The Newcomer (Thunder Point #2)(18)

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Cooper found Rawley’s red truck in the driveway at his house, indicating he was at home, but there was a for sale sign in the back window of the truck. Maybe he’d decided to work on restoring Ben’s old truck and drive it at the same time. When Cooper found all the stuff in Ben’s old storage shed—truck, Razor, tools, etc.—he’d given Ben’s truck to Rawley and invited him to use any tools he needed to work on it. He gave the Razor to Sarah and Landon since he had a Rhino for himself.

Cooper parked on the street, walked up the brick steps and knocked on the door. He knocked again before Rawley opened the door. Rawley was wearing a white dress shirt with his jeans—a new look for him. There was no bandana tied around his head, either. And his hair—extremely thin on top and usually long—had been trimmed.

“What’s up, Rawley?” Cooper asked. And Rawley just held open the door so Cooper could step inside. “You’re selling the truck?” he asked as he entered. And then he saw the empty wheelchair sitting in front of the fireplace. “Rawley...”

“He passed real quiet,” Rawley said. “In his sleep. I found him this morning.”

“Aw, Rawley. I’m sorry, man. You should have called me.”

Rawley just shook his head. “I knew what to do.”

Cooper reached out and put a strong hand on his shoulder. “I could’ve helped.”

“You got a business to run.”

“I also have commitments to friends,” he said. “I would’ve put the big thermos on the porch, some doughnuts on a plate under the glass so the birds wouldn’t get in ’em. There’s just the two of us out there on the beach. There’s gonna be times we have to be somewhere else.”

Rawley, so unexpressive, looked surprised by that. “Just figured I’d get ’er done.”

“You’re selling the truck?”

He shrugged. “My dad, he had himself a plot, paid for, but that’s about it. It’s either sell the house or the truck.”

“To pay for the funeral?”

“Won’t be no funeral, there’s just us. But he needs a box.”

Cooper stood uncertainly for a moment. “Could we sit down in the kitchen and have a cup of coffee?”

Without answering, Rawley turned and headed toward the kitchen. Once there he brought a fresh cup out of the cupboard and filled it for Cooper. Then he filled his own cup. Then, to Cooper’s surprise, he put cream and sugar on the table, along with a spoon. And he sat down.

Cooper didn’t really know where to begin. “Mac said you’ve been hanging around the bait shop for a few years now.”

Rawley nodded.

“Where did you work before that, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Odd jobs. Here and there.”

“And lived here with your dad?”

He shook his head. “I just got reconnected with my dad four years ago. Ben forced that issue,” he said, naming their late friend.

“Where were you living before that?” Cooper asked.

“Here and there.” Cooper decided to wait him out. He sipped his coffee, excellent coffee, and just didn’t speak for a couple of the longest minutes of his life. “I didn’t get on with people so much after the war,” Rawley said. “It wasn’t like now—folks didn’t celebrate Vietnam soldiers too much. Made a person want to disappear. That, and bombs going off while you sleep—makes a man just want to be alone.”

PTSD issues, Mac had said. “Understandable,” Cooper said.

“I stopped by to see my dad sometimes. Just for a day or so, every few years or so, but not for long. I had burdens. You know.”

“I know,” Cooper said. And he thought, there are so many of us. Men without strong attachments who just wander. Cooper didn’t have PTSD issues that he was aware of, but he still felt like a loner often enough. And, like Rawley, after leaving the service he hadn’t gone home to his family. He’d kept moving.

“My dad used to fish off Ben’s dock,” Rawley said. “He’d have a shot of Wild Turkey sometimes before heading home. Ben found me. I hung out with a couple of vets around Eureka, not too far from the VA. Sometimes if we needed something, like food or money to eat, the VA was as good a place as any. Used clothes, too. Then Ben said my dad was doing poorly. He hadn’t been fishing in so long, Ben checked on him and my dad couldn’t get himself upstairs to go to bed most nights so he slept in the chair. Ben said my dad needed help. He said he’d give me a part-time job if it could be worked out.”

“So you came home to help your dad,” Cooper said.

“It’s different coming home because you’re needed than coming home because you’re needy,” Rawley said.

Cooper lifted his coffee cup to his lips. “Exactly right,” he agreed.

They drank their coffee in silence for a while.

“So, you have a house here,” Cooper said. “Place to live and a job. I guess that means you’ll be staying.”

“It’s almost habit now,” Rawley said.

“You keep this place real nice, Rawley,” Cooper said. “It must have made your dad real proud to leave it to you.”

“Like I said, it’s just us. Buried my mother some thirty-eight years ago. The Red Cross brought me home from Vietnam. Since I was an only son.”