Rachel Van Dyken (4 page)

****

David watched as the door clicked shut. The room felt heavier without her bubbly presence. Groaning, he turned on his side to get more comfortable. Light crept through the green drapes onto his bed. Everything around him had a way of reminding him of his sickness
—
of the time lost. It was near impossible for him to go an hour without feeling guilty over what happened so long ago.

Would he have even sent a letter to Blaine had it not been for Mara? The new
,
changed man inside of him said otherwise
;
the old bitterness seemed to have been from another lifetime. Yet it was still there. He could still feel his heart skip a beat just like the day when Blaine left him.

For years he had hoped Blaine would return to him. As time passed, his bitterness and anger increased, until he reached the point of not wanting to acknowledge Blaine’s existence any longer. It was too painful to remember. The same way it had always been too painful to remember Emily.

Mara had helped him work through his mourning. He had never truly mourned the loss of his wife, but blamed God for taking her. Nor had he ever dealt with the grief of losing a son soon afterwards. He had been walking in a thick fog of depression for years, until Mara.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he continued to watch the dust particles float through the air. Soon, it would be Christmas, and he would have
a mere
three months left. Three months to fix what happened so long ago. Odd how time restraints had a way of making one think about time wasted. Every breath, every day, every moment was precious now. He smiled, even a bite of pie was enough to make him grin for weeks. He had taken life for granted for so long
,
and now he wanted to make up for it.

If Blaine would let him – but it all depended on Blaine receiving his telegram. Would Blaine even respond? Or care to visit? The hours spent praying over that very thing sometimes kept David awake at night.

It was an old man’s dying wish. To see his son one last time. To ask for forgiveness—to save him from a similar fate.

Bitterness and anger have a way of destroying a man’s soul. Man
was
not meant to walk around with burdens only almighty God can take away. As the Good Book sa
id
, “The battle belongs to the Lord.” David just hoped Blaine wasn’t spending his days fighting his own inner battles. Did he even know about the saving grace of God? Was he aware of Christ’s forgiveness and love? Did he remember what his mama had taught him so long
ago
about the love of God?

Regretfully, David knew the boy hadn’t heard any of it from
him
.

Closing his eyes, David sent up a quick prayer for God’s provision. “Bring him home, Lord. Bring him home.”

“Is something bothering you,
Captain Graham
?”
Miss Bell inquired politely.
The date was more miserabl
e
than he had anticipated.
She was clearly disappointed that Blaine was even less talkative than he had been after the flight earlier that morning. And it was a true assessment.

The news about his estranged father had knocked him even deeper into silent self-reflection, and he wasn’t very good company even on the best of days.

“You’ve hardly said two words to me the whole evening.” Her dark brown eyes scoured his face for signs of life. “I mean, I knew you weren’t much of a talker, but I thought maybe, in a different setting…”

“I’m sorry, Miss Bell. I know I’m not a lively escort.
” He couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze.
“I… I…” he stammered. He wanted to talk to her, to tell her about the telegram, about his father, his life story even, but he couldn’t. She was a perfect stranger, and one who seemed to have never experienced
true
grief at that. She would never understand his unique brand of tragedy.

Miss Bell touched his arm
reassuringly
.
“It’s all right. I’m still tired from last night’s flight anyway. Perhaps you should just take me
home, and we can do this
another time.
”

A rush of relief mixed with regret
surged
through him. Blaine
let out a large
sigh and nodded. “Certainly. I’ll get your coat.”

Since his “date” was a bust, Blaine decided to visit the corner pub for a stiff drink. The usual crowd was already there. Ordinarily, he would have joined a few of the boys he knew over at the corner booth, but tonight he had too much on his mind.

So, his father was dying. Why should he care? What could the old man possibly want from him now after all these years?

It had been ten years, but after all the living he had done, it seemed
more
like a lifetime ago. That
last fight replayed in his mind;
all the old feelings were still there, firmly intact with the memory. Maybe it wasn’t a lifetime ago, after all. The anger bubbled again below the surface as Blaine sat down at the bar.

“Whiskey.”

