Jenna's Cowboy (23 page)

Chance laid the keys on the table. “You dropped these on the floorboard.”

“Yeah, my hands were shaking a lot.”

Nobody made a comment. Chance pulled out a chair and sat down while Jenna stirred the spaghetti and stuck the dish back in the microwave.

Nate devoured the salad before the microwave beeped again. He looked up to see them watching him with amusement. Still standing by the cabinet, Jenna tore off a paper towel and handed it to him. “I’m glad to see you still have an appetite.”

He wiped his mouth. Although his stomach had been talking to him for about half an hour, he was surprised at how hungry he was. “Starving. I’ve reverted to eating army style too. Shovel everything in as fast as possible ’cause you never know when you’re gonna be attacked.” He picked up a slice of buttered garlic bread and took a big bite. “I don’t think I ate breakfast.”

“You don’t remember?”

Chew, swallow, and ponder. Uh-oh, there’s nothing up
yonder.

“No. But I’m making up silly rhymes in my head. I may start laughing hysterically any minute.” Due to weariness and need of nourishment. He wouldn’t admit it might be the craziness taking over.

Chance and Jenna exchanged a worried glance. Chance took his cell phone from the case attached to his belt and walked into the living room, calling his dad.

She dished up a big plate of spaghetti with at least a dozen meatballs and set it in front of him. “Eat it all.”

“No problem.” He tested the first bite, sucked in some air to cool it, ate quickly, and drank some iced tea. Blowing on the next bite, he met her gaze across the table as she sat down. “I’m not sure I had supper last night, either. I was pretty worn out when I got home. I think I crashed in the recliner and zoned out.”

“But you didn’t sleep?”

He shook his head. “Just stared at the television.”

“What about lunch yesterday?”

Making an effort not to inhale his food, he chewed slowly and swallowed, then answered. “Definitely had lunch. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich, apple, and four oatmeal raisin cookies.” He motioned toward the cabinet. “There are more cookies in the second drawer.”

Jenna laughed and rested her forearm on the table. “You can’t remember if you ate supper or breakfast, but you know there are cookies in the drawer.”

“Gotta keep track of the important stuff. There should be some unless that’s what I had for supper and breakfast. Mom sent four dozen home with me on Sunday.”

She hopped up and checked the cookie stash. “There are still at least a couple of dozen left.” Sitting down again, she pushed another plastic container toward him. “Now you have brownies to go along with them.” She pulled off the lid. “Minus one. I need chocolate.”

“Eat all you want. As long as you save me a few.” After oatmeal raisin, brownies were his favorite.

Chance rejoined them, helped himself to a couple of brownies, and took a big drink of tea. “Mom and Dad will be down in a few minutes. Zach is still asleep, so Will is going to stay with him.”

Will had planned to spend the afternoon looking for a bull that liked to wander. And Dub had an appointment with someone from the oil company. Hadn’t Sue mentioned going to a Historical Society meeting this afternoon? Or was it something to do with the library? Chance was supposed to be building a house. Could his crew work without him, or would even more people lose time and money because he was loco?

Suddenly, Nate wasn’t hungry anymore. He’d ruined everyone’s day. He laid his fork on the plate. Pushing the chair back from the table, he picked up his plate and headed to the counter.

“You didn’t eat enough.” Jenna followed him, standing out of his way.

“You sound like Ramona.” He scraped the food back into the casserole dish. There were easily two more meals there. “I’m stuffed. I’ll eat the rest for supper.” He smiled at her. Or at least he thought he did. When her eyes narrowed, he wasn’t so sure. “I’ll have a brownie.”

“You’d better since I made them.”

“Then I’ll have two.” That earned him a smile. He put the food away and rinsed off his plate and silverware, sticking them into the dishwasher along with the glass, cup, and a spoon that were already there. More proof that he hadn’t eaten much lately. If anything. Grabbing a paper towel, he picked up his dessert and nodded toward the living room. “Let’s go sit where it’s more comfortable.”

He made a detour, taking his gun into the bedroom and tucking it into his top dresser drawer instead of on the nightstand where he usually kept it.

