Something Like Family Page 7

  “Rave, why are you calling?”

  He closed his eyes. She didn’t sound mad, just uncertain. “Are you in your favorite sleep shirt?”

  A long, surrendering sigh came through the phone line, so close he could almost feel her breath. “You shouldn’t be calling.” But there was no conviction in her words. He’d caught her in a weakened state, fresh out of sleep.

  “Dark-pink fuzzy socks? And a full glass of water sitting on your nightstand.”

  She giggled but stifled it. “I dreamed about you last night.”

  Those words caused Rave’s throat to close. “I dream about you every night, Ash. I miss you.”

  I miss you, too. He willed the words from her lips, but she only sighed again.

  Rave cleared his throat. “How are things with Barry?”

  A long pause. That was a good sign. “He’s talking about moving in here.”

  A poker stabbed Rave’s heart. “That’s kind of fast, isn’t it?”

  “It’s not like we just met. We dated before. Plus, his dad is going to turn over one of the car lots to Barry, the little one on Main Street. He just bought it. Anyway, it’s just logistically easier if he lives here.”

  Rave bit his tongue until it bled. “How is he with Daniel?”

  Another long pause had Rave’s heart pounding.

  “He doesn’t really know him yet. And Daniel doesn’t help matters by constantly saying, ‘That’s not how Rave does it.’ I swear, Rave, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were coaching my son how to get rid of Barry.”

  The smile that spread across Rave’s face calmed his aching nerves. He doesn’t belong there. I do. Don’t blame Daniel for understanding that.

  The sheets hummed as Ashley moved around. “Barry’s father really likes us. Barry said that was good. Once the car lot is turned over, his dad is going to help us buy a house.”

  The thought sat in Rave’s stomach like a rock. “Ash, I know the future was scary. But are you sure this is the right—”

  She cut him off. “The right thing? I don’t know, Rave. How does anyone know if they’re doing the right thing? What I do know is that near the end of every week I have to add water to the gallon of milk in the fridge so Daniel can have cereal. I count out hot dogs and days till my next paycheck. I’m being offered a chance, a real chance. How can I not take it?”

  “Do you love him, Ash?” It was a simple question.

  “I’ll love not having to wonder if we’ll have gas money. I’ll love being able to buy Daniel new school clothes. You should be happy for Daniel.”

  A rustling sound came over the line. “Mommy, who’s on the phone?”

  Rave closed his eyes. Hearing Daniel’s soft morning voice—even from so far away—shredded his heart.

  “Go watch TV, Daniel, I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  “Do we have Pop-Tarts?” His sweet little Muppet voice. Rave pressed the phone harder to his ear, hoping to capture—to remember—every word.

  “Yes, I’ll make you some in a minute.”

  “’Kay, Mommy.” Rave heard little feet shuffling, growing farther and farther away.

  “Let me talk to him.” It was a desperate plea.

  “No, Rave,” she hissed. “Barry’s coming over to get us in an hour. The last thing I need is Daniel ratting me out.”

  “Ash, listen . . .” Think fast. “I can tell him to give Barry a chance. Tell him not to keep talking about me.”

  “Why would you do that?” Suspicion laced her words.

  His hand fisted over his chest. “Because I love you, Ash. And I want you to be happy.”

  Time seemed to stop. There was no noise on the other end of the line. Rave wondered if he’d gone too far until he heard Ashley call Daniel to the phone.

  Rave stood up on the porch, nervous energy driving him out of his seat. He waited.

  “Rave?” Little-boy excitement crackled through the line.

  “Hey, buddy. I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too, Rave. When are you coming home? Will you be back in a jiffy?”

  Rave glanced into the house. There at the table, Tuck was setting out breakfast plates. They’d already filled up on pie. “That’s just it, Rock Star. I’ve got to stay here.”

  “Forever?” His small voice dropped.

  “For a while. I want you to do me a favor. But first, I have a question for you about Mommy’s new friend. Daniel, is he nice to you?”

  “He’s OK. He doesn’t yell or anything, and he bought me a new Ninja bicycle. How’d he know that was the one I wanted for almost forever?”

