The Marine Finds His Family

DJ bypassed the coffee and grabbed a hunk of the ranch cook Juanita’s always-amazing coffee cake and stuffed it in his mouth. He poured himself a glass of orange juice before sitting down at the huge ranch table.

“You weren’t dumb enough to promise you’d get him the dirt bike, were you?” Wyatt wasn’t known for being subtle.

“No.” DJ’s hackles rose. The younger brother in him wanted to remind Wyatt that Tyler was his son, and he’d promise whatever he wanted. The adult in him knew that was childish. Besides, this was Wyatt’s home, Wyatt’s ranch, and they were living here at his discretion.

“But?”

Wyatt knew DJ. His brother patiently waited—they both knew there was a but.

“I have an idea.”

“Uh-oh.” Wyatt grabbed a chair, scraping it away from the table to sit across from DJ. “Spit it out.”

“He wants the bike, right?”

Wyatt nodded.

“I need him to tell me about Tammie.” He met Wyatt’s gaze.

“You think that’s a good idea? Bribing him?”

DJ shrugged. He couldn’t think of anything else at this point. Tyler refused to talk about his life with his mother. He wouldn’t share even the smallest details. The first bit of information they’d had was, of course, the house where Wyatt had picked up the boy—and they’d figured out that was a lie, too. Tammie and Tyler hadn’t lived there. No one had for years. Tammie had found an abandoned house and borrowed it.

“You don’t think that dredging all that up will hurt him?” Wyatt said, his voice thick with concern.

They’d had this discussion a dozen times already. Maybe Tyler had been so badly abused that the horrors returning would be too difficult. But DJ didn’t think that was the case. Tyler didn’t behave like an abused kid. Concerned, scared at times, but not abused.

“That’s the thing.” DJ decided to share his thoughts with Wyatt. “I think he’s not talking because he’s protecting his mom.” DJ would bet his Harley on it.

“From us?”

“No.” DJ took a deep swallow of the juice, buying time to organize his words. “Something or someone else.”

“That boyfriend?”

DJ shrugged, not really wanting to go there in his mind or this conversation. But he knew what Wyatt was talking about. Before DJ had returned home, Wyatt had taken Tyler to the emergency room when he’d cut his hand. That was the only time Tyler had let anything slip. Some guy named Dom had hurt Tyler. Hurt him bad enough to warrant an earlier ER visit that scared Tyler for life. But other than that, he hadn’t said anything about his mom.

And now they finally had a key to get Tyler to talk.

Wyatt’s simple nod was all the go-ahead DJ was going to get. He’d take what he could.

* * *

THIS TIME OF NIGHT was the worst time to work. Tammie liked it better when the dinner crowd was in full swing, or when the late-night-after-the-movies-and-the-bars-were-closed crowds came in. She didn’t have time to think...or feel.

This dead, middle-of-the-night calm between the two rushes was almost painful. She’d already rolled all the silverware, filled the saltshakers and stacked the dishes in the front stations.

“Take a load off.” Cora pointed at the diner’s ugly green counter. Her feet throbbing, Tammie didn’t question the older woman’s instruction. Who was she to argue with seniority?

Cora poured coffee into two plain earthenware mugs, leaving enough room for cream. Cora had been the one to teach Tammie the perfect way to pour a cup of coffee. “Just enough cream to watch it bloom to the top. Not a drop more.” It was how Tammie served it all the time now. And her increased tips from customers proved the value of the woman’s advice.

Now, though, Tammie was serving herself. She tipped the silver-topped sugar dispenser, counting to five before she stopped the white stream. She needed the energy to get through the rest of the night.

She tossed her order pad and pencil on the counter beside her coffee, waiting for Cora to join her. The steam of the second cup swirled upward, and Tammie watched it with tired, nearly unfocused eyes. The shape morphed and swayed in the air conditioner’s breath.

“What’s that?” Cora leaned over the counter, peering down at Tammie’s order pad. “It’s pretty.”

Tammie stared in horror. Her fingers had instinctively picked up the pencil and sketched the steam, creating flowing waves and pockets where her creativity planned to settle precious stones. It was a good design. She could take the gold and fold it just here—

No! Tammie ripped the page free and tore it into tiny pieces. If she had a match she’d have burned it. Instead, she scattered the pieces into the bus tray behind the counter, watching, painfully, as they sank into the dumped ice waters and coffee. The pencil lead disappeared into the damp.

