Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Dennis
It felt good to go down so hard.
The crack of the ax against the wood made a sound that cut through his emotions. Chopping wood was a time-honored tradition in the Luview family. He’d split more cords before he was ten than most men chop in a lifetime.
But lately, it had become an obsession.
Weeks had gone by since he’d sent that text to Ana, and nothing. Not one damned thing. No reply, no “Sorry, not interested,” just the painful blankness of rejection underneath his careful little joke.
Turned out he was the joke.
And none of this was funny.
Sweat warmed his underarms, his core fired by the strenuous activity, until he stripped off his down vest and chopped in his long-sleeved t-shirt, jeans, boots, and red wool cap. Handknitted by his mother, various hats littered the coat rack, waiting to be plucked for errands.
And chores.
The old camp had a century’s worth of chores to be done, which was just fine and dandy as far as Dennis was concerned. The more he had to do with his hands, the less he had to think about Ana.
And what he’d done to her with his hands….
“Damn it,” he muttered as he centered the next chunk of wood, arms arching in that just-right way that told him he was tipping over into a new exertion phase. The morning run in the snow had been a prelude to this.
“Son! You’re making the rest of us look bad.” His father appeared, wearing a lined flannel shirt under a thick down vest, a flannel hat with flaps, and carrying an enormous thermos of coffee. Leaning against a tree, he took a slow sip and just watched.
“You want me to stop?”
“You wouldn’t if I tried. Don’t you get tired?”
“That’s the goal.”
Neither spoke for a moment, and then:
“You chop like a man who’s taking out his pain on the wood.”
“Better than taking it out on Luke.”
Dean’s grin made Dennis remember why he’d decided to come back here, until he recalled the real reason.
And his hands began to shake.
The high-pitched shrieking began, taking over his ears, and his eyes didn’t know where to look. Sharp smoke filled his nose, his breath suffocated by heat and confusion. Suddenly, he was staring at a mangy cat, dust stirred up from gunfire, a child’s big, soulful eyes begging him.
Begging him not to let it happen.
“Den?” His dad wasn’t touching him, thank goodness, but he was close, hand reaching for him, fingers leading. “You okay? You rocked a little there.”
“Fine,” Dennis replied through a mouthful of sand. Screams tore through his memory, the sight of the boy’s back, the explosion and the–
“Sit down.” Through the ringing in his ears, his father’s voice took a commanding tone that Dennis followed, knocking the chunk of wood off the stump he chopped on. His ass went cold the second he sat on the frozen wood, but the chill helped ground him.
All he could do was hold his head in his hands and grunt. Tongue like wet cardboard, ears clanging, he had to ride this out.
Tried to breathe.
Tried to get his heart, lungs, and blood to work together the way they were supposed to, but they hadn’t gotten the synchronicity memo, instead deciding to work, sure–but not aligned.
He felt like each breath chased his heart, his heart chased his blood, and where they were supposed to be in rhythm, they were jumbled.
Which made him feel even more screwed up.
“Whatever’s going on, Denny, I’m here.”
Denny.
It was one thing to hear it from his mother’s mouth, but from Dean Luview, it told him he was in bad shape.
Really bad shape.
And damned if he didn’t have to fight back tears.
“Just… crap.”
“We all have crap, son, but I suspect yours is different than anyone else’s here.
I wondered if we’d ever get a sense of why you chose to come home.
You don’t have to say a word. I’ve seen vets going through flashbacks.
You look like you’re seeing ghosts and feeling like you’re responsible for them. ”
If his mother was the one who noticed everything, his father was the one who assigned meaning–deep meaning–to what he saw.
“You’re smart, Dad,” he finally gasped. “Why’d you stay in this podunk town?”
“Why’d you come back to it?”
“The brownies at the bakery are good. And it’s cheap to live here. I can live like a king on my pension.”
“I stayed for love,” his dad said back in the same joking tone, but his smile softened, a wistful, loving gleam in his eyes. “And she was worth it. Is worth it.”
In his mind’s eye, Dennis saw Ana’s face, pushing away the terror brought forth by the flashback and filling him with both hope and sadness. Dean sensed the shift and offered his thermos.
“Have some coffee.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine, and a sip will help shake you out of it. I can tell something’s changed already.”
Bzzz
Before he could reach for the coffee, his phone buzzed, then did it again immediately after. Dean shook his head.
“We had a perfectly fine life before those things came along.”
“Women?”
