Joy and Tiers (6 page)

Heather was out here a couple weeks ago when we did the cake, but she didn’t go anywhere near the barn. So, I’m trying to figure out a way I can introduce her to the barn without it totally overwhelming her. At first, I thought she was embellishing her fear of horses for dramatic effect, to entertain Mindy. But I quickly found out the truth. Even talking about them makes her nervous. It just seems so opposite to her typical personality. In many ways, she’s the type of person who takes on any challenge with absolute fearlessness. I can’t even begin to fathom being afraid of horses. Being raised in Oklahoma, I was around horses before I could sit up on my own. I had Julia and Jacques shipped from Oklahoma after I returned from Iraq. I adopted Fannie Farmer from the Humane Society, and I can’t imagine my little herd without her. She was a senior citizen horse that they considered un-adoptable because someone had allowed her hoof infection to become so advanced, they didn’t think it would heal correctly. Fortunately, with a little tender loving care, she healed right up, and she’s my most gentle horse now.

So I’ve decided that we’re going to play some traditional yard games in the field outside of the barn. I know Heather has a competitive streak a mile wide; I figure if she’s playing a game, she may not notice how close the horses are to us. I thought we might play a rousing game of lawn bowling and croquet. Heather likes retro things, so I thought she might get a kick out of it. I hunted long and hard on eBay for an intact, authentic lawn bowling set.

I examine the food I picked up from the nearby specialty deli and hope it meets her expectations. I know she’s a phenomenal cook, but I know very little about her personal tastes in food. She is reluctant to eat in front of other people, so I don’t get a chance to check out her preferences much. I checked with Mindy, my secret source of information on all things Heather, but Mindy didn’t seem to know much either, except to say chocolate bars are always a good choice. 

At noon exactly, the doorbell rings and I’m presented with the gift that is Heather. Today, she’s exquisitely wrapped in a traditional red and white gingham shirt and overalls, with red Converse shoes. She even has little cowboy boot charms on the end of her shoelaces, and it’s hard to miss the fact that she’s brought one of her famous pies along. It’s impossible not to grin because her pies are legendary. In fact, Jeff and Kiera credit a peach pie, which she helped make, with bringing them back together after a disagreement.

When I take the pie from her, I notice she’s done some incredibly intricate latticework and placed a cool design around the crust. “This looks like a piece of art!” I exclaim. “Are you sure you want us to eat this?”

“Sure, why wouldn’t I?” she asks. “It’s only apple pie. I usually make apple cranberry, but I thought you might like a more traditional pie better.”

“Heather, our bet is only about pasta. You can feel free to make anything you want to. I like cranberries, but regular apple pie is amazing too. I’m not picky. I’m just happy to eat something that’s not in a box or from a takeout menu.”

Heather wilts a little. “Darn it, I knew I should’ve gone with the cranberries.”

“Gidget, honey, I’m blown away that you brought me anything at all. I don’t care if it’s got cranberries, apples, pumpkins or lemons. I’m gonna love it because you made it for me,” I insist.

“I get weird about this stuff, I guess. I want everything to be perfect,” she admits with a shy grin. “I drive Tara and Kiera crazy, always trying to fix recipes.”

“I can understand where you’re coming from. In my spare time while I was stationed overseas, I started making small jewelry boxes and clocks out of wood and antlers. I wanted to do it right, so I studied hundreds of woodworking sites online when I had access to computers in the barracks, and I downloaded books on it to my Kindle. It took me a long time to get up the courage to show anyone anything I had made. Even after people started telling me they loved it, I wondered if they were just telling me that because I was their commanding officer or their friend, or if really they liked it. I’ve been doing them for several years, and I even have a website now, but there are still days when I wonder if I am any good at it,” I confess.

“I know what you mean about the boundary between friends and constructive criticism. Fortunately for me, the Girlfriend Posse knows they can tell me anything without hurting my feelings. My family is a whole other story, of course. Can I see something you’ve made? I promise just to look and not say anything.”

