A Conard County Homecoming
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“How was he hurt?”
“Thrown from a horse. His mom told me his back was broken in several places and he became quadriplegic. They’re grateful he’s still alive, but I’m not sure Mikey always is.”
“Why should he be?” Zane asked roughly. “God spare me the Pollyannas. Pardon me, but it doesn’t always help to hear how lucky you are.”
Ashley drew a breath. She wasn’t shocked—she knew he was right, but few people said such things so baldly.
“Count your blessings,” he said. “Sure. That works. On a good day. On a bad day you just wish you’d never survived.”
The stark truth rendered her speechless. Every single word that sprang to mind in answer struck her as a useless aphorism. This man was dealing with very real and very ugly memories and impulses. No words could offer any kind of succor.
“Now you know,” he said. “That’s why I don’t want to fill my life with people. I’ve rattled you badly several times since you walked through my door. Who the hell needs to be around that?”
“I’m fine,” she protested. Then, seeking safer ground immediately because she wanted to change the direction of his thinking as quickly as possible, “Don’t you need some modifications in this kitchen?”
Startled, his head jerked back a bit. Nell jumped down from his lap and took up her watchful position. “My kitchen?” he repeated.
“Well, what else can I talk about?”
He frowned faintly. “The weather?”
“Cold and getting colder. I love autumn. What about the kitchen?”
To her amazement, a slow smile made it halfway across his face. “The kitchen has to wait. Expensive, and there’s no point in doing it unless I decide to stay here.”
“Ah.” So he wasn’t sure he was settled.
Deciding once again it was time to make her departure, she rose. “I hope you enjoy the pie. It was a pleasure to see you again, Zane. Sorry I intruded for so long.”
She zipped her jacket, knowing it would be even colder outside now. “I’ll see myself out. And, by the way, if you should need anything, I’m next door.” She pointed. “I’m home most afternoons and evenings, because a teacher’s day doesn’t end when school lets out and I always have paperwork. Good night.”
Then she marched out of that house with enough to think about that she’d probably be up late into the night.
She had no idea what she’d expected when she knocked on his door, but now she was deeply disturbed. Whoever Zane had become, he didn’t at all resemble the young athlete she remembered.
He probably remembered that kid, though, and it couldn’t make his life one bit easier now.
* * *
Zane sat in his kitchen, not moving, for a long time. The smell of the apple pie filled the room, and he clung to it as he kneaded Nell’s neck.
Simple things. Good things. The schoolteacher had reminded him. Neighbors and apple pies. Running next door for a cup of sugar. Friendly faces on the streets. A world he hadn’t known for a long time.
She was cute, that one. Beautiful, even, but there was no room in his hell for a woman. He’d only drag her down. Adapting to a wheelchair hadn’t been as difficult as dealing with himself and the wars.
Would he like to have the use of his legs back? Sure. Would he like to erase his memory? Absolutely. He’d trade his legs for a clean slate.
But he wasn’t going to get either, so he had to find a way to make peace with himself. That was proving difficult indeed.
He’d tried group counseling with other vets. It had helped to know he wasn’t alone in his reactions, feelings and nightmares, but that didn’t get rid of any of them. He’d tried medications that were supposed to improve his PTSD, but he’d tossed them all because of Nell. She did more good for him than any pill. Anyway, until they invented a pill for selective memory loss, he was bound to live with himself.
It wasn’t that he hated himself. But he’d been a sailor and done a SEAL’s job, and inevitably horror had been etched on his memory.
Sighing, he rolled out of the kitchen, away from the enticing aroma of the pie and to his bedroom where one carved wooden box, a gift from a friend, waited on his aged dresser, set there by Carol when she unpacked the boxes he’d sent ahead. Opening it, he took out the medal presentation cases within and looked at the wages of his war.
A Purple Heart with a cluster pinned to the ribbon, the cluster for his second wounding, the injury that had paralyzed him. A Bronze Star with multiple clusters. A Silver Star with clusters. A Navy Cross. Campaign and other ribbons, but they didn’t hold his attention. Those stars and the Navy Cross in particular said he was a hero.
