If You Believe in Me (5 page)

She narrowed her eyes at LaDonna, the flower and gift shop owner from across the street. She and her husband had passed Amber and Rina when they arrived. LaDonna had patted Amber sympathetically on the arm and told her she’d talked to Kale’s mother a couple of days ago, and how sorry she was about his death. She’d clutched her husband’s arm pretty damned tightly when she said it.

“Is that why they’re ganging up on me?” she said aloud, snapping her back straight and almost toppling off the stool. She caught herself and held up a reassuring hand. “I’m good, I’m good. But seriously, is that why? Because they’re trying to hide their own fears and securities?”

Rina laughed. “I think you mean insecurities, and I have no idea what train that thought traveled in on. But here’s your food. We can debate small-town philosophies tomorrow.”

Amber sprinkled salt on the cheesy patty and dug in. She probably nodded at Rina, because her cousin turned her attention to the trucker cap guy she’d blown off earlier and spelled something in the air with her finger.

Tomorrow might be worse, if she was hungover and depressed and the Relentless Relentertons kept on her. If Kale’s parents called from their cruise and sounded at peace despite deciding to grieve their only son. If that meant Amber was even more alone in the world than she thought she was. And it might be worse if tomorrow was the day the U.S. Government came clean about what they’d done to one of their best men. Or if Kale finally showed his face and it was full of regret and “I’m sorry but I found someone I like better.”

But tomorrow wasn’t here yet.

Chapter Five

Kale stared at the seemingly endless flight of aluminum steps leading to the fourth and smallest airplane he’d been on in the last twenty-four hours, and had the thought that it was always the simple things that were hardest to overcome.

He’d convinced the doctor to release him to finish his recovery at home, and negotiated with DiPaolo to allow him to handle his own travel arrangements instead of waiting for a medical transport that wasn’t scheduled for three more days.

It had started off fine. He’d heeded all the instructions to take it easy and used care getting on and off of two military transports and onto a major commercial flight. The problem came when that plane was grounded right before takeoff, and he’d had to rush all the way across the massive airport to his new plane. Running with the wound he had wasn’t smart in the first place, and dodging an oblivious toddler had been his final downfall. He’d tripped over someone’s carry-on, knocked into a recharging station, and gone down on one knee to avoid kicking an old lady’s walker out from under her.

He’d made the flight but spent half of it in the bathroom, trying to stop the blood that kept oozing out of his side.

Now he stood on the tarmac outside some rinky-dink municipal airport somewhere in the States. He couldn’t remember where he was. In the South, probably, since there was no snow and he was sweating his ass off. He had a vague awareness that it was mid-morning on Christmas Eve, with a three-hour flight to Boston and then a way-too-long drive to Hempfield still ahead of him. And he couldn’t even manage to get up a couple dozen steps.

“Can I take that for you, sir?” A flight attendant in a snug blue skirt put her hand on his rucksack. Kale tightened his grip on the strap. He hadn’t relinquished it to anyone the whole trip.

“No, thank you. I’m fine.” He braced his legs to keep from swaying backwards and proving himself a liar. The attendant smiled and reached for the ticket in his hand. Kale took a deep breath and grabbed the aluminum rail. The hot sun reflecting off it seared both his eyes and his hand, but he ignored the insignificant pain and let the attendant slide his ticket between the fingers folded over his bag’s strap.

“Your seat is in the rear of the plane, sir, right side, window.”

Of course it was. “Thank you.” Kale gritted his teeth and lifted his right leg. Salty sweat stung his eyes, but the real battle was fighting the hot poker stuck in his side. The left boot was easier. He pulled it up from the ground to the next step and pushed his weight upward. There. One down. All he needed was a rhythm. The attendant’s sympathy and concern saturated the air even more than the humidity did. Kale ignored it. When it turned to impatience halfway up the steps, he ignored that too. Eventually he made the doorway and unclenched his jaw to breathe in the blissfully cool air in the plane’s cabin.

The flight was packed. He stared at the empty seat waiting for him in the rear, but a sinking dread filled him the closer he got. That space wasn’t even big enough for his left nut. How the hell was he going to cram himself into it in this condition? He’d be lucky if he didn’t pass out before he sat down.

“Excuse, me, sir?”

A different attendant placed her hand on his arm. He turned and tried not to bark at her. “Yes?”

“One of the passengers up front has offered to switch seats with you. The bulkhead seat has extra space.” She held out her other hand and tugged his elbow back toward the front of the plane.

