Chapter Twenty

Failure was not an option for Miss Birdie. She never fell short in anything if she could help it. And yet the minister stood there behind the pulpit and preached, looking almost handsome and much more confident than he had before she’d taken him in hand. Preached a pretty fair sermon now. Did good work, the evidence on display right there in the congregation.

Eleanor and Missy sat next to Bree. Mrs. Smith improved every day what with Mike, the PT from the hospital, dropping by every few days for exercises, the visiting nurse helping with medication, and the aide who came by to give Mrs. Smith baths.

Winnie and the general had arrived together and settled in a front pew, an unexpected and serendipitous success for the Widows that she and Mercedes didn’t mind crowing about.

But the preacher stood up there alone. He deserved a woman, a wife, a soul mate. If they didn’t find him someone, he’d probably go along happily playing basketball three or four times a week, welcoming people who needed a place to stay into the parsonage, going to football games, but never finding love.

Birdie studied the sanctuary. Attendance had grown some. A new couple—white-haired like the rest of the adults—sat on the side aisle. The Kowalski girls came with the preacher and went to children’s church. But other than Willow, no single woman sat in the congregation, waiting for Birdie to introduce her to the preacher, waiting to fall in love with him and marry him.

Birdie closed her eyes and prayed for the Lord to get involved because she thought only through holy intervention would a mate be found for the preacher.

“Pops?”

Adam looked up from the bench next to the basketball court where he sat to tie his shoes. Bobby Franklin, one of Hector’s teammates on the high school team, stood next to him, silhouetted against the lights.

“What is it, Bobby? Sit down.”

“You know about the problems Hector’s having with the rent and all?”

Adam nodded.

“Him and his sister are sleeping in the park now.”

“What?” He looked up at Hector, dribbling and shooting, then looked around the thick trees surrounding the court. “He and his sister are sleeping here? For how long?”

“She’s waiting for him over there.” He nodded toward a thin girl in pink overalls huddled on the bench next to the court. “Two nights. This will be the third.”

“Why didn’t he tell me? I’d have done something.”

“He’s ashamed. He figures he should be able to take care of the family. He’s a man.”

“Even men need help sometimes.” Adam stood. “Thanks, Bobby. I’ll talk to him.” When the young man started to say more, the minister said, “Don’t worry. I won’t mention you told me anything.”

Adam picked up a ball and dribbled toward the basket where Hector practiced. “How’s your sister? You guys still okay?”

Hector didn’t turn toward him, just kept shooting.

“You want to play horse?” Adam asked. “Loser has to answer a question from the winner.” Not subtle but he felt certain Hector wouldn’t fill Adam in on his life without cover.

Hector glared at the minister, then nodded.

After a hard-fought game, which Adam won—actually, it was possible Hector threw it—the minister took the ball and held it. “How are you and your sister?” he repeated. “Where are you sleeping?”

“That’s two questions.”

“Okay, where are you sleeping?”

Hector didn’t make eye contact, just jerked his head toward the trees.

“You’re sleeping here? Out in the open? Is that good for you? Safe for your sister?”

The kid studied his feet. Finally, he looked at Adam and said, “I don’t know what to do. We got evicted even though I had a week left on the lease.”

Unbelievable anyone could do that to a couple of kids. “What now?” Adam asked. “What are your plans?”

Hector shrugged.

That was enough. “Go get your stuff. You’re coming with me now. I have plenty of room at the parsonage.”

He scowled. “We don’t need charity.”

“It’s not charity. We have room. You may not think you need help, but Janey needs a safe place to live.”

“Janey can go with you. I’ll make my way.”

“Buddy, your sister needs you.”

“I’ll visit her. I’ll walk her to school.”

When it became obvious that argument wasn’t going to work, Adam came up with another one. “I don’t know anything about taking care of a little girl.” Adam pointed toward Janey. “All those cute little braids and barrettes in your sister’s hair? I don’t know how to do those.”

“Yeah, that takes practice,” Hector agreed.

