A Scarred Soul: A Small Town Love Story (Safe Haven Book 2) (22 page)

When Adam finished, Mike went to the stage and explained the training program for the dogs and the type of things the dogs could do to help the veterans. Next, Dave and Cody received their graduation certificates to wild applause, and Lulah decided the crowd seemed warmed up enough. “We could skip my bit,” she whispered to Marlo.

“You’re going to be great. Go on, up you go, you’ll be fantastic, and, Lulah… I love you, brave girl.”

She pushed back her chair and headed for the steps. Her Everest. She paused at the bottom, trying to talk some strength into her numb legs. When she looked up Adam stood to the side of the podium. He gave her a wink and a grin and suddenly it was only him up there she had to reach.

Yeah, she could be brave, for Vince, for the program and all the warriors it would help. The feeling returned to her legs in a rush and she marched up the stairs, surprising herself at the way she managed her heels.

Adam leaned into her when she reached him. “Rocking those heels, Lulah,” he said, not far enough away from the microphone, so that the ripple of laughter told them everyone heard. He bent to give her a quick kiss on the cheek and said quietly in her ear, “It helps if you remember to breathe, and imagine the entire audience is naked. Now, go slay ‘em.”

He stayed with her to adjust the microphone and as he turned to leave she covered the mouthpiece. “I’ll kill you later.”

Beyond her flowed an ocean of bobbing heads. Imagining the audience naked hadn’t worked so she moved to Plan B where she pretended they only understood German, and she spoke English.
Here goes, Vince. You owe me.

“BREAK. Just a simple word on a piece of paper, all uppercase, in rude, what some might call ‘shouting’ letters, positioned above a hand-drawn illustration of a heart ripped to shreds.” She paused. Yup, it seemed as though they understood English after all because all eyes were focused on her.

“The note, the message, if that’s what you would call it, was weighted by a rock positioned at the door to my cabin. I found it today when I arrived there to share with Vince, a quick bite of lunch before we drove here to Seattle for this event tonight. That single-word note, the drama of its illustration, might seem melodramatic to some of you but I want to try and help you for a moment to understand the depths of pain and despair our military warriors with PTSD suffer.

“To explain briefly, ‘break’ is a code, a safeword if you like, that Vince uses when he needs to simply, as the word implies, take a break. If his break was a cup of coffee in a quiet corner somewhere, a retreat for an hour of peace, we would get that, wouldn’t we? But it involves removing himself from life until he feels able to manage again. When the war intrudes, pulling him down until he has plumbed that depth of despair, the weight of everything around him means that he is unable to resurface for a single breath to explain what is wrong.

“A year ago he would simply vanish.” She looked around, saw a couple of
yes, we know that kind of behavior, too
nods in the audience. “As you can imagine the vanishing thing is scary, so now we have that safeword for when life gets too hard, and it removes an element of the anxiety, for those who care about him, when he disappears.

“I’m going to tell you what pretty much amounts to Vince’s story tonight, not because it is unique, but because it is common. His name could easily be replaced by so many other women and men who have served our country. I’m not going to tell you what he experienced, what he saw, the things that damaged him, because he hasn’t shared that story, fully, with me, and in any case, it’s not my story to tell.

“Understand the last thing our vets want to do is burden us with their horror. So they keep it inside, making them feel unworthy for the mantle of a hero that is so often bestowed upon them when they return home. And it festers, eating into the soul, infecting soul wounds, intruding at all the wrong times: the anniversaries, a child’s school sports day, a family day at the fair, summer barbecue with friends. So frustrating for everyone, isn’t it, because these are moments that should be fun, and the warrior can’t hold his shit together and ends up spoiling it for everyone.

“He frightens the kids, disappoints his family, shocks the strangers and reaffirms that he no longer has a place with these people he knows that he loves, when he has such darkness inside. The only thing he wanted to do was protect them and now that he is home, all he does is harm.

“Much and all as we’d like them to, these men and women can’t simply ‘move on’ or ‘pull themselves together’. If it were that simple we know in our hearts, they would have done it. Unfortunately their pain doesn’t work like that. The best they can hope, for is to one day stop reliving their horror and start remembering.”

