Chapter 7

7

LINCOLN

I t was early Monday morning when I climbed off the couch. I was avoiding the bedroom as if my life depended on it. I supposed, if I really thought about it, I felt vulnerable in the bed. Taking off my shoes and stripping down to my boxers only made me nervous. The thought of being unconscious for any amount of time turned me off. Too many times, insurgents had tried to attack our camp or our convoy in the night. I learned to sleep with one eye open, with a weapon at the ready, and my boots still on.

Whatever contortions my mind was doing told me that the couch was safer than the bed. I suspected if an intruder came into the apartment and I was on the couch, I would be better prepared to leap up and confront them. After several sleepless nights, I decided I would chance taking my boots off. Sleeping in full combat gear had been a matter of survival in the desert, but it just seemed crazy in rural Tennessee.

I drew the line at pajamas though. They had forced me to wear scrubs at the VA hospital, but my first night in Singer's Ridge, I discarded that tradition. If I was going to be attacked, at least I would be dressed. I had visions of running down the street without shoes to escape the enemy, and that was bad enough.

The truth was, I didn't sleep much, so it wouldn't really matter if I was on the couch or the bed. I kept the TV playing in the background. Its constant reminders to buy auto insurance and take Cialis took my mind off my problems. I needed the normalcy that it provided, the suggestion that life would continue with or without my drama.

I got itchy Sunday night and into Monday morning, so I left my place and walked around the neighborhood. It was peaceful and quiet, and everything was green. It was so unlike the landscape of Afghanistan that my racing heart calmed itself. I was able to go home and sleep a couple hours, still on the couch, still with the TV chattering. I woke at six instead of four though, so I counted that as a win.

I had been to the grocery store, so I had a stocked fridge. It was mostly cold cuts and eggs. I was into protein and wasn't a great cook. I figured I should pack myself a lunch on day one. I made myself some coffee, a sandwich, and a boiled egg. Morning TV featured a dog who could do tricks and about a dozen truck commercials.

I called for my Uber with a half hour to spare, and it took nearly that long for the ride to get there. This driver was nosey, asking all kinds of questions about who I was and where I was going.

"You work at the lumberyard?"

I nodded. "Yup."

"Did you grow up around here?"

I sighed. "Yeah."

"Me too." He pulled up at a stoplight. "Not many people know about Singer's Ridge."

What the hell , I thought. I didn't know this guy, and I would probably never see him again. I wasn't interested in small talk. "I'm getting out of town first chance I get."

"I hear that." He laughed, pulling into the parking lot.

I got out, thanked the driver, and strode confidently to the house at the back of the lot. It was just past nine a.m., and I knew that Aly would be sitting behind the reception desk. I thought about her more than was healthy. I tried to remember how she had looked in high school and why I had never made a pass at her.

We'd had a few classes together. She had been part of one of the peripheral cliques, not a snob or a cheerleader, not a brainiac. She had her girlfriends and they stuck together, whereas I had no one and I liked it that way. I would have ventured out of my protective bubble if she had been as alluring in high school as she was now.

I had to stop thinking about the past. I was four paces from the front door and about to come face to face with the beauty. I needed a game plan. My usual curt nature wasn't going to cut it. I needed some topic of conversation that would demonstrate how cultured and worldly I was while simultaneously making her feel good about herself. Not surprisingly, nothing came to mind.

I paused, my hand on the doorknob. This next encounter was likely to be as great a failure as the previous one. More than anything, I had wanted to stay and talk with her. I had wanted to see her smile, to know that I had been the one to make her smile. Unfortunately, I was too awkward and unaccustomed to small talk.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Just as I had imagined, Aly was seated behind the desk. She had a small stack of papers in front of her and was entering information into the computer. She paused when I stepped inside, looking up with those striking coffee-colored eyes. After a beat, she smiled.