“Oh. Uh, thanks.” He swept his gaze around the plane but couldn’t spot the Good Samaritan. “Who is it?” He owed them a huge thank you.

“They prefer to remain anonymous.” She took his rucksack and, with surprisingly graceful strength, heaved it into the overhead compartment, which she then snapped closed. “There you go, sir.” She nodded at the empty seat. Kale eyed the passengers, every single one of whom was watching him, and nodded.

“Thanks,” he cast out at large. “I appreciate it.”

“No, thank
you
,” someone said, and applause swept through the cabin.

Kale smiled awkwardly and sat, his reaction more embarrassment than gratitude. If they knew the kinds of things he’d done in the last three years, few of them would applaud. They’d bought the line that every service member was committed to fighting for their freedom, and in so many ways they were. But the concept of dying by IED so those at home could buy giant SUVs and eat sugary breakfast cereal took it too far. They didn’t know him, didn’t know what he was capable of. Whether he was more worthy of a comfortable seat than the person who’d given it up.

Kale buckled his seatbelt, then sighed and closed his eyes, barely listening to the attendants’ hurried preflight instructions. Forget comparing his worth to that of a random, kind stranger. The real question was if he was worthy of Amber anymore.

He didn’t know. PTSD was almost a guarantee, though no one could predict how or when it would manifest. He’d saved a lot of money over the years, with no wife and kids to spend it on. His parents hadn’t needed help. So he could provide financially, at least until he got himself established in a new career. He had plans for that, too. He’d have purpose and goals, things essential to adapting to civilian life.

He wasn’t a statistic. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t add to them. Did Amber deserve that? Three years without him, much of that with no contact at all, and then suddenly she’d have to deal with his nightmares and flashbacks and bossiness.

He had to grin at that one. She definitely wouldn’t take orders from him. First things first, he told himself. Get home. Surprise her. Propose in front of half the town, so the people she did so much for could give her the cheer she deserved. Then deal with what happened next, and next, and next.

And in the meantime, try to kill the terror filling him, the likes of which he’d never felt in battle.

…

Amber stood at the refreshment table, pouring milk for a pair of tussling brothers, when the back of her neck prickled. She straightened and looked over her shoulder at the crowded main room of the rec center. Parents and volunteers bent over kids, helping with food and crafts. Glitter dusted every surface on the far side of the room. Overall, the commotion was controlled and positive. Normal.

So why did she keep getting this sense of being watched? Not a single pair of eyes was on her. Well, except for Rina’s. She’d been a bit hovery, unconvinced that Amber was okay after last night’s drinking binge.

She studied the crowd while she re-pinned the red and white hat on her head and tugged her too-short skirt a little lower. She’d either grown in all the wrong places, or was getting old. She didn’t remember feeling so exposed in past years. There was an extra elf costume, but the striped tights, tunic, and hat with pointy ears just felt wrong.
If I wear this costume all day without a wardrobe malfunction…

The sound of sleigh bells jingled over the loudspeaker, and the buzz in the room turned into excited expectation.

“Ho ho ho!” Santa strode out of the storeroom, arms wide, dragging a gigantic red and green velvet sack behind him. Amber frowned. Why was it on the floor instead of over his shoulder? Before she could do more than think the question, she was jostled by surging kids and jumped to get them organized in a line before they mobbed him. He boomed out a few more
hos
and settled his padded bulk onto the big wooden chair. The fluffy beard and wig hid almost every bit of his face, and the florescent lights reflected off the gold-rimmed glasses. No one here would be able to identify Danny, even knowing it was him under the padded costume.

His voice came over the loudspeaker now, the hearty, deep Santa version giving instructions on how the photos and gift giving were to work. That was new. Amber would have to praise his genius later, because the extra volume and reach gave authority to his words and made it easier for her and the three teenager elves to get everyone organized. Though why he announced that everyone should sit on his left knee, she had no idea.

She made sure Hannah knew how to handle the borrowed camera and printer and that Penny was ready with the candy canes. The next fifteen minutes were a whirlwind of asking kids what they were going to say to Santa, getting their whispered answers, and sending them over to him while she and Meredith found packages with the most appropriate gift for each one.

Amber was bent over the dais collecting a special present she’d set aside for one of the shelter kids when a premonition swept over her, so strong her vision went dark around the edges.
Kale
. She knew, just
knew
, that when she stood again, he’d be right there, watching her.