She paused for breath, looked at the audience and wished she hadn’t, because having that many focused on her was daunting.
Nearly there.

“Sadly, for so many of our warriors, the reliving doesn’t end until they commit that final, devastating act; the one the people left behind are quick to label as selfish, yet the warrior thinks of as selfless, because it’s the only way he or she knows how to save the people they love, from the pain they cause.

“Added to whatever burns them up, is the daily fear that someone will tell them to get over it. That next time their adrenaline over amps because somebody in the store drops something on the floor, or a car backfires, or a firework explodes, and they completely overreact—because that adrenaline has to burn off, somehow—never ask them if they’re going to blame the PTSD, again, for their anti-social behavior.

“I guess you’re wondering what the dogs have to do with this. How could a dog possibly help where the fine medical minds, and the researched and trialed pharmaceuticals, still on too many occasions, fail to work? Yet they do help to keep the warrior in the present. And if the warrior remains present, that means he’s not blocking himself off, avoiding being social, self-isolating.”

Except that is precisely what Vince is doing right now.

“The symptoms of Combat PTSD are varied. Nightmares, flashbacks, emotional numbing, hyper-vigilance, increased state of arousal, all the things Adam and Mike have spoken of. I expect you may be skeptical as to how much use a dog can be to a sufferer.

“A dog’s natural instinct, to protect and to serve, makes it an ideal partner for someone with PTSD. The service dog acts both as a buffer, a go-between if you like, between the warrior and the public, blocking unwanted people from intruding on personal space. They can safety-check rooms and buildings before a warrior enters. They do the same in supermarkets and stores by checking aisles. They bring their buddies out of nightmares, interrupt them when they are re-experiencing…all things that build a warrior’s confidence and enable them to engage with their world. In essence, the service dog is the warrior’s new battle buddy, because they’ve always got their back.”

Lulah looked across the room again, gathering strength by the quiet of the audience and the will of Marlo and Adam. Just the call to action left and she was done.

“The last item in the auction catalog is a full-sized carousel dog, made by Vince. It comes with the concept drawings which are as beautiful as the carving itself. The dog is modeled on Justice, a pit bull who is very special to all of us at Dog Haven Sanctuary.”

She had to pause now as her emotion was running like the bulls.

Seconds ago she’d been fine but all she could see now was Vince enjoying one of his rare moments of peace as he carved in her barn.

She looked towards Marlo, searching for that last slice of strength to move her along. And Marlo, no help at all, seemed to swipe at a tear as Adam reached around her shoulder.

Slow breaths…they all speak German.

She smiled, heard Vince say
you’re amazing, imp,
and every butterfly in her stomach settled, wings folded in their own sanctuary.

“Where was I…the dog is modeled on Justice who arrived at the Sanctuary with his own form of PTSD, and is now healing. Not better, because it never fully leaves them—animals or humans—but a fully functioning, happy companion. That’s all we can ask for our animals, and our people.

“For Vince, Justice represents hope, and as a way to thank the Sanctuary for training Calliope as his own service dog, giving Vince his own hope for a future, he carved Justice for this auction. The love that went into this work along with the peace and calm it brought Vince as he worked on it, are evident in the finished item. Please dig deep into your hearts when you bid tonight so that we can help bring some peace to our broken women and men, and the people who love them.”

The silence stretched on.

Should she say something else? Had she offended them? Hell, she still had to get off the stage and suddenly those steps looked impossible to manage. Maybe she could flee through a side exit? Then came the noises. If the silence had swamped her the applause almost knocked her down. Chairs scraped, people stood and there was one simple thing she wished for; that it could have been Vince up here, handsome in his own suit, making his own speech.

Now Adam was at her elbow, taking her to the side and as she turned she saw the auctioneer behind her. When he started to speak the applause quietened and Lulah’s last wish was that she could make it down the steps, back to her seat, without anyone noticing her damp cheeks.

“
I
can’t believe
some of the money these things are fetching. I hope they’re saving some money for Justice.”

Adam laughed. “Don’t you worry, this is chump change for some of the people here.”

