He longed to go for a run until his muscles burned, but those days were over. Before he slid into a woe-is-me attitude, he reminded himself how fortunate he’d been. Too many times, he had to repeat his blessings to ward off the negative thoughts. He had his life, all his limbs, and he hadn’t had to use a cane since those first months. Not in public, at least. Some days when the pain was worse, and no one was around to see, he’d use it in the privacy of his apartment.
Closing his laptop, he decided to go for a swim. When he’d had to move off base, he’d chosen this apartment complex for its indoor pool. Swimming was the one physical activity that didn’t scream his limitations to the world, and it provided the release of energy he craved.
After changing into a pair of swimming trunks and a t-shirt, he grabbed a towel from the linen closet and walked to the pool area from his first-floor apartment. He typed in the security code, and once he heard the lock release, he pushed open the door.
To his delight, no one else was there—one advantage of being home in the middle of the day. He shed his shirt and flip flops, dropped the towel on a chair. Jumping in at the deep end, he let the warm water envelop him, and he relished the weightlessness.
Arms parted the water, legs kicked, propelled him forward. Lap after lap he swam, expending his energy, freeing his mind of plaguing thoughts. This…this was the sweet freedom of moving without inhibition.
He didn’t stop until his breaths came short. Even then, he pushed for another two laps. He climbed the steps of the deep end then ran a hand through his hair, squeezing out the excess water. Inhaling until his lungs filled with air, he savored the tingling of his muscles brought on by a solid workout.
Two people entered the pool room, whom he recognized from passing in the halls of the complex. They gave short waves and greeted him, and he responded before grabbing his towel and drying off. He slipped his shirt over his head and slid his feet into the flip flops.
Back in his apartment, he checked his phone and saw a missed call from Janie. She didn’t leave a voicemail but had sent a message to call ASAP.
His stomach tightened, and he prayed nothing bad had happened. She’d had enough trouble to last a lifetime. He thumbed back to the call log and tapped on her number.
“Thank goodness you called,” Janie answered before he could say a word. “I need your help. Can you come over?”
He gauged her voice, but couldn’t pinpoint the emotion behind it. “Now?”
“If you’re able?” She squeaked the last word out as though she didn’t want to pressure him but desperately wanted him to get there immediately.
“Sure. I’ll be there in a half hour.” He paused before hanging up. “Everything okay?”
“It will be. See you soon.” She ended the call without another word.
He stared at the phone, trying to figure out what just happened, then decided it was no use. She wasn’t crying, so it couldn’t be anything too bad. The smell of chlorine drifted to his nostrils. He needed a shower before going to ditch the pool-chemical scent.
After a quick hop in the shower, he dressed in jeans and a fresh t-shirt, then pulled on a USMC hoodie. He combed his short brown hair with his fingers and put on a pair of sneakers, bent over to tie them. His leg only hurt a bit, a good day for sure.
On the way to Janie’s, he opened the sunroof and let the cool air into his car. He loved North Carolina falls. Unlike home in Louisiana, the Carolina coast had a fall season, even if mild by New England standards. There was a brief time in November when the leaves changed colors, and the road to Janie’s house boasted traces of gold and vermillion woven among the evergreens.
When he pulled into River Mills, Janie’s subdivision, he half-expected to see an ambulance or police car, or some other sign of why she needed him immediately. Nothing stood out. The neighborhood appeared its usual serene self.
A mom played with her toddlers at the playground up front. Mr. Ford, a retired Marine from the days of Vietnam waved to Evan as he drove by. He pulled into Janie’s cul-de-sac and saw her car in the driveway where she always parked despite having a garage.
He parked behind her, opened the door, and swung his legs out. She’d added dried cornstalks and pumpkins to the porch since he’d been there two weeks ago. Pressing the doorbell, he heard the ring inside.
Janie opened the door dressed in a pair of raggedy sweatpants and a shirt she’d probably owned since junior high. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Eyeing her ensemble, complete with a cheerio in her unbrushed hair, he worried about her mental state. She’d come so far in recent weeks—had it all been an act? “What’s going on?”
“Come in and I’ll show you.” Moving aside, she motioned him to the dining room.
Magazines, cookbooks, and printed recipes covered the table.
He cocked his head, not understanding. “What is all this?”
“I told my parents this morning that I’d decided not to go home for Christmas.”
“Glad you made a decision. I know you didn’t make it lightly.” He thumbed through several pages of the closest cookbook.
“It wasn’t easy. I love my family, but I’ve made a lot of progress ingrief healinglately, and I’m worried a trip home, with memories everywhere of Mike, might cause a setback.” She sighed. “I told Mom I’d try to come home for Easter. I think I’ll be ready by then.”
“Good.” He waved a hand over the table. “But I still can’t figure out why you urgently called me over.”
“That call and text might have been made in a moment of desperation.” Pink spread over her cheeks and down her neck. “After I told Mom I wasn’t going there for Christmas, she called back ten minutes later and announced that the whole family will come here for Thanksgiving.”
