Sam had pulled himself in and settled in the car without, of course, a smidgeon of help from her, thank you. As she pulled away from the curb, she asked, “What’s the occasion? The long hair didn’t bug your father enough?”
He laughed. “How’d you know?”
“Hey, I have two sons and I’ve worked with military men for years.” She flipped on the blinker to turn onto the highway and toward Marble Falls. “I know ’tude and machismo.”
From Sam’s relaxed position, she guessed he didn’t feel a bit emasculated with her driving. At least, he didn’t hold on to the edge of the seat and point out oncoming cars. They talked comfortably about her life with two sons and his with a military father.
Later, during the movie, he did the stretch-and-drop maneuver to drape his arm over her shoulders. She hadn’t had a man do that since she was a teenager, but it still worked and he had the maneuver down pat. She even put her head on his shoulder and he nuzzled her a little.
When they left the theater, she had no idea what to do next. She hadn’t been the driver on a date before, if this was a date. She decided not to take him to a make-out place, although she remembered a few from her youth. They could go to his house, but the general was probably there with Winnie, which cut down on privacy. The boys would be at her apartment with a sitter, and she wanted to spend more time with Sam. Alone. Talking. Maybe more.
As Mattie and Adam left the theater, he recognized the couple a few yards ahead of them and called, “Hey, Sam, Willow.”
Adam was a little—okay, very—surprised to see the two of them. An odd pair, but they looked good together. When the couple stopped walking and waited for them, Adam asked Sam, “You get a haircut? I can tell you didn’t go to my barber.”
“I learned from your experience.” Sam smiled.
“This is Mattie Patillo, minister at the Presbyterian Church.” Adam nodded at her. “Mattie, I’d like you to meet Willow Thomas, a member of the Christian Church, and my friend Sam Peterson.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Mattie grinned.
“So how’d you like to get something to eat? There’s a coffee shop just down the highway.” Adam pointed. “Easy walk.”
After he said that, Adam glanced at Sam. Could he walk that far? His gait looked good and comfortable now, but would it last?
“What do you think?” Willow asked Sam.
“I’m game,” he said.
Then Sam took Willow’s hand and gazed at her with an emotion Adam hadn’t seen in his eyes before. Of course, the two men had only shared a few pizzas and watched some preseason football so he’d have been unlikely to see tenderness in the soldier’s expression. Thank goodness.
“Sam’s been so good with my sons.” Willow turned toward Adam. “You know Leo and Nick are active kids.”
The minister nodded, still keeping his eyes on Sam.
“I’m very grateful for all he’s done.”
To Adam, the words almost sounded as if the trip to Marble Falls were a debt she was repaying with her presence. Evidently Sam read it that way, too, because he kept his eyes on her face and all the tenderness the minister had glimpsed there seconds before drained away, replaced by a blank stare. When Sam looked away for only a second, Willow’s expression held longing.
What was going on between these two? Would they be good for each other? Maybe. A current flowed between them even as they attempted to ignore it. What could he do to help?
Oh, good Lord. He sounded like Miss Birdie. Immediately he said, “Come on. Let’s go. This place has great pie.”
Willow felt more and more nervous the closer the car got to Butternut Creek. Once or twice she glanced at Sam, then back toward the road.
Now that he was no longer her patient, she really wanted to kiss him again, but she had no idea how to put a move on a guy in the car. Her date had always done that. Was Sam as confused as she was? Probably he’d never put a move on the driver, but she didn’t doubt he’d figure out how.
Maybe she should pull into a dark area, turn toward him, and let him take over, but that sounded passive and unlike her.
“Please don’t let me out under the streetlight in front of my house, because I want to kiss you,” he said, his voice seductive as well as holding a note of amusement.
She glanced at him, then quickly turned her head and kept her eyes on the road. Could she tell him she felt the same without the words catching in her throat?
“I want to kiss you, too.” Yes, she could say that.
He grinned. “Could you find some place to pull over before we get to my house so my father and the neighbors aren’t watching us?”
Life didn’t get much better than that. Well, it would when she stopped but for now, that comment and his smile were enough.
“Especially not Mrs. Gohannon who lives across from you. Biggest gossip in town.” She kept her eyes on the road and drove along the curving highway toward Butternut Creek. In fact, they were nearly to his house before she pulled off into a neighborhood park, turned off the lights and engine, and turned toward him. As he slid across the seat, she held up her hand.
“Not so fast. I have a question for you. “
He groaned. “You overthink everything.”
