Welcome to Forever (24 page)

“Right. Maybe now that they know they did something to make a difference, they'll want to do more. That's how you change the world. One good deed at a time.”

“There you go being sweet again.” Kat leaned in to him. “How about doing a good deed for me, Sergeant Peterson?”

Hooking his eyebrow, Micah didn't need to ask. He knew exactly what she wanted, and screw being teased by his guys. He didn't care. “Yes, ma'am,” he said, dipping to brush his lips against hers. “That's the sweet version,” he said, pulling back. “You get the dirty version later,” he promised.

The next morning, Ben was already dressed and seated at the table with a bowl of cereal in front of him when Micah emerged from his bedroom.

Micah glanced around, half expecting Aunt Clara to be nearby. She wasn't.

“I did it myself, Dad,” Ben said, seeming to read his thoughts. “It wasn't that hard.”

Micah smiled. “When did you get to be so big?”

Ben shrugged, scooping Frosted Flakes cereal into his mouth. “You said it would be just you and me today. What're we doing?” His eyes were wide with excitement, no doubt expecting nothing less than the grandest of adventures.

Micah hadn't even thought this far ahead. He scratched his chin, then rubbed a hand over his unshaven face. The fresh growth was definitely against military regulations, but it was his day off.

“Dad? We are having a father-son day, right?” Ben asked, concern lowering his shaggy brows.

“Yeah, buddy. Of course we are. We're, uh, going fishing.”

Ben's expression dimmed as he clutched his spoon. “Fishing?”

In all their time together, they'd never been fishing. And fishing was the one thing that Micah's father had ever done with him that hadn't involved preparing him for the military.

“How am I supposed to go fishing? My chair—”

“If you can get yourself dressed and fed, you can go fishing,” Micah said, convincing even himself. It'd be easy. Ben's chair had locks on the brakes. They'd settle down on the banks of one of the creeks and toss their lines in. He could adapt the pole to hook onto Ben's chair, that way he only needed one hand to reel when he got a nibble. “It'll be great.” Just thinking about it made his chest lighten. He hadn't been fishing in one of North Carolina's spindly creeks in ages.

Ben bounced in his chair. “Cool. Can we eat what we catch?”

“Well, what would be the fun of catching if we couldn't eat 'em?”

Ben squealed with delight, making Micah's heart lift a little higher. He'd do anything for this kid. Including getting out of the Marines and breaking his own father's heart. Not that he was fully convinced that the elder Peterson actually had a heart to break.

Micah gestured toward the laundry room. “Let me go get the supplies and we'll be on our way.” He squeezed his son's shoulder as he walked past, resisting the urge to tell him to take smaller mouthfuls. Ben was growing up and needing less supervision, which meant that Micah would have to start stepping back.

Half an hour later, father and son were in the Jeep and heading toward a spot that Lawson had told them about. A secret, magic spot, Micah told Ben, adding to the spirit of adventure. He scoped out the flattest area of the creek's bank and settled there to prevent Ben's chair from rolling toward the water. It was shaded by pine trees, and a gentle breeze carried around them, reminding Micah of his childhood days. Not all of his memories with his father were bad. There were times when he'd actually looked up to the man. The memories ached in Micah's chest.

He rigged up Ben's wheelchair with the reel positioned right beside his good arm, and gave a thumbs-up sign. “Let's catch us a big one.” Then Micah tossed his own line in the water and smiled to himself as he watched Ben from the corner of his eye. Ben's eyes were wide and his little body leaned slightly forward, as if he was sure that something was going to launch out of the water and swallow his line any minute. They watched and waited for nearly half an hour before Ben said anything.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, bud?” Micah started to reel his line in, deciding to toss it in a different location.

“Why hasn't Mom called me since she's been gone?”

Micah paused for a long second, then continued reeling his line and tossed it further out. “I'm sure she's been busy, little man.” He offered what he hoped was a relaxed smile. Ben didn't need to worry that Jessica couldn't take care of herself out there. She damn well could. It was taking care of others that was her weakness.

“Don't you guys get phone calls over there? You were able to call me all the time when you were deployed last year.”

