A Chance of a Lifetime (11 page)

“Miss Sunday dinners at home?” Justice asked.

“I go away for eleven years, and they get rid of the tradition.”

“Nah, it's not gone. Just sometimes your mama doesn't feel like cooking, and Emmeline's on a no-fried-foods kick, and no one can agree on what they want. So once a month or so, we come here. But trust me, Cal, nothing's changed, nothing important, at least. We still host the Fourth of July cookout, we still volunteer at children's church, we still get together and complain about having to go to your auntie Mae's for Thanksgiving, and we still fill every spare space in the freezer and the house with pecans when the picking starts out at Mayville's Nut Farm.”

“Just like squirrels storing acorns for winter.”

Justice grinned as he held the door open and gestured for Calvin to enter first. “That we are. And it pays off, too, in the dead of winter when the trees are shaken bare and we've got a fresh pecan pie sizzling in the oven.”

When they got inside, two lines formed. Zeke's was a pay-before-you-stuffed-yourself buffet. The food tables were so long, so many, and heaped so high that it was almost shameful. After Gran found a suitable table where she could see all the comings and goings while they ate, Calvin picked up his plate and approached one end of the line, just strolling along, looking at all the choices. There were breakfast foods, fresh fruits, salads, and rolls. Next up came the hot meats: Beef roast, steak, meat loaf. Chicken fried, grilled, baked, or cooked with dumplings. Grilled fish and fried shrimp and ham and pork chops, and a half-dozen sides for every entrée. There were bars for hamburgers, hot dogs, tacos, and baked potatoes, and another six long tables filled with desserts.

He kept moving slowly, staying out of everyone's path, remembering the days at Lewis-McChord when, if he went home from work without grabbing fast food, he just didn't eat until the next day. There hadn't been a meal worthy enough of getting dressed and going out for the sole reason of buying it.

He'd been
really
depressed then. As opposed to mildly overwhelmed right now. The lines were long, people taking their sweet time while overfilling their plates, and the noise level was somewhere between jet engines and too-close-for-comfort artillery fire. Crowds and noise were just two of the things that made him edgy.

Suddenly Justice appeared at his elbow. “Come on down here. I'll show you the best stuff they have. Their roast beef is almost as good as your mom's, though I'll deny saying that till I go to my grave. The mashed potatoes have just the right amount of garlic and butter, and the collards are—well, collardy. The fried okra is as good as your mama's, too, and when you're done with all that, they have a blackberry cobbler that, I swear, they lifted from her recipe.”

Calvin was relieved to follow along. Food was supposed to be simple: You're hungry for this, you eat this. You're hungry for that, you eat that. The problem was, he was hardly ever hungry for anything. He knew he had to eat, so he settled for protein bars or whichever of his mom's dishes was up next in the freezer.

“Looks like we're sharing a table,” Justice said as they began weaving their way back to their seats. “I'd never admit Emmeline's right, but if you want a decent meal on Sunday, you do have to get here before the pastor finishes up the sermon at Mount Zion. They overrun the place, and everyone else just has to try to work around them.”

The table for four the family had originally chosen was now pushed together with another one. His parents had the seats at the nearest end; two hats with ribbons and flowers were bent over the middle of the table until their brims bumped while the two old ladies talked; and one occupied seat waited at the end with an empty chair for him.

Occupied by Bennie.

“What a coincidence,” he said as he placed his plate on the table, then squeezed into the seat, bumping Mama in the process. She turned, squeezed his cheek with her fingers, then pulled his face to her neck for a quick hug without missing a beat in her conversation with Gran.

“The ladies get tired of cooking and planning and cleaning,” Bennie said as she slipped a paper wrapper from her straw.

“So I've heard. But what happened to Mama and her
too many choices is too many choices
?”

Eyes open wide, Bennie shrugged. “Things change, you know.”

Oh, hell, yeah, he knew.

Bennie was meticulously buttering a sweet yeast roll. Watching her calories and cholesterol? Or just trying not to slather butter over her pretty church dress? It was purple, not a pale, puny shade but dark, vibrant, the color that used to be reserved for royalty. The rounded neck showed a hint of cleavage, and the sleeves hugged her slender arms. That was all he could see with her sitting. Did it end above her knee or closer to her ankle? Was the skirt full and swishy, or did it cling to the curves it covered? Were her shoes sensible, utilitarian, or did they have heels that did her legs justice?