“That’s probably true, but I need to know this. Why are you interested in me? I’m not like the other women I imagine you’ve dated. I don’t flirt. I’m not a bit girlie.”
“You’re right. You’re nothing like the women I’m usually attracted to. Obviously I’ve been interested in the wrong kind of women.”
Why did he have to be so darned charming? She steeled herself to say, “I’m divorced and have two kids and work long hours.”
“Exactly the kind of woman I’ve been looking for.”
“What? Why?”
He took her hand. That felt really good. How could only a touch fill her with so much pleasure?
“I have no idea,” he said. “I knew you were the one when I first saw you. After I got acquainted with you, I was even more certain.”
She considered that for a few seconds. “You’re not saying it was love at first sight.”
“Probably not. Maybe attraction at first sight or chemistry or a lightning strike, but you are the woman for me. I’m not going away until we can figure this out.” He shrugged. “Maybe we can’t. Maybe we have too many complications, but I want to try.”
He drew his index finger down her cheek and gave her the smile she’d attempted to ignore. As if any woman could.
“You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?”
How could she resist him?
“Okay.” She nodded. “I need to point out that this is a local make-out place so just one kiss. I don’t want the cops to check on us. That would be embarrassing.”
He placed his hand on her shoulder and moved it slowly to her neck.
She took off her seat belt and moved closer to him. “Only a kiss for now.”
“But…”
“Hey.” She held up her hand. “That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.” Oh, sure, as if she’d drive off now. “I want us to get to know each other better.”
“Kissing is a great way…”
“For now I prefer the old-fashioned way. Conversation.”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
She grinned and nodded. Then Sam increased the pressure on her shoulder and she slid into his arms, at least as close as she could with the console between them. Since this was to be the only kiss tonight, she hoped it would be good and memorable.
And it was. Oh, Lord, it was.
A few days later, the Widows met at the diner after the lunch rush to discuss the church and duties and who was sick and who needed help.
But they didn’t mention Sam and Willow because they’d done everything they could and weren’t prepared to admit failure or congratulate themselves for possible success. They’d just allow that relationship to simmer.
“What about the preacher?” Winnie asked. “Who else can we find for him?”
“How ’bout that new CEO at the asphalt company?” Mercedes suggested.
“Her husband died not too long ago. She’s not ready.”
“I’m fixin’ to give up on him,” Birdie said. “And you know how much I hate to concede defeat.”
“I had hopes for Howard’s niece,” Mercedes said. “Too bad she was only visiting for a week.”
Birdie shook her head. “Left before we could even introduce them.”
“Not a spark between Pastor Adam and Reverend Patillo?” Winnie asked.
“None at all. Lost cause.” Birdie shook her head. “All right,” she stated. “Let’s get down to business. Winnie, take notes.” Birdie didn’t think of Winnie as the third Widow, not like Mercedes did. In Birdie’s mind, Winnie was a provisional Widow. Maybe a Widow-in-waiting but not a full-fledged Widow, not yet. But she did take good notes.
When Winnie nodded, Mercedes, chair of the church elders, said, “Don’t forget, there’s an elders’ meeting Wednesday evening. Will you both be there?”
The other two nodded.
“And we need to call a meeting of all the women of the church about the spring festival,” Birdie said.
Before they could really get started—because Butch did make those nice apple coffee cakes for the diner and each had a healthy slice—Birdie’s cell rang. After a short conversation, she turned it off and stood, fixing the other women with an unwavering gaze. “Ladies, we are needed.”
Mercedes and Winnie leaped to their feet, gathered their purses and totes, and followed Birdie.
The Widows had accepted the mission.
“Heaven help me,” Adam murmured as he turned off the phone. In fact, heaven help all of them because the Widows were on the way.
Oh, he knew good and well the women were the best people to get the job done. They’d get the rooms in the parsonage fixed up in no time and do it right. But the whirlwind of the three of them—because Winnie had become an even greater force when triangulated with the other two—could rock the foundation of the house.
This was why Adam had started over to the church as soon as he called them, to get away. After a few steps, he paused beneath the huge oak tree that stood on the edge of the parking lot, midway between the parsonage and the church. He couldn’t—could not—abandon the Smiths. Deanne had been discharged and would be arriving within the next hour. He’d called Howard to collect her, her mother, and Missy, and drive them here. No matter what the preacher might tell himself about all the work that awaited him at the church, he couldn’t allow the family to walk unsuspectingly into a house filled with Widows.
