Chapter 10
Lukas
Isnag the last honey ham from the open cooler, tucking it under my arm.
At least my mom will be happy. She’s invited what feels like half of Copper Ridge to our Thanksgiving dinner, and apparently, the other twelve pound ham, eighteen pound turkey, and every side dish in her worn cookbook won’t be enough to feed everyone.
I trudge along to the register, and as I wait in line, my eyes glance toward the entryway.
A man in a military uniform is setting up a small table, attaching a red banner with the words U.S.
Marine Corps Recruiting Service sewn into the fabric.
He stacks a pile of brochures, and when his gaze flicks up to meet mine, I look past him to the glass windows and see the wind kick up, whipping snow flurries across the parking lot.
I forgot how fucking cold Copper Ridge gets in the winter. I took my time in Florida for granted, and somehow became one of those people that complains when it’s sunny and fifty degrees when I should know better.
My eyes flick back to the recruiter to find he’s still looking at me, and I quickly avert my gaze, taking a step forward to rest the ham on the conveyor belt.
“And how is Mr. Hart doing this fine Tuesday afternoon?” Shelley, the cashier, asks.
Shelley has been working at this store ever since I was a toddler, when I would follow my mom or grandma around as they did the weekly shopping.
She’d always keep a stash of suckers or stickers behind her register, and if she was working, we knew we had to behave in the store if we wanted to get one at the checkout.
“Just fine, Shelley, and you? How are the grandbabies?”
“Keeping me young,” she jokes, scanning the ham. “That’ll be twenty-one dollars and eighty cents.”
I swipe my card through the reader as she bags the ham, and when she hands it back to me, I reach for the handle, only for her to tug it slightly back.
“I’m sorry to hear about your shoulder, Lukas, we all are.
” Her voice is low, low enough that the conversation is only for the two of us, but my eyes still flick to the side to see if the person next to me is eavesdropping.
I shrug the best I can, pretending her words don’t sting. “At least I had my chance, many don’t get that far.”
She nods once, as if she doesn’t quite believe me.
Hell, these days I don’t believe me either.
“Have a happy Thanksgiving, Shelley." I nod politely, taking my receipt from her outstretched hand and tucking it in the bag.
With the ham in one hand, I spin toward the exit, ready to get the fuck out of here and get home before I run into anyone else that wants to talk about my failures.
I nod politely at the recruiter, but before I can get past his table, he reaches a hand out to halt me. “Ever thought about joining the military, son?”
“Ah, no thanks. That’s not for me.” I try to brush him off with a polite smile, but he stops me again.
“A young, strong guy like you is what we need. How about you sit with me? No pressure—give me five minutes of your time to tell you what it’s about. If when that five minutes is up, you can still tell me it’s not for you, then I won’t keep you.”
I ponder his suggestion. I’ve never once thought about joining the military.
A few of the guys in my graduating class in high school did.
Marines, Air Force, Navy. From what I have heard around town, they’re doing fine.
It was never a thought in my mind because my only thoughts were on baseball.
I was foolish enough to think I'd play the game for the next ten or fifteen years, retire as a millionaire in my early thirties, then move back to Copper Ridge with Mags and start our family.
A foolish fucking thought, something a kid would dream of. Someone who thought he was invincible.
“I had shoulder surgery,” I tell him, lifting my right shoulder and rotating it slightly. “I was a baseball pitcher, tore my labrum.”
“Alright.” He nods. “While some medical situations disqualify you, it’s not a hard no. It depends on your mobility, pain, things like that. You’d have to get cleared by a doctor, but I appreciate the honesty.”
I hadn’t expected him to still want to talk with me.
I assumed that any injury would have him waving me away, but instead, he hands me a brochure and opens it to the second page.
“I think we should chat. Right now, we’re offering a twenty thousand dollar sign-on bonus, signing eight year contracts—four active and four reserve.
You could travel the world, son, make a difference for your country. ”
I stare at the zeros in the brochure. I’ve been lucky enough to not have a lick of debt to my name.
My parents worked their asses off to set all of us kids up with the basics once we graduated high school.
