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Page 7 of Smuggler’s Cove (Twin Lights #1)

Shock waves bounced off everyone. George and Rita swapped startled glances. “Dead? No. No, he didn’t die. But he’s got a whole lot of bandages, and the people around him are very sick.”

“But why are you crying?” Jackson was more engaged than he had been all day.

“Because he’s sick, and that makes me sad.” Rita wasn’t sure if she was lying to herself or her son.

Jackson shrugged. It was becoming his go-to response lately.

“George, I have to go home and find J.T.’s discharge papers. What about the car?”

“The mechanic said he can fix it in two days. I’ll phone Betty when we get to your house and let her know I’ll be up here for another day or two.”

“Are you sure, George?” Rita asked.

“Of course. I can’t leave you with all this. Besides, Betty will be happy to have me out from under her feet.”

Rita knew that was a fib. Betty and George had a solid relationship. They were best friends. George knew there was nothing Betty wouldn’t do for her sister, and nothing he wouldn’t do for her, either. Besides, someone had to mind Jackson while Rita was handling the details.

By the time they got back to the Taylor house, it was dinnertime.

Rita rummaged through the refrigerator to find something to cook.

It was sparse. There was a slab of Velveeta, a quart of milk, and a half loaf of Wonder Bread.

She checked the cupboards. Rice. Beans. Macaroni.

She couldn’t top Betty’s grilled cheese and bacon, so she decided on macaroni and cheese.

It was the best she could do with what she had.

Rita began cooking, George went to call Betty, and Jackson went to his room to play with his toys.

She sliced the cheese and slowly melted it in a small saucepan with some milk.

As she stirred the cheese, she thought of how Jackson didn’t seem to be reacting to everything that was going on.

He was too stoic for a six-year-old. He didn’t cry once—not when she uprooted him and his brother, not when they had to return here and leave Kirby behind, and not when he heard about his father’s accident. Rita was concerned about him.

George walked into the kitchen saying, “Betty sends her regards and said to tell you that Kirby is being an absolute angel.”

“I can’t thank you both enough for all that you are doing for us,” Rita said.

“We’re family, Rita, and we’ll always be here for you.”

“Well, since you’re here”—Rita smiled—“do you mind keeping an eye on this cheese? I want to check on Jackson.”

* * *

In his room, Jackson was playing with two Cootie bugs, simulating they were in a fight. She watched her son smack the plastic bugs together, then rip their legs out. It was startling. “Jackson, honey? Why are you beating up your bugs?”

“Cause one is the good guy, and one isn’t.” He said it as if she should know. “Like the bad guys in the war.”

It occurred to her there had been a lot of talk about war during the past decade.

J.T. rarely spoke about his experiences in World War II, but sometimes, when he had been drinking, he would rant about the horrors he’d witnessed.

And then came the Korean War and daily reports of the fighting, bombing, and loss of lives.

Rita never thought about the impact this was having on her.

She promised herself she would be more aware and more engaged with her children.

“We’re having mac and cheese for dinner,” she announced.

“Goody!” He whooshed the bug as if it were in flight. “I like mac and cheese!” He smiled up at his mother and waved one of the bugs at her. “This one is the good guy.”

Rita felt a sense of relief. Jackson was behaving like a kid—playful, imaginative, full of joy. He wasn’t sullen or unhappy.

“I’ll call you for dinner as soon as it’s ready.” Rita moved toward her bedroom.

“Okay!” Jackson sang out.

Rita rummaged through the dresser drawers where her husband kept his personal papers.

She was taken aback when she found a disciplinary letter from the railroad among his things.

She slumped on the bed and read it. He had been caught drinking on the job and put on probation.

The letter was dated a year ago. The probation was for a period of one year.

She checked the calendar. The year was up this week.

She wondered if that had anything to do with the accident. She thought she may never know.

She continued to sift through the papers and found his military discharge. At least it was “Honorable.” She slipped the paper into her purse and returned to the kitchen, where George was dutifully stirring the cheese with one hand and the boiling macaroni with the other.

“You are a man of many talents,” Rita quipped.

“At your service, madam.” George bowed with a flourish.

Rita smiled but quickly turned serious. “I found the discharge papers, but there was also something among his things.”

George noticed the corners of her mouth turned down. George furrowed his brow.

