Something Like Family Read online

  “He said it was all moving too fast. He’s not even here, Rave. He left town with some friends—headed to the Keys for a few days, and I’m stuck with the bills. If I would have known he wasn’t going to hold up his end of the bargain, I’d have been more careful budgeting.”

  Rave stood and went into the kitchen. His eyes landed on the cookie jar on the counter. “How much would you need to get by?” Tuck had told him that if he needed cash, it was there. He could talk to Tuck when he got home, but right now, Ash and Daniel needed help. Tuck would understand. Rave could work off the money. He slid the large round jar closer and opened the lid, uncertain about what he’d find. Change, ones, a few fives and tens. When he reached in and pulled out the first wad of cash, he whistled. “Holy crap.” Fifties and hundreds. Lots and lots of them. Some wadded up, some wrapped, some in sealable bags and labeled with a hand scrawled amount.

  “Rave? What is it?” Ashley’s voice sharpened.

  “Nothing. You didn’t answer me, Ash. How much do you need to get by?”

  “Four hundred would cover rent and utilities. I was counting on Barry for five hundred so I could buy a bunch of groceries.”

  Tuck would never miss a few hundreds. There were dozens in the jar. But he didn’t plan on stealing the cash. “I can wire five hundred to you. No problem.”

  “Rave! How can you do that? Are you working there? Is your grandfather rich or something?”

  “No, he’s not rich, but he’s not poor, either. Look, it’s all good. I’ve got it handled. I can send the money in an hour. You’ll be able to pick it up at Walmart. I’ll call you later today and make sure you got it.”

  “Oh, actually, don’t call me until Monday. My sister is coming to town, and she’ll be here all weekend. I’ve really been neglecting family, so I promised her I’d give her my full attention.” There was a long pause. “Is that OK, Rave?”

  “Sure. Whatever you need. But Monday, I really want to talk to Daniel, all right?”

  “He’ll be looking forward to it all weekend.”

  So would Rave.

  1975

  There was a sadness in Millie—something Tuck understood. Though he didn’t know the origin of her pain, he commiserated with it. It reached out to him, intertwining with his own loss.

  They’d made their way to his uncle’s cabin in Barton, Tennessee, with little more than the music and the road noise to keep them company. At one point in the trip, she’d stretched out over the front seat and put her head in Tuck’s lap while he drove. There, she’d slept for an hour, the failing peace sign staring up at him and her long legs bent, knees against her chest.

  The cabin was in the middle of the woods, but in good repair, and Tuck wondered if Uncle Iven still used it for hunting or if he simply kept it up so it wouldn’t be absorbed by the forest.

  They’d stopped at the grocer’s and picked up a few staples because even people with no destination and no clues about the future got hungry and needed nourishment. Behind the cabin, a rock-bed river ran the length of this section of Iven’s property. It emptied into Lake Tears near the main house. This had always been Tuck’s favorite part of the land. He couldn’t explain why he hadn’t thought to come here before picking up Millie. But it was when she’d said, “I don’t care, just drive,” that the destination crystalized in his mind. Iven was gone for the summer. He always returned to England at this time of year to visit his mother and extended family.

  They cooked hot dogs on the open fire in the pit out back with the remnants of a picnic surrounding them. Millie watched him prepare a fishing pole while she broke off bites of the bun-encased hot dog and popped them into her mouth.

  “Ever fish?” he asked her when her gaze on him became intense.

  “Nope. Not in a hurry to learn, either. Seems like we should leave the poor fish alone. They aren’t harming anyone.”

  He chuckled. “In that case, we shouldn’t eat the hot dogs, either. Or the bologna we bought or the potatoes.”

  “The potatoes?”

  “Poor helpless vegetables. They don’t even have fins to swim away when a predator comes near.”

  “Fish predator. Maybe that’s what I’ll call you.”

  But when he glanced up to see if she was serious, she was grinning. Tuck lowered the fishing pole and moved to sit beside her. They were near the riverbank, and the cool water created a haze of fog on the ground. Instead of moving away, Millie moved closer, scooting her bottom until her hip was against his. Her head tipped back, and her eyes closed.

