Learning to Live Read online

Learning to Live

  By

  Brenda Kennedy

  Book One of The Learning Trilogy

  Featuring Nichole Andrews

  Books One and Two End with a Cliffhanger

  DEDICATED TO CAM AND ROGER TYO

  THANK YOU FOR BEING YOU!

  Copyright 2017 by Brenda Kennedy

 

 

 

 

  Chapter One: Picking up the Pieces

  Nichole

  Never judge a book by its cover, and don’t let the white picket fence fool you. Although the appearance looks happy and inviting, no one would believe the fears that lived within my life.

  While my innocent almost three-year-old grandson plays in his bedroom, I constantly fight the demons that brought me to where I am today. Will the nightmares ever go away? Will I ever be able to live a normal life? To feel like a normal person? I’m afraid not. I’ve given up all hope on that dream. That ship sailed a long time ago.

  Loving parents raised me in a middle-class neighborhood. My dad was a surgeon while my mom stayed home and cared for me, their only child. Our house was a modest three-bedroom, two-bath, white house with black shutters. An American flag hung from the flagpole out front in the yard, and a white picket fence lined the sidewalk. We were the all-American family. My parents had money, but they never flashed it and never looked down on others less fortunate.

  When I met Brett during my senior year of college, I thought he was everything I ever dreamed of and everything my parents wanted in a suitor for their only daughter. We dated for almost a year before we married. That’s when everything changed. Brett was abusive, my parents were both killed, and then I became pregnant.

  You see, I’m a survivor. I survived domestic violence at its worse. Brutal beatings at the hands of my husband and my adult son. Both my son and ex-husband are dead now. My son, Connor, died as a result of trying to kill his wife, and my husband, Brett, died from an accidental drowning. Well, the police said it was accidental. Brett was stupid, but he wasn’t careless. Boating under the influence of alcohol isn’t something he would do. Not wearing a lifejacket isn’t something he would do either. He got everything he deserved. I’m really not a heartless bitch. I love with my entire soul, but I also believe in karma. I believe Brett got everything he had coming to him. Drowning is a scary death. You fight to stay afloat, and you fight for every breath, until you breathe water, instead of air. Your lungs fill with water and you die. Not quickly and calmly. You frantically fight to stay alive. Not a peaceful way to die, but in his case, it was well deserved.

  My grandson was born to another woman during the time my son, Connor, was married to his wife, Ava. It’s a long and painful story, but my then-husband and my son could have both been little Connor’s father. Brett cheated on me, and Connor cheated on his wife, Ava, with the same woman. It still turns my stomach just thinking about it. Ava and I are good friends, even after everything we both went through with Connor and Brett. I’m thankful that she didn’t blame me for what happened to her. It wasn’t my fault, but Connor was still my son: my only child. At first, I didn’t know everything that Ava went through in her marriage, but later, Connor took great pride in telling me the things he had done to her. I saw her worst injuries. I wanted to help her, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even help myself. Ava’s a fighter and a survivor like me.

  I’m not exactly sure where I went wrong with my son, or what turned him into the monster he became. My counselor says his behavior was learned. It possibly could have been. He witnessed abuse at a very young age. To think that I actually was doing him a favor by staying with his father so he wouldn’t be raised by a single mom is ridiculous. I just wanted him to have the kind of life I did. My childhood was a fairytale. It was everything a child dreams of. Maybe if I had left at the first sign of abuse, things would have been different today for all of us. My son could have grown up to be a loving and caring man.

  After Connor’s death and during my separation from Brett, I learned about little Connor. As soon as I realized I had a grandson, I knew I had to get custody of him and adopt him. His father was dead from a car accident he caused when he tried to kill his wife, Ava. Then little Connor’s mother, Lorraine, later died of a heroin overdose. I knew I was the only one who could help little Connor. No other family members came forward to claim him when he was in the care of Child Protective Services. He was orphaned and he needed me. The truth is, I needed him even more. Ava supported my decision to get custody of little Connor. In fact, her husband, Chase, was my attorney who graciously helped me.

  When Brett died, he didn’t have a will made out. He foolishly thought he would live forever. Since we were divorced, little Connor was his only next of kin. Connor got everything Brett owned, and it was a significant inheritance. I had no idea the money that Brett was worth. With the help of Chase, we sold his lakefront property, along with everything in it and his vehicles, then we put the money into a trust fund for Connor for when he’s twenty-five. If he invests his money correctly, he may never have to work a day in his life. Of course, I’ll still insist he attends college, work for a reputable company, or start his own business, and save every penny he earns. He’s already a millionaire, and maybe with luck, he won’t know what that means until he’s mature enough to handle it. I’ve already decided not to tell him about the money until his twenty-fifth birthday; the same day he gets his inheritance. I’ll let him believe he’s poor and needs an education and a job to survive. He’ll thank me for it later, I hope.

  My attorney Chase insisted I get an allowance to help with the cost of raising Connor. I have my own money from my parents’ inheritance they left me, and I also work and make my own money, which is enough to live on. I understand Chase’s concerns and hopefully a time will never come when I’ll need to use it.

  It’s been a year since I adopted little Connor, and I am still trying to figure all this out. Being the mom of a small child at my age is not easy. I moved to Savannah, Georgia, own and operate a bakery called ‘Savannah Sweets on Magnolia Street,’ and I’m raising a small child while being a single woman in my fifties. You’re as young as you feel, right? God, I hope not. I’m exhausted, but I wouldn’t change one thing in my present life. My past is another story.

  “Momma, can you play with me?” little Connor yells from his bedroom.

  Walking into his Lego designed bedroom, I smile when I see a small curly-haired boy sitting on his twin-sized bed playing. “What do you want to play?” I ask, sitting beside him.

  Connor started calling me Momma shortly after the courts awarded me custody of him. Then I went ahead and adopted him. When that was final, I changed our last names to my maiden name: Anderson. I didn’t want either of us to be associated with my married name: Emerson.

  Sometimes when I look at him, I can see my son in him. He looks so much like his dad at that age. When my son was still sweet and innocent. When my son still looked up to me and loved me. My heart hurts at the memory of my son, what he could have been, and what he was.

  “Can we play Go Fish?” he asks.

  “I think we should play Memory, instead.”

  He pouts. “That game’s too hard,” he whines.

  I have so much I need to do and I’m still trying to get into a routine. I can do most things with little Connor here, but some things, like cutting the grass, I can’t. He’s too little to leave in the house alone, and I can’t really watch him playing outside with the lawn mower running. It’ll all work out. I just need a routine, and a foolproof plan.

  When I suddenly get a feeling I’m being watched, I walk over and close the blinds and the curtains of our two-story apartment. “How about one game of Memory, then one g
ame of Go Fish?” I ask.

  “Okay, but can we play Go Fish first?”

  “We can.”

  He gets off the bed to get the cards needed for the games. I never in my life imagined that I would be raising a child at my age. But I am and I promise to do the best job that I can. It is taking a lot of adjusting. Things are different these days than they once were, and I definitely think kids are also smarter. It’s going to be a challenge but I’m certainly up to it.

  I try to focus on the game we’re playing, but my mind is on the yard work and the baking we need to do for the bakery. Caring for the lawn is just as important as the baking. Without curb appeal, I wouldn’t have any business, and without tasty treats, I also wouldn’t have a business.

  “Momma, do you have an eight?”

  “Go fish.” I watch as this sweet little innocent boy fishes into the pile of playing cards with his tiny little hands.

  “Got it,” he says happily, smiling and waving a pair of eights in the air.

  After the card game, dinner, and bath time, I put little Connor to bed and then I’m able to relax and enjoy a good book and a cup of hot tea alone.

  Luke Tanner

  Ever since I walked into the bakery on Magnolia Street, Nichole Anderson has been on my mind. I remember sitting quietly in the corner of the bakery when her family and friends walked in. Ava and Skylar recognized me and asked me to join their table. I was glad they did. It gave me some time to talk to Nichole. At first, I thought she was the mother of a small son, and then Skylar told me that she had adopted her grandson. I still didn’t get the entire story, but it let me see into the type of person Nichole is. It let me know that she is a kind and loving woman, not to mention she’s also very attractive and intelligent. I have to admit, I admire all of those qualities she possesses. Now, I just need to figure out a way to get to know her better.

  Today, like most days, my Airedale Terrier named Dale and I drive to the bakery that Nichole owns on my way to work. If it’s not too busy, I’ll go in and order a black coffee and a muffin. But if it looks busy, like it does on most days, I’ll just drive by and get my coffee elsewhere. Sadly, they look extremely busy today, so Dale and I don’t stop. I still haven’t gotten the nerve up to ask her out. Since my last relationship, I don’t date much; I think it’s better that way.