Rita continued, “There was a disciplinary letter from the railroad. He was caught drinking on the job.”

George stopped stirring. “When was this?”

Rita looked down the hall to be sure Jackson wasn’t within earshot. “A year ago. He was on probation for a year, and the year expired this past week.”

“Hmm. Do you think it was a night of celebration that got him into this?”

“Possibly.” Rita sighed. “But I can’t let his behavior have a negative influence on the children. I have to come up with a plan. Regardless of what happens at the hospital, I must find a way to be more in control. You saw Jackson’s mood swings?”

“I thought it was the change in scenery. Being away from home. But when the call from the hospital came, I dunno, the kid acted strange. No offense.”

“None taken. But you are correct. I don’t think we realize how much our moods affect others, no matter how hard you try to pretend things are alright.” Rita was nodding to herself. “I think I should speak to a lawyer.”

“About?” George thought he knew the answer.

“A divorce.” Rita pulled out the colander and handed it to George. “I can’t keep living this way, and now I see how much it’s influenced my son. Kirby is still young, but in a couple of years, he’ll be Jackson’s age, and Jackson will be older and much more aware.”

“Whatever you need, Rita. Betty and I will back you up.” He rinsed the macaroni and then dumped it into the pot of melted cheese.

“Look at you! A regular Chef Boyardee,” Rita joked. “I’ll get Jackson.” She went down the hall and found Jackson lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Sweetie? Are you okay?”

“Yep. Is dinner ready?”

“Yep,” she replied. “Come on.”

They returned to the kitchen, where George was scooping the saucy mac into bowls. The three sat at the kitchen table and ate. Uncle George was encouraging conversation with Jackson. “Your mom tells me you like Cootie bugs?”

“I like to smash ’em up,” Jackson said gleefully.

George shot a glance at Rita, who nodded imperceptibly with a worried look in her eyes.

* * *

The following day, George drove them to the hospital. “I’m going to check on your car. Jackson can ride with me while you take care of business.”

Rita was trembling as she walked into the waiting room.

She had no idea what lay ahead. A few minutes after she checked in with the nurses’ station, she saw a doctor walk her way.

She smiled at him. Why not? Good news or bad, she had to remain in control.

If nothing else, her emotions. It’s not about what life hands you, it’s how you handle it.

The doctor was gentle in his approach. “Good morning, Mrs. Taylor,” he said, then paused. She knew that wasn’t a good sign. “I’m sorry to say there hasn’t been any change in his condition.”

Rita nodded. She assumed they would have phoned if there was. “I brought the paperwork you requested.” She handed him an envelope.

“Come with me.” He motioned to a room to the side of the waiting area. The doctor introduced her to a woman who looked very efficient. Her desk was neat as a pin. The walls were bare. A single photograph was propped next to her official hospital pen holder.

It took about an hour for the woman to explain the papers Rita signed. “Mr. Taylor will be transferred to the VA hospital in a few hours. You’ll be able to visit him after they get him processed and assigned a room.”

“How long do you think that will take?” Rita asked.

The woman checked the watch pendant around her neck. “Most likely dinnertime, but I suggest you phone ahead.” She wrote the number on a piece of paper and handed it to Rita.

“Thank you for all your help,” Rita said as she rose from her chair.

“Mrs. Taylor?” The woman stood. “I don’t want to alarm you, but the VA hospital can be overwhelming.”

“Thank you.” Rita wondered if she could be any more overwhelmed than she was. She walked outside, where George and Jackson were waiting.

“Everything okay?” George asked, as he opened the passenger door for her.

“Yes. They said I can visit him later this afternoon, but I must call first.”

Jackson remained silent.

Rita turned to her son. “Sweetie, I’m not sure if they’ll let you visit.”

“I’ll drive us over there. Jackson and I can wait in the reception area for you.”

“You don’t have to do that, George.”

“Yes, I do. Your car isn’t ready, and I don’t want you driving there by yourself. End of debate.” He grinned. “How about we go to Howard Johnson’s for lunch?”

“Really, Uncle George?” Jackson became animated. “Ice cream! Ice cream!”

“After you had your lunch. That is, if your mother says it’s okay,” George replied.

“Only if you eat your whole lunch,” Rita added.

Jackson continued his chant for the next block. “Ice cream! Ice cream!”

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