His dad nearly shot coffee out of his nose. “Ah, I was referring to smartphones.”
Dennis reached into his vest for the object in question.
“Yeah. They’re a source of frustration, too.”
“Constant interruption. How’s a person supposed to think if they’re always on?”
As Dennis looked at his messages, he felt hope spring up inside.
And then the spring sprung.
Not Ana.
Mel Chassi.
Hey Dennis, any chance you can come over here and give me a hand? I have a problem with Magic.
Problem? What kind of problem could she possibly have with an itty-bitty sugar glider?
Is he sick?
I’ll explain when you get here. You’d really be a help.
Sure. Just chopping wood now. Happy to come over, he typed back, then looked at Dean.
“Mel. Needs help with an animal.”
“Does she, now?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve spent some time at her place. You two…?”
“Friends. Just friends. What is wrong with everyone in this town? All you think about is love.”
“It’s kind of a thing here.”
“It’s sickening. Always was, always will be.”
“You really hate it that much?”
Shrugging into his vest, he moved the ax, aligning the wood so he left the situation cleaner than when he found it.
“We live in paradise here, Dad. Gorgeous, unfettered nature. Nice people, neighborly and caring. The permanent residents, at least. The lovesick crap is like covering a gold nugget with glitter paint and claiming it’s more valuable that way.”
“You’re serious. You really don’t like the love part of town.”
“I told you that when I was a kid!” Dennis paused and thought for a moment. “Or more like early teen years. When I was little, I didn’t know any better. This place is very good at indoctrinating us young.”
“You sound like a conspiracy theorist.”
“No conspiracy. That requires unilateral agreement and commitment to a mission, and there’s no way the people running this town could ever come together like that. Nadine Khouri and Anne Petrinelli can’t even agree on an approved font list for commercial signage,” he said with a snort.
“Sounds like you’ve been listening to Rachel complain about her job.”
“How can I avoid it? She blabbers on at morning coffee.”
“You have a lot of complaints.” The words were said in a kind tone, but they made Dennis bristle.
“Because I don’t want a fake idea of love constantly shoved in my face means I’m complaining?” He paused. “Damn right, then. I’m complaining.”
“Dennis, that’s not what I meant.”
“Then say what you mean! What is it with people being mealy mouthed?”
A minute ago, he’d felt like a little kid. Now he felt like the grown man he was, dealing with a fellow adult who wasn’t being clear.
The stunned look on his dad’s face made Dennis hold his gaze, face impassive, the question hanging between them.
Over and over, Dean opened his mouth to say something, then stopped. Tilted his head, pressed his lips together, then stopped. It gave Dennis the time to look at his father.
Really look at him.
Time had weathered Dean Luview like it seasoned a tree.
And like an old tree, Dean had deep roots that made it impossible to shake.
“I think you’re ready for love and mad that it’s not happening the way you want it to.”
It felt like his dad had tossed an oak round right at his chest. Half his breath left his body without making a sound.
“Damn it,” he growled, turning away. “I expect this shit from Mom. Not from you.”
“This has nothing to do with your mother.”
“Sure it does. She told you about Ana, didn’t she?”
“Ana? Who is Ana?”
Ugh. Major mistake there. For a guy who’d brokered secrets most of his work life, he sure was bad at keeping them now.
“Ana is a woman I met right before coming home.” Before Dean could ask, Dennis put his palm out. “We’re not together.”
“Sounds like you want to be.”
“I am not talking about this.” His truck keys were in his vest, fortunately, and as he walked away from his dad, he waved and shouted, “I’m a grown man!”
He heard his father mutter something that sounded like Sure are, but it didn’t matter.
What mattered was finding a way to kill time.
Kill his desire.
Climbing into the truck, he got the engine going and pulled out onto the long road to the main numbered route. Going to Mel’s was an easy drive.
An easy escape.
Aimless wasn’t a word he’d ever use to describe himself, which meant that feeling this way was doubly painful.
Retiring from the army was going to be a tough transition, he knew.
Lots of guys in special ops talked about how they left but came back after a year, or even half a year, working for private companies as contractors on missions.
The kind of work Dennis and his team did wasn’t just a job.
It was in your blood.
Except blood was exactly why he’d left the service and come home.
Young blood.
Young, trusting–
No. He wasn’t going to think about that.
He was going to think about trees.
Trees didn’t bleed. Cut off a limb and they stayed silent. Remove dead wood and you got new growth the next spring. Clear a fallen branch or tree from a roadway and you helped people.