Two weeks later…
Pale sun breaks through the clouds, bringing the first burst of spring sunshine. I’m whistling a tune stuck in my head from some film Nora’s been watching on repeat as I stroll across the grounds of Jake’s Retreat. The center has been taking residents for a few months now, and most of the initial problems have been ironed out. What started as an idea to honor a fallen comrade has become a reality, and pride swells in my breast as I take in my surroundings.
I come to the memorial garden and slow my pace. I stop in as I do every morning and stand before the memorial wall. I quietly read the names etched onto the copper plate mounted on the wall. Names of men and women from Hope and the surrounding area of Wild Heart Mountain. Names of those who never came back, from the Vietnam War to the most recent conflicts.
My voice hitches when I get to Jake Monroe, the Navy SEAL who was under my command for a time. Brave and reckless, with a dark streak he kept hidden from most.
I had left the military, so I wasn’t on the mission when he was killed. The same mission that changed another SEAL, Ed’s, life and sent the entire town of Hope into a spin.
The mission that led us all here, to this retreat and a place where veterans come to heal, challenge themselves, and remember who they are.
I come to the end of the names. There’s room on the wall for more copper plates, more names. I hope I never have to fill that space, but the inevitably of war tells me otherwise.
A breeze rustles the trees as a man rounds the corner. Axel is a burly six foot, but he moves quietly in the still morning. He’s another local veteran and owns the Emerald Heart Resort up the mountain. He helps at the center sometimes and has been getting a regular veteran’s group together.
We don’t speak; he’s here for the same reason I am, to honor the fallen before getting on with his day. I give him a nod on the way out of the garden and carry on to the main building where my office is.
I can’t do anything for the fallen, but I can help the living.
I round the corner and find Willow, Hudson’s fiancé, staring at a blank wall. Her hair is in a messy bun, and the breeze catches the strands.
She turns when she sees me and breaks into an easy smile.
“I’m ready to start the outline of the mural.” She glances at the sky. “If the weather holds, I could get started this week.”
Willow offered to paint a mural for us. It will brighten the place up, and I leaped at the offer once I saw her artistic skills. I’m still not sure how the straight-laced Hudson managed to capture her free spirit, but they came back from time together in a cabin on the mountains love-sick and joined at the hip. Seeing them together has stirred something inside me that I thought was long gone. A yearning for connection, the type of connection you can only get from someone who loves you intimately. I’m happy for them both to have found that. I had it once, but I doubt anyone’s lucky enough to have it twice in one lifetime. I shouldn’t complain. I have my girls, I have my work, I have a community of people here. It’s more than most have, and yet… this yearning has been nagging at me for the past few weeks, as if there’s something vital I’m missing in my life.
“This week is good,” I say to Willow. “Speak to Ryan about what you need, and he’ll sort it for you.”
I leave her contemplating the wall and head into the main building.
I pass the door to the gym and hear the grunts of an early morning workout session. I resist the urge to peek in. If our residents are using the equipment, that’s a good sign.
Savanna, our in-house physical therapist, walks toward me down the corridor.
She’s holding a tablet, and she waves it in the air when she sees me. “I’ve got a full day today. First day I’m all booked out.”
She beams, as pleased as I am that the place is growing.
“We might need to find you help soon.”
She heads off to her first session, and I make a mental note to check our upcoming bookings and potentially look for another PT. The problem is that our residents can arrive unexpectedly. It’s not like a hotel where you can book in advance. If someone needs our services, we want to keep the doors open.
And there are a lot of veterans who need our services. I run a hand over my stubble, thinking about what it would take to expand, to build a second residents block that’s completely self-sufficient for longer-stay guests.
My mind’s brimming with ideas as I enter my office, eager to start the day. So the last thing I expect to find is my daughter, who drove off to school half an hour ago, sitting in my chair with her feet up on my desk and her phone in one hand.
“Dana. You’re supposed to be at school.”
She slides her feet off the desk and looks up at her phone. Her brows are pulled together, and either she’s pissed at something online or pissed at me.
“What the hell, Dad?”
Okay, she’s pissed at me.
She crosses her arms and glares at me, and I try to remember what it is I could have done to make her so angry.
“What have I done?”
