Page 37 of A Hero Comes Home

Actually, that was the operation that Sally’s ex-SEAL, K-4, or Kevin Fortunato—Uncle-Fucking-Kevin—was involved in, as well. Not that Jake was going to ask Gus about that.

“Yeah. Beginner’s luck!”

“So, you married? Have any kids?” he asked as he moved the burgers and dogs that were done onto a warming rack, and placed fresh meat on the grill. He’d wait until he had at least two dozen of each before the first serving, he decided.

“No kids. I was married for a blip of a second to a trophy wife who wasn’t too fond of my return to Bell Cove, out of the media spotlight and all that hoopla. Now, being the only celebrity hereabouts, I’m looked at as a potential trophy husband. Every woman I meet seems to view me as a stepping-stone to something bigger.”

Jake shook his head at Gus’s self-deprecating humor.

“Hey, you’re a celebrity now, too. You could say you’re already a trophy husband.”

Hah! Sally would have something to say about that. Probably, “Some trophy!” But wait . . . his father and Sally had promised him that only neighbors were invited to this barbecue. That meant . . . “You aren’t still living at home with your mother, are you?” He glanced across the yard to where Vana Gustafson was chatting up Frank Baxter, who owned Hard Knocks, a hardware store on the town square. Good ol’ Frank still sported the world’s worst comb-over, or rather comb-forward, to hide the bald spot on top of his noggin. Vana, on the other hand, was seriously hot, and always had been—the source of many a Bell Cove boy’s, and man’s, wet dreams.

“Just temporarily . . . until my house is finished.”

“Oh?”

“I was living in an apartment over the convenience store, but then I had this special needs boy working for me, and the authorities found out he was living in his car and were gonna force him to go live in some crappy halfway house in Myrtle Beach. So”—he shrugged—“I offered him my digs and started building a house I’d been planning for some time. It’s out on the Sound near the cove. This all happened about the time we discovered the shipwreck, but I had money left over from my football days, too. So . . .” His words trailed off as he realized how much he’d been talking. He grinned and said, “Sorry. TMI. I had a few beers before I got here. Needed something to cushion the shock. I just found out my mother, who’s been a widow for twenty frickin’ years now, has suddenly decided to sign up for some half-assed senior citizen internet dating site, and when I saw her profile, well . . .” He fanned his face and rolled his eyes.

“Bell Cove soap operas! This place never changes.”

“You got that right. Did you hear about that sexy seniors club over at the Patterson house? Supposedly a dance club, but I don’t know.” He grinned at Jake.

“Why didn’t your mother just join that club if she was looking to hook up?”

“Please! Don’t use hook up and my mother in the same sentence,” Gus said, still grinning. “Actually, I made the same point, and she said she’s looking for a younger man. Can you believe it? My mother, a cougar?”

Half of what Gus said was, no doubt, bullshit, but Jake found himself laughing, which was probably Gus’s goal.

“By the way, I recognize a fellow partner-in-pain.” Gus used his beer can to point at Jake’s leg where a soft brace could be seen below his board shorts, then pointed to his own knee where old scars marked his numerous surgeries. “I can recommend a rehab place over on Hatteras that has not only primo licensed physical therapists but a whirlpool to die for. I can give you the number if you want.”

“I may take you up on that.” Jake was surprised that he wasn’t offended by Gus’s mention of his injury. Probably because he hadn’t asked any questions that would force him to spew out the military version of his POW experience, or rather, MIA experience, and how he’d gotten said injury. Shiiit! Lying is damn hard work, or rather being discreet about covert activities is hard work!

Gus went off to referee the badminton game, and Abe and Rachel Bernstein, Izzie’s uncle and aunt, came up to give him warm hugs. They both had tears in their eyes as they looked him over. Jake wasn’t sure if it was because he looked so pitiful, or they were so emotional over his return, knowing that their nephew might very well have been in the same kind of situation. Probably both.

“Still making your famous Reubens?” Jake asked Abe.

“Of course.”

“I’ve suggested a fat-free version, but will he listen to me? No,” Rachel said with a laugh.

“Every good Jewish butcher knows there has to be a little fat on the corned beef for flavor. Skinny meat, skinny women, pfff!” He pinched his wife’s ample behind for emphasis.

“Oh, you! Behave!” Rachel chided her husband, though not offended. For as long as Jake could remember, these two, a childless couple, had been bickering playfully with each other. “Have you heard?” Rachel addressed Jake now. “Izzie is coming for a visit over Labor Day. His mother and father are coming from Seattle, too.”

No, Jake hadn’t heard that, but then he hadn’t been reading any email or text messages that were nonessential the past few days. “A regular family reunion,” Jake remarked.

“For sure, but also to take part in your Welcome Home celebration,” Abe said, beaming at Jake. “I’m thinking about offering red, white, and blue sandwiches. Rare roast beef, white sour cream and horseradish sauce, dotted with blue cheese, all served on fresh kaiser rolls from Sally’s bakery. What do you think?”

Jake bristled and asked, “What ‘Welcome Home’ celebration?”

“Shhh!” Rachel elbowed her husband.

“What? It’s not a secret,” Abe responded.

“It’s not a secret and it’s not going to happen,” Jake asserted, vowing to contact Mayor Doreen Ferguson himself to put the kibosh on any events involving him. “Not that I don’t want to see Izzie and his parents again.”

After that, Ina Rogers came up. She also gave him a welcoming hug, which involved him bending over at the waist since she was about five foot two. Ina had been the secretary at Our Lady by the Sea Church for as long as Jake could remember.