“What’d you do that for?” Cora wasn’t accusing, just curious, as she climbed up on the old vinyl stool and settled.

Tammie shrugged, knowing that would be answer enough, at least for Cora. She couldn’t let Cora see her work, and she couldn’t let anyone ever know what she could do. Not until she figured out a solution—until she figured out a way to escape for good.

“It was just silliness.” She dismissed the design with a wave of her hand, but cringed when she saw the spark of curiosity linger in Cora’s faded blue eyes. Despite having destroyed the drawing, Tammie still saw it in her mind, felt her fingers itch to pick up the pencil and finish it, felt the longing to hold her tools and work with the materials she’d so loved.

They finished their coffee in silence, both women fighting exhaustion as their shift stretched out.

“I’m gonna get a quick breath of air,” she told Cora. “Be right back.” Tammie needed, just for a minute, to be alone. And while the alley out back was the last place in the world she wanted to be, with its hefty thick stink and dirt, it was dark and empty. At least for now.

The back door was heavy metal but it was never closed. A supposed fire door, it gave little protection. The screen door was all that separated the kitchen from the alley. She let it slam closed behind her, needing something to separate her from this life she’d been forced into.

She looked up at the sliver of sky she could barely see between this building and the filthy one across the alley. She could almost make out the sparkle of a single star beyond the city lights and clouds. Closing her eyes to seal in the damp that threatened to fall over the edge of her lashes, she let her mind have its silence.

She’d been little when her mother had taught her to make a wish on her first star. “Star light, star bright,” she whispered. The rest of the words rushed through her head, but not past her lips. Not here. Tyler’s little face flashed into her mind, but she refused to let it go any further. She’d taught him the silly rhyme. Did he remember it? Or would he soon forget it, and her?

She forced her thoughts elsewhere. He was not a part of this world, of the level she’d sunk to. No, he was safe and in a good place. She’d made sure of that.

Never here.

She needed to get back inside. Blinking rapidly, this time not because of tears, but the bright fluorescent lights of the kitchen, she hurried inside. There were voices in the dining room. A couple, half-drunk, had settled in the front booth while two young men stood at the door waiting to be seated.

“And here we go.” Cora whipped by Tammie, a tray in one hand and the perpetual coffee carafe in the other.

Tammie grabbed her now-bare order pad from where she’d left it on the counter and shoved it back into her apron pocket. She seated the two men and headed back to the kitchen with their order, hearing the door open again. Yep, the rush was back. Thank goodness.

* * *

DJ STARED OUT the window at Brooke Army Medical Center. The whip-snap sound of the flags outside came through the glass and took him back. Too far back. He cursed and turned away from the sight of the fabric dancing at the end of the thick metal poles. That was not why he was here.

“Tell me straight, Doc.” He knew what the doctor was going to say, but he wanted to hear the words.

“I think you know what the answer is,” the doctor guessed.

“Yeah, but humor me. Say it.”

The silence in the exam room was heavy, and DJ wanted to fill it with cursing. Instead, he sat still, meeting the doctor’s hesitant gaze with a glare.

“You’ve reached a plateau. At this point I don’t foresee any measurable improvement.”

“So the discharge stands?” DJ said through clenched teeth.

The doc looked at him and simply nodded. He didn’t move. He seemed to barely breathe. He didn’t like being here any more than DJ did. DJ knew that, but dang it, it wasn’t his life that was going down the drain.

Without another word, DJ slowly, stiffly stood, then walked to the door and threw it open. He stepped out into the hall, his gait uneven as he moved down the narrow hallway. He knew it was hotter than hell outside, but he walked out into the late afternoon anyway. He wasn’t coming back here, and he couldn’t wait to escape.

The huge Harley he’d ridden in on sat just where he’d left it, the frame baking in the sun. The bright blue paint on the tank and fenders glistened in the leftover sunlight, the chrome winking at him. If he had “plateaued,” why the hell could he drive this monster? They’d told him he couldn’t do that. They’d told him he might not walk, yet here he was. How did they know he couldn’t still be a soldier? They wouldn’t even let him try.

He straddled the bike and kicked it to life, filling the air with the throaty roar of the engine and all the curse words he hadn’t let fly inside the hospital.

