Bring Me Home for Christmas (3 page)

“It’s not your job to keep me safe, Denny. And where will you be, if I’m in your place?”

“With the slob.”

Contents

Two

When Becca was a nineteen-year-old college student at the University of Southern California, she began dating Denny, a Marine. He was at Camp Pendleton with her brother at the time. For a few blissful months, they saw each other every time Becca came home from USC for a weekend. She fell in love with him immediately. She spent the summer at home and every time Denny could get away from the base, they went to the beach and surfed or played volleyball, hiked into the mountains or biked along the coast, spending every possible minute together.

Rich and Denny went to Iraq together for a year and her emails to Denny were long, gushy and frequent—several a day. Her care packages were stuffed with lovingly collected treats. Then he came home from Iraq, exited the Corps, and for almost a year, life was heaven. When Becca was home from USC, they were inseparable. They had so much fun together. They could laugh for hours; they could make love for hours. They talked about getting married after Becca graduated with her teaching degree.

Then things got crazy. Denny’s mom, Sue, who had been battling breast cancer for years, became very sick, very suddenly. At least Denny was home with her through her final battle. He was there for her when she died and Becca did everything she could think of to show her support, though because she was at school most of the time, she was limited to weekend visits and daily phone calls.

But Denny shut down. He grew distant, detached. Instead of leaning on her and accepting her comfort, he reenlisted in the Marine Corps without saying a word to her, knowing he’d be sent back to the war. And sure enough, he got orders for Afghanistan almost right away. Before he deployed, he said, “It’s a hard world, Becca, and I don’t want to worry about how you’ll get by if something happens to me. Until I can get back home and get my head straight, let’s just take a breather. We’ll take another look at this in a year or so….”

“Are you crazy?” she asked him, choking on her tears. “Don’t you know how much I love you?”

“Yes,” he said. “And it’s kind of heavy on me right now.”

“But we’ve been together three years. We talked about getting married!”

“Yeah, I shouldn’t have gotten so far ahead of myself,” he said. “Go on, get to know other guys. Have a good time. You deserve it.”

So he left—left the country and the relationship. She reached out a couple of times through Rich, whose friendship apparently wasn’t too heavy for Denny, since they kept in touch. But Denny didn’t respond to her.

It was a painful, lonely year. She’d never forget those late nights of sitting up until two, three, four in the morning to watch news coverage of the war because Afghanistan was twelve hours ahead of L.A. She didn’t know a person could cry so much.

She lost weight and there were dark circles under her eyes. She had no sense of humor and grew more lethargic by the day. Her grades dropped significantly, though she hung on so she could graduate. Her mother was beside herself with worry, and with anger toward Denny.

The painful truth was that Becca’s life had been pretty easy until then, when she lost the man she’d thought was the love of her life. It was a horrible experience. If they’d been in touch so she could occasionally have that reassurance that he was all right, that he loved her, she would have gotten through it much better.

By the time Becca learned that Denny was safely returned to the U.S., she was a newly minted second-grade teacher, and she’d managed to do a lot of thinking. The way he’d acted was irrational; she’d expected their relationship to be a team effort, a true partnership in which he could count on her in hard times and she could count on him.

She heard through Rich that Denny finished his two-year commitment at Camp Lejeune, but even though he was stateside again, he didn’t get in touch with her. During that time, Becca came to some conclusions about the kind of relationship she needed. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get to share her thoughts with Denny, but in fact she did. When Denny exited the Corps for the second time. Rich gave him the address for Becca’s apartment and he went to see her.

“Okay,” he said, “it was a stupid move, breaking up with you. But I was all torn up over my mom’s death. If you’re game, I’d like to try again.”

“Game?” she repeated, stunned. Outraged. He’d dumped her and ignored her for two painful years and that’s how he came back around? “Game?”

“Look, Becca, I can admit to being screwed up, all right?”

“There’s no question about that, Denny,” she said. “I’m teaching school now, you know. Second grade. Seven-year-olds. I love them—they’re precious. One of my kids has Tourette’s syndrome and some days are real hard for him. One of my little girls is recovering from six months of chemo after being diagnosed with leukemia. If we try again, fall in love again, get married and have a family, and one of our kids gets sick, will you bail? Will it be too heavy for you?”

