Heaven and Hell (44 page)

They put her doggie crate on the counter and
I leaned down to coo through the gate at her.

Memphis yapped, her body vibrating and her
tongue trying to lick me through the metal.

There it was. Just like Memphis, her first
plane ride didn’t faze her. She was clearly no worse for the
wear.

On this relieved thought, I heard Hap
exclaim, “Jesus, what the fuck is that?”

I straightened and looked him. “It’s my dog,
Memphis.”

“That is not a dog,” Hap declared and I
stared at him.

“She is. She’s a King Charles Spaniel,” I
informed him.

Hap didn’t tear his eyes away from the crate
when he announced scornfully through a lip curl, “She’s a big,
brown and white rat with creepy eyes.”

Ohmigod!

Memphis’s eyes weren’t creepy! They were
cute!

“She is not,” I returned.

Hap looked at Sam. “Are you sayin’ that
thing is gonna be in my truck?”

I put my hands to my hips. “She’s not
a
thing,
she’s
a dog.
My
dog.”

Hap’s eyes came to me. “Babe, you got bad
guys after you. A rat won’t do shit to a bad guy unless it’s got
fleas or is carrying the plague. You need a dog with balls. A
German Shepherd. A Doberman. A Rottie.”

Memphis yapped though I couldn’t read if her
yap was agreeing with Hap or if she was offended.

As for me, I decided I was pissed again,
this time at Hap.

Before I could give Hap indication of my
mood, Sam stepped in.

“First, yeah, Hap, Memphis is gonna be in
your truck. Second, we got folks bearin’ down on us and I’m not in
the mood to sign autographs. I’m in the mood to sit on my deck and
drink a beer. And last, we got a dog who’s been cooped up for
awhile so we need to get her some time with some grass.”

I glanced around and saw two huddles of
people eyeing us. One had decided on an approach and had instigated
it, one was still considering it.

I turned from them and gave Hap a glare. Hap
gave me a grin. I ignored it, grabbed the handle to Memphis’s crate
and stomped with Hap and Sam to the parking garage.

We luckily escaped the approach of the
autograph seekers and made it to the garage unmolested. Sam and Hap
loaded our bags in the back of Hap’s SUV. I loaded Memphis and I in
the backseat. Sam climbed in front, Hap behind the wheel and away
we went.

It was, unfortunately, over a two hour drive
from Raleigh to Sam’s place at Kingston Beach which was outside
Wilmington. After his time being stationed in Georgia, Sam had
been, and Hap still was, stationed at Fort Bragg in Fayetteville
where Hap lived. Sam had a place there when he was active duty but
also had his place at the beach. Since Sam was discharged, he’d
sold his place close to the base and now just had the house in
Kingston.

As soon as he could, Hap stopped so we could
let Memphis have a wander and take care of business. And, since I’d
never been to North Carolina, the first half hour of the trip was
interesting. This was not only taking in the passing landscape but
also listening to Hap gab nonstop to Sam, filling him in on stuff
that had happened with mutual friends while Sam had been gone,
hearing names I’d heard in passing from Sam.

Then, when Hap ran out of news and both men
in the front fell silent, as I was prone to do on car rides, I got
bored.

Memphis did not. She stood back paws to my
thigh, front paws to the window ledge on the door, nose to the
crack in the window, drinking in North Carolina with her doggie
senses. I knew she liked it because she licked her chops often and
wagged her tail even more.

Finally, we hit Kingston and I instantly
fell in love. It was not a mix of old and new, it was just old. The
main street consisted of two sides of two-story, sturdy, red brick
buildings decorated with American flags and pots of flowers. There
were some graceful white-columned structures with rolling lawns on
big lots that were stereotypical of the South. There were also some
houses built close together and painted in bright pastels that were
really cool. And last, you could smell the sea air and hear the cry
of the gulls. It was just busy enough to seem populated and
friendly but not overwhelming.

I could totally see why Sam picked this
place. It was awesome.

Hap took us slightly out of the town and
turned onto a narrow road that managed somehow to be attractive
while at the same time not inviting strangers. This was because of
the big sign that said, “Private Road. Private Beach. Homeowners
Only.”

