Julia Spencer-Fleming - One Was a Soldier

“She killed herself,” she finally said.

“Some people can’t face the consequences of their crimes.”

Clare pulled away from Russ. “She wasn’t a criminal. She was a damaged soldier.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “She was wounded over there, just as much as Will and Trip were.”

“As much as you were?” Russ looked at her, looked into her, inviting her to lay down all her lies and deep-dive into the truth with him.

She couldn’t face that bottomless well. “I’m afraid,” she whispered.

“Oh, love. Of what?”

“Of what’s in my head. What’s in my heart. I’m afraid I’m not strong enough. That loving you and God won’t be enough to keep me afloat. I’m afraid-”

He wrapped his arms around her. “That if Tally McNabb could choose to end it all, you might make the same choice someday?”

“I don’t know if I’m dealing with it any better than she was,” she said into his chest. “Or Eric, losing his temper, or Trip, pretending he hasn’t lost a chunk out of his brain.”

“I don’t know how you’re dealing with it. I don’t know what you’ve been through, and I don’t know where you’ve been hurt.” He pushed her hair away from her face. “Tell me.”

She wanted to. She was so tired of hiding and lying and going it alone. She opened her mouth-

It’s the same reason Clare doesn’t want to talk about drinking. Because she’s afraid if she does, somebody will stop her from doing it. Tally had said that… and less than a week later, had killed herself.

– and shut it again. “Not now.” She nodded toward the hallway, where a banging door and the sound of raised voices indicated some new investigator had arrived. “You’re going to be here half the night. If Olivia and the Stillmans don’t need me anymore, I’m going to”- get my blood tested -“go home.”

“All right. Not now. Soon, though. I mean it, love. I’m waiting for you to tell me.”

That was what she was afraid of.

The Full Moon Bar and Grill was packed by the time Eric got there, but he had no trouble spotting his party. Five helium balloons imprinted with handcuffs bobbed over their table in the corner. When he got closer, he could see they were weighted down with the real thing. MacAuley was being subtle. He had figured the deputy chief would’ve gone for a ball-and-chain motif.

He raised his hand. “Hi, everybody.” A chorus of hellos greeted him. He dropped into a chair near one end, across from the chief. It was also as far away from Hadley Knox as he could get.

“Eric. Glad you could make it.” The chief slid an empty glass and a pitcher of beer toward him. “You know Emil Dvorak, our medical examiner. This is his partner, Paul Foubert, who runs the Infirmary.” The two men nodded at Eric. “And this is Wayne and Mindy Stoner. We went to high school together.” The ruddy-faced farmer-he had to be a farmer-leaned forward and shook Eric’s hand. His wife wiggled her fingers around a glass stein. “Eric’s in the Guard,” the chief said to the Stoners. “He got back from Iraq this past June.”

“Really?” Mindy Stoner put her beer down. “Our son Ethan is in Afghanistan right now. He’s with the marines.”

Eric made some remark, and the ME chimed in, and pretty soon they were all talking about the wars, and Eric couldn’t have recounted what he said two seconds after he said it. He was focused on the other end of the table, where Hadley Knox sat boxed in by Kevin and Harlene. She was smiling but quiet, following a rapid-fire back-and-forth between Harlene and the chief’s sister, not noticing Kevin topping off her beer and filling her plate before passing the platter on to Noble.

Eric’s attention was broken by Lyle dropping an identical platter on their end of the table. “Sausage hoagies and onion rings,” the deputy chief announced. “Best in the state.”

Mindy Stoner stared at the mountain of cholesterol. “He’s trying to kill you before the wedding,” she said to the chief.

MacAuley slapped the chief on the back. “Dig in. You gotta keep your strength up for tomorrow night.”

“Lyle,” the chief warned.

“Hey, where’s the stripper?” Wayne Stoner asked. His wife glared at him.

“Aw, you know Russ. He’s too much of a spoilsport to go for that.” MacAuley grinned. “We’ll play pin-the-whitetail-on-the-twelve-point-buck later on instead.”

“When I got married the first time, I had a stripper at my bachelor party,” Dr. Dvorak said. “All my friends at University chipped in and brought her down from Amsterdam.”

Mindy Stoner looked from him to his burly, bearded partner and back again. “You had a stripper.”

“Yes, indeed. Then she arrived, and she was fifty-five-years old and looked like my mother.”

“Turned him gay,” Paul Foubert said.

At the other end of the table, Hadley said something to Kevin and rose. Eric watched her disappear into the crowd, headed for the ladies’. He sipped his beer. Gave her a minute. Two. Women always took twice as long in the john as men did.

“’Scuse me.” Eric stood up. The chief looked at him over the rim of his water glass but didn’t say anything. Eric threaded his way through the tables and chairs as if he had all the time in the world. He wanted to catch her at the other end of the bar without having to lurk outside the bathrooms like some perv.

He timed it just right. She spotted him as she came out. He stopped where he was, close, but not in her way. “Can we talk?” He kept his back toward their table so she could face that way. Keeping her friends in sight. She’ll feel safer with a bar full of people around.

“Okay.” She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “Shoot.”

He swallowed. “I, um, want to apologize.” She looked at him with flinty eyes. “I, ah-” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I-”

Kevin Flynn walked past him, carrying a full glass of beer. “Hey.” He handed it to Hadley. “Thought you might like your drink.” He casually moved behind and to the side of her, right where he’d be most effective if Eric were to snap and attack her. Again. Eric felt a funny ache in his stomach. The kid used to look up to him. “I wanted to let you know I’ve started seeing somebody,” he found himself saying. “Down in Saratoga. A doctor. He specializes in guys like me. Who need help holding on to their tempers. I’ve got-he gave me a prescription.” He hadn’t filled it yet. He was terrified of how it would feel, being drugged up.

“That’s good,” Hadley said. “I’m glad.”

“Yeah, that’s good, man.” Kevin gave him the same smile Eric had used on six-year-old Jake when he was learning to ride a bike. You can do it, buddy!

“Hadley, I’m sorry. If there was some way I could go back and make it not have happened-”

She smiled a brittle smile. “It didn’t happen, Eric. You assaulted me.” Kevin dropped his hand on her shoulder. “You hit me and took my gun away from me, and then I had to lie to the chief about it. Which means, I guess, that I suck at being a cop but that I’m good at covering it up.”

Kevin rumbled a disagreement.

Eric wiped his hand across his face. “Yeah. You’re right. I mean, no, you don’t suck at being a cop.” He stopped before he could tangle himself further. “Oh, Christ. Look, I screwed things up. The chief knows it was all my fault. You don’t have to forgive me-hell, if the shoe was on the other foot I don’t know if I could forgive me-but I want you to know that I’m sorry, and that I’m doing everything I can to not screw up again, and that you will never, ever have to feel afraid of me.” He paused. “That’s all.” His heart felt like he’d just sprinted a mile.