Pieces of Broken Time (6 page)

When she closed her eyes, she saw Blake’s face instead of Trent’s. She quickly banished the vision from her head and plastered on a smile.

Once he’d arrived at his destination, they had communicated as often as possible. Trent called or came home to visit every chance he got and wrote letter after letter. By the end of his first four years, she’d collected three shoeboxes full of letters and cards from him. Each day that had passed, Jennifer had found Trent easier to love. He gave more and expected nothing in return. She had made a promise to herself—to love Trent with everything she had. They may not have had the wild heart-pounding love that stories were written about, but he was a good man and she was determined to make sure he never felt a moment’s doubt in her.

During his absence, she had immersed herself in designing ready-to-wear outfits in the comfort of her aunt’s apartment. When she had managed to secure a contract with a clothing store, her schedule had become hers and hers alone to set, which had been perfect when her aunt’s health had taken a turn.

Aunt Debbie was her father’s eldest sister. At sixty-two, she had been plagued with heart problems. Feeling as if she owed her aunt everything for spending the best years of her life taking care of an orphaned relative, Jennifer had decided to stay and help her aunt deal with the everyday challenges she faced.

On the other side of the world and mid-tour of duty, Trent had been preparing for their wedding. They had planned to get married during his brief break between enlistment duties. His excitement had somehow rubbed off on her. Funny as it sounded, Trent had been the planner between the two of them, so she’d left all the arrangements to him and was content to follow his lead.

War and everything that came with it had proven difficult for Trent. There had been times when all he’d done during their conversations was cry. He cried for the deaths of innocent people, the poverty, the oppression, and the lost lives of his comrades.

If it hadn’t been for Blake . . .

Captain Blake Connor had agreed to be his best man. Trent had talked nonstop about him during his conversations with Jennifer so it wasn’t a surprise why Trent had gravitated toward him. Meeting Blake in person had left a good and lasting impression. He was sweet, laid-back, and she had seen the great friendship between Trent and him.

But fate had stepped in once again. Aunt Debbie had passed away a month before Trent’s arrival. They would’ve gotten married as planned, but Trent, being the gentleman he was, had postponed their wedding so she could properly mourn her aunt’s passing. They had decided to push everything back until he’d returned from his latest call to serve in Afghanistan.

Jennifer turned back to the window. Dealing with the pounding headache was much more bearable than looking at the pictures of Trent.

If only she could turn back the hands of time. She closed her eyes and tried to block from her mind the last letter he’d sent her.

“I write this letter not knowing what will happen to me. I vowed to always take care of you, but Blake will watch over you if a time ever comes when I can’t. I love you, honey. Even if I can’t make you happy, someone else will. Your happiness is all I want.”

Jennifer dragged her body out of bed. It was barely six in the morning, but these days, sleep often eluded her.

For days and even months following the news of Trent’s death, it had been impossible for her to get a decent night’s rest. Trent’s smiling face often plagued her dreams as well as her waking hours. To combat her unhappiness, she had poured her heart into her work. It had been the one constant blessing left in her life, but it was coming up short lately. That’s why she’d sought the comfort of the person who’d known him the best, yet the phone call with Blake yesterday had left her feeling even more bereft.

Eager to stave off another endless haze, she stepped into the shower and channeled her thoughts on the new swatches she’d bought. Jennifer tried to focus on her latest clothing designs and styles, but her mind kept wandering back to Blake and his detached behavior. Unlike Colonel Norwalk, who called often to check on her, it always felt as though the mere thought of her tortured Blake and dragging conversation out of him was a task.

Their last conversation had piqued her interest. The man was hiding something. She was sure he was still hurting from his loss, but she wondered if he would ever get around to visiting her.

If he wasn’t going to make the trip, perhaps she should. Colonel Norwalk was just the man to get her there. After all, he’d promised he’d help her with anything.

Blake was the best person to help her get over Trent. He’d bring her the closure she desperately needed, and maybe she could help him a little, too.

Whether he likes it or not . . .

Returning from the war had proven tough for Blake. The simple tasks he’d taken for granted in the past were now a challenge. Every turn, every move, every glance reminded him exactly how fucked up his life had become, but despite everything, he refused to surrender to his present limitations. There was also that rude awakening that the rest of the world had moved on and he had to play catch-up. Not an easy task by any means, especially with the blindness in his left eye and the multiple burns he’d sustained. According to the doctors, his limp would likely be minimal with the proper physical therapy, and it wouldn’t impede his day-to-day functions. 

Blake huffed and retrieved his keys for one of those day-to-day functions—his early morning drive.

As soon as he had been cleared to drive by the doctor, this daily escape had become his main source of sanity. He was right-handed, and his injuries had been limited to the left side of his body, which meant his driving leg was free to take him wherever he wanted to go.

Thank God for small favors.

