Swallow the Moon (16 page)

"You want to sit at a table?" Eric asked her when she stopped moving.

"Sure." June let him lead her to a table. "Is there a quiet corner somewhere?"

"Not tonight," Eric quipped. "But we can get a table off to the side."

"What's up, Eric?" The waitress was dressed in jeans and burgundy tee shirt that proclaimed "Iroquois Security" in white. "What can I get for you?"

"I'll take a draft beer." Eric grinned at the waitress as he leaned back and crossed his legs.

"The same." June looked down at her hands.

"Be right back with two drafts." The waitress threaded her way through the crowd, taking orders as she went.

"How do you know her?" June asked. The guy at the door had let her in for free and now the waitress called Eric by name.

"I live upstairs," Eric raised an eyebrow. "She works here."

"Oh." It was a strange feeling – she was out of her element, while he was right at home. Feeling nervous, she scooted her chair closer to him. She could see the band better from that angle, she told herself. It didn't mean that she was hiding behind him.

The band members lined up for the sound check, tapping mikes and talking. The tall, blonde lead singer looked around at the rest of the band just as he grabbed the microphone.

"Hey everybody, I'm Ted and we're 'Moral-less.' ARE YOU READY TO ROCK AND ROLL?"

Cheers and whistles answered him as the band started out with 'Rock and Roll All Night and Party Every Day.' The bar was filled with people, all types, from tall gaunt bikers with beards to women in tight jeans and skimpy tops. Before the song was finished, the dance floor was packed.

June wasn't used to crowds. Through the first few songs she fidgeted with her drink, scanning the room. The music was good, the beer was cold. She drank in little sips, hoping it would settle her nerves. Eric had his back to the wall. His arm, draped casually across the back of her chair, told everyone that she was with him. It felt a little strange, but kinda neat at the same time.

"Now let's slow this down. We have a couple tunes by Journey. I'm going to dedicate 'Lights' to Stephanie, our favorite waitress."

"I'm the only waitress!" Stephanie called back with a laugh. The band picked up the tune immediately and perfectly. The dance floor went from crowded to just a few couples, caught in body clinches.

"Would you like to dance?" Eric asked, already getting up from his chair. He held out his hand to her. June's heart was pounding as she let herself be drawn out onto the floor. He carefully pulled her into his arms. "Relax. Don't treat me like a stranger."

He gathered her closer, cradling her against his chest.

"I don't bite," he murmured in her ear.

"They're watching us." She peeked over Eric's shoulder at the unsmiling faces and the hard eyes that followed them.

"Don't think about them. You're safe with me." He skimmed his fingers down her back, resting his hand at her waist. The wide spread of his fingers covered the small of her back. "Just listen to the music." He deftly turned them, so that she couldn't see the men any more.

"The band is good." She pressed her cheek against his shoulder, her eyes half-closed, feeling safe and secure even in this dangerous place. Her soldier-turned-biker would watch out for her. The thought made her sigh. As her senses kicked in, she could smell the leather of his jacket, the faintest hint of cologne, the rich earthy scent that was his and his alone. She slid her hand to his shoulders as she snuggled a bit closer.

"That's better." He rewarded her with a soft squeeze and smile. When the song changed from 'Lights' to 'Faithfully,' the dance floor was empty except for the two of them.

June didn't care.

Back at the table, June snuggled against Eric, his warmth and strength more intoxicating than the alcohol. They drank and danced until the crowd thinned, talking between sets.

At the end of the night, Eric walked her to her car. The moon shone on Bridge Street, giving it a whitewash. The white light inside of June responded to the moon. She felt light-headed with her arm around Eric's waist, his arm around her shoulders.

"It's a lovely night," June said as they walked to her car.

"There's a great beach just down the road," Eric smiled down at her. "Can I talk you into a walk in the moonlight?"

June blew out a breath that frosted. "Not in October. But if you would ask me that in July, I'd jump at the chance." They stopped by her car, holding hands.

"I'd come back here for that." Eric gently ran his hands up her arms to her shoulders.

"Just for a walk on the beach?"

"With you, in the moonlight? In a heartbeat." Eric pulled her close to kiss her. June slid her arms around his neck, inviting him to deepen the kiss. He teased her lips with a hint of his teeth before he plundered her mouth. When June went weak in the knees, Eric set her on the hood of the car. June's heels hooked behind his legs, locking him against her as her hands slipped into the back pockets of his jeans.

"Hey, dude, get a room!" Drunken laughter followed the shout. Ted, the singer, staggered down the street.

Eric broke from her mouth, his eyes glinting savagely in the moonlight.

"Ted, you got a problem?" Eric shot back.

"Take a joke, all right?" Ted giggled.

"Asshole," Eric muttered. "Sorry about that."

"I need to go." Mortified at the thought of some drunk watching them kiss, June pulled away. Eric let her go, slowly, skimming her face with his fingers.

"Can I see you tomorrow?"

"Yes," June pressed his hand to her cheek. "I'd like that." She got in her car.

Ted staggered closer.

"Hey, do I know you? You wanna come party with the band?"

"I've got to go." Eric rolled his eyes. "I'll call you tomorrow."

As June got into her car, Eric kept close. When she was safely inside, he strode over to Ted. He supported the drunken singer with one arm, waving at her.

~^~

October 9
^th
, the Harbor

It was Sunday morning – Eric was on Walnut Beach, running barefoot on the sand as the sun rose and dozens of mewing gulls skimmed the rose-kissed water. As he ran, the endorphins hit. The awakening day took on a rare clarity: the hard sand under his bare feet, the cold water that skipped across his toes, the heat his own body generated, the effortless ease with which he ran; it all hit him at once.