  Rave bit down hard. “He did that, huh?”

  “It was here when I woke up one morning.”

  Rave squeezed his eyes shut. “Daniel, as long as he’s good to you, it’s better not to talk about me.”

  “What if he stops being good to me?”

  Rave opened his mouth, and the words left before he could stop them. “If that ever happens, you tell him I’m your guardian angel. You tell him I’m always watching, and if he ever hurts you, I’ll hunt him down and—”

  That’s when Ashley grabbed the phone. She put her palm over the receiver, but Rave could still hear a muffled request for Daniel to go watch cartoons. “Good job, Rave. I should have known you’d try to sabotage us.”

  “You told him the bike was from Barry.” How could she have done that? He knew Ashley was trying to build a future with the guy, but to sell out Rave to Daniel in the process . . . it just wasn’t right.

  “I had no choice,” she huffed. “You’re already one cloud lower than Jesus himself in Daniel’s eyes. Did you really think I’d give Daniel more reason to go on about how you walk on water?”

  Loyalty was something Daniel understood. His mom could learn from him. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t want Daniel to think he walked on water, but he did want him to know Rave would always be there for him. Always.

  “I have to go.”

  “Bye, Ash. I love you.” The phone clicked so quickly, Rave was certain she hadn’t heard.

  CHAPTER 5

  Rave came down the stairs a few minutes before eight o’clock Saturday evening. Tuck had told him the memorial began at eight, and if Tuck’s demeanor was any indication of the seriousness of the occasion, he’d best be on time.

  Most of the lamps were off except in the dining room, where the light from overhead spilled onto the table. There, Tuck was setting out multiple shot glasses. “Need a hand?” Rave asked, less because he thought Tuck needed one and more because he was hoping Tuck would explain. A bottle of whiskey sat in the center of the table.

  “Nope,” Tuck answered as he unscrewed the top of the bottle.

  “Are we expecting company?” Rave glanced through the darkened house. “I can turn on the porch light.”

  Tuck motioned for him to sit on a chair he’d pulled up to the table. He also noticed there was no shot glass in front of his chair. Or Tuck’s, for that matter.

  “Company’s already here.” Tuck used an open palm to gesture toward the table. “Boys, meet Rave. Rave, meet the boys.”

  Alarm slid down Rave’s spine.

  Tuck laughed. “Ah, don’t be looking at me like I lost my marbles. Sit down, son. It’ll make sense soon enough.”

  Rave did as instructed, the quiet of the house surrounding him. Tuck sat as well and moved the bottle of whiskey until it touched the first shot glass. He poured to the rim as he said, “In honor of you, Private First Class Sam Louden, in memory of your heroic acts during the Vietnam War.”

  Rave swallowed hard but opted to breathe shallow, for it seemed that even a deep intake of air would disrupt the ghosts in the room.

  Tuck’s face glowed in the single light, the brackets framing his eyes, deep caverns of memory. “Sam was from Kentucky. He loved football, farming, and a girl named Bella Reece. He always said she was too good for him, but a finer soldier you’d never hope to meet. You saved my bacon one night, didn’t you, Sam? We were both laid up in a
MASH unit, and some VC crazy snuck past the guards. I woke up to find a knife to my throat. You knocked that guy in the head with a bedpan, of all things. A bedpan saved my life.” Tuck chuckled, his eyes far away and glistening with nostalgia.

  Rave knew the night would be a long one. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to see Tuck so vulnerable. And that’s how he looked to Rave—vulnerable, breakable, easy to fell. The masks Tuck usually wore—so readily worn by so many people, especially men—fell away as he spoke, half the time to a man who wasn’t there and half the time in memory of his fallen friend. Each new story made Rave feel a little more exposed, as if in sharing the memories, he’d somehow become a part of them. He didn’t want to hear how these men had suffered. How they’d died. Because to know meant a certain amount of responsibility.

  Tuck continued. “I was with you the day you died. The sun rose like any other day, the heat scorched our heads, and we worked our way through that steam room of a jungle. We’d gotten bad intel. Just recon, they’d told us. The enemy camp was supposed to be empty. You’d taken point. I remember the look you gave me, right before swinging your rifle around and starting off ahead of the rest of us. I’ll never forget that look, Sam. It was like you knew. It was like you knew you were going to die. Do you remember that moment?”