Adam turned, slowly, and ambled back to the parsonage just as a pickup pulled into the parking lot and Jesse stepped out.
“Got a load of furniture from the thrift shop for you, Pastor.” Jesse went to the back of the truck and opened the tailgate. “Give me a hand?”
Within minutes, they had beds set up in the previously unused parlor on the first floor. As they finished, the Widows bustled in with armloads of linens. Within a few more minutes, the parlor had been turned into a bedroom for Missy and her mother and grandmother. After another load arrived from the thrift shop, they put a bed in each of the two empty bedrooms on the second floor. The women made all the beds, tossing a colorful quilt on each.
Finished, Jesse, the Widows and the preacher stood in the hallway and looked into the larger parlor, admiring their work. Wall-to-wall beds, but the family didn’t want to be separated.
“We fixed up the upstairs bedrooms,” Mercedes said. “Just in case Hector and his sister do need a place to stay. And who knows? Maybe others will need a temporary shelter.”
“It’s truly a service to the community, Pastor,” Winnie added.
Then Miss Birdie made a noise Adam hadn’t heard before and couldn’t describe. It suggested possible agreement and maybe a bit of pleasure in the thought.
The pillar looked around the parlor and nodded. “Nicely done.” She straightened the quilt a bit. She might have meant the remark as a compliment for her minister, but Adam wasn’t sure. It could have meant she admired the pattern of the cover.
“I’ll be back in a little bit, Pastor,” Winnie said as she hustled out. “Have a few more errands to run.”
“I have to get back to work.” Miss Birdie took off after Winnie, and Jesse followed.
The departures left Adam alone with Mercedes, with whom he always felt comfortable.
“Preacher,” she said. “I talked to my grandniece—she’s a social worker for the state—about Hector. She made three suggestions. First, he could petition to be an emancipated minor and he’d be Janey’s guardian. Second, she could be placed in foster care with you—or, third, both Firestones could be in foster care with you. If you plan to board youngsters here, you should be licensed as a provider, just to make sure it’s all legal.” She handed him some papers. “Fill these out and I’ll take care of that.”
Adam nodded. “Thanks for doing all this.”
“You know, Deanne couldn’t have taken care of herself in San Saba,” Mercedes said. “Even with her mother there, she wouldn’t have received the physical therapy and nursing care she needs. Taking care of both of them would have exhausted Mrs. Peppers. We’ve done a good thing, Preacher. I’m glad you and Winnie talked us into this.”
Once she left, Adam put the laptop on the dining room table and started to work. He finished the bulletin and sent it to Maggie, filling the service with Miss Birdie’s favorite hymns. She deserved a reward.
By noon, Winnie had returned with Sam’s father and a dozen grocery sacks. The two stocked the cabinets and refrigerator with enough food to last if nuclear war broke out.
After they left, Howard pulled into the parking lot and helped Deanne inside. Missy and Eleanor followed her. Pale and tired, Deanne fell asleep as soon as she hit the bed. Missy curled up on the toddler-size bed and slept. Adam tugged the quilt over her as Howard brought in several plastic sacks of what Deanne had accumulated in the hospital.
“I have the key to my daughter’s house,” Eleanor said. “Howard’s going to drive me to San Saba. I’ll pick up some clothing and Deanne’s car. Be back in a few hours.” She glanced at the two sleepers.
“I’ll stay here. Don’t wear yourself out.” As he watched them move down the sidewalk, Adam allowed pleasure to flood him and remembered his favorite verse from Micah: “… what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness and to walk humbly with your God?”
The church was doing the Lord’s work, reaching out in kindness. He was blessed to reap the bonus of having company in the huge and previously echoingly lonely parsonage.
Sam glanced at the clock. Seven thirty. In the morning.
How was he supposed to sleep with the general whistling—yes, whistling!—in the kitchen? The man had never whistled, at least not in the span of Sam’s memory. Of course, for a lot of that time, the general hadn’t been at home. He’d been overseas or transferred so Sam didn’t know that the general never whistled, but whistling suggested happiness. The general had seldom showed any emotion, much less happiness.
Wondering why in the world he was considering this when all he wanted to do was fall back to sleep, Sam pulled the pillow over his head. He hadn’t noticed this before, but whistling has a particular pitch that is not at all moderated by the placement of a pillow over one’s ear.
“What are you doing out there?” he shouted toward the kitchen. “Somebody’s trying to sleep in here.”