  Tuck’s chest tightened. She was beautiful. Her tanned throat elongated, her shoulders bare. Her profile stunning. Without realizing what he was doing, his fingertip came up and grazed the peace sign on her cheek.

  At his touch, her eyes flew open.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Just wondering what that’s about.”

  Her finger came up between them and touched the peeling face paint. “I was going to go to this rally about getting the last of our soldiers out of Vietnam. I never made it there because I found my boyfriend at my friend’s house.”

  “Do that a lot, do you? Go to rallies?”

  She shook her head. “My first. But we still have boys there. Seems like they should come home. Don’t you agree?”

  It’s not much better here, he wanted to tell her. Coming home was nothing like the grand stories he’d heard from Uncle Iven, a decorated veteran of World War II. Iven had returned to a parade and fanfare. He’d returned a hero.

  “Don’t you agree?” Millie repeated.

  Before them, the river splashed over smooth rocks, cutting its own path from the mountain above, where the water gathered and ran downhill. Tuck glanced at her. “What’s your favorite kind of cake?”

  She blinked twice and answered, “My mother makes the best red velvet cake on the planet.”

  “What would you say to your mother if she only baked it halfway, then pulled it out of the oven and expected you to eat it?”

  “I’d say it’s not done. All her hard work was for nothing. The cake’s ruined.”

  “Yeah. Anyone would say that, wouldn’t they?”

  Millie’s legs were stretched out in front of her. She crossed them at the ankle, bare feet grazing the grass at the riverbank. “Are you saying the soldiers should stay?”

  Tuck pulled a long breath. “I’m saying it’s madness to begin making a cake if you’re not going to finish it. Once you’re baking it, you should see it through.”

  “When did you return from Vietnam?” Her blue eyes filled with understanding.

  He hadn’t told her he was a soldier. He hadn’t planned to. “A few months back.”

  “I bet you’re sick of talking about being there, what it was really like.”

  No one asked. Even his family. They didn’t want to know what it was like because they’d all drawn their conclusions from photographs and newsprint of journalists trying to make a name for themselves—at the expense of the American soldier.

  “It wasn’t like in the pictures you see. We didn’t run around dragging people out of huts and killing men, women, and children.”

  “Then what was it like, Tuck?”

  Deep in her blue eyes, he found something he’d been missing for all the months he’d been home. Compassion. Tuck didn’t know what to do with that. He wasn’t certain how one was supposed to answer, so he opted for the truth. “Like any war, I guess. Lots of downtime, then a mission and walking along, and all of a sudden you’re in a gunfight. Not those big, epic battles like we had during World War Two. These were fast—you never knew where the enemy was or where they’d come from. All of a sudden, they’re shooting your guys and you’re firing back. And you can smell the spent bullets and blood, ammonia on the air, then it’s over. And quiet. Deathly quiet. I can’t explain it, really.”

  “Keep going,” Millie said, slipping her hand into his.

  “There were a few major battles we were involved in. I remember one specifically where we killed over a
hundred of the enemy. But the papers only told about the US losses. I guess you could say we were destined to lose that war whether we won or not. When we found out, we started to feel like America’s dirty little secret. Like somehow the nation blamed us for the war. We were just following orders. Drafted, so most of us hadn’t chosen to be there. When I got home, I felt the sting of how deeply our nation had wounded us.”

  “Did you like being a soldier?”

  “I liked the missions where we were sent out to accompany medical teams. We would go into villages and take care of ailments and injuries. I liked the days we spent painting and fixing schools.”

  Millie tilted her head. “I didn’t know you did those things.”

  “Yeah, that doesn’t make for great journalism. It was far more compelling to show a mutilated young Viet Cong soldier naked and laying in a ditch.”

  Millie nodded. “I guess it humanized the enemy.”

  “Yeah. And demonized us.” This was the most he’d talked about it in the time he’d been home. Already the world felt a little lighter. The weight he’d been carrying on his shoulders lifted as if perhaps it wouldn’t eventually flatten him.

  Millie placed her free hand on top of their interlocked fingers. “Was it hard to kill the enemy?”

