Coming Home

An adult stories – Coming Home by carvohi,carvohi Prologue:

It’s the fall of 2007. Our protagonist is home from the army and an extended personal tour of the country. Born and raised on the Eastern Shore of Maryland; this story, though there are look backs, only covers a few days.

So let us begin.

Just this morning I got up and went to work like I always do. I’m still a young fella, just a twenty something; graduated high school, joined the army, served my three years, added two more, including a year in the “Sand Box”, a short assignment in Africa, and a spell at Fort Sam Houston.

I’ve got to admit I’m not real excited about what I saw and what I did while I was overseas. I know, or I guess I knew that, if we were going to keep the terrorists at bay we had to be over there. I suppose the most disturbing thing about the whole matter is how I felt about who I was, or who I had become. I mean when a man’s fighting in another country; killing other people you’re not completely sure need to be killed, and being rewarded for it there’s a downside that’s hard to explain. It’s an uncomfortable feeling; it’s a hardening thing. I mean to be ‘over there’ taking other peoples’ lives and to be told it’s a good thing, and then to come home and find out doing the same thing back here is a bad thing. It’s perplexing. It becomes something that grows all too easy to rationalize, to get confused about; it’s like everything gets all turned upside down.

Confused, I felt lost. I guess that’s why so many of the guys can’t stay home; they feel like they have to go back. It’s like the fighting and the killing is the normal thing, and all the other stuff doesn’t make sense anymore.

I got home and it was like everything was foreign to me. I was home. I was walking up and down the same streets I grew up in. I saw the same people I’d always known, but I just didn’t feel like I did before. Everything was all so different. I mean it was the same, but different to me somehow.

I couldn’t stay. Plus, I kept having headaches and dizzy spells. I even passed out a couple times. Back in Germany and later at Fort Sam the doctors warned me I was in trouble. They said I needed to get help. But, what do they know?

I only knew I had to get away, so I decided to take some time and do just that. I decided to travel the country I’d been fighting for. I wanted to see if it was worth what I’d done. So, I got the hell out of Dodge.

I was gone quite a while, several months. I needed to unwind. Besides, I wanted to find out a few things about myself. What did I find? Well first, I found out I had more or less lost interest what other people thought of me. I kind of lost any interest in having any real goals. Sure, I wanted to work. I wanted to be a success, but the old ideas, like starting a family, having real relationships with other people, finding someone to love, being in love, didn’t matter so much.

That’s not true. I mean I do want to get married. I do want to have a family. I guess I just can’t seem to figure out how to do it. It all seemed so easy back before, but now, well… I don’t know.

And wherever I’ve been people seem so focused, but not especially happy. A couple things kind of pissed me off; not kind of, like really pissed me off. When people did talk about Iraq, they want to know how many people I killed, and how I did it, like ‘I bet you knocked em off with your old M16’, or ‘I bet you used a grenade. How many did you bayonet? Was there much blood?’ Shit, did I hate that! Like I was Chuck Norris? Then there was always somebody who’d give me the old, “awe, I’m so sincere”, you gotta get over it, you gotta get past it, you gotta move on. There were older men, guys my father’s age who said they’d been to “Nam”, and how they got home and everybody hated them. I knew that story. My dad told me some of that. People don’t get it.

Mostly, I saw a lot of smiling, I got a lot of thank yous, but it just seemed so unreal, phony even. There was so much I needed to say about Iraq; yet so many people seemed so indifferent about what we were doing over there, like it isn’t even happening, or it’s so easy, like it’s nothing, you’ve got so much back-up; it can’t be that tough. But it is something. I was there; it is a bad and dangerous place. There might be something about the phrase, ‘Sand Box’. Nobody can understand what Iraq is, but everyone knows what a sand box is, a child’s play place. We call it a sandbox, and it takes all the danger, all the flies, the rodents, the smells, the cur dogs, the heat, the filth, and the damned people out of it. It becomes a neutral place, but it isn’t neutral, it’s a terrible place. There’s another even more terrible place; the hospital at Fort Sam. I can’t think about that.

Nobody, or hardly nobody understands what is going on in that filthy country. I didn’t understand while I was there, and I sure don’t understand now. I do know I hate it. I also know our leaders are either lying to us or they don’t know either. They say we’re killing terrorists, protecting democracy, and we’re setting people free. All I know is I was setting people free with an automatic rifle and high caliber bullets. Our leaders are telling us the same things my father’s leaders told him. Now, all my father tells me is how assholes like Melvin Laird and Robert McNamara apologized for lying twenty years ago and for the 53,320+ dead G.I.s. My dad says our death toll in Vietnam was really a lot higher.

I know this; those people over there hate us. Who can blame them? We bombed and killed the shit out of them in the First Iraq War, and now we’re back again.

Anyway, I did my duty, I got out of the army, took time to travel, and then came back home. I’ve started my own business.

~~V~~

I love working outside. I know I can’t work inside. Every time I try working inside, I get tense and nervous. I’m good with my hands, I have a good eye, believe me, there’ll be no pee marks where I drive a nail. I had a pick-up when I left for the service, but, with the help of a relative I traded up for something bigger when I got back. I put a sign on it, “Tresh Contracting”, and I got right to work.

That’s such bullshit! I hate contracting. The only reason why I’m doing it is…, well, because that’s all I can do. I mean and stay outside. I hate carpentry work! I look at the people who hire me, and sometimes I wish I could take a hammer to their faces, the ignorant arrogant bastards!

Just the same, I’m an independent. I’ve found some significant advantages to being on one’s own; for one I can set my own hours, second, I’m not bound by traditional standards so I can set my own prices, a third, all of what I do is on a cash only basis, but last and biggest of all, if I don’t feel like talking to anybody I can go off and sit in the woods. I can be alone and think. What do I think? Mostly how much I hate being who I am. Oh, I wish… I wish.

No one knows exactly how much I make. I’m not even sure. I like it that way; nobody can check up on me, and even if they tried, I’d just laugh them off. That’s not true either; there’s one person I couldn’t laugh off.

I’m not married. I had plans once, but that all went awry. I had my high school sweetheart, a beautiful kid named Sarah Windover. She and I dated off and on from late middle school up until I left for Fort Benning.

Sarah’s always been something of a problem. When I drove off to see the country and get lost, I tried to block everybody who wanted to text me. I did block everybody too; everybody except Sarah. Don’t know why, just didn’t. She texted me every God damned day, and usually when I was right in the middle of something. I was in west Texas; passed out they say. Maybe I had maybe I hadn’t, all I know is I wanted to finish things off right there, but the little scamp called and messed up my plan. Happened again in California. I was driving north up the Coastal Highway when I thought about all those old movies where somebody drives a car off some cliff. ‘Wouldn’t that be exciting,’ I thought. I even turned my truck around and started heading south. That’s when she texted me, another plan fucked up. Same thing happened again at Glacier National Park. I was on the outer rim, just thinking, when the ‘little so and so’ texted again. Honest, after a while I started looking for her texts. I kept saying to myself, “OK, no text today, then today’s ‘the day’.” She always texted. Don’t know why; I’m sure not worth it, not worth her anyway.

Sarah has always been a “good girl”, much too good for me, a hard-core Episcopalian. For five years I tried every trick I could conjure to get her out of her clothes, but nothing worked. She had her own set of rules; her own “pat answers” for everything like, “The Ring’s the Thing”, “Ya gotta buy the cow to get the milk”, and the worst, “Travis you know I’m a good girl, and good girls don’t come across until after… you know.”

It was unimaginable then, and even more unimaginable now; how could a good girl, or any girl, hold out for as long as she has, I mean in this day and age? From what I hear she’s just as doggedly pure now as then. Besides, she’s been to college. She’s making something of herself. I know Sarah; she’ll find the right guy, a guy with real smarts, a guy who’ll… who’ll… well, everyone knows. Everyone knows I’m not fit.

I broke up with Sarah just before I left for active duty. I told her I might still be a virgin, (I was too) but I told her I planned on fixing that as soon as I could. She didn’t like it, but she didn’t argue. She never was much for arguing; instead of arguing she’d always come up with something different, like out of the blue a different thing to talk about.

I told her she should go to college like she planned, she should find a suitable man and get married. She simply said, “We’ll see.” So off I went to learn how to kill people and break things, and off she went to college.

I remember I went right to work on the virginity thing. I sure managed to end that fast! Nine months in Georgia, with several trips to Columbus, and I found out about Gonorrhea and Syphilis. I also picked up some airborne training and became a Ranger. It was and it wasn’t easy. The running, the survivalist stuff, and the living on four hours sleep wasn’t too bad, but swimming in full gear, including boots, doing pull ups until you thought your arms would fall off, and climbing mountains was all pretty tough, especially when my concept of a mountain had always been a sand dune on Fenwick Island.