“There are two empty bedrooms on the second floor. Right now, we have another family living in the parsonage, on the ground floor. She’s just out of the hospital. I think…”

“You have other people living in that big, ugly house?” Hector interrupted.

The minister nodded.

“Oh.” Hector considered that. “Then it would be okay. It wouldn’t be like we were charity cases, right? Other people stay there, too.”

“That’s what churches are for.”

“Not always, Pops. Not always.” He glanced toward his sister. “I talked to the counselor at school. I want to be a legally emancipated minor and take care of Janey myself.”

“Fine.”

He examined Adam’s expression for a few seconds, as if searching for clues about his feelings, as if Adam might have deeper motives for moving him and his sister into the parsonage. How sad he had to be suspicious, but Adam respected his caution.

“Okay, we’ll come. Let me go get our stuff.” He turned and took a step.

“I have a couple of rules,” Adam said before Hector could move away.

He turned back and glared. “Yeah?” The kid’s body stiffened, and his voice held a note of suspicion.

“First, you have to stay in school.”

Hector nodded. “Plan to.”

“And you have to be home by eleven on school nights. No drinking.”

“No problem.”

“And I’d like you to come to church on Sunday morning.”

Hector’s lips tightened.

“I’m not going to force you, don’t plan to convert you, but I’d like you there. The parsonage belongs to the church. This would be giving back, thanking the congregation.”

Hector nodded. “Okay, sure.” He waved toward his sister. “Janey, come here. We’re going to have beds tonight.”

Adam watched them walk toward their campsite before realizing he should give them a hand. He ran behind the two. When he reached the clearing, Adam heard a low growling and something—a bear? a lion?—rushed toward him and leaped into the air. Before he could move, it landed on Adam’s chest and knocked him to the ground. He looked into the face of a creature of some kind. It was enormous with a head the size of a pumpkin. A tongue lolled from its mouth, which made Adam believe the creature was friendly—just very drooly. His face got wetter with each passing second. The rhythmic pounding of the creature’s tail against the ground implied the monster liked the minister.

“Chewy, come here,” Janey said in a soft, high voice. The animal, who really did look like a Wookiee, pushed himself up and romped toward the girl, wagging its tail.

Adam stood slowly.

“That’s Janey’s dog Chewy,” Hector said. “I didn’t tell you about him, afraid you’d change your mind. Janey loves him.”

Once on his feet, Adam could see exactly how massive the canine was. With the tawny coat, it resembled a lion, but the plumy tail and the darker patches on the side revealed that this dog had a long and varied ancestry. Afghan hound? Sheepdog of some sort? Perhaps even a little elephant in its genetic makeup?

“I have a fenced-in yard. He’ll be fine.”

“He won’t like being out there all the time. He sleeps with her,” Hector said. “She says he makes her feel safe.”

This was not the time to debate Chewy’s living conditions. Adam had to get these kids to the parsonage and security. “We’ll work it out,” he said to Janey, whom he could barely see over the huge dog. “Don’t worry. But first, let’s get you to bed, in a real bed.”

Adam picked up a couple of sleeping bags and headed to the parsonage. Behind him, he could hear the dog crashing down the path. He sped up.

Adam dreamed he was with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed’nego in the fiery furnace. When he woke up, sweat poured down his body. He lay there wondering if the Hill Country had been hit by a heat wave overnight or if someone had, for some reason, turned up the parsonage furnace to one hundred.

As his brain slowly cleared, he realized a huge lump—a hot, breathing lump—lay next to him. Adam sat up. Chewy lifted his head and grinned. He hadn’t known a dog could smile, but this one did, pleased to be here in bed next to Adam. Not that the bed belonged to the minister anymore, other than the narrow sliver he occupied. Chewy owned the rest. His tail hit the mattress as if he were a canine Ringo Starr.

How did he get in here? Adam took a few tissues from the box on the night table to wipe his face as he rolled off the bed and stood. The bedroom door was open. He knew he’d closed it; either Chewy could open doors or the catch hadn’t held. He guessed the latter. Chewy didn’t seem all that smart.

