Chapter 12 Greyson #2
Dustin shakes his head and squats next to me to address Cletus directly. “What do you suggest, Shugs?”
“I told you not to use that nickname with me.”
Hallie stifles a laugh, biting her lip and catching my eyes.
“Got it. Cletus,” Dustin says. “What do you suggest?”
“That’s more like it. You lift me so they can get that there belt up under me.”
Dustin wordlessly looks in my direction. I nod. He counts to three and lifts. I slip the belt under Cletus' left side. It goes about halfway.
“Lift his other side,” I tell Dustin.
“Being manhandled at seventy wasn’t on my Bingo card,” Cletus grumbles.
“You might consider a new chair,” Dustin says under his breath.
“I know you didn’t just suggest that,” Cletus says. “This was Ginny Sue’s favorite chair.”
“Sorry,” Dustin says, sincerely. “I didn’t know.”
He tilts Cletus just enough for Hallie to reach down and grip the end of the belt. She gives it a good tug and it slips through underneath Cletus. We secure it around him.
Hallie steps off the couch and we each grab a side of the gait belt, tucking our hands and gripping tightly. Hallie’s in an awkward position, hunkered over the couch and her side of the recliner to reach Cletus. But her stance is wide and her knees are slightly bent. She’s ready to hoist him.
“Don’t you think you should let Tree Trunk lift me?” Cletus says, looking up at Hallie with the softest expression I’ve ever seen on his face.
“She’s got you,” I assure him, thinking back to Hallie in the weight room. “She could probably bench press old Tree Trunk over here.”
“Hey!” Dustin protests, but he chuckles and adds. “She’s a beast, Cletus. You’re in good hands.”
We brace. Me on the left, Hallie precariously, but firmly on the right, and Dustin at Cletus' feet.
“We’ll fold him and you push the footrest in. Then we’ll lift him out,” I tell Dustin. “On three.”
I count, “One … two … three!”
Dustin pushes the footrest down. It collapses into the chair.
He braces Cletus' legs.
“Tug!” I say to Hallie.
She tugs. I tug. Cletus folds at the waist, his torso meeting his thighs.
“Lift!” I shout.
We lift together and Cletus' back raises from the chair.
And then something pops inside the chair, followed by the sound of a muffled boing.
I instantly brace myself, tightening my core and widening my stance.
I barely get a chance to glance at Hallie and Dustin when the spring-loaded footrest extends in one swift motion, hitting Dustin like a punch to the abdomen.
He soars backward across the room and lands with an “Oof!”
The propulsion launches Cletus back into the chair. The force of his weight tugs both me and Hallie. We go flying forward, landing in a tangle over Cletus' chest.
Dustin shouts “I’m okay! I’m okay!”
Hallie’s hair is splayed across Cletus and me. I brush it away and look over at her. She’s laughing hysterically, trying to extract herself from the narrow spot where she’s jammed on top of Cletus.
Cletus shouts, “I’m not okay!” He pauses and then he adds, “But tell ya the truth, this is the most action I’ve gotten since Ginny Sue passed.”
Hallie collapses in a heap of laughter.
I push myself up and extend her a hand.
She grabs hold and I lift her off Cletus. Our eyes catch for a moment and I almost imagine her recognizing me, but then she’s all business.
“Let’s try that again,” she suggests.
“Back for more?” Cletus asks, playfully.
“You know it, Shugs,” Hallie says.
We give it a second go, and this time we get Cletus up and then we right the chair. I put the side table back exactly where Cletus' late wife had it all these years.
“Is that right?” I ask him.
He eyes it. “Yeah. That’s how she liked it.”
We share a look, and then I tell Hallie, “We’re good here.”
She and I head for the door. Dustin’s right behind us.
“You might consider a second chair,” Dustin says as we’re leaving. “Keep that one, but maybe splurge on another.”
“Why?” Cletus asks. “You comin’ over for a visit?”
“I just might,” Dustin says.
“You come by and we’ll talk about it,” Cletus says.
“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Dustin answers him. Then he adds, “See ya, Shugs.”
And this time, Cletus doesn’t correct him.
The rest of our shift we don’t have a single call. I sequester myself in my bunk before going to sleep, pulling up the FEMA email on my laptop. I read through everything. It’s a basic invitation to apply.
Before I can second-guess myself, I complete the application and click submit.
I’m not like Hallie. Her life is intertwined with her family and daughter.
Her choice of career has to work alongside her relationships and responsibilities.
I can apply for a job anywhere in the world.
FEMA will give me a way to serve more people.
Instead of senior strip poker and men tipping their recliners, I’ll be helping people who lost their homes in a hurricane—doing real good on a far larger scale.
Zach would be proud of me taking this position. He always teased me about my protective streak, but in our quieter moments he told me how much he admired my sense of duty and willingness to serve.
Anyway, it’s just an application. I’m not taking the job. They might not even call me in as a candidate for interviews. Just because Lieutenant Colonel Stymes reached out doesn’t mean the position’s mine.
I’d be crazy not to pursue the opportunity.