People meant well, and wanted to offer comfort, but instead most comments picked away at the scab covering his wound.
Before he could respond, his mother appeared again. A while ago she’d started “checking in” with him around every fifteen minutes. He peeked at his watch. Yup, pretty much as regular as a grandfather clock.
“Excuse me for barging in. I just wanted to check and see how Owen was doing.” She placed her hand on his back and smiled at the ladies around him before zeroing in on him. “I noticed you haven’t made it into the dining room for food. Are you hungry? Thirsty? Can I bring you a sandwich and some water?”
Jumping on the excuse to leave, he said, “No need. I’ll head there myself.”
After mumbling a polite goodbye to the ladies, he worked his way across the living room. His movements slower than when he arrived, he had to concentrate harder on putting one foot in front of the other to maintain his balance. He’d barely gotten halfway to the dining room when a dull headache formed at his temples.
“Are you sure you’re not too tired? Maybe you should rest.” Until his mother spoke, he hadn’t realized she’d followed him. “I can make your excuses to anyone who asks.”
He stopped and faced her. Warning bells clanged on opposite beats to the pounding in his temples. “What’s with the escort to the dining room and the questions about being tired?”
She smiled. A little too brightly and big, maybe? Then she softly pushed at his shoulder and laughed. “Nothing. Can’t a mom wander by her son, say hello, and ask a simple question about how he’s feeling?”
“Everything okay?” his father asked.
If Owen hadn’t suspected something was up, he sure as hell would have now. His stoic father, impossible to read unless he was big-time pissed, stood beside Owen, his eyes narrow and his forehead lined with obvious concern.
“Out with it. What’s got you two hovering over me like mama bears?” Silence. “Have you read something on the internet?”
“We haven’t had time for that,” his mother blurted out.
Owen crossed his arms over his chest. “I know something’s got you concerned. You might as well tell me.”
“Carly spoke to your mother. She warned her how social situations can be difficult—”
He couldn’t understand the rest of what his father said because of the anger hammering in his ears. Carly, who’d received his application for therapy services at Horses for Heroes and knew details of his medical history no one else knew, had spoken to his parents. Pair that with her knowledge on brain injuries and her work experience…
Damn.
How dare Carly stick her nose into his business by going to his mother?
“Now Owen, I recognize that look,” his mom said, as she gave him the you’d-better-listen-to-me-good mom stare. “And even if I didn’t, I can practically see the smoke rolling from your ears, but don’t be too mad at Carly. She only said something because she cares about you.”
He slid closer to his parents to keep from being overheard. “Let me make this clear. I’m fine. If I’m hungry, I’ll eat. If I’m tired, I’ll make an excuse and rest. I don’t need my mommy and daddy taking care of me.” He refused to be treated like an invalid, and his parents better realize the fact right quick. “Is that clear?” His parents nodded. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a certain nosy know-it-all woman to set straight too.”
Then he turned and stalked away with as much pride and speed as his physical limitations allowed.
Ten minutes later as he stood surrounded by friends from his high school football team and their spouses or girlfriends, frustration over not finding Carly simmered in his gut. Had she left after dropping her little bomb with his parents?
“What’s new with all of you since I saw you last?” Owen asked as his gaze swept the house again.
“We’re having a baby in September.” A proud, silly father-to-be grin spilled across Caleb Riggs’s face as he placed his palm on his wife Melissa’s slightly rounded stomach. “I got a feeling we’re having a boy, and I can’t wait until he’s old enough to take him deer hunting.”
Owen chuckled and shook his head. “You and a mini me in the woods with rifles? The world’s not ready for that.”
“You’re right there,” Josh Culver said. “Last season he mistook me for a deer and damned near took a shot at me.”
“That wasn’t my fault. I was wearing old glasses because I broke my good ones.”
From there his friends were off and running, joking with each other, and swapping stories. At least that was what Owen figured from the pieces of conversation he understood.
“What’re your plans, Owen? You plan on staying in Service?” Caleb asked, dragging Owen away from his thoughts.
“I’m only here until I can return to duty.”
“Your injuries can’t be too bad if the Army didn’t discharge you outright,” Josh said as he looked Owen over from head to toe.
