Home to Stay by Maryann Jordan

5

Lucy gripped the windowsill, her knuckles white as she watched John climb into his vehicle in the school parking lot. Not realizing she was holding her breath, it finally rushed out, the moisture clouding the glass. Jerking to the side so she wouldn’t miss a second of seeing him, she finally loosened her grip as he drove out of sight. John. Sergeant John Roster. Here. Right in front of me. Oh, God, and I splattered myself onto the floor right in front of him the other night in the store.

She tried to remember exactly how bad that scene was, and her face grew hotter at the memory. Staring stupidly at him because I thought he looked like John but knew it couldn’t possibly be him. He had to grab me by my overalls. My overalls? She banged her forehead against the glass window, her eyes now closed as mortification rushed through her. Oh, my God, he saw me in all my messy glory. And then I dropped all my items and had to scramble on all fours… wait, was my ass in his face as he bent down to help me? Oh, God, I think it was!

She banged her head on the glass window again. No one knew the nights she’d lain awake, a copy of the photograph he’d sent of him and his buddies resting on her nightstand, propped up against the lamp so it was clearly visible when she opened her eyes each morning for the past eight months. I’m such a dork.

In the picture, he’d had short hair, a beard, his sunglasses pushed up on top of his head, and his arms slung around some of the other men. While the others smiled widely, his smile had been reserved, the slight curving of his lips presenting a more serious expression than his teammates with their devil-may-care grins. At least, that’s how it appeared to her. And she’d looked at the picture enough to have every nuance analyzed and memorized.

“Handsome, isn’t he?”

She jumped, her hand landing on her chest as she whirled around. Mrs. Farthingale stood just behind her, a smile on her lips and a twinkle in her eyes.

“Oh, Charlotte, you scared me!”

“I’m not surprised. You were rather focused on the delicious Sergeant Roster.”

“No… I was just… I heard it might rain and wondered if I needed my umbrella when I left today.”

Charlotte’s brow lifted just before her chest bounced as laughter erupted. “Only if it’s raining men, my dear.”

Another hot blush flooded her face and she turned, looping her hand through the older woman’s arm. “Come on, I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one day.”

They headed back to the room in silence until they arrived at her classroom door. Charlotte’s eyes bored a hole through the side of Lucy’s head and, unable to remain silent, she swiveled around. “What? You might as well say it. I know you’re dying to.”

“Hmph. I was just thinking that you should invite him to dinner. Nothing like a home-cooked meal for a man who’s been in the service and rarely gets such a treat.”

Before Lucy had a chance to respond, her class came down the hall from their music lesson and into the room, their chatter all about Sergeant Roster.

“Is he coming back, Ms. Carrington?” The question was hurled from several of the children crowded around.

Clapping her hands, she called them to order, and once seated, announced, “Yes, Sergeant Roster will be coming back. I’ll make arrangements, and we can plan something special as a homecoming for him.”

The dismissal warning bell rang, indicating they had five minutes before the buses would begin to load. Clapping her hands again, she hustled the children to gather their materials and watched as they lined up at the door.

One of the smaller girls in her class touched her arm.

“Yes, Christina?”

“We could give him a party.”

“Nah,” Bobby piped up. “I want him to show us how to do push-ups and jump over walls like they do in the commercials.”

“When I talk to him, I’ll find out what he thinks would be best, how about that?” she replied, gaining the nods of the others.

Before long, the children had left, her room was ready for the next day, her lesson plans were written on the board, and she was finally in her car. She arrived at home, surprised to have made the trip mostly on autopilot, barely remembering the drive, her mind so full of thoughts of him.

Her house was tucked at the end of the lane, not part of a subdivision but not too far away from one that she felt completely alone. Woods surrounded the back of her house, and a small, separate garage sat to the side. Looking at her house, she knew what others, including her family, observed. A small, older cottage with fresh paint on the front but not the sides and back, an overgrown yard, shutters that had been taken down and leaned against the front as they waited for new paint, and a front screen door that was missing the screen. The inside was a litany of projects that needed to be completed also.

