Home to Stay by Maryann Jordan

1

Rain slammed against the windows of the Atlanta International Airport terminal, the erratic pelting indicative of the oncoming hurricane. John Roster shifted on the seat, twisting his head to look at the board over their gate’s arrival and departure desk. Flight still listed as leaving on time. The gate personnel were huddled, their conversation muted, but the one doing the most talking gestured wildly with her hands, indicating a heightened sense of urgency… or she just liked being in charge and enjoyed her position of authority.

A little boy was standing next to the window, his palms splayed out in front of him, his nose pressed to the glass, his eyes wide as the sprays of water bounced on the other side. The wind picked up and a weary-eyed woman appeared, hustling the child back to a seat, toys spread out on the floor in front of him.

“We’re never going to make our connection to Orlando.”

“Like I don’t know that? Spend a fortune for Disney because you just had to have a destination wedding. Christ, I wanted Vegas, something adult. But no, you claimed you had to have Mickey and Minnie at the ceremony.”

“This storm isn’t my fault…”

Bored with the argument coming from the soon-to-be-married-and-probably-soon-to-be-divorced couple behind him, John lifted his hand to rub his eyes, then halted. While he doubted the motion would hurt, his left eye was still sensitive after surgery.

Casting his gaze around at the other nearby gates, the obviously heightened nerves of his fellow travelers were evident. Shoulders slumped, pulled down from the weight of heavy bags as well as weather concerns. Parents snapped at children. Couples snapped at each other. Customers snapped at the airline representatives standing behind the armor of the desk.

Women marching in heels creating a staccato noise in the background along with men dressed for business meetings, their ties loosened and suit jackets abandoned, paced the floor with their cell phones glued to their ears as they shot glances out the window as though glares or prayers could keep Hurricane Helen at bay.

The TV mounted overhead blared about the impending hurricane, the screen filled with meteorologists standing in thin rain jackets, their hoods blown back and wet hair plastered to their foreheads, cautioning everyone to stay inside as the wild winds whipped about them. If they listened to their own advice, they’d be out of this fuckin’ storm.

John sighed and stretched, the popping in his vertebrae probably heard by others. Without preamble, a voice suddenly sounded on the intercom, resonating throughout the airport.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Atlanta International Airport regrets to inform you that all flights are now canceled coming in and going out of the greater Atlanta region. The hurricane's winds have reached a level that deems airline travel impossible at this time. If you are already through security, please speak to your airline representative at your gate concerning transportation into Atlanta, hotel accommodations, and rescheduling flight arrangements. We thank you for your patience and cooperation.”

A collective groan rose into the air, quickly followed by mumbles, cursing, and the sound of people standing quickly as they gathered their belongings.

John stood but walked in the opposite direction. There was no reason to join the crowd around the airline desk at the gate. He swung his backpack over his shoulder and started down the hall. Stopping in front of an airport map, he scanned the legend.

“Can I help you?”

He startled, cursing lightly, having not seen anyone approach. Turning to his left, he saw an elderly man in a red vest, AIA embroidered over the left chest. “I was looking for the USO.”

“It’s right over there,” the man said, tapping his forefinger on the map. “You’re in luck. You’re already in the Domestic Terminal. You go outside of security, and it’s on level three. If you’ve got bags, you’ll have to claim them and recheck them before you can fly out on your rescheduled flight.”

John dipped his chin in acknowledgment and started to turn away.

“Thank you for your service, young man.”

Swallowing a snort, he dipped his chin a second time. Young man. Might be compared to him, but damn, I feel old. Pushing those thoughts to the side, he made his way past security to the baggage claim. The area was packed, and directions continually changed as the LED signs flashed different carousel numbers for different flights. The grumblings were turning mutinous as people pushed and crowded, each sure that they needed to be the first to grab their bags.

He waited, seeing his bags but knowing they’d make the next turn. Sure enough, after more thwarted travelers had left with their bags safely ensconced in their grip or cart, he stepped up, hefting his off the carousel and onto his shoulder.

Eschewing the escalator, he took the stairs, his heavy load not slowing him down. Once on the third level, he followed the signs and stepped through the doorway of the USO. As the glass doors slid closed behind him, he sighed, both in relief and gratitude.

