Lee McClain - The Soldier's Secret Child

“Probably not.” Lacey rolled her eyes at her friend, pretending exasperation. “But it’s okay. You can’t help but notice his scars. Anyway, we’re just going to talk about this crazy idea his grandma dreamed up.” She explained how Nonna had unexpectedly rented out her own house, and how Vito was newly a foster father. “Apparently, Vito had no idea that was her plan. He was counting on bringing his foster son, Charlie, to live in Nonna’s big house out in the country. I actually got the feeling Nonna had kept it a secret on purpose, to make sure Vito ended up staying at the guesthouse.”

“But that would be perfect!” Susan clapped her hands. “Vito could be with his nonna, and Charlie could get a sense of family, and they’d be right in town to get, like, reintegrated into the community.”

“Yes, but—”

“And you wanted someone else to room in, right? He’d pay rent, which would help with your expenses. He and Charlie could have separate rooms, or those two connecting ones upstairs.”

Lacey’s response was cut off by the sound of crashing blocks and a wail, and they got busy playing with the babies. The subject of Vito moving into the guesthouse didn’t come up again, but Lacey couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Susan seemed to think it was a great idea, and Nonna had talked to Lacey over breakfast about how wonderful it would be to have Vito there and to get to know the newest member of the family. Her eyes had sparkled when she said that, and few enough things had brought a sparkle to Nonna’s eyes since the heart attack.

There were all kinds of reasons to embrace the idea of Vito and Charlie moving in, but Lacey still felt uneasy about it.

She couldn’t begin to articulate why, even to herself.

* * *

At lunchtime, Vito stood outside the Chatterbox Café, looking up at the town’s outdoor clock, which clearly showed it was only eleven forty-five. He was early. Why had he come so early?

He loosened the itchy collar of his new button-down shirt. He shouldn’t have worn a brand-new shirt today, should have at least washed it first, except that he was living out of a suitcase and he’d been rushing to get Charlie ready to go and there hadn’t been the chance.

He could have just worn an old, comfortable shirt, but the fact was, he was trying to look good. Which was obviously a losing battle.

It wasn’t about Lacey. It was about the fact that he’d probably see other people he knew here at the Chatterbox, and he needed to present a professional image. He had good benefits from the VA—they were paying for his online degree—but a man needed to work, and Vito would be looking for a part-time job just as soon as he’d found a place to live and gotten Charlie settled. Maybe something with kids, since he was looking to become a teacher.

No, it wasn’t about Lacey. He’d had some feelings for her once, but he’d turned those off when she’d married, of course. He’d been over her for years.

“Vito!” Lacey approached, a summery yellow dress swirling around her legs, the wind blowing her short hair into messiness.

She looked so beautiful that, for a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

He crooked his arm for her to take it, an automatic gesture he’d learned at his nonna’s knee. The way a gentleman treated a lady. And then he remembered how she’d stepped away when he’d done the Italian thing and thrown an arm around her yesterday. He put his arm back at his side.

People are disgusted by your scars, he reminded himself. And she hasn’t seen the half of them.

As they turned toward the café—Vito carefully not touching her—he caught a whiff of something lemony and wondered if it was her shampoo, or if she’d worn perfume.

Inside, everything was familiar: the smell of meat loaf and fries, the red vinyl booths and vintage tables trimmed with aluminum, the sight of people he’d known since childhood. Even the counter waitress, Nora Jean, had been here since he was a kid and called a greeting.

“Sit anywhere, you two. Lindy’ll wait on you, but I’m coming over to say hello just as soon as these guys give me a break.” She waved at her full counter.

Dion Coleman, the police chief, swiveled in his chair and stood to pound Vito on the back. “I’m glad to see your ugly mug,” he joked. Which didn’t feel awkward, because it was the exact same thing Dion had always said when Vito came home, even before his injuries. “Police business has been slow these past months, but with you home, it’s sure to pick up.”

Vito shook the man’s hand with genuine pleasure. “I’ll see what I can do about knocking down some mailboxes and shooting up signs, just to give you something to do. You’re getting soft.” He nodded down at Dion’s flat belly and then at the grilled chicken salad on the counter in front of him. “Eating too much. Just like a cop.”

“You never change.” Dion was laughing as he sat back down. “Give me a call, you hear? We have some catching up to do.”

Lacey had headed toward one of the few empty booths at the back of the café, and as he followed her it seemed to Vito that conversation stopped, then rose again when he’d passed. He rubbed a hand across his face, feeling the uneven ridges of his scars.

As soon as they sat down, they were mobbed. The young waitress could barely squeeze in to take their order. Everyone, friend or acquaintance, stopped by to say hello. They wanted to know where he was staying, how long he’d be in town, where he was stationed. Explaining that he wasn’t in the army anymore felt embarrassing, since he’d always intended it to be his life’s work. More embarrassing were the sympathetic nods and arm pats. People felt sorry for him.

But he kept it upbeat and answered questions patiently. Once people knew his story, they’d settle down some. And maybe someone would think of him when a job opening came up, so he made sure to let everyone know he was looking.

After people had drifted back to their tables and they’d managed to eat some of their lunch, Lacey wiped her mouth and smiled at him. “That got a little crazy. Are you wishing we’d gone somewhere else?”

He swallowed his massive bite of cheeseburger and shook his head. “Best to get it over fast. Let people get a good look.”

She took a sip of soda. “You think they all came over to look at your scars?”

“That, and find out the latest news. But mostly to see how bad the damage is, up close and personal.” His support group at the VA had warned him about people’s reactions, how they might not be able to see anything but his scars at first.

“They’re not looking at your scars in a bad way,” Lacey said, frowning. “They’re grateful for your service.”

Of course, that was what most of the people who’d greeted them had said. And they weren’t lying. It was just that initial cringe that got to him. He wasn’t used to scaring people just by the way he looked.

His friend with severe facial burns had told Vito that you never really got used to it. “Older people do better, but young people like pretty,” he’d said. “Makes it a challenge to get a date.”

The waitress refilled his coffee cup and headed to a booth across the way. Vito gestured toward her. “You can’t tell me someone like that, someone who doesn’t know me, isn’t disgusted when she first sees me.”

Lacey looked at him for a long moment, her brown eyes steady. “Look over there,” she said, pointing to a twenty-something man in an up-to-date wheelchair, sitting at a table with an older woman. “That’s our waitress’s brother,” she said. “He served, too.”

Vito blinked and looked more closely, seeing how the man’s head lolled to one side, held up by a special support. He wore a hoodie and sweats, and as Vito watched, the older woman put a bite of something into his mouth.