Dampness warming his forehead, he swiped a napkin across it, then crumpled it to one side without looking at her. There should be a warning going off in his head: inappropriate thoughts about an inappropriate woman. She was his childhood friend—J'Myel's widow, for God's sake.

He was out of the diving-into-danger business for good, he reminded himself grimly. And if he got back into it for any reason, it damn well wouldn't be with J'Myel's girl.

I
t was a strange thing to sit in a room filled with happy, talking people and be half afraid to lift her gaze from the plate of food in front of her. It wasn't even as if Bennie hadn't been prepared for this. When Miss Emmeline decided she wanted to eat out after Sunday morning services, she always insisted Mama and Bennie come along, and it was fair odds from now on that Calvin would come, too, even though he'd skipped church. Eating dinner together on Sundays was a family thing; it was what the Sweets and the Fords and the Pickerings did.

As she reached for the pepper, she risked a quick peek at Calvin. He hadn't shaved this morning, not that it made much of a difference. J'Myel had grown a mustache at fifteen, a beard at sixteen, while Calvin was still lamenting his baby face when they left for basic training.

It wasn't a baby face any longer. The softness was gone; lines etched into the skin at the corners of his eyes and mouth, and his eyes were shadowed, as if he'd seen things he would never forget. The last eleven years had been tough. The war had changed him. Changed everyone. How much was the only question.

How much had it changed J'Myel? She honestly couldn't say. Sure, he'd grown up, lost some of that boyish charm, gotten a bit more serious. He hadn't been the kind, though, who talked about bad things. In his e-mails and calls, he'd always been upbeat, telling jokes, relating funny stories. He hadn't wanted to worry her, had wanted to keep things as normal between them as they could be when they were thousands of miles apart.

But if he'd come home, would he have had memories he couldn't share, feelings he couldn't express? Would the rest of his life have paled in comparison to the adrenaline-fueled years in combat?

Would he still have loved her?

Would she still have loved him?

Always. Maybe with a few changes, but always.

Sad, grim thoughts, and drat it, Bennie was
not
a sad, grim person.

“How are you settling in at Fort Murphy?” she asked, forcing normalcy into her voice.

Calvin's fingers tightened on his fork, and the little shrug he gave barely caused a ripple. “It's okay.”

“Did you ever think the Army would send you right back where you started?”

“It was pretty much inevitable.”

She wondered what he meant by that. The Army had plenty of forts all around the world. Every soldier got to see his share of them, though when she'd asked J'Myel once what the odds were of him getting assigned there when he returned from Afghanistan, he'd replied slim to none. Of course, according to Calvin, J'Myel hadn't wanted to come back here. She still wasn't sure how she felt about that. Mama would say J'Myel's death made it a moot point.

“So what keeps you busy besides work?”

“Not much.”

That was one subject shut down. On to the next. “Have you replaced your car yet?”

“I've looked. Haven't found anything I liked.”

“Why? Because they all have four doors, hoods and trunks, and windows that actually work?” she asked with a snicker. J'Myel's first-ever car had been a brand-new Mustang with the biggest engine available, even though the payments and insurance had eaten him alive. Calvin's had been a beater that even Gran had looked at with disdain.

The question earned her a smile, sending something coursing through her—satisfaction or maybe even pride that for just an instant, she'd lightened the somberness in his eyes. “It's transportation,” he said. “My old cars get me where I'm going just like the new, expensive models.”

“Being frugal is one thing, but you could compromise. Get something that hasn't flipped the odometer three or four times and doesn't need industrial adhesive to hold the mirrors on.”

“I've had a car or two with all their mirrors intact.”

“The one that was stolen?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact. Though two of the windows were broken out. Hey, plastic, Velcro, duct tape, and superglue can fix anything.”

She laughed, and for a moment, the sensation was so familiar, so dear. Laughing was how they'd spent most of their time together. It felt sweet and innocent, lifted her mood, and brightened her day.

“Your own car didn't look brand new the other night.”