“Pops, breakfast,” Hector shouted up the stairs.

Breakfast? Hector had prepared breakfast?

Knowing he’d have to shower later but also mindful that he now lived with five other people, Adam pulled on jeans and a T-shirt before heading quietly down the back stairs to the kitchen. Chewy bounced down behind him, occasionally nudging the back of his legs to hurry him along.

Although the signs of cooking lay all over the counter, no one was in the kitchen. He let Chewy out before searching.

“Pops, we’re in here,” Hector shouted from the dining room.

Adam had never used the dining room. Actually, with the furniture repositioned to accommodate the downstairs visitors, the table had ended up shoved in the smallest parlor, the one he used as an at-home office.

“Good morning.” Deanne still wore her robe, but seeing her up and at the table pleased the minister. Hector sat at the end of the table, looking like the father of the family. Missy sat on a chair atop multiple pillows next to Eleanor.

In a bright pink shirt and overalls, her hair arranged in thirty or forty braids, Janey walked across the cramped space as carefully as if she were on a tightrope, balancing a cup of coffee for Adam.

Besides the necessities—plates, napkins, sugar, and milk—on the table were bowls of oatmeal, glasses of orange juice, and one plate piled high with toast. Hector grinned at Adam’s surprise.

“Breakfast is my specialty.”

“Great! Good morning.” He settled in one of the heavy, formal chairs.

“Morning,” Missy said through a mouthful of toast.

Hector pointed at an empty chair. “Sit down, sis, and eat fast. We need to get going.”

“Thanks for the coffee, Janey.”

She looked at Adam with eyes so big and dark and filled with uncertainty, it almost broke his heart. No child should look that lonely and scared.

“Thanks for breakfast, Hector,” Deanne said. “It tastes really good. I love being up for breakfast.”

“How are you two going to get to school? Do I need to drive you?” Adam hadn’t thought about that before. Hadn’t thought of a lot of stuff before he brought the kids home, but they could figure things out as they went.

“I can walk. Janey’s school’s on the way. I’ll take her,” Hector said.

“What about lunch?” Deanne asked. “Should I fix sack lunches for you?”

“It’s okay.” Hector swallowed hard as if he didn’t want to say more.

Adam bet they had free lunch and he didn’t want to admit it. The minister was glad they did, glad that during the tough times they’d had at least one good meal a day.

“What time do you eat dinner?” Adam shoved the bowl away and took half a piece of toast.

“Practice is over at six thirty, but I’m always ready to eat,” Hector said. “Janey’ll get home about four and likes a snack.”

He turned to the child. “Janey, can you walk home all right?”

She nodded.

“It’s only a few blocks,” Hector said. “She can probably see the steeple from her school.”

“The door’s always open,” Adam told her. “If I’m not here, come over to the church.”

“I’ll be here all day,” Deanne said.

“I’ll get home…” Hector stopped and grinned when he said the word home. “I’ll be back about seven.” He picked up his bowl and began to clear the table.

“Don’t worry about that,” Deanne said. “I’ll take care of cleanup.”

Before he left the dining room, Hector said, “You need to get a hoop, Pops. Right on the edge of the parking lot would work.”

Hector and Janey grabbed their books and headed off to school. Eleanor washed and dressed Missy to take her to day care while Deanne cleaned up. Shortly after that, Chewy let Adam know he wanted inside, his deep, loud barks echoing through the neighborhood. As Adam let the dog in and started upstairs for a shower, he wondered: What in the world was he doing? He wasn’t that much older than Hector, and certainly no wiser, and he had absolutely no experience with kids.

There hadn’t seemed to be much of a choice. He’d do his best, try his hardest. Surely he’d do better than a drug-​addicted criminal, right?

That afternoon Adam hadn’t left himself enough time—not unusual—to visit the nursing homes and still get home to welcome Janey at four. While Deanne slept and her mother read in his television room, Janey sat at the kitchen table, copying words from a book. Still so serious for a child her age, she looked up and nodded before returning to her work.