Granted, she wasn’t trained in construction but was learning as she went, and with each completed project she added to her sense of pride. A cabin in the woods, something she could work on to discover its original charm, was perfect. The fact that the back of her property bordered a tributary that led out through a bay and from there onto the ocean made it even more valuable to her.

She’d been able to afford it on her teacher’s salary. “Not surprising, considering all the work that needs to be done,” her father had reminded.

Alighting from her small car, she grabbed her school bag and walked to the front door, carefully opening the screenless screen door, wincing as the hinges creaked loudly. Inserting her key into the lock in the wooden front door, she jiggled it numerous times before the key finally turned. Once inside, she headed straight to the kitchen after dropping her bag and shoes by the front door. She’d skipped lunch to finish her lesson plan and thought she might grab takeout on the way home, but her surprise visitor had muddled her thoughts and she was almost home before she remembered to stop anywhere.

She pulled open the refrigerator door with a grin, acknowledging that John’s visit was worth not having takeout. She stared inside, discovering few choices and none very exciting. Finally, she grabbed a package of sliced ham, mayonnaise, and a piece of cheese she hoped wasn’t moldy. Hastily making a sandwich, she was excited to discover she still had some potato chips that weren’t too stale. Squirting a shot of orange-flavored water enhancer into her water glass, she smiled as she thought of the Kool-Aid her mother used to make when she was a little girl.

Sitting at her small table, she ate her sandwich absentmindedly as she opened her phone to the app where she kept notes. She started her grocery list, then switched to a list of items needed at the hardware store.

Her phone vibrated an incoming call and she jumped, her heart leaping until she spied it was from her friend. Answering, she could not keep the disappointment from her voice.

“Wow, you don’t sound very excited to hear from me.”

“Sorry, Paula,” she replied, trying to add a level of brightness to her voice. “I was just thinking about what project to work on this weekend.”

“Honey, that dump of a house will always have a project. What’s not to work on?”

While the sentiment was true, she bristled. “Well, at least I’ll never be bored as long as I have this house to work on.” Paula laughed, and Lucy had no problem imagining her friend’s eyes rolling.

“Well, I happen to know there’s a decent band at Moose’s Bar tonight. A couple of beers and hopefully a couple of guys will be just the thing to drag you away from your house.”

While at another time that invitation of drinking, dancing, and flirting would’ve held some appeal, tonight it didn’t. “Sorry, I just don’t feel like going out tonight.”

“That wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with the handsome soldier that visited you today, would it?” Paula laughed again. “I thought I’d get a chance to see you at the end of the day, but you left on time and I was stuck in a department meeting.” A third-grade teacher at the same school, they’d become friends when Paula moved to the area two years ago.

“I should have known that the news of John’s visit would have traveled like wildfire through the faculty.”

“Hey, I spend my days with a bunch of eight-year-olds. You’ve got to give me the lowdown on him!”

“I was surprised, that’s for sure. I had no idea he was stateside. We only had a few minutes to talk, but he agreed to come back so that he could have more time with the kids.”

“Yeah, but what about spending time with you?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to insist that spending time with John was just for the class’ benefit, but Paula knew her better than that. “I gave him my number so that he could let me know when he can come back and arrange a time.”

“And you’re hoping he’ll call just for you.”

Lucy sighed. “I won’t deny that it would be nice, but I got the feeling from him today that he has a lot of things to figure out in his life. I hardly think I’ll be anything more than just a way to visit the class to check something off of his to-do list. Lord knows I certainly understand that.”

“Well, if you’re not sitting by the phone waiting for him to call, you’ve got no excuse to deny my attempt to drag you out to Moose’s tonight. Just for the music and one beer, okay? Look, since I know your secret crush is home, I won’t even insist on you dancing. Just sit and listen to the band and relax after a crazy week. Those shutters that need to be painted will still be there tomorrow.”