"Good morning, Linc," she said. "Porter's gonna take you around, but he's got a few phone calls to make first. You can have a seat." She gestured to the couch.

I sat down, grateful to have been granted another five minutes of her company. "When do you get in?" I asked. It was the first thing that came to my mind, even though it was a lame excuse for playful banter.

"Eight thirty," she said.

"You like the job?"

"Yeah," she said. "Porter's real nice. He's like family."

"Do you know Gina?" I asked, suddenly comfortable asking real questions.

"Yeah." She eased into the conversation, shifting her attention from her work to me. "Gina and I go out sometimes. I also have dinner with their family once a week."

"The family?" I asked. "So, you've met the baby?"

She nodded. "Seth."

"Seth," I tried.

My nephew. I hadn't really thought about having a nephew or having a family. The baby was something that had happened to Gina and didn't involve me. Now that I considered it, the idea of being attached to a family made me feel simultaneously nervous and optimistic. Maybe there would be someone around who would miss me, who would look forward to seeing me and wonder where I was when I was gone.

And that was a problem. The more attachments you had, the more vulnerable you were. To protect myself and my family from the specter of insurgents, I had to remain constantly ready. That meant no family barbeques, no sleeping in beds, no letting my guard down.

My soon to be brother-in-law arrived a moment later, cutting my time with Aly short. I stood up, smiled at her, and followed Porter up the stairs. I felt my leg twitch but ignored it. This was my first day on the job, my first day on any job since the injury. It was going to be a long one.

"There's a bit of paperwork," Porter said, motioning toward one of the chairs in his office.

I sat down gratefully.

"First, I'm gonna take you on a tour and introduce you to everyone you'll be working with. I'll drop you off with Danny. He's our seasoned driver. For the rest of the week, you're going to be going on deliveries with him. We'll see how that works out and move forward from there."

I nodded. "Sounds good."

"Your dad's going to drop by around noon, so I hope that you'll feel comfortable having lunch with him." The comment was almost apologetic.

I drew in a deep breath. I had to expect that the old man would want something in exchange for his generosity. Hell, Mrs. Washington wanted the same thing from me just for keeping my rent low. I supposed they were old and in need of companionship.

"And if you can end up with Aly around three, that should give you time to fill out all the paperwork, okay?"

"Right," I agreed. Lunch with Dad at noon and finish up the day talking to Aly. I had something to look forward to after the trial of the first day. While I could have done without another heart-to-heart with my dad, the prospect of two hours alone with Aly had my blood racing with anticipation.

Porter took me out of the house, and we walked the rows of stacked lumber. He pointed out various types of wood. "Here's pine. That's the cheaper variety. Over here is oak. We have some walnut and maple but that's indoors."

He didn't walk slowly or wait for me to catch up. Either he had forgotten I was injured or just didn't care. I kept up, but by the end of the tour, my leg was throbbing. We wound up behind another building in a larger parking lot that was designated for staff vehicles and deliveries.

"This here is Danny." Porter waved at an older man with a pot belly who was cleaning out the cab of a sturdy pickup truck. "Danny, this is Linc."

I held out my hand. Danny emerged from the truck, a cup of coffee and a candy wrapper in one hand. He offered the other to me and we shook. Danny swung the truck door shut, his face sunburnt and wrinkled.

"You're Mr. Matthews' kid?" the driver guessed.

"That's right," I said.

"Well, it's a family business," Danny explained as if he needed a reason to include me.

"Take your break at noon," Porter told his employee.

"Sure," Danny agreed.

"Linc, when you're done with your lunch, find Danny again." Porter turned to the other man. "Linc's gonna shadow you for the rest of the week."

"You got it." Danny saluted. I wondered if he was ex-military. Sometimes civilians saluted as a kind of joke. Sometimes veterans retained the habit and it carried over into their normal lives.

As soon as Porter was gone, I asked. "Were you in the service?"