  We drive through a fast-food restaurant and I get a coffee for me and a ham-and-cheese biscuit for Dale. Dale has a fine and discerning taste for the delicacies: most dogs can’t stomach fast food, but he isn’t one of them.

  I drive past the bakery again to my work site to wait for a supply delivery. I recently bought over forty acres at the end of a cul-de-sac lane, and decided to build my own home. My forty acres just happen to be adjacent to Nicole’s property. When I bought it, I thought some isolation would do me some good, and it would definitely keep me busy and keep my mind off of my real problems. Little did I know that I would meet a distraction and she would consume my every thought. That distraction being Nichole.

  After a day of hard labor, Dale and I return home for our evening run. Then I shower and make dinner. Tonight I’m supposed to meet my friend, Carter Reynolds, at Club 51 Degrees. I rarely go out and he seldom stays home. I think he wants to date every single woman in Savannah, or at least bang every single woman in Savannah. I dress in a black shirt, jeans, and a pair of black loafers. This should be good enough.

  At the door I pay the cover charge, and then I make my way through the crowded dance floor. I spot Carter at the bar talking to a couple girls. I can tell from here that they are at least ten years his junior. Of course they are. Who hangs out in a bar at our age? We do. He sees me and points his beer to a table in the corner of the room. Nodding, I look past him to the empty table. I watch as he makes his way to the table with a woman on each arm.

  Carter is my age, but he doesn’t act it. He was married to his high school sweetheart for more than thirty years, until they divorced last year. He came home from work early and caught her in their bed with her colleague, who was also a professor at the college where she taught chemistry. Ironic, right? Chemistry?

  Carter was and still is devastated from it, although he would never admit it. He’s good looking and successful, but he has a void he’s trying to fill. A different woman each night might not be the best way to fill that void. Or in tonight’s case, maybe two women. Or maybe it is the best way to fill his void? Or maybe he just enjoys filling the voids of women. Most men do. He could be like me and just be a recluse. What fun would that be?

  I order a beer and make my way over to the cozy table that barely seats four. The music’s loud, the lights are dim, and the room smells of too much perfume. It’s Friday night and it’s still early. I plan to be out of here before the crowd gets here making the space seem even more claustrophobic.

  “Glad you could join us,” Carter says, reaching his hand out for mine. “I want you to meet Jennifer and Stephanie.”

  Shaking Carter’s hand, I nod to both girls, who are sitting on each side of him. Carter is sandwiched between two very attractive blondes. I take a seat on the edge of the rounded bench and nurse my beer. I have no intentions of getting inebriated tonight.

  “Let’s do a shot,” one of the girls says.

  Carter raises his hand to get the attention of a passing waitress. “Can we get four shots of Johnny Walker Red please, and another round for all of us?”

  “Sure, Carter, just give me a few minutes.”

  “I’m fine, just bring three shots.”

  She nods as she walks away from the table. “Not drinking, huh?” Carter asks.

  “Just beer.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  As the night goes on, Carter and I fast and slow dance with Jennifer and Stephanie. I have always enjoyed dancing; thankfully, I have rhythm. I know a lot of men who can’t dance. Either they’re clumsy or can’t carry a beat, or both.

  After my third beer, I decide it’s time for me to leave. When I stand, I see Monica walking into the club. Before I can sit back down to hide from her, she sees me and waves. “I’ll see you guys later. Jennifer and Stephanie, it was a pleasure meeting you both.”

  “You don’t have to leave so soon,” Jennifer whines.

  Yes, I do. “I’d love to stay, but I have work in the morning.” It’s not a total lie; I might decide to work sometime before noon tomorrow.

  Jennifer pouts. “I was hoping we could hang out.”

  Before I can say anything, Monica says, “Luke Tanner, how are you?”

  “Monica,” I say curtly. I turn my attention to Carter. “Thanks for the drinks. I’ll see you at the gym on Monday.”

  He raises his beer and tips it to his mouth.

  “You’re leaving?” Monica asks.

  “I am.”

  I turn to leave and she follows.

  “I’ll walk you out, Luke.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  I hear the clicking of her heels and she says, “You’re not still mad at me, are you?” I don’t answer. I just keep walking. When I finally make it out to my truck, she says, “Luke, we need to talk.”

  I turn around and face her. She’s standing there with her long brown hair in big curls. She’s wearing a black dress and a pair of black stiletto heels. Her lips and nails are painted a deep shade of red. She looks somewhat different from the last time I saw her. Her black bra strap falls over her shoulder and I realize that’s what looks different about her. Bigger boobs, fuller lips, and thicker eyelashes. She places her hand on my arm and before I can remove it, someone walks past. I immediately recognize her as Nichole. I smile when our eyes meet.

  “Luke,” she says as she and her friend walk past. She watches me before turning her attention to Monica.

  “Nichole.” I watch her as she walks past me and into the club. I don’t come here much, but I have never seen her here before. She looks back at me after she pays the cover charge and enters the building.
I never would have imagined running into her at a club on a Friday night. Now I wish I hadn’t left so early, and I really wish I wasn’t standing out here with my ex.

  Bringing my attention back to Monica, I remove her hand from my arm. “I need to go,” I say as I open the door to the truck.

  “Luke, talk to me. It was all a big misunderstanding.”

  “It sure was,” I say, climbing into the truck. She stands there with her arms crossed over her chest and watches me pull out of the parking lot.

  Nichole

  “Rachael, I’m not sure about this. I still think this is a bad idea.”

  “According to Ava and Skylar, it’s the most popular place in Savannah.”

  I didn’t expect to see Luke Tanner in the parking lot of this club tonight. I think I was more embarrassed than … more than excited at seeing someone I knew. A woman of my age walking into a club, it has to be social suicide, right? People in their fifties don’t frequent places like this, do they? He’s my age and he’s here. It must be different for men. After all, he was here with someone, wasn’t he?

  I say, “Says two twenty-eight-year-olds.” I laugh, looking around the room for an empty table. When I see a man and two women stand from their booth, I say, “They’re leaving. Let’s take their table.” I watch as he walks away with a woman holding onto each of his arms. That’s disgusting, I think to myself. The girls are younger than he is, very attractive, and they are both giddy. He watches me as he walks away from the table. Creep, I think to myself.

  Rachael says, “This seems like a nice place.”

  “A nice place for what?” I giggle.

  I’m recently single and raising a three-year-old. Not exactly a place I feel like I belong. I didn’t like the bar scene when I was in my twenties, and I’m pretty sure not much has changed in my fifties.

  “To mingle,” she says. “This place has men of all ages, just like Skylar said they would.”

  A cocktail waitress stops by our table, and we order a bottle of Chianti. I decided to wear jeans, a pale blue blouse, and a pair of tan heels. Age appropriate. Not too flashy, but comfortable.

  Crossing my legs I say, “Drink fast. I don’t want to be here all night.”

  Rachael giggles. “Hard to drink fast, when our drinks aren’t even here yet.”

  She has a point. “I’m sorry.” I exhale loudly, closing my eyes and trying to relax.

  “It’s been awhile since I’ve been out without Daniel. Let’s enjoy the music and the wine, then we’ll leave.”

  Sometimes I forget she’s married. Not because she acts single, but because I mostly see her at the bakery and she’s always alone. “Okay, sounds good.”

  Rachael and I laugh as we enjoy each other’s company. I almost forget I’m in a club on a Friday night when some guys come over and ask us to dance; we both decline. We also refuse to drink the drinks that the waitress brings over to our table from the two older men sitting at the bar, although we smile and wave to them our appreciation for the drinks. I don’t trust opened drinks so we continue to finish off our bottle of wine.

  My mind drifts off to when I saw Luke in the parking lot when we first arrived. I’m not sure if it’s him I’m thinking about or the woman he was with. I had assumed he was single since I’ve never seen him with anyone. I do frequently see him in the mornings when people are rushing to their jobs. I guess he wouldn’t be with someone that time of day though. I should really stop assuming things; I’ve never been good at it.

  When different guys from the bar approach us to dance, Rachael agrees we should leave. She’s happily married and offered to join me for an evening out, something our friends thought would be a good idea. Rachael is more than my friend; she also helps me out at the bakery, helps me with little Connor, and offers support for things I can’t understand. I met her one night after Brett beat me; that also happened to be the night I decided to leave him. I could tell from the look on her face that she didn’t know things like this went on. That other people didn’t live perfect lives. That abuse of this degree happened in a marriage. It was a shock to her and to her family to witness. We both have one thing in common. We both have lost a son. She lost her son to brain cancer, while I lost my son to an accident he caused.