He wasn’t in the mood to go back home. Home. Was that what Wyatt’s ranch was? It wasn’t really. It never would be, even with all the family memories that lurked within its walls. The only thing even slightly homelike there was his son, Tyler. And Tyler seemed at home there as anyplace else he would be.

DJ was the one who didn’t know what home was.

He headed east, in the general direction of the ranch, but when he hit the freeway, he passed the regular turnoff and instead headed north...and kept going.

The hot wind slid over his skin. Heck, now he could let his hair grow out. He could dress more like himself, instead of in the endless parade of ugly camo. He could... His thoughts ended. All he saw ahead was emptiness.

The machine ate up the miles. He knew what he had to do. He knew where he should go. He knew... But before that he needed space, time to himself and a drink.

The Lucky Chance Bar was technically only fifteen miles away from Wyatt’s ranch—if you were a crow. It took DJ the same two hours to get there over the winding roads. He pulled the bike into the dirt parking lot and let the engine fall quiet for a while before he climbed off.

The rough country bar was where DJ had cut his drinking teeth as a young man. Since he’d been home, he’d avoided the place, too afraid that the lure of oblivion would be too strong to resist. Tonight, he knew he’d failed. There was no more resisting. All his nightmares were coming true.

By the time DJ was settled in the booth at the back of the bar, alone, where he’d sat countless times back in the day, his mind was full of memories of the recent past.

Decisions needed to be made and DJ was avoiding making them. He knew that. Medical discharge. He’d have a couple months of terminal leave before it was all final, but it might as well be today. He was done.

“You still like warm beer, I see.”

DJ looked up. Standing beside the table was a tall, lanky cowboy. He couldn’t see the guy’s face, what with the shadow of his hat brim and the dim lights, but there was something familiar about the guy... The comment was what seemed more familiar.

“Yeah, guess I do.” The beer and oblivion had seemed so appealing until the reality was right here in front of him.

“Your memory get killed over in that desert?”

The man’s thick Texas drawl rang a few warning bells in DJ’s brain. DJ frowned. He’d only known one guy— “Lane?”

The other half of that troublesome teenage summer when Granddad had nearly killed DJ stood there, proud as can be.

“About danged time you woke up.” Lane grinned and slid into the seat across from DJ without waiting for an invitation.

They shook hands over the scarred table as DJ’s brain filled with a wave of memory. This couldn’t be good. Not good at all. But he leaned back in the booth and looked at the man who’d been a boy the last time he’d seen him.

A very drunk boy if memory served. DJ smiled.

Lane took off the worn cowboy hat, setting it on the table. He looked rough around the edges. DJ hadn’t seen him in a couple of years, since the last time he’d come home before his last deployment.

“So, how’s your family doing?” Lane asked.

DJ smiled. “That’ll take a couple of hours. Next topic. How’s your dad?”

“Fair enough.” Years ago, probably at this same table, they’d sworn to keep their messed-up, convoluted families out of their intent to have fun. Seemed not everything had changed over time.

“So, whatcha doin’ here?” Lane looked up. “Haven’t seen you since you got back. Heard you were injured.”

“Yeah. Trying to heal.” DJ didn’t want to go into details and the waitress came over just then and saved him from doing so. He bought a round, but DJ realized he’d lost his appetite for bars and hangovers. Lane’s appearance reminded him of how miserable the aftermath always was. They’d nearly killed each other too damn many times.

They drank their beers slowly, in silence. “Damn, we’re old,” DJ finally said.

Lane laughed. “Speak for yourself, old man.” He became serious quickly. “I guess I’ve spent too much time sobering up my dad lately. Takes the fun out of it.” When the waitress returned, Lane ordered a round of coffee and they both laughed.

“Here’s a surprise for you.” DJ leaned forward on the table, hoping to take some of the pressure off his back. The bench was hard. “I got a kid. He’s eight.”

Lane stared. “No kidding.” Something other than surprise flashed in Lane’s eyes, but DJ couldn’t tell what it was. “How’d that happen?”

“The usual way.” DJ shrugged. “He’s staying with us at the ranch house. You should come meet him sometime.”

“I might do that. I’ve been meaning to get over to see Wyatt. So, when do you go back?”