Although it was a private road that led to
houses on a private beach, the homes were surprisingly mostly older
and small-ish, not the grand manses I would have suspected a rich,
famous hot guy to live in. They were also built relatively close
together. Every once in awhile you could see someone bought a
couple of lots, scraped the old houses and put up modern, starkly
designed (but cool) beach houses. But mostly the houses seemed
vintage and established.

As we closed on the dead end, Hap lifted a
hand and nabbed a remote from his sun visor. He hit the button then
tossed it to Sam who caught it. Then he slowed and turned.

It was then I realized that regardless of my
mood, I was excited to see where Sam lived. He called it his house.
He talked about his deck. But he had not described it. I knew he
had a place in Indy when he was playing for the Colts but sold it
when he quit. I knew he had a place in LA while he was playing for
the Colts where he lived outside football season and he sold that
too. Ditto with his place by the base. This was now his only
property.

And I suspected it would be everything, as
the tall, black, attractive but not entirely imposing gate swung
open and Hap drove through, I saw that it was not.

It was not a huge, modern, starkly designed
(but cool) beach house on a triple lot.

It was a small, established, charming beach
house on a single lot with a similarly small, established beach
house close to it on one side, nothing but sand dunes and grass on
the other.

There was a short, curving, black asphalt
drive that grew wide and led to a two car garage. The drive also
swung along and up the side of the house. I could see the dune that
the house was built into jutting out from the house on either side.
And all the green space around the drive was set with cool, tall,
what I would guess were native grasses in bunches. The house was
wide, squat and had two stories. And there was a white-painted,
narrow walkway that wrapped around the house.

Hap drove up the side of the drive and we
unloaded. As the men got the bags, I stood carrying Memphis’s crate
with a Memphis I’d reloaded in it. Then Sam led us toward the front
of the house facing the ocean.

I followed, Hap followed me. We trundled up
a white-painted plank ramp and there it was.

The beach.

The ocean.

Beautiful.

Sam didn’t slow to drink in the view and
around he went to a long deck that had two tall flagpoles at each
end. One flew an American flag and under it was a black flag and on
that there was what looked like a yellow diamond from which two
wings jutted out the sides. On the other pole was a black flag with
a gray skull wearing a forest green beret with an insignia on it,
neon green fire shooting out the sides and crossed rifles at the
skull’s jaw.

I stopped and stared at it as Sam went on
and Hap came up behind me.

“Rangers,” Hap said and my eyes moved from
the flag to him.

“Sorry?”

He extended his head to the flag. “Rangers.
Army Rangers,” he stated then his head jerked to the other
flagpole. “Airborne.” Then he grinned. “Figure you know the one
with the stars and stripes.”

I stared at him a second then I looked at
the flags.

Rangers?

I could not say I was hip on all the elite
training a man in the Army could do.

What I could say was that I knew what a
Ranger was. Everyone did.

They were the baddest of the badasses
in
the world.

And I’d read the book about Sam and it said
not one thing about Rangers.

I looked back at Hap, my brows knit. “Was
Sam a Ranger?”

His face changed. The grin stayed in place
and he was wearing sunglasses so I couldn’t see if it still lit his
eyes but I could tell he was no longer committed to it.

“Maybe I should let Sam tell you about
that,” he muttered over the waves crashing against the sand.

Right. Like that would happen.

Woodenly, I turned toward the house, taking
it in. It was shingle-sided, the shingles painted gray with
gray-ish brown shingles on the roof. The woodwork was white. The
deck had a plethora of white Adirondack chairs with curved
footstools that, pushed together, made the chairs more like
lounges. There were also a couple squat round tables. It led to a
deck-long screened porch that, when I walked through, I saw had a
rough wood picnic table with two benches on one side of the porch
and wide wraparound bench on the other side covered in dark gray
cushions strewn with huge, fluffy light gray and bright yellow
pillows.

Through the double front doors I was in the
house.