Another thing, the pretty girls that hang out near army bases can be exceedingly good capitalists. My advice to any young enlistee is to remember that after all that good frolicsome sex, and that warm sleepy post-coital glow, there can be some real unfortunate circumstances. Just remember, don’t let the old guard down, the recruit who falls asleep after sex will probably wake up with his wallet and all his money gone. I guess I learned even before I went overseas, if you don’t take care of yourself, you’ll soon be in a world of shit, because nobody else will.

~~~V~~~

I’ve been back from my tour of the country for a while, I make decent money, and enjoy the beach when I can, but summer is over now and cooler weather is setting in. It’s a Friday night, and I’ve put in a good day; I finished up a shed for a wealthy lawyer who’d just bought a home on the west side of the Assawoman Bay, and then I repaired a roof for an older couple who’d lost some shingles during a storm that passed through a few days before. It was a good thing too; we’re having another of those wet spells. I hate em; it’s a cool, damp, wet kind of day, a day where people feel wet and uncomfortable both inside and out.

I’ve been home, got scrubbed and shaved; I even freshly trimmed my mustache. My truck is clean, inside and out, maybe a little bird shit here and there. I have some money in my pocket, a pair of clean sneakers, tan dungarees, a new blue Oxford shirt, lightweight jacket, and a brand new diamond ring I plan on giving to my special sweetheart as soon as I reach Elly’s Restaurant over on Fenwick Island not far from the lighthouse.

My special sweetheart isn’t Sarah, but another one, a real head turner. I like that. I like the idea that when other people see me with her, they get envious. Not the best prescription for marriage I guess, but I’m not thinking that far ahead. I figure; so what if I give her an engagement ring, it doesn’t really mean anything.

I mean it does and it doesn’t. To me a ring is just a promise, not an absolute guarantee. Here’s how I see it. Katy, that’s her name, and I aren’t officially committed to each other, and I suspect, no actual proof, that she’s been sleeping around on the side. If I give her a ring, then that’s a promise, and she’ll have to measure up and not sleep around. Sure, maybe she can’t hold to a promise; I might not either. If either one of us can’t measure up, then we’ll just call the whole thing off. I’ll lose a ring, but who cares? It’s only money. For shit’s sake; the truth is I’m not sure what I want. Do I really want to marry Katy, or anyone for that matter? Well, maybe, someone, but what good would a ring do; it might hold my place in line until I decide. Anyway, no matter how things could turn out with Katy, I’m sure me getting engaged to her will piss Sarah off. I’d like that. I think I would. I guess I would. I’m not sure.

I know this; you can’t trust people. I was in Iraq. I saw a couple guys get the old “heave ho” from some worthless bitch back home. That isn’t going to happen to me, I’m not going to go through any of that bullshit, not in this life time.

I like living in Maryland. Anyone who has been to the Maryland-Delaware Eastern Shore ought to know there are three important beaches; two in Delaware, Bethany and Rehoboth, and then there’s Ocean City, Maryland. Ocean City is actually two beaches; there’s “Old Ocean City” and “North Ocean City”. North Ocean City is where all the high rises are; that’s where one can find all the rich “muckety-mucks”. They’re easy to spot, they’re usually from someplace like Philadelphia or New York. Just look for the Porsches, Ferraris, and Jaguars. Most locals don’t bother with North Ocean City; outsiders drive the prices up too high. Further south in “Old Ocean City” is where the Silverados, F-150s, and Tundras can be found; transportation for the people. South Ocean City is older and grubbier, but it’s got a lot of nice older restaurants and quite a few good bars. I don’t drink much as a rule, but an ice-cold beer in the summer or a Jim Beam and coke in the cooler weather can hit the spot. Not too much though; no one wants a hangover.

Elly’s isn’t a restaurant for the filthy rich; filthy maybe, but not necessarily rich. Elly’s is the place to get a good home cooked meal. The best is the fish; bluefish, flounder, and croakers, all fried. Oysters are harder to get in the summer, but during the cooler months it’s hard to beat a good oyster sandwich at Elly’s. (Except maybe further west at Sharptown.) Me, I like my oysters on the half shell. I can slurp several dozen down at one sitting. They taste great! Best of all though are the crabs; soft crabs, crab cakes, and, of course, the very best, hard, steamed, Maryland blue crabs. Nothing’s better than a heap of fresh blue crabs steamed up in beer, rock salt, and good old Maryland “Old Bay” seasoning. Old Bay is the “classic” ingredient in most Maryland seafood.

There’s an interesting story about Old Bay Seasoning. It seems there was this chemist who came west to America from Europe in the 1930’s. He was hired by a prosperous spice operation up in Baltimore. He did a pretty good job too; he was reliable, hardworking, and creative, but someone found out he was of the Jewish persuasion. This was back in the day when being a Black or Jewish person in Maryland meant having a pretty-tough time. I heard when I was a kid a lot of shopkeepers wouldn’t label their prices. That way they could always charge black customers a little more. Anyway, the spice company found out about the guy’s background, and they let him go. Disconsolate, depressed, yes, but beaten, no; he got to work and invented “Old Bay Seasoning”. The rest is history.

I got to Elly’s; it was late in the evening, close to 9:00 p.m. It had been a chilly day; much too chilly and wet for the time of year. We were only a week away from Thanksgiving, and the lot was nearly full.

I puttered around in my truck before I got out. So, this was the night; the night I was going to ask Katy to marry me. We had hinted around at it. I guess she was the one. What the hell.

I’m sitting here thinking about the first time I met her; it was over at the Wagon Wheel Restaurant north of where I usually hang out; it’s up toward Dover Air Force Base where a lot of Air Force men spend time. Air Force and Navy guys are all right I guess; they don’t see much in the way of combat, not like guys like me.

I remember I was a kid and the family had gone out to eat somewhere. I do remember I got a crab cake platter. There was this guy wearing a baseball cap that said Vietnam Veteran. When we were leaving my dad asked him when and where he’d served. The guy said he’d been in the Navy and served on the U.S.S. Forestall. He asked my dad if he had been to “Nam”. My dad said, “First Cav, 1967-68.” I recall the guy with the hat said, “Oh you were ‘boots on the ground’.” My dad frowned and said, “Yeah, ‘boots on the ground.'”

Out on the parking lot my dad started cussing. I remember he said, “U.S.S. Forestall, I’ll bet that cock sucker never even saw Vietnam. Damn it,” he went on, “That son-of-a-bitch never had to run through a rice paddy stuffed with shit slathered bamboo stakes. No sir. Not him!”

That was when my mom took his arm and said, “Cut it out Donnie.” (My dad’s name is Donald, but everybody calls him Donnie.) She said, “He did something. He might have been repairing the jets that… you know.” I recall my dad turned and hugged and kissed my mom. He said, “You’re right honey. He played a part. He’s entitled.” She hugged him back. I remember she had tears in her eyes. She didn’t cry though. None of us kids said anything all the way home. Mom put an old ‘Peter, Paul, and Mary’ CD in the player, and we all quietly listened. There was this song, “Leavin on a Jet Plane”. I didn’t get it then, I do now.

My dad and mom got engaged just before he left for Vietnam. They got married when he got home. Dad went to college, then mom, and then they started having kids. They had three. I’m the youngest.

It was at the Wagon Wheel where I first met Katy. She was sitting at this big round table off in the corner surrounded by a bunch of people, mostly men. She saw me, and for some reason she pointed to an empty chair that was beside her. I thought, ‘what the hell? Pretty girl, chair, why not?’ I walked over and sat down. Later I found out the chair was empty because her boyfriend had been sitting there, and they’d just broken up.

We all sat around for a couple hours. Most of the others got up and down to dance, but me and Katy sat and talked. She told me all about her college days, her career as a singer, and how her parents were filthy rich. Except for the part about her being a singer; I figured most of what she said was true. I told her about my travels around the country. I never told her I had been in the Army. She found that out later.

When it was time to close, I asked if I could take her home. She said yes, so I did. I took her home, but she didn’t let me in. She did give me a kiss goodnight and her phone number. She said I should call her. I did a couple days later and we started dating. I didn’t score until the third date. We did it at her apartment. I had a good time. She knew a lot of tricks, but mostly we talked. She liked to talk about how much she valued her freedom, how she wasn’t sure about getting tied down, but if the right man came along, she would know. I was never sure, but it sounded like she wanted something more from me. I guess I fell for her about then. I don’t think it was love, but I knew it was more than sex.

She also told me about some of the boys she’d met at college and how they liked to take advantage. She said I had a calming effect on her. Imagine, me calming someone else down.

