The Reunion
© 2012 by Dan Walsh
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
Ebook edition created 2012
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-3974-7
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
The internet addresses, email addresses, and phone numbers in this book are accurate at the time of publication. They are provided as a resource. Baker Publishing Group does not endorse them or vouch for their content or permanence.
To my son, Isaac, my inspiration for “Jake” in this book. With each phase of our relationship, I enjoy being your father more. And to all the military veterans who have served our country, now and over the years. Those of us who’ve never served owe you a debt we will never fully comprehend or ever be able to repay.
Some who seem least important now will be the greatest then, and some who are the greatest now will be least important then.
—Jesus (Luke 13:30 NLT)
O
nly a few scenes are more beautiful and tranquil than a forest of live oaks. They are not like the jungle, crowded with thick tangles of foliage that slap you in the face as you walk by. That mattered to Aaron Miller.
Even forty years later, Aaron was afraid of jungles.
The ground around live oaks is mostly bare. The trees give each other plenty of space. With massive trunks rising up from the earth, often several feet in diameter, limbs as thick as trees themselves. Sprawling outward, the limbs mingle with the branches of other live oaks, forming an intricate network of curves and arches. Spanish moss hangs from almost every bough, whispering when gentle breezes blow.
A hundred years ago, the place where Aaron Miller lived was just such a forest, splendid and majestic, untouched by man.
Aaron thought about all this during his quiet time that morning. Maybe it was the picture he had seen the day before, taken some sixty years ago. A black-and-white photograph of a simple farmhouse, built between two of the largest trees in the forest. The house almost seemed to belong there, resting in the forest’s shade, enjoying its protection.
Today, that farmhouse stood where it always had. But a few more rooms had been added. The biggest addition housed pool tables, video games, pinball machines, and a public restroom. Another served as a general store where any number of woodsy things could be bought. Citronella candles and mosquito spray, fuel for a Coleman stove, bags of ice.
From that time sixty years ago to the present, more than half the original oak trees were gone, the majority cut down to make room for trailer hookup sites and bumpy dirt roads. All of this to create Bentley’s Trailer Park & Campground.
Aaron was the handyman at Bentley’s, lived in a storage room just across the way from the main house. Mr. Bentley only docked his pay $150 a month for the privilege.
“Aaron, you out and about yet?” It was Sue Kendall; she managed the place. The black-and-white photograph Aaron had seen of the farmhouse hung on the wall behind her desk.
Aaron looked up at the clock hanging on the block wall of his storage room. Sue knew better than to bother him yet. He got up and took the walkie-talkie off the charger. “Not yet, Sue. It’s only 7:50. I still got ten minutes.”
“I know, but this fellow’s in a hurry to check out of here.” Normally Sue handled checkouts on her own. He’d go out to the site later on, straighten things up, if needed. “They need their LP tank filled up,” she said. “He just paid me. He’s heading to the big tank out front. Can you meet him there . . . now?”
“Suppose I can.” He clipped the walkie-talkie to his belt, let out a sigh, and stretched his back muscles. He’d awakened just after sunrise, as always. Slept pretty well; these days that wasn’t a given. He had the normal aches that came with age, but in recent months he’d begun to experience some new pains from old war wounds. Wasn’t sure why they’d started up again. Hurt like mad right after the war. Then for years, it was like they’d just faded to the margins.
Sleeping good every night might go better if Aaron could afford a decent bed. He looked over at what he slept in—wasn’t much more than a military cot. But it was way nicer than sleeping in cardboard boxes and underneath highway overpasses. He’d done enough of that years back.
Aaron walked over to his favorite and only armchair, closed his Bible, then went back to the workbench and unplugged the battery chargers for his tools. He glanced at the coffeepot, made sure it was off, collected his tools, and headed out the door. Not ten steps away sat his primary means of transportation inside the park: a beat-up golf cart parked under a palmetto palm.
As he rode toward the propane tank, he glanced at the clipboard he’d left on the front seat. That’s right, today he had to take down all the Halloween decorations. He didn’t mind that too much; he was tired of looking at them.
It was the second item on the list he didn’t much like.
Sort out and set up all the Christmas decorations.
Seemed way too early to him. Maybe it made sense for folks who lived up north where the weather was cold. In some places it had even snowed already. But in Florida in the first week of November, it was still getting into the low eighties some days.