While going to the bar with Paula was not what had been her plan for the evening, she and Paula had made it a habit to support local indie musicians. “Okay,” she gave in. “But I’m driving because I’m only staying for one drink and one set. And I know you. No matter what you say, you’ll end up staying longer, especially if you catch the eye of one of the musicians.”

Paula laughed and agreed. “Okay, okay. I’ll meet you there in an hour. And I promise you’ll have a good time. This band is supposed to be really up-and-coming. It should be epic.”

Epic… A flash of John ran through her mind—tall, dark, so gorgeous it almost hurt to believe someone could be so attractive and not seem to know it. And how just a tiny smile from him warmed her heart more than a huge grin from any other man. Now that was epic.

Disconnecting, she washed her plate and headed back to her bedroom to change. Maybe a Friday night doing something besides painting shutters would be interesting. At least not as mortifying as landing on the floor at John’s feet in a hardware store.

* * *

John rinsed the dinner dishes while Gramps dried them. He worked patiently, adjusting his movements to his grandfather’s slower pace. When the kitchen was put to right, he assumed they’d retire to the living room. Instead, Gramps leaned against the counter and pinned him with a stare.

“Whatcha got planned for this evening?”

John’s chin jerked back slightly and he turned fully to face the older man. “Well… nothing.”

“Then let’s go to Moose’s Bar. Gonna meet a friend, and he offered to come to pick me up, but I told him that you were here and could take me.”

“Uh… sure.” He hadn’t been to Moose’s Bar in years. Maybe he’d been once or twice on visits back home, but this was the first time Gramps had asked him to go. “Let me change, and I’ll be back down.”

“Hell, boy, it ain’t fancy,” Gramps groused.

“Yeah, well, I’ve sweat enough today to know I reek.” He hustled up the steps and jerked off the button-up shirt he’d worn to the school. Balling it up, he tossed it in the laundry basket in the corner. He was surprised Gramps hadn’t complained of the smell when he came in. It definitely wasn’t the odor from hard-work sweat but nerves. Hell, missions didn’t make me as nervous as I was today. Reaching into the drawer, he pulled out a clean, dark blue T-shirt and slid it over his head. Shoving his wallet and phone into his pockets, he headed back down the stairs.

It didn’t take long to drive to Moose’s Bar. One of many bars in the area, it was frequented by old-timers and newcomers alike. He had no doubt it could get rowdy on a Friday night but remembered Gramps had told him that the crotchety owner was a Desert Storm veteran and ran the bar that his father, the original Moose, had started when he’d come back from the Vietnam War.

Pulling into the parking lot, he was surprised at the number of cars. “Has this place gotten more popular?”

Gramps climbed out of the truck and slammed the door. “Bunch of young locals convinced Moose that he should occasionally have musicians come in and play. Who the hell needs to listen to anything but a jukebox playing in the background of a bar?”

They walked to the front, and he held the door open as his grandfather stepped inside. Looking around, John was glad to see that the small band had set up in the back corner, most of the listeners there as well. Other than the musicians, the interior hadn’t changed since the last time he was there. The wooden floor was still scuffed and the wooden bar, while clean, had a few more dents.

Before he had a chance to ask about Gramps’ friend, his grandfather’s face broke into a wide smile and he tossed his hand into the air. Glancing to the side, John spied an older, barrel-chested man, his gunmetal gray hair cut high and tight. He couldn’t help but grin as Gramps hustled over to the table. Following along, he was thankful that the other man had snagged a regular table and not a high top, probably in deference to his grandfather. The two older men shook hands and Gramps settled himself into the chair, inclining his head toward the one next to him for John to take. He would have preferred his left side be next to the wall but took the chair offered, knowing he would have to glance to the side more often to make sure he could see everything around.

“Horace, I’d like you to meet my grandson, John. John, this is a good friend of mine, Horace Tiddle.”

He reached across the table, taking the man’s hand, receiving a firm shake. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

Horace laughed and shook his head. “Call me Horace. Sir was for the officers in the military, not me, and now, as a civilian, it just makes me feel old.”

“What service?”

“Navy. SEAL.”