For the first time in forever he felt whole, not fragmented.

He ran back to the public side of the beach, sweating freely in the chilly breeze, to the log where he'd left his shoes. He dropped to his knees in the sand. Feeling buoyant with wonder he voiced his joy for this perfect moment.

"Thank you, God, for this day."

The gulls went silent, suspended in mid-flight.

The mellow chime of church bells filled the silence, echoing across the beach, summoning the faithful. His head came up, his heart answered the call. Eric scooped up his shoes, then crossed the beach, parking lot, grass lawn to the pavilion where he paused to don his shoes. He walked up the steep stairs towards the mellow sound.

The streets were empty at this hour. Two blocks separated him from the Gothic, stone-faced church when he felt Cora tug on his shirt.

Where do you think you're going, lover?

The mellow bells called him. Cora's seductive whisper could not drown them out. He shrugged her off, crossed the street so he was only a block from the church.

Don't waste your time listening to some pervert preaching to an empty church.

He didn't have to listen to her.

Empty words and empty promises to empty seats, why bother?

She didn't own him. He could still go where he pleased. But his steps slowed, the last chimes echoed and faded, leaving him weary, tired and thirsty.

What you need is a beer.

Not Cora this time, another voice, male and grating on his nerves. Jake.

How dare they try to block his movements? Wasn't he already damned for the things he'd done in the last three years? Could a few minutes in a church loosen their hold on him?

Maybe it could. He looked at the stone church with longing. There was the statue of Mary labeled 'Mother of Sorrows' out front. Eric focused on her down cast face and took a few more steps.

They hit him with his own memories.

The church chimes became the jagged ping of bullets off armor-plated Hummers. Ambushes, exploding IED's that ripped armored vehicles like tin cans. He saw the face of every dead man he'd seen in the course of two tours. Every burned and blasted body of every friend he'd lost. Cold sweat ran from his body like a wet towel squeezed dry. Ugly memories of holding captives while they were brutally questioned choked him.

He stumbled on the uneven pavement, went down on one knee, sick to the point of puking with the emotional infection that twisted his gut like a bag of rotting snakes.

"Son, are you all right?"

Eric shook his head, clenching his teeth on the need to retch up the foul sewage of memory.

"Take my hand." The hand was black-skinned and deformed, the outer two fingers gone and the palm scarred by deep burns. Napalm made burns like that.

Eric grabbed that hand like a drowning man. The strength in that grip steadied him. He swallowed as Cora screamed in his ear.

You don't deserve a second chance!

He didn't, he knew it. He hated her for saying it. With an effort of will, he pushed the memories and the nausea away. His breath rushed out, he sucked it back.

"Come with me." The man put his arm around Eric's back, steadied him enough to rise. They got to the church steps. Eric stopped, shaking his head.

"Give me a minute."

"Come inside."

Eric looked at his benefactor, an aging black man with white hair, a scarred face and a blind eye, as he leaned against the iron railing. The old man was strong enough to hold Eric up with one hand.

"Are you a vet?"

"You think I got this pretty in a bar fight?"

Eric grinned; this old man was a tough guy.

"Vietnam?"

"Yeah." He opened the door to the empty church and helped Eric inside. "You all right?" The friendly concern on the old man's face was disarming.

Eric answered with the truth.

"No, man, I will never be all right again."

"Iraq?"

"Afghanistan. Same shit, different sandbox," Eric joked.

"So I hear." The old man helped him to the back pew.

"I shouldn't be here." Eric resisted, leaning on the pew but not sitting down.

"Why not? You got a hot date somewhere?"

"No." This was no place for him.

"Sit down, son. You're in the right place."

Eric sat, looked at his shoes while the nausea swirled through his stomach. Cora and Jake were both gone, shut out with the street noises.

"I used to think that church was the place for the righteous and the saved." The old man looked around at the wooden pews and the elegant lines of the church.

Eric nodded.

"That's not what this is about, son."

"No?"

"This place is about forgiveness, son, redemption for the likes of you and me."

"What makes you so damned sure?" All Eric's resentment and confusion spilled out.

"I'll hand it to you straight. You ever heard of Mia Lai?"

Eric looked into the man's one good eye. He was the right age to have been there. He bore the scars of napalm on his hand. For the first time, Eric saw the black clothes, not quite a suit. A black priest?

"I guess. There was a – an incident there."

"Call it what it was – a massacre."

"Okay." Eric respected the old man's honesty.

"I was there." His voice softened with wonder. "I've been forgiven."

"Are you sure about that?"

"I'm sure." The old man's face lit up with a soft fond smile.

Eric was struck dumb with envy.

"Ask and you will be forgiven. It's that simple." The man patted him on the shoulder. "You think about that for a while." He got up, smiled at Eric. "I got some things I need to do." He walked to the door. "Stay as long as you like."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Talk to Him, son." The man stepped outside. "He likes to hear strange voices."

Eric stood up, walked towards the stain glass window and the simple altar in front of it. For the third time that morning, Eric went down on his knees. He knelt in a rainbow of light, scattered from the stain-glass Madonna. He bowed his head for a moment, listening to the chime of the bells over head.

Peace filled him for a brief moment. Then he heard the rumble of a motorcycle engine and the moment was gone. All the confusion, the guilt and the shame rose up in him again.