1
Jerking awake, Scott Redding bolted up in bed, kicking at the covers with his right leg, unable to move his left. A weight sat on his chest as he clawed toward consciousness. Managing to toss the covers to the floor, he reached down to rub his aching leg and dug his fingers into his left thigh. Massaging downward, his fingers passed his knee and then came to nothing.
Eyes open wide now, he flopped back onto the mattress, a curse leaving his lips. Wiping his hand over his sweaty face, he rolled over and moved to the side of the bed. Grabbing his crutch, he stood and limped into the bathroom. Wetting a small towel, he washed his face and neck, the cool water helping to cleanse the nightmare from his mind.
As always when dreams woke him, he forced his thoughts to travel down a different path. Makowitz, Torgenson, Bullock, Kandle, Roberts... all good men. Most still alive. Some still active. Blowing out his breath, he remembered the early morning runs, most during pre-dawn over the rough Afghanistan terrain. There was a hill where they would stop and watch the sunrise. It always struck him as strange to watch the sun lift in the sky and know that it was the same sun that rose over his home near the Chesapeake Bay back in the States. The same sunrise that his grandfather always watched.
He knew the dangers, but surrounded by fellow soldiers, he always felt safe. But then, traveling from one post to another, the truck in front of him ran over an IED. The larger vehicle lifted into the air, landing partially on the front of his. Seeing the hulking metal coming toward him was the last he remembered.
He awoke in the camp hospital, but his world was fuzzy. All he could remember was walking on the beach on the Eastern Shore of Maryland with his high school girlfriend and hoping she would let him get to second base. Or further.
The next time he regained consciousness, he was in a hospital in Germany. His parents were standing near his bed, but confusion marred his reality. He could not understand why his mother was crying. The covers were pushed back, and when he looked down, his naked right foot lay on top.
And below his left knee was nothing.
No pain. Just nothing.
Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. Surgery. Rehabilitation. Anger mixed with acceptance. At least I came back. One of his buddies had been killed in the blast along with two more in other vehicles. And that did not include those injured along with him.
His living nightmare had been almost two years ago. Most of his team had moved into his memory, part of his past that remained firmly there. Now, he had created a new life for himself, firmly ensconced in Baytown. New home. New friends. New job.
The nightmares came rarely now, but knowing that sleep would be elusive, Scott used his crutch for balance and went back into the bedroom. Soulful brown eyes stared up at him from a large pillow on the floor. “Hey, Rufus. Gonna get up now. You want to come?”
His dog stood and stretched. Then, giving a full body shake that made his ears slap against the side of his head, he followed Scott into the kitchen. Rufus was a rescue. He had been a young hunting dog at one time, but an accident had taken one of his legs. His owner gave him to the shelter, but they had a hard time finding someone to take him on. As soon as Scott and Rufus lay eyes on each other, it was as though they knew they were a match. Rufus’ tail began to thump on the floor, and Scott grinned widely, taking him home that day.
“You hungry, boy?”
The question was purely rhetorical. Rufus was always hungry. As soon as the kibble went into his bowl, the dog immediately began to crunch. Flipping on the coffee pot, Scott scrambled eggs, microwaved a few slices of bacon, and popped bread into the toaster.
Sitting at his table, he watched the morning sun rise on the Eastern Shore again, but now he was in Virginia. And he thought of those in uniform who were still overseas, watching the sun rise from where they were.
Ruffling his hand over Rufus’ head, he said, “Come on, boy. Let’s go for a little run.”
Scott sat in the office that his grandfather used to occupy for so many years, recently updated. His grandfather had adorned the wall behind his desk with his degrees and associations in heavy frames that now were replaced by local artisans’ paintings of shore scenes. And on the credenza behind the desk now sat framed pictures of both his family and his military family, the team he served with in Afghanistan.
In some ways, it still seemed surreal to be back in Baytown, occupying the office that he had visited so often when a child. Scott loved his grandfather but never anticipated following in his footsteps. Instead, he had craved adventure, and the desire to travel far outside the bounds of the tiny town had called him to join the military after high school. His gaze landed on the photograph of his former team, and his lips curved slightly at the youthful faces, cocky smiles, and the surety that they would all come home safely having fought for God and country. Oh, the folly of youth.
“Good morning, Scott.”
The greeting startled him out of his musings, and he looked up as Lia McFarlane stood in the doorway, smiling at him. Her long, dark hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, and her warm eyes twinkled. She had always been attractive, but since falling in love with Aiden McFarlane, her face now held a glow from deep within.
“Good morning,” he replied, smiling in return.
She walked in and sat down in one of the leather chairs in his office, and her gaze drifted around the room as his had earlier. Lia had come to Baytown, buying out his grandfather’s accounting business when he retired. Scott knew his grandfather would have preferred to sell it to him, but Scott was finishing his master’s degree and not ready to take on the business’ responsibilities. As soon as he finished, he’d contacted Lia and she hired him as an employee, then, several months later, offered him a partnership, which he’d accepted gratefully.
“I’m glad we were able to expand and update the office.” She quickly looked back over and smiled. “Your grandfather’s office was perfect for him, but for us, it was a little…”
“Stuffy? I think that’s the word you’re looking for,” he said, and they both laughed.
When the building next door became available, they bought it and renovated the entire space. They each had a large office, Scott taking over the one that had been used by his grandfather. Besides Lia’s office, there was now another for a future accountant, if needed. They also had two conference rooms plus an employee workroom. The ever-efficient secretary, Mrs. Markham, had an updated reception area as well.
Just then, Mrs. Markham walked in with a small tray in her hand. Setting it on his desk, she handed a cup of coffee to both he and Lia before taking the third cup for herself. Settling in the other chair, the three sipped in companionable silence for a moment. This was something new that Lia had begun several months ago… a chance for each working day to start with the three of them sharing coffee together.
Scott enjoyed his morning cup of coffee as much as anyone, but over time, he’d begun to appreciate the pleasant way to start each morning.
“Any luck with house hunting?” Lia asked, turning to Scott.
He shook his head. “No, not yet. I’m driving the real estate agent crazy, but I think my biggest problem is I just can’t define what I’m really looking for. The historical houses in town are nice, but the ones already restored are fairly expensive. I’m not into doing the restoration work for the ones that are more moderately priced. Plus, I don’t really want to be right on top of my neighbors.”