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“Goodness.” She straightened her dress, taking a seat across from me. “That’s more food than I could finish in one sitting.”
“Just have a pancake,” I urged her.
“Well, maybe just one,” she agreed, standing back up to fetch a plate.
I transferred one golden disk to her empty plate, then covered the rest with syrup. “I got a medal for distinguished service.” I hadn’t told anyone, and I didn’t know why I told Mrs. Washington.
“That’s great!” She leaned across the table to pat my hand. “Well deserved.”
“Thanks.” I grinned and dug into my feast. Maybe it was because she was acting like a mother to me. I had never had a functioning mother, and it felt good. I wanted her to be proud of me, even though my logical half told me it didn’t matter.
I was still carrying the damned medal around in my back pocket, unwilling to give it up. It was weird. I had convinced myself that the trinket was meaningless, a way for the government to get out of paying cash. Yet, at the same time, it was an acknowledgement of everything I had achieved, all the friends I had lost, and the injury I had suffered. So, I kept it. “Do you want to see?”
She smiled. “Of course.”
I pulled it out and set it on the table. She wiped her hands clean on a napkin before picking the case up. Opening it, she acted impressed, marveling over the eagle and the striped ribbon.
“Will you wear it?” she asked.
I shrugged. “What occasion would I have to wear it?”
“I know.” She shut the case and handed it back. “You could have it framed.”
I imagined a single framed medal in one of those shadow boxes that old Army veterans displayed in their man caves. I would need a wood-paneled den with hunting trophies mounted above me. I would need a bank account commensurate with my station in life and a son or grandson to hand the award down to. That all seemed too pretentious. I was just going to carry it around until I got tired of it, then maybe store it in a drawer. It seemed a sad fate for something designed for display, but I couldn’t summon the energy to ask people to care.
“We’ll see,” I told Mrs. Washington.
She glanced at me over top of her glasses but said nothing. After breakfast, I excused myself and went back downstairs. Following up on the only suggestion with merit, I went to the library. They were having a kids’ storytelling at two, so the building was packed with little people and their parents.
I hopped on a computer and did some research into other towns and destinations nearby. I wasn’t sure where I wanted to land after Singer’s Ridge. I wasn’t much of a city dweller, but that left hundreds if not thousands of small towns to choose from. I wanted to stay within the heartland, though California didn’t sound half bad. I wondered if I would fit in there or if they would shun me as being too country.
I looked at places in Texas, Louisiana, and Arkansas. I needed a job, so I looked for factories or farms that had a good track record of hiring veterans. After about two hours, I was kicked off the computer politely.
“I’m sorry, Lincoln, but we need to let someone else use the computer now,” the librarian said.
“Of course.” I gathered up the few notes that I had scribbled down and left.
I still had the entire evening ahead of me, so I blew some hard-earned cash on an early dinner at the diner. The waitresses were all friendly to me, and I got to thinking about my plan. If I left Singer’s Ridge, I was never going to find another town that knew me so well. It would take decades for me to learn the names of every person I saw on the street. I had history here. Wasn’t that worth preserving?
There was Aly to think of. Even though we were on shaky ground at the moment, I would lose whatever magical thing was building between us if I moved away.
She hadn’t left Singer’s Ridge, and I didn’t think she ever would. If I wanted Aly, I would have to stay here. It wasn’t a horrible fate. My situation at Mrs. Washington’s house was comfortable, I was getting along with my dad, and I had made friends among the staff at the lumberyard. I could afford to stay for a year or two. There would be plenty of time to put down roots somewhere else.
And who said I had to put down roots anyway? I could be a drifter, floating from one town to the next, never staying anywhere long enough to get attached. That thought sounded good. I could leave behind anything that might touch my heart and keep myself safe from both insurgents and lovers.
After eating dinner, I walked back home and sat down to watch television. It was Sunday night, not a great night for activity. If I wanted to go out, the Lucky Lady was only a mile away, in the opposite direction from the park. My leg had grown accustomed to all the walking and rarely gave me trouble anymore. I wasn’t sure if the bar was open on Sundays, and if it was, it probably closed early.
I felt itchy, so I did some pushups. It had been a long time since I’d deliberately worked out. Usually, the hauling and stacking of logs at work was all I needed to keep my muscles limber. The pushups only worked so well, and a moment later, I was bored again.
The sun had set and there was a lingering glow on the horizon that painted the neighborhood a soft gray color. I set out for the park, walking slowly, drinking in my surroundings. The quietnever failed to impress me, along with the abundance of green. The grass, trees, bushes, flowers, and everything living told me in no uncertain terms that I was home.
I reached the park and walked circles around the track, thinking of nothing. It wasn’t productive. I was just walking. More than my apartment or my bed or my couch, the fresh air was comforting. I felt safe in a way that I never would indoors. Here, I was in my element. I was free to run or to hide, but mostly to enjoy the scenery.
There was no one around, not even high school kids. Sunday night, everyone was fast asleep in preparation for work or school the next day. I congratulated myself for making it through the unstructured time off. Tomorrow would go much faster, consumed with work and the fellowship of the other drivers.
I started my ninth or tenth loop around the park when I spied a figure up ahead. It was coming out of the parking lot, moving toward the walking path. My heart sped up. I held my breath, kicking my stride into high gear to close the distance. As I drew closer, my patience was rewarded.
Aly heard the tread of my shoes against the gravel and turned. “Linc?”