Coming from the right, a woman approached, her white shirt in stark contrast to the bright red apron with the letters USO embroidered across the front. Her dark brown hair swung just above her shoulders as she walked directly up to him, her smile wide.

“Hello! Welcome to the USO! I’m so glad you found us.”

Her warm smile was welcome, indeed. “Thank you, ma’am. John Roster. U.S. Army.”

“Oh, I’m Blessing.” She laughed, her eyes twinkling. “That’s my name, not my profession.”

Not sure what to say to that, he remained silent.

“Blessing Collier. Now, I just need you to sign in here at the desk, and then I’ll show you around. We usually close at nine, but with the storm and flights canceled, we’ll stay open all night. I confess we’ve got quite a crowd, but there’s always room here to be found.”

“I appreciate it, ma’am—”

“Oh, you can call me Blessing.”

After completing the sign-in procedures, he followed her down a hall painted red, white, and blue. She waved her hand to the side toward a large shelving unit that was overflowing with bags, duffels, suitcases, and even strollers parked next to it. “I know we’re packed right now. You can just set your bag next to the wall so that no one trips over it.”

He followed her instructions, glancing into a room with children sleeping on pallets with their parents slumped nearby in the cushioned sofas and chairs. Another room held uniformed men and women asleep on the floor with their backpacks tucked underneath their heads for pillows.

Remaining silent, he turned his attention back to Blessing, whose smile indicated she was unfazed and unflustered with the spillover. “As you can see, we adapt to whatever we need to.”

Her soft laughter was gentle after the crowd at the gate. The tension eased from his shoulders slightly.

“Are you on leave?”

“Discharged. Medical.”

Her gaze moved to his face, settling on the redness around his left eye. “Ah… your vision. I’m so sorry.”

Blinking, his hands twitched, fighting the desire to fist them in frustration as he thought of his limited sight.

Plowing ahead as though the air between them had not grown thick, she patted his arm. “Where are you heading?”

“M…” He cleared his throat. “Maine.”

Her smile widened. “I should have guessed. So stalwart.” She lifted her gaze to the ceiling, her brow furrowed. “Ah, yes… ‘Should fate unkind send us to roam, the scent of the fragrant pines, and the tang of the salty sea will call us home.’” She chuckled, her shoulders lifting with her mirth. “The state song of Maine, as I’m sure you know.”

He swallowed deeply, an unfamiliar ache building in his chest. Christ, I must be more tired than I thought. “Yes, ma’am. Well, if you’ll just show me where I should bunk down.”

She turned and walked down another hall, leaving him to follow in her wake. Looking over her shoulder, she waved to the left. “Showers and toilets are there. And back where we came from is food. Our staff is preparing more for those of you just getting here. Of course, breakfast will be served starting at six a.m. I’m taking you somewhere special. We call it the library. There are others in there like you.”

His head tilted to the side. “Like me?”

Soft, lilting laughter met his ears. “Searching. Others who are traveling right now, heading home or somewhere, but searching like you. You know, we all have blinders on in one way or another.”

Before he had a chance to question her more, she patted his arm and turned, ushering him through a doorway. He glanced around, surprise hitting him as they stepped into a smaller lounge, plush leather sofas facing each other with a recliner against the wall. Three other men were already slouched on the deep cushions. They looked up as Blessing approached, all three sitting up straighter.

“This is John Roster, Army. And may I present Jaxson Adams, also Army.”

Jaxson appeared younger until he stood stiffly, a wince replacing the scowl etched onto his face. They clasped hands as Jaxson said, “Good to meet you. Where are you stationed?”

“I’m out now. Medical discharge.”

Jaxson’s eyes widened slightly before his gaze landed on the puckered skin near his eye. “Sorry, man. Me, too.”

A bit more of the tension he’d held in his shoulders lifted, but he hated it’d taken another soldier’s condition for that to happen.

Blessing stepped over to the next man, who was now standing nearby. “And this is Sebastian Durand. Navy. He’s on vacation, heading to his home in Louisiana.”

They clasped hands as well, and Sebastian smiled in greeting. “Vacation… leave… hell, probably cleaning up from this storm.”

John nodded, the soft Cajun accent reminding him of a few of his Louisiana buddies. “Hope you can find some time to relax.”