So here I am at Elly’s. I got out of my truck and looked around. There were a handful of locals like me, plus a bunch of biker dudes hanging around outside. Bikers always seem to get a bad rap; I guess it’s the way they’re portrayed in movies. Most bikers are pretty nice people; they just like to ride around on their motorcycles and make a lot of noise. I say, ‘To each his own.’ I nodded as I pushed by to get inside. They all grinned and nodded back.

So, inside I went; through the front door past the service counter, and I was there. The place was warm and dry, and boy, it was hopping! Elly, the owner, had placed several gorgeous pictures of the beach and ocean across the back wall behind the sixty-foot bar. Below the pictures was the usual long mirror; the kind of mirror where guys surreptitiously try out their macho looks, and where girls pretend they’re not checking out the guys.

Lined up along the back were about a dozen booths. It was probably one booth too many, as the seats were too close to the tables to be comfortable for anyone taller than a midget. In front of the booths was an indeterminate number of tables. One never knew precisely how many tables; Elly kept adding one or two every now and then. I suppose that sooner or later there wouldn’t be any room on the dance floor; no one bought food or drank beer on an open floor. It was a nice hardwood dance floor, and tonight, like most others, it was overcrowded with couples trying to look graceful.

Dancing at Elly’s is a pretty precise prospect; couples either drift around the floor in a casual “two step”, or occasionally someone would get up the nerve get a line dance going. In the summertime it was always kind of fun watching the vacationers trying to imitate all us locals out on the floor. They tried, and we were nice about it.

I like to dance, and here at Elly’s it’s fun and easy. A lot of it has to do with the music; most of it is “western swing” with some slow songs thrown in for the gropers and huggers. Everybody knows the songs; George Strait, Tim McGraw, and Blake Shelton, but once in a while someone will throw in a Willie, Waylon, Dolly, or Lady Antebellum. Got all that, and you pretty much filled the juke box. They tell me George Strait never comes east. That’s too bad; he’d have a good audience here along the Atlantic. Likes his Texas I guess.

The floor was crowded tonight. I scouted the place out and saw quite a few old friends, some new friends, and a few acquaintances. Since high school there’d been a steady influx of new families who had moved down and settled close to the coast. Most of the “new people” were what I considered total outsiders; they will never fit in. Some, however, do turn out to be pretty good. Those “pretty good” types quite often turn up at places like Elly’s. I saw tonight a mixture of “newbys” filtered in with us “regulars”.

I wasn’t looking for any of them tonight. I was looking for my sweetheart; her official name is Kathy McFarland, but everyone calls her Katy. Katy is what I’d call an older “newby”. Her family moved down when she was a junior. I met her after I’d worn the traveling urge out. I guess you might say she scoped me out back at the Wagon Wheel, and gone to work. By the time I got settled in with my business Katy had become my main squeeze. We’ve been an exclusive item for a while, and I guess I’ve fallen in love.

Love is a peculiar word. I thought I loved my old high school girlfriend. I know, even now, I sure feel funny around her, all kind of tickly inside. Whenever I see her, I still feel self-conscious. It’s hard to figure. I don’t know that it’s love; I just like to be around her. I worry about her too; she’s kind of small and dainty. I’m afraid somebody’s going to hurt her some day. I think Katy might love me, but really, no one can say for sure what another person is thinking.

That’s when I saw Sarah, my old girlfriend out on the floor. I sort of figured she thought I’d come back for her. I didn’t. I don’t know, maybe I should’ve. Who can say? I know, even though she’s had several chances she hasn’t married anyone yet. When I was gone, she was the only one who ever wrote or texted, and when I was in the Middle-East she was the only person who ever face-timed with me. I didn’t even face-time with my mom or dad; my mom texted some, but never “faced” me. I didn’t want her to anyway.

Back in the day I didn’t know what to think about Sarah. When we talked neither of us ever brought up anything about marriage or what I was going to do when I got home. When I was in the army, I never told her anything or offered any plans. Hell, where I was, people were getting killed, and worse, maimed! She never made any suggestions either. My guess is; she went off to become a college graduate, while I was still just high school.

The day I got out I was at Fort Sam Houston. I caught a plane and flew into Andrews outside D.C. The doctors at Fort Sam wanted me to stay, but I was through. I was sick of all their bullshit. I was sick of all the suffering. I recall some asshole spouting bullshit about concussions. I overheard one of them as I was leaving; the son-of-a-bitch looked at one of his compatriots and made some shit-assed comment about me. I remember he said, “I bet he’s done in six months.” The doctor he was talking to answered, “No I give him a year.” I knew what they meant. Did I give a shit? Hell no! So, what if I had a few dizzy spells, and everybody gets headaches. So, what! So, what if someday I might get bored and decide to “off” myself. That was my business. They gave me some prescriptions, Lexapro and Latuda. I threw em out once I got outside. I got my paperwork and left.

From Andrews I rented a car and drove home. I never told anyone I was coming. When I got home, I found out Sarah was dating this creep Denny, Dennis, Miles. He’s a newer person whose family had moved to the shore from the D.C. suburbs. His father is a lawyer; he’d been a local politician up in northern Virginia. When they got to where I lived, he settled his family in one of the pricier parts of Bethany Beach, and from there took up a job doing something where he makes a lot of money, so his boy, Denny, doesn’t have to do anything. Denny always has lots of money, and he always drives around in some kind of fast car. Back in the day I never gave him a thought, but when I found out he was dating Sarah I knew I didn’t like him.

Back then Sarah worked part-time at the Walmart. She still does, but I can’t figure out why. I’d seen that creep Denny hovering around her before I left for the service. I never dreamed she’d take up with him, but there wasn’t anything I could say; damn it, I’d broken up with her.

With a Lite beer in my hand; looking around the dance floor for Katy I couldn’t help but see Sarah out there with Denny’s arms all around her. Somebody had put on an old George Strait, and together, they were making all the right moves. Well, Denny was trying to make some moves, but, just as I remembered, Sarah was cunningly blocking every attempted grope. I really don’t like that guy!

Sarah must have noticed me at the bar, because she started dancing with a little more flair. I know her. She can’t fool me. She still likes me. I wish I had done something with my life.

Back when we were in high school, she was kind of skinny and she giggled a lot. She’s changed; that skinny girl I remembered blossomed into a beautiful young woman. I felt like going over and cutting in. I didn’t though. She has great hair, and the way she’s wearing it makes her neck look naked. She’s got this beautiful heart shaped face with a kind of pert turned up nose, and a real pretty mouth with shiny red lips that always look pursed up like she’s getting ready to kiss somebody. She has a kind of pale complexion with lots of freckles; I reckon that’s the Gaelic in her. I thought, ‘It would be great to go over and put both my hands on her shoulders.’ I used to do that when we were in high school.

Just then I saw Katy walk in from the pavilion. She was with Jimmy Galloway, another guy I don’t like. Jimmy, or I should say James, is another of those newby types, and yeah, his family is awash in ill-gotten gain. I heard his father worked for the Carlyle Group, or some such group of rich malefactors; he’d been caught with his fingers in the cookie jar and to avert a scandal had taken an early retirement. That retirement, of course, came with the commensurate “golden parachute” regular people like my dad and I usually end up subsidizing. Yes, Galloway is a creep; not as creepy as Denny, but a creep all the same. ‘No,’ I thought, ‘they’re both pretty much equally sleazy.’

That son-of-a-bitch Denny just tried to kiss Sarah, but she gave him a deft turn of the cheek so all he got was some of her pretty auburn hair and an ear. I thought, ‘You go girl.’ I should’ve cut in. What I really wanted to do is go over and hammer that Mr. Denny Miles right in his arrogant face. I would enjoy smashing his nose flat against his cheeks. I can’t imagine what Sarah sees in him. I felt nauseous; Christ, Denny Miles kissing Sarah? On the lips!

I watched Katy give Galloway the eye, and I didn’t like it. I casually walked across the dance floor in their direction. It occurred to me, as I walked, that people were deliberately giving me room. ‘What was up,’ I wondered? I was getting annoyed.

The only person who didn’t give me a wide berth was Sarah. She stepped right in front of me and poked me in the chest. I admit it; it hurt. She started to say something, but stopped. After a piercing look from those jade green eyes of hers, she stepped away. She has big wide-set eyes and long droopy lashes. I remembered all those ‘butterfly kisses’ I used to get. I hope that asshole Denny doesn’t think he’s getting any.

Halfway between the bar and the back door that led to the pavilion I reached Katy. She stopped and I stopped. I said, “Hi, what’s up?”

She gave Galloway a brief sidewise look and said to me, “We have to talk.”

I said, “Sure.”

She grabbed my arm, “Let’s take it outside.”

I felt in my pocket and found the ring I had bought. I wondered what might be going on. I wondered if I could get my money back.