"Yeah," he confirmed. "Worked at a recruiting station. Never saw any combat." He eyed me up and down, searching for my injury. "I understand you were in Afghanistan."

"Does everybody know that?" I asked.

Danny grinned. "Pretty much. You just let me know if I'm going too fast or if you have any questions."

"Sure," I said.

"I just got in from a run, so you can watch me fill out my mileage. Lucky you."

"Okay."

He walked to the red barn-like building that bordered the parking lot. I knew from Porter's tour that it housed the register and a small tool shop. Danny took me through a side door into what looked like a crappy break room. The floor was full of sawdust and wood chips—not in an aesthetic way but like nobody ever swept. There was a fridge, a counter, and a sink, all stained with brown age spots.

On one wall was a corkboard with paperwork layered haphazardly. Danny selected one form, detached it from the wall, and brought it to the single table. He sat down and wrote some numbers before standing up and pinning it back to the board.

"Gotta write down the mileage, the truck number, and your name," he said to explain.

I nodded.

"They used to keep the forms in the trucks, and that was easier. But people kept forgetting to update them, and then we wouldn't use them. Boss needs it for insurance purposes."

"Got it," I said.

"No deliveries right now, so we wait." Danny sat down again and put his feet up on an empty chair.

I sat down beside him. "Are you usually busy?"

"Four or five, sometimes six deliveries a day," Danny answered.

"How many drivers?"

"Including you?"

I nodded.

"Three now."

"Is there enough work for three people?" I wondered.

"Why?" He fixed me with an appraising stare. "You uncomfortable sitting around on the clock?"

I shook my head. "No, I was in the Army, remember? Most of the time, it was ‘hurry up and wait.'"

Danny snorted a laugh. "Well, some deliveries are scheduled, but sometimes a customer shows up and needs lumber hauled to his house or a job site on the spot. They need drivers available at all times."

I nodded. We sat and talked for about twenty minutes until we were joined by another driver. That man's name was Henry, and he was about my age but skinnier and taller. He had just come in from another delivery and logged his mileage on the form.

"Working hard or hardly working?" Henry joked, reaching into the refrigerator for a soda.

"I'm just showing Linc here the ropes," Danny said.

"You the boss's son?" Henry held out his hand.

"Yep." I shook it, not standing up.

"Don't listen to a word he says," Henry suggested, pointing at Danny.

I laughed. It was a decent start to the day and almost made lunch with Dad seem bearable. I went on one delivery run with Danny, out to a job site in the mountains. Even Singer's Ridge was expanding. Cabins were hot commodities, and our customers were building one right after another.

We loaded up both trucks with pine boards, drove them over, and unloaded. The customer signed for them, and we left, stopping off at a gas station on the way back. It seemed like Danny's whole heart wasn't in his job. If I had been a brown-noser, I could have ratted on him to my dad. I didn't care that much, though, and wasn't interested in making enemies. Besides, I wasn't necessarily on my dad's side.

At noon, Danny cut me loose, and I walked back to the main house on my own. My leg had gone from throbbing to white-hot agony, but I ignored it. I was going to get through the day, no matter what it took. And I was going to wake up tomorrow and do it all over again. The leg would just have to fall in line.

Dad was waiting for me in the lunchroom. He had stopped for takeout at the diner, and two Styrofoam clamshells were sitting on the table. I sat down heavily, unable to mask my discomfort.

"How's the first day?" Dad asked.

"Not bad," I said.

"I got you a burger and fries," Dad told me because he didn't have anything else to say.

The food smelled heavenly, and my stomach growled. I opened the clamshell and dug in. "Thanks."

"So, do you think you'll be able to handle being a driver?" he asked, opening his own lunch.

I grinned, thinking about all the downtime. "Yeah."

"And you've met some of the guys?"

"Yeah."

"What do you think of the place?" He settled back, watching me eat, his burger untouched.

I shrugged, giving him my honest opinion. "It's big."

