A Chance of a Lifetime (17 page)

No, she wouldn't have wanted it at all. It had been hard enough coming to live with Mama, who'd loved her more than anything in the world. But Mama had been family, and she
had
wanted Bennie, and she'd gotten custody of her legally. Taking in a stranger's child from halfway across the country…that was a bigger, tougher deal.

“I'm as softhearted as anyone,” she said with a laugh. “I want every kid and stray dog and cat to have a happy, loving home. This is just more complicated than that. Speaking of stray dogs…” She glanced over her shoulder at Jessy, her camera hiding most of her face, and grinned. “Are you thinking about adopting one from the shelter?”

“I can't right now.”

“Are you living in the barracks?”

A siren whooped off to the right, and he put his glasses back on and directed his gaze down the street as a police car slowly approached from the west. “Yeah. No pets allowed except service dogs.”

“And you don't qualify for one of them, thank God.”

Abruptly he got to his feet. “No, I don't. Here comes Mama.” He gestured to her grandmother, took a few steps, then turned back. For a moment, he seemed to think better of whatever he'd been about to say, then he blurted it out anyway. “You want to have dinner tonight?”

Her eyes widened, and her lips parted automatically though no words found their way out. Whatever she'd expected, it wasn't an invitation to dinner. Sure, they'd spent a lot of time together, but most of it had been because their families were so close, not because he'd been seeking her out. Besides that night at Java Dave's. And the day outside the craft store when he hadn't fled at the first chance. And now, when he could have refused her offer of a seat while Mama went to visit his folks.

But dinner for just the two of them…he was definitely seeking her out.

With Mama close enough that Bennie could hear her humming, she answered, “Um, yeah, sure. I'd like that.” Would
really
like that, she admitted with some surprise.

“I'll pick you up at six?”

A laugh bubbled up inside and overflowed. “Anything to get me into that junker of yours, huh? Okay, I'll see you at six.”

As he walked away, Fia leaned over from behind, hugging her around the neck. “Did I just hear you accept a date with Mr. Hard-body there?” she whispered teasingly.

“Not a date,” Bennie said automatically even as the word echoed in her head. A
date
? Her and Calvin? It was a strange idea, old buddies who'd abandoned each other going out on a date. Strange…but judging from the tingle of anticipation inside her, not unwelcome. “Just old friends having dinner.”

“A handsome man whom I'm assuming is single asking a beautiful woman who's definitely single to go out to dinner is pretty much the definition of a date.” Fia waggled a finger at her. “Just admit I'm right. Don't make me call all the girls over here to get their opinions.”

“Oh, please, no.” If the girls did one thing exceedingly well, besides supporting each other, it was give opinions. And tease. And see right into one another's hearts. Bennie wasn't sure what was in her own heart, but she'd like to find out before she shared. “You're right. That's the definition of a date. But it can also describe old friends just sharing a meal.”

“What would you like it to be, sister of mine?”

After a moment's thought, Bennie replied, “I'm okay with either.” And she was. Whether she and Calvin were renewing their friendship, making a new one, or maybe starting something totally different and new and intimate, she was okay.

But she couldn't help admitting just to herself that she'd had enough of okay. She wanted more. A boyfriend, fun, sex, passion, a commitment. Something special. Some
one
special.

It never hurt to be open to all the possibilities, did it? Just as long as she protected her heart.

W
ith winter approaching, Calvin knew better than to waste a nice sunny day. Thanks to the end of daylight saving time, it was already dark early every evening, and no one had a clue when the next snow or sleet would come or when the winter cold would settle in to stay awhile. So after the parade and barbecue from Justice's grill, Calvin went home, changed into PT clothes, loaded up with his cell phone, ID, driver's license, and water bottle, and he left the barracks for a run.

He could have run himself into exhaustion without leaving the post. It was a big area, with trails and roads everywhere. But he exited through the main gate and turned west. He noticed the gates for Fort Murphy National Cemetery, saw that some sort of ceremony was taking place near one of the memorials. He'd passed the cemetery plenty of times since coming home, but he'd kept his glances limited and his thoughts closed off. He didn't like cemeteries, had never set foot in one that hadn't left him feeling creeped out and or melancholy by the time he'd escaped. The history of cemeteries and their graves had never appealed to him; showing respect at gravesides had seemed an empty gesture. Even when he was a kid, the idea of spending time with the dead had freaked him out.

As he jogged on, resolutely keeping his vision focused on a sign two blocks ahead, he acknowledged that at some point he would have to go to the cemetery and pass through its gates. He would have to pass grave after grave filled with people just like him, only he'd been lucky enough to make it home, and then he would reach J'Myel's grave.

Calvin believed in ghosts. He'd seen too many to count. J'Myel's ghost had already eased into his mind around his own house, when he looked at the Ford house, when he found himself in places where they used to hang out together. He had no doubt J'Myel's spirit was inside that cemetery, passing time while Calvin gathered the courage to walk through the gates.

If he could talk, what would he say? Would it be the best bud who had promised Calvin their first day in-country that he had his back? Or would it be the J'Myel who'd held a grudge about something and blown it into a full-fledged life-changing incident?