“Since when have we ever kept our opinions to ourselves, Gidget?” I tease. “If we did, it would fundamentally alter the nature of our relationship. I like our relationship the way it is, so feel free to give me an ass-kicking if I need one. Consider this a people-pleasing-free-zone.”

Heather gives me a slightly menacing grin, “Just remember you said that. Someday, you may be sorry you ever uttered those words. I often have strong opinions that I don’t always share. My grandma taught me to be a nice Southern Belle, even if I had to bite my tongue in half to do so,” she explains.

“Southern grandma?” I ask. ”I thought your Nonna was Italian.”

“I had both,” Heather answers with a laugh. “Imagine how confused my childhood was. My dad was an East Coast Italian from New Jersey. He was one of the first in his family to go to college and he’s Mensa smart. So he got a scholarship to Harvard. Well, my mom is from North Carolina and was visiting one of her high school friends at Harvard. My dad apparently was quite a looker in his day, and my mom fell head over heels for him. Well, imagine my mother’s surprise, with her very cultured, North Carolinian debutante background, when she found out that the Harvard scholar she was in love with was from the projects in New Jersey. They stayed together, but they did everything in their power to reinvent themselves as a moneyed yuppie couple, with picture-perfect kids, and a manicured lawn. It was a mixed-up world to grow up in. I had grandparents who were very proud of their heritage, and parents who were running away from theirs just as fast as they could. I didn’t know where I fit into all of that. Added to all the confusion was the fact that I didn’t fit into the conformist family mold. It didn’t take much to get me labeled a complete rebel.”

After what I’ve seen in the military, the idea of Heather being in the role of the rebel is ludicrous to me, but I know family politics can be complicated. “How did you end up here in Oregon? It’s a long ways from Harvard Yard.”

“Yes, it is,” Heather agrees. “Kiera and I met when she came to Boston’s Children’s Hospital for an experimental treatment when she was younger. When I changed my major from business to culinary, I decided to follow her to Oregon. It took me a while to be brave enough to take the plunge as a chef. I tried more ‘respectable’ careers like nursing and teaching first, before finally deciding I could follow my passion without guilt. My dad held all the purse strings, and that made it difficult. Thank God for Kiera and Denny. They let me move in for free and fed me. Denny treated me like a daughter.”

“They’re good people. Jeff found himself a keeper when he found Kiera and her family.” I agree. 

“I think Kiera is pretty lucky to have found Jeff, too. How did you guys become friends?” Heather inquires.

“We met in college. He ran track, and I played football. Jeff was one of the few people who wasn’t okay with my ‘lifestyle choices’ and tried to steer me in the right direction. I was too damn stubborn to listen, but Jeff was decent enough to stick around while I collected the pieces of my life and started over in the military. He was there for me again when my life blew up a second time. I didn’t even need to ask him. He’s just that kind of guy,” I explain.

“It sounds like you’ve been through a lot. This time, I have all the time in the world to listen. It’s my turn to have broad shoulders,” Heather offers.

“I appreciate the offer, Gidget, but I’m not a touchy-feely kind of guy. I’ve had a lot of really crappy stuff happen to me along the way. Some of it I deserved, and some of it I didn’t,” I reply vaguely, feeling regretful about my inability to trust people. 

“I understand. You don’t have to tell me your entire life story, I just wish I knew a little of your back story so that I don’t step on any land mines,” she responds.

I raise an eyebrow. “You mean, for instance, land mines like … talking about land mines?”

Heather turns ghostly white and puts her hand over her mouth as she gasps, “Oh my God! I’m so sorry! Is that what happened to you--I mean, is that why you’re not a soldier anymore?”

I gather her hands up in mine, and I notice they’re cold. “Heather, take a deep breath. I was just flicking you crap. I’m fine, we can talk about it all you want. I want you to be comfortable with me. I’ll be happy to answer questions about whatever you want to know. Feel free to ask.”

