Chapter 11
Clarksville, Tennessee
Nerves jittered in her stomach as Olive slid the pan of biscuits into the oven, then wiped the flour off the countertop.
She knew how she had left things with Jerry, but she didn’t know what that looked like nearly two weeks later.
She stirred the corned beef one more time, put the lid on the skillet, and turned the stove off.
Before she could pull the fruit salad out of the refrigerator, her doorbell rang.
Heart pounding, mouth suddenly dry, she turned down the Christmas music she’d had pumping through her Bluetooth speakers and made her way through the living room, eyes looking around for anything possibly out of place.
When she opened the door, unexpected joy burst through her at the sight of Jerry.
He was clean-shaven, wearing a gray cable sweater and an OD green skull cap that made his hazel eyes look emerald green. The bridge of his nose and his cheeks looked chapped red. He carried two gift bags.
“Merry Christmas,” he said with a smile that made her heart flutter.
“Welcome home, soldier,” she said.
She stepped into his arms as if God had designed them for her to perfectly fit there.
They wrapped around her, strong, sure, and his lips met hers as if they’d kissed a thousand times already.
The days since she last saw him slipped away.
He smelled of spicy aftershave, a light musk unique to him, and fresh air. She just wanted to breathe him in.
He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “Worth coming back to.”
“You have been missed.” She cupped his cheek, liking the smooth feel, then stepped back and gestured toward the room. “Come in.”
“Thank you.” He held up the bags. “Where should I put—”
A grin stretched across her face at the secret gift she had snagged for him, even though they had skipped any talk of exchanging gifts.
She snatched the bags from his hands and plunked them onto the end table beside the package she had wrapped that morning.
“I didn’t do a tree this year because I knew I was working all week. ”
“I didn’t do a tree, either. Had other things on my plate.”
She laughed. “Unofficially.”
“Unofficially.” He nodded. “You have such a beautiful home. Thanks for having me again.”
“Have a seat. I just have to check the oven.” Instead of sitting, he followed her into the kitchen.
“Smells great.”
She glanced at him as she grabbed a dish towel off the counter and opened the oven door.
Something about the way he casually leaned against the door frame did something funny to her pulse rate.
“I love breakfast smells. Especially mixed with coffee.” She turned the biscuit pan, then shut the door. “Would you like some? Coffee?”
“Absolutely.”
She remembered he drank it black from their post-church lunch and Thanksgiving.
The slight tremble in her hand as she poured the coffee surprised her.
She forced herself to take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Olive handed him the steaming mug, then turned the burner on beneath the skillet she’d staged with beef tallow.
While it heated, she cracked two eggs into a ramekin. “How was your mission?”
If she hadn’t looked at him, she wouldn’t have seen the shadow that crossed his eyes. But his face remained calm, relaxed. “Veni Vidi Vici,” he answered unironically, quoting the Latin phrase meaning we came, we saw, we conquered.
“Good.” She waved her palm over the skillet, judging the heat, then slid the eggs out of the ramekin.
They immediately started hissing and popping, and the air filled with the bacon smell of the beef tallow.
Olive sprinkled the eggs with salt and pepper and cracked two more eggs into the ramekin.
“I watched the news to see if I could guess where you were, but nothing clued me in.”
“Like I said, we did our thing.” He took a sip of the coffee. “If you hear about us, something went very wrong. There’s a reason they call us the quiet professionals.”
“No news is good news, then.”
“For our side, anyway. We don’t make movies about our work like the Navy does. Usually, movies about Green Berets are dudes suffering from debilitating PTSD who burn down a town or something.” He set the mug down and slipped his hands into his pockets. “Wow. That’s good coffee. Like really good.”
“Thanks.” It took her a second to take in his previous words.
“Does that false perception ever bother you?” She loaded a plate with corned beef hash, topped the mound with the eggs, then slid the other two eggs into the pan.
After seasoning them, she pulled the biscuits out of the oven. She had a bread plate ready for them.
Jerry said, “Sure, sometimes. But we can’t talk about what we do—and some movie star or screenwriter in Hollywood has no idea what we actually do, or who we actually are—so, they just recycle the same decades-old fictitious tropes they used when my granddad was in Vietnam.”
Olive detected some annoyance in his answer, not with her, but rather with the culture, so she decided to change the subject.
Based on every fact she knew about the handsome, strong man standing in her kitchen, sipping her coffee, she could never imagine him fitting into the “crazy vet” mold falsely perpetuated by mainstream media and entertainment outlets.
“Is your grandfather still with us?”
Jerry shook his head. “He passed just after I turned ten. I remember him, though.”
“He and your father sound like great men.”
Jerry sipped his coffee and slowly said, “Magni viri in adversis gaudent, sicut fortes milites in bello triumphant.”
Olive grinned. “Meaning?”
“Oh. It’s from De Providentia. Great men rejoice in adversity, just as brave soldiers triumph in war.”
After turning the eggs in the pan, Olive picked up the biscuits and retrieved the fruit salad from the refrigerator. She held them out to him. “Could you be a great man and take these to the table?”
“Triumphantly.”
Before he came back, she had loaded a second plate with the corned beef and topped it with the eggs. She turned off the heat under the skillet and picked up both plates. “All set,” she said.
“Let me take those.” He took the plates from her, and she refilled her coffee mug and grabbed his.
She’d set the dining room table with a dark blue tablecloth covered in silver snowflakes.
Silver candlesticks held white candles. She’d filled a glass bowl with glittery silver pinecones.
A silver butter dish sat next to a silver bowl filled with homemade strawberry jam.
