A Chance of a Lifetime (20 page)

If he could just let go of the shame and the fear and the self-loathing.

One day at a time. Right now the good days were outnumbering the bad days, which ironically made the bad days even worse. When he'd lived in a constant state of misery, he'd become accustomed to it. Hell, he hadn't even been able to remember what good days were supposed to be like. Now, when the bad days came, they hit hard because he not only remembered what life was like before, but was starting to feel that way again. He was seeing improvement, finding reasons to live, climbing his way out of the darkness, and
bam
, there it was again.

“You can tell me to mind my own damn business,” Jessy said. “It won't hurt my feelings.”

He believed her.

He also believed that if she cared for someone, their business
was
her business. She wasn't the sort to stand back with her mouth shut when a friend needed her.

And she
was
a friend. The thought made him smile. Who would have imagined that his first new friend in Tallgrass would be a tiny redheaded white girl from the South?

Deliberately he changed the subject. “Why did you stay in Tallgrass after your husband's death?”

She kicked an acorn that skittered along the street before tumbling into the ditch. “I like the Army community, and I didn't have anywhere else to go. I was never the daughter my parents wanted, so I left home as soon as I graduated high school. They didn't acknowledge my wedding. Didn't acknowledge Aaron's death. So I don't acknowledge them.”

“I'm sorry.”

Her grin was bright and quick. “Don't be. Dalton's parents and brothers love me, and he adores me. Plus, I've got my margarita dolls.” She shook one finger at him. “You can never have too many people who love you.”

The conversation for the rest of their walk was a whole lot lighter and came a whole lot easier for Calvin. They traded the four dogs for four more and took a different route. After a third walk—this time Jessy gave him the leads to two prissy little dogs who couldn't have weighed more than twelve pounds each while she took two of the biggest dogs he'd ever seen—he helped Angela clean the yard, then finished out his time with a Jack Russell mix who was still in her socializing phase. The dog didn't know whether to snap and snarl or quiver in the corner hunkered down for a beating.

I don't know anything about socialization,
he'd told Meredith, and the vet had laughed.

Sure, you do. You're pretty well socialized yourself.
Then she'd explained that all she wanted him to do was be with the dog. Sit in the small room with her and talk to her. No loud noises, no physical contact unless she initiated it. Watch his fingers and toes. Oh, and figure out a name for her.

That last part had been easy enough. In her bold, aggressive state, the dog reminded him of Bennie when they were kids. Her world might have been turned upside down, but she'd never let it show, and she'd landed on her feet, spirit intact. Hoping the dog would have the same good luck, he named her Nita.

When he told the staff her new name, Jessy grinned knowingly as she made a note of it for Nita's kennel. He was on his way out the door for the ride back to the post when he stopped beside Jessy. “You, uh, wouldn't happen to have…”

“Bennie's cell phone number?” She flipped through her phone, then scrawled it on a piece of paper, pressed it into his palm, then squeezed his hand. “Think about what we discussed. You should tell her, Calvin. You should trust her.” Her grin grew even bigger. “And don't forget to have fun. You
gotta
have fun.”

He wouldn't even think about the telling-trusting part right now, but Jessy was right about one thing: He did need some fun, and he couldn't think of anyone he was more likely to have it with than Bennie.

 Bennie didn't often take an entire evening off to do nothing, and she rarely did it twice in one week. Between work and school and now the holidays coming up, it seemed she needed every minute and then some just to get the essentials done. But when she'd got home from her shift at the hospital, she'd brewed herself a cup of amazing Kenyan coffee—Mama's latest online find—and curled up in the porch swing to watch the sunset and debate the best use of a free Friday evening. Did she want to call one of the girls and go out to celebrate? Get a dose of maternal feelings by offering to babysit John and let Ilena go out and have some fun? Stay right here on the porch swing until the chill chased her outside, or maybe go to bed early? She could always use more sleep.

The screen door creaked as Mama stepped outside, a quilt in her arms. “I was cold, so I figured you could use this.” She spread the cover over Bennie, her gnarled fingers smoothing and tucking. “Can I get you another cup of coffee?”