Sweat was forming on Calvin's forehead, trickling down the side of his face, as he passed the last panel of black wrought iron fence that enclosed the cemetery. This was where the town began, with a storage unit, a gym, and a Starbucks. In the next small group of buildings were an insurance agency, an old-style barber shop, a tiny Mexican deli, and a tag agency. All things that helped to push the cemetery to the back of his mind, where it had stayed hidden so long.

His pace was steady, too fast for a jog, slower than a flat-out run, and his lungs were strong as he inhaled deeply. He'd always liked running and the freedom it represented, but he'd learned in the past few years that it could help ease the depression that gripped him too often. As long as his feet were moving, his heart was pounding, his breath pumping in and out, he could usually close his mind to everything else. And the good feeling lasted after the run. Not as long as he wished, but it was a start. Between exercise and the antidepressants he was taking, he was seeing fewer bad days. It was a gradual thing, but he'd take it any way he could get it.

He had no destination in mind this afternoon, just letting his feet guide him. He passed City Park, where the Sweet and Ford families—and later the Pickerings—attended spring and summer concerts and the Christmas lights-on celebration. There was the squat stone building that had housed their family doctor on one side, their dentist on the other. As much as Calvin hated cemeteries, J'Myel had hated the dentist's office.
It's the drills, man, they freak me out.
Calvin had smirked at him every time they went in for checkups, and J'Myel had returned the favor every time they'd had to accompany their parents to a funeral.

Across the street was the bank where they'd had their first savings accounts started with Christmas money they'd really wanted to spend instead, and on the next block was the convenience store where J'Myel convinced an older girl to buy them their first six-pack of beer. It had cost them twenty bucks and been crappy beer, but they'd thought they were cool.

You guys will regret this,
Bennie had taunted them, and she'd been right. She'd taken such pleasure the next morning in blasting the television, clattering and yelling, and otherwise making their hangovers intensify. J'Myel had sprawled on Mama Maudene's couch, one eye pried open, and groaned. “It's a good thing we're not taking her to the Army with us.”

Bennie in the Army. At the time, right out of high school, it would have horrified J'Myel, and Calvin wouldn't have been too thrilled about it. Now…she would probably thrive in it. She was smart, capable, and impossible to intimidate. She wouldn't take crap from anyone, she would look out for her fellow soldiers, and she was a motherly, healing sort.

There were a hell of a lot of soldiers who needed the motherly, healing sort.

He'd reached the official western edge of town: the city limits sign posted on either side of the street. Hands on his hips, he heaved a few deep breaths as he crossed the street, then started east again. This time he went two blocks north and made the return run on streets lined with trees, houses, signs of life. There was no order to the types of neighborhoods he passed through: A thousand-square-foot house stood next to one four times its size; old ones beside new ones; starter homes and fix-'er-uppers next to large, gracious beauties. There was one house, three stories tall, built by an early oilman of sandstone blocks, with a detached guest house, that filled an entire city block, fenced in with wrought iron.
One day I'm gonna dance in their ball room,
Bennie used to say.

Calvin made a mental note at dinner to ask her if she ever did.

He walked the last half mile home, working the kinks from muscles that had gotten overtired from the extra distance. As he stepped into the shower, an ice-cold bottle of water in hand, he did a mental evaluation. Tired, sure, but he'd done longer road marches plenty of times, complete with a fifty-pound ruck. Nothing was hurting, his head was clear, and the muscles in his gut weren't knotted. He wasn't grinding his teeth, his fists weren't clenched, or any of the other things he used to keep a tight grip on his stress. His mood was good, stable, even lighter than usual. He felt right.

He felt
all
right.

When he pulled into Mama's driveway, the screen door opened before he could shut off the engine, and Bennie came toward him. He got out of the car and circled to the other side, opening the passenger door, then focusing his gaze on her. She wore jeans that hugged her curves with a red, white, and blue sweater. Her hair was down, a million curls for a man to get his fingers wrapped up in, and she smelled incredible. Looked incredible. Probably tasted incred—

He gave himself a mental smack.

“Do I need to run back in and get something to cover that seat?” she asked, then ducked under his arm as he pushed the door all the way back. He'd folded and wrapped one of Elizabeth's quilts so it hid every bit of exposed foam. Bennie smiled, slid in, and rubbed her palm lightly over the fabric. “Good as new, huh?”

Calvin closed the door, got in his own side, and fastened his seat belt. “When did you get so finicky? You used to wade in mud, sleep on the ground, stick your hands underwater trying to noodle a catfish from its hole and then gut and clean it.”

“I grew up,” she teased. “I got a job where I didn't have to do any of that.”

“No, you have to deal with sick people, changing their beds, their diapers, their gowns.”

“There will come a time, Calvin,” she said breezily, “when you'll hurt yourself trying to outrun a bullet or you'll break your ankle while running or some idiot will blast through a red light and crash into your, uh”—she rolled her eyes—“vehicle, and you'll need nurses and aides and be so grateful they're there.”