The pavilion outside is certainly a well-arranged affair. Elly originally planned it to be just another long and wide outside porch, but it hadn’t taken her long to realize that with the brackish water of the Assawoman Bay right beneath the porch anyone who sat there in the summertime would be inundated with mosquitoes. She fixed that by screening the whole thing in during the summer; once things got past Labor Day, she had the screens replaced with broad, and expensive, panes of glass. She could have used jalousie windows, but she said she wanted the people who sat out there during the late season to enjoy the view of the whole bay. It wasn’t breathtaking, but it served to give her establishment an added of sense of sophistication, a comfortable feel, ambiance is the word she used

It was really a waste of money since most of the people who went out there were too drunk to appreciate it. It wasn’t all that great in warding off mosquitoes either, since she had a pier built below the porch for boaters who could pull in and get a meal from right off the water. Waste of money. Most of the boaters didn’t have enough sense to close the screen doors, and later the glass doors, when they came up to go in the restaurant, so mosquitos still got in.

Katy and I went out on the porch. It was a cool damp evening; the kind of weather I disliked, but the glass helped to keep the area a little warmer, if not dryer. She led me over to one of the tables. We sat down.

She started in, “Travis, you know how much I love you.”

I smiled, “I guess I do. What’s on your mind?”

She fidgeted a moment before she said, “I need more space.”

“More space for what,” I asked?

“You know,” she said, “More space before we settle down. I still have a few things I’d like to do.”

I smiled back, “Like fool around with Jimmy Galloway I guess.”

She answered, “His name is James, and I wouldn’t call it fooling around. I mean he has a boat, and his dad has a plane. I just want to have a few more experiences.”

I reached out and took her left hand, “And that means a little of the carnal too maybe.”

“Look,” she said. “I wasn’t some innocent flower when you met me. You know that. I’m a woman grown. I have needs.”

“And I’m not enough,” I responded.

She sighed, or pretended to, “Come on Travis. We have it good. It’s just… well. Sometimes I need something different.”

She was pissing me off. I said, “You could’ve said something before I put money down on a God damned house.”

She pulled her hand away, “I never told you to buy that shithole you call a house.”

“Jesus Katy,” I said. “You told me you wanted a house. You said you didn’t care where it was. You even saw it. We both knew it needed work. Damn it Katy, what do you think I’ve been pouring all my hard-earned money into? Christ Katy, I bought us a God damn house!” I wasn’t sure if it was really for her.

I regretted raising my voice almost right away. It wasn’t that Katy was all that sensitive; it was just I knew she’d try to use my temper to get what she wanted.

She reached her hand back out. This time I pulled away. She said, “Look Travis, you mean a lot to me. I love you. I mean it. I really do. It’s that, well, I need more time.”

I was beyond caring, “You mean you want to gallivant around with that asshole Galloway. Hell Katy, he’ll probably give you the clap.”

She pulled her hand back again. I could tell I’d hit her in a way she hadn’t expected. She replied, “Who are you to talk? As I recall you told me you got Herpes or something when you were in the army. How was I to know when we started dating you wouldn’t give me something?”

“It wasn’t herpes, it was gonorrhea. And I remember telling you that so you would know I was being honest with you. Shit, how do I know you didn’t have something?”

She took umbrage and had to fight back, “I never. I mean I never had anything like that.”

She smirked.

I went after her, “How many colleges did you have to go to before you got a degree?”

She blipped right back, “That’s not fair! I told you I was having emotional problems.” She pushed hard, “I bet you had your share of problems. How many people did you kill when you were in Iraq? I bet a lot.”

And on again she went, “I bet that’s why you thought you had to run away when you came home. You stayed away nearly a whole year I heard.”

‘Man,’ I thought, ‘she’s the worst.’ With vehemence, I replied, “What I did in the army stays in the army. And you, what about all those colleges? University of Maryland at College Park, Goucher College in Baltimore, and then Wilson in Pennsylvania. That’s what I heard. Three colleges to get a Bachelor’s degree in Art History! Art history! Come on.”

“That’s right,” she said, “Three colleges. I had to shop around to get the courses I wanted.” She sneered, “I don’t want to marry you anyway. Look at you, you’re a dirt ball. All you do is pound nails. You work for the kind of people my father hires.” She scowled, “I bet right now you’ve got a pound of dirt under your fingernails.”

Stupidly, I looked down at my fingers. I did have some dirt under my nails.

Before I could respond she grinned and said, “Cracker.”

I retaliated, “Sorry, but some of us have to do real work for a living.”

She ignored me, “Look at yourself. I hate it when you touch me. You have callouses on your hands. You’re rough. You have whiskers. My skin is tender. And that mustache,” she pointed at my mustache, “this is the first time you trimmed it, and tell me dip wad, have you ever flossed?”

That cut. I had good teeth, and I did floss. Angrily I said, “You knew all that when you met me.”

I was working up a full head of steam, “You said you liked the idea of being with a ‘real man’. Isn’t that what you said Katy?”

For good measure I whispered, but with emphasis, “And I DO floss!” Then, out of hand, I yelled, “I floss every God damned day!” I wondered, ‘What am I doing? I’m arguing with a slimy scum bucket! And I was going to marry her?’

She seemed to shrug, “I might have said something like that. I don’t remember. Anyway, I know I don’t like the places you take me, and I don’t like your friends. They’re all coarse and dirty like you, and I’m sick of country music. Who wants to sit in a pick-up truck every time they go out? I mean a pick-up with an advertisement on the side. Gee, ‘Tresh Contracting’.” She deliberately misnamed it. “You’re not even official. You’re not incorporated or anything. I know because my father told me.”

I kept trying to remember if I had kept the receipt for that damned ring. Then, I thought, ‘What the hell? It isn’t like she said she wanted one anyway. Katy had said she wanted some kind of two carat thing with smaller stones all around. I’d picked the one in my pocket because… Why did I pick this one? Oh, damn I forget.’ I answered, “I suppose you’re right. We’re not suited for each other. I’m just some hay-seed you picked up. You, you’re Taylor Swift. Yeah, just like Taylor Swift. I remember she promised to stay a virgin until she got married, but ever since that Jimmy Beaver or whoever he is, she’s slept with half the singers in Nashville. Tell me, how long did it take lard ass, Jimmy Galloway to get in your drawers?”

She flinched, then hit back, “First, he and I are serious, a little anyway. Second, he’s not little; he’s way bigger than you, and he goes a lot stronger, and longer!”

She mocked, “You a ranger? Makes sense; they’re all small – little guys. Have to be less than six feet don’t they. You’re just a skinny little ranger boy, a wannabe John Wayne.”

I didn’t tell her John Wayne had been a draft dodger; didn’t get the chance.

Katy was really airing it out! She finally a hit a nerve, “I bet you’ve been tapping that little dough-head whenever I’m not around. What’s her name? Sarah? Oh yes, ‘Sarah Wonder Bread’. How does it feel when she wraps her scrawny little legs around your ugly ass?”

I bristled. She saw, she smile and…, “I saw her earlier’ she’s with Denny Miles tonight. Know who she was with last night? Chevis Stottlemeyer! She’s just another spongy-headed yokel. She’ll probably end up marrying some truck driver with shit stains in his underwear and have a half dozen kids running around with chicken shit between their toes.”

I froze! Chevis Stottlemeyer? Sarah couldn’t be that desperate! Stottlemeyer was another new import; they said his family lived in Connecticut, but bought a house in Rehoboth. Stottlemeyer sure wasn’t some brain-dead truck driver; he drove a Porsche, owned like a sixty-foot yacht, had his own plane, stood six foot four, had blond hair, had charisma, and he played college football. The guy was a real stud, and now? Katy said he’d been with Sarah. I really hated him!

I had it. She’d gone too far. “First,” I said, “Sarah’s still a virgin. Believe me, I Know, I’ve tried. Second, she’s got things you’ll never have. She’s got integrity and poise.”

Katy scoffed, “Integrity! Poise! I suppose she got that at Frostburg where she majored in English Literature. Wow, that’s a program that’ll land her where? Walmart? Oh, I forgot, that’s where she works.”

I was so mad, I couldn’t think of a thing to say. I sat there and started drumming my fingers on the table. She had me!

Then she finished me off, “I know you. You’re just like your father and your greasy brother. Whenever you don’t get your way, whenever things don’t work the way you want, you pick a fight. I bet you’d like to hit me right now. I’m warning you mister. You better not. I have friends, and my father has money. You touch me, and you’ll end up in jail. Imagine. You, the big war hero in jail for beating up a woman. Ha!” She laughed.

‘Jesus,’ I thought, ‘why was she picking on my father? He never hit anybody, and my brother was a marine. I was done.’ I got up, “I’ll be seeing you Katy dear.”

She got up too, “Not if I can help it.”

I thought, ‘So much for Abelard and Heloise, Tristan and Isolde, or was it Guillaume and Melior. Alas, there’s no such thing as true love anymore.’ I wondered if Sarah knew about any of them. Ha! I bet she does. Sarah’s smart!