“And over here is Kyle Jones, also Navy. Heading home to the Appalachians.” Blessing clasped her hands in front of her and sighed, a smile curving her lips. “The mountains are so lovely. So peaceful.”

Kyle had his foot resting on the coffee table, a cumbersome medical walking boot extended. He slid forward to stand, halting when John reached over and offered his hand.

“Don’t get up, man. Keep the load off that leg.”

Kyle nodded, relief flooding his features, although John was sure the other man would have rather no one noticed his discomfort. “Thanks. I couldn’t believe what a clusterfuck—” He blushed, glancing over at Blessing. “Sorry, ma’am.”

She waved away his apology, her ever-present smile firmly in place. “My goodness, I think that’s exactly the right description for a crowded airport that gets shut down.” She cast her gaze around the room. “Well, I’ll leave you gentlemen to rest.” With that, she turned and started to walk out the door, stopping at John, her hand gently on his arm. “You know, I have a feeling that you’re not looking forward to your return to Maine. Perhaps it’s not so much what Maine can do for you but what you can repay.”

Blinking, he stared down at her, his brows raised to his forehead. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“Find some way to repay the kindness that someone has shown to you. Gratitude goes a long way to helping us find our own happiness.” With that, she patted his arm again and left the room.

He stared at the empty doorway, her words swirling inside, adding to the confusion and fatigue pulling at him.

“She’s an odd one. Real nice, but a bit odd.” Sebastian’s words rang true, and John walked over to the sofas, settling into a space next to him with Jaxson and Kyle across from them.

Kyle shook his head. “She’s got a weird vibe about her, almost like she knows what’s going on before being told.”

“She took one look at my face and knew why I was getting out.” John lifted his hand, his fingers grazing over the scar by his left eye. Seeing the others’ gazes following his hand, he shrugged. “Shrapnel. Lucky I’m not blind, but I lost my peripheral vision on this side.” He snorted. “Not bad and yet bad enough.”

“What did you do?” Jaxson asked, the leather squeaking as he shifted in his seat.

“Special Forces. Engineer Sergeant.”

Kyle grinned. “You can build it and demolish it.”

He chuckled, the first true sound of mirth that had left his lips in days. “Yeah, that’s about the long and short of it.” His gaze dropped to the boot again. “You going back in?”

Kyle’s short-lived grin was replaced with another scowl. “Don’t know. We’ll see how the recuperation goes. No room for a gimp with my SEAL team. I may have to decide between paper-pusher and getting out.”

“Fuck, man.” John understood Kyle’s frustration, seeing it mirrored on his own face every day.

“No paper-pushing for a has-been heavy equipment mechanic.”

John shifted his gaze to Jaxson, nodding slowly. He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again. Who the hell am I to offer words of… what? Condolences? Like that’d be appreciated. Instead, he simply nodded his understanding.

“What about you?” Sebastian asked.

Shaking his head, he sighed. “Don’t know. Got out and heading back home, for whatever that’s worth.” He rarely talked about himself to strangers, but sitting on the deep cushions in the comfort of the library, the sounds of the storm raging outside far away and only the three other men as company, he relaxed. “I was an Army brat. Mom took off when I was a kid. When Dad deployed, I stayed with my grandparents in their little house on the coast of Maine. One day, men in uniform came and that was that. Dad had been killed in an accident. Died with his boots on, and believe me, that’s how he wanted to go. Spent the rest of my growing-up years with my grandparents. Gramps is still there, and I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

“At least there’s home,” Jaxson said, his glower less threatening. “Thank God for that.”

Soon, Blessing escorted another man into the room. Tall, fit, he had an air of confidence about him. “Gentlemen, this is Air Force Chief Master Sergeant Cameron Freeland. May I introduce you to John Roster, Army.”

John took to his feet. “Sir.”

Cameron shook his hand, telling him to skip the formalities. After meeting the others, they took seats again, each giving their short story along with their introduction. Cam had taken the recliner to John’s left, forcing him to turn his head more fully to keep the man in his sights as they spoke. Cam’s gaze narrowed for a few seconds, landing on the scarring before giving an almost imperceptible nod.

“Medical?” Cam asked.

Nodding, he repeated what he’d told the others. “Eighteen C, Special Forces. Lost my peripheral vision with flying debris on our last mission. Surgery saved my sight but not enough. Had four more years to retirement.”

