Keeping Promise Rock (30 page)

Crick read that passage, and then read it again. A week after he’d called home and found Deacon half dead and the place barely standing, the pilot of the Black Hawk that had bailed him and Lisa out of the shit had returned his BlackBerry. Crick had given him a box of paperback books for his trouble and spent three days Twittering in every spare moment with Benny to make sure Deacon was okay.

Now, he took out the damned piece of irritating technology and pulled up the picture Benny had sent him right after the whole thing went down.

Deacon was asleep—naked to the waist and asleep on the mudroom floor. He’d wiped some of the mud off his face, but there was a line of it back against his hair, and his hair was stiff with it as it dried. His head was pillowed on his arm, and the pose was a lot like Crick’s sketch from the hotel room in Georgia, right down to the expression. His body was skinny and battered, and Crick could see the bloody blisters on the palms of his hands from the sandbagging and the shovel as well as the bruise and cut on his forehead from that bastard cop, but his face as he slept… it was peaceful. There was a faint smile on his still-handsome mouth, and Benny had told him that he’d fallen asleep with Crick’s voice in his ear.

No, Deacon wasn’t a god. He was just a man, stubborn and flawed, shy with everyone but the people who loved him, tough, compassionate and hammer-and-nail practical, and brave—so brave—to take on the world, to carry The Pulpit
and all the people who looked to him on his shoulders.

He wasn’t a god, but he was still the man Crick had left in the hotel in Georgia, if a little worse for the wear. He was better than a god. He was Deacon.

Your mama came and got your little sisters after the trial, which was
too bad. We had them set up in Benny’s room, and got a bed for Benny in
with the baby, and I think they enjoyed themselves. I know Crystal is
202

looking to take the same path as Benny if something doesn’t happen
soon—unfortunately, Driving While Gay may not be an actual crime but it
doesn’t make you really popular with the social workers either. We had a
tough time convincing them that Benny and the baby would be better off
with me and not a foster family—that was a pretty nasty scare right there.

Oh Christ. Deacon loved that baby, loved Crick’s sister—they were his family. Crick wanted to howl. He should be there. If he were there, she’d just be living with her brother and his boyfriend—dammit, he should be there!

But they got to stay—Benny kept threatening to run away and I think
she scared the social worker a little. Scared me too—damned kid. She’s
smart and capable, but Jesus, Crick—so much like you.

The whole shebang has hurt our business a little—a bunch of people
tried to pull their animals out of the stables and not pay us. Again, Jon
saved the day—apparently there’s a reason for that contract, right? But
still—that money’ll be gone in a couple of months, and we’re going to
have to find a way to replace it. Benny put up a website (here’s the link if
you want to check it out) and we’ve been shipping Even Star’s Wonder
Sperm all over the country instead of just to local farms, which is good
because some jackass started a rumor about ‘horse aids’. Swear to Christ,
Crick, sometimes I see why you wanted to get the fuck out of here so bad.

We’ve got yearlings I can sell, and we had a fairly big batch of newborns
(another reason it took me so long to write—you know that season, you’re
up to your chin in laboring mares and afterbirth) that are promising, but I
need to keep a few to train up to stay solvent next year. Anyway, forget it.

Not to worry. You’ll be home in four weeks, and it will all be golden.

Crick took a shuddering breath. Funny thing about time—his first months had crept by. The next big chunk of it had flown. These last two weeks had stretched strangely, like a hallway in a horror movie, and Crick wasn’t sure he could make it to the end.

I’m sorry about your horse, Crick. It wasn’t his fault—between the
lightning and the snake, he just did what horses do and came down wrong.

It wasn’t his fault. When the ground got drier, we brought in the backhoe
and buried him right, with some quicklime and a marker. Had to kill two
more snakes that day—I swear, if I had the littlest bit of capital, I’d buy
that vacant property next door just so I could turn the pigs loose and keep
the rattlers away.

Benny’s text on the matter had been more succinct.
Every night he
starts for the door to give that damned horse a carrot. I swear, Crick, it’s
like losing you all over again.

