Addie Gets Her Man. Angel Smits
didn’t think the double take was from recognition. She really was lovely. He halted that train of thought. “Sorry to interrupt your reading.” He nodded toward her book, and she turned the page to continue.
The fact that there was no ring on her left hand didn’t escape his notice. The fact that he noticed shocked him. He hadn’t noticed that on anyone else in ages. He shook his head. That wasn’t why he was here.
He set his own book on the table. Not fiction, though. This book was also part of the reason he’d come here. He didn’t want to read it at home. Alone. In a big lonely house. This was an old book, the spine thin, worn. Not from many hands touching it in a library or bookstore. No, this was a hand-created work, done as a labor of love—a memoir by a man who’d served in Vietnam at the same time his father had. There was a big difference, though.
This man had been a foot soldier, a private on the ground. His father had been high above, watching from the cockpit of a surveillance plane.
Marcus stared at the book’s cover. Odd that Anne had called tonight. Knowing his father would be here soon, Marcus questioned if he really wanted to read it now. Did he truly want to know what was inside? There was no turning back once he started to read.
How would it affect his interaction with his father? Would it confirm his suspicions that his father was hiding something he’d been involved in back then? Or would it alleviate Marcus’s long-held suspicions? What would his next meeting with his father be like?
Marcus had gotten this book from the author’s son. Sam Tilton had died last year from cancer that was most likely the result of Agent Orange. No one could prove it, though, and Sam hadn’t cared.
Marcus had met him once, early in his diagnosis when he’d been sure he’d beat the monster. Marcus had meant to see him again, but Carolyn’s illness—the rest of life—had gotten in the way. This was the first time since he and Ryan had moved that he’d pulled the book out.
Now he second-guessed his decision.
“I tell my students that osmosis doesn’t really work.” Addie’s voice gave him an excuse to break out of his troubled thoughts. He tried to laugh, but he wasn’t very good at it anymore.
She moved—a smooth motion, standing, then walking to his side. “It’s a beautiful book.” She stood close. Warmth from her arm touched his as she caressed the hand-tooled leather cover. “Almost too pretty to open,” she whispered.
“Yeah. What’s inside isn’t nearly as pretty.”
“Have you read it before?”
Marcus shook his head. “No. I know the author. I know what it’s about.”
She moved to tug on the chair across from him. “May I?” At his nod, she pulled the chair out and sat. “I don’t mean to interrupt...but can I help? You look troubled.”
Addie was obviously a caring person. He’d known a few—very few—people like that in his life. Carolyn had been like that. He swallowed the pain in his throat.
He tapped the book cover, breaking the hold of his memories. “This is a memoir. One of the men who was with my father in Vietnam wrote it.”
Her eyebrows lifted. He regretted surprising her like that. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “It’s going to be a tough read. But I need to read it.”
“Why?” Her shock faded, curiosity replacing it in her eyes.
Marcus shrugged. “To find answers. I—”
She waited. Not filling in the blanks, but waiting for him, listening.
“My father doesn’t talk about his experiences. He keeps it all locked up inside.” Letting loose only when he couldn’t hold back anymore—usually with a well-aimed fist or a mouthful of filthy language. “He’s got issues.”
“He’s still around, then?”
“Yeah. We don’t see each other often.” Though apparently, that was going to change soon. “Never did. He didn’t take his family on any of his assignments.”
“I’m sorry.” Her gaze grew distant. “My father died when I was—” She swallowed, then frowned. “About Ryan’s age actually.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
The silence grew between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, he found it oddly comforting that she was here, willing to listen as he waded into the murky waters of his father’s past.
“My dad was a great guy.” She seemed to shake herself out of the memories. “There were six of us kids. Mom had her hands full. So, when he died, we picked ourselves up and got the job done.”
“Wow. Sounds rough.”
“Not really. Everyone’s grown now. All out in the world, with families and kids. We...we lost Mom last year.” She stumbled over her words for a second, then once again recovered. “She was ready to join him,” she whispered.
He envied her. His mother wouldn’t be interested in joining his dad—anywhere, here or in the afterlife. She’d stayed married to him, just like she’d stayed behind when he’d deployed. She’d earned the military pension just like he had. She’d said it so many times, he could hear her saying it now.
Addie looked at him, then slowly rose. He had to tilt his chin up only slightly to meet her gaze. She couldn’t be much over five feet.
“I’m sorry.” She moved to her table and gathered her things. “I didn’t mean to ruin your evening. This got a little maudlin.”
“No. I interrupted you,” he said. She turned to leave, and he reached out to stop her. “Wait.” She looked back at him. “How about we start over? I’m Marcus.” He stood and put his hand out in greeting.
Their eyes met. She smiled and took his hand. “I’m Addie. Nice to meet you.”
He liked this friendly woman. “Can I get you something?” He gestured to the bakery case and the counter.
“No, thanks. I already have a cup of tea that’s probably half-cold by now.” She took another step, then paused and glanced over her shoulder at him. “But if you’d like some conversation—”
“I would.” He pulled the chair out that she’d been sitting on. Not sure if it was because of how she moved, or the closeness of where he stood to her, but a soft whisper of perfume pleasantly startled him. The long hair that had tumbled over Addie’s shoulder while she read brushed his arm.
So soft. He shivered.
For the first time since he’d moved here, since Carolyn’s death, he didn’t feel quite so alone.
* * *
ADDIE USED TO come to the coffee shop when the hours of taking care of Mom had been too long. Now she used it as a transition. The full day of kids and constant activity at school was too drastically different from her quiet home. She came here and read—then she could face the silence.
Growing up in a houseful of kids hadn’t prepared her for being alone very well.
“You live near here, right?” she asked Marcus as she moved her book bag and purse to his table. The table was small, and while he wasn’t as tall or as muscular as her brothers, he managed to take up more than enough space in the room.
“A few blocks. You?”
“Yeah, it’s just a short walk over that way. Do you come here often?”
He smiled, and she realized he’d caught her unintended use of a pickup line. Her cheeks warmed, and she ducked her head, hoping he didn’t notice.
He must have taken pity on her. “Sometimes. It’s a nice break.”
“From?”
“A thirteen-year-old boy.”