I wanted to take it in but I also needed to
let Memphis free so I got out of Hap’s way, shoved my sunglasses
back on my head, set down her crate, crouched by it and turned her
loose. She burst out, emitted a couple of yaps then put her nose to
the floor and commenced her voyage of discovery.

I straightened and did the same but with my
eyes as Hap moved up the stairs that were in the middle of the
space.

To my right, a big seating area. Lots of
windows. To my left, another big seating area that included a big
flat screen TV. More windows. To the right back, over a bar with
stools, a huge, modern, clean kitchen with white cupboards, a big
island and lots of gray, dark gray and black speckled, shining
granite countertops. Then there was a wall on the other side up
which were the stairs with a white wooden railing on their open
side and dark wood steps (the same wood as the floors underfoot)
leading up to the second floor. On the other side of the stairs was
the dining room that had a long, rectangular dining room table,
more windows and a low chest.

I was surprised to see it didn’t look
expensive, posh or like it had been crafted by a designer’s hand.
It looked comfortable, welcoming and very, very masculine. There
was a lot of space and there was also a lot of furniture. Then
again, there was so much space there could be a lot of furniture
and it still seemed airy and roomy and not cluttered. Blacks and
grays abounded. Some hints of yellow, army green and red. The
furniture was fluffy, wide-seated and invited you to hang out. Any
tables were attractive but utilitarian, they were meant to catch
keys, mail, books, beverages or a consumed plate of nachos.
Decorative touches were minimal.

There were some framed photos and two framed
flags that were much like the flags outside. One black with the
word “Ranger” in yellow in a banner partially covering a star and
under it was a gray skull over wings coming from a sword with blue
curved embellishments all in a gray circle. The other was white
with a black badge that had the profile of a white eagle’s head in
it over a banner that stated “Airborne” in yellow.

And that was pretty much it. No Colts or
Bruins jerseys pinned on mats and framed. No shrines to Sam’s life
in football, trophies, plaques, team pictures or shots of fabulous
plays to be remembered. And no shrines to Sam’s life in the Army,
pictures with buds wearing fatigues and casually handling massive,
scary automatic weapons or frames displaying patches or medals.

I thought this was interesting but I didn’t
know why.

Memphis wandered into the kitchen.

I wandered to the table by the door.

In a frame sitting on the table was a
younger Sam wearing a suit, smiling his blinding, trademark
gorgeous smile. He had his arm around a handsome man nearly as tall
as Sam wearing an Army uniform. The man was also smiling a blinding
smile much like Sam’s. His brother Ben. On Ben’s other side was an
attractive, older woman with a proud smile and clear Hispanic
ancestry, her arm also around Ben but her body was turned to him,
tucked close to his side with his arm around her. Sam’s mother,
Marisela.

My body jumped and I turned when I heard
Sam’s voice saying, “Baby, gonna hit the store.” I watched his long
legs then the rest of his body coming down the stairs as he
continued, “Hap’s gonna stick around. I’ll get enough to cover us
and we’ll go back out tomorrow.” He made it to me and wrapped his
arms loosely around me, his chin tipping down to hold my eyes.
“I’ll get some beer, coffee, milk and dog food. We’ll get takeout
tonight. Hap’s gotta get back to the base so he’ll leave after
dinner. You need me to get anything else?”

“Breakfast?” I suggested.

“Got oatmeal. Got granola. I’ll get some
fruit and yogurt. Anything else?”

I shook my head.

Sam dropped his and kissed my nose.

He pulled back an inch and I saw the warmth
in his eyes when he whispered, “Make yourself at home.”

Make myself at home.

That was nice,
so
nice.

Boy, I wished I wasn’t pissed at him.

I nodded again.

He gave me a grin.

Then he let me go, walked into the kitchen
and disappeared behind the stairs. Thirty seconds later, I heard a
garage door go up then the growl of what had to be a truck or SUV
(a
big
one) then a few seconds later a garage door going
down.

It hit me then I didn’t even know what kind
of vehicle Sam drove.

Then it hit me that everything that was
hitting me about Sam was a surprise.

Then it hit me even more than it had been
hitting me that I didn’t know anything about my boyfriend.