Micah nodded. Yeah. He'd made Ben a priority, whereas Jess had never considered her son anything more than a burden. There was no good answer to give. “She'll be home in eight months.” This was just a guess, because she'd never actually told him when she was coming back. Or if she intended to see them at all when she did.

There was another long beat of silence. “Dad?”

“Yeah?” Micah focused on the red and white bobber in the water, praying for a distraction.

Grab the bait, little bastards.

“Do you think Principal Chandler will stick around?”

Micah's eyes slid over, as he remembered his discussion with Clara earlier in the week. Kat was loyal. He could trust her with his son's heart. “I'm not sure, son. But if she doesn't, it means your dad screwed something up. Dads do that from time to time.”

Ben considered this, still watching him intently. “Even your dad?”

Micah glanced over. “Uh-huh. Even Grandpa.”

“Well, why don't you like him very much? I hear you and Aunt Clara talking.”

Birds chirped in the background as Micah tried to find yet another hard answer. “I do like him. It's just hard to be around him sometimes.”

Ben returned to watching his bobber. “I'll always want to be around you, Dad. No matter how much you mess up.”

Well, damn. Leave it to a kid to say just the right thing to kick you in the balls and make you want to hug them at the same time.
“Yeah? Thanks, bud.”

Ben nodded, that wide grin that Micah loved spreading through his cheeks.

“I can learn a lot by spending time with you. You know that?”

“We should do a lot more of it then. And maybe Principal Chandler can come with us next time. I like her a lot.”

“Me, too.” He hadn't wanted to like her a lot, but he did. He'd moved past just liking her a long time ago.

“You should try really hard not to mess things up with her, Dad,” Ben added, glancing over again. “But even if you do, I think Principal Chandler is a lot like me. I think she'll keep wanting to spend time with you no matter how much you mess up.”

“I'll try, little man.” Micah pointed to the water. “I think you got a bite. Better reel it in.”

Ben hurried to wind the reel backward with his good arm. The motion was uncoordinated, but Micah prayed the entire time that the fish would hold on.
Just hold on.
They needed this moment, this fish. Then the line lifted out of the water and there was a ten-inch bass.

“I did it! I caught a big one!” Ben bounced, and Micah had to keep the chair from tipping over on the uneven terrain, while also reeling the line in faster before the fish flopped itself off.

“Yes, sir. It'll make a fine dinner. Big enough to feed a squadron, I'd say.” Micah grabbed the fish's mouth and reached for the hook.

“Can we show it to Grandpa?”

Micah's gaze narrowed. “Show it to Grandpa?”

“You said he used to fish with you. Wouldn't he be proud of me?”

Micah laid the fish in a cooler of the brackish creek water and watched it flop. “I'm sure he would be, son. I know I am.” He re-baited Ben's line and cast it again, contemplating Ben's question and his son's desire for his grandpa to be proud of him. Micah had that desire, too. He'd always wanted to make his dad proud. Telling him he wasn't reenlisting wouldn't bode well on that front. But maybe his father, commanding officer of Camp Leon and all, would surprise him if he gave him half a chance. Or disown him. Micah wouldn't be surprised by either outcome.

They caught two more good-sized fish, then packed things up. When they were back in the Jeep, he glanced at his son in the rearview mirror. He knew he'd regret even posing the question, but he asked anyway. “Do you want to stop by Grandpa's and cook the fish?”

Ben nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, Dad. Let's do that!”

It was the big house, Micah reasoned. Kids loved big houses. And his father had a fondness for model trains, which Ben went crazy over. He wasn't a kid that could rampage a house. He didn't have the motor skills for that, so his father had always been very good about letting Ben mess with the trains. That got him a lot of brownie points.

Micah turned the vehicle south toward the water, where his father lived alone. It seemed a sad existence. He doubted his father saw it that way, though. His father enjoyed the kind of order that only living alone could provide. His mom had been a saint to keep the house's order when she was alive. No other woman could ever live up to that.

Micah parked and helped Ben back into his wheelchair, then got the cooler out of the back. The front door opened as they approached the front steps.

Micah stopped and stared at him. “Hey, Dad.”

His father smiled tightly. The older Peterson was a compact man with stern features. “I didn't know you were stopping by,” he said in a low voice that rivaled John Wayne's.