He pulled up to the cyclone fence surrounding the propane tank, saw a man in a blue shirt about his own age standing by a minivan, a pop-up camper hitched to the bumper. Aaron recognized him; he and his wife had spent two nights in Lot 14. “Heading out already?” Aaron said as he got out of his cart. The man handed him his ticket, proving he’d paid the bill. Aaron lifted his propane tank and walked to the gate. He glanced at their pop-up. It looked pretty new, had a nice air conditioner on the roof. Aaron had lived in a tent a few years back. Would have felt like a king to have a pop-up then, especially one with A/C. “So you folks retired?”
“Almost,” the man said. His cell phone started vibrating. “Excuse me.” He flipped the lid, read a text, and started typing a reply.
Aaron finished filling the tank, disconnected it, and shut the big tank down. He looked back at the man, whose face was still glued to his phone. Aaron always felt awkward at times like this, didn’t know how much small talk was appropriate. Some folks liked it; some acted like they had better things to do than talk with the help. “I’ll just set this back in its stand there up by the hitch,” he said. The man nodded, kept texting away.
Aaron had never texted anyone. Didn’t even own a cell phone. Couldn’t afford one. Really, who’d be calling him anyway? “You’re all set,” he said. The man nodded again.
As soon as Aaron got in the golf cart, the walkie-talkie squawked. “Aaron, you still on that LP?” Aaron waved at the man in the minivan as he pulled out of the park. “Just finished, what’s up?”
“Need you to get back to that young couple that moved in here a month ago, but quick. Before someone calls 911.”
“Lot 31?”
“That’s the one. Got a call there’s all kinds of yelling and screaming going on inside their trailer. Can you get back there right away? I don’t want to scare off all the temps in here, make ’em think this park is full of lowlifes.”
“This park
is
full of lowlifes.” Aaron heard Sue’s cousin in the background. “That’s all we got in here.”
“Now quit, Bobby.” It was Sue, yelling back. “Don’t mind him, Aaron.”
“On my way, Sue.” Among his many duties, somehow Aaron was expected to serve as the park’s security guard.
He knew all about “that young couple” in Lot 31. Her name was Heather, if he recalled. Had a big friendly dog, mostly golden retriever. Aaron thought about her as the golf cart sped down the main road through the park. He’d been to Lot 31 twice over the last month: once to fix the lock, and again for a busted screen. On his last visit a week ago, he saw a red mark across the side of her face, like she’d recently been slapped. Her boyfriend had been nowhere in sight.
Before Aaron left, he’d asked if she was okay, and she insisted she had just tripped over a big oak root nearby, fell flat on her face. Aaron didn’t buy it. She was way too nervous. If there was one thing he couldn’t abide, it was a coward who hit women. Heather couldn’t be more than sixteen or seventeen, had no business shacking up with that young man. He looked to be around twenty. Long dark hair, tall, wore baggy jeans pulled down halfway to his knees.
Aaron turned off the paved road onto the dirt path that led to the trailer. Mr. Bentley had about twenty of these trailers set up in the park. Income properties, he called them. Some vintage Airstreams and Fleetwoods and a few old twelve-wides. Aaron’s plan was to wait one more year before going on Social Security, then he could afford to rent one and move out of that musty storage room. Had his eye on a nice little red one.
He heard a loud noise, looked ahead, and saw Heather’s boyfriend coming out of the trailer, slamming the door behind him. He got in a blue souped-up Honda Civic, revved up the engine, put it in gear, and tore off, heading in Aaron’s direction. The speed limit was fifteen mph in the park. In seconds, he was up to thirty or forty. Aaron had to yank the golf cart off the path.
He shot an angry glance at the young man as he sped by. The boy replied with an even angrier stare. Aaron’s eyes followed the car as it raced through the park and peeled off down the main road. The boy was gonna kill somebody. Aaron released a pent-up sigh then turned back toward the trailer. The door hadn’t latched after the boy slammed it, and it now drifted open.
The poor girl
, he thought.
That young man better not have hurt her.
A
aron got out of his cart and walked up to the open door. He heard a girl crying softly inside. Walked up the three metal steps. “Hello, anyone in here?”
The girl kept crying, a little quieter. The sound came from his right. He stepped inside. The dog barked down at the other end of the trailer, behind a closed door. “Hello, it’s me, Aaron, the handyman for the park.” The drapes were pulled shut. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. Following the crying sound, he saw Heather lying in a corner by a couch, cradled in a fetal position. Aaron walked closer but gave her plenty of space.
“Are you okay, miss? Did that young man hurt you?”
She looked up. Her left eye was almost swollen shut. His anger started to boil. “He hit you, didn’t he? You hurt anywhere else?”
She shook her head no.