“I can get it.”

“Of course you can, but you're already cozy there. Stay. I'll be back in a minute.”

Snuggling into the quilt, Bennie breathed deeply. It smelled of fabric softener and detergent, age and love. Mama's grandmother had made the blanket as a wedding gift for her oldest daughter, who'd given it to her first daughter. Technically, it belonged to Bennie now, though it resided at the foot of Mama's bed and would until she passed.

Would its history end with Bennie? If she didn't have any daughters of her own, who would claim it when she passed?

Some cousin somewhere would take it and love it. It wasn't the same as passing it to her own little girl, but it was something.

In her pocket, her cell phone began to ring, the closest thing to an old-fashioned
ring-ring
she could find. She fished it out, glancing at the screen, and a wide smile curved across her face as she greeted, “Hey, Squeaky.”

“Don't make me dig up some of your old nicknames,” Calvin said.

“I didn't have nicknames. I was above that.”

“Yeah, but J'Myel and I weren't, Shorty.”

Shorty
was probably the most flattering of the names they'd given her, but she'd answered to every one of them. Sometimes with a fist to the nose.

“Are you busy?”

“I'm watching the sun set.”

“Unless the earth curves sharply between here and there, it's already set.”

“Yes, but the colors in the sky are still beautiful.” At the creak of the screen door, she said, “Hold on a minute.”

Mama came out, balancing a mug of steaming coffee carefully. She set it on the wood table beside the swing, then said, “Tell Calvin hello for me.”

“How do you know it's Calvin?” Bennie asked.

“Because those two boys are the only ones ever made you smile like that. Don't stay out here too long. You don't want to catch a chill.”

“Thanks for the coffee, Mama.” Bennie warmed her fingers on the mug before tucking her hand beneath the quilt again. “Did you hear Mama's hello?”

“Yeah.” A teasing note entered his voice. “She's right, you know. We could always make you smile.”

“Because you were both such clowns. How was your week?”

He was silent a moment, as if seriously considering the question. “It was okay. Not bad. How was yours?”

“Always busy. One of my regular patients died this week.”

Another silence, followed by, “I'm sorry.”

“She was ready to go. She'd been terminal a long time. She told me that her affairs were in order, things were right between her and her family and between her and God, and she really wanted to spend this Christmas in heaven with her husband.” J'Myel's first holiday in heaven had been Christmas, too, reuniting with his grandparents and all his buddies, his mama had said; cracking up Saint Peter and Saint Gabriel with his jokes; and adding his off-key voice to the carols.

Golda had wept at the thought, and now unbidden tears filled Bennie's eyes. She cleared her throat and hoped she didn't sound sobby. “I've seen a lot of people die, but never anyone as serene and peaceful as Mrs. Wagoner. That's a gift, you know. To be at peace with death.”

Swiping her eyes, she abruptly changed the subject. She'd forgotten for a moment that Calvin had seen too much death to discuss it casually. “So what is it you do these days? Job-wise, I mean.”

“I save the world.”

The memory of him and J'Myel leaving for basic, chests puffed out like superheroes, made her laugh. “Uh-huh.”

“Seriously. I keep mankind safe from itself.” Then he chuckled. “Well, that, plus I spend a lot of time scratching Sarge's belly.”

Bennie choked in the act of sipping her coffee. Once her sputtering was under control, she said, “I hear that keeping the people who work for you happy is important, but isn't that taking it a little too far?”

“He doesn't mind. Throw in a cookie, and he'll be your best bud for life.”

“So the Army's accepting some real dogs these days.”

“Hey, Sarge has earned every one of his stripes.”

The last of the muted purples and blues in the western sky faded into the inky night. Bennie's cheeks were cold, but thanks to the quilt and the coffee—and the pleasure of talking to Calvin—she was snuggly warm. It was a lovely thing, feeling the chill air, smelling the autumn leaves and wood smoke, surrounded by the quiet night, and hearing Calvin's voice. It was like all was right with her world.

