Fresh-Start Family Page 9

  In many ways he still felt as if he was married to Nancy. The kiss he’d shared with Jenna should have felt like a betrayal. And yet it hadn’t. His late wife existed now only in his memories. He was alone, without the family he’d left behind on missions so many times. Now both Nancy and Crystal were gone for good, and he had to make his life by himself.

  But was he really ready to be in a relationship with another woman? Nancy’s sad eyes flashed in his mind, as they had so many times. Washington, D.C., was calling him. His CO wanted him to reenlist when he was ready. He had so much baggage, so many pieces of unfinished business that he carried with him. Could he pick up here with Jenna and her family when he still hadn’t truly laid the past to rest?

  Jenna was a special woman. Anyone could see that. But he wasn’t the kind of man who could give her the kind of stability she needed. He couldn’t make Nancy happy. What made him think he could make Jenna happy?

  Tag stopped at the mailbox at the end of his driveway. He didn’t need a flashlight to retrieve the stack of letter-sized envelopes that had been deposited there earlier in the day. A sales flyer from the feed store and a bigger envelope from a sweepstakes company, proclaiming he might have won a million dollars, were addressed to Mr. Nelson. Tossing all the mail onto the passenger seat, he put the truck into gear and made his way toward the dark house.

  He never left a light on while he was gone, and the house looked harshly lonely with no life breathing inside. It was a stark contrast to what he’d left at Jenna’s house. But then, he’d forgotten how much a child could make a home hum with energy. His heart ached now to think about it.

  With a heavy sigh, he pushed the truck door open, climbed out and then slammed it. Out in the field the dark was his friend, for as long as it lasted.

  He unlocked the kitchen door and flicked on the light. Even before he did, he noticed the red light on his answering machine blinking.

  He dropped the mail on the kitchen table and hit the play button. The first call was from his mother, wanting to know how he was doing. The message was short and sweet and ended with a request to call. The second one was from Wolf.

  “Hey, Tag. Call me or prepare for the consequences.”

  A grin tugged at Tag’s lips. When they were kids, the consequences usually involved a wrestling match that ended up with a broken knickknack in his grandparents’ living room and a stern lecture about horsing around in the house from his grandfather. Wolf wasn’t here to break anything, but Tag knew his cousin would come up with some way to punish him if he didn’t comply.

  Although he didn’t want to rehash old conversations about how he shouldn’t have come to Nebraska, Tag picked up the phone and dialed Wolf’s number. Hearing his cousin’s voice would be good, even if he didn’t want to hear the words he had to say.

  “Just for the record, you’d lose,” Tag said with a chuckle when Wolf answered after the first ring.

  “In your dreams,” Wolf said, immediately recognizing Tag’s voice. “When have I ever lost a wrestling match to you?”

  Tag laughed. “What were you doing? Sitting by the phone?”

  “Truthfully? Yeah.”

  Tag’s stomach dropped. “Why? What’s going on?”

  “Thought I’d give you the heads-up on a few things.”

  “Such as?”

  “Your CO called. Again. The brass are determined to make you put on your dress whites and come to Washington.”

  “What for?”

  Wolf made a noise that made Tag groan. The warning Wolf was giving him was something Tag had feared from the day he came home from Afghanistan. The things he’d done in the military on a mission, good and bad, were part of what he’d done for the United States of America. But the government had a way of wanting to give POWs medals, and it wasn’t going to let up on him until he agreed to stand in ceremony.

  Even when Tag had been recuperating in the military hospital on base after his rescue, he’d known it was only a matter of time before his CO’s paperwork made it to the military committee desk that decided who got what in the way of military honors. He’d hoped his name would be lost in the mix of other, more deserving soldiers, those who’d given up their lives for service to their country, but apparently he’d hoped in vain.

  “This award ceremony isn’t going to be on base like most of them. They’re looking to make some noise with it, and I know how much you hate that. I got my invite, and so did your mom and dad.”