  “Well, this was fun,” she teases.

  “It was.” It’s not a total lie. It was fun hanging out with Rachael. Although we could have done this at home, it was nice to get out. I just have no desire to do it again anytime soon. “I hope this makes Ava and Skylar happy.” I know they worry about me and they want me to get out and meet people. But I’m perfectly content staying home with little Connor.

  Over the next two weeks, I have an internal battle with myself about whether to enroll Connor in preschool or not. I’ve finally made the decision to do it. It’s not fair to him to be at the bakery during the long work hours. He also needs to be with other children his age. He just seems so little and he’s been through so much in his short life. My friend Rachael comes over and tends to the bakery while I take Connor to his new school. It’s his first day and I’m nervous about leaving him in the care of strangers. Well, they aren’t totally strangers. I’ve met the entire staff and have spent time with all of them over the last couple weeks. I chose this preschool partly because of convenience; they’ll pick up and drop Connor off at the house. I also chose them because of the friendly staff. But the main reason is they’re also the only preschool in town that’s never received any violations from the state. I’ve researched extensively, and they are the best preschool in the area.

  He walks into the preschool excitedly. “Look, Momma, there’s my name on the wall.”

  I look in the direction he’s pointing. His name is written above a cubby that’ll hold his personal items. “Let’s go and hang up your coat.”

  His teacher sees us and walks over. She has a friendly smile and kneels down so she is eye level with Connor. “Hi, Connor.”

  He isn’t shy like I was afraid he might be. “Hi, Miss Smith.”

  “Are you ready to start school?”

  “Yep.”

  I watch as she gently touches his arm. “Hang up your coat and have a seat. We’re going to have breakfast first.”

  “Okay.”

  She stands and tells me what the routine is for the day with the children. “There’s a one-way mirror if you want to sit and observe the staff with the children.”

  I already knew about the room for the parents. It’s nice we can watch the kids without them knowing we’re spying. “Maybe I’ll watch for a few minutes.”

  “Stay as long as you want. We have one mother who stays the entire day.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Alexandria brings her son Barron to school, and then watches him from the mirrored windows.” I’m not sure what’s the purpose of doing that. Why bring a child to school if you’re not going to leave them? “She said that he needs to be around other children to learn social skills, yet she can’t bring herself to leave him.”

  Now, I understand. “It’s hard leaving your child.”

  “Yes it is. I did the same thing when my son, Sam, came here.” She smiles at the memory. “I didn’t stay all day, but I did stay well into the afternoon.”

  “If I didn’t have a job, I might be camping out here, too.” I laugh to myself at the thought.

  “Luckily, my husband’s income allowed me to be a homemaker. Sam needed to be around other children, but I had trust issues. Sam’s my pride and joy, and I had a tough time trusting that others would care for him as I would.”

  “And now you work here. I’m assuming they took good care of your son.”

  “They did. After awhile I applied for a job here. Why not? I mean I was already here most of the day anyway. I might as well get paid for it.”

  This reassures me that I chose the right preschool for Connor. I kiss Connor goodbye before I leave to watch him for a few minutes, and then I head back to the ba
kery, knowing that he’ll do just fine today. It’s a good feeling and I feel like I’m doing the right thing for him and for me. He needs friends, and I need to be able to run a business without having to worry about him.

  The bakery is busy when I return. I admire what I’ve accomplished over the last year. Never did I imagine I would be free, and I never imagined that I would be running my own business. The sign hanging from the post in the yard is a photo of a cupcake with white icing and colored sprinkles. In beautiful calligraphy, it says, “Savannah Sweets on Magnolia Street.” My and little Connor’s two-bedroom apartment is over the bakery. I bought it before I knew he even existed. It’s large and spacious and is perfect for a family of two.

  Walking inside the bakery, I greet the customers. I put on my apron and get right to work. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long to get caught up. We don’t sell specialty coffee for this reason. We would need to have a full-time barista on duty. We do offer flavored creamers and several different-flavored teas. I wanted this to be a bakery, not a coffee shop. I wanted to be known for the mouth-watering desserts and scrumptious pastries, as well as great-tasting muffins and donuts.

  “How did it go?” Rachael asks.

  “Very well. I think he’ll do great there.” I look around at the full tables. “Was it hard to keep up?” I ask.

  “No. It really helps that you put out a serve-yourself beverage station. That makes things run smoother and saves us a lot of time.”

  “I think so, too, but I was worried about excessive waste from the customers.”

  She looks at me. “I wouldn’t think that would be a problem here. Maybe in a convenience store that could be a huge problem.”

  I get a visual of several kids standing at the soda fountain, pouring a mixture of sodas in a cup, tasting it, then pouring it down the drain, just to start the process over again. “Thankfully, young kids don’t drink coffee.” I’m more thankful than ever that I chose to open a bakery and not a convenience store.

  When things slow down in the afternoon, Rachael leaves and I do some light baking. I have to fight the urge to run to Connor’s school and watch him in the room with the mirrors. I know he’s fine, but it’s still tough to control the urge to go to the school and get him. I decide to bake some of his favorite cutout sugar cookies. He loves to eat them almost as much as he likes to decorate them. I also make some no-bake cookies for Ava, and some lemon pastries for the bakery. These are all easy recipes and don’t take much time.

  I find myself thinking of my parents. They would be proud of me if they could see what I’ve done with the bakery; if only they could see what I’ve done with my life. They both died many years ago, and I miss them every day. Maybe things would have been different for me if they hadn’t died. Maybe I would have found the courage to leave Brett. Maybe I would have left him and my parents and I would have fled to another state, another country. No, my dad was a surgeon; he could never leave his patients. They counted on him and they also needed him. I could never ask him to leave his practice.

  I shift my thoughts from the past to my future with my grandson. When the baking and cleanup is done, I’m excited when it’s time for me to get little Connor from school.

  Luke

  On Monday morning, I meet Carter early at the gym. He tells me about his wild threesome, although I’d rather he didn’t. I work harder, run faster, and lift more weights to take my mind off of his story. I know his ex-wife did a number on him, and this is his way of getting over the pain. I don’t approve of it, and I don’t want to hear about it. I know they’re void fillers and this is his way of dealing with the pain. As his friend, I have said something to him in the past, but it only added stress to our relationship. He’s a grown man, so if he wants to have consensual sex with other adults, I should mind my own business and not be overly judgmental. We all live and learn from our mistakes, and we make mistakes that we hopefully learn from. It’s what makes us human.

  “So, when are you seeing them again?” I ask.

  I know once he sleeps with them, his interest in them is over. He’ll be ready to move on to the next void filler by the weekend.

  He laughs. “I have no plans of seeing or talking to either of them again. But, there was this hot chick who came in right after you left. She was older and had a hot friend with her.” He wipes the sweat from his brow.

  I suddenly remember that Nichole and her friend were walking in as I was leaving. Now he has my attention. “Older as in our age, or older as in your mother’s age?” It seems he sleeps only with girls several years his junior.

  “Our age,” he clarifies. I find it interesting that he calls women our age, older. “Now those two, I may even call them for a second date.”

  I hate the thought that he may be talking about Nichole. “Date? You call what you do with them a date?”

  He chuckles. “It’s the closest to a date that they’ll ever get from me.”

  Now that, I can believe.

  Carter and I went to high school together and we also joined the Army together. We went in on the buddy system. He did his four years and got out; after all, he was married to his high school sweetheart. I decided to re-enlist and make a career of it. It was the best and the worst decision of my life.

  When Carter thought his wife was having an affair, he pretended to go to work but hid and spied on his house. Sure enough, a man appeared, a man Carter’s wife kissed when she opened the door. They went inside. Carter went to his shed and got an axe, and then he let himself in the house. He heard the sound of amorous activity coming from the bedroom. The bedroom door was open slightly, and Carter slammed the side of the head of the axe against the door and charged into the room. He went to the bed where his cowering wife and her cowering lover lay, and he raised the axe high above his head. Then he stuck out his tongue at them, left, and then filed for a divorce.

  I shower, and then Dale and I drive past the bakery on the way to the worksite of my new house. The bakery is busy so I don’t stop. I do notice the grass is higher than usual and the parking lot and sidewalk need edging. I turn around in the driveway to return home. After I hook up the trailer loaded with lawn equipment, I head back to the worksite to start on my own building project.

