Tortured

  Walking to the house next door felt strange. It had been empty for so long, I’d gotten used to ignoring its presence. But now, someone I knew was living inside it.

  Several piles of boxes were stacked on the porch, a couple of them open but not unpacked. It was like he’d started but hadn’t known where to go from there.

  My finger hovered over the doorbell, unable to press it. I was standing in front of his door, about to invite him over for dinner. The man whose death I’d grieved years ago was behind this door, alive. I’d had weeks to get used to the idea, but certain moments hit me harder than others.

  My finger finally made the rest of the journey. When the doorbell rang, I didn’t hear any movement coming from inside. I waited a minute and still no sound, but just as I was about to leave, the door opened. Not a crack, not some of the way. It opened as far as it would go.

  Brecken looked surprised to see me at first, blinking a couple of times. Then his expression cleared and he stared at me like he’d been waiting for me.

  “Hi, neighbor.” His smile was natural, appraising me in a way that made certain body functions betray me.

  “Hi, yourself,” I greeted back. “Hungry?”

  The skin between his brows pinched. “What makes you assume that?”

  “The fact that you somehow managed to burn soup.”

  “You spying on me?” The corner of his mouth twitched.

  “I had a tiny detective do my dirty work for me. He just gave me the full report.” I took a few steps back when he came out the door. Not because I wanted to, but because I had to. “He also asked that I invite the marine everyone’s talking about over to our house for dinner, so if you say no, I have to tell him his hero just turned him down.”

  “You used to be above the whole guilt trip thing.”

  “And then I became a parent,” I said, only part joking. “You find your moral code shrinks when you’re forced to accept what you’d do to keep your child safe.”

  “So you’re saying I have a choice when it comes to dinner tonight? As long as that choice involves a yes?” He was managing to maintain a straight face, which I wasn’t.

  I started down the stairs. “You’re quick.”

  He was already following me, moving down the steps one at a time. “Sorry I didn’t warn you before moving in right next door. It all kind of came together all at once.”

  “You don’t have to check with the neighborhood to get approval to buy a house.”

  “I don’t care about what the rest of the neighborhood thinks, just what you think.”

  I smiled over my shoulder at him. “I think I’m glad to have a neighbor I can bum a cup of sugar from when I need one.”

  “Guess I’d better stock up on sugar then.” He shouldered up beside me, tucking his hands into his front pockets. “Does that mean I can come knocking on your door when I need to get some?”

  My feet stopped. “You need to get … some?”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged, stilling with me. “Some sugar?”

  When I noticed the corners of his mouth twitch, I settled a hand on my hip. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

  “I know I’m funny. There’s a difference.” He chuckled and kept moving across the yards with me.

  “You might want to give Crew some time to adjust to your presence before you show up asking for some of his wife’s sugar. As a fair warning.”

  He smiled at the ground, trying to make his limp less obvious. “What’s Crew’s deal with me? He’s the one who married my girl. If anyone should be pissed, it would be me.”

  I wasn’t going to argue his point. “But you’re not?” When he looked at me, I added, “Pissed?”

  “Do I look like I am?”

  I took him in, not sure what exactly he looked like. “No,” I said at last, “you don’t.”

  “I take it from that fair warning that Crew won’t be joining us around the dinner table tonight?” His footsteps were loud, solid sounding, as we climbed the stairs.

  “He’s at work.”

  “Does he know you were planning on inviting me over?” The look in his eyes told me he didn’t care. When I shook my head, he came to a stop as my hand touched the doorknob. “So we’re straight, I don’t care what you choose to tell Crew or not tell him.”

  “I’m not trying to hide this from him.”

  Brecken’s gaze cut to the spot where Crew parked his cruiser. “Is that why you keep checking the driveway every two seconds?”

  “Things with Crew and me are more complicated than you and I were.”

  “When I hear people use the word complicated to describe their relationship, you know what I think?” When I made no attempt to answer, he stepped toward me. “What word are they really afraid to use?”