  “Have fun in D.C.”

  Wolf groaned. “Look, I’m not going to get in your face about this. I know how much you hate all this fanfare. But when was the last time you called home?”

  Tag couldn’t remember. Whenever it was, it had been too long.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Yeah, you say that. But that doesn’t stop your mom and dad from worrying. I remember how bad those flashbacks were for you. Your mom still can’t talk about them. Have you had any more while you’ve been in Nebraska?”

  No one knew better than his parents and Wolf what Tag’s flashbacks were like. They’d been there with him in the beginning, when even Tag couldn’t remember them, and then later, when the ones that Tag could remember hit him hard. Wolf had even taken leave from his position at Fort McCoy for a time to make sure Tag was going to be okay.

  But Tag wasn’t sure that he was ever going to be completely okay. How did a person get over a loss like he’d experienced? Still, things had gotten better. And despite the concern from everyone in his family, moving to Chesterfield had been a good move.

  “Washington,” he mumbled. “Now, what do they want to make us go all the way to Washington, D.C., for?”

  “It’s a big deal. I know you want to forget about what happened in Afghanistan, but there are a whole lot of people who think it’s important to remember it.”

  “I can’t.”

  Wolf sighed. “I won’t push you. I just want you to know that Oma and Opa got an invitation, too. And you know what that means.”

  “I’ll suffer the consequences from Oma if I don’t at least call her.”

  Wolf chuckled. “At the very least. Good luck, buddy.”

  They said their goodbyes, and Tag hung up the phone.

  As if answering his musings, his eyes caught the military seal on one of the envelopes he’d dropped on the kitchen table. His shoulders sagged just a little. Did he really want to see what was in that envelope? He didn’t need reminders of what he’d gone through in Afghanistan, and he certainly didn’t want to relive what he’d gone through when he’d finally made it home. In many ways, his homecoming had been worse than captivity. It still was.

  With a quick thrust he yanked the kitchen chair out from under the table and sat down. Before he pulled the letter out of the envelope, he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and his forefinger and then resigned himself to the inevitable.

  Dear Sergeant Garrison:

  It is my honor to inform you that due to your unwavering service in the line of duty you have been chosen to receive the Medal of Honor, to be given to you by the president of the United States at a ceremony in Washington, D.C….

  Tag didn’t need to read the rest. He’d seen enough of these letters to know the details. Only the part about the president of the United States had come as a surprise.

  Most military awards were given at ceremonies on base by the major general. It was considered an honor, and Tag knew the people who’d put his name in for recognition considered it so. But Tag thought differently. He’d survived where others had not. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing to celebrate.

  If the ceremony were being held on base, Tag could skip it easily enough. His award would be lost among those of the other soldiers, who were sure to be receiving the same honor. His name would be nothing but a footnote on the paper. But any ceremony warranting the attention of the president of the United States would be given major press, a spotlight Tag didn’t want shining on him or his deeds. No matter how many lives had been saved.


  No doubt Pike’s family would be there, accepting his award for him. Tag’s chest squeezed just thinking of his friend who hadn’t made it home.

  He dropped the letter on the table and rubbed his hand over his face, his mood suddenly changed. Why didn’t they just leave him alone? Why was it that every place he turned, someone wanted to make him remember? He didn’t need reminders, and he didn’t need a medal to acknowledge the deeds he’d done in service to his country. He wanted to be let alone.

  A restless energy flowed through his veins as he looked around his house. Where he’d felt life at Jenna’s place, he now felt as if his homecoming here had sucked the life out of him, just as it had when he’d returned from Afghanistan.

  Lord, when will this ever end?

  Moving to Chesterfield had changed that to some degree. Nebraska was far enough away from the memories that haunted him to give him momentary peace. Now he was certain that no place on earth would be far enough to run from the pain of what the United States military wanted to honor him for.