~~~V~~~

I brushed by Katy and went straight back inside the restaurant. As I crossed the dance floor everyone was looking at me. I heard some quiet muttering, and maybe some subdued laughter. I knew I had to get out of there!

Just inside the front door before I stepped out to the lot I heard, “There’s a real low class nobody there.” Another said, “Yeah, a real shit sandwich.” I knew where the second remark came from, it was Denny Miles. Oh, how I wanted to turn around and lay him out, but I didn’t. I just kept walking. At least nobody laughed, not hard anyway.

Outside and across the parking lot to my truck I went. I had to get away before I did something I knew I would regret.

It started to rain; not a hard downpour, no, one of those cold damp drizzly things that only make a person feel colder and wetter. I checked in my pocket to make sure that ring was still there. It was. I jumped in my truck, found my keys, hit the ignition, and threw it in drive. I started out.

Just as I started off someone opened my passenger door and jumped in. In fact, they almost missed. It was Sarah. I looked over and pulled her in. I exclaimed, “What? What are you doing here? Get out!”

She slammed her door closed. “Drive,” she said.

I guess I’d known Sarah nearly twenty years. When we first met, she was nothing but knees and elbows, a skinny mess. I looked her over since I got back; she’d changed quite a bit. That unkempt heap of straw she called hair had changed; now it was a thick wavy glorious ‘new penny red’. I remember that’s what they used to call Rita Hayworth’s hair. Sarah’s once crooked teeth had been mended by braces. She’d gained weight too; she had a healthy look; she wasn’t the pallid anorexic kid I remembered from high school. “Look Sarah I’m in no mood…”

“Neither am I,” she chirped, “Get moving.”

She sounded squeaky hoarse, but what she wanted was not going to happen. I told her, “You’re kidding.” Her parents had recently moved north into Delaware, “you live way up in Millsboro now; that’s like twenty miles. Now get out. I want to go home.”

She wouldn’t move, “Not Millsboro stupid. To the Ballard place. Now get going.”

The Ballard place she said, that is the house I was fixing up. I didn’t know what she was thinking, but she was always like that. She always had an eccentric mind, curious about everything; way too unpredictable for me. Baffled, I answered, “I’m not driving all the way to Millsboro. You can either get out here, or I’ll drop you someplace where you can get someone to pick you up.”

I got another perplexing response, “You heard me. I didn’t mean Millsboro. I mean the place where you’re living. Where is it; off the Old Honolulu Road?”

She sneezed. I noticed her hair was damp, not wet, but not dry, too wet to be comfortable. Her neck was wet too. She was probably catching a cold. She wasn’t wearing a coat. How stupid!

“Sarah,” I started. I pleaded, it sounded like pleading, “You’re not making any sense; that’s the house I’m fixing up.”

She coughed. “Yes,” she said, “I know that. I haven’t been there since you bought it, and I want to see what you’ve done. It is the old Ballard place, isn’t it?” She shivered, and went on, “We used to go there so we could park and ‘make out’. Besides, my mom and dad took Teddy to New York to see some play and tour the city so I’ll be alone, and I’m afraid to spend the whole night at my parents without a man around.”

I thought, ‘At least someone still thinks I’m a man, but that’s how she does things. She’s up to something, she always is.’ “Where’s your coat?” I asked, “And don’t tell me you didn’t wear one.”

She answered, “I left it inside.” She sneezed.

I heard her teeth chatter. I reflected on our past. Teddy was her younger brother. He is in high school now, but when Sarah and I dated he was a little kid. Her father is said to be some sort of executive at some big multinational, and because of that he spends a lot of time on the road. Teddy, when he was little, had no one to do things with so I used to take him fishing and boating. Quite often it was the three of us; Sarah, me, and Teddy, sometimes their mother even went. We used to go to Ocean City. Back then Sarah and Teddy looked almost alike, that androgynous look; Sarah was so flat chested she was often mistaken for a boy. I used to tease her about it. She’d pretend to get angry, but I knew she wasn’t.

I also remembered our many trips to the Old Ballard place. She said once, the place looked romantic. She even said she thought it could be a good place to live if it was ever fixed up. Sarah’s stupid. Really?

Who did she think she was, Donna Reed? Even then it was a wreck; kids from Frankford and Dagsboro used to ride their bikes there so they could throw rocks and break all the windows. No one ever went inside; someone once said it was haunted. They said old Mrs. Ballard killed her first husband there, chopped him up and cooked all the parts in the old oven. They say his ghost still haunts the place. I don’t know why I ever bought it, except that it included an extra half acre. It was cheap, with good water, none of that rotten egg smell.

I had to get out of this somehow, “OK, I’ll take you to the house. You can look it over. Then I’ll take you someplace where you can feel safe. How’s that?”

She reached across the truck and squeezed my shoulder. I felt like I’d been hit with a tiny electric shock. She always had that effect on me. Her hand felt peculiar; I couldn’t tell, was it cold or hot? She whispered, “You better get going. We’re starting to draw a crowd.”

I didn’t like the gleam in her eyes. Sarah’s what I would call a schemer; she has a way about her, she can wangle things out of people and they don’t even know they’re being wangled.

I looked her over. She looked so damn good. She was wearing a plaid mini-skirt that rode halfway up her thighs, white tennis shoes and socks. She had on a turquoise blouse that sort of shimmered when she turned about. It was damp and had a minimalist ‘see through’ quality to it. She was wearing a bra, but it didn’t do much to keep her smallish pear-shaped breasts from peeking through the top buttons. Yes, she was shivering. She was getting sick. She should have worn a coat. I was feeling… well… like a man feels when he’s around a pretty woman who needs to be cared for.

I checked in my rearview mirror. She was right; several people, more than a few, had come out on the lot and they were standing by the restaurant’s front doors staring in our direction. I admonished, “Just a quick visit.”

Sarah peered over at me, she smiled; she looked down at my pants and smiled again. “Mash on her Travis.” She knew what she was doing to me. I kind of liked it. ‘Fuck Denny Miles,’ I thought.

All the cars and trucks in our neck of the woods are girls, and that was her way of telling me to put my foot to the pedal. I did, and off we went.

We drove along in silence at first, and as we did, I reflected on the first time I ever talked to her. One of my best friends, a guy named Ralph Weidemeyer, invited me over to his parent’s house. It was late May, and I had finished up the ninth grade. His parents had an in-ground pool, and a bunch of us were going to christen it. I remember I got there early, but a whole bunch of other kids had the same idea. One of them was this tiny little girl I had seen from time to time. I didn’t know her name, but I had noticed her at some of the football, and later baseball games. I played on both junior varsity teams, and noticed she had been there. Other than noticing she was kind of pretty I hadn’t paid much attention.

I was standing beside the table where Ralph’s mother had laid out a lot of food. I was looking over the hot dogs when Jarvis Castleman, another one of my best friends came over. He leaned in and pointed at the girl I would come to know as Sarah Windover. He said, “You know she likes you.”

I looked up at Jarvis (Jarvis is taller than I am.) and asked, “What’s her name?”

He told me and then asked, “Want me to introduce you?”

I smiled and said, “No, I can do it.” I walked over, got behind her, picked her up, and threw her in the pool. She had on a white two-piece swim suit, and looking back, I don’t think she planned on going in the water or getting wet.

She hit that water with a high-pitched yelp. It wasn’t a scream or anything; it was more like the sound a fawn makes when it’s been shot. It was a piteous, heartbreaking cry; the sound a helpless animal or a small child would make when seriously hurt. I knew the sound because once when I was younger and out with my dad hunting deer, I mistakenly shot a fawn. Yeah, we were hunting illegally. It had a disquieting effect on me; so much so that I never went deer hunting again. I might still eat venison, but I’ll never shoot one again. Hypocritical I know, like veal. I might drink the milk, but I’ll never eat veal. It’s about heifers; they’re so damned beautiful and so affectionate.

Sarah’s cry was pathetic, like that poor fawn. Worse, it hadn’t occurred to me that it was still May and the pool had been freshly filled. Everyone was looking at her, and it was no wonder; the water had caused her beautiful white swimsuit to virtually disappear.

After a second’s staring, I jumped in; that was when I also realized how cold the water was. I waded in her direction, but she was just as determinedly wading in the opposite direction. She was crying so distressingly, and when she looked back at me, I realized the severity of my trick. I knew then she liked me, and I knew I had betrayed her in a most unmanly way.

She got out and ran for the house. I chased after her, but was stopped by Mrs. Weidemeyer. She had heard the crying and, being the doyenne of the house, had come to see what was wrong. She immediately surmised what happened and my role in it. She held me back telling me, “Wait outside. Let Sarah get dressed. Then you can apologize.”