Lights glimmered down the street, marking the houses of neighbors she'd known most of her life. When her gaze picked out the Sweet house, she said, “I saw Diez with Gran yesterday. They were walking and picking up pinecones.”

“Aw, man, I hope she's not planning some craft project for Thanksgiving.”

Gran's crafting skills were as legendary as her cooking. The problem was she'd given up cooking years ago. She kept doing the crafts. “You know Emmeline. She's probably going to build a turkey centerpiece out of pinecones.”

“And light it with candles, like that wreath she hung on her front door when we were in middle school.”

“It only took about fifteen minutes to put the fire out,” Bennie protested. “And while it was burning, it looked pretty spectacular.”

He snorted. “I had to paint that door five times to cover all the scorch marks.”

“Better you than me. She still gets a wicked smile when she tells that story.” Bennie shifted on the swing. Her front side was still all warm, but the wooden slats of the seat were letting cold air in to her backside. She should dash inside, grab another quilt, and wrap herself up like a pig in a blanket to trap the heat.

Instead, she asked, “Have your parents decided what they're going to do about Diez?”

She swore she heard Calvin's shrug through the phone. “Mom says the kid's never had a traditional Thanksgiving, so they're going to decide after that. Of course, then they'll need to wait a little longer because he's never had much of a Christmas. I think they want to keep him.”

The news didn't surprise her. Elizabeth and Justice had always had enough love for a dozen kids, and they couldn't help needing someone who needed them back as desperately as Diez did. They could make a tremendous difference in the boy's life if the courts would allow them…or they could be setting themselves up for heartbreak.

“How do you feel about that?” Bennie still recalled Calvin's outburst the day Diez had shown up. She'd never seen him get so angry so fast. It had surprised her and made her way too curious about how he and Diez had met.

“When did you get all touchy-feely?” he asked, his tone all but shouting
evasive technique
in spite of its lightness.

“I am the
queen
of touchy-feeliness,” she retorted, then waited. She was also the queen of wait-him-out. It had been rare that she couldn't get an answer from either of the boys simply by being patient.

She hadn't lost her touch. After a moment, Calvin sighed. “He could use a good home. And Mom and Gran could use a project.”

“Ha! You were always more than enough of a project for them.”

“Yes, but I'm grown up now. I don't need to be anyone's project.”

There was a tone to his voice, Bennie reflected, something…not bitter. Not resentful. Maybe regretful. Of course he had regrets. They all did. But his seemed
more
regretful. More hurtful. More difficult for her to grasp because he'd always been strong and capable and confident. What had happened to him during those four combat tours?

She didn't want to know. Didn't want ugly images and ugly feelings in her head. She knew war was hell, and that was enough for her. With sincere apologies to Calvin, J'Myel, Justin and Dane and Keegan and Avi and every other service member, she didn't want to know details.

What if J'Myel had survived and needed to share details? What if Calvin needed to share details?

She was Maudene Pickering's granddaughter: also strong and capable and confident. She could do whatever needed doing. If Calvin needed to talk, she could listen. If he needed to share, she could shoulder part of his burden. If he needed to cry, it would break her heart, but she would hold him as long as it lasted. That was what women did for the people they loved.

And whatever was between her and Calvin now, friendship or more—
more
, her little voice voted—she had definitely, always, deeply loved him.

Forcing lightness into her voice, she said, “I have a project of my own tonight, Squeaky, that involves getting out of the cold and having something fabulous to eat. You want to join me?”

When he didn't answer immediately, she went on. “Hey, I'm the easiest date ever. You don't even have to invite me. Are you interested?”

For half a minute, she feared he would turn her down. Then the tenor of the silence changed, his smile carrying through his voice. “I'll be there in fifteen minutes, Shorty.”

Tallgrass, like most military towns, had a glut of restaurants, ranging from fast-food to sit-down-with-linens, from national chains to mom-and-pop one-of-a-kinds. There was Korean, Thai, Chinese, and Japanese; German, Italian, Greek, and an authentic British pub; at least one Mexican place every couple blocks; steak places and chicken places and barbecue places and vegan places.