Damned reality. “I’m not.” DJ hadn’t told anyone about the doctor’s final decision. He hadn’t called Wyatt or any of his siblings. He’d come straight here.

“What?”

“They just told me today. I’m being medically discharged.” There, he’d said it. It didn’t sound nearly as bad as it had echoing around in his head.

“That’s why you’re here tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“That it?

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just seems like a stupid reason to be drinking.” Lane stood, grabbing his hat from the table. As if uncomfortable with the conversation and needing distraction, he gathered up the empty bottles and placed them on the bar.

The door opened just then and a much older, worn version of Lane stumbled in.

“Ah, right on time.” Lane turned back to DJ. “Go home to your boy. Now you’ve got the time to be a dad.”

The one thing that had made them such good friends as boys was the fact that they’d each grown up with a single parent. Lane’s mother had died the same year as DJ’s dad. But where Mom had taken up the reins, Lane’s dad dived into a bottle. Apparently, nothing had changed.

DJ watched them leave, knowing any offers of help wouldn’t be appreciated. Instead, he stood and headed out to his motorcycle. Lane was right.

He headed home, where he should have gone in the first place.

Twenty minutes later, headed toward the front steps of the ranch house, DJ heard a voice quietly echo in the darkness. He stopped and listened for a minute. Nothing. He needed to get to bed. Even if he wanted to he couldn’t sleep in. Life around here started just after dawn in a loud, raucous, let’s-get-to-work way.

Most days, DJ liked that. He’d learned, early on in the military, to find a way to fill the void, to keep his brain busy and away from the what-ifs.

And there were plenty of what-ifs these days. What if the military actually medically retired him? He laughed. That wasn’t really a what-if anymore. They were going to. It was only a matter of paperwork and time.

What if Tammie never returned? Was he ready to support a kid for ten or more years? How? His wounds were still healing. Would he ever be able to hold a job? What could he do to earn enough to support himself and Tyler?

His head spun, not from the two beers he’d nursed through the visit with Lane, but from pushing himself so hard. From exhaustion. He tried to focus on the steps in front of him.

DJ heard the voice again. He hadn’t had that much. Two beers did not constitute drunk. His muscles had stiffened up on the ride home so he moved carefully, walking over to the side of the house.

There wasn’t anyone there. A noise, something cracking, sounded overhead. He looked up and saw something—someone—in the old cottonwood tree.

Tyler.

“I can see you,” he said softly. No response. “I can still see you, son.” DJ leaned nonchalantly against the corner of the porch rail. He didn’t want to startle Tyler. Despite the fact that DJ had climbed that same tree often enough as a kid and knew it was fairly safe, Tyler was still perched a good fifteen feet up.

“Am I in trouble?” Tyler mumbled.

“Depends. Why are you in the tree in the middle of the night?”

The silence stretched out and DJ let it. He’d learned patience was important with Tyler, especially when he was thinking.

“I like the tree. I was lookin’ at the stars.” A long silence again. “Mama likes stars. Says they look like jewels.”

DJ took a deep breath. “Why don’t you come down and look at them from the porch with me?” Closer to the ground.

Tyler seemed to be thinking again, and then DJ heard movement. He went to stand beneath the tree just in case Tyler fell, then laughed at himself when Tyler hopped down and crawled back over the windowsill and into his room. A few minutes later, the screen door squeaked open softly.

If nothing else, Tyler was unpredictable. He climbed up onto the porch swing and set it slowly in motion. DJ took a seat across from him in one of the wooden rockers.

“Did you think about the dirt bike?” Tyler grinned.

“I’m still thinking about that.” He ignored the crestfallen look. Diplomacy had never been DJ’s forte, but he drew on every memory he had of Wyatt’s and his friend Colin’s skills. He’d worked too hard to gain Tyler’s trust. He didn’t want to screw it up now. “Besides, if I told you my decision, what kind of birthday surprise would that be?”

“I suppose.” Appeased, but not happy, Tyler swung his legs to get the swing moving again.

He didn’t say anything else, and DJ racked his brain to come up with a topic of conversation. “So, your mom likes stars and jewels, huh?” he ventured.

“Yep. She makes jewelry. Or she used to...” His voice faded off.

“Why do you think she stopped?”

“’Cause of Dom.”

He still didn’t think Tyler was abused, not over the long haul, but he knew the jerk had done something to him. Tyler’s fears were real. “Your mom’s boyfriend, right?”