  Rave forced his eyes closed for a few seconds.

  “You looked up at the sky and said, ‘One day we’ll all go home.’ That’s what you told me. Bullets started flying not two minutes later. I tried to get to you, Sam. I belly-crawled over half the field, but they kept pushing us back. When I finally got to you, you were gone. Flat on your back and staring up at that same sky. We carried you out. Took turns because the landing zone was a couple clicks away. All the way back to the chopper, I heard you saying over and over in my head, ‘One day we’ll all go home.’”

  Tuck reached over and took the full shot glass. He raised it high. “Rest, my friend. You are not forgotten.” Tuck downed the drink and replaced the glass. He turned to the next seat. “Corporal Manny Hernandez. Manny was from New York, and what we didn’t know about big-city living, he happily shared with all us yokels.”

  Tuck went on talking until late in the night. Rave sat quietly. There were no words that could be spoken without interrupting something he didn’t even feel like he should be watching. There had been five full glasses. By the time Tuck had drank the last one, his speech was slurred and his eyes glassy. When Tuck stood and stumbled, Rave caught him. Bullet, who’d remained faithfully at Tuck’s feet, moved out of their way. “Let me help you get to bed,” Rave told Tuck. How Tuck could even have the energy to stand up was astounding after all the memories he’d relived in the last few hours.

  Tuck slung his arm over Rave’s shoulder. “You’re a good boy.”

  Rave grinned. “You’re a really good old man.” He meant it. What kind of man put himself through that kind of torture for the sake of remembering friends?

  “Do you know what REST means?” Tuck’s voice was low.

  “Nope.”

  “It’s an acrorym—acrome—no wait, it’s an acronym.”

  Rave flipped on lights as they made their way up the stairs and down the long hall to Tuck’s bedroom.

  “It means Remember Every Soldier Today. REST.”

  Rave deposited Tuck on the bed.

  Tuck leaned up as Rave unlaced his grandfather’s boots. “That’s what we do at the memorial. We remember every soldier.”

  “It’s a nice tribute, Tuck.” And something he did twice a month. Rave was exhausted just experiencing this once. No way could he do this again in two weeks.

  “They were my men.” A distinct hint of responsibility rang in those words. “Even though they’re gone, they’re still my boys. I’m still watching over them.”

  Rave sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled the covers over his grandfather. “And who watches over you, Tuck?”

  Tuck pulled at the blankets until they were under his chin. He blinked once, but it looked like a struggle to coax his lids to reopen. “Millie does.”

  When Rave heard the deep-chested rumble of sleep, he stood. “Now I do, too,” he whispered too quietly for Tuck to hear. Still, he couldn’t explain the smile that appeared on Tuck’s face after the words drifted from his mouth and landed like butterflies after a storm.

  Bullet sat outside Tuck’s door. Rave motioned to the dog. “Come on, let’s clean up.”

  Rave was quiet as he worked the next morning. The memorial weighed heavily on his mind. Last night, he’d watched a man empty out the contents of his heart. He’d heard stories that rocked him, stripped him to his core, and left him both sad and confused about Tuck’s incredible young men and what they’d accomplished in their duty to their country. Many of them would have been younger than Rave was right now. Death, he supposed, didn’t take age into account when doling out its offerings.

  He figured Tuck would sleep it off for the better part of the day. Instead, Rave had found him in the kitchen making coffee. Tuck silently drank a cup while staring into the deep unknown of the kitchen wall. The air around them still felt electric with the raw emotion of the previous night. Every time Rave opened his mouth to speak, the words stalled. He decided to change the tone of the day. He was curious about the girl he’d met in town, so he turned the conversation to Rebecca and asked Tuck about her. He learned that she helped Trini—who was practically family to Rebecca—on Sunday afternoons. That was a morsel of information he couldn’t ignore.

