Page 47 of A Hero Comes Home

Talk about blunt. “Afghanistan.”

“In a cave? Doing what?”

“That’s classified information.”

“How did you get those injuries, and exactly what are they? I can see that your eye and leg have sustained some damage. Are there other injuries that we can’t see?”

“Whoa, that’s a lot of questions. The eye and leg are the most serious. As to how . . . shit happens when a soldier is on a live op.”

“How about PTSD?”

What? “Why would you ask that?”

She shrugged. “Just that it appears to be the norm for POWs, doesn’t it?”

“I believe the official news release from the Pentagon mentions that I was MIA, not POW.” Was that ambiguous enough to save him from telling an outright lie?

“So, how does it feel to be home? Were you surprised at all the yellow ribbons the townsfolk put up for you?”

“It’s wonderful to be home. And, yes, I was surprised by all the yellow ribbons. I didn’t realize so many people cared.” Well, that answer should satisfy Sally, at least, and nullify her disgust at his previous reaction to the yellow ribbons. “It’s time to take them down, though. Time to look for another hero.”

“Oh, not until after Labor Day weekend, at least. I hear that the Army is sending its marching band to take place in the parade.”

What? That was news to him. He would have something to say to Durand about that as soon as he got home. Holy crap!

“And you’ll be riding in the lead convertible with the honorary parade marshal, Phillip Franklin.”

“Who?”

“That World War II vet who was a POW for five years before becoming a US senator. I think he retired about ten years ago.”

“Are you kidding? That dude must be ninety years old.”

“Ninety-one.” She smiled. “We tried to get Bradley Cooper who played Chris Kyle, that Navy SEAL in the movie American Sniper, but Cooper is a hot commodity these days since he was such a hit in A Star Is Born last year. We couldn’t even get through to his agent.”

On and on the interview went, mostly with general questions about what he was doing now that he was home, his family’s reaction to his homecoming, what his plans for the future were—mostly a local view of a returning hero, rather than a gotcha-type journalism piece about the military involvement in Afghanistan or his opinion of the new Balaki government.

When they were done, Laura turned off the recorder and looked at him directly. “I’m no idiot, Jake. I might be the editor of a small-town paper that looks hokey to the outside world, but I know when I’m being snowed. Promise me this, old friend. When you’re ready to spill your guts, give me first dibs on the story.”

He thought about denying her assertion, but then he nodded. “Okay, here’s a headline for you. The bells of Bell Cove played a key part in getting me home, or at least helping me to survive until I could come home. When I was at my lowest, I seemed to hear these damn bells in my head—the two churches, the town hall tower—all of them distinctive and clearly Bell Cove. They pulled me up and made me stronger. Hokey, huh?”

“Oh, my God!” Laura actually had tears in her eyes. “The Sounds of Bell Cove Brought Hero Home.”

He would have rolled his eyes if he had two eyes to roll. Somehow, rolling one eye didn’t have quite the same effect. Trying for a lighter tone, he said, “So, Izzie is coming home for Labor Day. I gave him your message.”

“And? Bet he was overjoyed. He probably threatened to change his mind about coming home.” At Jake’s heated face, she hooted. “He did! The idiot!”

“Mind telling me what it is that you want to give him?”

“Not a chance! I’m relishing the prospect of seeing his face when he gets my ‘gift.’”

Jake was surprised when he left the restaurant to find that he’d been there for an hour. He was feeling good about the way the day had gone. His first foray into the public hadn’t been as bad as he’d expected. Thus, he was smiling when he entered Sweet Thangs, Sally’s bakery.

He just looked around at first. It was the same space as the bakery he’d grown up seeing here on the square, but totally redecorated. A sunny mural depicting the lighthouse beach scene covered one whole wall. There were a half-dozen small ice-cream-parlor-type tables and chairs. A long glass case showcased the bakery items of the day—all the monster cookies that Sally had mentioned, some artisan breads and rolls, cakes, and such. Another cold case held six flavors of homemade ice cream, including the local flavor of the month, Peach Passion, with fruit directly off the trees from a Rutledge orchard over on the mainland.

There were only a few customers in the shop at the moment, the lunch-hour rush being over, and one clerk, who looked about high school age, manning the counter. No sign of Sally. Maybe she’d gone home.

Jake waited his turn, and before he could introduce himself, the girl said, “Captain Dawson! Your wife thought you might stop by after your lunch with Ms. Atler. She’s in the kitchen. You can go through this door.”