  I work well into the afternoon before stopping for lunch. I play with Dale and we both sit on the tailgate of my black pickup truck and admire the view and my work. “This is the life, huh, boy?” He barks to let me know he agrees. It’s not a horse ranch in Montana, but it’s not a bad piece of property either. It’ll do perfectly for what I want and need. The only thing I’m missing is a view of the mountains; however, I can’t complain about the wooded acreage view. I give Dale fresh water and fill his dish with dog food, no fast food for him today. When we finish lunch, I wipe the sweat from my brow and then get back to work.

  Dale is more than my dog, he’s my family. He was a gift from my father, and he’s the fifth generation Airedale terrier to be passed down in our family. Airedale terriers are military dogs and were widely used in WW1 to deliver mail and messages to soldiers during combat. He’s larger than most terriers, standing over two feet tall and weighing more than 60 lbs. When my great-grandfather died in combat, someone gave his wife an Airedale terrier to keep her company. My family is from a long line of military men and since then, the spawn of each dog is passed down from generation to generation at the time of their retirement or at the time of their death. Sadly, that tradition will end with me. I have no children and at my age, I don’t plan to have any now. I do plan to breed Dale and keep his bloodline going. He’s too special of a breed and of a pet not to.

  On my way home, I stop by the bakery to cut Nichole’s grass. I’m glad when the parking lot is empty, indicating she isn’t home. She’s a single mother, and if cutting her grass will help reduce some of her stress, I’m glad to do it. Dale waits patiently for me under the shade tree with a fresh bowl of water. He’s wearing an American flag bandana around his neck, represent
ing our wonderful nation we live in. The bandana reads, ‘Home of the free, because of the brave.’ I don’t think any truer words have ever been spoken.

  Instead of using the push mower like I had planned, I use the riding mower to try to hurry before she gets home. I don’t want her to feel obligated or feel like she owes me something for doing this. I’m glad to be able to do something to help her. She’s an outstanding woman to be raising her grandson. I’m sure it can’t be easy, especially when her own child is an adult. I can’t imagine raising one child, much less raising a grandchild. Starting over, raising a family, and putting your life on hold is truly a selfless act. Maybe she doesn’t see it like that.

  When I’m finished with the grass, I edge around the cobblestone walkway and the parking lot. Afterwards, I blow the trimmings from the lot, load up my equipment and Dale, and then we leave. We pass Nichole on the road and I lower my head so she doesn’t recognize me. If she did recognize me, the mower, leaf blower, and edger on the trailer would be a sure sign I’m the one who cut her grass, but I want that to be my secret.

  On the way home, we stop at the cemetery. My mother has been dead for almost ten years and it’s still tough to accept her death. She shouldn’t have died. She was too young. If she had died of natural causes or terminal cancer, which I guess is a natural cause, maybe I could have accepted it, but she didn’t.

  Slowly, Dale and I walk to her grave and lay the daisies down at the base of her gray marble tombstone. While sitting there alone, I try to control my thoughts. Saying nothing, I remain still. I have no words to speak; I’ve already spoken them. I’m sorry. I should have been there. I love you. I miss you. I feel responsible. I say none of the things I’ve said over and over in the past. Instead, I remove the rag from my back pocket and wipe down her dusty tombstone. Dale lies still on her gravesite as if in mourning. He never knew my mother, but I think he can feel my sadness. My heart still aches from her absence. She was healthy and younger than her years. She should have lived a long and happy life. She should have still been here on this earth. But she isn’t. My time with her was cut short and she’ll never be here again. I just hope she knew how much I loved her, and how hard I try to be the son she would be proud of. I kiss my fingers before touching her tombstone. “I love you, Mom,” I say before turning to leave. I get to the truck and wait for Dale. He lets out a long sorrowful howl before jumping into the passenger seat.

  I call my sister, Angie, on the drive home. When she doesn’t answer, I leave her a message to call me. Once I’m home, Dale and I run for our nightly exercise, shower, and we have dinner alone. I think about the day and try to ignore the thoughts of the past as they try to creep into my mind. After downing a couple beers and a few shots, I hope it’s enough to let me sleep through the nightmares.

  Nichole

  “Momma, I made lots and lots of friends, and my teacher is so, so nice. Can I go back tomorrow?”

  I quickly look in the rearview mirror at my grandson in his car seat. He’s all smiles, and he’s holding a picture he made at school. I’m happy to know I’ve made the right decision placing him in preschool.

  “I was thinking maybe you could ride on the school bus tomorrow.” I watch him closely to see his facial expression.

  “You mean the big, big yellow school bus?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can my friends ride it, too?”

  I turn onto Magnolia Street. “I’m sure some of them will be riding the bus.”

  “Only if my friends are on the bus. I don’t want to ride it alone.”

  “Okay, Connor. We’ll make sure some of your friends are on the bus first.”

  When I pull up at the bakery, the first thing I notice is the manicured lawn. When I left, the grass needed cut. I was planning on hiring a lawn care company, but I never got around to it. I’ve been doing it myself during my down time. But it seems I don’t have much spare time for mowing and edging. I make a mental note to call Chase and thank him. I’m sure he’s the one responsible for this.

  Later that night, after dinner and Connor’s bath, and when he is peacefully sleeping, I call Chase to thank him. He’s an attorney, and a married man with twin daughters. He’s the most likely one I could think of who would have cut the grass. When he tells me it wasn’t him, I call Rachael’s husband, Daniel. He tells me it wasn’t him either. I then call the only other person I can think of: Skylar’s husband, Drew. When he tells me it wasn’t him, I have no idea who the Good Samaritan is, but I silently thank him — if it’s a him — before turning in for the night.

  I dream of my abusive husband and son. I dream of verbal abuse and yelling. I dream of open wounds, blood, and falls. I also dream of pain and misery. At 3:00 am, I know that sleep won’t find me anymore on this night. After I check on little Connor, I shower and then go downstairs to do some baking.

  Although Brett can’t hurt me anymore, it doesn’t help with the nightmares, the memories, or the scars that are a constant reminder of what my life was. What I am thankful for is that the scars are hidden and out of view from my family and friends. It would be a constant reminder of the torture I lived. They will never know what I went through during my marriage.

  I think of my parents and how much I miss them. I think about games we played, stories they told, and meals we shared. I also remember their kindness and love. God, I’ve missed that. My dad had the kindest heart of anyone I ever knew. He was a member of Doctors Without Borders where he would travel to third-world countries to offer medical care to whoever needed it and couldn’t afford it. His career was never about making money. His career and his life were always about helping others and giving back to his community — and giving to third-world communities.

  He was so sweet and loving to my mother. He truly adored her. Oh, how I wanted that life for me. Brett was like that in the beginning, or did he just fool my mother, my father, and me? Could it be he was a kind man in the beginning and I did something to make him evil? Nichole, stop it! You did nothing to make him the way he was. Then my mind drifts back to before I met him. I never met his parents. He said they were killed in a car accident. Could that have triggered something evil in his brain? Did it start before that? Was his father violent to his mother and was his behavior learned? Learned just like it was with our son, Connor?

  I don’t know and I can’t focus on that anymore. If that is the case, I’m breaking that cycle with my grandson. I wish I had done something to help Connor. God, if I had known, things would be so different for so many people. Connor, me, Ava, Chase…. I can’t even think about it. I can’t think about the people he hurt. There are so many people whom he hurt. Even my son, Connor. He wasn’t like that in the beginning. Tears fall and I swipe them away. It’s hard not to remember my sweet newborn. I loved him.

  I can’t even remember when things started going badly for us. When the brainwashing started. It had to have been brainwashing. My sweet little Connor was not born like that. I failed him. I didn’t see the signs or I ignored them. I sit in the dark at a table in the bakery and cry.

  After several long minutes, or maybe hours, I play music softly, and bake to take my mind off of my past. Looking around the room, I smile. This is my life. I’m happy and proud of how it ended for me. I did this. I couldn’t have done it without the help and support of my friends. I don’t think they will ever know how grateful I am to them. Well, maybe they do. Some of them knew Brett and Connor and a couple of them thought they knew what they were both capable of doing. I never told anyone the truth, not even my attorney. I knew if I wanted Brett to not contest the divorce, I would have to tell Chase about some of the abuse. But I couldn’t tell it all. I couldn’t open myself up like that. There was no way he would believe me, not without seeing proof. And the only proof I had are my scars, and I didn’t want to reveal those to anyone. Ever.

  It’s dark outside and I make several trips upstairs to check on little Connor. He sleeps peacefully. I inhale his scent and pray h
e dreams of rainbows and butterflies. This child is my entire world, and I need him more than I need my next breath.