Finally, there was the one item left. Justice had been carried in by two attendants and as they set the figure on the stage the lighting was adjusted so that the dog seemed to have a life of its own. When the auctioneer started the bidding at five thousand dollars, Lulah made huge eyes at Marlo.

“Vince is going to blow an artery when he hears about this.” In no time the bidding was up to thirty-five thousand. A brief pause at thirty-eight before it regained a life and took off to finally finish at forty-two thousand dollars. Lulah’s cheeks flushed pink with excitement. “That’s three dogs we can train. Damn, Vince, why isn’t he here to see this.”

B
ack in her
hotel room Lulah spread herself the full width of the obscenely enormous bed. The sheets were crisp, the bed meant for more than one. Sure, it had been an exciting night but now in the dark in a foreign place, all the insecurity she felt for Vince crept back. She missed him, missed sharing a bed with Joker and Calliope, and her wounded warrior. It had been months since she’d had to lie awake and wonder about Vince, if he was safe, physically and emotionally but here she was right back where they’d started. Except now it was worse because she’d deluded herself, ignored instincts and left her heart unprotected, vulnerable to another unreliable man.

From this moment on I will not allow him to get at me
. The vow to keep Vince at arm’s length, keep him as a friend was reaffirmed, her heart locked down. He’d been speaking of moving on. He seemed to have done that and she would move on as well. In truth she’d had plenty of practice, and now she seemed quite good at it.

“Goodnight, Vince. Keep him safe, Calliope,” she whispered into the dark room. Many floors below the city fed cars and people through its arteries of streets, and in spite of the luxury of her surroundings, tomorrow and her cabin couldn’t come soon enough.

I
t was still
dark when Calliope pulled him out of the nightmare. Vince had put his gear together so quickly when he’d left the barn that he’d forgotten his medication and, like some mean spirit that slips in while you’re not watching, the nightmares came knocking straight away.

He sat outside the tent waiting for the first bird to call, wondering about Doc, about his family. Soon he would have to hike down off the mountain and find out when and where Doc’s funeral would be held. He could go and stand in the background. At least they wouldn’t play Taps, would they?

Two days up in the mountains and he didn’t feel better. Now he knew that even though he thought he’d progressed, Doc’s death dragged him back to the days and mood of the other funerals.

At least Doc’s family wouldn’t expect anything from him. There wouldn’t be pleading eyes that begged for stories. Heartbroken families wanting to know what had happened, but also wanting you to tone it down, to make it palatable. And right behind that, the questioning eyes. Why our son, why not you? What makes you more deserving to live? What, indeed?

It was good to have a plan. He would go to Doc’s funeral before heading south. He had to stay away from Lulah. That was his worst mistake, thinking he could have a relationship with her. Falling in love with her, for God’s sake. That’s what he’d done. But everything he loved, every person he relied on, died on him.

He’d panicked when they’d called from Doc’s office to tell him Doc had suffered a heart attack while out on a morning run, dying later in the hospital. Someone spoke about rescheduling his appointments, but that was about the point he switched off his phone.

Doc couldn’t have been more than fifty-five. What was he doing dying like that, in America, out jogging? Safe, he should have been safe. Everything was so messed up, but he couldn’t live losing another person he cared about.

When the first glimpse of dawn cracked open the horizon, he packed his gear and, with Calliope, started the trek back to the pickup. The nearest town was about a forty-minute drive, and he really needed a restroom of some sort and somewhere to recharge his dead phone. The only creature enjoying the sojourn was Calliope, who turned out to be both an excellent and enthusiastic hiking companion. He hoped she’d be just as pleased about a road trip.

The camping ground at the base of the valley had shower facilities available, and the manager charged his phone for him while he cleaned himself up.

“Lot of people wanting to get hold of you there, son. Darn things chirping like a cage full of crickets ever since I plugged her in.”

“Thank you, sir.” Vince reached for the phone. He scrolled through the messages and missed calls, half of them from Lulah. He knew he was an asshole, leaving her like that, but a clean break was best. She’d understand that someday.

