Justifying Jack (The Wounded Warriors Book 2) (4 page)

Jack chuckled. “I'm a pretty big baby, Mom.”

She giggled in respond as he washed down his mouthful of spiced peaches with a gulp of sweet, milky coffee. “Did you have fun with your friends tonight?”

“I did,” he replied. “It was nice to see Sam again.”

“I remember the time I met Sam. He seemed like a wild stallion, just waiting for the chance to run free. He still like that?”

Jack considered and, following his mother's metaphor, he remarked, “Now he's more like a skittish colt, ready to go bucking and jumping in all directions, uncertain and sort of… afraid. I think he might be a bit shell-shocked.” He paused a moment before added, “Sam brought his girlfriend last night. I guess they've known each other a long time, grew up together on the ranch. She seems nice and… I don't know, they seemed…
good
together, I guess.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” Shonda said, smiling sincerely. “What's her name?”

“Amy,” he answered and then he grew more pensive. “Of course, even Amy's presence couldn't curb the tension between Sam and Ray. Those two set off sparks in each other like never before. Of course, we all understand why, but…”

“Why's that, son?” Shonda wondered, which reminded Jack she didn't know everything that had transpired in Afghanistan.
There are so many things you don't know and yet, I naturally assume you do. I need to be more mindful.

“Well, at first, it was the cliché of a pampered rich kid verses the underdog, climbing from the streets of poverty, but then…” the dark mood which cast shadows across his face made his mother shiver involuntarily. “Sam blames Ray for Jorge's death.”

“Marithé's Jorge?” Shonda looked surprised. Jack nodded, prompting his mother to ask, “Why?”

Jack took a deep breath, contemplating his response. “Well, maybe 'blame' isn't the right word. See, Jorge and Sam were in the Air Force together.”

“Oh, right,” Shonda interjected, adding to the conversation. “I remember now. I recall how surprised I was to hear you had been assigned Airmen under your command.”

“Yeah, they were the two-man team attached to our squad, backfilling our numbers. Anyway, when the building we were in was hit,” he took a sip from his coffee mug, trying to regain his composure before he continued, hoping not to worry his mother with his discomfort. “When we were hit, Jorge was fatally injured.”

“You were there? You were with Jorge when he died?” Shonda gasped.

“Sort of,” Jack confirmed his mother's suspicions. “Radar – ah, Asa – was ahead of Mike, Sam, and me, preparing to exit the building with Jorge and Ray when the mortar struck. Asa… he, ah, he died immediately, but Jorge… Well, he wasn't leaving with us.”

“Oh, honey,” Shonda dabbed tears from her eyes. “I didn't realize.”

“Ray was hurt from the explosion that killed Asa and Jorge, but not as badly.”

“He was blessed, like you,” Shonda sounded thankful.
I wish I could believe that.

“Yeah, well, Radar – I mean Asa, sorry. I keep forgetting you don't know him by his nickname – he was, ah, in the lead and his body… it sort of… blocked the other two, protecting them from the brunt of the explosion.”

Shonda covered her mouth, stifling her reaction, trying to hide her grief and horror.

“Of course, Jorge was close behind him, followed by Ray. Sam, Mike, and I were further back in the house and when we realized what had happened, Sam really struggled with it. When he had to leave Jorge behind and carry Ray out, well… Let's just say, it was really hard for all of us, but for Sam most of all.”

“I'd say for Marithé most of all,” Shonda commented in a shaky voice, filled with emotion, her eyes slightly swollen from the retention of tears.

Jack felt his cheeks heat. “You're right, of course.”

“I know I am,” she replied, sniffling. “You boys are all in the habit of thinking mostly about yourselves and each other. Don't forget you all have families at home, worrying about you. We all know, when you leave for war, you'll return changed. The only question remains, how will you be changed? Shell shocked, like Sam; injured, like you,” she eyed his leg with a hint of regret pinching her expression, “or in a box, like poor Jorge and Asa. We don't know until the call comes, and you soldiers never give us a second thought.”

“Mom…” Jack started.

“No, listen,” she interrupted. “You all write letters or send videos, you might Skype, and sometimes you can even call, but do you really think about what it's like for those of us left behind? Do you realize what we battle with
every
day, knowing our loved ones are in harm's way?”

“Mom, I…” he began, but he fell silent, hushed by his mother's tear-streaked face.