  Chapter Eight

  Their trips to Valentine had become routine already, measured by the time it took for the flight, the wait while Brian underwent dialysis and then the flight home. Tag normally spent some of his time picking up supplies Mr. Peers or one of the other local businesses had ordered. But he’d already picked up the supplies for Mr. Peers, so he decided to find the little coffee shop near the hospital and spend his time eating a slice of pie and reading the newspaper.

  His time with Jenna and Brian had become important. He looked forward to the mornings when the sound of Jenna’s truck drew him to the window. He would push back the curtain to see her truck coming down his driveway and his mood would immediately lift.

  After the kiss he’d shared with Jenna the other night, he’d found himself listening for Jenna and Brian this morning with anticipation. The kiss wasn’t something he’d planned to do. But he couldn’t say he hadn’t thought about it before or even since. Jenna had a way of putting a smile on his face even when he was down.

  He’d spent the night stretched out on the sofa, staring at the cracks in the ceiling of his old farmhouse. And feeling mighty guilty that he actually liked how Jenna’s lips had felt against his when they’d kissed last night. That was what was on his mind all night? Not the award, or the mission that triggered it, or Nancy and Crystal?

  Had it been so long since he’d kissed a woman that he’d forgotten the way it made him feel? Or was it just Jenna?

  He was reluctant to think it was only Jenna that made the storm that normally raged inside him suddenly quiet. He’d come to Chesterfield to get a new start, to stop thinking so much about painful things he couldn’t change. He’d wanted to get lost in the physical work of the farm. And he’d hoped that at the end of a long day’s work he would be exhausted enough to collapse into dreamless sleep.

  He hadn’t planned to spend his days thinking about a woman when there was so much work to be done. The fields had been plowed, but from what Ben had told him, Tag was already behind in seeding. If he didn’t get moving soon, he’d be lucky if a worthy crop came up at all this year.

  As he walked the few blocks to the coffee shop close to the hospital, he thought about how different his life had become from the one he used to live as a marine. Moments of importance had turned from dangerous military missions to simple pleasures like a few hours of flying with Jenna and Brian.

  He was crossing Main Street, the newspaper he’d been reading tucked under his arm, when he heard a horn blast from an oncoming bus. Tag snapped his gaze in the direction of the noise, and for a split second he wasn’t in Valentine anymore. The street wasn’t filled with people shopping and running back to work after a long lunch. He was in Afghanistan. The bus didn’t hold people busy with their day. It held children, terrified and screaming.

  Tag’s heart raced as adrenaline tore through him. He glanced around for Pike. Where was Pike? But the instant he searched, the image faded and he was standing in the middle of the street in Valentine, Nebraska, again. A cab honked loud and long, stopping short in the middle of the street just as the realization hit Tag.

  Slowly, he made his way to the curb and took a deep breath as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. It had been more than four months since he’d had a flashback, so long that he’d actually forgotten that his post-traumatic stress flashbacks had been frequent when he’d come back from Afghanistan. He’d thought they were over. But his doctor had warned that simple sounds, phrases or smells could be a trigger and he could experience more.

  It had to have been the sound of the bus, he decided. Now the noise in his head was unbearable, but he pressed on.

  Glancing at his watch, Tag figured he had time enough to have a cup of coffee and get himself together before Brian’s session was over. He headed to the coffee shop, where he could see life all around him and forget the deaths in his past.

  Tag pushed through the coffee-shop door and found the same booth he’d sat in the last few times he’d gone there. He liked the corner booth by the tinted window, where he could be invisible to the people coming into the coffee shop, but see everything that was going on around him and on the busy street. He’d always chosen his seat well while in Afghanistan. Choosing wrong meant you’d get a little more attention than you wanted from the guards.

  Then and now, attention was the last thing he wanted. Peace and quiet were what he’d been craving. He thought Nebraska would give him that.

  It had just been a place to hide from old wounds. But apparently the wounds weren’t yet willing to let him go.