The whistling stopped abruptly, a realization that bothered Sam. The general had finally showed a positive emotion and Sam had told him to shut up. Amazingly, he had. Now Sam felt guilty.
He rolled to the edge of the bed, attached the prosthesis, and pushed himself up. By the time he reached the kitchen and could see the general standing at the stove with that stupid pink towel protecting his camo shorts, Sam regretted his outburst. He’d acted like a grunt.
“Sorry I woke you up, son.”
“Sorry, Dad.” The word and the apology slipped from his mouth without passing through the censor he usually kept on his statements to the general. Sam hoped maybe he wouldn’t notice.
He noticed. His smile reached his eyes. “Oo-rah,” he said.
Who says “Oo-rah” at seven thirty in the morning while preparing breakfast?
The general put the eggs and bacon on a plate and set it on the table. “Sit down, son. Have some breakfast.”
“You didn’t know I’d be up now.” Sam scrutinized him. The general was smart, always prepared, but, “This is your breakfast, right?”
“Hey.” He held his hand up. “I can always fix more. Why don’t you sit down and enjoy?”
Rude to refuse. Besides, the stubborn man wouldn’t eat the food after he’d offered it to Sam. It’d be stupid to turn it down. If he did, no one would eat it. Sam sat, pulled the plate and fork in front of him, and dug in while the general put bread in the toaster and tossed a couple more slices of bacon in the pan.
“Winnie says I should cut down on bacon.” The general looked into the skillet longingly before picking up the slices with a spatula and wrapping them back in the package, uncooked.
How serious was this relationship? The general had known her for only a few weeks and was giving up his beloved bacon? Sounded very serious.
“So,” Sam said casually. “Are you going out with Miss Jenkins again?”
The general grabbed the toast when it popped up, smeared margarine and jelly on it, and brought it to the table. He placed one slice on Sam’s plate, then sat down and tore the other piece in half. After he’d taken several bites, he swallowed and looked at Sam.
“You know how much I loved your mother.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know, I know. Maureen was very special. After she died, I never found another woman I liked to be with, one who was interesting and attractive. I enjoy being with Winnie.”
Sam had always suspected the general had mourned his wife’s death as much as Sam had grieved for his mother, but he’d never showed it. He’d stood stiff and emotionless at the cemetery during the interment. Sam had done exactly the same, a perfect little image of his father but feeling like a scared little boy inside. Not that he’d ever told the general that.
In fact, much of the problem was that neither of them knew how to share his feelings. He’d believed they still didn’t, but the general sure seemed bent on trying.
“I didn’t date much, even years after Maureen died. After all, I was trying to bring up a young son…”
“I was ten,” Sam corrected.
“Yes, but that seemed really young to me. I had no experience with any kids but recruits.” He shook his head. “Son, I apologize for my failures. I had no idea what to do with you.”
So you sent me to stay with relatives or to boarding school during the academic year and to Texas or Ohio in the summer, Sam wanted to say, but he held the words back. For years he and the general had argued about the man’s lack of interest and what Sam considered to be abandonment, but they’d never discussed emotion. Maybe Sam had grown and changed a little, because he didn’t want to cover the same ground again.
Or maybe his tours of duty had made him realize how hard it would be for an officer to raise a child by himself.
“You and my career were my only priorities for years. You don’t have any idea how much I regret not getting to see you grow up.”
“You never told me.” Sam attempted to control his reaction and not sound judgmental.
The general shook his head again. “Really messed up with you, son. Don’t ever think I’ll forgive myself for that but…” He caught Sam’s eyes. “But I’d like to make up for it. I tried to be a good father but had no idea what to do. I treated you like a recruit because I didn’t know how else to relate to a kid. It’s what my father did.”
“Hereditary?” Sam couldn’t resist getting that dig in.
“Hope not. Hope you’ll treat your sons differently. You’ve done well with Willow’s boys. They respect and love you. Wish I’d done that well.”
Hadn’t he treated Nick and Leo like marines? Maybe it was a congenital problem. Not that they were his sons.
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. After all, I don’t see them every day…” The general hadn’t seen him every day, either, but Sam had to let go of that offense for now. “I’m not the one who has to take care of them or build their character. Being their friend is a lot easier.”
“Maybe, but, son…” The general paused and seemed to search for words. “Son, please give me another chance. You’re my only child. I miss you. I know your mother would’ve wanted us to get along, to be family.”
“Hard for me to guess what a woman who’s been dead nearly twenty years wants.”