  My face didn’t change, but he saw the shift in my eyes. I could maybe still fool Crew, but Brecken had known me too long for me to expect the same with him. Even with the years apart, he was still calling me out the way he used to when I tried to pretend I didn’t know what he was talking about.

  “About how much longer do you think we’ll stand here staring at each other in silence? Ballpark idea.”

  Giving him a look, I opened the door. “You started it.”

  “But you and me”—he waved his finger between us—“we’re not finished.”

  When I noticed who was jogging down the sidewalk, I motioned him inside. Gina Meyers loved to gossip almost as much as she loved to feel the burn. Tonight’s “workout” attire included black, Spandex shorts, and a bright coral sports bra that provided yoga support, not sprinting support. But then, maybe that was the whole idea, at least if one took a gander through the inner workings of Gina’s mind.

  “Are you trying to attach a double meaning to everything you say to me? Or is it purely coincidental?”

  Brecken stepped aside, his eyes wandering the house as I sealed the door closed behind us. “More along the lines of intentional.”

  “He didn’t come, did he?” A voice sighed from the kitchen, the same tone he used whenever Crew had to cancel a promised fishing day or joining us at the park.

  Usually, I had to console him. This was a nice change.

  “Was I not supposed to? Because your mom made it seem like I didn’t have a choice.” Brecken nudged me as we moved through the family room. He took in every little thing, from the family photos to the chair Crew lounged at in front of the television. He studied it all like there was some deeper meaning I wasn’t aware of.

  The moment we landed in the kitchen, Brecken’s eyes locked on Keenan. Same story the other way around.

  “Oh, wow. You did come.” Keenan looked like he was trying to crawl out of his seat, but his body wouldn’t let him.

  “Save the wows. I’m the neighbor who manages to burn soup remember? Definitely doesn’t inspire a wow rating.” Brecken waved at Keenan, shifting after a minute as Keenan continued to gape across the kitchen at him.

  “Keenan,” I said, giving him the Mom Look, “it’s not polite to stare. Especially at dinner guests who were too nice to say no.”

  “I only agreed so we could form a free sugar trade.” Brecken shot a smirk at me as I moved toward the stove. “I’m just here for the sugar.”

  Keenan giggled as though he were in on the joke, still gawking at Brecken without taking a darn break to blink.

  “And it’s okay with the staring thing. I have my own issues when it comes to staring at certain people”—his attention stayed on Keenan, but I felt his focus shift to me—“and I know there’s a lot to stare at when a person looks at me, so it’s okay. I don’t mind, and I’m going to have to get used to it. You can help me with that.”

  “He’s not staring at you because of that. He’s staring at you because … tell him, Keenan,” I said, collecting the plates to dish up dinner.

  “Because you are, like, my favorite superhero ever.” Keenan’s legs swung from the chair as he went on. “You’re just like Captain America. Except you’re real
, and he’s not.”

  Brecken came up behind one of the chairs around the table. “Captain America defeated the bad guys. Kind of the other way around in my situation.”

  “Let the boy have his real-life hero.” I set the plates on the counter and tore the film off the pack of taco shells. “Please?”

  “Shouldn’t that be his dad?” he asked, coming around the table like he was planning on helping me.

  “Was yours your dad?”

  “Maybe. If I would have seen him after the age of five.”

  “It’s fine. His dad can be his hero too. There’s no rule that says a person can only have one hero.” When Brecken paused beside me, holding out his hands in a gesture of willingness to help, I motioned at the chair across from mine. “I’ve got this. Just take a seat. Relax for a few minutes while I get everything dished.”

  “I spent years relaxing.”

  “Relaxing?”

  Brecken motioned his hand back and forth. “Physically similar. Mentally not.”

  I was staring at the hand he’d lifted, unable to keep from wondering what he’d experienced if that one exposed part of his body looked as though it had suffered so much. I had to focus on stirring the taco meat so he wouldn’t notice my eyes glaze over.