“It's not. It's five years old, and it's been a good and faithful servant. Besides, I'm a poor college student.” She didn't add that she loved her little red Volkswagen as much as he'd loved his beaters.

“You know, the Army will pay for your schooling if you agree to be
their
good and faithful servant for a few years.”

“
Pfft.
Me wearing combat boots and saluting and PTing? Yeah, that's not gonna happen.” She caught Mama glancing her way and winked at her. “I'm staying right here where the good Lord planted me. Besides, St. Tony's is picking up some of the costs, and they can't stand me at attention or send me anywhere in the world on a whim.”

“Yeah, there is that,” he murmured in agreement.

The older folks began gathering their things, preparing to leave. She and Calvin obediently followed suit, rising, pushing their chairs back under the table, trailing them out the door.

In the parking lot, Gran linked arms with Mama before smiling blithely at them. “Calvin, why don't you ride home with Bennie so Maudene and I can talk awhile longer?”

Mama's smile was just as innocent. Bennie, Calvin, even Elizabeth and Justice, gave the two old ladies chastising looks, but they wandered on, pretending to be oblivious, though everyone knew they were
never
oblivious.

“Or I could ride with Bennie,” Elizabeth said, sliding her arm through Bennie's and giving her a wink, “and we can catch up. We don't get many chances to visit with just each other.”

All of them knew their kids' friendship had ended badly. Mama, for sure, had heard Bennie's every rant and sob on the subject, though how much Calvin had confided in his family, she could only guess. Either way, Mama and Gran had apparently decided it was time to set old grudges aside, maybe not to forget but to do their best to forgive. Mama and Gran were big on forgiving. Elizabeth was big on forgiving, too, but she wasn't nearly as pushy as the older ladies.

She looked from the women to Calvin. His face was expressionless, his shoulders tense, gazing off into the distance as if the conversation didn't involve him at all. A week ago, Bennie had gone all stiff, too, at the idea of being alone with him on the porch, but today…she'd already spent time at Java Dave's alone with him. It hadn't killed her—truthfully, it had filled some need in her that she hadn't even been aware of—and if she kept doing it, maybe someday she could ask him her questions.

Like what had ended his and J'Myel's friendship.

Like why he hadn't contacted her when J'Myel died.

Like what the last few years had been like for him, because she did care. Not in conjunction with J'Myel, with her own grief and sorrow, but just because she did. Because he'd been one of the two best friends in her whole life, and it hadn't been her choice to end their friendship, and he mattered.

It was kind of a surprise to her, to think it that bluntly: Calvin really still mattered. In spite of everything.

“It's okay,” she said, stepping so that her shoulder bumped against his. “I'm parked right over there.” To the others, she announced, “We'll see you at the house.”

“Someone should tell the old ladies no once in a while,” Calvin murmured as they walked to the car, where he had to adjust the passenger seat a foot or two before he could even slide in. Once he got in, he looked around exaggeratedly as if trying to find a place to put his elbows and knees. She loved her little Bug, but no doubt, it was intended for passengers of slightly smaller stature.

“Yeah, why don't you volunteer for that? You can run faster than me.”

He snickered. “It doesn't matter how fast we run. We have to go home eventually, and they'll be waiting. Like the time we got put off the school bus for talking smart to the driver and had to walk home so we went to the pond and skipped rocks for a couple hours instead.”

“And when we stepped out of the woods into the street, there was Gran waiting on your porch and Mama on hers. They were a fearsome sight.” She shuddered, and they shared a small chuckle at the memory.

The silence returned, a few moments passing, before he spoke again. “I can't believe someone who drives a toy car makes fun of my beaters. You're gonna have to pry me out of here with a shoehorn.”

“Do they even still make shoehorns?”

“I don't know, but I can guarantee you Gran and Mama both have a few tucked away somewhere.”

She
hm
ed in agreement. Both women had a room in their houses for old tools, doodads, and whatnots. It was like visiting a vintage prairie museum, a lesson in history and the value of never throwing away anything.

As they followed Justice onto Cherokee Street, Bennie glanced ahead. “Looks like you guys have company. You expecting anyone?”