A few messages from Adam, and oh hell, Marlo, too…looks like everyone was trying to find him. They’d give up on him soon enough. He continued through the messages and in among the ones from Lulah in varying states of concern and annoyance was one from Butch. Adam probably notified him that Vince was missing.

It wasn’t until his phone beeped again, when he was having coffee, that he recalled Adam was going to talk to Butch about tracking down Lulah’s father. He scrolled through the messages and found the one from Butch. Sure enough, he had an address. It was too late, now. He shouldn’t be involving himself in Lulah’s business. He could ask Butch to forward the information to Lulah or Adam. By the bottom of his cup, he’d decided what to do.

A
dam entered
the office and swooped in on Marlo for a lengthy kiss.

“Hello, company.” Lulah waved from the sofa where she sat as part of the dog pile.

“Oh, sorry, Lulah. I didn’t see you all curled up in the corner there.”

“Yeah, because that would have slowed you down.”

He gestured to Marlo. “Look at her, can you blame me?”

Lulah shook her head. “Go for it, she’s not my type.”

“I have news of our missing man. Let me grab a coffee and I’ll tell you what I know.”

“Vince?” Dammit. All this time working on her self-control and at the first hint of news, out gushes his name like Old Faithful. So much for staying detached over this. The three days she’d spent stamping on any piece of anxiety or concern she had for Vince, trying to accelerate through the disappointment stage and get on with her life, had failed.

She spent as much time as she could, focused on the upcoming lab by doing prep work with Marlo, who had already gained a similar degree.

Back with his coffee, Adam perched on Marlo’s desk. “I had a call from the woman who runs Vince’s group therapy because, obviously, he’d missed this morning’s session, and they were concerned about him, given the bad news from last Friday. Turns out Vince’s doctor, psychiatrist, counselor, whatever he—”

“Doc. Vince calls him Doc.”

“Well, Doc had a heart attack out jogging last Wednesday night. He died at the hospital later that evening. They think Vince was told on Friday morning, which makes sense for the timing of his disappearance.”

“Hell, for Vince, that’s a disaster. He relies on Doc and has made so much progress with him. I mean, he’d really started to pull his life together.” She looked over at Marlo. “This is going to set him back. Right back.”

“Maybe not, Lulah. Maybe he has enough of a foundation now—”

“He doesn’t. I know that.”

“What can we do?”

“Nothing. He called a break and I have to honor that.”

“But we don’t have to.”

“I think you should. It’s important to Vince that his boundaries aren’t crossed. You push him and he shuts right down. He’ll go away, work through this and when he returns he’ll be fine, back to his old self.”

“You don’t believe that.”

Since Justice had moved from alongside her to one of the dog beds, she’d inspected the piping on the sofa cushion, and when Adam called her out like that, well, it made the piping so much more fascinating.

“Lulah?”

“Yes, Adam.”

“I said, you don’t believe that.”

“What choice do I have?”

“We could file a missing person report.”

“Please don’t, it would destroy Vince’s trust in us. I think we should let him be for a few more days. Anyway, with his skills he’d be hard to find if he didn’t want to be.”

“That’s true. I hope he comes back soon. There’s so much for him here. I’ve had four people and a gallery call so far, wanting to contact Vince. They all want carousel animals made and the kind of numbers they’re throwing around with regard to what they’ll pay means he could have a serious career out of this.”

“Really? That’s great.”

“Add that the media are in touch regularly, wanting to do all kinds of stories that will probably elicit more work for Vince and publicity for the service dog project, means the auction was a success in more ways than we ever thought it would be.”

“Yeah, the timing sucks.” She pushed to her feet. “Gotta leave you guys, I’m running late for the VA home visits and Joker’s still down at HQ schmoozing a scared little dog.”

The message on her phone came as she climbed the steps to the home.

It was good to hear from him but she wasn’t certain how to respond.

Don’t get sucked into it. There were so many things she wanted to say. The urge to phone him back was overwhelming but he probably wouldn’t pick up. She sighed.

Miss you, too, buddy, but I’ll recover. Finally she sent a
take care
, added a smiley face, plastered a smile on her own face, and opened the door to the home.