  Just before dawn, there’s a knock at the door. We don’t open for another half an hour and Connor’s still in bed. I look through the glass door and see a familiar customer standing there. I open the door for Luke Tanner.

  “Hi, Nichole, I know you’re closed, and I wouldn’t have stopped if I didn’t see the lights on.”

  I open the door wider for him. He’s been here before, and he knows Ava and Skylar. I think I can trust him. Normally, I wouldn’t have opened the door and I would have turned him away. I look outside to see a familiar truck in the parking lot. “Please, come in.”

  “I’m hoping to maybe get a quick cup of coffee and then I’ll be on my way.” He smiles, showing perfectly white teeth and a single dimple in his chin.

  The timer goes off on the oven. “Lock the door for me, will you, while I get the muffins out of the oven?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  I put the last batch of blueberry muffins in the oven before starting the coffee. “It’s going to take a few minutes for the coffee. I hope you’re not in a hurry.”

  “No, I’m in no hurry.” He looks around the bakery. “I didn’t know you started baking so early in the morning.”

  “Normally, I don’t. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d make good use of my time.” I look over at him. “You’re here pretty early.”

  He runs his hand through his damp hair. “I couldn’t sleep, either. Thought I’d grab a coffee and start work at sunrise.”

  I offer him a chair as I remove the hot muffins from the pan, and then ask, “Do you want a muffin while you wait for the coffee?” When he doesn’t say anything, I offer a smile and say, “They’re hot from the oven.”

  “Sure, thank you. They smell delicious.” He doesn’t sit down but stands on the other side of the counter from me.

  “Nothing like a fresh, hot blueberry muffin first thing in the morning.”

  “Thank you, but if I’m interrupting, I can leave. I know you must have twenty-nine and a half things to do before you open.”

  “You’re fine. I was actually going to have a coffee and a muffin, too. Do you mind if I join you?” I hope I’m not too forward.

  He walks to a small table. “I would like that.” I watch as he pulls out both chairs from the table. “I’ll get the muffins while you get the coffee.” He walks to the counter and takes the plate of muffins, a few napkins, and the pats of butter and carries them to the table.

  I ask over my shoulder, “You take your coffee black, right?”

  “I do, thank you.”

  Once I pour the coffee, I take the seat across from him. Suddenly this feels awkward. I need to find something to talk about.

  “Is that your truck outside?”

  “It is. Why do you ask?”

  “Do you live or work around here?” I realize my questions may sound strange to him.

  “I drive past here on my way to work.” He cups his coffee mug with both hands. “Why do you ask?”

  I smile. Now I have my answer, but I need to hear him say it. “Luke Tanner, did you happen to cut my lawn yesterday?”

  He also smiles as he leans back in his chair. “I may have driven by and noticed the overgrowth.”

  “Thank you.” I laugh as I recall calling several people last night to thank them. I thought I knew who did it, but clearly I had no idea.

  “No thanks needed.”

  He leans up and we both take a drink of the hot coffee.

  “Did you and your girlfriend have a good time at the club?”

  He nearly chokes on his coffee. “Excuse me?”

  “I saw you in the parking lot of Club 51 Degrees a couple weeks ago. You were with a girl. Did you have a good time?”

  “About that.” He clears his throat. “It’s not what it looked like.” I saw him standing there and the girl was holding onto his arm. “As I was leaving, I ran into… an old friend. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “Oh, I just assumed… I’m sorry.”

  His smile is infectious. “It’s okay. I met a friend there, but I left before he did. Did you and your friend have a good time?” he asks.

  “It was my first time there. I’m not much of a club person,” I admit. “Ava and Skylar recommended that place to my friend Rachael and me.”

  “Peer pressure, huh?”

  I laugh when he smiles. “Yeah, you could say that.”

  Before the conversation can go any further, Rachael walks into the bakery. “I came a little early so you could get Connor ready for school.” She startles when she sees Luke sitting at the table with me. “Sorry, I saw the lights on, but I didn’t think anyone was here with you.”

  Luke stands from the table. “I just came in for a coffee. Thank you, Nichole, for the muffin.”

  I also stand. “Let me get you a coffee to go.”

  He tosses some money on the table and follows me to the counter. “Thank you, Nichole.”

  “You’re welcome, Luke.” Our fingers lightly touch when I hand him his coffee, then our eyes meet. That’s when I notice his kind brown eyes, his graying temples, and his friendly features.

  As soon as he walks out the door, Rachael says, “Who in the hell is that?”

  “Just a customer.”

  The timer goes off and I remove the last of the muffins from the oven.

  “How long have I been working here with you?”

  “Since I opened.”

  “I’ve never seen him here before.”

  “Really? He comes in, but he never stays. He always gets a coffee to go.”

  “Why are you going clubbing when you have customers who look like that?”

  I have no idea. I get Connor ready for preschool while Rachael opens the bakery and tends to the customers. Connor has his breakfast downstairs in the bakery. He likes to eat down there because he likes the smell of baking, which is especially strong there, and while he eats behind the counter, it gives me a chance to help Rachael.

  I watch as the preschool bus arrives to pick up little Connor. I feel like I want to cry, but I stay strong for my happy excited boy.

  “Connor, have fun, and I’ll see you after school,” Rachael says, hugging him.

  The customers say their goodbyes to him as he walks through the bakery to the bus. After I kiss and hug him, I stand and wave until the bus is out of my sight. When I turn around, all of the customers, including Rachael, are standing in the front yard waving and watching as the bus rounds the corner. Seeing the love and support of the customers sends me into a crying fit.

  Across the street, however, I see the regular school bus show up. Two kids climb onto the school bus while their parents sit in lawn chairs and drink champagne to celebrate being away from their kids for a few hours. It’s all staged, of course. It’s being preserved on video and will probably be on YouTube later today.

  Luke

  After work, Dale and I go to the dog park. This is his favorite place to be. It’s where he’s able to strut his stuff in front of the girl dogs. I guess it’s similar to my friend Carter being in a club. We walk the beach, throw Frisbees, and play ball. When I see a familiar face, I continue to play with Dale as I watch Nichole and Connor. Connor is sitting under a tree and petting a small dog. I didn’t realize they had a pet. When I know for certain that they aren’t with anyone, I toss the ball in their direction. I want to make it look like the run-in is coincidental. Well, it kind of is since I didn’t know they would be here.

  Dale runs after the ball, barking playfully, getting the attention of others. He brings the ball back to me and I see Connor standing up. I smile and wave. I pet Dale and walk over to where Connor and Nichole are. I watch as the pup he was petting walks away with an older woman.

  “Hey, you guys come here much?” I ask.

  Nichole stands and reaches down to pet Dale. “We try to come every Su
nday. Connor likes to play with the dogs.”

  “Is this your dog?” Connor asks.

  “It is. His name’s Dale.”

  I hear Nichole chuckle.

  “Dale? That’s not a dog’s name,” Connor says, looking surprised at my name choice.

  I can honestly say that’s not the first time I’ve heard that. “It’s not?” I ask.

  “No. Dogs need names like Spot or Rover, or Lucky. Not Dale, that’s a man’s name.” He reaches up and pets Dale. Of course, Dale likes it. “He’s a nice dog,” Connor says, scratching Dale behind his ear.

  Nichole watches Dale and Connor with interest. “He looks like a terrier breed, but I’ve never seen a terrier this big before.” She reaches out and also pets him. “Is he a mixed breed?”

  “He’s an Airedale terrier.”

  She looks up at me with a smile. “That explains where the name came from. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a dog being named Dale until now.”

  “He isn’t like other dogs.”

  She looks at me and smiles. “I’m sure he isn’t.”

  I look around the park. “Do you have a dog here?” I ask.

  “No, we don’t got no dog.” Connor pouts.

  I look from Connor to Nichole. She smiles. “He wants a dog. We come here so he can play with them.” She pets Dale again. “I don’t have the time to devote to being a pet owner.”

  “It’s time consuming, that’s for sure,” I admit. “I once had a dog when I was a child and he was a runner. He’d run away every chance he got. Once he got loose from the fenced-in yard and I had to chase after him. Every time I’d get close he’d take off running faster. I was tired of chasing him so I gave up and turned around to run home.”

  “Oh no,” Nichole says, “You just didn’t leave him there did you?”

  “No, he thought it was a game and started chasing after me.”