Calvin had turned his head to study the Ford house as they drove past. He snapped back around so quickly that she was surprised she hadn't heard the sharp crackle of whiplash. Justice turned into the driveway, slowly drove past to his usual parking space, and Calvin had a minor eruption right there in her car. “Son of a bitch, son of a—Stop the car, stop, damn it, let me out!”

Shocked into speechlessness, she hit the brakes so hard that the entire vehicle body rocked forward, then back again. Before the motion stopped, Calvin was out of the car, his long legs eating up the ground between him and the man standing beside the strange car. “Oh, this doesn't look like the start of a happy reunion,” she whispered, shoving the gear shift into park, then scrambling out.

Closer, she could see it wasn't a man at all but a boy, maybe sixteen, shorter than Calvin, long and thin and boneless, the way some teenagers were built. His black hair was shaggy, his T-shirt was stained, and his gray hoodie was cheap and worn. “Hey, dude,” he greeted when Calvin got closer. “How's your arm, man? You already got the cast off? That was quick, or has that much time really passed?”

Calvin didn't slow until he'd grabbed the kid's shoulder, crumpling shirt and jacket in his hand, and pushed him back against the vehicle. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The boy relaxed, as if leaning against a dirty car on a chilly day was no big thing to him. “Don't be so ugly, dude. I came a long way to bring the stuff that you forgot in my
neighborhood
. You remember? Crappy place? Run-down, no lights?
Undesirables
hanging out in our park?”

Bennie's gaze flickered from the boy to Calvin, and her breath caught. She could count the number of times she'd seen him angry on one hand. The word didn't even come close now. His breathing was ragged, the muscles in his neck and shoulders knotted. Sweat dotted his forehead, and his skin stretched across his skull, as if all the dark emotion in him had bubbled up until his skin didn't fit anymore. His eyes were open wide, barely blinking, and there was nothing in them but cold.

A shudder racing through her, she took a few steps closer even though what she really wanted to do was jump in her car and drive home. Justice took the same few steps from the other side. The women remained inside the car, their heads swiveled around to see.

“The stuff I forgot?” Calvin repeated, for half a moment sounding reasonable and conversational. Then he leaned even closer, looming over the boy until their foreheads and noses almost touched. “The stuff I
forgot
? Oh, you mean, like this car. No, wait, you
stole
it. My wallet, my keys, my cash, my debit card. You ripped me off, and now you're
returning
it?”

“Most of it,” the boy answered cockily. “Well, there was a protein bar in the glove compartment. I ate it. And I borrowed the workout clothes in the back. Guy's gotta wear something. And of course I needed some of the money to get this piece of junk here. Gas ain't free, you know.”

Justice's feet crunched on gravel as he abruptly came closer. If Calvin's outrage worried the older man, he gave no sign of it. Instead, a big grin spread across his face. “So this is the boy you told us about, Cal? The one that helped you out?” Justice charged in, right hand extended, clapping the boy on the shoulder with his left hand. “Justice Sweet. Come on over and meet Calvin's mama and his gran.” He steered the boy away from Calvin before asking, “What's your name?”

“Diez.” The kid gave Calvin a smug look over his shoulder.

Justice's forehead wrinkled. “Diez? Isn't that Spanish for ten? What was your mama thinking?”

Diez imitated the frown. “Justice? Isn't that English for ‘only if you're white and have money'? And you ain't even white. What was
your
mama thinking?”

“Fair enough,” Justice said with a chuckle. He guided Diez toward the house, where the women were now out of the car, anxious to greet him. What kind of help had he given Calvin? Bennie wondered. It must have been substantial, considering Justice's welcome—and pretty touchy, considering Calvin's.

For the first time in a long time, she regretted making clear to Mama and everybody else that she didn't want to hear one single thing about Calvin's life without her. She was curious by nature and becoming downright nosy with every minute she spent around him.

As the space between Calvin and Diez grew, the tension shrank, though it still hovered tight around Calvin. His hands were shaking, faint tremors that slowed with each breath he took. Grimly, he dragged one sleeve across his face, then turned his head from the sight of his family gathering around the boy. He shifted his weight a time or two, dried his palms on his jeans, then breathed deeply. Like a rabbit getting ready to bolt.