A Soldier Comes Home. Cindi Myers
what did you do?” Rita asked. Chrissie would have done something. The woman had the softest heart.
Chrissie fiddled with the appointment book, turning up one corner of the pages. “I couldn’t stand thinking about him just sitting there, so I took over some food and a bottle of wine. I thought someone should welcome him home.”
“Uh-huh. So what’s the strange part?”
Chrissie’s eyes clouded and she blinked rapidly. “It was awful. The house was cold—he hadn’t even turned up the heat yet. I guess he’d been too shocked or upset to care.” She swallowed and continued. “Tammy had really cleaned the place out. The only thing left in the living room was a recliner and a coffee table. The dining room was empty. No telling what else she took. It was just…sad.”
“I guess he was pretty broken up, then.”
“I guess…mostly he was angry. When he figured out I was the Chrissie Tammy had written to him about, he went a little crazy. He told me it was my fault for taking her out and introducing her to single men.”
“He blamed you?”
“I guess…he had to blame someone. I was there.” She shrugged.
“What did you do?”
“I left. I ran home and locked my door.”
Rita leaned forward and put a hand on Chrissie’s arm. “You don’t think he’d try to hurt you, do you? Some of these guys come home and they’re…well, they’re a little crazy. They do crazy things.” Not a month went by when the news didn’t carry a story of a local man who’d hurt his wife or shot himself or someone else. Coming home intensified every emotion, good and bad, and some men, and women, too, didn’t handle it well.
Chrissie shook her head. “No. I’m sure he wouldn’t.”
“You know to call someone if you have any doubts. Promise me.”
“I promise.” She turned back to her desk and checked the schedule. “Your two o’clock is late.”
“Mrs. Mendoza. She’s got two toddlers. Hard to get anywhere on time, I imagine. Meanwhile, you’ve got time to tell me about Tammy’s ex. Or soon-to-be ex. What’s Mr. Hughes like?”
“Captain Hughes. He’s…good-looking.”
Rita didn’t miss the way the corners of Chrissie’s mouth tried to turn up in a smile. “How good-looking?” she asked.
Chrissie gave up and let the smile burst forth. “Really good-looking. Tall, dark and handsome. I predict he won’t be living alone for long.”
“You ought to have an advantage, living right next door.”
The smile vanished. “I told you, he hates me. He blames me for Tammy leaving him.”
“That was just hurt talking. He’ll come to his senses sooner or later. He was married to the woman. He had to know what she was like.”
Chrissie looked doubtful. “I don’t know about that. He was really furious. Besides, I’m not crazy about getting involved with another soldier.”
“Woman, you are living in a town full of single men—ninety-nine percent of them soldiers. You are never going to find someone if you don’t give one of them a chance.”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t think Ray Hughes is going to give me a chance.”
A tapping on the window interrupted them.
“Sorry I’m late,” Mrs. Mendoza said when Chrissie slid open the window. “Michael was fussy and took forever to get dressed.” She looked back at the two little boys with her. The youngest, Michael, was about three. He rubbed his eyes and stuck out his lower lip. The older boy, Anthony, grinned at them. Both boys’cheeks were red from the cold.
“Hello, boys.” Chrissie leaned over and smiled at them.
“Hello,” Anthony said. Michael sniffed and said nothing.
“I’m ready for you to come on back, Mrs. Mendoza,” Rita said. She picked up the woman’s chart and held open the door leading to the procedure rooms.
“All right.” Mrs. Mendoza turned to her sons. “You boys behave yourselves while I’m gone.”
Chrissie motioned to them. “Why don’t you two come back here and play with me while your mom’s getting her teeth cleaned.”
When Rita and Mrs. Mendoza walked past the little office area, Chrissie had Michael on her lap and was showing him how to punch holes in colored paper with her hole punch, while Anthony stapled papers together.
Rita shook her head. If anyone was meant to be a mother, it was Chrissie. She hoped Captain Hughes would get over his temper tantrum and take a second look at the woman next door. After the rotten way Tammy had treated him, he’d be in heaven with a woman like Chrissie to care for him.
As for Chrissie, she definitely needed someone to care for. Soldier or not, Rita couldn’t keep from hoping Ray fit the bill.
RAY PARKED THE CAR in the drive of his parents’ townhome and started up the walk. The townhome was in one of those upscale developments that catered to older adults with money. His mom and dad had sold their house and moved here three years ago. His dad liked not having a yard to maintain and his mother enjoyed all the social activities. A year ago his dad had sold his hardware store and officially retired, at age fifty-five. Now he and Mom spent their time golfing, traveling and playing poker with friends.
At least, that’s how they’d spent their time until last month, when Tammy had brought T.J. to them. From what Ray could tell from brief phone conversations and e-mails with his mom, T.J. had been seriously cramping their style.
He rang the doorbell and waited, fidgeting. After months in fatigues and uniforms, his blue jeans and sweatshirt felt both familiar and odd. The clothes were comfortable, but they weren’t what his body had grown used to.
His mother opened the door and stood on tiptoe to hug him. “Welcome home, Ray. How are you doing?” She was a petite woman with short, frosted hair and smooth, unlined skin. Ray suspected she’d had a little surgical help fighting off the wrinkles, but he wouldn’t have dared ask.
“I’m okay,” he said. He looked past her, searching for his son.
“T.J.’s in the den with your father,” his mother said.
Ray followed her into the house. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked. “A soda or a beer?”
He shook his head. “I just want to see T.J.”
“All right, dear.” She led the way through the formal living room, down the stairs to the den in the finished basement. Ray heard the television and when he stepped into the room found his father on the sofa, a little boy next to him. They were watching a game show.
Charlie Hughes glanced over his shoulder when they entered, frowning. “Hello, Ray,” he said, his voice even. The polite voice of a man who refused to make a fuss with his enemy in public.
Maybe enemy was too harsh a term, Ray thought as he walked over to stand behind the sofa. His dad didn’t hate him or even wish him ill. But he had never approved of Ray’s decision to join the military, and was a vocal opponent of the war. Ray had met other war protesters who nevertheless welcomed soldiers and did whatever they could to support them. But when his dad looked at Ray, he seemed to only see the government and the military his uniform represented, and not the man inside the clothes.
Ray looked at the little boy, who was staring up at him, one hand in his mouth. “Hey, T.J.,” he said. “Remember me?” It hurt to breathe while he waited for an answer.
“T.J., it’s your father.” His mother rushed forward, not giving the boy time to answer on his own. “He’s come to take you home with him.”
“Daddy?”