  Nichole laughs and says, “As a child I once had a dog named Rex. My stomach growled so he growled back at me. He wasn’t the smartest dog around.” I watch as she recalls another memory. “Rex also wouldn’t go to bed without his blanket, his dog pillow, or his chew toy. It took him fifteen minutes to carry everything to the bed before he could go to sleep.” We all laugh and Nichole adds, “Minus the chew toy, dogs are a lot like kids.”

  “Yeah, I guess they are.”

  After a few minutes, I reluctantly say, “I wish I could stay, but…”

  Nichole interrupts and says, “Look at the time. I didn’t realize it was getting so late. We need to get going, too.”

  “But, Momma,” Connor whines, “I want to play with Dale.”

  “I know, honey. Maybe some other time.”

  “If you guys aren’t doing anything tomorrow, maybe we can meet back here around 2:00?” I think I said that too fast. I didn’t have time to think about it. Do I really want to meet them tomorrow? Is that going to be like a date? It’s what I’ve been wanting, right? To spend more time with Nichole?

  “Please, Momma? Can we?”

  “We’ll see, Connor. I have so much to do tomorrow. It’s laundry day and I still have to get some baking done, and we have to go to the grocery store.”

  I look at my watch and if I want to make it to the benefit on time, I need to leave now. “We’ll be here tomorrow, if you can make it.”

  She looks me in the eyes. I can’t tell what she’s thinking. I have no idea if I just made a fool of myself or not. Maybe she’s thinking she hopes to never run into me again.

  “Okay. I’ll do my best.”

  “Good. Bye, Connor and Nichole.”

  “Bye, Dale,” Connor says.

  “And goodbye, Mr. Tanner,” Nichole adds.

  “Please, call me Luke.”

  She smiles. “And Luke.”

  “Bye, Luke,” Connor says, petting Dale.

  On the drive home, I like the thought of seeing Nichole tomorrow. I know it’s not so much Nichole wanting to see me, as it is Connor wanting to see Dale. It’s still more time I get to spend with her and get to know her.

  Just before I reach my house, my sister calls me.

  I say, “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you.”

  “Well, hello to you, too.”

  I exhale deeply. “I’ve been worried about you.”

  “I’m fine. How are you?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m good. Heading home to shower, I have a benefit to attend tonight.”

  “Dad told me about it. I sent in my donation earlier this week.”

  “Thank you. I tried calling you the other day, but it went to voicemail.”

  “Dad’s here visiting. He said he told you.”

  “I must have forgotten. So I take it everything’s all right?”

  “It is. Please stop worrying about me.”

  I wish I could. “I’m trying. I really am.”

  “Try harder. I’m fine, really.”

  I pull up at the house and as much as I hate to, I need to hang up and get ready for this evening. “I will, I promise. I need to get ready or I’ll be late.”

  “I understand.”

  “I love you, Angie.”

  “I love you, too, Luke.”

  I shower and dress in my dress blues. I’m retired from the Army, and I try to attend most of the ceremonies and special events. Depending on the event, I’m often one of the guest speakers. I’ve rehearsed my speech over and over in my head and occasionally out loud in my home. This event is close to my heart. It’s important that I give a powerful speech. I don’t want anyone leaving there unsure of the message I was trying to relay.

  Dale and I take our daily vitamin. If he’s going to eat like a full-grown man instead of a full-grown dog, it’s my job to give him the vitamins he may be missing. I have no idea if these help him, but I asked the veterinarian and he said it couldn’t hurt. I down a beer to help calm my nerves and I refill his water dish. “I’ll be home soon, Dale. You got everything under control?” A bark lets me know he does. I rub behind his ears one last time before leaving.

  I show my retired military I.D. to enter Fort Stewart. This was my home for many years. An unknown soldier at the security gate greets me.

  I walk into the event alone. The last one of these I attended, I was with Monica. Now that I think about it, she was with me for the last several events I attended. I hope people won’t ask me about her. I’m not sure how to answer their prying questions. The guys won’t ask, they know better. But their wives, that’s a whole different story. They know no boundaries.

  After scanning the room, I decide to head to the bar. Another drink is just what I need. Wanting a whiskey, I decide on a beer instead. I keep my back to the room so I’m not forced to make polite conversation. I know it’s a charity event, and I should make nice with all the people, but I’m not really a people person. I can thank nine tours of duty in Afghanistan for that.

  “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t make it,” Sergeant Major Kallas says.

  I force a smile and turn around. “Traffic,” I lie.

  “There’s usually heavy traffic during rush hour, not into the dinner hour.” I watch as Sergeant Major Kallas tips his brandy glass, swallowing the amber liquid in one gulp. “You missed dinner.”

  “I ate before I came.” Another lie.

  He looks around the crowded room. “How are you?” he asks.

  Sergeant Major Kallas knows what I’ve been through with my most recent deployment. Hell, they all do, but he also knows the effects it’s had on me. He’s my colleague, but he’s also a friend.

  “I’m good, thank you.” It’s not a total lie. I’m better than most.

  “Don’t stress too much. I have faith that you’ll do great.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate the vote of confidence.” I look around at the packed room.

  “In case you didn’t know, it’s a full house.”

  “I can see that. Hopefully we’ll raise a lot of money thi
s evening.”

  “That’s always the plan.”

  I sit on stage and listen to everyone as they give their rehearsed speeches. Tonight, is a charity event for our veterans. Often, people think of veterans as men and women who served in the earlier wars. That’s not always the case. There are soldiers in their late teens and twenties fighting a war today. Some may never come home, some will come home in a body bag, some will return home injured and possibly with missing limbs, while others will return home with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Some will also suffer from phantom pain; although a limb is missing, they will feel pain in that limb. Some will even end up homeless and hungry. The degree and types of injuries will vary. However, they are all very much real, and P.T.S.D. is a real problem, and this charity is close to my heart.

  When it’s my turn to speak, I speak the truth. I saw and lived through nine tours of duty. I saw people die, I saw Humvees being blown up by IED’s — improvised explosive devices. I saw soldiers with missing limbs crying out in pain. Pain from their own injuries, and pain for their lost comrades. Survivors’ guilt is terrible. It haunts you in your sleep. It haunts you in everything you do. I was a damn good soldier. I was a Drill Sergeant in my earlier years in the service. I taught these men and women how to survive and how to kill. When they die in combat, I feel responsible. I feel like I’ve failed them. That’s when I started to volunteer for deployment. I wanted our men and women to return home. I wanted to do the killings in order to protect these young soldiers. I was tough, I could take it, or so I thought.

  The more speeches I give, the more graphic they are. If I could print out the images embedded in my brain and show people, I would. I want people to give generously to this cause. I want people to know this is real and these soldiers deserve more than the military and the government gives them. I also want people to know that just because you can’t see an injury, it doesn’t mean the injury doesn’t exist. P.T.S.D. is a real problem and many people live with it, some commit suicide because of it, and some lose their jobs and family as a result of it. It’s like hunger. Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.

  I watch during my speech as people stand from their table to exit the room. I watch men and women wipe tears from their eyes. That’s when I know my words are reaching them. That’s when I know that they truly understand.

  When I make eye contact with a familiar face, I try to look away, but my eyes are pinned to his. I’m reliving a night while being deployed, but my mouth is speaking in the present. I want to forget that night. I tried to forget that night, but it’s useless. It was honestly one of the most horrific moments I have ever lived through. Some days I wish I hadn’t lived through it. I wish I had died with the others when their Humvee blew up.

  I close my speech with, “Please give, and give generously. These soldiers deserve it. Thank you.”

  I’m the last speaker for the evening. I don’t hang around and mingle. Just before I leave, I drop a check into the donation bowl. I don’t say goodbye to anyone; I just leave. Right before I make it to my car, someone stops me. A familiar voice calls out. “Excuse me.”

  I turn around to stare into those familiar eyes. It’s a soldier in civilian clothing. “Yes?” I wait and watch as he and his wife closes the distance between us. Once they are closer, I return the wife’s smile. “Skylar. Drew.”

  “I hope this is okay?” Drew asks.

  “It’s fine. How are you?”

  “I thought you looked familiar the night I saw you in Nichole’s bakery.” He watches me, never looking away. “But it wasn’t until tonight, that I remembered from where.” I don’t say anything. I let him talk. Skylar stands by, not saying a word, offering silent support to her husband. “You were there that night of the attack in Afghanistan.” I still say nothing. He’s not asking me a question. He’s remembering a night I wish I could forget. “If you hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t be standing here today.” His eyes become glassy. “You pulled me to safety. You pulled the others from the wreckage, even though they were killed instantly. All of them dead; they died instantly.”

