Page 2 of A Veteran's Desire

I tear myself away from the beauty behind the counter to her goods in the cabinet. The cupcakes are topped with fluffy icing, the slices are perfect rectangles, and the cookies are thick and the perfect shade of baked brown. Every item has a label written in cursive script, and the names of the goods make my mouth water: Gooey Chocolate Brownie Surprise, Granny’s Cherry Kiss Cookies, Buttery Shortbread Melt. But it’s the Hannah’s Honey Cakes that capture my attention. In small writing under the name are the words:Made the way Gran made them.

“A honey cake please.”

She uses tongs to select one and puts it on a plate. “We produce the honey on our own farm. Tell me what you think.”

“Thank you,” I mumble as I take my honey cake to a free table in the back corner. I situate myself so I can watch the door, a force of habit, but it also allows me to watch the woman behind the counter. She wears an apron over her black slacks and t-shirt, and it’s got a coating of white dust on it that could be flour. I wonder if she’s the Hannah from Hannah’s Honey Cakes.

She moves around the space like she owns it, which she probably does. She talks easily with the patrons, laughs a lot, andwhen no one is looking she leans on the counter and stares out at the mountain, her expression tinged with sadness.

I drink my coffee and order another one, along with a Gooey Chocolate Brownie Surprise. The chocolate melts on my tongue when I bite into it, and the surprise is a cherry baked into the center.

Three fifteen comes and goes. I tell myself I’ll get the later bus. But later comes and I’m still at Sweet & Strong.

Joel told me I was welcome to stay on at the retreat for another night. I can leave tomorrow; there’s no rush when you don’t have a destination.

Five o’clock rolls around, and the cafe empties out. The woman wipes tables down, and she’ll be wanting to lock up.

I stand from my position, and my knee creaks from sitting for so long.

“You got somewhere to go, soldier?”

“Grant. My name’s Grant.”

“You got somewhere to go, Grant, or you want me to call Joel, see if we can find you a bed for the night?”

She puts her hands on her hips, and worry lines crease her brow. I wonder how many stray veterans they get through here. Her concern is sweet, but the last thing I want to be is her problem.

“I’ve got somewhere to go. Don’t worry about me.”

“Okay, take care of yourself. My name’s Hannah, by the way.”

“Hannah.” My voice is rusty from not much use, and her name doesn’t sound worthy coming from my lips. “Of the Honey Cakes.”

She gives me a surprised smile, and I indicate the label where I read her name.

“Oh.” Her smile widens, revealing her white teeth peeking out between her plush lips. “Yup, that’s me.”

We stare at each other for a beat. I don’t want to leave, but I have no reason to stay. Then she touches my shoulder. It’s a friendly gesture, like anyone might give a customer, but her fingers hold a warmth I haven’t felt in a long time.

“You take care of yourself, Grant.”

Another woman comes through from the back. I’ve observed her throughout the day, and judging by the dark hair and eyes, they must be sisters. At least Hannah’s not here alone after dark.

I grab my pack and head outside. The town has emptied out now that most of the shops are closed. A man locks up two doors down, and a pickup rumbles up the street.

I glance back at Sweet & Strong. Through the window, Hannah stacks chairs onto tables while her sister sweeps the floor. She must say something funny, because Hannah tips her head back and laughs. I smile, even though I don’t know the joke.

Then I shoulder my pack and begin the long walk up the mountain, back to Jake’s Retreat.

1

HANNAH

Three months later…

Rachel hunches over the steering wheel as we crawl up Tamara Crescent. A tree came down in Diddington Park, so we bypassed Sycamore Drive, the main street through Hope, and took the back roads through town.

The streets are narrower here and didn’t get the full force of the heavy rains and flooding. But there’s still debris all over the roads. Rachel maneuvers around a wooden crate and weaves again to avoid a wet cardboard box that’s upside down and droopy from the rain. Up ahead, a fallen trash can rests against a pile of newspapers, its contents strewn across the street.