Page 40 of Semper Fi

Cal grinned. “Afraid you’re stuck with me.”

1948

Taking another gulp of whiskey, Cal picked up the envelope again.

From the open window behind the couch, the sounds of the street floated up—cars honking and motors humming.

Although it was officially September, the oppressive heat of summer wasn’t in any hurry to leave.

A ceiling fan stirred up the warm air. Cal could have turned on the air conditioning, but he felt too confined with the windows shut.

The ice in his glass rattled, and the condensation wet his fingers. In his boxer shorts, he stuck to the leather couch, and he shifted uncomfortably. After wiping his hand on his white undershirt, he traced the neat, curled script of the return address.

Miss S. Bennett

Clover Grove

192 Green Hills Road

Tivoli, New York

In the envelope was a homemade white card with a drawing in pencil crayon of the doll house. He reread the message .

Dear Uncle Cal,

Thank you for my birthday present. I love it.

I wish you would come visit soon. We miss you.

From,

Sophie

xoxo

The whiskey burned as it slid down Cal’s throat. He’d loved Jim for so long, and had never thought about the possibility of feeling anything so powerful for someone else. But oh, he loved those children. He’d always known he’d never be a father, but for the first time he wished he could be.

Shaking his head, he put the card back in its envelope and dropped it on the coffee table.

He hadn’t worked for almost two months, and hadn’t left the apartment now in a week.

He’d shaved that morning for the hell of it, even though he knew he’d spend the day napping and listening idly to the radio.

On Jim and Sophie’s birthday, he hadn’t gotten out of bed at all.

The radio crackled now with big band music that reverberated along with the low beats of the ceiling fan.

Cal knew he could only wallow so long before he had to find a way to move on.

Perhaps he’d go to London anyway, or travel across Europe.

Maybe go to Paris and see what the Germans had left behind.

He took another drink and wished he had some applesauce. Cal would have thought he’d be sick of apples and apple byproducts, but he missed everything about the orchard. He wondered what Mrs. O’Brien was making for dinner.

He dozed, and sweat gathered on his brow.

The horns from the street were a strange lullaby, mixing with Benny Goodman’s trumpets.

Late in the afternoon, a storm rolled by, and Cal slept more deeply, dreaming of Guadalcanal and the tropical rain seeping into his skin, Jim huddled by his side whispering words Cal couldn’t make out.

It was evening when Cal woke, groggy and somehow more tired. The newsman recited the day’s events, and after Cal hauled himself up to shuffle over and flick off the radio, he froze with his hand outstretched.

“The heavy storm that swept across New York City intensified as it reached the Hudson Valley, with winds gusting up to sixty miles an hour and producing hailstones as large as two inches in diameter.”

Dread uncoiled in Cal’s gut.

“Saugerties and the surrounding area received the worst of it with untold damage to property and homes.”

Saugerties—right across the river from Tivoli. If the storm had hit the orchard…

“Hudson Valley crops have been seriously affected, and injuries have been reported—several life-threatening.”

The newsman droned on as Cal snatched up the keys to the Cadillac, pausing only to tug on slacks and cram his feet into the closest pair of shoes before he was gone.

***

With his heart in his throat, Cal turned off the engine and cut the lights.

Clover Grove was shrouded in darkness, and clouds were still heavy overhead.

Cal had stopped the Cadillac some distance away, not wanting to wake the kids.

No lights shone from the windows, which wasn’t surprising since it was after midnight.

Cal walked toward the house, his leather loafers slipping on the sodden grass.

He stood in front of the door but didn’t knock.

Should just get in the car and go back to Manhattan.

He hadn’t stopped to think before rushing onto the road.

Now, standing in front of the dark house, he felt unbearably foolish in his undershirt. He shivered in the night breeze.

It had been hard enough leaving in the first place, and even if the crop was ruined, what could he do about it?

Jim wouldn’t take a handout. Shaking his head and muttering to himself, Cal returned to the Cadillac.

With his hand on the door, he stopped. Maybe he should take a look at the trees and see what the damage was.

Perhaps the hail had missed the orchard and there was nothing to worry about.

He could go for a walk and stretch his legs, and then drive away long before Jim woke.

At the thought of Jim sleeping—his lips parted, chest rising and falling as he snored softly—Cal had to close his eyes and steady himself, battling the impulse to rush inside and climb into Jim’s bed.

Knowing that he’d never kiss or touch Jim again had carved a hole inside him that would never be filled.

Sure, he’d lived with it for years, and the pain had been dulled by acceptance. But now that he’d actually had Jim, his absence was a fresh wound that Cal feared would never heal.

With a deep breath, he gathered himself and headed down the rise into the orchard. He knew the terrain well enough now that even in the dark he didn’t stumble. As he approached the trees, Finnigan’s familiar bark echoed in the night, and Cal made out the low shape of the dog racing his way.

Crouching, he scratched behind Finnigan’s ears. “Hi, boy. I missed you too.” He chuckled as Finnigan licked his face, the dog’s tail whipping back and forth.