“I admit, I was wrong…”

“Will you be wrong again? Leave to deal with whatever heartache it is alone? Leave me behind while you try to figure out your head?”

“I hope not,” he had said.

She lifted her chin, blinked away her tears and said, “I haven’t heard from you in two years. I have a guy in my life now who isn’t going to bolt on me if times get hard.”

“Really?” he asked. “Rich didn’t say anything…”

“Rich hasn’t met him yet. I’ll probably be engaged in a year. I guess that means I’m not game. You might have to come up with something more compelling if you want a second chance.”

She had been vindicated by the expression of shock and disbelief on his face. Did he really think he could screw up that bad, walk back into her life with some lame apology and wipe out the pain and loneliness she’d suffered for two whole years?

He did. He said, “Well, I really blew that one. I’m sorry, Becca. I’m an idiot and I’m sorry.”

And then he had left. Again. Left her, left San Diego. Rich said he’d gone to some little town in Northern California in search of his biological father and a new beginning.

She had lied about the other guy, about the imminent engagement, out of hurt and anger. So Becca, who hadn’t been dating because she’d been grieving, said yes to a date with a guy she met on the beach—Doug Carey, down from UCLA Law School. And what she found was a guy who wasn’t very complicated. He had a list of commendable qualities—brains, education, money, confidence and looks. The thought of being with him forever should have lit up Becca’s world. Her mother, Beverly, was thrilled.

But it was as if Denny had left a hole in her heart. She knew she should dive at the chance to marry Doug, but instead, it scared her to death. She needed to get over that if she was ever to be happy again.

Now here they were, Denny and Becca, both twenty-five, six years older than the day they met. The past few years had been really rough. Then Rich started talking about a guys’ hunting trip with Denny coming up, and she began to wonder—is this a chance to face him and figure out why I can’t let go?

Then she was suddenly jobless. Doug was tied up at UCLA with finals and study and was flying home for a quick Thanksgiving with his family. He had invited her along, but her mind was made up—she wanted to go hunting with Rich. She didn’t exactly lie to her mother, but she did say “Don’t worry about me for Thanksgiving. Doug invited me to Cape Cod with him.” So her parents had planned a last-minute trip to Cabo, since their kids would be away. Becca went to a sportsman’s store for clothes and gear, packed a big suitcase, showed up on Rich’s doorstep in the predawn and insisted on going along. Once and for all, I’m confronting this!

And here she and Denny stood, on the porch at Jack’s Bar, staring each other down. Trying to get a grip on this strange reunion.

“We’re going to have to go back in there, have a drink and some laughs, eat Preacher’s dinner,” Denny said to her. “We’re going to have to call a truce. Let bygones be bygones. Whatever.”

“Fine,” she said. “I’m not the one acting like there’s a problem.”

“You took me by surprise,” he said. “I shouldn’t have been so rude. Sorry. But it was a guys’ trip and you are definitely not a guy.”

Well. At least he noticed that. Because she was noticing him—that square, unshaven jaw, crazy hair that looked so thick it should probably be thinned, dark brown eyes, wide shoulders. The way his jeans fit over his narrow hips and long legs. It made her feel warm. Note to self, remember this reaction. There’s no logical reason for this, but it’s still happening. I feel him all over me. Damn it all.

“I kind of insisted, and Rich thought it would be okay, if I wasn’t any trouble. I can hold my own in outdoor sports.”

“You pressured him,” Denny said.

“I’m the oldest—he can’t say no to me. I told him I really wanted a break and that I’d fit in fine.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Is this how you call a truce? By needling me and trying to make me feel like I’m invading your territory? The other guys seem to be okay with it.”

“Look, Becca, we should have talked first, all right? Obviously there are some hard feelings between us.”

She stuffed her hands back in her pockets. “Well, I was the one who got dumped and I’m not holding a grudge.”

“I said I was sorry and you dumped me right back. You have to admit, I apologized.”

She smirked and shook her head sadly. “That you did. That you did.”

“What else could I have done?”

