Page 25 of A Hero Comes Home

“Yay!” they all agreed, as if it was a done deal.

He didn’t even try to get a word in as each talked over the other and tried to hug him tighter. In their enthusiasm, the inevitable happened. He fell backward to the floor. Which turned out to be better. Yeah, his leg hurt like a bitch, but now he was down to the kids’ level and they were crawling all over him, giggling and laughing, and he found that he was the one doing the hugging now—tight, tight hugs that allowed him to nuzzle their necks, relishing the scent of little boy sweat and one of them must have been rolling in grass somewhere. Also, he managed to surreptitiously sneak a few kisses to the bristly hairs of their short summertime haircuts. They felt thin to him, and at the same time they were compact, squirming bodies of lively muscles. Like big puppies. Even Matt, who was only a little bit more reserved, being the oldest, in his wrestling with him on the floor.

Finally, Sally intervened. “That’s enough, boys. Let your dad get up now. PopPop, can you help me?”

His father came over, and the two of them, taking one hand each, helped him to stand. It was only a little embarrassing. But then, it was the first time he’d had a chance to greet his father, with all the mad rush of the kids.

His father was the same six feet tall as he was, though wiry thin, always had been. With all the weight Jake had lost, he probably more closely resembled the old man now than he had in the past.

Sally had released his hand to go herd the boys over to the sofa where they sat with perfect precision, for the moment. But his father hadn’t let go of his other hand.

Jake got his first good look at his father then and couldn’t help but notice how he’d aged these past three years. As always, his skin was brown and leathery from thousands of days fishing under the hot Outer Banks sun. But there were more wrinkles creasing his forehead and bracketing his eyes and mouth. His blue eyes, which Jake and his sons had inherited, appeared rheumy, or maybe it was a mist of tears that were about to overflow.

The blasted tears he’d so wanted to avoid!

“Son,” his dad choked out and tugged him into an embrace that involved his alternately clutching at him and patting his back, like he had when Jake had been a little boy and skinned his knee or some other body part. But no, Jake must have been misremembering because his father had been more inclined to tell him it was no big deal, to be a big boy and get over it. But then he noticed that his father was shaking, and then Jake was the one patting the old guy’s back.

Son of a . . . this has got to stop before I start bawling.

He stepped back and said, “Hey, Dad, would you mind getting my duffel bag out of the truck? I think there might be something in there for boys who like to play games, but maybe kids here on the Outer Banks prefer to read books, or . . .”

It took his sons a moment before they realized he was referring to them and that there might be presents involved, ones that involved games. With a whoop, the three of them jumped up and ran outside with their grandfather, each of them offering an opinion.

“I knew he would bring us something.”

“Maybe ith a dog.”

“It’s not a dog, Luke. Dad said it was in his duffel bag.”

“A dog could be in a duffel bag.”

“No. He said something about games.”

“Hope it’s not Monopoly or some dorky board game.”

“I like Monopoly.”

“That’s because you always win.”

“Corey’s dad brought him a Rubik’s Cube when he came back from a business trip.”

That announcement was met with silence. Apparently, the handheld puzzle device would not have been a big hit.

“Jason’s uncle went to France and bought him a stinky T-shirt.”

That, too, was met with silence.

As their voices petered off, Jake glanced over at Sally, who was watching him from where she stood leaning against the doorway to the kitchen. “Good thing I didn’t buy them Rubik’s Cubes or clothing, huh?”

“I warned them to be appreciative, no matter what you brought, and I also warned them that you might not have had time to buy anything at all.”

“Bet that went over big.” He shoved a balloon aside and sank down into an easy chair by the large multipaned leaded window that fronted the house. Like everything in a Craftsman house, there were added details. In this case, a line of small square stained glass windows across the top depicting Outer Banks scenes. He didn’t know much about antiques, but he would bet the windows were worth more than the whole house. But that was neither here nor there. He looked at Sally, who still stood in the doorway, and asked, “How did I do?”

“Perfect.”

“Really?”

She nodded.