Soldier Mine (Sons of War #2)(34)
She’s staring at the cards.
“Besides,” I say more lightly. “Todd keeps me on my feet. Helps me work off all the pie I eat here.”
“I’m glad you like them,” she says finally. “I have the designs saved if you want to show him.”
“I’ll bring him by tomorrow, if that works for you.”
She nods. “You think he’ll like them?”
“He’ll love them.”
Claudia smiles and stands. She gathers the samples, hesitates, then rests her hand on mine and looks me in the eye. “You give me hope, Petr.” Without another word, she leaves.
I’m not sure what that means exactly except it should be a good thing. Even if it is, it’s not landing me a date with her yet. I’m not naturally a patient person, but the past two years have taught me the value in not rushing something good.
I leave, warmed by the demonstration of kindness towards my father.
Chapter Fifteen: Petr
Breakfast at the diner, the occasional school visit, paperwork at the recruitment center, and evening activities with Todd. Two weeks pass in this manner. The highlight of my day remains seeing Claudia smile, even if we don’t have the opportunity for more than a greeting.
It’s almost become a game between Baba’s odd projects and Claudia’s ability to finish them within a day or two. He’s had to get more creative, because he thinks the projects are giving me a chance to woo her. I know how smart she is, but seeing how quickly she designs is an eye opener. She has real talent, the kind that should see her working somewhere other than a diner.
Baba’s projects are fun and creative, and she seems to enjoy the challenge. I start to recognize the rhyme and reason behind them while she doesn’t yet. I haven’t been able to open up to Baba about her, though I think he suspects there are issues, or he wouldn’t be working so hard to invent new projects.
If anything, I think she’s the one charming him. We’ve reached a sort of equilibrium, a routine I’d call far from normal yet stable all the same. Todd is happy, which should help Claudia relax.
It doesn’t, and she seems no closer to accepting an invitation to dinner with me, either. Every once in a while, I see the look of yearning she directs my way when she thinks I won’t notice, the same mix of regret, hope and resignation I’ve discovered since being sidelined from operations.
The days pass slowly, the weeks quickly, and the town shifts into full-fledged holiday mode a week and a half before Christmas. The December snows add to the nostalgia, and with the major holiday coming, I’m also busier with planning my father’s annual Christmas party.
On the fifteenth, I sign Todd out of school after my daily diner visit for the promised visits to the VA medical center and the local soldier’s home. I stay in uniform for this one.
We go to the VA center first, where I introduce Todd to the other volunteers doing walk thrus. After a quick tour, I clam down any sense of dread and take him to the wing with the soldiers newly discharged because of their injuries.
The open bay style ward is full. Some of the service members await transfers while others wait for additional surgery, limb replacement or recovery services, physical therapy candidates, overnight stays, and so on.
I take him to a Marine with a bullet lodged in his spine that’s rendered him paralyzed from the waist down. The lesson I want to teach Todd is harsh but necessary, and one I think he needs. We play and have fun most of the time, so our rapport and relationship is open enough that I can judge if he becomes too upset.
The Marine, Corporal Lance, is accustomed to speaking with visitors. He’s personable and leads tours of the hospital and is unlike any other jarhead I’ve ever worked with.
“Hey, Gunny,” he greets me using Marine Corps slang for my rank. With close-cropped dark hair and dark eyes, he’s usually quick to smile but appears exhausted today.
“How you doing, Corporal?” I ask.
“Rough week. New physical therapist knows how to make a man hurt.”
“Sorry to hear.”
“How’s the robo-leg?”
“Incredible. Been pushing it to the limit,” I say with a grin. “If I break it –“
“- they can build you another.”
We both chuckle at the common greeting. I turn to reveal the teen behind me. “This is Todd.”
Todd shakes the corporal’s hand. I pat the empty bed beside Corporal Lance in his wheelchair.
“He here for a scare-‘em-straight session or a military-is-awesome session?” Corporal Lance asks with a Marine’s bluntness.
“How about we start with you telling him what happened,” I suggest.
“Hope you have a sturdy stomach,” the corporal warns Todd.
Todd glances at me uncertainly. “I think so,” he murmurs.
Lance starts his tale. I excuse myself to go to the one part of the VA center where I won’t take Todd until he’s older: the psych ward. It’s a travesty to me knowing this part of the hospital is as full as the rest. The doors at every entrance are secured. The orderlies know me by now, and I’m permitted entrance to the floor with the most severely disturbed.
The halls are quiet, and the rooms on either side resemble prison cells. Pausing to peer into one, I no longer fight the intense wave of sorrow and pain that washes over me. I let it come, and I let myself remember.