The old man’s face hardened as if he were hurt that his son had rejected him. But what was Sam supposed to say? Or do? A lifetime of disappointment and anger, and the walls he’d built to contain it, would not evaporate because the general called him “son” and said “please.” Even if Sam wanted to just let it all go, he still felt it, all of it. And he didn’t know if he could survive without that core of fury.
“Yeah, sure,” he said, pretty sure the general would pick up on the sarcasm. “Maybe we could go fishing sometime. Isn’t that what fathers and sons do?”
“I’m not giving up,” the general said.
Sam knew he wouldn’t. The man never did. Unfortunately the general sounded wistful, an emotion much harder to ignore than his command voice.
“Changing the subject a little.” The general stood and poured himself and Sam each a cup of hot coffee. “About Winnie. I think she’s an attractive and intelligent woman. I enjoy being with her and see no reason to be alone the rest of my life.”
Sam almost spilled his coffee on his lap. “Are you getting married?”
“Don’t know.”
Sam stared at the general. “You’re serious?”
“Sure am.”
“But you haven’t known her for very long.”
“You fell in love with Willow pretty quickly, didn’t you?”
“We’re not talking about me, sir.”
“No, but there are times a man has to take action.” The general smiled. “Of course, you have a lot of years ahead of you. I’m sixty-two and had a health scare. It hit me that I’m not going to live forever, and I have to take fast action to get what I want. You never know what’s going to happen.”
Sam could have died with Morty in Afghanistan. The sentence hung in the air between them as if the general had actually uttered the words.
Sam considered the general’s statement as he finished breakfast. Did he want to spend the rest of his life alone because he didn’t take action or plan or make decisions? But he didn’t want to consider that now. Too intense. Too threatening.
“Were you serious about going fishing?” the general asked.
Stupid for Sam to have said that. He knew the general well enough to know that if he was determined to go fishing, they’d end up in a boat on the lake this afternoon.
When he scrutinized the general, though, Sam realized he’d spoken hesitantly, as if he were afraid of Sam’s reaction. He didn’t want his father, a respected officer and a proud, courageous man, to fear the reaction of his own son. What could Sam say to convey that?
“You know, there’s a vets’ group that meets at one of the churches on Wednesday evenings. I’m planning to go next week. Want to join me?” the general asked.
The suggestion shattered the tenuous communication. “Don’t try to fix me, sir.”
“I’m not, son.” The general stopped and blinked. “But maybe when you’re ready, we could go together.” He glanced at the coffee cup then back up. “I attended a veterans’ support group weekly in Ohio. Started…” He stopped and swallowed before continuing. “Started when you got hurt. I couldn’t handle it.”
Sam couldn’t think of a sentence more unlikely to come from the general’s mouth. “There’s one at the Christian Church. Would you come with me?” he asked again as if Sam hadn’t just shot down the request. Dogged, that word described the general perfectly.
“Why?” He’d never asked the general “Why” about anything. A strict do-as-I-say man, the general had never allowed it.
“Because I need it. Because I think you might, too.”
“I’m not a wimp. I can handle this.”
“I know you’re not a wimp,” the general stated. “But I’ve learned I can’t handle what happens in battle alone. I found out I do a lot better in life when I can talk about what happened with vets who’ve been through the same thing.” He scrutinized Sam’s features. “I don’t sound like the man you grew up with, do I? When you were wounded in Afghanistan, I felt so guilty I could barely function. Going to the group saved me. I discovered I can’t do everything on my own.”
Those words dropped inside Sam and burned. He had no idea what to say and, so filled with emotion, wasn’t sure he could speak. The idea his father had been devastated by Sam’s injury, that the amputation had changed the general’s life, was something he’d never guessed and couldn’t digest now.
He fell back to his default emotion: anger. “I thought you’d come down here to bully me into rehabbing.”
“To bully you,” the general repeated. “I’m sorry you expected that.”
Who was this man who looked so much like the general but spoke like a concerned and loving father? Sam never could have imagined the words or the soft voice.
“Go ahead and get dressed.” The general stood. “I’ll clean up. If you want to, we can talk later.”
With those words and the ones his father had spoken in the last few minutes, guilt began to eat at Sam. The realization surprised him. Had his feelings defrosted enough for him to regret his actions? To accept the general’s concern? Must be all the warm bacon fat melting the cockles—whatever cockles were—of his heart.
There he went with his normal habit of defusing an emotion by making fun of it. Sometimes Sam was full of it. He just didn’t know what to do about it. Change? Maybe. But how?