Chapter 2
Joel
“Who the hell is calling me at this time of day?” I gripe as my phone rings.
I grab it from the passenger seat of my truck and answer without looking.
“What?”
A deep chuckle meets my ears before a voice speaks. But that’s enough to tell me who’s on the other end.
“Aiden, aren’t you supposed to be flying or something right now?” I bark out at my oldest grandson before snatching my worn, but still perfect black Stetson from the passenger seat, and climb out of my truck.
“It’s only late afternoon,” my grandson replies in a voice that’s too deep, if you ask me. Just yesterday he was a little boy wanting to be a fighter pilot like his father.
Now, he’s a twenty-three-year-old Air Force Academy graduate stationed in Florida of all places.
“I have a night flight today, so I wanted to call while I had some time.”
My top lip instantly curls up. I know he’s not calling to deliver good news.
“What is it?”
“I’m sorry, Grandpa, but I just got slammed with a new training assignment. And it’s next week.”
“Next week when?”
He sighs. “All week.”
“How the hell is it all week? Next Thursday is Thanksgiving.”
“You know I can’t get out of it.”
“Bullshit,” I grunt. “Quit the damn Air Force.”
He laughs.
“Damn military ruining more of my holidays. You know they did this same stunt with your father. Assigning my boy halfway around the world, knowing he wouldn’t be able to make it home in time for the holidays.”
“It wasn’t on purpose,” Aiden replies. “We have bases all around the world—”
“Don’t go telling me what I know,” I gripe. “They made him miss holidays, just like they’re doing with you now. We always get together for Thanksgiving and decorate the house the day after. It’s tradition.”
“One I’m sad to miss, Grandpa. But orders are orders. You don’t want me to get in trouble, do you?”
I roll my eyes skyward before wiping sweat from my brow. I just spent a few hours at the ranch, checking on the horses and organizing for the year-end activities.
“Don’t ask stupid questions,” I grumble.
“I’ve already told Mom and Dad, but I wanted to call to let you know myself,” he says.
“’preciate that,” I tell him, meaning it. Aiden, just like all of my children and grandchildren know that I do not play around when it comes to the holidays.
“A man always needs to go directly to the source and say what needs to be said. Even if it’s hard,” I remind him.
“Love you, Grandpa Joel. I have to go.”
“Yeah, love you, too.”
A weight presses against my chest the moment I hang up the phone. I turn to my three-thousand square foot, ranch style home and am reluctant to go inside.
This is how it starts.
First, the oldest gets busy with work obligations or relationships that make him choose which family to split his time with, and soon enough you’re spending your entire holiday season alone.
I tilt my head toward the sky.
“I’ve tried my best,” I tell Gina, my dead wife. “I did my best to keep my promise.”
Maybe my best isn’t enough.
Instead of going in through the front door, I decide to do a look around the house to see if any hedges need to be cut or trimmed before I begin preparing to decorate next week.
As I do my walk about, I remind myself that although Aiden can’t come home, the remaining five grandkids and all three of my boys and their wives will be here.
We’ll have a full house, though that still won’t completely fill the void of Aiden’s absence.
The lump of muscle in the center of my chest always knows when even one of us is missing.
As I contemplate next week’s menu, a loud thump from my neighbor’s house catches my attention.
I’m reminded of the beautiful woman who moved in six months ago.
The most striking, and tension-filled conversation I had with her took place just last week. All I did was make a simple inquiry about her plans to decorate for the holidays, to which she replied that she had no intention of decorating at all.
Not for any of the holidays.
When I politely reminded her of the neighborhood’s annual house decorating competition, she doubled down, all but telling me to mind my damned business.
“Help!”
A scream from a partially opened window rips me out of thinking about holiday decorations.
“Help! Someone, please!”
I take off running, absent-mindedly placing my hat on my head, and phone in the pocket of my jeans to free my hands. I sprint over to her front door, but when I try the handle, it doesn’t budge.
The door’s locked.
“Hey, you in there?” I call as I pound on the wooden portion of the mostly glass door.
“Help me!” I hear again.
In a split decision, I ram my shoulder into the door.
The door gives, but not completely. It takes two more shoulder shoves before I breach the entryway and make it in the house.
“Where are you? Call out!” I yell, looking around from the living room to the kitchen and seeing those rooms empty.
The house is only one level which means her screams must be coming from the back of the house.
“Back here. Help, please!” The urgency and fear in her voice claws at the insides of my chest.
“I’m coming,” I hear myself saying as I wind down the hall.
There’s a partially opened door on the right side of the hallway that leads to the bathroom. As soon as I push it open, I find my neighbor on the floor, a light purple, plastic shower curtain wrapped around her body.
“Now, how the hell did you get into this mess?”