That’s what I did. I waited, and after a few minutes Sarah did come back out. Man, Oh man! If I had ogled her before, that was nothing to what I did when she reappeared. She wasn’t much in the womanly body department, but she sure was beautiful, and those loose white shorts and that snow-white blouse gave me palpitations like I’d never had before. I held up my hands, “I’m sorry Sarah.”

She smiled; it was as though I’d never done anything. She said, “You’re Travis Tresh.”

I dumbly nodded.

She added, “I’m hungry. Let’s get something to eat.”

I remember we did, and here and now sitting in my truck I also remember that was the beginning of a real, live, honest to God, full-fledged adolescent love affair. Glancing over now and seeing that same girl, now as a fully grown woman, I wondered what had gone wrong. Then I remembered.

Teenage love affairs are always filled with a feverish sense of urgency; she was mine and mine alone. Nobody else could take her out. Nobody else could talk about her, and for sure, nobody could ever talk about “doing anything” with her. I remember I nearly lost a best friend over something that never actually happened. I’d known Trey Campbell since the first grade. He was a really good guy, not very athletic, but smart, and as a friend, sincere. Sarah’s class was having its ring dance, but I got sick, probably the Cole slaw at the school cafeteria. She had already bought the tickets so instead of trying to force me to go sick or maybe just stay home, she asked Trey, and he agreed. I recall everybody at that dance told me how well they fit together. They never kissed or anything, but it sure made me mad. I got so mad I broke up with her. That turned out to be a seriously stupid mistake; once the word got out, half the guys at school were at her doorstep. I had a hell of a time; I couldn’t get near her.

That had been in her junior year, and I was a senior. I wanted to take her to my senior prom, but she was so full of self-righteous anger that she accepted an offer from Derek Parker instead of me. I never much liked Derek anyway so I decided to beat him up after the prom. It didn’t quite work out the way I planned. I started it, but Derek finished it. It had been my first and only fight. How was I to know he’d had boxing lessons?

Sarah found out how Derek beat me up, and had one of her girlfriends call me. Sarah said she was sorry I had gotten beaten up, and she even forgave me for trying to get Angela Everdeen to go to the prom with me. Angela was one of several girls I had asked to my prom who had turned me down. I never got to go to my own prom, and the next year when it was Sarah’s prom I was already in the army. Funny thing, no one told me at the time, but Sarah, even though she had plenty of opportunities, skipped her own prom. By then, thanks to the girls of Columbus, I was heavy into antibiotics.

So, we’re driving along in my truck, and I asked her, “Someone said you were dating Chevis Stottlemeyer.”

She sighed, “He took me out a couple times.”

I asked, “You like him?”

She said, “He’s OK. He has horses.”

I replied, “When I get my house finished, I’m going to buy a couple horses.”

She smiled. I could see a sheen of sweat on her forehead. She answered, “You had a pony. His name was Johnny wasn’t it? Whatever happened to Johnny?”

I tried to keep it light, but it wasn’t easy, “After I left for the service my mom and dad decided to sell him. I heard he’s way over in Cambridge now. ”

She looked so tired, but so genuine, “You wished they hadn’t.”

“Yeah,” I answered, “It’s like everything’s gone. Annie, my lab died. Johnny got sold. You went off to college. Booger got killed.” Bob, ‘Booger’ Lawrence was a close friend who had been killed in a car crash, and Gracie, his sister, was one of Sarah’s best friends. It was a shame, but we’d all been warned, no mixed drinks. That was mixing alcohol with gasoline.

“You weren’t here for the funeral,” said Sarah, “it was especially hard on Gracie. She had to quit school and come home to take care of her mom and dad.”

I said, “I heard.” I took a deep breath. There was something I had to say, “You know I came home from… the army, and… well… it was like no one knew or seemed to care about what we’d been doing. I mean over there. You know. I felt like no one even cared I was gone.”

“You mean the Middle East,” she murmured. “I cared. I missed you.”

“Yeah, but you’re different.” I whispered, “It’s like most people don’t give a shit. Hell, from my class I’m the only one who even enlisted. People look at me like I’m some kind of moron, or worse, like I’m a serial killer or something.”

Sarah put her hand on my arm, “That’s not so. Amy joined the Air Force, Carly’s in the Coast Guard, and Drake Asperger, even though I know you don’t like him, he enlisted in the army right after you left.” She took a deep breath of her own, “Come on Travis, it’s not like you had a big class.”

She turned to face me, “People have been worried about you. We read about all the suicides. I was worried. You disappeared for a whole year. Nobody knew anything. Your mom and dad were frantic. Had you gone someplace and done something? You know, like… well, you know.”

I asked, “You were worried?”

She answered, “Come on. Don’t be stupid.”

I thought about it; Sarah worried about me. Yeah, but Sarah would worry about a homeless puppy. I said, “I didn’t know Drake had signed up.”

Sarah replied, “Well he did, and it wasn’t for the benefits.”

I was curious, “Do you know where he is now?”

“I heard somewhere in Greenland,” she answered.

I didn’t have anything to say, but she did. “Drake was dating Donna Shanklin. They still keep in touch. She says she loves him, but she’s been off and on with Derek Parker. I don’t know what’ll happen when Drake gets home. I hear he’s really serious.”

I was curious, “How’s come you never got serious about anybody?”

She looked at me like I was infected with Dengue Fever, “Are you that stupid?”

I nodded, “Dennis Miles.”

Sarah coughed, then through a hoarse throat she growled, “You’re an asshole.”

We drove along for a while until we reached the old Ballard place. I asked, “You sure you want to go in?”

She nodded yes.

I opened her door and helped her undo her seatbelt. She leaned forward and fell into my arms. My God, I had forgotten how tiny she was! She was so hot to the touch. She must be burning up with fever. I got her down and helped her inside.

Sarah looked all around, then over at me, “This has always been kind of a special place for me. Can’t say why; maybe it’s because of all the times we came here and made love.”

“Made love?” I asked. “I don’t remember making any love.”

With raised eyebrows she somewhat diffidently responded, “I mean when we came here and kissed.”

“That’s not making love Sarah.”

“It was to me.” She added, “Do you know what a good kisser you are? You can kiss me right now if you want.”

I was still holding her, “I’d like to.”

She sensed my reluctance and turned to look inside the house. “Wow,” she exclaimed, “That’s some kitchen table. It’s one of those Amish things. They’re usually made to order, and are they expensive!”

“Yeah,” I replied, “My mom bought it. She said I’d need a good table and chairs. I don’t know how much it costs though.”

“I bet a couple thousand dollars,” she said.

I scratched my head, “No kidding. She never said.”

Sarah walked over and took a seat in one of the chairs. She rested her arms on the table, “This is nice.” Then she looked all around, inspecting the place, then over at me and asked, “Your truck; it’s not new, but it’s a heavy-duty diesel. I guess you used some of your army money to buy it. Who painted the sign on the sides? I know you didn’t.”

She remembered my lack of artistic talent. “Would you believe,” I half chuckled. “Glenna and her husband Waylon found it and fixed it up.” I thought about my sister and her husband. Glenna’s a few years older than me. Her husband is a veteran like me; he served in the First Iraq War. They have three kids, all girls, Violet, Venica, and Valerie. I added, “Waylon’s a mechanic. He has his own body shop. He and she thought they’d get it for me when I mentioned I might go driving across country.”

Sarah asked, “If I’m not being rude, but how much did they charge you?”

“Nothing,” I said.

She sat back and stared back at the table, then the counter top. She got up, walked over and ran her fingers across the top, “This is quartz isn’t it.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“What do you mean you guess so? You know its quartz.”

“Well yeah, it’s quartz. So what.”

She asserted, “Quartz isn’t cheap you know.”

I guess she caught me off guard. She sure wasn’t acting like someone who was sick, “Well no, I guess it’s not.”

Sarah had her hands folded on the table top, “So did you pay for it?”

“Uh… no.”

“So who did?”

I had to think, “Aunt Flo.”

Tapping her foot impatiently Sarah asked, “That’s a mighty fine refrigerator. Where’d you get it?”

I got up, walked over, and opened it, “There’s hardly anything inside.” I thought, ‘I should go buy a few things; some eggs, bacon, sausage, and milk maybe.’

“So, who bought it?” Sarah insisted.

“Uh, Ralph. He’s Aunt Flo’s husband you know he thought…”

Sarah tapped the quartz counter top, “I know who Uncle Ralph is. Tell me about the dishwasher, and the oven, and the microwave?”

“Aunt Flo and Uncle Ralph got the dishwasher and oven. Dad got the microwave.”

Sarah sneezed, she got up, walked over, and put her hands on my shoulders, “Gee Travis, it must be tough. I mean coming home from the war and nobody caring. Like what did you say to me? ‘Nobody gives a shit?'”

I thought, ‘Why does she always do this?’ “Look Sarah, I didn’t mean it that way. I mean I thought that… you know… well.”

