Page 21 of A Hero Comes Home

She would have smacked him upside his fool head, if it weren’t for the dark circles under his eyes and the expression in his beautiful eyes. Beautiful eye, she corrected herself. She wasn’t sure what that expression was . . . pain, regret, fear, anger, or a combination of all those.

Three years!

What happened to him?

Was he as broken inside as he appeared on the outside?

And did she care?

Acting on instinct, she launched herself at him, almost knocking them both over, and hugged him tight around his shoulders. Until she felt him relax and hug her back, so tight she could barely breathe.

Against her ear, he whispered, “You smell like sugar.”

“Well, I knew you were coming. So, I baked a cake,” she sang, a play on that old fifties song, “If I Knew You Were Comin’, I’d’ve Baked a Cake.” Then, she added, “Gracie Fields, 1950. Eileen Barton, 1950.” It was something she’d done throughout their marriage . . . bursting into old songs and then edifying him with some interesting facts about the background of the tunes from her music education days.

Usually he rolled his eyes at her silliness. She leaned back and smiled at him. No eye rolling now, with his one eye. He did make an effort to smile back but was having trouble shaking his dark mood.

What was wrong with him?

Well, she knew what was wrong with him. Sort of. He’d gone through three years of hell, the details of which she was still clueless about. He had physical injuries, the extent of which she was also clueless about. And he might very well be suffering from PTSD, although no one had mentioned that to her.

“Let’s go home,” she suggested and they started walking toward the truck. She slowed her pace down to accommodate his limp. “Your dad’s so nervous he started smoking again after being nicotine-free for more than a year. And the kids are dying to see you. They made a surprise banner for you. Make sure you act surprised, and pleased.”

He groaned.

She darted a glance to see why that upset him, but his face was set into emotionless mode. She hated when he did that.

“Won’t a banner alert the neighbors that I’m coming home? I thought we agreed that there would be no fuss.”

“The banner is inside.”

“Oh. Okay.”

The Grinch! Too bad he wasn’t around Bell Cove last Christmas. With his frowny face, he’d have been a contender for Grinch of the Year, for sure.

They’d arrived at the truck and she hesitated before asking, “Do you want to drive?” The question was, could he drive?

He shook his head. “I can drive, but I’ve been sitting for roughly twenty hours, and my leg can only take so much.”

She nodded and tried not to watch or offer to help as he struggled to lift himself up onto the seat using the grab bar and his cane for leverage. Once they were belted up, he said, “I’m surprised that you didn’t sell this old truck.”

“It comes in handy for hauling supplies for the store, or for delivering oversized cakes for special events, like weddings.”

He chuckled. The truck had been his dad’s fishing vehicle before he handed it off to Jake.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nice to know that eau de fish is covered by eau de sugar now.”

She grinned. “On a damp day, I can still smell fish.”

They rode in silence for a short distance as she left the bay and entered the residential section of Bell Cove. She could tell by the stiffness of his body and the fists resting on his thighs that he was nervous about anyone seeing him, until he was ready. “You should know, there are blockades set up at the end of our street so that cars can only pass through if they have a neighborhood pass. This is to prevent the press and nosey folks from coming to our house.” Luckily, the other end of their street was a dead end, which meant access to their house from only one source. “Guards are posted there, day and night. I’m not sure if they’re FBI or police or private security. No one will say, although they just arrived, without notice, following the visit from that general and senator. I don’t know how long they’ll be there, but for now, they’ve been a godsend.” She was babbling but felt like there was so much she needed to tell him, to prepare him for, and only a fifteen-minute ride in which to do so.

“Don’t the neighbors mind?”

“Nah. They think it’s exciting.” They were silent for a few moments, and Sally almost asked him what he was thinking, but she knew Jake hated that question. Most men did. Instead, she told him, “You have a couple of appointments set up for next month, according to some reminder cards sent in the mail. One at the Hospital for Special Surgery in New York City, and one at the Johns Hopkins Wilmer Eye Institute in Baltimore. I made note of them on the calendar on the kitchen wall. September 27 and September 30. I assume you know what they’re all about.”

He just nodded, as if he already knew this.