Returning to the living room, he watched Jenna wander around, looking at pictures. Some were of his friends and him in Iraq. A few were great shots—even if he did say so himself—of sunsets and sunrises over the desert. He’d picked up some Western prints in a secondhand store and added them to the wall along with a couple of pictures of his folks.

She pointed to the desert scenes. “Did you take these?”

“Yes.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“Thanks.” He sat on the loveseat, hoping Jenna would sit beside him. She did. Smiling, Chance claimed the recliner and put his feet up.

They talked about the weather and the price of cotton and how his mom was doing since she’d gone back to work. Chitchat. He figured they wanted him to spill his guts, that they were itching to know what made him the way he was. They had to be curious, but they were too kind to push. Or maybe they were simply waiting for Dub and Sue to arrive so he could tell his sad tale of woe only once.

They would be disappointed. He might talk about some of the general stuff, like the nightmares, but he wasn’t going to tell them what he dreamed about. Or the things that rolled through his mind even when he was awake. He couldn’t burden them with that; they couldn’t handle it. Neither could he. He didn’t want to talk about it. He wanted it to go away.

When Dub and Sue arrived, Nate grew nervous again. His hands had cooperated while he ate, but the shakes hit the minute they walked up on the porch. He went to the door anyway to welcome them, hoping he could talk despite his suddenly dry throat.

Sue came in, gave him a hug, and made him all weepy-eyed again when she whispered, “We love you, Nate. Don’t you ever forget that.”

“Yes, ma’am. I won’t.” Clearing his throat and blinking his eyes, he turned to Dub. “Thank you for coming, sir. And for stopping me earlier. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d really hurt Chance or Will.”

“I wouldn’t have let you.” The weathered cowboy smiled and held out his hand. “I still remember how to throw a tackle.”

“I expect you do, sir.” Nate shook his hand.

Dub surprised him by pulling him into a hug. “Don’t give up, son. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

When he stepped back, Nate looked him in the eye. “You understand about this . . . this craziness?”

“Maybe not all of it. You may have things going on that I didn’t have and vice versa. But you need to understand that none of this is your fault. Since we’re former military, some of the things we deal with result from our training and being in battle. People in law enforcement go through much the same thing. People who have suffered trauma in other ways have some of the same issues, but not all of them. They probably have ones we don’t. It’s a normal reaction to the kind of stress you’ve been under.”

Nate wasn’t so sure about that. He hadn’t been nearly this bad the other times he’d returned from the war zone.

“Let’s sit down and visit awhile. You can tell us what’s been going on, and we’ll share some of what we’ve learned. Hopefully come up with some ideas that might help, or suggestions of who to see.”

Nate sat down beside Jenna, and Dub and Sue took the couch across from him.

Dub spoke first. “There is better understanding of PTSD these days. Better care and more concern from the VA and from civilians. Sue and I struggled for too many years on our own, trying to deal with something we didn’t understand. I knew I had problems, like controlling my anger, being jumpy, overreacting to situations, etc. But I didn’t know what caused it.

“For me, healing began years after I got home when I read a novel about a helicopter pilot in Nam. Up to then, I’d avoided movies, television shows, or books about the war. The author had been a chopper pilot there a little after I was and in the same general area. I was curious to see how he portrayed it. He was a good writer with excellent descriptions and details. He nailed the characters, the situation, the action perfectly. The minute I started reading, it was as if I’d stepped back in time. I was reliving the whole experience. I made it to page five before I broke down sobbing.”

“And scared me half to death,” said Sue, curling her hand around his upper arm.

“It brought back memories and emotions that I’d buried, that I didn’t even know I had. I’d read awhile and cry awhile, then put it away for a day or two and tell Sue some of the stuff I was dealing with.” He met Nate’s gaze, understanding in his eyes. “Some things I only talked to God about. And that eventually opened up other ways of healing, mainly through prayer with some close friends and with the pastor. Pastor Brad has been a big help. He’s been there—not only in the war but personally dealing with PTSD.”

That surprised Nate. From the quick glance between Chance and Jenna, it surprised them too. “I guess I never thought about what the chaplains go through. They’re always there for the rest of us, but a lot of the time, they’re right in the middle of the fighting.” He already admired the preacher, but his respect inched up several notches.

