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“I don’t have a disease.” The words fall like bricks, though, because of the TBI. After the helo crash, I was in a medically induced coma. Later, I was told the chances of my recovery were spotty, but I pulled through and all of the tests revealed a clean brain bill of health, except for occasional headaches. I shot up to level ten of the TBI recovery stages in record time. Again, the doctors were astonished. I give God credit. He wanted me back here for some reason.
“Well, let me know what you find out when you see Royal and the others.”
“And give the soldiers posted outside your door my info. I want hourly updates.” I mean for it to sound like a joke, but my tone is hard, brick-like.
“And if one of them looks at me the wrong way, I’ll—” she interrupts herself. “Or asks me out to dinner or begs me to marry him, I promise you, Mag, I will never date a military man.” She refers to cautionary conversations I’ve had with her. I probably painted my brothers in arms in a bad light, but I wouldn’t wish what Nora and Alex, a gold star family, had to endure on anyone, least of all my little sister.
She quickly gets off the phone and questions replace our conversation. Why was Emmie excluded from the will?
Was Chip murdered?
What happened with Aunt Lorena?
Why was Gerome Glandman mentioned in the will?
Should I text Lally back and take a raincheck on that dance?
Answers don’t come. My feelings machine is likely on the fritz, but coffee will wake me up.
Soon, I have a large, black pour-over in my hand—one of my buddies overseas was a coffee snob and got me hooked. Robyn, Isla’s sister, makes the perfect cup with fresh-ground Brazilian-grown beans and a precision bloom with steady spirals for an even saturation of the grounds.
From behind me, a familiar voice says, “So, I have an idea.”
Royal materializes and replies, “No.”
“No? But you haven’t heard it yet.”
“No, just no. Whatever it is. No.” Royal is emphatic.
“Even after I helped rescue your pink flamingo sweetheart, we found the pearl, and part of the map, no?”
“N-O,” Royal says, looking at me as if he knows what CJ has in mind and is requesting backup.
Royal and I had a quick phone call while I was in the hallway at the rehearsal dinner and indicated that CJ was scheming. Being outside the contiguous United States so often, I mainly remained in the dark about my youngest bro’s life. Being abroad had its benefits, but now I’m back and still in the dark.
Just then, Boo barks. Nutmeg, Robyn’s cat, hisses.
Ten seconds of chaos ensue which results in the feline streaking through the bookstore, knocking things off surfaces, and the dog sitting at my feet pleased with himself.
I admonish him and say, “Let’s take this outside, guys. Sorry, Robyn. I’m a new dog owner. Forgot that cats and dogs...” I wag my hand in the air.
“No worries. Nutmeg has a strong personality.”
Isla appears, not at all looking like she was recently abducted, and says, “Nutmeg thinks she’s a person.”
Robyn huffs. “I’ll never understand why the two of you don’t get along.”
“Relatable. I’ll never get why you and Jackie hate each other.”
The sisters quibble while my brothers and I head outside. Well, except Ryan. I gather that he’s still in Miami.
In short order, I learn that Isla’s ex-boyfriend and a couple of goons driving a van with South Carolina plates kidnapped her. Royal got into it with Dax, the ex, and CJ dispatched with the two thugs, sending them all out to sea.
“I’m still questioning whether that’s a euphemism.” Royal holds up his hands. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
We walk toward my truck.
CJ leans in toward me. “I didn’t do anything unlawful. Could’ve sent them to jail for sure. Instead, a group of people I know operate a medical ship, going out on missions to islands only reachable by boat for three months at a pop. They serve those in need and share the Gospel. Figured Dax and those idiots could work as deck hands and maybe absorb some of the Word.”