  As late morning shifted to early afternoon, Rave gave Tuck space. He supposed the older man wasn’t accustomed to having a visitor there for the memorial. But it had been Tuck who’d insisted. Still, the runaway emotions must be raw. All Rave’s sufferings paled when compared to what Tuck had experienced in the war.

  For three hours, Rave worked to organize the next bedroom. Though a daybed took up one corner, the sewing table and other items along the far wall suggested that the room had once been used by Millie. And yet, it was the bedroom across the hall that stayed locked. Rave was careful as he chose items for the next swap meet even though Tuck had given him the go-ahead to clear the room. Anything that seemed of a personal nature, he left alone. He didn’t touch the closet, which still had hand-decorated sweaters folded on the shelf and pairs of tennis shoes on the floor. They must belong to Millie, his grandmother. It still felt surreal to Rave that he had grandparents, even if Millie was gone. She’d lived, and the evidence of her life surrounded him. At one moment, he’d reached into the closet and lifted one of the sweaters to his nose. It smelled like rose water and wet newspapers. Faint, but unmistakably a personal scent that must be his grandmother’s. Eyes closed, he imagined her. A face decayed by years; thin, soft hair; a grandma pooch of a stomach.

  Rave closed the closet door, leaving Millie inside. One day, he’d ask Tuck about her. But not today. There were enough ghosts in the house after the memorial.

  He’d worked up a sweat cleaning, so Rave showered, used some Aqua Velva, because that’s what Tuck had in the medicine cabinet, and changed into clean jeans and a white T-shirt. He had a plan. With the cleaned pie pan on his passenger seat, Rave drove his car over to Trini’s house.

  His palms grew sweaty as soon as he knocked on Trini’s front door. He heard movement inside, and when the door swung open, he found himself smiling.

  Rebecca had a bandana wrapped around her forehead, and there was sweat on her brow and a mop in her free hand. It was a moment before she said, “City boy.”

  His brow went up, and he fought the urge to look down at her tan legs beneath the jeans shorts she wore. “Redneck girl.”

  A smile almost formed on her face. “Are you here for Trini?”

  Not really. “Yeah,” he lied. “Returning the pie pan. And wondering if her pasture was OK after Friday night.”

  Rebecca cocked her head and rested her palm on the top of the mop. “What happened Friday night?”

  He motioned behind him. “Some pe
ople were out here partying.”

  Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “Again?” A bevy of emotions ran over her features, turning her green eyes to angry emeralds. There was a smattering of freckles across her tanned nose and cheeks, like spilled salt on a table—no real pattern but an undeniable design.

  He nodded, content to stand there and watch the play of reactions on her face. It was entertaining, no doubt. When she spun away from him and propped her mop on the doorjamb, he glanced over her legs. Nice. Tan. Long.

  She twisted her feet into a nearby pair of tennis shoes that had once been white but were stained a dingy shade of gray. Her butt wiggled back and forth, and Rave enjoyed the display while she wrestled the shoes onto her feet. She yelled, “Be right back, Trini.”

  There was a grunt from somewhere deep in the house.

  She barreled past him out the front door. When he didn’t follow, she turned. “Are you comin’?”

  Maybe Rave had missed part of the conversation. She hadn’t said anything, right? Or had she, and he’d been distracted watching her rear end shift from side to side, the muscles in her upper thighs flexing and—“Where are we going?”

  She stopped at the base of the steps. “To check the pasture. Why you came, remember?”

  “Yeah.” He set the pie pan on the porch swing by the front door and followed her.

  They started down the path where Tuck had driven three nights before. It was easy to see the way in the daylight, unlike the nighttime twists and turns they’d taken on Friday.

  Rebecca ran a hand over the tops of the tall grass as they walked. “Why hadn’t you visited Tuck before?”

  The trees quivered with a soft breeze that caused the grass blades to whistle. “I didn’t know about him.”

  Rebecca stopped and turned to look at Rave, her eyes catching fire from the sun above. “You didn’t know you had a grandfather? How does that happen?”

  “My mom told me all our relatives were dead.”

  Rebecca sucked in a breath. “Why would she do that?”

  Rave rolled his shoulder. “She had a lot of problems.”