  “You could get our drinks if you want,” I said, starting to assemble the tacos.

  He started for the fridge. “What’ll it be, Keenan?”

  “Soda!” When he noticed me looking at him, he tried again. “Milk, please.”

  “Yeah, that look used to do the same thing to me too. Don’t feel bad.” Brecken tipped his chin at Keenan as he pulled out the gallon of milk. “Camryn?”

  “I’ll just have some water. Please,” I added when Keenan gave me the look this time.

  “Water? All the choices in the world and you pick water?” Brecken motioned inside the fridge like the options were endless, when really there were about half a dozen, mostly Keenan’s. “I can’t tell you what I would have done for a Coke a few years ago.”

  “Fine, you’ve made your point. I’ll have … Soda!” I exclaimed in as best a Keenan rendition as I could. “And since tonight’s special, you can have soda too.”

  Keenan let out a whoop while Brecken exchanged the milk for the two-liter of Coke.

  “Why’s tonight special?” Keenan asked once his celebration hoot had ended.

  I glanced at Brecken pulling three glasses from the cupboard, like he knew his way around. Or was at least pretending he did until he really knew. “Because we’re getting to have our first dinner together”—I smiled at my son—“with our new neighbor.”

  “Thank you for being so ‘neighborly.’” Brecken tipped the glass he was setting in front of Keenan. “I don’t think I had anything left to burn in my kitchen.”

  Keenan was already taking a gulp of his soda. “Do you like tacos?”

  “Crunchy shell? Meaty? Cheesy?” Brecken asked as if he wasn’t sure he’d remembered them correctly, going back to grab the other two glasses.

  Keenan set down his glass, his eyes widening. “Don’t you know what tacos are?” The kid lived for tacos and was unable to comprehend how anyone else didn’t feel the same.

  “I haven’t eaten a taco in years.”

  As Brecken set his and my glasses down, I set Keenan’s plate in front of him.

  “But it’s coming back to me now,” he said, glancing at Keenan’s plate.

  “Why do you walk like that?” Keenan asked as Brecken moved toward his chair.

  “Keenan …” My eyes found his and I shook my head.

  Brecken didn’t notice. “I broke my leg a while ago, and it didn’t heal the way it was supposed to.”

  “How did you break your leg?”

  There was a few moments pause of silence. Then the sound of Brecken settling into his chair. “I don’t remember.”

  “Did it hurt?”

  I’d stopped in the middle of making a taco. Keenan knew what had happened to Brecken in a context appropriate for a young child, which wasn’t much. He knew Brecken had been in the military, captured by the enemy, and held prisoner for a long time before being rescued. That was the extent of it. He didn’t know, or need to know, what could or did happen during that stretch of time.

  “I don’t remember,” Brecken answered at last, his voice sounding distant.

  “You don’t remember how you broke your leg or if it hurt?” Keenan was back to gaping at him like he was some otherworldly being.

  Brecken’s shoulder lifted. “Bad memory.”

  “But you remember Mom.” Keenan pointed at me as I approached the table with two plates in hand.

  Brecken’s eyes found mine, his expression softening like he’d just let out a deep breath. “My memory’s not that bad.”

  Keenan smiled, which always made me smile.

  “Wow. I think your mom’s trying to tell me something.” Brecken motioned at his plate I’d set in front of him.

  “I am,” I answered, trying not to laugh at how absurd that many tacos looked on one plate. “Eat.”

  “I should give you my plate instead. You need it more than I do from the looks of it.” His eyes skimmed over me, the corners of my mouth dropping.

  “I think he’s trying to tell me something too,” I pretended to whisper at Keenan, who was crunching into his first taco.

  “I am,” Brecken said, placing a couple from his plate onto mine. “Eat.” He waved at my plate, then at me. “Between the two of us, we’ve dropped an entire grown adult. But at least I have a good excuse.”