His blindness was another issue. His depth perception had been compromised. Even climbing stairs was a laborious process. Driving with one eye got a bit tricky. Thanks to his father’s quick thinking in attaching a fish-eye to the side of his rearview mirror, he had been able to eliminate the blind spots. The doctor had explained that for distances greater than twenty feet, people saw the world with one eye anyway. He had learned to compensate for his reduction in peripheral vision by moving his head often and following motion. 

Adjusting to only one eye had taken longer to get used to. He had chosen to use an eye patch to cover his missing eye, and the damned thing was hot and uncomfortable. It also set him apart from everyone else. It was as if he wore a big neon sign, alerting everyone that he was different—a freak.

To say he’d been shocked the first time he’d looked in the mirror was an understatement. He’d recoiled at the sight and hadn’t even recognized the man staring back at him, even though the doctor had declared his handiwork a success. Blake remembered gritting his teeth while he’d surveyed his newly fashioned left ear made from skin off his own butt and thigh and which was a ridiculous and incongruous accessory.

Along with the eye patch, Blake also donned a beanie to cover his head with its slow-as-a-snail growing hair and deformed ear. Year-round long-sleeve shirts and full-length pants were also a must to cover the various grafts on his body. Living in the middle of the hot desert of Lancaster, his new attire was just one more aspect that made him stick out like a sore thumb.

Calling Drew, he climbed into the Jeep with discomfort. The contracted skin on his left leg needed more work, and his repeated absences from the occupational therapy sessions were causing some stiffness.

In order to keep his field of vision clear from obstacles, Blake now made Drew sit in the backseat. His best friend scrambled into his designated spot.

Blake slowly backed his car out of the driveway, taking extra care, even though there was no traffic.

Despite his mother’s protest that he should live with them during his recuperation, his father had helped him secure a rental agreement on this particular house after his discharge from Walter Reed. The location was perfect for him. Although he hadn’t fulfilled his promise to Trent the way his friend had expected him to, he had been watching out for Jennifer the only way he knew how. The added bonus was that the two-bedroom bungalow was big enough for him and Drew. Since he could no longer take walks with his dog, the ample space in the backyard gave Drew enough room to run around and stretch his legs.

Trent had told him once that Jennifer had inherited her house from her aunt. An aging single story ranch-style built in the 70s, it was situated off the beaten path, a quarter of a mile away from the main artery of the city. 

Blake drove the half mile to Jennifer’s house and back every day without fail, even on his bad days. It had become such an obsession that he questioned whether or not it still had anything to do with his promise to a dying man.

With the midday sun beating down hard on him, he parked a few hundred yards away and sat there, thinking and watching.

Drew moved about the small confines of the cab, aching to jump out.

“Sit, Drew,” he said.

Despite the dog’s eagerness to bolt, he followed Blake’s order and sat still. His panting was the lone sound in the vehicle.

Blake pulled his beanie down a fraction and his heart slammed hard against his chest when he saw a figure emerge from the garage. Although his eye was still adjusting to the distance, he was sure it was Jennifer. Gripping the steering wheel, he watched as she walked down to the curb and threw something in the garbage can. He slid lower in his seat when she shielded her eyes from the sun and turned right in the direction of his parked Jeep.

After a few moments, she walked back in the house, and Blake sighed in relief. The last thing he needed was to blow his cover. His stalker act would definitely send her running to the cops.

He started the car, stepped on the gas, and hoped Jennifer wasn’t peeking out her window.

“Colonel Norwalk? Jennifer Owens here.”

“Jennifer! How are you, my child?”

She smiled. Colonel Lance Norwalk called everyone “child.” She remembered that from Trent’s stories. “I’m fine, and yourself?”

“I’m doing great, although my hips are killing me. My doctor said I’ll live,” he said, chuckling. 

“Are you shipping out anytime soon?” It was a staple of any conversation with an active duty soldier.

Jennifer stared out the window and noticed the Jeep she’d seen earlier streak by. She tried to see who was driving, but some sort of hat concealed the driver’s face. It had been a little unnerving to see an unfamiliar vehicle on her road, so she took note of the brown vehicle with the word
Wrangler
emblazoned on the left side, just in case.

“The missus is urging me to retire. I still have a few years left in this old body of mine, so I think I’ll serve my remaining years.” The older man’s tenor had a calming effect on her, just like Blake’s deep, bass voice. “What can I do for you, child? I’m sure you didn’t call just to ask an old man how he’s doing.”

“I wanted to ask you about Captain Blake Connor.” She heard a sharp sigh at the other end of the line.

“You know we are not at liberty to disclose anything about a fellow soldier.”

Jennifer had expected the answer, so she had already come up with an argument. “Trent left a few things, and I wanted to send them to Blake. I lost his phone number, and I don’t know how else to get in touch with him.”

Liar
.