More, Please (10 page)

- LOGAN -

My hammock swings low, nearly touching
the grass as I settle in under the canopy of stars. It must have stretched from
the rain, and I’ll hook it up higher on the chain next time I’m standing. But
that won’t be for another six hours, if I get my way.

I haven’t slept out here since last fall.
I’d be crazy to sleep outside in the middle of an Ohio winter, and I already
feel crazy enough with my heart hammering in my chest at the sound of silence.
I had put the hammock out here, outside my fenced-in backyard, down near the
creek where the babbling water offers some kind of noise.

The crickets are especially loud tonight,
and I’m grateful. I can barely hear the owl hoot over their constant singing.

It’s just what I need—a kind of
natural chaos. Unpredictable. From the skittering sound of a field mouse
running alongside my hammock to the sound of a fish flopping in the water,
there is just enough noise to distract my brain from the shouts and gunfire of
that night seven thousand miles away.

It’s been more than two years, and
countless hours talking to a psych. But the images still come to me on nights
like this, when silence looms and I’m waiting for the stillness to be shattered
by the explosion of an IED followed by enemy fire the same as it had that
night.

And then the choices I made in those
moments wrap themselves around my heart like a vise and squeeze till I’m
breathless.

If I didn’t have Allie living next door,
I’d start working on #4 right now, pulling off the 1970s wood paneling and demolishing
the timeworn kitchen cabinets. Even though I warned her that I’d be a noisy
neighbor, I feel no need to torment her at this late hour.

She works hard during the day and needs
her sleep. Every spare minute she has from her two jobs, she’s been showing up
in #3 ready to paint. I feel guilty, but love the company just as much as the
help. And she seems so eager to learn this stuff. Watching her fire off a nail
gun for the first time was like watching Hannah open up her Christmas presents
from Santa. Her eyes were full of excitement.

It’s hard for me to not get turned on by
a woman with a nail gun.

But she’s just 24. I was an idiot at 24,
full of ideals and something that I thought was courage but was really just
ignorance. I didn’t know what the world could hold for a person. Not like I do
now.

I hope she keeps that idealism and
doesn’t have it killed like mine was.

The crackling sound of tires on gravel
carries over the wind and my ears perk up. It’s Allie—I can tell because
the muffler sounds like it’s seen better days—and I’m momentarily irked
that I’ve been laying out here to keep quiet when I could have been working on
#4.

I give myself a shake as I hear her dogs
bark briefly when she enters her townhome. I hope they don’t get Kosmo started
up next door. He looked to be in the middle of an enviably sound sleep when I
left him on my bed a few minutes ago.

I worry about Allie, out late all the
time, juggling two jobs and still up at the crack to walk her dogs every
morning. I worry about her, I tell myself, because it’s part of that brotherly
attitude I’m trying to adopt with her.

But if I were really her brother I
wouldn’t be checking out her ass every time she stoops over to unleash her
dogs.

In my peripheral vision, I see a few of
her lights flick on, and she lets her dogs out in the backyard. It somehow
warms me to have her nearby. Living in Annapolis, I became accustomed to having
neighbors within shouting distance.

Minutes later, I hear her back door open again
and watch her dogs jog back into her house. I see her silhouette coming out into
her backyard. I can’t quite make out what she’s doing until she opens up her
fence and starts approaching me.

“Hey,” I say.

She jumps in response. “You scared me. I saw
you when I let the dogs out and thought you had fallen asleep out here.” She extends
her hands. “I brought you a blanket.”

My heart melts in a way that is
completely unexpected. That’s probably the most thoughtful thing a woman has
done for me, outside of my mom. “Thanks. That’s really nice of you.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“Just love to sleep under the stars,” The
words fall from my lips so easily, even though it’s not the whole story. I do
love sleeping under the stars. But that’s hell-and-gone from why I’m out here.

“Really?”

“Sure. Stay out here a few minutes and
you can sometimes see the Milky Way.”

She glances upward. “I don’t see it.”

“You have to let your eyes adjust. Here.”
I scoot over on the hammock. “Room enough for two.” It’s the God’s truth. You
could fit a family of four on this hammock, if you were hell-bent on doing it. So
I shouldn’t even feel the faintest electric charge in my heart at the prospect
of her lying next to me.

I shouldn’t. But I do.

“Okay,” she answers, choosing to stay on
the outer side of the blanket. Good call, Allie.

“Your eyes will adjust completely after forty-five
minutes.”

“I’ve never seen the Milky Way.”

“And you’ve lived in the Milky Way your
whole life. That’s unacceptable.”

She smiles. “Nah, I’m not really from the
Milky Way. Moved here when I was eight. I’m an Andromeda girl.”

“Oh, well, that explains a lot.” I
chuckle.

“So you must like camping, I’ll bet.”

“Love it. My brothers and I had a tent
that we’d spontaneously put up in the backyard any clear night that came along.
I used to wake them up at midnight sometimes, when the stars were out, and we’d
race out the back door without even thinking twice. Used to drive my mom nuts,
the back door slamming shut in the middle of the night and the dogs barking. You
never did that as a kid?”

“Spontaneity has never been my thing.”

“No?”

“No,” she answers firmly. “Come on, think
about it. Last time I tried to be spontaneous, you were stuck with two orders
of dessert.”

“Ahh. The lava cake.”

“Mmm. You ordered lava cake? Had I know
that, I might have gotten the nerve to stick it out.”

“So was I your first?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your first act of spontaneity.”

Frowning, her chest rises and falls in a
deep breath. “No. I went to New York City once on a whim with my boyfriend and
some friends from college.”

“Oh, hey, that sounds hopeful. You can’t
not
have fun in New York. Well, unless you got mugged. Tell me that didn’t happen.”