Why didn’t he feel like one? He snapped the cases closed and put them back in the box. Once he’d mentioned that he was thinking of ditching them, but an aging Vietnam vet had told him not to. “Someday,” he’d said, “you’ll want them. Or someone else who loves you will. Put them away and save them. They’re the only reward you’ll get.”
The only reward. Yup.
He closed his eyes, remembering the kid who had signed up nearly twenty years ago, wanting the GI Bill, liking the promises the navy gave him of an education. Not much later he’d found himself getting an education of a very different kind. To this day he couldn’t begin to explain to himself why he’d volunteered for the SEALs. Maybe because he was eighteen and full of hubris or too much testosterone. He honestly didn’t know.
But he’d done it, had passed all the arduous training, and had become a very different man in the process. He had been molded into a weapon.
Funny thing was, he didn’t regret that choice. Never once felt he’d made the wrong one. But now he paid the price in memories that never left him.
One hell of an education, indeed.
Shaking his head a little, he wheeled back to the kitchen, deciding to have a piece of the apple pie Ashley had left. The aroma was making his mouth water.
Nell sat hopefully beside him as he cut into the pie. Treat. She had very speaking eyes, he often thought. Hard not to read that she wanted her biscuit or a rawhide bone.
The pantry was still open, so he said, “Nell, get a bone.”
Her tail wagging, Nell trotted into the pantry, found the plastic bag of bones and brought them out, dropping them onto his lap. He ripped off the paper label across the top and pulled the bag open. In the process, he loosened the staples holding it shut, and he made sure to gather them into a pile on the table. He’d hate for Nell to get into trouble with one while picking up the bag.
She accepted her rawhide bone with a woof and a wag then settled on the floor to gnaw happily.
And now he could taste the pie. It was every bit as scrumptious as it smelled. Closing his eyes, he savored the first mouthful, tasting its every nuance with pleasure before he swallowed. It had been a long time since he’d had a good pie, but this one was spectacular. Whether he wanted further contact or not, he was going to have to compliment the chef on this one.
Which meant making a connection he really didn’t want to make. Ashley Granger was a beautiful young woman, and he didn’t want to put any shadows on her face or in her heart.
While he didn’t wallow in self-pity, he always tried to be straight with himself. His ultimate conclusion was that he was poison. Until he found a stable place inside himself, a way to reenter normal life, he didn’t want to poison anyone else.
He looked down at Nell, his companion and aide, and once again saw his life with stark clarity. All these years, with one mission coming after another, with the time he wasn’t in the field mostly used for training and planning, he’d never felt like a fish out of water. The member of a tightly knit fellowship, surrounded by comrades with the same job, the same worldview—he’d belonged.
Now he was a man who couldn’t walk and who depended on a dog to keep him from sliding into a past that he no longer lived.
Yeah, he had no business bringing anyone else into this mess, even peripherally, until he got his head sorted out.
But Ashley sure had tempted him.
Chapter Two
Ashley went to school in the morning with nearly a bushel basket full of apples for her students. She’d swiped some for the pie yesterday, but the basket was still brimming. A great time of year for apples, and she’d made a tradition of ordering a bushel each fall for her students.
They all loved apples, and while she limited them to one a day, they still disappeared fast. With a class size of nineteen, four to five days would nearly empty the basket. When they got down to the last few, a spelling bee would determine who got the last of them.
Her students usually loved the treat, and she felt good about being able to give it to them. Special orders were no problem at the grocery, and she’d been doing it for so many years that the produce manager always had a list of prices and quality for her. This year he’d recommended the Jonathans, a type of apple she loved herself.
The students began arriving, and when they saw the apples, excitement began to grow. They’d heard of her tradition. “Not until after lunch,” she reminded them.
Then Mikey’s mother rolled him in and pushed him up to the table the school had provided specially so he could get his wheelchair under it comfortably. It was also wider than usual so his mother could sit beside him throughout the day and help with his assignments. She turned the pages in the books for him to read, and when worksheets had to be filled out, she asked him which answers he chose.