Dad chuckled. "When the Wellers retired and I bought it from them, I wasn't sure. Biggest purchase I'd ever made in my life." He picked up his sandwich. "I think it was a good bet."

"There's a lot of construction in the mountains," I said before I could stop myself. If I wasn't careful, I would find myself in a full-blown conversation.

He chewed thoughtfully. "Good for business."

I grunted in assent.

We finished lunch without addressing the elephant in the room. He never asked why I left, and I never confronted him about pushing me away. He didn't pry about the war, and I didn't educate him. Some things were better left unsaid.

"If you need anything…" Dad concluded after we had finished our meals.

I shook my head. I didn't need anything from him, aside from the job. It was humbling to have to work for my parent, and I didn't want to fall any further in debt. I wasn't going to be like Danny, milking the clock. I was going to pull my own weight and keep busy. If I was known as the boss's son, I wasn't going to give anyone any reason to talk about me. And I was going to earn my keep.

"Have you been by to see Gina?" Dad asked as I stood up.

"I have to get back to work," I said.

"Okay, well…" He lingered, obviously not wanting to part ways. "Thanks for lunch."

I frowned. He had been the one to pay for lunch. Why was he thanking me? Parents were so backwards. I still couldn't figure out why it was better to eat with someone you were estranged from, rather than sitting alone. At least alone, you weren't forced to come up with conversational topics.

I headed into the afternoon favoring my good leg. The whole way to the tool shop, I wished I had brought my cane. So what if people saw me limping? It would beat having to endure the pain. But I had been a fool that morning and thought I knew better than all the doctors at the VA. I wasn't going to make that mistake again.

Danny was in the break room, tapping his phone. Henry was out on another delivery. I helped with one more run before it was time to meet Allison and complete my paperwork. It looked as if they had enough work for one and a half drivers but were paying for two already. I wished I wasn't lame, and I could help out where it was really needed, hauling and cutting the wood. But this was the hand life had dealt me, and I reminded myself I needed to be grateful to have a job.

Aly wasn't in the office when I got back. I sank into the couch to wait, feeling exhausted. The pain in my leg had taken its toll. Even though I hadn't done much other than walk back and forth across the lot, my entire body was struggling to maintain momentum. If I was a "glass is half full" kind of guy, I might have thought I would sleep well at night, but I knew that wasn't going to happen. It was going to be a rough week until I adjusted to the added workload.

A tread on the stairs alerted me to movement and I tensed. It was only Aly, returning to her desk. She took one look at me and smiled affectionately. "Tough day?"

I shook my head. "It shouldn't be. I don't feel like I did very much."

"Give yourself time," she said. It was the kind of thing a nurse or a good friend might say. It meant that she knew all about injuries and the rush to heal. I wondered what had happened in her life and hoped that it hadn't been anything bad.

"I'm here for the paperwork," I said.

"Right." She went to one of the filing cabinets and crouched to reach the lowest drawer.

She was wearing a skirt that a moment ago had seemed chaste, but when she curled her legs, the fabric tightened against her skin. I caught the shape of her bottom, round as a peach. Her hair fell over her shoulders, obscuring her face, and for a moment, I forgot she was that shy girl I had gone to school with. She looked every bit the runway model, toned arms thumbing through files, sculpted calves supporting her supple form.

I imagined crossing the distance between us, hauling her to her feet, and pressing her against the filing cabinet. Her body would be a perfect match to mine, soft and warm with all the right curves. Her lips would taste like strawberries and honey, parting just enough to let me explore the heat within.

"Here you go." She straightened, pulling me out of my fantasy.

Her shirt stopped clinging to her breasts, and her skirt fell down to her knees again, but the image remained in my mind. I gulped, willing my cock to stay put. The last thing I needed was to come off like some horny fourteen-year-old. She handed me a clipboard and a pen before going back to her desk.