“Oh, I'm grateful, all right. I just wouldn't want to do the job myself.”

After settling in, she rested her arm on the open window and smiled at him. “Where are we going?”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Doesn't matter to me. Pick whatever you've been missing.”

He considered all the hometown foods he hadn't yet sampled as he backed out of the driveway, then headed east. “How about Bad Hank's?”

“That's always a winner. Plus, they're giving free food to active duty and vets today. But didn't you have Bad Justice's barbecue for lunch?”

“There's no such thing as too much barbecue. Hot links, spicy bologna, ribs, and a baked potato, all slathered with Hank's Devil Sauce.” He made a smacking-good sound that earned him a chuckle.

About halfway there, she sighed softly. “Remember when our parents used to let us ride our bikes to Bad Hank's and bring home dinner?”

“Yeah, they made us take the back streets so the only busy streets we crossed were Main and First. At the stoplights, of course.”

“Where we got off our bikes and walked them across, of course.”

“Liar. The only time we actually did that was when J'Myel's mom tried to sneak after us about a block back in her car, but we saw her right away.”

The easy mood from their laughter lasted until they were parked in Bad Hank's lot. The sky was darkening quickly, the western horizon a dozen shades of pink, red, purple, and gold, and a chill tinged the air. Blues music drifted out the door, along with laughter and some amazing smells.

Calvin held the door for Bennie, and together they followed a waitress to a table in one corner. “There are no small tables in Bad Hank's,” Bennie remarked, and the waitress finished for her, “because there are no small appetites.” With a flash of white teeth, she went on, “What can I get you to drink?”

Bennie asked for tea. After a moment, Calvin ordered beer. Across the table, she remarked, “So you finally got over that bad experience with your first beer.”

“I was thinking about that today. Yeah, a good beer is a treat sometimes.”

She fiddled with the gold bracelet around her wrist, then reached up to lift a gold pendant from the rounded vee of her sweater and slid it along the chain. “How are you settling in? It's been…what? Three weeks?”

“Or so.” He shrugged, turning his chair so his back was to the wall, gazing out across the dining room.

“You want to trade places?”

The question made him blink. He'd thought he'd been smoother than that.

“I don't mind. I know a lot of people like to have their backs to the walls. Don't want anyone sneaking up on them.”

Be strong. Tell her, “Nah, no, thanks. I'm fine.”
But sitting at a right angle to the table made for difficulty eating and for looking at a beautiful woman who had the ability to make him feel hopeful. On top of that, he'd look like an idiot.

“Okay. If you don't mind.”

She picked up her purse and gave him a sly smile that completely altered the meaning of her response. “I never mind.”

Once they'd resettled, switched their drinks, and given their orders, Bennie rested both arms on the table, then leaned her cheek against her fist. “Can I ask you something?”

Her question could be totally innocuous, or it could be one of the big-deal ones that the shrink team always wanted to talk about. Muscles clenching in his gut, he shrugged, pretending he didn't care, wishing to hell he really didn't.
Just please, God, don't let it ruin the evening. Don't let
me
ruin it.

“What happened between you and J'Myel?”

 Bennie was so intent watching for the slightest sign of emotion to cross Calvin's face that she forgot to breathe, a shortcoming she realized as soon as she tried to take a drink and choked on her tea. Coughing and sputtering, she accepted the napkin he offered, patted her eyes dry, and muffled one last cough before laying it aside to watch him again.

There was plenty of emotion crossing his face—anger, regret, bitterness, defeat, failure, sorrow. She had never known any details about their falling-out, just that J'Myel slowly stopped mentioning Calvin in his phone calls and e-mails, and when Calvin did come up, J'Myel was abrupt, hostile even. At some point, everything he said became dismissive, scathing, or derisive, and after a while, it was as if Calvin had never existed.

Bennie had pushed for answers from J'Myel—getting married without Calvin there had seemed impossible—but she'd learned nothing.
Leave it alone,
he'd told her repeatedly.
It don't matter.
He
don't matter.

She had always thought that must have been her mother's attitude toward her and her father.
We didn't matter, either.
And it had never satisfied her need for a reason. Just one logical understandable reason.

Would Calvin tell her to leave it alone? Would he try to convince her that J'Myel didn't matter? She was wondering when suddenly he slipped from his upright, on-alert rabbit's posture, always ready to flee, and slumped back in his chair. “What did he tell you?”

She fiddled with the pendant she wore, a gold heart that J'Myel had given her right after they started dating. It had been surreal, finding herself intimate with her best bud, falling in love with the kid she'd played and run wild with practically her whole life. The necklace had helped make it more real.

“Nothing,” she said at last, “except that he didn't want me talking to you. I was engaged to him. I was supposed to support his decisions.” One of her few regrets about her relationship with J'Myel. She should have stood up to him, the way she'd always stood up to other people, grabbed him by the ear like Gran would have done, and had a come-to-Jesus meeting with him.

Instead, she'd let him dictate to her, and she'd lost one of her very best friends. It wasn't possible to have so many very best friends that you could throw one away without feeling the loss.