“Think about it now, son. Think about Marithé, struggling to care for two little babies, with no training, no backup plan. She put her life on hold for her husband's military career, and this was the result.”

“Yeah, but she knew what she was signing on for – we all did,” Jack tried to explain the hurt away, knowing it was no use.
She's right, but we have to choose to overlook their sacrifices so we can perform our duties, without distractions or second-guessing.

“Do you think she realized she'd be the mistress while the military was the wife?” Shonda demanded. “I mean, don't get me wrong, we're proud of our soldiers – men and women both – but that just complicates our emotions.”

“What do you mean?” he asked the question before he knew if he really wanted to know the answer.

Shonda regarded her son patiently. “Military spouses serve the military just as much as the soldiers they're married to do. They constantly struggle, torn between knowing how important the mission is and praying the reasons for a defense system were non-existent. Furthermore, that battle is almost always faced alone. They raise their families like single parents, yearning for their partners, but always holding their feelings in check so their warriors don't have more stress in their already difficult lives.”

“Did you…
Do
you wish I… hadn't gone?” Jack asked, knowing his mom was talking about so much more than her widowed associate.

“Well, if I'm honest, I have to admit a part of me does wish you never left,” she confessed. “Still, there's a greater part of me that's damned proud of you.” She smiled, the effect odd compared to her anguished appearance. “My son, the veteran… No, we always knew you would choose the Army. It was all you knew. I mean, we raised you to be a soldier, after all.”

Jack nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I guess that's true.”

“But, honey,” Shonda leaned in towards Jack. “You need to acknowledge the key word in what I just said – 'we' – because, when it came to you, I was never in this alone. You're always so quick to take offense to your father, but that's because you've never taken time to consider how difficult this has been for him. He's prayed and agonized… worried about you from the day you signed up. He was angry you didn't go to college and hurt when you didn't enlist as an officer because he thought you might be safer that way. He blamed himself… for your military mind, your stubborn defiance, and your need to get away so quickly.”

Jack's dessert suddenly tasted like ashes. “I'm sorry,” he said softly. “I didn't think of it that way.”

“I know,” she said. “And your father knows too, though he can't articulate it, but that's why I told you. You've always been so busy trying to prove you were your own man that you couldn't see your father for the man he was, or is. Don't continue to make the same mistakes, honey. It's his worry that makes him seem harsh, knowing he can't protect you, having to let you go, trusting in God to see you through. You know it's because he loves you that he's hard on you.”

Jack closed his eyes and really thought about what his mother had said.
She's right.
“Okay, I'll try… to be patient, to understand more.”

“Good boy. I knew you would,” she told him, patting his hand, rising to retrieve a tissue to blow her nose. “Now then, enough of this gloomy stuff, eh?”

Jack nodded, feeling remorse and melancholy. “Yeah.”

“So, Sam has a steady girl, does he?” Shonda asked, returning to her seat. “How about you, son, has anyone caught your eye?”

Caught like a bass on a hook.
“Not really. Besides, with this gimp leg of mine, who'd bother?”

“You know,” she said, the pontificating look back in her eye, “in some ways, your injury will be a blessing to you.”

Jack's dark eyebrows drew together. “What? I got half my thigh blown off. What the hell kind of blessing is that?”

“Watch your mouth,” Shonda scolded in a mild tone, “or I'll replace your coffee creamer with soap.”
Oh, I remember that all too well.
“What I mean is, only shallow girls would be put off by something silly like that.”

“Okay.” Jack replied, sounding unconvinced, still missing the point his mother was trying to convey.

Shonda shook her head indulgently. “You men are all the same, needing things pointed out for you. Honey, you'll have less fluff to wade through to find the right woman now. You're handsome and intelligent. The women will line up down the block just to talk to you. Now they will all be quality girls for you to choose from.”

Though Jack grinned, he felt dull.
Mom, you don't know the half of it.
Internally, his mind repeated the negative litany he found impossible to dispel.
No woman in her right mind would put up with what's wrong with me.

* * *

When Shonda decided to retire to bed, the throbbing pulse of Jack's damaged thigh caused him too much pain for sleep. Using the cup of sweet, milky coffee warming his hands as an excuse to remained reclined at the dinner table, he'd bid his mother goodnight. His aching leg propped on the kitchen chair beside him, he hoped to reduce the intense pressure with the elevation as he took a sip and closed his eyes, savoring the rich complexity of flavors.
Such simple things can bring such great pleasures.