  I grabbed the salsa from the fridge, lingering like I was looking for something else. “And what makes you assume I don’t?”

  “I’m not assuming anything about your life. But I’m all ears if you want to explain any of it to me.”

  Other than the sound of Keenan decimating his dinner, the room was quiet. When I wandered back to the table, salsa in hand, I pretended like everything was good, that his words hadn’t rattled me. I was good at pretending.

  The moment I settled into the wooden chair, my body recoiled.

  Both Brecken and Keenan’s attention tracked my direction.

  “Need your pillow, Mom?” Keenan was already moving into the living room to grab one of the small pillows I used for more than decorative purposes on occasion.

  “What is it?” Brecken set down his glass, looking like he was about to get out of his chair too.

  Lifting my hand, I shook my head. “Nothing.” When he grunted, I added, “My tailbone. I fell and bruised it the other day and it’s still tender.”

  Keenan had already returned with the small pillow and was waiting for me to lift up so he could put it into place for me.

  “My hero.” I winked at him after he’d slid the pillow beneath me, which made him puff out his chest and strut back to his chair.

  Brecken was still appraising me like I was writhing in pain or something.

  “Really. I’m fine.”

  But my assurances seemed to do the opposite of convincing him.

  “How’s the unpacking coming along?” I focused on my dinner instead of him since he was looking at me in a way that had me feeling like he’d found my darkest room and just flicked on a flashlight.

  He answered after a moment. “Slowly.”

  Setting my napkin in my lap, I thought about the boxes I’d seen on the porch. If that was the extent of them, it wasn’t that much. But I could understand how it could feel overwhelming. Going through a person’s things, one item at a time, unable to recall some or most of them.

  “What about furniture? You’ll need that, right?” I asked.

  Brecken had lived in the base dorms, where most of the furniture had been provided. The house he’d purchased wasn’t huge, but it would feel that way without some things to fill it.

  “I’ve got a couch and a card table.” Brecken picked up a taco, watching how Keenan was eating his. “So I’m set in that department.”

  “You might need more
than a couch and a card table.”

  “Like what?” He took a big bite of his first taco, waiting for me to explain.

  “Like a bed for starters. A kitchen table and chairs. Maybe a television.”

  Brecken’s forehead creased while Keenan seemed perfectly content looking between the two of us as we talked, like we were live entertainment.

  “Why do I need a bed when I have a couch?” he said once he’d finished chewing. “And I don’t need a table specifically for the kitchen when I’ve got one I can move to whatever room I want. And the last thing I want is a television droning on all day and night.”

  Based on the fact that I couldn’t turn on the television without hearing about Lance Corporal Connolly in some capacity, I could understand where he was coming from on that topic.

  “You’re going to use a couch as a bed?” That revelation was enough to get Keenan to hit the pause button on his taco massacre.

  “Believe me, a couch feels like a plush pillow-top mattress when you’ve slept on the floor for as long as I have.”

  Keenan blinked. “They made you sleep on the floor?” he cried, like it was the worst form of torture one could receive. If only that were the truth.

  “That couch is sounding pretty nice, right?” Brecken clinked his glass against Keenan’s, getting back to his dinner.

  “Well, if you need help getting settled in, let me know. I’m here almost all the time. I’d be happy to help.” As I nibbled a small bite of taco, I found myself actually tasting it. The spices, the oils, the textures. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d really tasted a taco.

  The way Brecken was downing his, it was like he was experiencing the same thing.

  “And me too,” Keenan added, wiping his hands on his shorts. Since the napkin tucked beside his plate was so far away. “I could help you unpack. And Dad too.”

  Brecken’s and my eyes met, but mine were the first to drift away.

  “Thanks for the offer. I might take you and your mom up on it.”

  After that, Keenan wouldn’t stop talking now that he’d finished his dinner. He had an endless stream of questions, all of which Brecken answered in a way that was fitting for a child.