  I have a flashback of that night. The flashes of the Humvee being blown up in front of me. My troops and I were in the vehicle behind theirs as we were making a turn on rugged terrain. I should have suspected something wasn’t right. I should have known something was about to go down. I saw an old man on the side of the road sitting on top of a rock. My biggest mistake was I thought he was harmless. I should have known. I never should have trusted him.

  I wish I had opened fire and killed the old man before he detonated the IED as the first vehicle passed. But of course, all I saw was an old man, and I had no reason to shoot him. I can’t just say that all the members of a certain group are evil people. It simply isn’t the case that all Muslim people are evil terrorists.

  One of the bravest people I ever met was an Iranian. On 14 May 2013, fire broke out in an apartment building in Tehran, the capital of Iran. Omid Abbasi and other Iranian firefighters arrived to fight the fire. Learning that a seven-year-old girl was trapped inside, Mr. Abbasi rushed into the building and found the girl. To keep her alive, he gave her his oxygen mask. He rescued the girl, but he suffered brain death due to lack of oxygen, although doctors in a hospital emergency room tried to save his life. After he died, his family donated his organs to three patients who needed transplants. His mother said, “He was kind and loved saving people.” The little girl he had saved attended Mr. Abbasi’s funeral and said, “He saved my life, and I am really thankful.” I attended that funeral.

  Drew says, “I never had a chance to thank you for what you did for me.”

  I clear my throat. “It’s okay, Drew. I wish I had done more.” That’s the truth. I remember the bloody massacre. I remember Drew’s leg was nearly severed, yet he was more concerned for his comrades. I remember Drew’s screams when he realized his comrades and friends were dead. I also remember Drew begging God to take his life and spare his friends’ lives. I try to steady my breathing. I try to wipe away the images of that night.

  “It’s because of you that I’m here today. And it’s because of you that those families of the slain soldiers got to bring their loved ones home for a proper goodbye and burial.” Skylar cries as if hearing this for the first time. “Don’t dismiss what you’ve done as anything less than heroic.”

  I wanted to do more. I’m not a hero, and my efforts weren’t heroic. Men died, and I couldn’t save them. “I’m glad to see you’re doing better,” I finally say. My eyes drift down to his legs. With his prosthetic leg hidden beneath his suit, it’s hard for me to tell anything is wrong.

  “It took time and some getting used to.”

  I’m sure it did. I look at my watch and say, “It’s nice seeing you again, but I really need to get going.”

  “I understand, and I won’t take anymore of your time.” He takes a step back, and I see a few people standing behind him in the shadows. I nod and give a slight smile.

  When I turn to leave, Skylar leans up and hugs me unexpectedly. The uniform intimidates most people, but Skylar isn’t. She whispers, “Luke Tanner, thank you. I knew when I met you at the inn there was something special about you. I just didn’t know, until now, how special you are.” She kisses me on my cheek before releasing me. “Thank you,” she says one last time.

  Speechless, I walk to my car and drive away. I go home, change my clothes, and Dale and I get into the truck and drive to the construction site for the new house.

  Nichole

  When Connor and I drove home from the dog park, I felt like we were being followed. I drove past the bakery and took the long way around to be sure. I’ve never been paranoid, so I’m not sure why I’m feeling like this. If Brett were still alive, I would have a reason to be fearful, but he’s dead. There’s nothing and no one who can hurt me, or would want to.

  Once inside the house, I lock up and close the blinds and the curtains. The two-bedroom a
partment we live in is over the bakery. Since we’re on the second floor, no one can peek in the windows even if they want to.

  Connor plays while I rush to get the laundry done. I straighten up the apartment and run the sweeper before heading down to the bakery to do some baking. I enjoy baking and Connor likes it just as much as I do. While I make and bake the cookies, he plays with his own dough ball, making cookies that only he’ll eat.

  I’m startled when there’s a knock at the door. Connor continues to play with his dough as I slowly walk to the door to answer it.

  “Nichole, it’s Ava. Are you home?” she calls out.

  I left out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Coming,” I say. Opening the door, I greet her warmly. “Come on in.”

  “I’m sorry I’m here unannounced,” she says apologetically.

  “You don’t need an invitation; you’re always welcome.”

  “Thank you. Hey, Connor,” she says, walking over to where he’s playing. The oven timer goes off, and I go behind the counter to remove the cookies before they burn. “It smells so good in here.”

  “Thank you. Chocolate chip cookies will do that to a home. They are the world’s best air freshener.”

  “They sure are.” I watch as she hugs Connor and walks over to where I am. She lowers her voice and says, “I wanted to see if Connor could spend the night.”

  He’s never spent the night away from home before. I know he loves Ava, and would gladly stay the night with her. “Are you sure? The twins are a handful, aren’t they?”

  She laughs. “They are. Drew and Skylar are out for the night, and Chase and I thought it would be nice to have Connor over. That is, if it’s all right with you.”

  I tell her my concern about him being gone for the night. “I’m not sure how long he’ll stay. I know he’ll want to go, but if something happens and he wants to come home, call me and I’ll be there to get him.”

  “It looks like he’s having a great time. He might not want to leave.”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  “Connor?” she asks, walking over to him. “Do you want to spend the night at my house with me, Chase, and the twins?”

  He looks excited. “You mean I can sleep there?”

  “Yep, until morning. Chase will bring you back after breakfast.”

  “Yay.” He removes his play apron and his chef’s hat.

  “Give me a minute to get his clothes and some toys ready.”

  “You can finish up here. I know where his stuff is.”

  Of course she does. Ava and Skylar helped me arrange his room, closet, and dresser drawers. She probably knows where his stuff is better than I do. “Thank you.” I look at Connor, who’s racing up the stairs and say, “You can take only two toys with you.” When he doesn’t answer, I say, “Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, Momma. Four toys.”

  “Two.” I start to clean up while Ava helps Connor. Just before they leave, I kiss and hug him. “Call me if he wants to come home, and I’ll be there to get him.”

  “He’ll be fine. I’ll have him call you before he goes to bed, and again when he wakes up.”

  “Okay, I appreciate it.”

  When they leave, I’m not sure what to do. I finish cleaning up and take a hot bath. Then I decide to start a fire outside in the fire pit then relax with a bottle of wine. I’m not sure the last time I did something like this.

  I watch as a truck drives by slowly. The brake lights come on and then the truck reverses, stopping in front of the bakery. My heart races since the vehicle doesn’t look familiar, then the window rolls down revealing a familiar face. It’s Luke Tanner.

  “Beautiful night for a fire.” I smile at his comment and hold up my wine glass. “And a drink,” he adds.

  “Care to join me?” Did I just say that? Am I inviting Luke Tanner to have a drink with me? Where did that come from? He seems like a nice guy, but do I really know him?

  He puts the truck in park and I watch as his dog, Dale, jumps out after Luke. Dale runs up to me and I watch as Luke slips on a grey hoodie over his tight black tee shirt. His jeans are snug across his butt and I can’t look away. Next, he removes a six-pack of beer from the seat of the truck and walks towards me.

  “Is Connor in the bakery?” he asks, taking a seat beside me.

  “No, he’s spending the night with Chase and Ava.” Do I really want him to know I’m home alone? Maybe I should have said he was in the house sleeping. I’m terrible at this.

  He pops the cap off his beer and puts it into his jean pocket. “How is Ava?” he asks.

  “She’s good. I forgot you two know each other.” I take a sip of my red wine.

  “I don’t really know her. We met once or twice.” I watch as he absent-mindedly pets Dale, who is sitting by his side. “She seems like a nice girl.”

  “She is.”

  He looks around the fire pit at the small stack of firewood and asks, “Do you do this often?”

  “Not as often as I’d like, but I do enjoy it.”

  “Is that all the wood you have to burn?”

  I look at the small stack of wood. “It is. Why? Is it too much?” I bought two bundles at the store the other day. I hope I didn’t buy too much.

  He laughs a throaty laugh. “Hold this for me.”

  He hands me his beer and walks to the back of his pickup truck. Dale follows him. I can see him get something from the bed of the truck, but I can’t tell what it is. He closes the tailgate and walks back towards the fire, carrying several large pieces of cut timber. “This should be enough for the night.”

  “You think we’ll need all that?”

  He stacks them neatly beside the fire pit. I run my hands up and down my arms to warm them.

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure we’ll need this, plus some.”

  He throws a few of the larger pieces of wood in the fire before sitting back down. I hand him his beer and take a sip of my wine as I watch as the dry wood catches quickly and the fire warms the night air.

  “You always drive around with firewood in the back of your truck?”