She had orange juice in a glass carafe on the sideboard and water in the glasses on the table.
“This looks wonderful,” Jerry said as he placed the white plates on top of silver chargers. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” Her nerves had started to settle once they took their seats. “Would you pray?”
He held his hand out and she folded her fingers into his.
His strong, warm fingertips closed over hers as she bowed her head.
She could feel the callouses on his palms. “Father, thank You for the promises of this day, the gift of Your Son, safe travels, this great company, and this food. Please bless us and bless this meal and this time we share.”
She offered him a biscuit, then split one open with a fork. Steam rose up, and the warm, bready smell filled her nose. “What would your day have been like yesterday if you’d been home?” she asked.
He smiled in a way that tugged at her heart. “My mom loved holidays. She taught elementary school, so her life kind of moved from one holiday to the next. And my sister, Mabel, always makes it easy to celebrate.”
“Oh?” She cut into an egg, pleased that the over-medium yolk spilled out perfectly. “How old is Mabel?”
“Two years older than me, but she could be ten. She loves every holiday. On the first of every month, she decorates her bedroom door.” He pulled out his phone, tapped it, then swiped through it, and held it out.
She saw the red and green wrapped door, tinsel creating a sparkly chevron pattern.
Next to it, a dark-haired woman stood. She clearly had Down Syndrome.
That explained why Jerry’s older sister still lived at home.
Olive grinned and handed the phone back to him. “That’s so fun. I love that she uses her door.”
“Mom did that with her for her entire life. She said that way everyone can see it.” He turned the phone screen back off, pocketed it, and smeared jam on his biscuit. “My mom would have made her traditional eggnog pancakes, and my dad would tolerate it all with a big smile and few words.”
“You’re talking about your mom in the past tense.”
He nodded. “She passed three years ago today.”
“I’m so sorry,” Olive gasped. She wondered if his heart was truly here with her in Clarksville, or back home in South Dakota with his grieving father and sister. “That must kind of throw a wet blanket on Christmas.”
He shrugged. “Not really. We knew it was coming. Just wish I had more time. We left some things unsaid.” He cleared his throat. “Mable loves Christmas. You know?”
“Sounds like you miss home.”
He washed a biscuit bite down with coffee.
“Never actually lived in South Dakota. I was an Army brat, born in one country, graduated high school in another, and grew up mostly between Benning and McDill. But I miss them. Colonel released us last night through next week. I bought plane tickets to go visit this morning. Didn’t want to risk Space-A to Ellsworth Air Force Base during the holidays. ”
She propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. As much as she hated to see him leave again, she didn’t begrudge his opportunity to see his family. “‘Middle of nowhere,’ South Dakota?”
“Midland, South Dakota,” he confirmed.
“Brr.”
“Yep,” He laughed. “Rapid City got snow yesterday, as a matter of fact. Nearest decent airport. About two hours out,” He shook his head. “Our family text was filled with Mabel’s photos in the snow.”
“Do you need a ride to the airport?”
He shook his head. “Oh, no thanks. I’ll only be gone three days. Just a quick trip. I’ll park in the long-term lot in Nashville.”
“I’d love to drop you off and pick you up.”
He smiled and his eyes lidded slightly, considering the offer. “I would love that, but I checked the schedule you sent me. You’ll be in the middle of your shift when I get back.”
They spent the next two hours chatting about families, sharing stories about parents and siblings.
Eventually, they moved from the table to the living room and sat on either end of the couch facing each other.
His presence filled the room, and he fit in her home perfectly—like a final missing piece clicking into place and solving the entire puzzle.
He set his water glass on a coaster on the coffee table and said, “I have to get to the airport. My flight leaves at three.”
She stood and crossed the room to where she’d set the presents. “Well, you can’t go until you open your gift.”
The nerves had returned. She held out the gift bag to him, trying to keep her hand from trembling. “You first,” he said.
With a grin, she said, “If you insist.” The first bag contained a travel mug with a drawing of a nurse with crazy red hair and wild eyes. “Be a nurse, they said,” it read at the top, “it will be fun, they said.” It made her laugh.
“That’s perfect.” She gestured. “Your turn.”
He pulled out the figurine of the soldier kneeling in prayer, the words taken from Psalm 91, the Soldier’s Psalm, carved into the base. “He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge.”
He ran his finger over the words, then looked up at her. “I really like this.”
“It made me think of you.” She fought the desire to lighten the tension that filled the room. “I was hoping you’d like it.”
“I do. Very much.” He paused, then said, “When something about a mission or something else stresses me out, I recite the Soldier’s Psalm.”
She gasped. “I love that.”
He put it back in the bag and pointed at her. “One more.”
When she opened the jewelry box, the necklace with a pendant shaped like a stethoscope forming a heart made her gasp out loud. “Oh, Jerry,” she said, tracing the heart. “How beautiful. And how thoughtful.” She shook her head. “How did you even have time?”
He shrugged. “I saw it weeks ago and thought of you. I went this morning to pick it up, hoping it would still be there.” He winked. “The benefit of Christmas deployment is the ability to take advantage of after-Christmas sales.”
She stood with him and easily went into his arms, still holding the box in her hand. “It means a lot to me. Thank you.”
He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to hers. She thought she could stay in his arms all day. He cupped her cheek with his hand and slowly gentled the kiss. When he raised his head, it was just to rest his forehead on hers. “I suddenly don’t want to leave, again.”
She squeezed him and stepped back. “You go see your family. Enjoy them.”
“I will.” He slipped his hand around her waist and pulled her forward again. “In a minute.”