The next night, Adam carefully closed his door, then tugged on the knob to make sure it was completely shut, that Chewy wouldn’t be able to visit him. Satisfied, he turned off the light and got into bed. Before he could pull the sheet over him, he heard the click, click, click of dog paws. The sound stopped by his door. Then began what he guessed was the sound of a dog’s muzzle hitting the door.

He smiled. Tonight he’d get a good night’s sleep.

Of course, he didn’t know Chewy well. After several thuds on the door, Adam heard the thud of Chewy’s bottom against the floor. Before Adam could close his eyes, the sound of shrill howling filled the air.

Hound. There had to be hound somewhere in Chewy’s genetic background, because the baying filled the parsonage.

“Shut up, Chewy,” Hector yelled.

Didn’t do a bit of good.

If he wanted to sleep, if he wanted the children to sleep, if he hoped Ouida and her family slept, Adam had to do something. He got up, walked to the door, and opened it. A thoroughly delighted Chewy pranced into the room and leaped onto the bed.

By the time Adam got back, Chewy had shoved the quilt into a gigantic lump and settled on it, smiling.

Adam studied the situation. Putting Chewy outside wasn’t a solution, but he could prepare a pallet on the floor for the dog. Except he had a pretty good idea who’d end up sleeping there.

A few days later, the phone rang in Adam’s study. Maggie had left, so he picked up.

“Pastor Adam,” Mercedes said when he answered. “I wonder if you could drop by the diner after lunch, about three thirty. I have a problem I’d like to discuss.”

“At the diner?” he asked. “Wouldn’t you rather meet at the church?”

“No, n-no,” Mercedes stammered.

Why not? As usual with the Widows, he suspected something, something he didn’t look forward to. The suspicion scared him. In fact, the tone of Mercedes’s voice frightened him. But he couldn’t turn her down; the Widows were, after all, members of the church.

“I’d like to meet there because…​um…​I like their…​um…​chocolate pie. And raspberry tea. Delicious.” She sounded pleased to have come up with not just one but two reasons.

After Adam agreed and hung up, he considered what had just happened. He didn’t trust the invitation but couldn’t figure out how to get out of it or why it had been tendered. He only knew the reason was much deeper and more devious than chocolate pie and raspberry tea.

Ten minutes later, the phone rang again. “Adam Jordan,” he said as he picked up.

“Reverend Jordan, this is Pattie Malone calling from the high school. We have a faculty meeting so I won’t be able to meet you this afternoon.”

Won’t be able to meet? Adam considered the words. Aha. Now he knew why Mercedes had called.

“Ms. Malone, I’m going to ask you some odd questions.”

“Oh?” Her voice held a note of confusion and an entire concerto of apprehension.

“I’m assuming Mrs. MacDowell set this meeting up?”

“Yes. I’m Bree’s volleyball coach. Her grandmother said you wanted to meet about Bree’s going to a church-related school like Texas Christian, maybe getting a scholarship for athletics because she belongs to a Christian church.”

“Great idea,” Adam said. “Are you married?”

“What?”

He could tell from her voice she thought he was nuts or scary. Didn’t blame her. He did sound crazy, but Ms. Malone would understand if she really knew Miss Birdie. “Coach, I’m a bachelor… ,” Adam began.

“I can assure you… ,” she sputtered.

“Let me finish. Mrs. MacDowell wants to introduce me to unmarried women. She believes a minister should be married. I’m sorry she…”

But he couldn’t finish because the coach started laughing. When she was done, she said, “My divorce was final only a few days ago. Almost no one knows that. How did she?”

Adam groaned. This was not the time to tell the coach about the Widows and their grapevine, which infiltrated every corner of Butternut Creek. Instead he said, “I’d be happy to meet with you about Bree. Maybe at the high school whenever it’s convenient for you. And don’t worry about being set up anymore. I’ll take care of Mrs. MacDowell.”