Today Mikey appeared to be in a fairly good mood. Ashley had the greatest admiration for his mother, Marian Landau, whose patience never seemed to flag. It couldn’t be easy for her to drive him in every day and then sit beside him throughout the school day. She could have chosen homeschooling, but she had told Ashley that she wanted him to have social interactions.
“They might not all be good ones,” Marian had said. “I know how cruel kids can be. But I also know how nice they can be, and I don’t want him raised in isolation. Sooner or later he’ll have to deal with the rest of the world.”
So far this year, not a single student had been cruel to Mikey. Some hung back, as if uncomfortable, but a few routinely made an effort to speak to him, or to ask him to join their groups when they split into them.
A fund-raiser was being planned to get Mikey a better wheelchair, an electric one he’d be able to control with puffs on a straw. Dang, those things were expensive, Ashley thought as she called her excited and slightly rowdy group to order. But then so were service dogs, and Cadell Marcus was already trying to solve that problem. She spent a moment’s hope that Zane would actually call Cadell and offer some advice.
“Okay,” she said when everyone was settled and looking at her, “there’s an apple rule. The rule is simple. If we get all of our morning’s work done before lunch, everyone gets an apple. If you guys cut up and waste time...uh-oh.”
Giggles ran through the room. She smiled and plunged into the morning’s math lesson. The introduction to fractions always caused some confusion, but today she had apples and a small paring knife to help her. Given the times, she’d had to get permission to bring that knife, small as it was. She couldn’t help remembering her own childhood, when every boy had carried a pocketknife. No more. The zero-tolerance policy that had begun sweeping the nation a couple of decades ago had finally reached this little town. Considering how many of her students lived on ranches, at home they very likely carried their pocketknives and used much more dangerous implements.
An awful lot of her students, girls and boys alike, would be going hunting this fall with their parents. In fact, one of her lessons at this time of year was about hunting safety and laws. Sometimes she was able to get the game warden, Desi Jenks, to come in and give a talk.
But fractions required her whole attention, even with slicing an apple into halves, quarters and thirds. It was difficult for kids, for some reason, to see it for real and then transfer it to symbols on paper. That always took a while.
Eventually she had the pleasure of seeing understanding begin to dawn.
By the end of the day, however, despite recesses to let them run off energy, her kids were getting antsy. Their response to weariness was not to fall asleep, but to need something new to do. When she dismissed them, they tore out of the room like a stampeding herd.
But Mikey and his mom remained. They always did, to avoid the crush. Ashley pulled her chair over to chat with them a bit.
“How’s it going, Mikey?” she asked. “Do you hate fractions, too?”
He smiled shyly. “They’re easy.”
“Well, glory be,” Ashley said, clapping her hands together. “Someone gets it.”
Mikey laughed.
Marian spoke. “Cadell is trying to get us a service dog. I think I mentioned that. Well, he’s trying to train one for us.”
“I can hardly wait,” Mikey piped up.
“But...” Marian hesitated. “The dog can come to school with him?”
“Of course. Just let me know before you bring him so I can lay the ground rules.” She looked at Mikey. “You are going to make so many kids jealous, being able to bring your dog to school.”
As soon as she said it, she wished she could take the words back. She was sure Marian didn’t find anything about Mikey’s situation enviable. She was relieved that Mikey didn’t take it wrong. He laughed. “Yup. I’m special.”
“You sure are.” Ashley looked at Marian and saw the shadows in the woman’s eyes, the unguarded moment when her entire face sagged. Their eyes met, understanding passed, then Marian put on her cheerful face again.
“Time to go, Mikey.”
Ashley walked them to the front door and waved them goodbye before returning to her classroom to gather up her own items. Lesson planner, papers to grade and some books she used for planning.
A teacher’s day was never done, but she didn’t mind it in the least. Nothing could compare with watching a child conquer a difficult subject or idea. Nothing could compare with the child’s moment of triumph when understanding dawned.
The fractions, however, were going to take a little longer. She laughed to herself and headed out with her jacket and backpack.
As she was leaving, she ran into the seriously pregnant Julie Archer, the kindergarten teacher. “Coffee this weekend?” Julie asked. “Connie and Marisa have already said yes.”