  Tuck looked over the river and considered her question. They were brutal. A ruthless force. “We hardly ever shot first. Most times we were defending ourselves. And they were ghosts that came out of nowhere. Firing back was easy. But taking a life. Knowing you’d stopped someone’s heart from beating. Yeah, that was hard.”

  “Is that why you told me in the car you weren’t ready to go back? Did you mean go home?”

  “Yeah. The silence was eating me up inside. My mother looks at me with this mistrust in her eyes. Or maybe confusion, not knowing what I’ve done. I don’t understand why no one just asks me. I’d tell them the truth. But I don’t even know if they’d believe me.”

  Beyond the river, the sun was sinking behind a cluster of mountains, creating a rainbow sunset. “I believe you, Tuck.”

  The force of those four words hit him in the chest. He reached to her cheek and brushed his fingers along the peace sign.

  She chuckled. “Will you wash that off for me?” She moved onto her knees and scooted to the edge of the river.

  Tuck grabbed a checkered cloth they’d brought from the cabin and doused it. He lifted it to her cheek. Cold water ran in rivulets down her jaw and throat. The water was chilled from its mountain trek, but heat rose between their bodies. Millie kept her eyes shut while he washed, then doused the cloth again and again. Her cheek was red from the cold and the friction. But she looked beautiful, angelic even, her hands tucked between her knees while he cleaned her.

  There was not a trace of the paint left. “Good as new.”

  Millie opened her eyes but didn’t move away. He’d rolled onto his knees as well, and now they were face-to-face, his breath mingling with hers. She bit her lower lip. Before Tuck could think of all the reasons not to, he leaned in and kissed her, his lips finding the soft pink flesh of hers. The instant was an eternity. Lips and tongues mingled, then he leaned forward, causing her head to tip back. He eased her into a deeper kiss, delving, longing for more. It was fire and ice, mixing, cracking, exploding. It was warmth and shivers, it was perfection and weakness because he knew—he knew—that once he’d tasted Millie, he’d never be able to get enough.

  Tuck was ruined.

  Rave watched outside the front window, wondering what manner of conversation would have Tuck and Phil in such deep concentration. It was early afternoon, and Tuck and Phil had returned home from the doctor’s office, but no one had bothered to come inside. For several minutes they stood by Phil’s Lincoln. Finally, Tuck made his way to the front door. Bullet greeted him, but Tuck walked right past without acknowledging the dog. The long morning must have tired him out. Tuck didn’t seem himself.

  “I took money out of the cookie jar,” Rave confessed.

  “OK.” Tuck walked right by him and into the kitchen.

  Rave frowned and followed his grandfather. “I used it to send to Ashley. She was tight on cash.”

  Tuck stopped at the coffeepot. His hands were spread across the counter, and his head went down.

  Rave stood behind him. “I’ll work off the money.”

  Tuck stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t care about the money. I need to talk to you.”

  Rave lifted a hand to Tuck’s shoulder but stopped short. He wasn’t good at empathy when it was man to man. “Sure, Tuck.”

  Tuck turned and motioned for him to sit down. The kitchen chair scraped as he pulled it, the sound intensified by the tension-thick air.

  Rave leaned forward. “Like I said, I can work it off—”

  Tuck’s eyes reddened, and he seemed like he might explode, but it wasn’t exactly anger Rave was picking up on; it was something else, something almost hopeless about the angle of his head, the slant of his jaw. Tuck’s hands fisted on the table. “You need to forgive your mother, boy.”

  At first, Rave thought he must have heard wrong. They rarely spoke of Rave’s mother, and never in the same sentence with the word forgiveness.

  Tuck’s mouth pressed into a tight line. It looked like there were dozens more words vying to spew from between his lips, but he wouldn’t allow them. The battle was evident. His cheeks twitched, his eyes darted from one side of the kitchen to the other. “That’s all. You need to forgive her.” It was the shortened tone he used when calling Bullet.

  Rave bit back the anger rising from the basement of his heart. “Forgive her?” He had to repeat the words to make certain they were real. Air hissed from his nose. “I don’t forgive your daughter. She abandoned me. Do you know what that feels like, Tuck? To have the only person you’ve known your whole life wave good-bye to you? To not even have the decency to admit she wasn’t coming back?”