A promise he wasn’t all that sure he could keep, but he’d try. Maybe having a wingman would help.

He called Sam.

“Do you know about the Widows and their reputation as matchmakers?” Adam asked.

“Do I! They’ve been trying to get Willow and me together since I got into town. Why?”

“I’m meeting them at three thirty at the diner. I don’t want to face them alone. Want to join me? I’ll pick you up a few minutes before then.”

“I’m not convinced I want them to stop working on Willow,” Sam said. “But I’ll cover your back.”

When the two men strode—Sam had much improved his striding technique—into the diner at exactly three thirty, Miss Birdie looked up from the table she was clearing. Her eyes opened wide when she saw both of them, then she searched behind them. Looking for the coach?

For a moment he and Sam stood at the door, hands at their sides, and stared at her. Adam felt like Gary Cooper in High Noon but wasn’t sure if he was the good guy or the bad. He almost expected Miss Birdie to say, Draw, you dirty varmints.

Of course, she didn’t.

Instead she demanded, “Sam Peterson, what are you doing here?”

Both men took a few steps inside. In his head, Adam could hear the click of boots across a rough wood floor. In reality, his athletic shoes made almost no sound on the vinyl tile.

“Coach Malone isn’t coming,” he drawled.

She blinked. “Oh,” she said in a voice filled with studied surprise. “Was she coming? Here? Today?”

Had he caught her off guard? If so, not for long.

“I asked you a question, Preacher.” She put her hands on her hips and glared. Miss Birdie didn’t need a gun. She could disarm dirty varmints by glowering at them.

“The preacher wants to talk to you about something,” Sam said as he took a couple of steps backward.

“Lily-livered coward,” Adam whispered to his friend, then turned to stare at the Matchmaker, a name that struck terror in his heart.

“Miss Birdie.” He stood his ground and cleared his throat. Refusing to give in to fear, he said more loudly, “Miss Birdie, you have to stop pushing me together with women.”

“It’s for your own good, Pastor Adam. You’re not doing anything to find yourself a wife.” She nodded decisively. “Someone’s got to step in.”

“You don’t. And Mercedes and Winnie don’t. When”—he paused to underline the word—“when I’m ready to get married, I’ll take care of finding the bride myself.”

“But… ,” she started.

His imaginary spurs jingling, Adam took a step forward and looked deeply into her eyes. She stopped talking.

“I appreciate your interest and efforts, but you need to leave me alone.” There, he’d said it.

Of course, Miss Birdie didn’t accept the ultimatum.

“And when is that going to be?” She took a step toward the minister, keeping her eyes on his, matching him glower for glower.

But he didn’t retreat. With another step toward her, Adam lowered his head, glaring at her from under the rim of his nonexistent Stetson. “When I’m ready.”

He didn’t break eye contact. The Preacher and the Matchmaker stared at each other for what seemed like hours until Sam stepped between them. A dangerous tactic.

“Now, Miss Birdie,” Sam said in a soothing tone, as if he spoke to a spooked horse. “All the preacher’s asking for is time.”

She considered his words for probably fifteen seconds before she nodded. “All right, Preacher, I’ll give you time, but you’d better get the lead out.”

As good as it was going to get. Adam stepped back and nodded. “Sam has something he’d like to say as well.”

“You want me to leave you and Willow alone?” She squinted. “We’ve done a good job with the two of you.”

“Yes, you have. But I can take over now.”

She looked Sam up and down, then nodded.

Sam and Adam turned to leave, striding with pride.

They left the door swinging behind them.

Sam had lived all over the world but had visited his aunt only during the summer, so he had never been to a high school football game in Texas. Adam had told him to prepare himself, but he didn’t think anything could have equipped him for the crowd and the noise and the excitement. Even when he’d played college football in the packed Kyle Field with the fans and the corps shouting, he hadn’t felt the energy that buzzed through this stadium.