Cam talked to all of them about finding new possibilities in the civilian world, but a headache was making it hard to concentrate. Reaching inside his backpack for aspirin, his fingers landed on a packet of paper. He pulled out a letter, the envelope folded and worn. His mind was so focused on the contents, he almost missed Jaxson’s question. Looking up, he found all four men staring at him.

“Got letters from a bunch of kids in a school near home. They got my name from the American Legion my grandfather goes to when they wanted a local serviceperson to write to.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t too bad. Kind of made some of the shit days better.”

Jaxson held his gaze, lifting his eyebrow. “Hell, go by and see them when you get home. They’d get a kick out of it.”

“You think?”

“We had a couple of servicemen come by for career day when I was in high school. Thought it was the best fuckin’ job anyone could ever want.”

The idea of visiting a school with a bunch of little kids held no appeal, but he just nodded as Blessing’s words moved through his mind. “Find some way to repay the kindness that someone has shown to you. Gratitude goes a long way to helping us find our own happiness.”

* * *

John was finally on his way to his departure gate, the atmosphere around him almost manic as passengers hustled along, as anxious as he was to be out of the terminal. Sensing someone’s presence just to his left, he jerked his head around to see Cam walking beside him.

“Damn, didn’t mean to spook you.”

“No worries. Still getting used to limited vision on that side.”

“Gotcha. You heading to B terminal?”

“I am.” John continued walking with Cam as they weaved in and out of the crowd, sometimes feeling like a salmon swimming against the stream.

“Me, too. What time is your flight?”

“Not until ten-thirty. I figured I’d camp out at Gate B-24 until my flight was called.” The closer they got to the gates the tighter the crowd was, and he thought of Jaxson struggling with his crutches. “Damn, Jaxson is going to have a time getting to his gate.”

Cam nodded to a restaurant on the concourse. “Let’s stop here. I’ll buy breakfast.”

John hesitated, but Cam convinced him when he reminded him that they still had three hours before they’d board. Plus, the idea of food and hot coffee was more than enough invitation. Once at a table, Cam leaned back in his seat. “So, home is Maine?”

“Yeah, just my Gramps, but it’s the only home I have.” As soon as his coffee came, he began digging into his backpack, pulling out a few things until his fingers landed on the ibuprofen. Popping a couple of pills with the hot coffee, he swallowed.

Cam’s attention landed on the back of envelopes John had taken out of his backpack. “Mind if I take a look at them?”

John shrugged and handed over one of the envelopes.

Cam slid the folded piece of paper out and began reading, chuckling at the child’s letter and picture. Looking up, Cam said, “You said last night these helped you get through some shit days.”

John’s fingers landed on the stack of envelopes, lightly touching them. “Yeah. Kids are cool.”

Cam talked for a few minutes about coaching baseball at Ramstein and it hit John that he’d spent little time in the presence of children. Their conversation moved to their employment chances now that they were out of the service.

“I’ve been looking for different security firms, but Blessing gave me a lead to chase down.”

John mulled over what he said as he silently ate, then curiosity got the best of him. “Why security firm?”

“Military people are in demand for private security. They’re looking for disciplined people, and to tell the truth, everything I know about investigations can be taught to a person willing to learn. The biggest thing is attention to detail. Finding significant inconsistencies, for one. Like the same stories from multiple points of view.”

John halted his eating, his mind turning over what Cam was saying. “Explain that.”

Cam began explaining some of the basics of understanding how people see the same situation through their own eyes, recalling their own memories. Fascinated, John asked, “Where did you learn this?”

“I went to the FBI Academy and they had a guest lecturer who spoke on questioning witnesses and how to talk to people we suspect aligned. It was interesting.”

“Sounds like it.” By then, the two men had finished their breakfast, both sighing in contentment. “Thanks for breakfast and the talk.”

John stood, and Cam lifted his cup of coffee. “Safe travels. If you need anything, man, throw me a text or an email.” He handed John a card with his contact information.

With a chin lift and a wave, John headed toward his gate. He still had no idea what kind of work he might be able to find but figured he had some time. After all, he had no idea what home would be when he got there. But just like with the kids' letters, he owed Gramps a great deal and figured it was time he repaid that kindness.