I never went to college, having been recruited to play ball right away.
My salary with the minor leagues wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the bills easily and left some for a slush fund.
I lived off that savings since my injury, and nearly ran it bone dry before I was healthy enough to start working for my parents on the farm.
But farm life doesn’t pay twenty thousand as a sign-on bonus.
I could probably save all that. It would give Mags and me a hell of a head start for the future.
“So, what do you say, can I have five minutes?”
Nearly an hour later, I’m stomping through the snowy steps of my parents’ front porch. I kick off my boots by the door and shake my head to release the snowflakes from my shaggy hair.
“You’re way overdue for a haircut, dude,” Harper says as she walks by.
“Should I cut it and dye it green, Disco Barbie?” I tease, nodding to the neon green tips she’s sprouting on the end of her platinum blonde hair.
She spins around as she walks down the long hallway that leads to the dining room and kitchen, flipping me off. “If you could make it look this good, sure thing.”
I smile at her and shake my head. At twenty years old, my little sister is a hellcat, and I sure as hell hope she stays that way.
I follow along in her path, moving through the dining room, and around the large oak table that nearly takes up the entire space with the expander leaves open. It’s set for nearly twenty people, and I furrow my brow, wondering who the hell was invited for today.
“Oh, Lukas!” my mom gasps with her hands behind her as she frantically ties her paisley print apron. “Thank you so much, sweetheart, for running to the store for me. How are the roads?” She presses a soft hand to my cheek in appreciation before spinning around to pass the ham to my grandma.
“It was alright.” I stand awkwardly, watching the two women work in fluid motion.
My grandma reaches for a pair of kitchen shears to cut the wrapper off the ham, while my mom returns to peeling what looks like a twenty pound pile of potatoes.
“Hey, Mom?” I prompt, and she perks her ear to me without turning around.
“Yes, sweetie?”
“I, uh … need to talk to you guys.”
The tone of my voice has my mom pausing her motions with a half-peeled potato balancing on one palm. She drops the spud, rubbing her hands on the skirt of her apron. “Everything okay, honey? Do you feel alright?”
“Yeah … I…” I whoosh out a heavy breath and pull the paperwork from the back of my pocket. With trembling hands, I open it up and hand it over to her, her eyes widening as she reads. “I think I just joined the Marines.”
“Lukas, tell me you’re kidding.”
Magnolia’s voice wavers with the words. I turn off the light and take a few paces toward my bed, the mattress creaking under my weight. “I’m not kidding, baby. I know it’s a surprise, hell, it was to me, too.”
I had planned to go to the grocery store for a ham … never thought I’d end up agreeing to join the military. “I still have to get a final clearance from their doctor, but if that’s approved, I could head to basic training as soon as January first.”
“January first, as in like, less than two months?” she whispers. “That’s so soon, this won’t work, I…”
My heart seizes in my chest. “What do you mean this won’t work? Yeah, it’s going to be a change, and more dangerous, but it could also be really good for me, Mags—for us. I’ll just be in California for a while instead of Iowa.”
She's silent on the other end of the line, and I lie back in bed, adjusting the pillows under me, settling in for the night.
“They aren’t renewing my contract.”
I shoot up straight at her words. “What do you mean they aren’t renewing your contract?
” Mags has been with the same ballet theater since she was eighteen.
They’ve graciously renewed her contract every year.
We’re used to the routine, and the dancers she works with are some of her best friends.
“How could they do that to you when you’ve given them everything for the last four fucking years? "
I can hear her whimper on the other end of the line, and I scrub a hand over my face, reeling my anger back in.
“I’m sorry, babe. I’m not mad at you, obviously.
I just can’t believe this happened.” I had expected my team to throw me away once I was injured.
As pissed off as I am, I can’t completely blame them.
But Mags is a phenomenal dancer. I don’t think she has ever missed a practice or a performance.
She’s never suffered a serious injury that forced her to sit out.
“I guess, I’ve plateaued,” she whispers. “It happens. It’s pretty rare a dancer stays with the same agency their entire career. There are younger girls applying every day.”
“You’re still young,” I point out, and she huffs.