The best part was sitting with Willow on his right and Leo and Nick on his left. Until nearly the end of the first quarter, the boys stayed with them, happy to attend the game with him. A few minutes into the second quarter, with the Lions ahead fourteen to three, Leo spotted some friends passing a football next to the bleachers and the boys ran off to join them, leaving Sam alone with their mother. Too bad, he’d just have to make the best of it.

Sam reached for Willow’s hand and held it between them on the bleacher. She smiled at him, then leaned against him for quick second.

Could there be a better way to spend an evening?

Once they arrived back at Willow’s apartment after the game and finally got the wound-up Leo and Nick settled in bed, Willow preceded him into the living room. For a moment Sam stood in the archway, feeling happy and comfortable. At peace, he realized. Life was good. Even when he started toward the sofa and a second of imbalance reminded him of the loss of his leg, he felt better than he had in months, possibly years.

Then he settled on the sofa next to Willow, put his arm around her, and kissed her.

The pleasant interval lasted for quite a while, until Sam pushed it. He should have—did—know better, but had given in to his baser urges.

Willow removed his hand and shoved him away. “That’s enough. Don’t forget I have two sons only a few feet away.” She pointed down the hall.

“Let’s go into your bedroom and shut the door.” He reached out for her, but she scooted to the end of the sofa. The other end.

“Sam, not here.” She shook her head but a smile softened her words.

“We could go to my house, but my father’s there.” He shook his head. “That would be uncomfortable.” He thought for a moment. “We could find a motel.”

“Sam.” Her voice became very serious. “I’m not going to sleep with you.” She held her hand up. “You may have gotten the idea I’d be willing.”

He nodded.

“But I can’t.” She pointed down the hall again. “I have two little boys who lost their father and love you very much.”

Sam swallowed. Did they really love him?

“For that reason, I have to protect them. Before I make any… umm…”

However she finished that sentence, he knew he wouldn’t like it.

“Before I make a decision about you and me, Leo and Nick need to know they can count on you. They need to know that you’re not going to run out on them if you find something better to do or another woman you like better.”

“I’d never…”

“I need something, too. I refuse to fall in love with a man who can’t make a commitment to me and to the boys.”

“That’s your problem. I didn’t ask you to fall in love with me,” he said, although he felt pretty sure he’d acted like he wanted exactly that. “Or to marry me, just, you know…”

“But I don’t become intimate with a man unless I love him, unless there’s a commitment between us.”

“Commitment.” He knew his voice reflected the absolute terror the word awakened. “I can’t commit to anyone. I don’t even know who I am and what I’m going to do with myself.” He could feel sweat dripping down his neck.

“Then,” she said in a soft, sad voice, “it might be time to figure that out.”

The words burst from him. “Stop trying to fix me.”

“For heaven’s sake,” she snapped. “I’m not trying to fix you. I’m trying not to fall in love with you.”

He scrutinized her face. She looked sincere. She sounded angry. “How could you ever fall in love with me? I mean, possibly? I’m a mess. My life is a mess.”

“You sell yourself short. You’re handsome. Women fall at your feet.”

“Not all of them,” he said. Her, for example.

“There’s more.” She ticked off each point on her fingers. “I admire your courage and how you fight to get better and stronger. I appreciate how much you care about Leo and Nick. I like the way you make me feel. I thought for a while I’d never again feel this way with a man.”

“That’s good,” he whispered as he attempted to close the small space between them.

She stood. “But I refuse to fall in love with you unless I trust you completely and until you can commit to us, at least try to. I will not have my sons hurt again. I will not make the mistake of loving a man who only wants my body. Not again.”

“Hey, I want more than just your body, but that’s a good place to start.”

She made her feelings about his flip remark obvious with a glare. “One more thing,” she started.

“One more thing? Don’t you think you’ve dumped enough on me?”

“One more thing,” she continued. “I will not commit to you until you can share all that anger and pain you keep inside you with me or with a therapist or your father. I don’t care which, but if you don’t get it out and talk to someone about it… well, you have to or you’ll explode and the collateral damage from that could hurt me and the boys badly.”