The bartender raised an eyebrow. He knew Blaine well enough to notice the strangeness of the order. The hard stuff wasn’t his usual. When he seemed about to question the order, Blaine cut him off, “Never mind the mommy lecture, Duke. Whiskey. Now.”

Duke shrugged and slid the shot glass across the counter to his customer. Slapping a bill on the counter, Blaine added, “And keep ‘em coming.” The bartender hesitated a moment, scrutinizing the man before him, and then with resignation, he set the bottle next to Blaine’s hand and turned away.

An ironic smirk played at Blaine’s lips as he regarded the glass in his hand. The encroaching rage threatened
to
take over his mind. The whiskey probably wouldn’t help, but he was willing
to try it. It had been awhile since he’d been good and drunk.

Cocking his head back, he drained the shot in one gulp, then reached for the bottle and turned to survey the pub.
Leaning back on the bar, h
e poured another glass and downed that one just as quickly.
He repeated the sequence two more times. The warmth of the liquor spread through him like fire.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a table of his friends, so he sauntered toward them with his half-empty bottle in tow. “Hey, fellas,” he greeted them with an easy grin.

“Cool Hand! We were wonderin’ when you’d show up!” A red-headed dock worker stood and slapped him on the back.

“Yeah, where were ya been? Haven’t seen you in ages,” chimed in
the man’s
dark-skinned companion.

“Flying. Had a week’s trip. Just got back this morning.”

The tinkle of the bell caught Blaine’s attention and he turned
groggily to look at the door. A mesmerizing lull seemed to be settling in his bra
in. A short, wiry
man
stepped through the front door with a gorgeous blonde on his arm. The man
wore a broad smile
, like he’d just won big at the track. He gingerly helped the woman out of her coat and turned to hang it on the wall hook.

The woman with him stepped out of his way,
movi
ng under a hanging lantern, illuminating her fully in the dim room. Blaine squinted through his rapidly descending haze. She seemed vaguely familiar.

Beside him the red-headed man taunted the others, “Hey, fellas, look who’s back in town!”

“Yeah,
b
oys! Isn’t that Miss Bell?” another added. The name struck a chord in Blaine’s mind, and he did a double-take at the woman who had just come in.

“I tell you what, I’d like to ring her bell,” oozed the dark Italian on the other side of the table.
The other men chuckled and agreed
, if their
gawking
glances were any indicator.

“What did you say her name was?” Blaine slurred, pouring another glass from his nearly empty bottle.

“Bell. She
’s
been in a few times. Always a different guy with her.
” All eyes were hungrily tracing her movements now as she
fol
l
ow
ed her escort to the dance floor.

Blaine threw back another shot of whiskey and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It dawn
ed
on him whom he was watching.
The men beside him groaned as if in pain.

“Doesn’t she move good, lads?
” the red-headed Patrick sighed.

“
Bell…” Blaine repeated. “Hold on a minute
.
”
The
realiz
ation
broke through like lightning. She had asked him to take her home. She had said they would go dancing another time. And here she was not one hour later dancing with somebody else. With somebody else
–
like
she hadn’t been out with him at all.

“What’s the matter, Cool?
You look a little orange,
”
the dark-skinned
Tony mocked. “You know her or something?”

“Yes.” He slammed his glass down on the table and turned back to the dance floor. The
walls seemed to spin around him, but he trudged un
st
ea
d
ily
toward the dancing couple
anyway.

“I’d like to cut in,” he slurred with a tap on the man’s shoulder.

Without so much as a glance, the man replied, “
Get lost,
c
reep.”
His back was to Blaine, but Miss Bell could see him well enough. Her gaze
locked on
his eyes.
They
must have
reflected
dark
fury
, because hers were full of alarm.

Rather than dr
aw him back to reality, her fear
inflamed him. He was not so easy to forget. Even if he had been tacit earlier, she should still be home pining over
the tragic loss
. And who
m
did she choose to help her recover from her broken heart?
This pitiful excuse
for a
replacement
.