Crick had loved Comet—his even temper, his sweetness. He always swore that if Deacon were a horse, he’d be just like Comet, only better looking. He knew—hell, Deacon had told him—that the horse had gotten him through the worst of Crick’s absence. How could the damned stupid animal have deserted them when Deacon needed him most? Crick asked the question and then cringed at the irony.

It’s weird, Carrick—I gave up school for The Pulpit, but after almost
losing it to the flood and getting you instead, I think God and I have come
to an agreement. If it’s a choice between you and The Pulpit, I’ll take you,
alive and well, any day.

Jesus, Deacon,
Crick thought,
learn to ask more from life, would
you?

Only one more care package between now and you coming home.

I’m almost afraid to say that. Feels like it will jinx it somehow. But I’ll say
I love you, Carrick, just to make sure you keep your head above the dark
water, okay?

I love you,

Deacon

The third day after he got the letter and Lisa came to their spot and found Crick staring at it with shaking hands and red-rimmed eyes, she read the letter herself.

“He seems to be taking it pretty good, Crick,” she said quietly. “I mean, the guy may seem to be the master of understatement, but it sounds like they’re getting through okay.”

Crick pulled out his BlackBerry again and showed her the picture.

“Ohmygod.”

“Benny says they got him to shower, and then he slept for twelve hours.”

“Well, he was recovering….”

“He woke up to go to jail. It took Jon two days to get him out.” Lisa made a “humph” sound and then looked at the picture again. “It doesn’t say anything like that in the letter.” 204

“Benny texted me. I’m telling you, Lisa—he’s not okay. He’s not.

And if he is, then
I’m
not.” Crick shoved his hands through his slightly-longer-than-regulation hair. “He had to go through all of that alone….”

“It sounds like he had family with him,” she said gently, and Crick turned a tortured face towards her.

“He didn’t have
me
!”
Crick wailed. Lisa rubbed his back then, and he fought back the pressing sobs and prayed that nobody would come and see him like this. He wasn’t even afraid of being outed in the Army anymore—fuck, he’d done his term, he’d served his time, he’d lived up to his word. It was just that, in the last two years, he’d come to appreciate Deacon’s quiet strength, his ability to power on through with what he had.

It felt like he’d shame Deacon to the bone if he got outed because he was sniveling like a girl.

“Look, Crick—have you asked the Captain if you can call him? You know, family emergency or something like that?” Crick nodded and took in another gulp of breath. “I already had my

‘family emergency’ call. They’re not going to lose the house—yet—

nobody’s pregnant, and unless my wife’s about to file divorce papers, it just doesn’t rank.”

“Really?” Lisa asked archly, and Crick looked at her. She had a look on her face he’d never seen before. If he had had to put a name to it, he’d have called it “wicked.”

Crick @DP—Lisa’s going to call you in fifteen and pretend you’re
her boyfriend, about to break up with her.

DP @Crick—WTF WTF WTF?

Crick @DP—I NEED TO HEAR YOUR VOICE. This is the next best
thing.

DP @Crick—Dramatic much? I’m fine.

Crick @DP—I don’t believe you.

DP @Crick—Here, look at the picture.

The bastard took a picture of himself leaning back against the arm of the couch and holding the camera out as he balanced the sleeping baby on his chest. He was smiling toothily at the camera, but Crick wasn’t buying.

Crick @DP—You’ve lost weight again.

DP @Crick—Dammit, did Benny rat me out?

Crick @DP—Didn’t need to. Now do me a favor and just talk to her,
okay?

DP @Crick—‘Hi, Lisa, I miss Crick, I’m horny as hell, do you want
details?’

Crick @DP—Fuck you. Take this seriously. She’s got a list of
questions and a scale of 1-5…

DP @Crick—They really don’t give you enough to do there, do
they?

Crick @DP—1=emotionally repressed and in agony, 2=emotionally
repressed and in pain, 3=not taking the question seriously
DP @Crick—I’ll save you a lot of time. They’re all gonna be 3.

Crick @DP—4=possibly dealing but still in pain, 5=will be fine. A
cumulative score of less than 20 on ten questions will…

DP @Crick—Are you insane?