“Thank you for your opinion as a professional.”

“Sam, it’s for all of us. You have to work through what happened in Afghanistan.”

There it was, all laid out for him, logically and honestly. At this moment, he hated honesty and logic because he wasn’t nearly ready to face his feelings, his future, or, actually, anything.

Her words and expression summarized the whole predicament. His problems affected not just him, but Willow and her sons. He respected her for that, but did he want her enough to give in to those demands to communicate, to commit, to care?

Even more important, could he? His life would be less complicated if he’d been attracted to an accommodating woman.

“Does that mean Nick and Leo can’t come over anymore?” Losing the boys would about tear him apart.

“Of course they can. They need a male friend.” The expression in her eyes softened. “They admire you very much. You’re good for them. What they don’t need is the unrealistic hope that someday you’ll be their father.”

Crap. Not that he hadn’t considered the possibility of having those kids for his sons, but he’d knocked it down every time it popped up, like a game of Whac-A-Mole.

Would having kids be so bad?

Years earlier, when she was still a little naive and believed in true love, Willow had allowed herself to be taken in by a handsome charming man. How could she have been so gullible and trusting?

Despite all his good qualities, Willow knew one thing through her experience with wounded vets: A man who held in all that pain and anger would explode at some time. He could start drinking again or find relief with other women or just walk away. That would devastate Willow and her sons.

Not seeing him again outside the hospital, not having him look at her with longing while she both hoped and feared he’d kiss her, all of that she’d miss. The feel of his warmth next to her, of his touch and smile.

Oh, bother! She’d already fallen in love with Sam and would really miss him. She’d have to accept that and hope Sam figured things out, opened up, and included her in his life.

“I want my old life back,” Sam shouted. He wanted all the good stuff he’d lost. He wanted to be with his men in combat. He wanted his leg back. Most of all, he wanted to fight and to joke with Morty again.

None of that was going to happen, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want it.

He pulled the bottle from the dresser, a fifth of the best Kentucky bourbon. He needed it. He deserved it. His life sucked. He’d screwed up with Willow because he couldn’t give her what she needed and deserved. He’d screwed up because that was what Sam Peterson did best. Right now, he wished the general would leave—go home, move in with Winnie. He didn’t care but he wanted to be alone to wallow.

He broke the seal and opened the bottle. No need for manners or a glass in the solitude of his room. He put the bottle to his lips, leaned his head back, and drank deeply. It tasted good. How long had it been since he’d had a drink of real liquor? Weeks, at least.

As the gulp went down, it warmed him inside. An artificial heat, not to be confused with any emotion. He knew that. Didn’t mind. At this moment, he needed to feel something other than pain.

He sat on the edge of the bed and removed the prosthesis. He should wash it. He’d do that in the morning. Of course it wouldn’t dry by the time he needed to wear it. So what? But he couldn’t break the habit of checking his leg for redness and irritation. Everything looked fine. Willow and her prosthetist had done a good job on the fit.

He cursed. Everything, even the stupid leg, reminded him of Willow.

Settling the device against the head of the bed, he took another deep drink. The glow spread through him, down to his fingers and even the toes on his missing foot.

But the sensation filling his body didn’t feel as good as he remembered. It deadened his brain and made him dizzy. He took another swig but still didn’t feel any better. He couldn’t even count on whiskey.

For a moment, he stared at the bottle before screwing the cap back it and shoving it under the bed to hide it. Last thing he needed was a lecture from the general about his drinking.

With that, he turned off the lamp on the bedside table, lifted his thigh to put it on the bed, and lay back on the pillow.

Rockets exploded around Sam Peterson. The acrid smell of ammo and war and the coppery stench of blood hung over the rocky hill.

Then his leg exploded with pain. He reached for it, felt nothing but blood and jagged bone.

“Morty!” he shouted and sat straight up.

In bed, he realized. In Aunt Effie’s house. With tears running down his face he gasped for air.