“I said, ‘I’m cutting in’,
c
reep
.” He straightened up to his full height and
squared his shoulders,
grabbed the little man’s
arm
and pulled him abruptly out of the way, sending him sprawling
to
the f
loor. Hoots arose from the corner booth
behind him.

“You’re drunk,” Miss Bell snapped. Her brown eyes flashed with a mixture of fear and indignation.

“So
?
”

“I don’t
want
to dance with you, Captain Graham.”

“Oh, really? You seemed anxious enough
this morning
when Captain Davis was setting up our little rendezvous.” He put his arm around her
waist and grabbed her hand in his other, sweeping her across the floor.
From somewhere deep in his sub-conscious
a voice whispered,
What are you doing? You don’t even like her.
But it was so faint
, he could hardly hear it
ove
r
the rushing whiskey
which
drown
ed
his awareness.

“Captain Graham,
please
.”
She strain
ed against
him
, pushing frantically at his chest
, trying to free herself from his firm
grasp
.

“Ginny, is this the guy from earlier?” The pesky little man was back again.
Apparently he d
idn’t know when he was outclassed.

“Yes.
P
lease
do something
, Roger
,” she pleaded.

“Yeah, Roger,” taunted Patrick
in a high sing-song pitch
. “
Do
somethin’.” His companions laughed raucously, inciting Blaine’s fury. Roger’s face reddened. His eyes darted from Miss Bell to Blaine to the boys at the table and back to his date. Blaine rolled his eyes groggily and
continued to
stumbl
e
along the dance floor in spite of the woman’s protests and the laughter of his
drunken cohort.

“
She doesn’t want to dance with you, fella. Face it. She doesn’t like you. That’s why she asked you to take her home.” Blaine could see the sweat beading on the puny gnat before him. He shoved him away again and pulled
Miss
Bell
tighter in his arms.

“
Hey! T
ake your hands off her!” Roger roared,
again
near Blaine’s elbow.
Long bony fin
gers cinch
ed
around
his right bicep
like a vice
and tug
ged
at him
in desperation
.
The
Napoleonic insistence for control of the situation was almost sad. Captain Graham stopped dancing abruptly and dropped his hold on Miss Bell.
She seized her opportunity to escape him as h
e rotated to face the
pathetic
,
undersized
challenger
.

The pilot bored his eyes into his opponent’s scarlet face, imagining his own gaze as liquid steel, melting the resolve of the vastly overmatched defender of the woman’s honor.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
he spat
.

Out of the foggy corner of his vision, Blaine noticed a few scattered patrons, mostly women and their
reluctant
companions
,
slipp
ing
qui
et
ly out the front door. It didn’
t faze him. The telegram had roused his buried anger, and the slight to his masculine pride
whipp
ed it into a frenzy within him. He clenched and relaxed his fists in turn
.

“You are making a big mistake, Buddy,” Blaine
whispered, leaning forward to meet his much shorter opponent’
s eyes. Anger coursed through him, but he waited
.
Rather than throw the first punch in an uneven match-up, he would bait the little man into making a critical error. This way he could
claim
he had warned the fellow – that the guy just wouldn’t listen to reason.

Beneath the howls and hoots of the boys gathering around them, exasperation creased the man’s brow. Almost as if in slow motion, he cocked his left arm backwards and sent an awkward roundhouse swing sailing toward Blaine’s jaw. Ordinarily, the captain would have dodged it, but the whiskey had wreaked havoc on his reaction time, so he could do nothing more than watch the fist come flying to
ward
his right eye.

T
he force of the blow snapped
Blaine's head
to the left, but even in the
desperate
defense of his manhood
, the smaller man could do nothing more than momentarily daze Blaine.
Luckily, the whiskey
’s effects were two-fold… it doubled as a
painkiller
, and he didn’t feel a thing.

A collective gasp of breath sucked the rumbling from the room, and silence
settled uneasily
into its place, as the remaining patrons waited for the
inevitable
retaliating rage
. He could hear his own heart beating, and he
l
evel
ed
his sight
s
and locked on the target, in the same way he had done when he had flown over German territory during the war
and sighted an enemy craft.