Crick @DP—lead to Crick outing himself in front of his entire camp
for a dishonorable discharge and an instapass home.

DP @Crick—That’s not funny, Crick.

Crick @DP—I’m not laughing, asshole. Not even a little tiny bit.

Pony up and be honest.

DP @Crick—Honesty’s your schtick—mysterious is mine.

Crick @DP—‘Mysterious’ gets you a 1. I’m not shitting around
here, Deacon. I’ve got two months and you need to be there when I get
back.

DP @Crick—I promised, didn’t I? You’re not the only one who
depends on me—I’ll be fine.

Crick @DP—The fact that you’re being all emotionally repressed
and stoic still gets you a 1.

DP @Crick—I haven’t even answered a question yet!

Crick @DP—but you’re taking me seriously now, aren’t you.

DP @Crick—Honestly, Carrick James Francis, have I ever taken
you as anything less than a threat to my heart and my sanity?

Crick @DP—*sulk* You say that like saying my full name makes me
weak in the knees or something. You’re not all that.

DP @Crick—LOL if I’m not all that, maybe you can spare me the
psych eval?

Crick @DP—She’s going into the tent now to call. Don’t be scared.

I just really need to know you’re okay.

The phone rang, and Deacon sighed. Benny looked at him from her spot on the couch and held out her arms for the sleeping baby.

“He’s just worried.”

“After two years, you think he’d be over this.”

“Yeah, but your two years were rougher than his.” The phone rang again, insistently, and Deacon went to answer it.

Lisa was on the other end, playing “wounded girlfriend” to the nines, and Deacon had to laugh—if nothing else, he knew she was a class-A friend.

“Please, Deacon, please… tell me you’re not going to marry that horrible Becca Anderson!” She sounded like she’d managed to work up a few tears even, and Deacon almost choked on his tongue.

“Oh Jesus—sweetie, you tell Crick that’s the
last
thing I’ll ever do!” She sniffled a little and gave a convincing little hiccup. “Are you sure, baby—she is your type too!”

Deacon gave a long-suffering sigh. “You tell him that just because I switch hit doesn’t mean I’m going to sign on with the devil himself, okay?”

“But baby… you
did
end up in her bed, didn’t you?” Oh Christ. If this was question number three, he must really be hung up on this subject. “Tell Crick that I said ‘I love you, Crick’ during a really critical moment, and she thought I said ‘Bec’ and was about to pick out curtains. I was obviously not in my right mind. Do I have twenty points yet?”

She covered a snort with a sob, and Deacon had to give her points—

she was enjoying this a lot more than he was. “I’m just worried, that’s all.

I mean, you did just lose someone close to you.” Ouch. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Losing Comet hurt.”

“But you’re not being honest with me, sweetheart—you gotta tell me how much!”

“Can’t we just skip this question?” He looked furtively at where Benny was eyeing him with no discretion whatsoever. It was like being double-teamed by the two of them, and he had some glimmer of what his future might hold. He was going to be laid out and filleted like a trout on a daily basis—welcome to marital bliss.

“We skip a question, Deacon, and Crick follows through,” Lisa said quietly, totally and completely sober. “I’ve read your letters and I’ve seen your pictures, and I haven’t said anything to Crick, but if you were mine, I’d be AWOL right now. He’s been a big boy over here, and I may be the only person who really knows him, but the only thing keeping him together is the thought that you’ll hang in there. I need to know it’s the truth. So tell me, how’re you doing about Comet?” Deacon was getting irritated because it was better than getting grief-stricken. “I kicked the shit out of his cooling corpse I was so mad at him for leaving—how’s that, Lisa? You really want to pass that bit on? I’d rank it as one of the worst fucking moments of my life, right next to being stuck in the house with my dead mother when I was little—by all means, see what that bit of trivia does for his mental state, shall we?”

“Mmm,” she murmured, as though looking at something. “I’m not sure this scale was a good as we thought it was—that’s either a one or a four—I can’t figure out which.”

“Make it a four and then you only have to ask one more question?” he asked hopefully.

“I’ll make it a one, and you still have to answer all of them,” she said sweetly, and he laughed in spite of himself.