Page 38 of A Hero Comes Home

“Jake, honey, you can borrow my walker, if you want. I bought it when I had hip surgery last spring and don’t need it anymore.”

“Um . . . I’ll think about it.” Seeing as how Jake had about ten inches in height on her, he couldn’t see himself ever using her walker, but then he had no intention of using a walker, period. He didn’t say that, though. “Thanks for the offer, Ina.”

“I assume I’ll see you in church on Sunday,” Ina said.

Some assumption, he thought, and was about to say so, in a nice way, but she was already heading for the porch where his dad and Old Mike had been sitting on the glider, watching him to make sure he didn’t trip over his size twelve flip-flops, or something. Without saying a word, just keeping an eye on his every move, they were acting like overaged babysitters and he was the unpredictable toddler.

His attention was caught by something else. A man, one he didn’t recognize, went up to Sally, and he put his hand on her forearm as he talked to her. It couldn’t be the ex-SEAL, whom he would expect to be super buff. Not that this guy was in bad shape. Just ordinary build in khakis and a golf shirt. But not military-looking. More like nerdy. Besides, the K-4 fellow didn’t live on this street, as far as Jake knew.

But then the nerd-with-a-death-wish not only kept his hand on her forearm but leaned down to whisper in her ear.

Sally was looking hot tonight in a thin-strapped sundress, which cupped her breasts like a bra, hugged her abdomen and waist, then swirled out to just above the knee, leaving her suntanned arms and shoulders and legs bare down to strappy, flat sandals. He wondered idly how she’d gotten so sun bronzed if she worked in a bakery all day, but that was a question for another time. Although an image flashed in his brain for a moment of Sally lying on a beach blanket somewhere next to a stud in Navy SEAL shorts. She had long hair in that image. In reality, her short hair had been spiked up today with mousse or gel or some hair product, making her look elfish. A sexy elf! The sundress was peach-colored, like the one she’d worn the first time he met her in New York City all those years ago. Was that deliberate? Probably not.

It shouldn’t matter to Jake. He’d decided before he ever got on that plane in Germany that Sally was better off without him. She was already halfway there with that SEAL dude. His plan had been to come home, get his affairs in order, sign the divorce papers she clearly wanted and had prepared more than three years ago, then take off for some solitary place where he could heal. He didn’t need this kind of complication in his own recovery.

Frankly, he didn’t care anymore.

Or he’d thought he didn’t.

The conflict was driving him nuts.

And still the guy’s hand remained on her arm—her bare arm—as they chatted. Jake blinked and saw a flash of red behind his eyelids. No, no, no! No red tides! Not now! What was it that Dr. Sheila said he should do when he felt a rage coming on . . . that mindfulness crap. Just breathe. That was it.

So, he inhaled, and exhaled, and chanted to himself. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe . . .

I am one screwed-up sonofabitch.

Just breathe.

I shouldn’t have come home.

Breathe, dammit.

If it hadn’t been for my last deployment rocking off into a three-year goat fuck, Sally and I would be divorced by now. No doubt about it.

Breathebreathebreathe.

So, what do I do within five hours of coming home? Practically jump my wife’s bones. Pathetic, that’s what I am. She probably only kissed me back because she felt sorry for me. A pity fuck, that’s what it would have been if we hadn’t been saved by the buzzer.

Don’t knock it, pal. A fuck is a fuck is a fuck.

I can’t breathe.

I need to get out of here.

Just then, the town bells began to toll the hour. The two churches and then the town hall. Bong, bong, bong, bong, bong, bong, bong! Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong! Clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang! By the time they were finished, he was grounded back in reality.

“Daddy?”

It took Jake a moment to realize that his son Luke was tugging on his shirt, trying to get his attention.

He looked down and asked, “What’s up, buddy?”

“I hafta pee,” Luke said.

He frowned with confusion. “Don’t you know where Grandpa’s bathroom is?”

He nodded but was still tugging on the hem of his shirt, then his arm, indicating that he wanted him to lean down. Then, into his ear, Luke whispered, “My zipper is stuck.”