“We went fishing!” Ben announced excitedly, his smile fading as he looked at the steps and turned back to Micah. He couldn't get up, not without help.

Micah had told his father to get a ramp a thousand times. Any other grandfather would've done so if they had a disabled grandchild that they expected to visit. “We thought we'd fry some fish tonight, if you're up for company. Just like old times.”

His father's smile relaxed a notch. “You're getting sentimental on me.”

Micah's throat constricted. “Nothing wrong with good memories.”

“Nothing at all,” his father agreed. “Come on in. Ben, I have a new train for my set.”

Ben was smiling again. Micah picked up the back of the chair and lifted it to the top of the steps, giving it a push to get him rolling toward the front door. When Ben was safely inside, he went back for the cooler of fish. They'd eat fish, drink a few beers, and then he'd tell the old man what he probably didn't want to hear. He was getting out of the Marine Corps.

He'd never intended to be a career Marine. He was landscaping for Seaside Elementary and the local cemetery already. A few other locals had contracted him as well and last week, out of nowhere, the mayor's assistant had called to tell him that Mayor Flowers was interested in hiring him for their home. Landscaping was becoming a full-time job, and it was something he enjoyed.

Micah stood in the doorway and watched as Ben's face lit up. His father pushed a button on the remote control in his hand and the model train's lights flickered on and off.

“Let me try! Let me try!” Ben begged, taking the remote from his grandfather.

Okay, so maybe the old man had an appreciation for happiness, too, somewhere in that icy heart of his. Maybe he'd understand.

And maybe the Queen of England would show up for their fish fry tonight.

Micah headed toward the kitchen to start filleting. Five minutes later, the kitchen door swung open behind him. “He okay?” Micah asked, recognizing the heavy sound of his father's footsteps.

“He's with my trains. He's fine.” His father started digging through the cabinets and pulled out some seafood seasoning. “I'm glad you came. I was beginning to wonder if you were avoiding me.”

Micah gave a hard shake of his head. “Not avoiding you. Just doing my job.”

“Speaking of which.” His father glanced over his shoulder at Micah.

Micah watched from the corner of his eye, keeping his hand steady and continuing to fillet. “What?”

“There's a promotion with your name on it, but it would mean moving to Fort Goodman. I told Colonel Hampton you'd gladly go.”

Micah set his knife down now, keeping his gaze low and bracing his hands on the granite countertop in front of him. “I don't want it.”

His father turned and leaned against the counter, folding his arms stiffly at his chest. “I know you like it here. You have that woman friend and—”

“The answer's no, Dad,” Micah said through tight lips.

His father stood erectly and pointed a finger. “Don't forget, I'm also your commanding officer. If I think this is what's best for your career, then I can say yes and send you the damn-hell where I want to send you.”

“You can't force me to reenlist, though.” Micah faced him now, working hard not to smile as he said it.

His father was as hard as a statue, revealing no emotion in his face. “You are reenlisting,” he said coldly. “You're not just going to throw away your life over some hobby. Is that what this is about? The landscaping thing?”

Micah shook his head. “I'm not throwing away anything. This is my life, and I'll do with it what I want. It's not my problem if you think it's a waste.” He headed for the kitchen door. There was no way he was going to stick around with his father's oversized ego filling the room. They could talk about his later, when his father had calmed down.
If
he ever calmed down.

“Where are you going? You're not leaving while I'm still talking to you,” his father barked.

When Micah was a kid, his old man would've pushed him against the wall. He'd never hit him, but Colonel Peterson believed in force.
Not this time.
“Come on, Ben. We'll cook our fish at home.”

Ben's eyes widened as his mouth fell open. “But I want to eat with Grandpa.”

“Another time, bud. It's our father-son day, remember?” Micah started pushing Ben's chair forward, feeling his father's eyes behind him, boring into the back of his skull.

Well, that had gone as well as could be expected.

When Ben was strapped in the Jeep, Micah got behind the wheel and started to pull away.

“Dad?”

Micah's gaze flitted toward the rearview mirror. “Yeah?”

“Grandpa looks sad.”

They both looked at the colonel, standing on the front porch with his arms folded and his chin lifted high.