The Other Soldier. Kathy Altman
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at the same time she said, “I owe you an apology.”
He grunted. “Most people say thank you when they get a compliment.”
“Most people say thank you when they get a gift. You, however, responded with, ‘Guess this is our last date.’”
“Most people don’t give the sort of gifts you do.”
“I’m sorry. The last thing I wanted was to insult you. I’m a make-it-happen kind of person. I see a need, and I want to fill it.”
“That’s all well and good, but you can’t just go around buyin’ trucks for folks.”
“But it wasn’t just folks. It was you. I never thought you’d be so ungrateful.”
“Ungrateful?” He scratched his bald head. “Because I was honest about not wanting something I never asked for? Listen, Genie, no man wants to feel like he’s bein’ bought.” Someone drove by in a mud-streaked pickup and honked, and Harris lifted his arm. Eugenia stared.
“Excuse me?”
“If I need a truck I’ll buy it myself. Now I’m done explainin’. Like I said before, you and me, we just wouldn’t work out.”
“You know what your problem is? You’re stubborn and you’re scared.”
He scowled. “There’s no call for insults.”
“I wasn’t trying to insult you, I was trying to enlighten you.”
“Either way I don’t appreciate it. Guess I best be movin’ along.”
“You do that,” Eugenia snapped, and gave herself a mental eye roll. Why could she never come up with anything clever to say?
And did it really matter? His anger over the issue meant they’d been dating on borrowed time, anyway. If he ever found out what else she’d done, he’d…well, at the very least he’d never speak to her again.
Damn the man’s pride.
He swung away, then turned back and jerked his head toward the hardware store. “You datin’ Joe now?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Just wonderin’ if you’re planning on buyin’ him a new motel.”
Eugenia sputtered. Harris marched away down the sidewalk, then when he was almost at the corner he turned back. “By the way,” he called. “Heard you turned that pretty truck back in and donated the money to the rescue squad. That was a mighty fine thing to do, Genie.” He gave her a nod, then continued walking.
Eugenia stared after him, feeling as though someone had grabbed her by the ankles and swung her upside down.
* * *
IN, TWO-THREE-FOUR-FIVE-six-seven. Out, two-three-four-five-six-seven.
Her lungs ached. Parker opened her eyes and stared at the door to room six. Then she looked back, toward the sparse traffic that motored past the motel. People ran errands, visited friends, headed home to their families. A squirrel chittered, and she watched it bounce across the parking lot and disappear under a rather sad-looking azalea.
She should call Joe and offer him some pointers. Happier-looking landscaping would be good for business.
She should also stop procrastinating.
She rolled her shoulders back but the tingling in her chest persisted. The deep breathing hadn’t done much for her stress level. Apparently it was effective only for mother-daughter-type challenges.
Raise knuckles. Knock twice. Hold breath. The door handle turned—oh, God she really did have to talk to him—and she released her breath in a head-spinning whoosh.
Corporal MacFarland wore nothing but a towel, a pair of flip-flops and a grim expression. “Mrs. Dean. Sorry, I thought it was—” A harsh exhale. “Stand by.”
When he shut the door, Parker thought, Run. But she stood where she was, rooted to the sidewalk by the image of the left side of his torso, and the faded red ribbons of puckered skin along his rib cage.
He looked like someone had hacked at him with a sword. Her eyes felt wet but she willed the tears away. Darned if she’d let a little sympathy dilute the resentment she had every right to feel.
When the door opened again he wore jeans and a Go Army T. He waved her in and shut the door behind her.
She looked around the room, but all she could see was the damage to his muscled body.
“How can I help you?”
She turned to find that he hadn’t moved, gaze wary, fingers still on the handle. He didn’t want her to feel threatened, she realized. But she’d never considered he’d do anything to harm her. Not physically, anyway.
Striving for calm, cool and collected, she settled into one of the two lawn chairs that flanked the scarred round table.
“Well,” she said. “Joe’s really done wonders with the place.”
The left side of Macfarland’s mouth tipped up and Parker found herself staring. She turned away, and noticed the duffel bag atop the neatly made bed.
“You’re packed.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He cocked his head. “Are you here to… Will you allow me to apologize, Mrs. Dean?”
She sat back, and the aluminum chair squeaked out a loud complaint. Her hands clutched at the grooved armrests. “We’re not talking about an insult here, or a—a fender bender. You can’t apologize for making someone a widow.”
“I have to try, ma’am.”
“Stop with the ‘ma’am,’” she snapped. “You make me feel like I should start paying attention to…to denture commercials.” Her breath hitched on a sob. He moved away from the door and disappeared into the bathroom. She heard the sound of running water. Seconds later he placed a cup on the table in front of her and stepped back. She nodded her thanks, but kept her hands in her lap. No way she could drink that water without spilling it. She’d humiliated herself enough for one day, thank you very much.
She motioned with her chin at the other chair. “Would you sit, please?” He hesitated, then did as she asked. He sat with both feet on the floor, hands hanging over the ends of the armrests. She raised her eyes to a face she’d hoped never to see again.
“Harris said you don’t have to be back on post for thirty days. Wouldn’t you rather spend that time with your family?” Her gaze dropped to his left hand. His fingers flexed.
“I’m not married,” he said softly. Softly, but not gently. “No family.”
“Friends, then.”
“My friends are overseas.”
A pause. “Where are you from?”
“San Diego.” He angled his head. “I’m here because this is where I’m supposed to be.”
“The last thing I want is to accept your offer. But you have me at a disadvantage.” He waited. She dug her fingers into her thighs. “Harris is sick and…needs to cut back on his hours. I can’t afford to hire someone else. Not yet. This morning I called a supermarket over in the next county. They’d wanted to place a large order with us but I had to turn them down. With help we can manage the order. The extra money will pay the most urgent bills, and allow us to make some repairs. If you could stay that long, I’d—” She faltered. She couldn’t say it. Couldn’t manage the word grateful.
He hadn’t moved, but a new tension gripped his muscles. Her mind flashed another image of his scarred torso. Was he in pain?
“You don’t want me here.”
She fought a laugh. You think?
“You need money,” he continued. He stood and moved