The Other Soldier. Kathy Altman
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mourning, and three days laughing. Since Nat already had her swimsuit on he’d taken her to the water park, to show there were no hard feelings.
Her husband had been a forgiving person. Unlike his family.
Parker’s parents had been in their late forties when she was born, and neither her mother nor her father had lived past seventy-five. Which meant that Tim’s mother and brother were the only other family Nat had. But they were family in name only. They hadn’t spoken to Parker since the falling-out at Tim’s funeral. No one would ever describe them as forbearing.
She should be grateful. If not for that she might have backed out of buying this property. She and Nat would never have moved to Castle Creek. Would never have realized Tim’s dream.
And anyway, who was Parker to judge? She hadn’t contacted Tim’s family, either. Of course, she had no illusions about herself. Forgiveness was beyond her.
Her eyes filled. She hugged herself and began to rock. I can’t do it, Tim. I can’t forgive him for taking you away.
The door at the bottom of the stairs squeaked a warning. Parker barely managed to dry her face with the hem of her T before her daughter’s head poked up out of the stairwell. Her hair was flat on one side and tousled on the other and she was knuckling the sleep from her left eye. A series of thumps and some heavy breathing signaled Chance was close behind her.
“Mom?” Nat yawned. “Something’s burning.”
Oh, God. “The muffins!”
The album slid to the floor with a muffled whump as Parker scrambled to her feet. That’s what she got for indulging in a one-woman pity party. She hustled down the stairs behind Chance, whose tail wagged with delight at this new game. Parker’s foot caught the nail again and this time she left her sock behind. When she hit the first floor the smell of scorched batter was unmistakable. By the time Nat reached the kitchen Parker had pulled the pans out of the oven and both she and Chance were staring at the shriveled, blackened remnants.
All those ingredients, wasted. She sighed and dropped the potholders onto the counter. “Not even Chance would go for these.” He barked once, and plopped down onto the braided rug. Parker made a face. “Didn’t think so.”
Nat peered over her shoulder. “Isn’t charcoal supposed to make you hurl?”
“If you can get past the smell long enough to actually take a bite, then yes, I think it’s a given you’ll puke. And speaking of smell…” Parker heaved open the kitchen window. When she turned back around Nat sat hunched over the kitchen table, chin propped in both hands.
“Hot chocolate?”
Nat nodded, then bit her lower lip. “He made you sad, didn’t he?”
“Chance?”
“That soldier.”
Parker paused, the two mugs she’d selected from the tree on the counter poised in midair. “What makes you think I’m sad?”
“Mom. Why else get up in the middle of the night to bake muffins?”
“Maybe I was hungry.”
Nat rolled her eyes. “You were hanging out in the attic. With a bunch of photo albums. If you were hungry you wouldn’t have let the muffins burn.”
Busted. Parker set a container of water in the microwave to heat and sat next to her daughter. “All right. Yes, he made me sad. I miss your father, and I know you miss him, too. Seeing someone wear the uniform Daddy used to wear…that was tough.” She paused. She’d tried to ask Nat about it earlier, but the little girl had first clamped her lips tight and then, when Parker had gently persisted, she’d scuttled up to her room. Now Parker tried again.
“Harris said you saw him, too. Did it make you sad?”
Nat hung her head. She swallowed, and the sound was loud in the midnight kitchen. Parker reached out and tucked Nat’s soft auburn hair behind her ear. “Want to talk about it?”
She mumbled something and sniffled. Parker waited, and was about to ask again when suddenly Nat raised her head, and Parker’s heart ached at the hurt in her daughter’s eyes. “At first I was so h-happy,” Nat whispered. “I thought it was Daddy. I mean, I knew it couldn’t be, but then I thought maybe it was a mistake after all, that the bomb had missed him and they couldn’t find him but then they did and he wanted to surprise us and—” Her chin trembled, and she swiped at her nose with the heel of her hand. “Then I saw it wasn’t him and I ran away because…Daddy always told me to be a little soldier and…and…and I didn’t want his friend to see me cry.” She squeaked out the last few words and broke into sobs.
“Oh, Nat. Oh, sweetie.” Parker gathered Natalie onto her lap and into a hug. She squeezed her daughter hard, fighting and losing the battle against her own tears.
Nat pressed her face into Parker’s T. “Did he leave because of me?”
Were they still talking about their visitor? “You mean—”
“Did he leave because I ran away?”
“No. No, honey. He left because of me.” The microwave beeped. Parker ignored it.
“Why?”
“He wanted to stay for a while. And I thought that would be too painful for us.”
Silence. Then, “Did he know Daddy?”
Parker shook her head, realized Nat couldn’t see her, and leaned away. She smoothed the hair out of Nat’s face and shook her head again.
“So why did he come?”
“He’d…heard that Daddy had died.”
“And he wanted to help?” Parker nodded. “That was nice.” Nat sniffled, and dipped her head. Chance abandoned the rug and pressed against her knee. “So you think he might come back?”
“Not unless I ask him to.”
Nat opened her mouth, shut it, frowned. Parker braced herself. “Why?”
“Maybe he’s lonely.”
“What?”
Nat slid back into her own chair, tearstained face suddenly animated. “Maybe he was lonely, and he heard about what happened to Daddy, and he figured we must be lonely, too. So he came to keep us company.”
Blindly Parker stood and groped for the microwave. “I already told you why he came. He isn’t lonely.”
“How do you know? Did you ask?”
“Nat, we can’t invite every lonely person in the world to stay with us. It’s not feasible.”
“But I’m not asking about every lonely person. I’m asking about him.”
“Nat.” Parker stirred the powder into the water and set a mug on the table. “Drink your hot chocolate and go to bed. You have school tomorrow.”
Her daughter frowned down into her mug. “No marshmallows?”
“Natalie.”
“Remember when we took in Chance, Mom?”
Oh, dear Lord.
Nat bent down and hugged the Lab, resting her cheek on top of his head. “You said it was wrong to turn your back on someone in need.”
“Chance is a dog.”
“Yeah, but he’s human like the rest of us.”
Parker wanted to laugh but didn’t have the energy. “What is it about this man? You never even talked to him.”
Nat straightened, and up went the chin she’d inherited from her mother. “What if it was Daddy? What if he didn’t have anyone? Would you want a family like us to turn him away?”
It was like facing a nine-year-old