I’m not one of them. Help came when I needed it. I got a full night’s sleep. My bruises are gone. I spent the better part of yesterday in Rowan’s arms and have never felt more cared for.
Maybe I’ll report it someday. Maybe I won’t. Maybe Ishouldreport it. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe I really do need to talk to someone. Or, maybe it’s okay to try and forget—pretend it didn’t happen.
I slide the card inside the interior pocket of my purse.
Maybe, I decide, I don’t need to know the answers right now. Maybe I’ll keep it for when I do.
27
except you, sunshine
Rowan
Since being discharged from service,there’s been little time for socializing. Stopping by my local VFW has been the last thing on my mind. Even while I served, my squad mates and I were more likely to visit one of the bars in town instead of a post for Veterans of Foreign Wars.
“We’re here,” Hannah announces from the passenger seat of the truck cab, eyeing theAmerican Legion Post 10sign across the parking lot.
The building is barely more than a cinderblock cube. Not many VFWs are. Yet on a Sunday afternoon like today, the small gravel lot is packed.
I turn off the engine and take a breath.
Hannah’s hand lands on my forearm. “Hey, I promise I wasn’t trying to spring this on you. I just wanted you to meet some of the people who loved Norm.”
My throat feels two sizes too small for words, but I take her hand and kiss the top of it. I find her eyes. A thoughtful look passes over the smooth curves of her face. The slight smile forming starts out sweet before it stretches into something playful.
“That kiss doesn’t count, soldier.”
She climbs out of the truck, my laugh cut off by the door slamming shut behind her.
Inside, Hannah moves through the space like she owns it. She hauls me from table to table, introducing me as Norm’s grandson. I’m quickly overwhelmed by the genuine condolences from a building full of strangers. Handshakes are exchanged and countless comments are made about Pops and my resemblance. Some, I suspect those he was closest to, even say he talked about me. That he was proud of me. I talked to my grandfather often enough on the phone to hear the sentiment straight from the source, but the weight in my chest at finding out he shared it with others is…unexpected.
But Hannah didn’t bring me here to meet the dozen people at the bar.
After we pass through the main dining area, we cross into a recreational room. Wooden tables line the perimeter around a collection of pool, foosball, and Ping-Pong tables. She stops for more quick passing introductions, clearly on a mission to get somewhere else.
At the back, sits a table with three older men, two chess boards set between them.
Hannah twines our fingers together, already moving that direction. “Come on.”
When we reach the head of the table, she drops my hand and plants two petulant fists on her hips, pinning each guy with a glare. “I have a bone to pick with you.” Three sets of eyes bulge in unison. “How come none of you told me Norm passed?”
For a few seconds, nobody says anything as the trio of men cast accusing glances around the table.
“Cecil, you said you were gonna call her!” says a man wearing an old John Elway jersey. He looks a couple decades younger and about six inches shorter than the rest of them.
A dark brown-skinned man across the table, who I guess is Cecil, gapes. “Me?!” The onyx freckles along his forehead and around his eyes crinkle in offense. “I was supposed to call Frank at the morgue to get details.” He hikes a thumb at the Santa Claus doppelgänger beside him—if Santa was tattooed, wore Grateful Dead T-shirts, and ate steak and veggies instead of cookies. “This guy was supposed to text her!”
“Me?!” Santa Claus exclaims, retrieving his phone from his pocket.
“Goddammit, Artie,” Cecil squawks.
Artie slash Santa lifts his phone two inches in front of his face, squints at the screen. “Well, shit. Where are my glasses?”
I dart a look to Hannah. She stifles a laugh while Artie pats down his entire body.
Elway Jersey Guy groans, reaches over the table, and yanks the specs from the top of Artie’s head. “You’re going senile, old man.”
He takes the glasses with zero acknowledgment. Only levels a threatening gaze at Elway. “Careful, Tiny Tom. Boys who don’t respect their elders buy the next round.”