Maybe DJ could learn more in the shadows tonight. He treaded lightly. “What’d he do? Make her stop?”

The swing creaked. “No,” Tyler whispered.

Great. Open-ended questions, he reminded himself. “What did he do?”

“I dunno, but she didn’t like it. She cried. A lot.”

DJ didn’t pursue what might have happened between the adults. He’d leave that for later. “Did she have a lot of stuff?”

“Yeah. It was cool. She used to let me watch her. She had real gold and silver. And a hot thing that melted metal and made it all stick together.”

“Sounds pretty complicated.”

The swing creaked again, and DJ watched Tyler nod.

“She used to let me play with some of the jewels,” Tyler said softly. “Not the ’spensive ones, though.”

“Expensive? Like what?”

“Diamonds. She had other real pretty ones she liked best, even more than diamonds. She called ’em moonstones.” Tyler paused. “I like them best, too.”

“Wow.” DJ was shocked and impressed. “Diamonds. And moonstones. Must be pretty good money in that kind of work,” he mused aloud.

Tyler was silent. “I don’t know.” His voice sounded distant, confused.

Maybe the boy’s mind was going the same place as DJ’s—if she had that kind of money, why hadn’t she kept Tyler? Or, hell, if she needed the money, why not sell a diamond?

DJ frowned into the darkness. So many things about Tammie didn’t add up. Wyatt had told him about the old, dilapidated house where he’d picked up Tyler—maybe that topic would get the boy talking.

“That house in Austin where Uncle Wyatt picked you up. That where you guys lived?” He thought he knew the answer but wanted to hear what Tyler had to say.

Silence came out of the darkness. No swing creaks. No soft words. Just pure nighttime.

DJ leaned toward his son, waiting.

“No.” Tyler paused. “We just borrowed it for a little while.”

“Where’d you really live?” DJ watched as Tyler looked around, glancing into the night with wide, nervous eyes.

“Different places.”

DJ tried to remain patient. He knew that his son had gone to several different schools, and he was only eight. “That’s not much help, buddy.”

Tyler turned wide eyes to DJ. Tyler jumped off the porch swing, sending it swaying wildly, nearly hitting the edge of the house. “Help with what? Not like you’re gonna find Mama or help her.”

DJ stuck his arm out to stop the boy and only managed to connect an elbow with the flying wood. He cursed.

“Tyler, stop.” The boy was already up the stairs before DJ could struggle to his feet. He stopped at the screen door and let him go. He wasn’t going to solve anything tonight. He shoved his fingers through his hair. Growing out already, it was driving him crazy. Slowly, he paced back and forth over the worn boards. Help her with what?

At the edge of the porch, he stopped and stared out at the land beyond the yard. The horizon to the east was just starting to glow a faint red. He sighed. He hadn’t realized how late it had gotten...or rather, how early. He didn’t have anywhere to go today. His therapy had been cut down to twice a week. But Tyler had school in a few short hours.

Despite the fact that Tammie had dumped Tyler on Wyatt’s doorstep without a glance backward, the boy was eternally loyal to his mother.

DJ froze, staring at the red glow on the horizon. Loyalty wasn’t something a person could make you have. It was earned. It was given. Never taken.

He turned to look back at the screen door, seeing the shadow of the stairs beyond. Once inside, he took the steps slowly, carefully. He didn’t think he’d ever take the ability to climb stairs for granted again. It ticked him off, though, that it was such a struggle, especially when he was in a hurry, like now.

Finally, at the top, he paused and caught his breath. Then turned toward Tyler’s room, which was across the hall from his own. The door was closed. DJ slowly pushed the old wood panel door open, the original hinges squeaking softly in the near-dawn air.

Tyler was huddled on the bed, curled in a ball, his shoulders silently shaking. DJ didn’t hesitate. He walked across the room, his footsteps incredibly loud in the sleeping house. “Hey, buddy.” He settled in the chair beside the bed and felt the stab of regret when Tyler scooted away from him, closer to the wall.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you or make you think I don’t care about your mom. I liked her once, remember?” No answer.

DJ racked his brain for the right thing to say. “I need to ask you something,” DJ finally said. Still no answer. “You see, I realized something—you wouldn’t be so worried about her if you really thought she’d abandoned you, would you?”