Page 5 of His Wounded Heart

“Who prints this shit?”

Last, I look at the shit I really don’t want to look at. It’s the shit that’s addressed to just plain old Simon Clark. These are the ones that hit me the hardest, especially when they come from old friends. This pile is even taller than the retired pile. I look at my watch again and see that I still have forty-five more minutes to kill. What is worse, the beans are all gone, and I’ve been actually enjoying them. I get up and throw the fork and the empty can in the sink, then pour myself another cup of coffee.

When I sit back down, I flip through some of the bullshit letters from the United States Navy. I should have just fire-bombed my bridges with them, then I wouldn’t be stuck getting so much damned mail.

Grimacing, I look over at the top letter on the personal pile and see it’s from my old boss, Josiah Hale. He is the bastard that arranged for me to get a retirement instead of a stay in Leavenworth.

Asshole.

My mug goes down hard as I set it down on the table, but as the coffee sloshes, it doesn’t wet any of the envelopes. Damned shame if you ask me. I grab Josiah’s letter to see what in the hell he has to say. The words are a bit blurry, mostly because he has shitty handwriting, but also my eyes are gritty from lack of sleep.

Simon,

I figure you’re still pissed that I didn’t let you blow up your career and go head-to-head with the suits. Suck it up. Eventually, you’ll pull your head out of your ass and admit you would have done the same thing for any one of the men under your command.

I hope like hell you’ve thought about counseling. You need it. But then again, the only way I would have gotten my ass on someone’s couch would be if Scarlett had made me, but you don’t have a woman, so I figure you haven’t done it. Think about it anyway, otherwise I might send my woman down to Tennessee.

Now, the real reason I’m writing is that you’ve had enough time being an anti-social prick. It’s been three months. That’s the limit. I want you to come to Nic’s wedding. We set it for mid-June, but now it’s going to be the first week of April. He’s a chip off the old block. He knocked up Cami before they tied the knot and she still wants to wear the same dress, so we’re moving up the date. If you miss this event, I will send Scarlett over there. This is not an empty threat.

Now go get your dress whites dry cleaned and don’t forget to shave.

-Josiah

It shocks me that I find myself laughing. Josiah is still a fucking nut. Only a very small circle of us understands just who Josiah really is, and I am honored to be one of those people. The rest of the world wouldn’t believe me if I told them. He’s one of the best men I’ve ever known. He’d been my lieutenant when I’d first started out. I didn’t much care for male authority figures at that point in my life, but Josiah was different. He helped turn my life around. I owed the man. I owed him for damn near everything.

Looking down at my watch, I sigh with relief. It is almost oh seven hundred and the grocery store will open soon. That means I can stop with the introspection and ignore the rest of the mail.

I head out and once again consider trading my baby in for a truck with four-wheel-drive, but that would mean I have some kind of loyalty to this place, and I don’t. Am I really up for any kind of commitment at this point in my life? Look where the Navy left me. And Patsy. But really, that was just as much my fault as hers, but it sure as hell had stung.

I climb into my 1960 Pontiac GTO and start warming her up. She coughs a little, and that isn’t like her.

“I’m not trading you in. If anything, I’ll just get you a big brother. Some kind of over-the-top truck.” As soon as she hears my words, my car purrs. I continue to sip my coffee. What am I going to do? I still have a house in Virginia Beach and my townhome in La Mesa, California, but I don’t want to be anywhere near either of those two Navy bases, so those aren’t options.

But staying here?

I could try Wyoming, or South Dakota. I have options, what with the retirement, and the rent I’m getting off my two properties. And after three months in this cabin, I’ve certainly proved I don’t need much.

By the time the car is warmed up, the coffee has kicked in. Last night is barely a memory. I drive the ten miles toward town and know as soon as I start hitting streets named after trees that I’m close to the center of town. Seriously, what’s with the founding fathers’ obsession with trees? I pull into the Roger’s Supermarket. I’d met the man, Roger Clemmons. He thought he was so clever naming his store Roger’s since it was close to the name of that big name-brand store. Even in my shittiest mood, I hadn’t had the heart to tell the poor bastard that the twenty-stall parking lot and the seven aisles of product would never convince anybody that they were in a Kroger’s. I just hope I don’t run into him today because all bets are off. Dreaming about my sister’s death always guarantees to make me off-the-charts ugly, and I need an antacid. The beans aren’t sitting well.

As I climb out of my car, I lament the fact that I quit smoking twenty years ago. Fucking Liam McAllister—why’d I listen to him? I could really use a cigarette about now.

Leaning against the cold steel of my car door, I watch some of the women of Jasper Creek enter the store. Looks like I wasn’t the only one who got up early. Damn, I’d really hoped I could just go in and get out, all without having someone saying something nice to me that required some kind pleasantry spoken in return.

“Suck it up, Clark. The only easy day was yesterday,” I mutter as I grab a wheeled cart from the parking lot and head in. Produce and dairy are on the right, meat and bakery on the left. If I manage this right, I’ll be out of here in twelve minutes.

I go left and immediately run into a problem. Should have seen it coming. Of course, the bakery is a hotbed of activity first thing in the morning.

Donuts.

Total bad planning on my part, and now here I am, boxed in. There are two shopping carts and one stroller. If I make a move to back up, the women will notice, apologize, and it will initiate conversation.

Dammit!

I have no choice but to keep my head down and move forward. For God’s sake, I just need some wheat bread. I’d even forgo the organic kind if it will get me out of the line of fire.

As I snatch my brand off the shelf, I know I just need to keep close to the racks and away from the bakery case and I’m home free.

“Can I help you find anything?”