There’s a long pause, just long enough
for me to look over at her and see her eyes glistening under the starlight. Glistening
too much.

“It was Thanksgiving. I was supposed to
go home for the holiday, you know? I had promised my parents I would. But
everyone got this crazy idea of driving to New York for the parade. My parents
were fine with it when I called to tell them I wasn’t coming.” She pulls a
corner of the blanket over to her hands, and toys with the edge of it. “My dad
died of an aneurism that weekend.”

“Oh, Allie. I’m so sorry.”

“I keep thinking that if I had just gone
home, I would have noticed something. Maybe I would have had him go to the ER. My
dad and I were like this,” she says, raising her hand and crossing two fingers.
“I knew what was on his mind before he did sometimes. It was almost eerie, my
mom used to say. Maybe I would have known and could have gotten him help more
quickly. Maybe I could have saved him.”

As she brushes her hand against her
cheek, my heart cracks at the sight of the tears, now streaked across her
fingers. Without thinking, I take her hand in mine, and am not fully prepared
for the charge of emotion that swells inside of me when I feel her cool fingers
encompassed in my warm ones. “Allie, I’m no doctor and don’t know much about
aneurisms, but if there were any signs that you could have noticed, your dad
would have gotten to the ER on his own. Was your mother with him?”

She nods. “But she wasn’t as connected to
Dad as I was. Mom used to say I was his clone.” She smiles, but I can tell it’s
forced.

A flood of advice is welling up behind my
lips. Useless catch phrases and customary advice from PTSD specialists and shrinks,
and even some of my brothers in the SEALs who didn’t bear the weight of that
deadly mission on their shoulders quite as squarely as I did. But none of their
well-meaning words will help her. I know that for a fact.

“I was worried about you tonight,” I say
instead.

“Huh?” she answers.

“You. Driving home late on this narrow country
road. If something happened to you, it would be my fault.”

“No, it wouldn’t.”

“Yes. It absolutely would. I offered this
place to you. And if you got hurt or worse, then it would be my fault.”

“Oh, I get it. You’re telling me that I
can’t take responsibility for everything.”

“Yep, exactly. You can’t control all the
bad things that can happen in life any more than the good things. And even
though it doesn’t take the hurt away, it’s the truth. What if a meteor tore out
of the sky right now, and killed you? My fault. I was the reason you’re lying
out here.”

“What if Kosmo decides he hates you and
clenches his thick jaw right over your jugular while you’re sleeping?” Her eyes
glimmer mischievously and I’m glad to see it.

“Totally your fault. You handed over the
dog to me.” I smile back. “Imagine all the dog bites and fur allergies you’ve
caused in your life. It’s a wonder you can sleep at night.” I move to my side
slightly, trying to keep my arms from wrapping around her protectively. “But
also think of all the smiles you’ve brought, all the love and the laughter, all
the lives you’ve saved.” What I’m saying is borderline sappy, but I think it’s
what she needs to hear.

She sighs. “Okay, you win.”

“I’ll tell you what,” I begin, barely
letting the words form in my brain before escaping me. “I’ll help you be more
spontaneous and you can help me be less jaded.”

“Deal,” she extends her right hand to
shake mine, and only then do I realize I’m still holding her left one.

My breath catches at the feel of holding
both her hands in mine, and I glance back up at the stars to distract myself. I
pause. “So why do you even live out here, anyway? There aren’t many new grad
jobs. You could do a lot better in Cincinnati or Dayton or Columbus. Or hell,
you’ve got no obligations holding you down. You could move anywhere.”

She shrugs, and the movement causes her
shoulder to nestle in closer to my body. The feeling is making my heart beat a
little faster, especially now that I’m thinking Allie isn’t as starry-eyed as I
think she should still be at 24.

“My dad grew up here, and it just seemed
like a good idea at the time,” she responds. “I don’t know. It makes no sense,
but I just missed him and wanted to feel closer to him.” Giving a shiver, she
pulls the end of the light blanket over herself. “So why are you here, Logan?”

My lips press together, as I prepare to
actually share something of myself. I’m not very good at it, but I can’t help
feeling like she’s given me a little piece of her world tonight, and I really
should do the same. “My dad got diagnosed with vascular dementia.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a little similar to Alzheimer’s. Essentially,
he’s losing his memory. Eventually, he won’t even know who I am anymore.”

“I’m so sorry, Logan.”

“It’s okay. He’s actually doing really
well right now. But when it first happened, I thought I’d be needed out here
more. I’ve been away for a long time. Might be good to help out for a change.” I
frown, thinking how little help I’ve been since I arrived. My mom is getting by
fine with my dad without any help from me. Staring up at the stars right now,
I’m not really sure why I’m here anymore.

“So, do you plan to head to San Diego
when you’re done with the townhomes?”

Her words make my insides knot. “Why
would I do that?”

“Well, you had told me once that San
Diego is home for you. I just figured if your family is doing all right, you’d
head there.”

My blood pressure is inching upwards and
I feel that familiar squeeze in my chest. “I might,” I answer her, knowing
that’s exactly what I want to do, but exactly what I
can’t
do.

I hate how weak it makes me feel to have
survived countless missions only to cower behind the excuse of my family now.
But facing an enemy armed with AK-47s is a lot easier than what I’m avoiding in
San Diego.

“See the Milky Way yet?” I ask, anxious
to change the subject.

She looks up. “Oh, wow. I can. How is it
that I haven’t seen this before?”

“If you’re any closer into a city, you
don’t stand a chance of seeing it. But out here, if the air isn’t humid and
there’s no moon, you have a chance on some nights.” I grin at the look of
wonder on her face, seeing that her first lesson in spontaneity was a success.