“You’re fine, son.”

He swung his head to see the general, sitting in a chair only inches from the bed. Just like the last time. “I’m here.”

Without even thinking—because if he had thought about it, Sam wouldn’t have done it—he reached out for his father and pulled him to sit on the side of the bed next to him. Folded in his father’s arms, he sobbed. His father patted him on the back. Neither said a word but for a moment, peace and acceptance filled him as his father wept with him.

“Son, I’m so sorry,” his father kept repeating. “I’m so sorry.”

After a few minutes, Sam struggled for control and pulled away. “Why?” He wiped his cheeks. “Why are you sorry?” He didn’t think he’d ever heard the man say that word. No, that was wrong. He’d used it a while back, the first time Sam could remember hearing that word escaping from the general’s usually tight lips.

But they weren’t taut now. His face looked… droopy. Sad. And his lips, his whole expression looked soft as if he were begging, as if this moment were very important for him.

“Why?” Sam asked again.

The general returned to his chair. “I wasn’t much of a father. I wasn’t much of a husband, either.” He shook his head. “Military families put up with a lot. I had the admirable excuse that I had to serve my country. I used it every chance I had.”

“You did serve the country.”

“Other parents in the military spent time with their families. Morty’s dad—he went to every football game he could, every talent show.”

“Morty’s dad retired as a captain.”

The general shrugged. “What’s wrong with that?”

“You wanted to be a general. Morty’s dad didn’t.”

“Morty’s dad had better priorities than I did.”

“Dad, I was a lot like you. I pushed and pushed and pretty soon I outranked Morty. That’s what a Peterson does. It’s what your father did, and his father.”

“Generations of Petersons who taught their sons how to go off to war but never how to stay home and be a real parent.” He shook his head. “I should have cared more about being your father than being a general.”

Sam’s thoughts flashed back to his grandfather, a three-star general who looked exactly like this general, who’d hit only two stars. Had he been a disappointment to his father as well? Sam hated to admit it, but perhaps he should or could be a little more understanding and less self-centered. The realization made him feel like a jerk.

“You weren’t responsible for Morty’s death,” the general said after a long silence.

He could feel his body straighten and stiffen. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Morty didn’t become a marine because of you.” The general looked in Sam’s eyes. “You know that, don’t you? He was always crazy about the military, wanted to be a marine like his father, like me.”

Sam couldn’t form the words to answer. The general was right. Morty had been as crazy about being a marine as Sam had. Deep down, Sam knew that, but in his grief and guilt he’d denied it. Because he had lived, had come home. Morty hadn’t.

“His death was a tragedy.” The general shook his head and looked down at his folded hands. “But it was his choice to be in Afghanistan on that hillside. You never pushed him.”

Sam closed his eyes to consider the general’s words. The burden of sorrow lifted a little more.

As Sam reflected, the general stood. With that motion, he kicked the bottle Sam had shoved under the bed. He leaned down to pick it up. “Yours?”

Sam shook his head. “Take it back to the kitchen or pour it down the drain. I don’t need it.”

The general looked skeptical. “Not sure it’ll be that easy, son.”

“I know.” He wished it were. “But it’s a beginning, and I’m determined. I’ll start meetings as soon as I find one.”

The general looked almost victorious.

“I mean AA. I still won’t go to the vets’ group at the church,” Sam said. “Not yet.”

Once the general left, not quite closing the door behind him, Sam lay back against the headboard. He thought back twenty years, nearly twenty-five, to a memory of him and Morty shouting “Semper fi” and storming Guadalcanal or planting the flag on Iwo Jima. Even though they didn’t know what the words meant, they’d sing, “From the halls of Montezuma to the shores to Tripoli,” at the top of their lungs.

They’d been exactly like Leo and Nick, he realized. For the first time in over a year, he thought about Morty and smiled. Oh, not for long because it still hurt, but he felt hope. He closed his eyes as a tremendous burden began to fall from him. Maybe he’d started to heal.