Her heart hammered when she slowly rose, but the space between her and the hallway entry was empty. The swinging door itself was closed, unmoving. She twisted to check the main entrance at the other end of the room. Nothing. Kids squealed and bounced as they opened presents, showing them to equally excited parents. Shreds of colorful paper littered the floor. But again, not a single person was looking at her.

She took a long, slow breath. Her fingers tightened around the package until the wrapping crinkled.
If it doesn’t tear before I pass it to Santa…

Santa’s waving hand bumped her hip. Without looking down, she placed the present into it and stood still, waiting for the waves of goosebumps to stop. She felt Kale so strongly. She would have bet her
life
that he was in this room. But no matter how she scoured, how hard she looked at every face, she couldn’t see anyone who could be him.

He’s dead
. She blinked back tears and told herself how ridiculous that was. But wasn’t that how it happened? A person would see a loved one, or hear their voice, or sense them nearby, and shortly after they found out that loved one had died around that exact moment.

She had to get out of here. But there was still a steady stream of kids, and this was just the first wave. After all the festivities for the town’s underprivileged, they had open Santa hours so people could get photos and kids could tell Santa what they hoped would be under the tree tomorrow morning. That part served as a fundraiser for the first part, and Amber had to be here for all of it.
If we don’t run out of photo paper halfway through the second wave…

Ten minutes later, it happened again. This time she could have sworn she smelled him. A hint of his warm, musky skin overlaid with the aftershave he’d worn the whole time she’d known him. A sob of hysteria nearly escaped her. Why was this happening? She needed to check her phone. It was in the storeroom, with her clothes, and she couldn’t leave. She spun to find her cousin and spotted her hurrying up the side of the room.

“What’s going on with you?” Rina whispered fiercely.

“I need my phone. Please. Back there.” She waved a finger at the dark room behind them. “In my tote bag.”

“Okay, fine. Calm down. I’ll be right back.”

But she didn’t come right back. Amber grew more agitated every minute, and was just about to rush back there herself when Rina hurried out, her eyes glistening.

“What? Oh my God, what did you see?” She snatched the phone away and handed off another kid to Santa, who grunted as if he was in pain.

If there are no calls, no e-mails, no tweets…
She thumbed it on and skimmed to the missed calls. Nothing.

“It’s okay,” Rina soothed. “There’s nothing on there. No texts or anything.”

Amber didn’t trust her. She checked the text section, her e-mail, and Twitter and Facebook no matter how ridiculous that was. Rina was right. There was nothing there.

She dialed her home number and lifted the phone to her ear. Meredith mouthed “stuffed giraffe” at her and she sat on the second step of the dais to find it while she listened to her home phone ring and ring. No messages there, either.

“See? Everything’s fine.” Rina took the phone and hurried away before Amber could confront her about the tension in her voice.

What the hell was going on?

…

Kale should have thought this through better.

He swallowed a moan as a kid who had to weigh a buck twenty thudded hard on his left leg. What was he, fifteen? This event had always been designated twelve and under. They were growing underprivileged kids big these days.

A half an hour ago, Kale had hidden in the dark storeroom, practically giddy with excitement that everything was coming together. The extra room in the plane had let him rest in relative comfort. He’d taken a pain pill and slept through the flight and taxiing to the gate at Boston Logan, only waking when the attendant had shaken him. The first rental car company he’d approached had a car available, and they’d given him a military discount. There’d been little traffic and no delays on his drive, and he’d arrived just before the rec center doors opened to let all the families in.

He still couldn’t believe he’d sneaked in unseen—not just into the rec center, but into town, even. He’d waited in the storeroom next to the Santa outfit, hoping like hell the person who came to put it on would go along with his plan. And lo and behold, it had been his good old friend Danny.

That’s when everything went to hell. Danny had walked in and closed the door, clicking on the light and reaching for the Santa suit at the same time.

“Hi,” Kale had said, standing well out of reach when Danny jumped. But Danny was no soldier. He jumped back instead of forward. Watching the stream of emotion across his face stripped Kale of any happiness he’d held onto.

Shock. Dawning understanding. Joy. All expected, all welcomed. But then despair so dark Kale had only seen it on the battlefield. Danny glanced over his shoulder, and Kale understood.

His old friend was in love with Amber. Maybe was
with
Amber. The pain of it almost sent Kale to his knees.

But then Danny hauled him into a hug, thumping him on the back. Laughing. Crying. Kale could hardly understand what the guy was saying through it all.

“Holy shit, man, she was right! I can’t believe it. You’re alive!”