Page 83 of A Hero Comes Home

“God bless the bench seat!” Izzie had agreed. “What Detroit idiot thought it was a good idea to get rid of these teenage make-out features?”

“If leather could talk!”

They’d grinned at each other.

Izzie wore a faded red T-shirt, floral Hawaiian surfer shorts, and flip-flops, as far opposite as he could get from a military uniform, compared to Jake’s more sedate blue-and-white-striped, button-down shirt over jeans. As they rode along, Izzie had gotten the biggest kick out of all the yellow ribbons still attached to practically every tree, mailbox, and lamppost, some of which were drooping by now. “Are any of these welcome bows for me, or they all for you, Mister Hometown Hero?”

“Kiss my ass,” Jake had said.

“Would that be a heroic or nonheroic ass?”

“Always the clown!” Jake had observed. “If you must know, I’m praying for a big windstorm to come along and blow them all away.”

“How much longer you gonna have that roadblock and guard at the end of the street?”

“Word is, right after Labor Day.”

“You worried about the news media knocking on your door then?”

“Not too much. I can handle it, and so can Sally, but the boys are something else. And, believe me, some of these people don’t hesitate to get at me through the kids.”

“You could hire a private firm.”

“Nah. I’ve got to deal with it eventually.” What he hadn’t said was that he might not be there that much longer. Then it would be a moot point.

They’d chosen a back table at The Live Bass, rather than the bar, because so many people came up to them thanking them for their service, which was nice and well-intended, but starting to become irritating, as in they couldn’t complete a sentence without being interrupted. Besides, a few were starting to ask uncomfortable questions about Jake’s three-year absence.

“Do you ever wonder if we’re making any difference?” Jake asked Izzie, who was in Delta Force, too, but another unit than Jake’s.

“Never! And you don’t, either, when you think about it.”

“I don’t know. It just seems like a vicious circle. We knock out the Taliban, then al-Qaeda emerges. We just about wipe al-Qaeda out, but ISIS gets stronger. Then, before you know it, al-Qaeda pops up again.”

“There’s evil in the world. You and I know that firsthand. We can’t stand by and do nothing. Someone has to fight. Look what happened with Hitler. Millions of people died because good people did nothing for years and years.”

That was a particularly touchy subject for Izzie, whose people had suffered so much during the Holocaust, and still did today in Israel and that part of the world. I should have kept my mouth shut.

“So, you mentioned concerns,” Izzie said. “Like what?”

“Why is Durand coming here? I sense an agenda.”

“There’s always an agenda, my friend.”

“I see on the news that the new prime minister of Balakistan and Minister of Defense Nazim might be visiting the US for some treaty signing, which probably means they want money. If Durand expects me to come to DC and shake hands with the bastards, he’s got another think coming.”

“I doubt whether that will even pan out. Too many threats of protests from different human rights and watchdog organizations.”

“Well, I’m not going to DC, whatever the reason, and I’m definitely not going to work behind a desk in the Pentagon, or anywhere else where I’m some kind of propaganda tool.”

“Check. But what else do you have in mind if you leave the military? You gonna work in that bakery addition that Sally is planning?”

“No. I’m willing to help her get it going, but that’s the extent of my involvement.”

“Bottom line—do you want to stay in Bell Cove?”

“Want and should are two different things.”

Izzie arched his brows at him.