A soft 'clack' of slippers on the linoleum brought Jack back to reality. He opened his eyes to watch the approaching figure. The dark form grew in clarity the closer it came to the light flooding through the doorway.

“Hi, Dad, how's it going?” he asked, trying to be nice.

“Well enough, I suppose,” Malcom grumbled. “Say, where were you this evening? Sundays are always busy at the church and I could've used your help with some preparations.”

“I went to see my buddies, remember?” Jack said. “You took the message even.”

“Oh, right. I guess I forgot. How did it go?” Malcom asked, seeming genuinely curious.

Though Jack didn't exactly appreciate the quizzing, expecting his father's judgment and condescension, Malcolm seemed more conversational, so Jack decided to go with it.
Don't be sensitive, man. People talk about their day and I guess we are now, too. Huh, this should be interesting.

“It was fine. We went to Dave & Buster's and shot some pool. Ray was a bit of a smart mouth, but he always is. I'll be glad when he ships out to Europe.”
Even an ocean away is too close for me.

“You don't sound like you like the guy,” Malcolm noted.

“Yeah, but we have history, you know? Sam can be rather… sarcastic too, but he's a bit better. His new girlfriend seems to be having a positive influence on him too, so that's cool.”

His father regarded him in askance. “Tell me again why you wanted to meet up with these, so called
friends,
of yours?”

Jack chuckled and sipped his coffee. “Aw, they're a bit crude and uncouth, but they're alright. They really had my back when I needed it. Besides, Mike's like the brother I never had, never mind he's a skinny white kid with red hair and ugly glasses.”

Malcom made a disgusted noise, drawing Jack's attention back to him. The older man's mouth was set in a grim line, his molars grinding, his eyes narrowed.

“What?” Jack demanded.
What did I say now?

“I suppose you were drinking,” Malcom assumed with a disapproving glance.

“I had a beer,” Jack responded tersely. “
One
beer, Dad and I ate a whole bunch of nachos with it. I didn't even get a buzz. Why, something wrong with that?”
I wasn't drunk when I got home and I'm not drunk now.

“Are you sure it's safe to mix alcohol with your medications?” Malcom pressed.

Jack sighed.
Does he think I'm an idiot?
“I skipped my meds to be sure there wouldn't be an interaction. I know better than that.”

“Hmmm,” Malcom rumbled, eyeing his son with a sour look. “You skipped your medication?”

“Yeah, I did,” Jack felt exhausted.
I'm not in the mood for his shit.
“My medication is 'as needed' and I checked with the doctor when he prescribed it to me.”

His father arched his brow skeptically. “Really?”

“Really,” he answered flatly.

“Well then,” Malcolm didn't seem convinced, but he apparently opted for a new bone to pick. “Are you sure it's a good idea to drink coffee at this hour? If I did, I'd never be able to sleep. Of course, with all the stuff you put in there, there probably isn't much room left for caffeine anyway.”

Jack had heard enough.
This has to stop. I can't do this crap anymore.
With icy, respectful calm, he intoned, “That's enough, Dad. You've made your opinion abundantly clear, about how I take my coffee and pretty much everything else, and I don't want to hear anymore.” He paused as Malcom stared, mouth agape, eyes bugging out. Jack continued undisturbed. “Don't you think I've proven myself man enough by going to war and getting half my leg blown off?”

“Jack, I…” Malcom seemed lost and a little hurt.

Jack ignored his pang of guilt, determined to close the discussion on the irrelevant things his dad liked to nit-pick about. “Listen, I'd be more inclined to take your advice if you would save it for things that really mattered. If I put sugar in my coffee or ketchup on my eggs, what's it to you, really? It doesn't affect you or anyone else, so just knock it off, okay?”

Malcom took a deep breath and drew himself up to his full height. His mouth opened and closed in silence several times. Then, without a word, he turned and left the kitchen. Jack listened to the clatter of his father's feet as he made his way back to his bedroom. Sighing wearily, he dragged a hand across his face.
That's been a long time coming, but damn, what a drag. I hope he takes a moment out from being angry in order to think about what I said, especially since I wasn't rude, only honest.