I watched her out of the corner of my eye as I filled in my name, address, and phone number. Did she really have no idea I was fantasizing about her? Of course, she didn't. She was a good girl who had lived in Singer's Ridge all her life. She didn't know anything about the larger world and the predators in it. It would be best to keep it that way, to forget about her and let her live her life without the trauma that I brought with me. I focused on my task and completed the paperwork with time to spare.

When I was done, I approached the desk, laying the clipboard down. She picked it up and paged through, making sure I had signed everywhere I was supposed to. "I need two forms of ID," she said.

I pulled out my wallet and handed over my license and social security card. She took them to a small copier in the back of the room and made copies before handing them back to me. I was ready to go home and even Allison's allure couldn't convince me to stay any longer. There was one thing left to do and that was check in with Porter. Even though I had never held a civilian job, I knew that he would expect me to debrief.

I stared at the steps, contemplating the journey to the top. My leg felt as if it had been put through the wringer, like the bullet holes were about to spill blood again. I wasn't sure if I could make it up and down, but I wouldn't give up.

I caught Aly looking at me and I tried a brave smile.

"Have a seat," she said, understanding. "I'll ask Porter to come down."

I sat gratefully. "I didn't think it would be this bad," I lied. I had known it would be bad; I just thought I would be able to deal with it. I hadn't counted on the exhaustion in addition to the pain.

"Did they tell you that you wouldn't normally walk again?" she asked.

"Uh, no." I waited for the feeling of discomfort at the mention of my injury, but it didn't come. For some reason when Allison asked, it didn't seem intrusive. "They said it would be a long recovery, though."

"What happened?" Her eyes were wide, not so much curious as concerned.

"I was shot," I said simply. I didn't have the language to describe the situation, that afternoon in the stone house with the sun shining. There just weren't words that could convey the entire story, so I let it go with a simple truth.

Porter walked in just then, relieving us of our privacy. "So, how was the first day?"

"Fine." I stood up.

"You don't have to—" he started.

"I'm fine," I said, shutting down his compassion.

He shrugged. "Okay. So tomorrow you can clock in and go straight to the barn."

"Got it," I said.

Porter clapped me on the back and left me there in the reception area alone with Aly. I would need to keep it together long enough to call for a ride back home, but I didn't want her to know how difficult that was going to be. Conserving my energy for the next half hour, I nodded goodbye and stepped out the door. Ordering the ride on my way, I crossed the lot back to the barn and sat down in the break room to wait.

Danny was there, as it seemed like he always was. "Ten minutes till the end of the shift."

I nodded.

"Where's your car?" he asked.

"I don't have a car," I told him.

"How are you getting home?"

"I called a rideshare," I answered.

"Screw that," he said, sounding offended. "Where do you live?"

"Just off Main Street," I said.

"I'll give you a ride," he offered.

"It's too late to cancel." I looked down at my phone. The app said the driver was ten minutes away.

"You need a ride tomorrow?" Danny asked.

I held my breath for a moment. I didn't want to ask for help but taking a rideshare to work every day was going to get expensive. Danny wasn't a stellar employee, but he seemed like a good guy. I supposed part of re-entry into society was letting people help you every now and then. I released the breath I was holding and nodded.

Danny recognized my reluctance and smiled. "Text me your address."

My ride arrived and I folded myself into the backseat with a grateful sigh. I didn't have any energy left to talk to the driver and we rode in silence back to Mrs. Washington's place. I opened the basement door and tumbled onto the couch. I didn't move for the rest of the night, except grab a protein bar.

Too tired to even turn on the television, I floated somewhere just above sleep, my mind rehashing the day. Even though I didn't dream, at least I was thinking about civilian life and not the horrors of war.

Mixed in with memories of Danny and his slacker philosophy were visions of Aly. The way she bent over the filing cabinet, showing off her figure, was a comforting image. All in all, it hadn't been a bad day. Good thing too, because I would have to show up again tomorrow.