Page 44 of A Hero Comes Home

Jake wasn’t sure what he meant. “Of what?”

“Surgery. I might have to have a surgery. On my tonsils,” Matt revealed in a shaky voice. “Cecily Dolan says they cut you open with a sharp knife and there’s blood everywhere and it hurts real bad. Sometimes they miss and take out the tongue, too. Her daddy is a doctor.”

“Cecily is full of sh—shells. They put you to sleep and you don’t feel a thing. Afterward, you can suck on cherry popsicles till your tongue turns red and eat as much ice cream as you want.”

Matt smiled, while Mark and Luke frowned with concentration. Jake could tell the other two were wondering if they should ask for an operation, too.

But today the boys were off for a previously scheduled all-day scout field trip to the Graveyard of the Atlantic Museum in Hatteras. Sally had offered to cancel their participation since Jake had so recently come home, but Jake had been adamant in wanting them to resume their normal lives, or as normal as they could with the media spotlight still hovering over him, and therefore their lives, too.

Jake spent the morning at the kitchen table culling through the dozens of text and voice mail messages that had accumulated, taking notes along the way. Using a special military-secure app on his phone, he forwarded the list of media ones to his liaison, Major Durand, who was in daily contact with him. To Jake’s shock and dismay, he was informed via text message today from Durand that he would be coming for a Labor Day weekend visit, just to make sure Jake was doing as well as he claimed to be. Not that he said so in those specific words.

Immediately, Jake called Durand at his DC office and said, “You can’t come here. There’s no place to stay.”

“Not to worry. Lieutenant Bernstein has offered me a room at his uncle’s home.”

“Izzie?” The traitor!

Jake had already called Mayor Ferguson declining any attention being paid to him during the holiday festivities. In addition, he’d told her that he wanted the townsfolk to remove all those bleepin’ yellow ribbons.

Even though he’d thought he was being polite using bleepin’, rather than the more graphic word he was thinking, Doreen was offended. “Why don’t you tell them yourself? They’re only trying to show their love.” She didn’t add Sally’s usual tagline of “ass,” but she was probably thinking it.

“I know that,” he conceded, “but it’s embarrassing.”

“Live with it, boy. You’re a hero.”

He could have argued that point, too, but instead he’d agreed to make nice with the elderly mayor by being one of the judges in the Lollypalooza talent contest. Not that he had any intention of doing so. Maybe he would skip town by then.

And now he had to deal with this pole-up-the-ass military dude. He suspected that Durand was going to show up like Jake’s rucked-out guardian angel. “You’re just going to call more attention to me,” he complained.

“No. I’ll be in civilian attire. Just a weekend of R & R. I even bought a Hawaiian shirt and surfer shorts.”

Oh, my Lord! “Since this is supposed to be a vacay-type visit, is your wife coming with you?”

“I’m not married.”

Surprise, surprise. Who would have you?

“But still looking. Ha, ha, ha.”

Suddenly, an image of Gus’s hot-cha-cha mother came to mind, and Jake cringed. Note to self: warn Gus to keep his mother under wraps.

“We can just say I’m a friend of Lieutenant Bernstein’s.”

Yeah, like anyone’s going to believe that! On the other hand, maybe you and Izzie can cruise the singles bars. I can’t wait to make that suggestion to the traitor. “You better start calling him Izzie if you want to pull that off.”

“Roger that,” Durand said.

To which, Jake rolled his one eye.

“Also, I’ll have a team of agents incognito around the town. The media will be there in droves trying to get at you.”

That was just great! In a town that thrived on gossip and minding each other’s business, there was no way they wouldn’t recognize strangers in their midst. Yeah, it was tourist season, and there were bound to be the usual strangers, but Bell Cove-ites had a nose for strangers with ill intent . . . their words, not his. And, yes, they put newshounds in that category, unless it was publicity they were seeking.

“I still say we should schedule one carefully orchestrated media event where you can answer a few questions and say that that is the only interview you will be granting.”

Carefully orchestrated, Jake repeated to himself. He could imagine what that would involve. A love fest for Balakistan and Nazim bin Jamil.

Not gonna happen! “Sorry. I’m not ready for that. I am going to talk to Laura Atler, the editor of the local weekly tabloid this afternoon, an old friend. Nothing political. Just a glad-to-be-home vanilla feature.”