Searching for Always(73)

Patrick stopped talking. Arilyn walked over and gently touched his shoulder. “What happened to him?” she asked softly.

Patrick squeezed her hand. “The child died. Child was clean.”

Stone fought through the punch of emotion at the waste of war. The things people had to live with in the dark of night, when all they wanted was justice for all.

“Things got bad after that. I started with eight guys. Lost five. Bill was one of them. Sometimes I wonder if he didn’t fight hard enough after that incident because he couldn’t live with himself anymore.”

Arilyn pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I’m sorry, Poppy. You never told me that story.”

Patrick stroked his arm, where his tattoos held the memory of the men he’d lost. “Lots I don’t tell people, honey. A man needs some secrets. Some need to bleed out to heal. Others you just live with.”

With sheer astonishment, Stone watched as Mrs. Blackfire reached across the kitchen table and grabbed Patrick’s hand. They both shared a look that Stone didn’t understand, and he didn’t think he was meant to.

“My husband died at the Tet Offensive,” she said. Her voice lacked emotion, but her face screamed otherwise. “We’d only been married a year. I didn’t want him to go, and neither did he, but the draft has no mercy. He accepted his fate with pride and a head held high, even though people spit in his face.” Rage shimmered in her eyes. “He was a good man. We decided to wait to have children until he returned. I was stupid back then. I thought he’d come back. He didn’t, of course. I lost him with thousands of others. Of course, if he had come back, he wouldn’t have been the same anyway.”

Stone had heard about the Tet Offensive from some vets who’d made it out. It was the biggest surprise launch of attacks by North Vietnam against the United States and South Vietnam. Massive numbers of troops on both sides were lost, until it was a bleeding black hole in history that no one forgot.

Patrick reached out and put his other hand over hers. “I lost many friends during that mess. It was a bloodbath. Took me a long time even to be able to sleep again at night. What was his name?”

“Ryan Blackfire,” she said quietly. “He was quite gentle. Loved reading. Wanted to be a history professor and teach kids about their heritage.”

“Joan, your face must have been the last thing he saw. You gave him something worth hanging on to, until the last moment. I know this for a fact. The women we loved were the only thing that helped us keep our sanity and humanity. You gave that to him.”

Stone held his breath, not wanting to interrupt the poignant scene. Somehow, the silence that descended was full of understanding and mourning.

Arilyn sank into the last chair, dinner forgotten. They all stared at the elderly woman, who recited her story as if she were reading a book. Stone knew better. Her wounds had never healed. Maybe by her own choice. Maybe not.

“How old were you?” Arilyn asked.

Mrs. Blackfire removed her hand from Patrick’s and shook herself out of her trance. “Old enough. Twenty-two.”

“You were so young,” Arilyn said softly. “I’m sorry.” Simple words that couldn’t heal, but by being spoken, it was a start. Stone stared. Arilyn’s natural need to heal carved out the lines of her face. Stone bet she ached to wrap her up in a hug but was too scared her neighbor would strike like a cobra.

Stone couldn’t imagine Mrs. Blackfire at twenty-two. Happy. In love. Full of life. The woman across the table emanated a bitter strength that told a different story of how her life turned out.

“I made do.” Mrs. Blackfire stiffened her spine and her voice.

Arilyn offered a small smile. “You deserved more than that.”

Her neighbor looked startled. Cleared her throat. “Are we going to eat, or are you gonna launch into one of your healing chants?”

Patrick laughed and the spell was broken. Stone moved from the breakfast counter to the sturdy pine table and sat down. Arilyn handed out plates filled with steaming lasagna, fresh bread and butter, and a small side salad. Stone took a big whiff. Damn, it smelled good. When was the last time he had a home-cooked meal?

Too long ago to remember.

He took his fork, dug into a huge portion, and popped the bite in his mouth.

Stone didn’t know how long he chewed before the taste hit him. Along with the texture. What the hell kind of lasagna was this? He frowned, trying to figure out why the meat was soggy and tasted like crap. The tomatoes were good, but his teeth caught a carrot and some mushy stuff that mingled in his mouth. And not in a good way.

He managed to swallow. Shot a glance around the table.