“Well, I wonder,” she said. “Did it ever occur to you that you might have to do more than apologize? You could’ve tried twice, I guess. Or, hey—maybe even three times. You could’ve sent flowers or something. You could’ve tried to get the point across that you really were sorry and that you weren’t out of your mind anymore. But you were on the next train out of San Diego. Now, I’m cold. I’m going back in by the fire. I’m going to drink my wine, have a good meal, laugh with my new friends. If you want to be miserable, have at it. I really couldn’t care less.” She turned and went back into the bar.

And Denny thought, I could have changed everything with flowers?

They had a little camaraderie over dinner; some reminiscing among the guys, some jokes. The subject of Denny and Becca was strictly avoided. Denny was just a little more quiet than usual, but no one seemed to notice. Probably because Becca was adorable, funny and just slightly flirtatious.

Denny wanted to shake her.

No one was more relieved than Denny when it was time for everyone to say good-night and retire to their respective rooms. This event was not shaping up the way he expected.

Troy and Dirk went off to their cabin by the river and Denny and Rich went with Becca down the street to Denny’s efficiency over the Fitchs’ garage. “I’ll show Becca the room and pack a few things,” Denny said. “I can give her my keys and leave her my truck just in case, but she won’t need it.”

“Sure,” Rich said. “I’ll wait here. But let’s move it, huh? I’ve been up since before four….”

“Five minutes,” he said, heading inside.

Becca was already halfway up the stairs, struggling with a very large suitcase. He took the stairs two at a time and said, “I’ll get that.”

“No, please. I insist on pulling my own weight.”

“Come on, gimme,” he said, grabbing the suitcase out of her hand.

He nearly toppled down the stairs. It weighed a ton. “Jesus,” he swore. “What have you got in this thing?”

“Clothes. Warm clothes. A couple of jackets. Boots.”

“And bricks?”

“I was doing fine,” she said. “Let me have it.”

“No, I’ve got it,” he insisted. He winced as he hefted it, but he was not about to pull it up on its wheels, one step at a time, as she had been doing.

She skipped up the stairs ahead of him, getting out of his way, and waited at the top. “Thank you, Denny,” she said. “Very thoughtful.”

He opened the door.

“Oh.” She laughed. “I was waiting for you to unlock it.”

“Hardly anything is locked around here.” He flipped on the light just inside the door and dropped her bag.

Denny went to the trunk at the foot of his bed and pulled out a military duffel. He went to the bathroom and got his shaving kit. While he was in there, he pulled out a clean towel for Becca, tossing his towel from the morning into the hamper. When he came out of the bathroom, she was standing in the middle of the room, checking it out. “There are clean sheets under the sink in the bathroom,” he said.

She looked around the room with interest. “This is very…cute.”

The bedspread was floral, the upholstery on the chair and ottoman was striped with some birds on it, the curtains yellow-and-white striped. The walls were yellow with white trim. “Mrs. Fitch decorated this room. She offered to butch it up a little but I told her not to bother. I’ve been looking around for something a little more…permanent. Larger.”

“Permanent?” she asked.

“That’s right,” he said, opening the chest of drawers to find his thermal underwear. It was going to be cold, wet and miserable at 4:00 a.m.

“Rich said you were planning to stay here awhile.”

“A long while,” he said. “I like it here.” He shoved the shaving kit, underwear, jeans and sweat shirt into the bag.

“You’re not coming back to San Diego?” she asked.

He gave a shrug. “What for?” he asked.

“Won’t you miss it? The sunshine and beach and wonderful weather?”

The look that came into his eyes was unmistakably sad. “There’s a lot about San Diego I’ll miss, Becca. But not the beach or the weather.” He hefted the bag over one shoulder and grabbed the twelve-gauge shotgun that leaned up against the wall.

“Really, Denny? You’d never come back?”

“What would I go back to San Diego for? We’re meeting at 4:00 a.m. at the bar tomorrow, Becca. Don’t make us wait for you. Dress in camouflage. You brought camouflage, right?”

“Right,” she said.

“See you in the morning,” he said, going out the door.

“Whew,” she said when the door closed. This was a bad idea. He hates me! Her next thought was, If I hadn’t come up here, I’d never have seen him again!