  “No, not always.” He watches me as he takes a sip of his beer. “I was actually headed out to do some camping tonight.”

  “Really?” I’ve never been camping, but I think I would like it.

  “It was a last-minute decision. It helps clear my head. Spending some time in the country alone, not much beats it.”

  I finish off the wine in my glass. He takes it from me without asking and refills it from the bottle on the table setting between us. Thank you,” I say when he hands it back to me. He finishes off his beer and opens another one, placing the cap in his jeans pocket.

  “I didn’t realize there was a campground around here.”

  “There isn’t. I own some property at the end of the cul-de-sac, and Dale and I were heading out there for the night.” I watch as he takes a large gulp of his beer. “I’m building a house and wanted to get an early start on it in the morning.”

  “You own the property at the end of this road?”

  “I do believe it’s adjacent to your property.”

  “No kidding.” He’s really easy to talk to, and I find him quite interesting, not to mention attractive. “You’re building a house by yourself?” I ask, slightly confused. I didn’t know that one man could build a house.

  Dale barks and I startle. He pets him and says, “Dale’s helping me.”

  I laugh. “Sorry, Dale. I didn’t mean to exclude you.” He barks again and I think I’m forgiven.

  “Well, it’s a small two-bedroom farmhouse with a loft. It’s not a large two-story home, as you were probably thinking.”

  “It’s still impressive. I don’t think I ever met a man who built his own home before.”

  “Doesn’t take much to impress you, does it?” He laughs and takes another drink of his beer. His eyes reflect the fire, making them more mysterious than usual.
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  I decide not to reply to his last comment.

  “Dale and I should leave. I just realized we haven’t eaten yet.”

  I laugh and say, “Now that you mention it, I haven’t eaten yet either.”

  He looks at his watch and says, “You up to sharing a pizza?”

  “Sure, sounds great.”

  He pulls out his cell phone and searches his contacts. “What do you want on it?”

  “Anything’s good with me.”

  “Pineapple and anchovies?” he asks.

  I hope he’s kidding. I crinkle my nose and he laughs.

  “Let’s try this again. What do you want on the pizza?”

  “Pepperoni and sausage is good.”

  He makes the call. “Good, that’s my favorite.” I listen to him as he places the order. “The address here is?” I tell him and he repeats the address into the phone. “Great, thank you,” he says before disconnecting the call. “It’ll be about thirty minutes.”

  Sitting here and drinking my wine, I wonder what we’ll talk about for the next half an hour. I don’t want to talk about me. I’ll start the conversation and maybe I’ll be able to keep the topic on neutral ground. Dale stands and then lies in front of the table between Luke and me. Leaning over, I pet him. He’s such a unique-looking dog.

  “I’ve never seen a dog like Dale before. May I ask where you got him?”

  He looks at Dale fondly. “Dale’s family. My great-great grandfather owned one of Dale’s ancestors. Dale’s ancestors and my ancestors have been part of the same family for a long, long time.

  “He’s a military dog, right?”

  Dale raises his head like he knows what we’re talking about.

  “They are. I’m surprised you know that.” He looks at me.

  “I researched his breed after seeing him earlier today. Airedale Terriers have an incredible background.”

  “They do. There’s a story of an Airedale Terrier named Jack who saved his battalion during the First World War. His entire battalion was trapped by shell holes and barbed wire, and Jack needed to get to base to summon for help. Although severely injured, Jack made it back to base and got help, just before he succumbed to his injuries.”

  “That’s an incredible and sad story.” I can feel my eyes becoming watery. “I hope I’m not prying, but should I assume you’re from a military background?”

  I watch as Luke shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I would say that’s a fair assumption.” He drinks the last of his beer before opening another one. “So, tell me something about yourself.”

  Crap. Tell him something about myself. Like what? I was almost beaten to death on more than one occasion. I wished death on my husband, more than once. My husband and son had an affair with the same woman. My grandson could have easily been my stepson. I don’t think I’ll be saying any of those things. “I love the smell of fresh-cut flowers.” We both laugh loudly and I say, “Your turn.”

  He leans up and refills my wine glass. “Okay, fair enough.” He thinks for a moment and says, “I like the smell of a woman’s cologne. Your turn.”

  I wonder for a moment if I’m wearing perfume. I am. Now I wonder if he’s flirting with me. I hope so. “I love campfires.”

  “Obviously.” He smiles and asks, “My turn?”

  “Yep.”

  He pauses before speaking. “I like a woman who wears lip gloss.”

  I bite my lip and the taste of peppermint touches my tongue. He is flirting with me! I try to hide my smile, but I fail.

  Lights come up the dark road and I know the pizza is here. Luke stands and says, “I’ll get the pizza.”

  “Okay, I’ll get the plates and napkins.”

  Luke

  After the charity event, I planned on heading out to the house, building a campfire, and sleeping in the truck until morning. I needed to get away. I needed time alone. So why in the hell did I stop by the bakery and why am I drawn to Nichole?

  I added wood to her small fire that I knew would take a couple hours to burn down. I flirted with her and bought pizza so I could have more time with her.

  She’s easy to be around, and I like her kindness. I did learn that she doesn’t like to talk about her personal life. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t know me, or maybe it’s because she’s hiding something. Could be both. It doesn’t bother me, since I don’t like to talk about myself either. My demons are mine, and I don’t want to burden other people with them. I have no idea what people see when they look at me, but I do know it’s a struggle to hide the nightmares that haunt me. It’s hard to appear normal when you feel anything but.

  Before I take a bite of my pizza, I say, “Your turn.”

  “To do what?” she asks in confusion.

  “To tell me something about yourself.”

  She laughs. “I thought it was your turn?”

  “Lip gloss, remember?”

  She bites her lip and takes a bite of her pizza. “I love this pizza.”

  I take a drink of my beer. “That’s your turn?”

  Her eyes crinkle in amusement as she chews her pizza.

  “Okay. I can see where this is going.”

  I blow on a piece of pizza and give it to Dale to eat. He eagerly takes it from me.

  “Are you feeding him that?”

  “He loves pepperoni and sausage pizza.”

  “Is he allowed to have that?” She wipes off her hands and mouth and says, “I mean, should he be eating that?”

  I know people would frown on this, but Dale’s like my best friend and he usually eats what I do. I know to never feed him certain foods that can be toxic to him. “The vet said it’s fine as long as he takes a multi-vitamin every day.”

  “Your vet said that?”

  Not in so many words, but he did mention he needed vitamins. “Yeah. The vet also said Dale isn’t lactose-intolerant — only a small percentage of dogs are. He’s been eating like this since he was a pup. I’m not sure his stomach could handle real dog food on a daily basis.”

  The rest of the night we talk about the farmhouse and the bakery. We also talk about Connor and Dale. Once the fire dies down to just a smolder, I gather my empty beer bottles and stand. “Nichole Andrews, thank you for a wonderful evening.”

  I offer her my free hand and she takes it. Standing, she says, “Luke Tanner, it was… interesting.”

  Interesting? “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “As you should.” She releases my hand and pets Dale on his head. “Dale, always a pleasure.”

  He barks.

  “Should I walk you to your car?” I ask.

  She looks back at the bakery. “No, I live here. I mean I live upstairs.” Nichole picks up her empty wine bottle and glass and heads to the bakery. She turns around and says, “Thanks for dinner.”

  “You’re welcome. Will I see you and Connor tomorrow at the dog park?”

  “I’m looking forward to it. Since you bought dinner, maybe I’ll bring lunch.”

  Now look who’s flirting. “Good, it sounds like a date.” I stand there and watch until she’s in her house. “C’mon, Dale. It’s time for us to go.” We don’t go to the unfinished house; I decide to go back home instead.

  The next morning, for the first time in a long time, I wake up feeling refreshed. Even after a stressful speech at the benefit, I feel good and rested. I left the event in search of refuge in a secluded area, but ended up spending the rest of the evening in great company. I have a feeling today is going to be a great day. And I’m looking forward to spending more time with Nichole and her grandson, Connor.

  I get a call from an unknown number. “Luke here.” I answer.

  “Luke, I need to see you.”

  Looking out the kitchen window into the field, I say, “Good morning, and who is this?”

  “It’s Monica. We need to talk.”

  I run my hand over my scruffy face. “What do you want and how did yo
u get my new number?”

  “I have stalking skills.”

  I tilt my head back and rock it side to side. “It’s over. We have nothing left to talk about. Please leave me alone. Goodbye, Monica.”

  Before I can hang up she says, “Luke, I’m pregnant.”