“You sure we won’t be meeting in the waiting room at the hospital?”
“I wish!” Julie smiled. “Nobody told me the last month would be the longest. Nobody.”
“Why scare you?” Ashley asked. “Besides, since I’ve never been pregnant, I couldn’t possibly have told you.”
“The other girls could have,” Julie retorted. “Lucky Marisa, she was early. So, Saturday. Around two?”
“Unless something comes up, absolutely.”
By the time she arrived home, Ashley was beginning to feel her own fatigue from the day. Those fourth graders kept her on her toes. They were bright and inquisitive, and heaven help her if she ever misspoke or inadvertently contradicted herself. Which, she reminded herself, meant they were paying attention.
But it wasn’t a job that gave her a chance to let her guard down and relax, and today she’d had lunchroom duty as well.
She glanced toward Zane’s house. His van was still in the driveway, but otherwise the place looked unoccupied. Well, he wanted to be left alone, and she guessed he was getting what he wanted.
Inside she started a small pot of coffee for herself, hoping to find a little energy for the work ahead. Her students had done a lot of math problems for homework last night, plus today’s worksheets, and she needed to grade them all. The quicker the response, the better the students learned.
Then there was dinner. She looked in her pantry, then in her fridge and nearly groaned. There was food, but not one thing looked appealing to her. Besides, for some reason she didn’t feel like cooking. What she wanted to do was pull a box or can off the shelf, or a dinner tray from the freezer, and be done with it.
Her fault for not following her program of cooking on weekends and freezing meals for herself. She’d let it slide, and now she was going to pay. Even a search to the very back of her freezer didn’t yield a container of stew or lasagna.
She finally poured a cup of coffee for herself and sat at her kitchen table, drumming her fingers on the wood, thinking. She was more efficient than this. Usually. But lately she seemed to have been letting things slide, like her meals.
And when you let things slide, as she told her students, you got yourself into the last-minute woes. Now, tired or not, she needed to cook.
Mentally throwing her hands up, wondering what had been getting into her lately, she went back to the pantry and started rooting for ingredients. She prided herself on efficiency, so what was going on?
She found some yellow rice and remembered the thick slices of ham she’d bought to cook for breakfast. Some of that cut into the rice would make a meal along with veggies. Saved.
She was just pulling her rice cooker out from under the counter when she heard a knock at her door. It didn’t sound like the usual tap-tap. The raps were spaced farther apart. Curious, she went to open the door.
Nell, Zane’s golden retriever, was standing there, wagging her tail with a rawhide bone in her mouth. She must have used that to knock on the door. Wow.
Then she looked past Nell and saw Zane in his wheelchair at the end of her sidewalk.
“Check her saddlebag,” Zane said. “Your pie plate is in there.”
“Oh, thank you! You could have just called me to come and get it.” But she looked down at the dog and smiled. “However, I do like your errand girl.” Bending, she dared to give Nell a quick pat before lifting the flap on the saddlebag and pulling out the glass dish.
She straightened. “So she knocks on doors, too?”
“Yup. The pie is great. I still have nearly half of it in my fridge, but I’m not sure it will survive until morning. Thank you.”
“Glad you enjoyed it.” Then awkwardness hit her. Ordinarily she would have invited him in for a cup of coffee. But there was no way he could get up the three steps to her porch. Her house was as inaccessible to him as a fortress. Discomfort commingled with sadness washed through her. This was awful.
He gave a whistle, and Nell turned and trotted back to him.
Ashley decided to just be frank about her awkwardness. “I’m sorry I can’t invite you in for coffee, but I don’t know how you could get up here.”
He smiled faintly. “That’s what I have arms for. Anyway, I only wanted to bring back the pie plate. My mother guarded hers like a dragon with a hoard of gold. If a neighbor didn’t bring one back soon enough, she’d go over to hunt for it.”
Ashley had to laugh. “I’m not quite that attached.” He started to wheel away when impulse took her by surprise and she said, “I was just about to start making my dinner. Yellow rice with ham, broccoli on the side. Would you like some?”