  Tuck slammed a fist on the table, causing Raven’s flesh to tighten. He didn’t react, though, but held his ground as solidly as Tuck. This was an impassable road, and one Tuck had no right veering down. “No matter what she’s done, you just have to. That’s it.”

  A humorless laugh escaped from Rave. “So, bringing me here, opening your home, was about forgiving her?” Rave leaned forward in his seat, eyes spitting fire. “She abandoned me. I was barely seventeen years old.” He wiped a sudden tear from his cheek.

  Tuck’s eye softened, if only for a moment. “But she—”

  “She was sick? She was an addict. Is that supposed to excuse what she did? She wasn’t an addict at the end. Mom was getting her life cleaned up. Drug-free for weeks.” Rave had to stop talking to breathe, or he’d explode. “She gave me just enough hope to nearly destroy me. So, no. I won’t forgive her. As long as I live.”

  Tuck stood. “You’ve got to let go of your anger toward her.” He paced the kitchen floor like a caged animal, like a criminal facing execution. He spun and pointed at Rave. “You’ll never be free to move on with your life until you forgive her.”

  Rave ran a hand through his hair. “Coming from the man with experience.”

  Tuck stopped his motion. “What does that mean?”

  Rave pointed to the bottle of whiskey on the counter. The only alcohol in the house, the booze that was only consumed on memorial night. “Tuck, I’ve watched you use the men in your unit as an excuse to not forgive.”

  Tuck took an angry step toward him. “They don’t need forgiveness. They gave everything.” His voice pitched up, a sign of losing control.

  “Not their forgiveness, Tuck. Your own.”

  Tuck’s eyes narrowed on him, red, angry.

  Rave should have known this was going to happen. For three weeks they’d been acting like a family. But all Tuck wanted was for Rave to forgive his mother. He hadn’t cared about Rave, hadn’t cared what Sharon had put him through. “Look, I’m not forgiving her. And you’re obviously not going to forgive yourself, so I think we’re done here.”


  Tuck crossed his arms over his chest. “I think we are.”

  “Bye, Tuck.”

  Rave spun and headed out of the kitchen. He grabbed his keys from the nail hanging by the front door and headed up to his room. He’d started thinking of it as his room. He should have known the rug would be snatched from under him. Isn’t that what always happened? People could not be trusted. You couldn’t count on them. Apparently he was dense to have to keep learning this lesson. He sat down on the edge of the bed. Everything but a few boxes of antiquated computer equipment was gone. Antiquated. Maybe that’s what he was.

  Maybe he’d been a fool for hoping that a life with a family was possible. But Tuck had broken through the outer casing that kept Rave’s heart safe. Just like Ashley had broken through. And Daniel.

  He grabbed the two trash bags he’d stored in the bottom of the closet. When Tuck had taken the bags to toss them, Rave had said, “I’ll do it.” But instead of throwing them away, he’d wadded them up and shoved them under a few pairs of jeans. Maybe he had known it would end this way. Maybe he’d always known.

  CHAPTER 7

  He’d been so unfair with the boy. Tuck wrung his hands and paced the back porch while the sun hung high above him. He’d watched clouds gather and come closer and closer to the mountaintops across the lake. But the sun burst through with blasts of color that spread from one side of the horizon to the other. Tuck and Rave had experienced their first squall. He blamed himself. He’d just been so filled with emotions earlier, feeling like a man who needed to set everything straight. If everything could be set straight in the course of one conversation, he’d have done it long ago. He was an old fool.

  Bullet had stayed near his side since the argument. Sick of stumbling over him, Tuck led him through the house to the front door because Bullet wouldn’t leave the back patio. With the door open, he waited for Bullet to go. But the dog stared up at him, blinking big black eyes, tongue hanging to one side. “Go on!” It was a gruff sound, one Tuck rarely used, reserved for those rare times when Bullet did something wrong. Instead of going out, the dog cowered. Tuck grabbed him by the scruff—Bullet let out a yelp that sounded like it was coming from a much smaller dog—and shoved him onto the front porch.