“Well, what,” she exclaimed, “You expected a big party? A parade? A big brass band? Gosh Travis, everyone’s practically building your house for you. What more…?”

I had to interrupt, “They did all this after I came back from my cross-country travels.”

Sarah stepped away, coughed loudly, wheezed, and then sneezed. She did a pirouette and proclaimed, “I don’t want to hear it!” She coughed again, “You got home in April. Hung around for what? Two weeks? And then you took off. I was still at school! Did you call me to tell me you were home?” She was shivering, “No, you did not! Did you give anybody a chance? No, I don’t think so.”

I liked the way she spun about. She looked pretty spinning around in her little mini. It made it go all up around her ass. She had a nice ass inside pretty panties, pink and lacy. I said, “Sarah, you’ve got a nice ass.”

“And you’re an asshole,” she exclaimed.

I watched her sit down again. She looked like she was going to cry. I walked over and sat on the chair beside her. I tried to take her hand, but she pulled it away. I said, “Sarah.”

She hiccoughed, then coughed again, “Travis. You came home. You never told anybody you were back. You never called or anything, and I was the only one who ‘faced’ with you while you were… over there.”

She looked so fragile. I bet she was feeling really achy. I said, “I had to get away.”

“Get away from what?” She asked.

I had no real answer, “All the stuff. All the things.”

“So, you came home. You were angry and upset. You felt like no one cared. You thought you were all alone. So, you decided you needed to skip out, just leave everybody who loves you. Leave us all to wonder.”

“No, it wasn’t like that, not exactly.”

She said, “You’re kidding. You’ve got to be kidding. You come home, stay for a week and disappear. You disappear without a word, except to your brother-in-law Waylon, another veteran and a guy who never talks. You stay gone for almost a year, and with no word, not a note, not even a text. Gosh! I had to text you! Remember? What were you thinking? I mean all the suicides! You had us all scared out of our minds!”

What could I say? “I don’t know. I guess, I didn’t think.”

“Didn’t think!” She shouted. She was shaking. “You didn’t think! And you came home, and didn’t call me or anything. No! What did you do? You started going out with her! That Katy McFarland! My God! Katy McFarland!” Sarah got up again. She walked to the window, “And all that lumber outside; that was free too, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it’s free.” I said, “Would you believe dad bought all the thermal pane windows. I didn’t even have to put them in.”

Sarah looked all around, “It’s like this is the place I always imagined. I used to pretend someday I would be a wife and raise a family. I know it sounds stupid, but in my fantasy, I saw myself wearing an apron, standing at this very sink with a little sandy haired boy asking me for a glass of milk.”

My hair is sandy colored. I looked off at the heaps of wood my dad had ordered. There were several piles of two by fours and dry wall all neatly covered under tarps. He said he bought it because a friend of his needed to get rid of it. That hadn’t made any sense since there was a housing boom all along the coast.

I walked toward the back of the house, “You want to see the rest?”

Sarah got up and followed me to the back of the first floor. There on the floor in what I supposed would become the dining room was a double bed mattress. She looked a little bewildered, “That’s where you sleep?”

She coughed again; I could see she was starting to feel worse than before. I said, “Yeah, haven’t bought a full bed yet.”

Sarah asked me, “Has ‘she’ been here? Has ‘she’ slept here?”

I knew who she meant. I said, “No.” I watched her and she seemed to relax a little. I added, “She doesn’t like the place, says she wants to live at the beach.”

She asked, “Is that where you want to live? At the beach?”

“No,” I said. “I want to live here.”

She asked, “Why here?”

I was flummoxed; she’d confounded me again, “I don’t know. I guess it’s always been the place. I don’t know.”

Sarah coughed some more, “I’m tired. I want to lie down.”

I said, “If you want to, you could sleep here? I can put you up. Why don’t you go in the bathroom?” I pointed to the bathroom near the hallway that led through to what would be the living room. “Get undressed. I’ll find you some clothes. I have some sweat pants and a couple flannels you can sleep in.”

While I obtained a clean pair of sweat pants, some dry socks, and a flannel shirt, Sarah walked back to the hall bathroom and shut the door. I brought the clothes and handed them in. I heard a mystifying sound, an almost indistinguishable “Oh”. She came out holding a tiny stuffed animal, a stuffed owl. I remembered; she’d bought me that stuffed animal back when we were in high school. I had completely forgotten about where it came from.

She put the little owl down on the mattress. I thought she looked really pretty in my clothes. The flannel shirt was loose, but she’d tucked it in the sweats and it made her look small, like very feminine. I told her so, “You look really pretty in my clothes.”

She lay down, “I’m cold.”

I got an army blanket and covered her, “Want me to lie down beside you?” I asked.

She nodded.

I took off my damp shirt and lay down beside her.

She whispered, “You can hold me if you want to.”

I wanted to. I put my arms around her and she closed her eyes. We lay there together for several minutes. I had to admit I was having a hard time. Her body was so warm and soft. Her breathing was so gentle and regular, plus she must have been eating mints or something, her breath smelled real inviting. I was feeling aroused. I leaned over and pressed my lips to her forehead. That seemed to have awakened her; she blinked and gave me one of her heavy-lidded looks. I’d seen that look from time to time in Georgia and during a stopover in Germany, but those women were skilled professionals, Sarah was just an innocent little bird. I asked, “Are you comfortable?”

She nodded; then she pressed herself more tightly against me. She was pressing in such a manner as to push her breasts against my chest. Her right hand had fallen to just between my thighs, just south of my private parts. Her fingertips could not have more than a few inches from my genitalia; it was proving to be very difficult to not touch her warm soft chest so I did the next best thing and caressed her neck. She sighed.

She whispered, “Don’t you have feelings for me anymore?”

“You know I do,” was my uncomfortable reply.

She asked, “You were gone a long time. Where did you go and what did you see?”

I rolled over on my back and placed my hands behind my head. That was a complicated question. I had done a lot of driving. Before I started to tell her, she rolled into me and rested her right arm on my stomach. Her fingertips were inches just inches above my crotch. I was afraid if she moved another inch, I’d end up having a ‘dishonorable discharge’. To get away I rolled toward her and on my side. Her fingers slid down over my rigid penis to my hip. I whispered, “I’ll tell you.”

As her fingers unconsciously crossed and re-crossed my rigid manhood she murmured, “I’m all ears.”

I breathed deeply and began, “You know I stopped off at Glenna and Waylon’s first. Waylon wanted to see me. He’d been to Iraq and come home, and wanted to get my version of what was going on. When I got there that’s not really what he wanted. He didn’t care about Iraq; he wanted to find out how I was, so we talked about what we’d both seen, and about how things were now. The biggest thing was neither of us could sleep. It wasn’t the nightmares so much, as it was just not getting through a whole night without waking up. He’d been home a long while and still couldn’t get regulated. I told him it was the same with me. Yeah, sure we talked about the flies, the dogs, the random violence, and the damn people, but mostly it was about how people here at home acted like nothing was going on over there, and of course, the sleep thing. He said he’d lost some friends over there, and he knew he should visit their families, but he couldn’t get to it. He said it wasn’t that he was afraid to see anybody; it was that he didn’t have anything to say. I hadn’t thought about that. Anyway, when I told him about my plans, he thought it was a great idea. I had planned on renting a car, but he said he had a nearly new truck he could lend me. I took him up on the truck, and left a few days later.”

Sarah asked, “That’s the truck you’re using now?”

“No,” I said. “That was a different truck. The one I’m using now is bigger.”

“So, you left.”

“Yeah. You were at school so the first place I went was Frostburg. I saw your car and where you were living, but decided not to bother you.’

Sarah frowned but didn’t say anything.

“So off I went. I won’t give you a lot of boring details, but I stopped at Knoxville, Memphis, Texarkana, Austen, San Antonio, El Paso, Sedona, Monument Valley, and the Grand Canyon where I did the helicopter. I drove through Las Vegas just to see it. Then I went through the Mohave Desert to San Bernardino, then through Los Angeles to Paso Robles. I had to see the spot where James Dean was killed. If I hadn’t done that my dad would kill me. I did San Francisco, Arcata where I saw the Redwoods. I tripped on up to Seattle, over to Victoria, then Vancouver, and out to Kelowna. I had to stop at Spokane to get the truck worked on, and then I hit Bozeman and Yellowstone where I saw Old Faithful. I thought that was a little overrated. I skipped down to Santa Fe, Amarillo, and Oklahoma City. I saw the Tim McVeigh thing there. I drove over to Springfield to see the Lincoln stuff, and then I stopped at Buchanan. After Buchanan I came on home. My last stop was Frostburg again, but you weren’t there then. You’d gone home for the summer. When I got home, I was told you’d graduated and had gone off to Europe. That’s when I met Katy.”