A flicker of movement caught Cal’s eye, and his heart skipped a beat. There was Jim, like a statue among the trees. He appeared rooted to the spot, so Cal approached with Finnigan dancing around his heels.

He stopped several feet from Jim. Perhaps this had been a mistake indeed. “Sorry to arrive unannounced. I can go.”

Jim stared for a few more moments. “Are you real?”

Cal took another step. Jim seemed dazed, the way he was sometimes after one of his episodes. “I heard about the storm, and I wanted to make sure everything’s all right. Are you okay? The kids?”

Nodding, Jim said nothing else.

Cal gazed around at the trees but couldn’t see much in the gloom. “The apples? ”

Blinking, Jim seemed to return to reality. “Ruined. More than half from what I can tell.” He bent to pluck an apple from the ground. “Can’t sell them bruised and dented.”

Hating the defeat in Jim’s voice, Cal took the piece of fruit, examining the battered skin. “One hell of a storm, huh?”

“I’ve never seen hail like that. Hope I never do again. Need to rebuild part of the roof on the barn. The house too. The hail dented the heck out of the truck.”

“Jesus, I’m sorry, Jim. If there’s anything I can do, tell me.”

“There’s nothing anyone can do.” He grimaced. “Mother Nature always gets the last laugh. It’s the way of the world.”

“You know if you need money, I’ll—”

“We’ll get by.” Jim uttered the words as if by rote.

“How? How are you going to get by with less than half your income? Never mind fixing the damage?”

Pain pinched Jim’s expression. “I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.” He squared his shoulders, seeming to give himself a mental shake. “I won’t take your money.”

“Why do you have to be so damn stubborn?”

Jim shook his head. “It wouldn’t be right. You’ve already given me so much, and what can I give you in return?”

“Jim…”

Of course they both knew what Cal wanted—what they both wanted—and their gazes locked, the heavy, damp air suddenly electric. Cal still had the apple in his hand, and he dug in his nails, resisting the urge to close the distance and wrap Jim in his arms. Then he gave in and took a hesitant step.

For a moment, Jim’s resolve appeared to crack.

The desire and raw need in his expression stole the air from Cal’s lungs.

He knew all the reasons they’d parted hadn’t changed, but he wanted Jim desperately—as much as he ever had, maybe even more.

Even if it was only one more night, there was nothing stopping them.

Although they weren’t touching, Jim jerked back, shaking his head. “ We can’t, Cal. I can’t.”

With a sigh and a nod, Cal tossed the apple and jammed his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He suddenly felt very foolish, and he backed up. “I should get going. Oh, thank Sophie for the card. Tell her I called or something.”

“Wait. It’s too late for you to drive back now. I can’t turn you out.”

Cal tried to smile. “It’s okay. You’re under no obligation to be hospitable to guests who turn up uninvited in the middle of the night.”

“Stay until morning. You can see the kids. They miss you.”

“I miss them too.”

“Sophie loves the dollhouse. I moved it into their room, and she spends hours with it. Brought over a few of her school friends to see it last week. They said they wished they had an Uncle Cal.”

The pang he felt still surprised him. “I really do miss her. Adam too. And I really should go.”

“Stay. It’s one night.”

“I have things I need to do tomorrow.”

“Oh. I don’t want to keep you from your work. How’s it going with your father?”

“Good, good. I might go to London again.” The lies slipped off his tongue far too easily. “The bank’s doing well, and we’re expanding across England and into Wales.” That was the truth, at least.

“London.” Jim nodded. “That’s great, Cal. I’m sure you’ll do a wonderful job. You’ll have to send the children a postcard.” He smiled weakly. “England and Wales will be lucky to have you.”

“Thanks. So, I should get going.” He turned.

“Cal, wait.”

Forcing himself to breathe, Cal circled back around. “Yeah?”

“I’ll worry about you out on the road at this hour. Just wait until morning. Please?”

Cal thought of Ann’s accident. “All right. How about I stay in the cabin?”

“Don’t be silly. You can sleep in your room.” Jim’s smile was forced, and his tone too light. “I’m sure we can control ourselves for a few hours.”

Cal laughed awkwardly. “I’m sure.”

They fell into step together and made their way back to the house. As they passed the barn, Cal thought of their last time in there—on his hands and knees with Jim pounding into him. If only he’d known it would be the last time, he would have…what?

Taking a sharp breath, Cal ordered himself to forget it. This is the way it has to be.

In the kitchen, Jim poured them each a glass of water. He offered whiskey, but Cal shook his head. There was nothing left to do but go to bed, and they eased up the stairs, even though the children usually wouldn’t be woken by anything quieter than a freight train rumbling through the sitting room.

Jim peeked in at the kids, and Cal paused in the guest room doorway. “Good night,” he whispered.

Cal’s chest ached as they shared another look that said everything they couldn’t. Then Jim nodded, and Cal shut the door. He kicked off his shoes and folded his slacks and undershirt over the chair in the corner. Clad in his boxers, he climbed under the familiar sheets.

Despite everything, it felt like coming home.