A chin lift was his acknowledgment of the man’s accomplishments, knowing it would be understood.

After ordering their beer, Horace turned his attention to John. “I understand you're recently out of the Army? Special Forces?”

“Yes, sir— Horace.” He reached up and touched the scar by his eye, for the first time not feeling self-conscious. “Took some shrapnel, and while surgery saved my sight, I have no peripheral vision on that side. It’s kind of like having a black spot always there.”

Horace nodded slowly. “I know that’s gotta be hard, John. I had injuries but nothing that warranted a medical discharge. Although, I admit at the time I got out my body was feeling every ache and pain.”

“I was in sixteen years, so I understand.”

A smiling server brought their beer over, and while the band began to play in the background, the three men continued to chat. He discovered that Gramps and Horace had met at the local American Legion Chapter and from their conversation divined that it was not a dying membership.

“It’s not a super-active chapter,” Horace admitted, “but there are plenty of young men and women who moved into the area or came back home that participate.”

John leaned back in his chair, sipping his beer and listening to the music, surprised to discover the band played decent covers and a few originals.

“So, John, what are your plans? Rupert told me you’ve been working on his place, which I know he’s grateful for. But do you have any specific job plans now that you’re out of the Army?”

Once again, he found that with Horace he didn’t feel the same sense of frustration that he usually did. “I wish I could give you a definitive answer but I don’t have one. I’d planned on finishing my years in, and if my body held out, do a few more. I never wanted a desk job, but I’d thought I might go into training others.”

Gramps piped up, “I told him that security clearance ought to be worth something. All he learned, all the missions he went on, he can plan, think fast on his feet, smart as a whip.”

It was nice to hear the pride in Gramps’ voice, and John shook his head and grinned. “Gramps, thanks for the vote of confidence, but I’m not sure I can get a job based on my grandfather’s recommendation.”

Gramps opened his mouth but his comment was cut short when Horace jumped in. “I work for a company located near here. I have no idea if it’s something you’re interested in or if they’d be interested in you. But I’d like you to at least meet the boss.”

Intrigued, having assumed Horace was leisurely retired, he tilted his head to the side. “What kind of work are you in?”

“I work for a security company. Lighthouse Security and Investigations. They don’t advertise for positions. When the boss started his company several years ago, he’d handpicked his employees from various Special Operations, including CIA Special Ops.” He chuckled and shook his head, his eyes twinkling. “That’s how we found out about it. My wife worked with the boss on a CIA operation. My wife keeps them on their toes. She’s about as close to a grandmother drill sergeant as you can imagine.”

John’s brows lifted to his forehead at that tidbit of information, then he turned toward his grandfather, who’d adopted a not-so-subtle innocent expression as he tipped his beer up. “Gramps, is this why you were asking me about security the other day?”

“Hmph. I might’ve mentioned to Horace that you were former Special Forces, back home now.”

He battled the sliver of interest that threatened to grow. “Saying I’m not interested would be a lie, Horace, but I don’t know anything about the security business. And, with my vision…” He let his last phrase hang out there, not knowing if it would make a difference.

“I wouldn’t let that worry you.” Horace rubbed his hand over his chin. “Like I said, I have no idea if you are even interested, would be the right fit, or if LSI is looking, but the boss is a good man, former Army Special Forces also, and worth knowing even if you aren’t an employee. Hell, not just the boss but all the employees.”

Interest flared, and he nodded. “Okay, Horace, I’d like to meet your boss, even if it’s just nothing more than to buy him a drink.”

Horace slapped his hand onto the table and grinned. “Well, all right. Give me your number, and I’ll let him know.”

After giving him his contact information, they stood as Horace clapped Gramps on the shoulder. Stepping back, he turned. Blindsided, he was slammed into by a body, instantly followed by the cold rush of beer pouring down his shirt.

“Goddamnit! What the— Lucy?”

Staring up at him was Lucy, dressed in a bright red shirt, her eyes wide, her mouth opened, and a half-empty beer mug in her hand as the rest of it he was now wearing.