  The waitress immediately came to the table with a half full pot of coffee and an empty cup. Setting the cup down on the table, she said, “Can I tempt you with some fresh pie? We’ve got blueberry and apple.”

  “Make it apple pie, heated,” he said. “And drop some vanilla ice cream on top.”

  “Coming right up,” she said with a smile.

  Grabbing his napkin, he blotted the wet spot on the table where his coffee cup had left a ring.

  “Hey, aren’t you the guy I just read about in the paper? The marine?”

  Tag lifted his head to find two women in their fifties, one holding a copy of the New York Times, the other hitting her on the arm and smiling triumphantly.

  “I told you it’s him. I couldn’t believe my sister and I were just sitting here reading this article about the war hero who’s going to be decorated by the president and here you are, sitting right in this little coffee shop in Valentine. A bona fide hero. Rose said it couldn’t be you, but—”

  “It’s not,” Tag blurted out, feeling only a twinge of regret for his lie. “I have one of those faces, you know? Everyone is always thinking I’m someone I’m not.”

  No truer words were ever spoken.

  “I told you so,” Rose said, rolling her eyes at her sister. “Louise is always hoping to see John Travolta or George Clooney out here in Nebraska. I’ll bet you aren’t even in the military. Am I right?”

  Rose was clearly happy that she’d outwitted her sister. It gave Tag no pleasure to see Louise bested when she was spot-on about identifying him. But he didn’t want to talk about what the New York Times had written about him, either.

  “Have a nice day, ladies,” he said as they turned toward the counter. He heard them mumbling as they made their way to the cash register, check in hand.

  “He could be a dead ringer for that guy in the paper.”

  “Maybe it’s his brother.”

  “You never know about these things.”

  The waitress placed his pie on the table in front of him. His appetite gone, he pushed it aside and watched the ice cream melt on top of the warm pie. He didn’t have to read that newspaper to know what it said. It must have included a nice shot of his military picture, too, from what these ladies had to say.

  He dropped a ten-dollar bill on the table to cover the tab and a hefty tip and then got to his feet. From the other side of the
room, the waitress called out, “Hey, you didn’t even touch your pie.”

  He just waved to the waitress in reply and then pushed through the coffee-shop doors.

  The warm spring air hit Tag in the face as he walked out onto the sidewalk. He got to the airport in record time. As he prepped the plane for takeoff and waited for Jenna and Brian to arrive, he fumed. He’d been running from something a long time, trying to get away from the pressure he felt from others who wanted him to remember. But if this afternoon’s encounter in the coffee shop was any indication, even a small town in Nebraska wasn’t far enough to hide from what he was running from.

  “Do you think he’ll come? Huh? Huh?”

  Brian had chattered on about the festival nonstop since breakfast, on the plane ride to Valentine, through the CAT scan, which had, thankfully, gone well, though the results wouldn’t come in for a few days and now on the way to see the doctor. This was the first year he was going to be able to attend the church festival in Chesterfield, something Jenna had always enjoyed as a kid and, apparently, something all the kids at school were talking about.

  She almost wished Mrs. Hathaway hadn’t mentioned the festival at all when she and Brian had gone down to the grocery store last week to pick up milk and eggs. But even if Mrs. Hathaway hadn’t mentioned it, he would have heard about the annual baseball game played at the festival from one of the kids at recess, anyway.

  Which was what Brian was nagging her about today. She’d heard him declare that “all the kids are going to play baseball” about twenty times since breakfast, making it clear he wanted to play baseball with them.

  She’d forgotten just how much of a big deal the festival was to the people of Chesterfield. Aside from being a major fundraiser for the church, it was a great time to be out with neighbors and townspeople you rarely got to see, given the wide borders of town property in this farming community. It was unlikely you’d have a chat with a neighbor at your mailbox unless someone happened to be driving by when you stopped to pick up your mail.