Ignoring my Europe remark she asked me, “Did you really go to all those places?”

“Yes,” I told her, “But I never stayed anywhere very long. Mostly I just drove. I wanted to see what I’d been fighting for.”

“Was it worth it?”

“Sarah,” I said. “I honestly don’t know. I wanted to hear people talking about the war, but all they talked about was meaningless bullshit; money and local politics mostly. Sure, everybody was nice, but nobody seemed to know or care about what we were doing over there.”

Then she blurted out, “If it was so good, what happened in Texas?”

Surprised, I looked at her. I didn’t know what to say, but anyway, “What do you mean, Texas?”

She was blushing like someone had just caught her naked in the shower, something I’d done once back when we were high school. Something wasn’t right, I asked again, “Texas. What about it?”

“Uh… ah… I mean. Gosh, I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do Sarah. What about Texas?”

She looked down, then off toward the kitchen window, “I heard…”

“You heard what?” I asked.

“Roosevelt, Texas. Four days. You were there four days. I heard, that’s all.”

“Sarah,” I said, “What did you hear about Roosevelt, Texas?”

“An accident,” she said. “You had an accident.”

“Who told you that?” I asked.

“I don’t remember exactly. I think your mom.”

This was getting really strange. It was true I’d had an accident on Interstate Ten just outside Roosevelt, Texas. I remember I’d gotten headachy and dizzy, and fallen asleep. I didn’t go far off the road. A local guy found me and took me to his place where his wife got me in a bed. When I woke up, he told me my truck had been taken to a body shop that was close by, but they wouldn’t work on it until I gave the Ok. I did that, and gave them my information. Actually, the truck was still in my brother-in-law’s name. That must have been it. Waylon got the notice, and probably called my mother and father. They probably told Sarah.

“Shit,” I cursed. “Don’t I have any privacy?”

“We were all worried Travis. I was worried. I’m glad your back.” She furthered, “But right now I’m terribly tired, and I don’t feel very good. I want to go to sleep.”

I looked at her; those big green eyes, her pretty face, and her long tangled up hair. I whispered, “Me too.”

She closed her eyes and I thought she was asleep. Her body was swallowed up in my red flannel shirt. All cuddled up against me, her form so warm and soft, perfect breasts slowly rising and falling with each breath, hair gently framing her adorable heart shaped face, sweet pursed cherry red lips pleading to be kissed, and perfect ears, only one piercing, and dangling from each delicate lobe the same tiny jade earrings I had bought for her when we were in high school. She’d been my dream girl once. I don’t know why, but I didn’t have a single sexual thought. It felt like a homecoming. I was just happy. I went to sleep too.

I thought she was asleep, but she wasn’t, not exactly, she murmured something. I couldn’t understand what it was. Droopy eyes held mine. She took my left hand in hers and slowly pulled it down inside the sweatpants she was wearing. She placed the palm of my hand so that it covered her vagina. I felt her crease. I realized what she must have whispered. I could have her. I could’ve taken her right there. I didn’t. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I brushed a few luscious fronds from pink cheeks and whispered, “Shh. Go back to sleep.”

She closed her eyes. I heard a soft sigh. My thoughts lay out in my mind like a shattered vase, ‘This was Sarah, my Sarah. Once anyways. Not anymore. She was gold. I wasn’t even iron pyrite. I closed my eyes again too.

~~~V~~~

I couldn’t stay asleep. No big deal. I hadn’t gotten more than four or five hours at any one time since I came home. It was chilly, but nothing like the night before. I checked Sarah, she was quietly snoring. I felt her forehead; she was cool to the touch. I suppose whatever she had she’d recovered. I very quietly got dressed, went to the kitchen, and wrote her a note.

“Sarah:

Gone to the market to get some supplies. If you awaken before I get back just stay in bed and rest. Stay warm.

Travis”

I thought about leaving an added note, maybe saying love or something, but decided not to.

I got to the local all-night grocery. There were a few people up and about. I recognized Katy’s Lexus. Damn, I hope she’s not in there. Big mistake, she was; so were Galloway and Derek Parker. By the look of them I figured they’d been up all night. I went in, picked up some eggs, milk, sausage, a pint of half & half, some bacon, and, since they were out of bread, I got rolls.

I nearly made it out without being seen before they spotted me. First to see me was Jimmy Galloway. Of course, he had to say something, “Hey wow! Look who’s here. Isn’t that our war hero? Hey hero, what’re you doing out so late?”

I didn’t want to say anything, plus I sure didn’t like the hero bullshit, but it didn’t really matter that much, not coming from him. Regardless I knew I was stuck, “I’m not out late, got up early; needed some breakfast food.”

Parker had to open his big mouth. “Hey Tresh, who’s the food for? Who you got back in the crib? I’ll bet it’s your little girlfriend. What’s her name? Sarah? Yeah, ‘Saint Sarah, Sarah the Virgin’.”

Laughing, he pulled on my arm.

It happened so fast Parker didn’t have a chance. I dropped the groceries, and I took him out! Down he went! I was going in for the kill shot when…!

Katy shouted in astonishment, “Travis! Jesus Christ! What’d you do to him?”

Galloway looked stunned.

Parker was on the macadam.

I had smashed in his left collar bone and dislocated his left shoulder. Where was I? The Yazidi girl’s face flashed before me. I saw the African girl, Farida through the airplane window. I closed my eyes. I silently screamed, “No, no!”

I recovered. I grabbed up my groceries luckily nothing was broken.

I glared at a terrified Katy, “Lucky guy,” I said. “Maybe he’ll be more careful next time.” I walked briskly to my truck, got in, lit er up, and pulled away. The last thing I saw was Katy and Galloway trying to get Parker back on his feet. I supposed they would be spending a few hours at the infirmary. ‘Oh well,’ I thought. ‘He should’ve kept his hands to his self and his mouth shut.’ I was shaking all over. Parker isn’t such a bad guy, but I was going to kill him. What’s wrong with me?

~~V ~~

Sarah was up when I got back. Still in my old flannel and sweats; she gave me a silly look. Luckily, she didn’t notice if anything was wrong, or I hoped she didn’t notice…, she’s a funny kid. She said, “I read your note.”

I did recognize she’d been up to something, then I saw what it was. Since I’d been working on the house, I’d been careless with my papers. I had foolishly, actually lazily, left a few things lying around I should have put away. Somehow, she’d found my medicals and my DD214. I had planned to throw all that away, but I stupidly forgot.

She held the damn DD214 up, “What’s all this Travis?”

I reached for it, but she pulled it away too fast. “It’s nothing,” I said. “Just my discharge papers, they don’t mean anything.”

She moved to the opposite side of the kitchen table, “Gee,” she said. “Iraq, Afghanistan, Germany, and what’s this, it says Africa-Burkina Faso.”

“Give me the paper Sarah.”

“Good Conduct, Sharpshooter, says M16, Iraq Medal, War on Terrorism Medal, Defense Ribbon. Bronze Star, Distinguished Service Cross. I think I know most of it.” She paused, then added, “But what’s this other thing; it says Article Fifteen?”

I caught up with her and reached for the papers but missed. I told her, “It doesn’t mean anything. Forget you saw it. All that stuff is in the past, like it never happened.”

She looked me over. She was dead serious, “I know what a Distinguished Service Cross is Travis. It’s something important. That’s great! I think I know what an Article Fifteen is too. How did you get it?”

“Nothing,” I said. “A fight in Germany.”

“OK, she said, “What about the D.S.C?”

“No big deal. I killed some people and saved a guy. That’s all. I don’t want to talk about it. Put it to rest.”

She wasn’t done, “What’s with the medicals? It says here you’ve had some concussions. You’re supposed to report to someplace in Laurel.”

“Let it be Sarah. I got hit on the head a couple times. No big deal. They said I should see some guy in Laurel.”

“Did you go to Laurel?”

I lied, “Yeah, now give me the stuff. It’s supposed to be confidential.”

She still held it, “When did you go to Laurel? It says here you’re supposed to finish your military commitment through them. What commitment is that? Did you re-enlist?”

‘Jesus,’ I thought. ‘She’s a determined little… something.’ “No, I didn’t re-enlist. Everybody has a six-year commitment when they sign up. I served five active and was supposed to finish out with one inactive, but because I got a little bump on the head, they want to put me in an active reserve slot. Ok? Now give me the papers.”

“They want you in the active reserves so they can keep an eye on your ‘little bump’. Is that it?”

“I suppose so.” I reached out, “Now hand it over.”

She understood, “OK, here.” She started to hand me the paperwork. Then she stopped, started again, and said, “But I’m going to tell my dad.”

“Tell him what?”

“About your little bump on the head.”

“Sarah please,” I begged. “Leave it alone. Look, I got us stuff to eat. Maybe you could whip something up? I could go for some fried eggs and sausage.”