Page 74 of A Hero Comes Home

He nodded, but the expression on his face was grim. It was odd to be seeing him with both eyes open. And, yes, it was a little disconcerting to have the one eye not moving like the other. But when he was staring straight ahead, it almost seemed normal. “If you’re worried about the boys ever witnessing this, don’t be,” Jake said. “I won’t allow it to ever happen.”

A chill ran over Sally as she realized that the only way he could guarantee that, at this point in his recovery, was to not be here. Oh, no, no! You plan to bail out, don’t you? Maybe disappear, like some of those Special Forces guys do sometimes. Uh-uh! You don’t get to make that kind of decision on your own. And if you think I can’t stop you, just watch, buster. She had to visibly breathe in and out to calm herself down, not to start an argument when Jake was still in this state. Later, though. Oh, yeah, later! “Jacob, I’m not worried about the boys. You’d be surprised at how understanding kids can be. I’m just worried about you.”

“Don’t be. I’m going to take care of it.”

The silent message was “his way.”

But then he said, “What’s that smell?” He sniffed the air.

“Oh, it’s lilac. My body lotion. Don’t you like it?”

“It’s okay,” he said, “but I’m more in the mood for cinnamon. What happened to the gum?”

“I think I swallowed it when I heard you scream.”

“Did you say swallow? Hmm. Maybe I could scream at a certain opportune moment, and you could . . .”

“Swallow?” she finished for him. “You are so bad.”

“Just kidding.” He laughed and tugged her closer. “Stick out your tongue.”

When she did, he licked her tongue.

“Jacob!”

“Still tastes like cinnamon,” he announced jubilantly. “And guess what? I brought a pack up with me, too.” He reached over to the bedside table, pulled out a drawer, and showed her the package of spicy gum. He popped two sticks in his mouth and began to chew in an exaggerated fashion.

“Well, then, cowboy, it looks like we’re still on for a cinnamon rodeo.”

Chapter 15

The minds of men, no matter the age, run in one direction . . .

Jake and Sally stood on the back porch just before noon the next morning, waiting for the kids to return. His father had called once the boat docked to alert them that they were headed home.

Jake was feeling satisfied with himself in an admittedly macho way. What guy wouldn’t after the kind of weekend he’d enjoyed with his wife? Except for the nightmare, everything had been perfect.

And Sally . . . He had only to look at the sex flush that covered her from face to chest to know that Mick Jagger song didn’t apply to either one of them. She wore a black tank top and white yoga pants, and he would bet she was flushed in some other places, too. If he had gotten his rocks off, his wife’s bells had been rung, a time or twenty. Which gave him even more immense satisfaction.

Just then, with perfect synchronicity, the town bells began to ring twelve times, and his father’s truck pulled into the driveway.

“Stop smirking,” Sally said, as if she could read his mind.

He just winked at her—with his one eye, the other was covered with the eye patch today—and walked down the steps with the aid of the handrail.

No sooner did the truck stop than the three gremlins and mangy dog hopped out and came rushing at him, almost knocking both him and Sally over.

“Daddy, Daddy, we caught fifty fith.”

“Even a baby shark.”

“PopPop says there prob’ly are no more fish left in the ocean.”

“I caught the most fish.”

“But mine was the biggest.”

“PopPop made us clean all the fish.”