“Well, let me get some ice on that eye before it gets worse. Why don’t you sit up here?” He patted a couch cushion. She got up from the floor. “You just sit right there.” Such a frail little thing.
He walked back to the kitchen and found a washcloth by the sink. Then he opened the freezer, pulled three ice cubes from a tray, wrapped them in the washcloth. The kitchen wasn’t that messy. The whole place was in fairly good shape. Heather was apparently a decent housekeeper.
“Here,” he said, walking back. He handed the washcloth to her. “It’ll sting a bit, but it should help reduce the swelling.” The dog continued to bark and paw at the bedroom door.
“Thank you.”
A box of tissues sat on the coffee table; he handed her a few. She wiped her tears then placed the ice on her eye.
“You’re not going to tell me you got that tripping over a root.”
She smiled and shook her head.
“And that red mark I saw on the other side of your face last week, he hit you then too.”
She nodded.
“Your name’s Heather, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, Heather, I need to call the police. It ain’t right, letting him hit you like that.”
“No, please don’t,” she said. “That’ll just make things worse.”
“It might, but it might scare him into thinking twice before he hits you again.”
“I don’t want the police. Besides, I think he’s breaking up with me.”
“Did he say he ain’t coming back?”
She thought a moment. “Not exactly, but I’m not going to do what he’s telling me to, so I don’t think he’s going to stick around much longer.”
“Mind if I ask what?”
“I . . . I don’t wanna say. But really, I’m okay now.”
“Are his things still here?”
She sighed, nodded yes.
“Then he’s gonna come back. I can’t just leave you here knowing that. What if he starts in on you again? That young man’s got a lot of anger, and he doesn’t control it very well.”
“I know.”
“Then let me call the police.”
“No, please. I’ll be okay.”
Now the dog added a high-pitched whine to its clawing and barking. “Want me to let him out? I’ve seen you walk him in the park. He seems friendly.”
“It’s a she. Her name’s Tess. You better or she won’t stop. But she’s as sweet as can be, except when Ryan starts yelling.” She looked down.
Aaron walked down the dark hallway and opened the door at the far end. Tess ran right past him. When he got out to the living area, she was all over Heather. She’d jumped right up on the sofa and lay across her lap. Heather was patting her, and Tess kept licking her hand.
Aaron saw a slight smile appear on Heather’s face. “You mind I ask how old you are?” he asked.
“Seventeen, almost eighteen.”
“Don’t you have parents? That’s pretty young to be out on your own.”
“They . . . we . . . we don’t really get along.” Tears started welling up in her eyes again.
“When’s the last time you talked with them?”
She thought a moment. “Maybe a year ago, maybe a little more. That was the last time we talked on the phone. I ran away when I was fifteen.”
“Where do they live?”
“In Georgia, north of Atlanta.”
“They know where you are?”
She shook her head no.
“I bet they care about you a lot more than you think. I could call ’em for you, if you want.”
“No, don’t.”
“I won’t tell them where you are, just see where they’re at, you know? Might find out they’re worried sick. You don’t need to be with a guy like Ryan.”
“I don’t know. I’m pretty sure I know what they’d say. Especially now.”
“Now?”
“Now that I’m—” She buried her face in her hands and started crying again. The ice fell out of the cloth onto the couch. The dog had calmed down and had backed off Heather’s lap. She nudged her nose right under Heather’s hands and licked them gently.
Aaron walked closer, scooped the ice up, and put it back into the washcloth. He stood there a few moments, wanting to comfort her somehow, but he didn’t dare touch her. Instead, he patted Tess on the head. When Heather calmed a little, he handed her the washcloth. “Better keep this on that eye a little longer.”
“Thanks, I will. But really, mister . . .”
“Just call me Aaron.”
“I’ll be okay, Aaron. I don’t think he’ll be coming back, for a few hours anyway.”
“You have anywhere you can go, so you’re not here when he gets back?”
“No, but I’ll be okay. You’ve been very nice. But don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
She didn’t say this with a shred of confidence. He backed away. “Well, I don’t feel good just leaving you here all alone.”
“It’s okay.”
“Well, I’m going to go. But I’m going to keep my eye on this trailer all day. If I see his car back here, I’m coming back.”
“I don’t want any trouble.”
“I don’t want any, either. I’ll just stay outside and listen. But if I hear any yelling, or if you even think he’s going to hit you again, you just yell out my name, and I’ll come on in.” He waited a moment. “Look at me, Heather.”
She looked up.
“I’m not going to let him hurt you again. You have my word on that.”