Heather slumps down a little as she breathes out a sigh of relief “Oh, thank God! I was afraid my thoughtless remark might have caused you a great deal of pain. I would never want to do that.”

“Sometimes, I let my smart mouth run away from me. I didn’t mean to freak you out; I was only kidding. I do have some post-traumatic stress, according to the fine folks at the Veterans Administration, but I’m not so damaged that I can’t talk about it in general conversation. I’m still a soldier. I just serve in the National Guard now.”

 “Were you badly hurt?” Heather asks, concern evident on her face.

“I caught some shrapnel and was burned. I tore up my shoulder pretty bad and had to have a couple of surgeries to repair it, but the worst was the bell ringing I took to my head. The rehabilitation specialists say I may never fully recover from it. It’s a lovely stew of confusing side effects. Sometimes I can’t remember words I’ve known since I was in kindergarten, and other times I’ll find myself crying at stupid television commercials that aren’t even intended to be emotional. That’s probably the most frustrating thing of all because I was never ‘that guy’. Unless I was sloppy drunk, I was pretty much always in control of my emotions. Now, they can sneak up on me out of the blue. The worst thing is coping with the death of the other members of my unit. They were under my command, and I was responsible for them. They died because of decisions I made that day, and I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my life. I think that changed me probably more than anything else.” 

“I know that you laid your life on the line as a soldier, but it’s still on the line every day as a law enforcement officer,” Heather continues. “I think if I had gone through what you went through, I would be curled up in my bed like a pill bug and never want to leave it. The fact that you still go out and serve the people every day is astonishing to me, and I respect you so much for it.” 

I swallow hard and shift in my chair. I fight the urge to run from her gentle, well-meaning words as they continue to rain down. They’re meant to be as soothing as a summer rain, but they burn like acid. They make me flinch.

 “I’ve been told by other soldiers,” she continues gently. “There’s a cost of war and if you did your best, it’s part of the risk,” she goes on, with a look of sympathy in her eyes. “I’m sure they don’t blame you.”

I hate the pity. Everyone gets the same look. In the space of half a conversation, I’m suddenly half a man. If it’s bad for me, I can only imagine what it’s like for the driver of that convoy, Jason Fletcher. He came out of the ordeal as a double amputee. Trevor Black ended up maimed too.

“I wish it were that easy,” I answer in a harsh whisper. “You didn’t see those guys when they died. I held one kid, barely old enough to shave while he drew his last breath. Another guy in my unit was two frickin’ days from retirement. His daughter was going to have a baby. Their lives were lost because I trusted the wrong people. I can never take that back.”

“Did you make that decision all by yourself?” Heather asks softly. “I didn’t think the military worked that way. Don’t you decide things in duplicate and triplicate?”

“Well, yes; there is that. The Army specializes in redundancy. No, I didn’t make the decision alone. You can’t take a piss without paperwork. But that doesn’t change the fact that I was responsible for those men.”

Heather scoots back her chair, walks over to me, and gives me a gentle hug, resting her cheek against my shoulder. “I’m sorry you feel that way. It must be a terrible burden to carry. However, I know you to be a decent guy, and I’m sure you didn’t put your men in harm’s way on purpose. I’m sure they knew that too,” she murmurs, her words muffled by the corduroy fabric of my shirt.

“Thanks so much for saying that. It’s just something I need to work through.” I say, wrapping my arms around her and giving her a gentle hug.

“Are you ready for lunch?” I ask, more than ready to change the topic to happier things. “The guy at the Greek Deli said I bought the best stuff on his menu. I’m eager to see if you agree.”

“It looks phenomenal, and I’m eager to try it. How did you know that gyros are my favorite food?” she asks, as she opens each container to examine the contents.

“Honestly, I didn’t,” I admit. “It was just a lucky guess.”

“Well, you should go buy a lottery ticket because you were spot on.”