Angel Smits - Addie Gets Her Man

That wasn’t good. Lance was the most laid-back, tolerant person Marcus had ever met.

“And you sent them to me?”

Anne laughed. “Hey, I didn’t send them. This was all Dad’s idea. I didn’t do much to dissuade them.” She went silent again. “Mom’s worried about you, you know.”

Not like he hadn’t given her cause in the past. “I know. I’m doing fine. Really.”

“Would you even tell us if you weren’t okay?” Anne whispered.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s okay. Ryan’ll tell me.”

“Smug doesn’t become you.” He liked it, though. This persona he recognized. “Anne?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t go all big sister, okay? I love you anyway.”

Emotion wasn’t something his family had ever been comfortable with, and he felt that discomfort come through the phone now. He didn’t care. He’d learned its value.

“Gotta go. Keep me posted. Love you, too.” The last came out in a hasty whisper as she disconnected the call.

Marcus pocketed his phone. Pleased with himself for setting his sister on edge in a good way, he set his backpack on a small table in the corner. The knot of pressure between his shoulder blades intensified. If his parents were coming to visit, he couldn’t waste any time tonight.

Turning to sit, he noticed a woman seated near the window. She looked vaguely familiar. He frowned, watching her as he absently opened his backpack. She was reading a hardcover book that was most definitely fiction. Her long golden hair kept tumbling down, and every so often, she’d fling it back over her shoulder.

Was that—? Just as he sat, she looked up. Their eyes met. Recognition dawned in her eyes. She smiled.

“Marcus, right?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah. You’re—”

“Addie Hawkins. Ryan’s principal.”

“I thought I recognized you.” It was nice to satisfy that nagging itch of not being able to identify someone.

“That’s okay if you didn’t.” She laughed. “I’m out of my natural habitat. Even the students who see me every day do a double take in public.”

He didn’t think the double take was from recognition. She really was lovely. He halted that train of thought. “Sorry to interrupt your reading.” He nodded toward her book, and she turned the page to continue.

The fact that there was no ring on her left hand didn’t escape his notice. The fact that he noticed shocked him. He hadn’t noticed that on anyone else in ages. He shook his head. That wasn’t why he was here.

He set his own book on the table. Not fiction, though. This book was also part of the reason he’d come here. He didn’t want to read it at home. Alone. In a big lonely house. This was an old book, the spine thin, worn. Not from many hands touching it in a library or bookstore. No, this was a hand-created work, done as a labor of love—a memoir by a man who’d served in Vietnam at the same time his father had. There was a big difference, though.

This man had been a foot soldier, a private on the ground. His father had been high above, watching from the cockpit of a surveillance plane.

Marcus stared at the book’s cover. Odd that Anne had called tonight. Knowing his father would be here soon, Marcus questioned if he really wanted to read it now. Did he truly want to know what was inside? There was no turning back once he started to read.

How would it affect his interaction with his father? Would it confirm his suspicions that his father was hiding something he’d been involved in back then? Or would it alleviate Marcus’s long-held suspicions? What would his next meeting with his father be like?

Marcus had gotten this book from the author’s son. Sam Tilton had died last year from cancer that was most likely the result of Agent Orange. No one could prove it, though, and Sam hadn’t cared.

Marcus had met him once, early in his diagnosis when he’d been sure he’d beat the monster. Marcus had meant to see him again, but Carolyn’s illness—the rest of life—had gotten in the way. This was the first time since he and Ryan had moved that he’d pulled the book out.

Now he second-guessed his decision.

“I tell my students that osmosis doesn’t really work.” Addie’s voice gave him an excuse to break out of his troubled thoughts. He tried to laugh, but he wasn’t very good at it anymore.

She moved—a smooth motion, standing, then walking to his side. “It’s a beautiful book.” She stood close. Warmth from her arm touched his as she caressed the hand-tooled leather cover. “Almost too pretty to open,” she whispered.

“Yeah. What’s inside isn’t nearly as pretty.”

“Have you read it before?”

Marcus shook his head. “No. I know the author. I know what it’s about.”

She moved to tug on the chair across from him. “May I?” At his nod, she pulled the chair out and sat. “I don’t mean to interrupt...but can I help? You look troubled.”

Addie was obviously a caring person. He’d known a few—very few—people like that in his life. Carolyn had been like that. He swallowed the pain in his throat.

He tapped the book cover, breaking the hold of his memories. “This is a memoir. One of the men who was with my father in Vietnam wrote it.”

Her eyebrows lifted. He regretted surprising her like that. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “It’s going to be a tough read. But I need to read it.”

“Why?” Her shock faded, curiosity replacing it in her eyes.

Marcus shrugged. “To find answers. I—”

She waited. Not filling in the blanks, but waiting for him, listening.

“My father doesn’t talk about his experiences. He keeps it all locked up inside.” Letting loose only when he couldn’t hold back anymore—usually with a well-aimed fist or a mouthful of filthy language. “He’s got issues.”

“He’s still around, then?”

“Yeah. We don’t see each other often.” Though apparently, that was going to change soon. “Never did. He didn’t take his family on any of his assignments.”

“I’m sorry.” Her gaze grew distant. “My father died when I was—” She swallowed, then frowned. “About Ryan’s age actually.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

The silence grew between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, he found it oddly comforting that she was here, willing to listen as he waded into the murky waters of his father’s past.

“My dad was a great guy.” She seemed to shake herself out of the memories. “There were six of us kids. Mom had her hands full. So, when he died, we picked ourselves up and got the job done.”

“Wow. Sounds rough.”

“Not really. Everyone’s grown now. All out in the world, with families and kids. We...we lost Mom last year.” She stumbled over her words for a second, then once again recovered. “She was ready to join him,” she whispered.

He envied her. His mother wouldn’t be interested in joining his dad—anywhere, here or in the afterlife. She’d stayed married to him, just like she’d stayed behind when he’d deployed. She’d earned the military pension just like he had. She’d said it so many times, he could hear her saying it now.

Addie looked at him, then slowly rose. He had to tilt his chin up only slightly to meet her gaze. She couldn’t be much over five feet.

“I’m sorry.” She moved to her table and gathered her things. “I didn’t mean to ruin your evening. This got a little maudlin.”

“No. I interrupted you,” he said. She turned to leave, and he reached out to stop her. “Wait.” She looked back at him. “How about we start over? I’m Marcus.” He stood and put his hand out in greeting.

Their eyes met. She smiled and took his hand. “I’m Addie. Nice to meet you.”

He liked this friendly woman. “Can I get you something?” He gestured to the bakery case and the counter.