“He’s gone through his own struggles, but he was smarter than me,” continued Dub. “He figured out pretty quick that he needed treatment. Afterward, he took some training so he could help the rest of us. It will be good for you to talk to him about what’s going on now and what you’ve been through.”

“I don’t want to talk about what happened over there. I want to forget it.”

“That’s the irony. The more you hold it inside, the worse it gets. The way to deal with it is to talk about it. I don’t understand how it works, but it does. I expect there are a lot of good counselors out there, but the best ones will use Scripture and the guidance of the Holy Spirit to help you cope. Besides the anger, what else is going on?”

“The main thing is not sleeping.”

“Nightmares?”

“Yes, sir. Every night. Jumpy too. Every time a cricket chirps, I think somebody is coming in.” Best not mention the shadowy figures hiding in the corners of the room, the ghostly al-Qaida or insurgents ready to attack if he let down his guard. “It takes a long time to fall asleep, then I’ll have a nightmare and wake up an hour or two later. Lately, it’s been really bad. I dread going to sleep, so much that I wind up staying awake all night.”

“How long has that been going on?”

“I slept a little Sunday night. Nothing since, except for the nap in the pasture this morning.” He tried to smile. “Maybe that’s the trick. Sleep in the pickup out in the pasture.”

“He’s forgetting to eat too.” Jenna threaded her fingers through his. “Except maybe for cookies.”

“They had oatmeal in them, so they’re a little healthy.”

She rolled her eyes. “Key word is little.”

“I’ll admit I’m running on fumes.”

“That’s stretching it.” Jenna’s fingers tightened as she frowned at him.

“Hey, give me a little slack. I ate some spaghetti.” When she started to say something—probably that he hadn’t eaten nearly enough—he quickly added, “And all the salad and some bread. So I’m not totally running on empty.”

“Okay, fumes.”

“But you are forgetting things,” Sue said quietly.

“Yes, ma’am.” He sighed. More things than he cared to tell them about. A couple of times he’d driven to town and forgotten why. Other times, he didn’t remember coming home from wherever he’d been. He might be aware of working on a particular area of the ranch, or driving to town after something. But he’d find himself pulling up to the house and not remembering the drive home. One evening he’d spent a good half hour talking to Winston before he realized he didn’t remember coming home. He had a sneaking suspicion the horse had two apples that night because he didn’t recall giving him the first one.

“I’ve read that the military is doing more psychological evaluations now, both in the field and after servicemen come back to the States. Did you have those?” Sue watched him closely. Did she expect him to lie?

“Yes, ma’am. I had the usual jitters when my unit first came back, but I didn’t admit to much. The psychologist picked up on some of it, but I wasn’t bad then. I figured it would go away like it always had. Plus I was thinking I would make a career out of the army, and if they see you have problems, it ruins your possibilities for advancement. Or even your ability to stay in the service. Things were worse when I decided not to reenlist, but I didn’t say anything then because I was afraid they wouldn’t let me leave. They’d want to keep me in for treatment. I honestly thought everything would settle down and go back to normal once I was home.”

“Have you contacted anyone at the Veterans Administration? Or the Disabled American Veterans?”

“No, ma’am.” He didn’t like where the conversation was going. He didn’t like it at all.

“Nate, you need to go to the VA hospital in Big Spring.” Sue spoke gently, but her words were bullets through his heart.

Anger and fear ricocheted through him. He jerked his hand from Jenna’s. “No, ma’am. I’m not going into a hospital.” They’d put him in a psych ward, and he’d be stuck there forever.

“Only to see a doctor, not stay. You have to get something to help you rest to start with. And help with the other things.” Sue’s face held nothing but kindness. “I’d like to call Pastor Brad. He volunteers at the VA hospital and has good connections. He might be able to get you in to see someone right away.”

Nate knew he needed help. But couldn’t the local doctor prescribe something to make him sleep? He knew that wouldn’t solve his problems, but he still hesitated. Until he felt Jenna lay her hand lightly on his arm. When he looked at her, she simply said, “Please?”

How could one word say so much?
Do it for her. For Zach.
For the life you want with them. Most of all, for yourself.