Page 4 of A Veteran's Desire

I pick a picture off the floor and shake the broken glass out of it. A woman with gray hair and a mischievous smile rolls out pastry on the large kitchen counter in the farm kitchen. I’m the ten-year-old girl standing on a stool next to her. My brow is furrowed in concentration as I push the rolling pin, Granny’s hands covering mine. Granny is glancing up at whoever is taking the picture, but I’m too busy concentrating on the pastry.

It’s my favorite picture, and as I shake the glass out, the sides of the picture curl with water damage that seeps into the photo, destroying the image.

“Damn this storm.”

I hold the ruined photo to my chest as if I can press it into my heart and preserve it there. But it’s gone. Granny’s hands over mine, the flour, the frown of my ten-year-old face dissolving into a gray smear.

It’s stupid to cry over a photo. I’ve still got the memory. But that’s the trouble with this wall, with this entire family; everything I love has a way of dissolving. Mom and Dad, then Granny. The farm, acre by acre. I learned young that the harder you grip onto a thing, the more it hurts when it’s taken from you.

So I stopped gripping. I keep my head down and my ovens hot and my cafe open to this town. I look after everyone else in the family, because if I’m the one holding the family together, I never have to be the one left behind.

I set the photo on the counter face up and reach for the next one.

“Your shadow’s here.” Rachel comes in from outside. “He’s talking with Owen by the clock tower, but he’ll be down here in a minute, I guarantee it.”

She has a ghost of a smile, and it’s no use pretending I don’t know who she’s talking about. Grant, the silent veteran who likes to linger in the cafe when I’m working.

“He’ll be here to clean up the town, not to see me.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Sure. And he only comes here for the coffee.”

I shake my head and try to hide my smile. Grant showed up in town three months ago. I couldn’t help but notice him. Who wouldn’t? He’s broad-shouldered with a thick chest and arms that could hold a girl safely all night. Not that I’ll ever get the chance to find out. He’s been hanging around for three months, and if he was interested he would have noticed my hints and asked me out already. Maybe it is just the cupcakes and coffee he comes in for.

2

GRANT

Acommunity shows its true colors after a natural disaster, and Hope is no exception. As I drive into town, the streets are alive with residents picking up debris, sweeping the road, and checking in on their neighbors.

I come to the intersection of Sycamore and Farrell Streets, and Owen’s sheriff’s car is parked sideways across the road to block access. A young officer is directing traffic away from the main street.

As I drive slowly past, I peer down the main street. It’s a hell of a mess. The ancient sycamore trees in the center of the road have been battered. Branches scatter the street, making it unsafe for any vehicle to drive down.

I park on a side street and jog back to the main street. Someone’s set up a trestle table with a portable grill and is serving hot dogs and fresh coffee to the volunteers. The smell of grilled sausages makes my stomach rumble. I can’t remember the last time I ate. I’ve been up since five helping bring stranded people down the mountain, including my buddy Jace and Kayla, although based on the knowing looks they were giving each other, I suspect they would have happily stayed in that secluded hut another night.

I wolf down the hot dog then grab one for Owen, as well as the young officer who’s directing traffic.

Owen’s speaking to two teenage girls who have come out to help. He directs them to a stack of trash bags and a box of latex gloves.

I’ve never seen the acting sheriff anything but smartly put together and well dressed. But today a button is undone, his shirt is untucked on one side, and there’s dark stubble on his usually clean-shaven jaw. I double back and grab him a strong coffee and another hot dog. He needs it.

Someone’s brought a chainsaw, and they’re chopping one of the large fallen branches into manageable pieces. As I get closer, I recognize Sam, another veteran I’ve gotten to know, and give him a wave.

Shop owners are assessing damage to their stores, and as I move down the street, I take a mental inventory of damage. The Joe’s Hardware store sign has almost come down, a branch narrowly missed the window of The Mountain Loaf, and a pile of debris blocks the door of Babyland. It’s close to a storm drain that must have overflowed and dumped the debris it picked up right on their doorstep.

None of the damage to the businesses looks too bad, until I reach Sweet & Strong.

Broken glass spews out from the shop window onto the sidewalk. The sign has come down and lies face down and bent out of shape, and inside there’s damage to the photo wall where the wind and rain must have come in through the broken window.

Something glitters against the asphalt, and I crouch down on the road in front of the shop. In the post-storm sunlight, tiny fragments of glass glitter in the road in front of the cafe.

I peer up at the cafe window and the wide sidewalk between it and the road. It’s strange that a window blown out by a stormcould send shards of glass all the way across the sidewalk and onto the road.

I glance around and among the rubble of fallen branches and litter. There’s a rock. It looks weighty, not something easily moved around by wind and rain. It could have come from the water feature opposite the clock tower at the top of the street.

Kayla and Jace turn up holding hands and looking smug. I guess they worked through whatever was holding them back. While Kayla begins to sweep up debris, Jace comes over to where I am, crouched by the rock.

“What is it?” Jace peers down at me, scanning the road.