He froze. She watched it happen. He didn’t even look at her, but he was no longer moving. Oh, God, he’d warned her he wanted to be alone, and now she’d ignored him. After this, he might never want to talk to her again, and she would have only herself to blame for that.
Or he could just bite her head off right now and leave her in a quivering mess. God, what was wrong with her? He’d been perfectly clear, and she’d just been perfectly stupid.
Then he astonished her. He turned his head and looked at her. She braced for the scolding. Instead, he said, “I’d like that, if you don’t mind.”
Then he rolled away along the sidewalk and up his ramp.
She didn’t move for a minute or so while he entered his house, with Nell’s assistance for the door, and disappeared.
She had heard that right, hadn’t she? He’d like her to bring over dinner?
Back inside, she changed out of her wool skirt and sweater into jeans and a blue flannel shirt. Okay, then. If she was going to cook for two, she was going to do it over there. If that was too big a trespass, she wanted to know it now.
She had never been into playing mind games. While she felt bad for all Zane had been through, that didn’t mean she was going to let him run hot and cold like a kitchen tap. Either he wanted real company, or he didn’t. If he expected her to just bring over a plate of food, she wasn’t about to do that. She was part of the package.
She jammed most of what she needed into her rice maker and a paper bag to carry the rest of it next door, then looked at the fresh pot of coffee she’d just made. Dang, she wanted another cup of coffee. There’d been none since this morning.
Well, she seemed to remember he had a coffeemaker on his counter. If not, she’d come back for hers. For now, she switched it off.
She had the odd feeling she was about to enter a boxing ring. Well, time would tell.
* * *
Zane wondered what had possessed him. Asking her to bring dinner over? The next thing he knew, she’d probably be delivering food to him and trying to help him in ways he didn’t want to be helped.
Independence mattered to him. Yeah, he needed some assistance, like the bar over the bed that helped him transfer to and from his wheelchair. The shower seat and security bars. The dog, his wonderful Nell.
But most of that meant he could still look after himself in ways that mattered. He could cook on a counter that was at chest height, although it wasn’t the easiest thing. He could do most everything one way or another with a little adaptation.
But he really did have a problem with PTSD. Why it had all blown up on him after he lost the use of his legs, he didn’t know. He’d survived a lot of years going in and out of danger and war with few apparent problems. Then, wham! It was almost like once the focus was broken he became broken.
Unfortunately, when the shift had occurred in him, he’d found triggers everywhere, things that could throw him back in time. Sounds, smells, even some voices. And sometimes he couldn’t figure out any reason for it to hit him. Those instances were the worst of all, because he had no idea what to avoid. Sometimes he didn’t even have a flashback, just a surging, almost uncontrollable rage.
So he’d come here to wrestle with it by himself. He knew there was a group here he could join, but he wasn’t yet ready to do that again. It would be good for him, but the move had disturbed him in strange ways and he felt a need to settle in first.
Wondering at himself, he wheeled to the kitchen and began the complicated process of making coffee. He had to lock his chair in place and pull himself up on his elbows to fill the pot and put the grounds in the basket. Practice had made it easier, but it was a crazy dance all the same. Still, he’d have had to live without coffee and a lot of other things if he hadn’t learned to pull himself up.
Once the pot was turned on, he settled back into his chair. Then came the knock at the door. He unlocked his chair and rolled out to greet Ashley, thinking that he needed to get new knobs for the door. Nell could operate the lever kind, but the round knobs just picked up a lot of tooth marks.
But for now, he turned the knob himself and allowed Nell to do the rest of the work as he backed away to make space for Ashley to enter. She had her arms full.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Dinner,” she said cheerfully. “I’m cooking it here, because I am not running back and forth with plates of food. I mean, really.”
Nell closed the door, then the two of them followed Ashley into the kitchen.
“Oh, good, coffee,” Ashley said. “I’ve been jonesing for a cup all day. Can I pour you one when it’s ready?”
He could do it for himself, but for once he bit the irritable retort back. “Sure. Thanks. I didn’t mean for you to go to all this trouble, Ashley.”
“Maybe not,” she answered as she unpacked her bag and the rice maker. “I seem to remember asking you. My idea. Not a problem.”