"Those leather albums? Got tear sheets of your articles in them. Only the better ones, of course, which means they're few and far between."
The insult didn't surprise Griffin, but the fact that his neighbor had collected any of his pieces gave him pause. He ran a finger over a binder and noted it was the same style as the one in Beach House No. 9 that contained his stuff from Afghanistan. "You like me," he said dryly. "You really like me."
Old Man Monroe snorted. "It's sad how your standards lower when you get to be my age."
"Well, clearly your fall didn't soften your tongue any," Griffin noted. "And not that I care, but the females are twittering like you wouldn't believe, so I have to ask. Are you sure you're okay?"
He waved a liver-spotted hand in the air. "Beyond a few minutes I can't account for and the little people with the hammers inside my head, I'm fine."
"It was a good thing that Jane saw you when she did."
"True. And that you were there to pick me up." The old man narrowed his gaze on Griffin. "She said it was lucky - you hadn't been home long. Something about visiting with a man from the platoon?"
"Yeah." He turned to inspect one of his twin's photos. It showed a shirtless soldier from the back, ball cap on his head, army issue on his lower half, strapping a weapon at his hips. His head was bent and across his shoulders was inked a wicked-looking tribal tattoo. A line of barbs circled one thick bicep.
Under the shirt collar of Brian Hernandez, the man he'd met at LAX the day before, Griffin had glimpsed the devil tattoo that crawled up the former soldier's neck. It had been bright red, new-blood red, cherry-red. "Remember when we were cherries?" the kid had asked, touching the thing and using the common term for inexperienced soldiers. "Once I made it to the outpost, I think I was cherry for like thirty seconds."
"Less," Griffin had said. Immediately upon climbing from their Chinook transports, they'd been mortared. A welcome from their adversaries across the valley.
"Griffin?" The old man was speaking again, his voice sharp. "You hear me?"
"Sure," he answered. He'd heard Monroe talking, just hadn't taken in the words.
"I was wondering why your friend came so far for such a short visit."
Griffin shot him a look over his shoulder. "Why the hell would you care?"
"Because I'm nosy, obviously. All good reporters are. You should know that. Of course - "
"I'm not very good, I get it, I get it."
"I was going to say of course I can guess what he wanted."
"Yeah?" Griffin said. "You're a mind reader now? How could you possibly know?" He'd had no clue himself going in, but the agitated tone in the kid's voice when he'd called had taken hold of his insides and wrung them like a washcloth.
"Because it's what everyone who's been in theater asks themselves, wonders about, fixates over." The old man paused. "He wanted to know, what now? We've all asked ourselves some version of that. After the brutal thrill of war, what comes next?"
A long moment passed, then Griffin realized he was holding his breath, waiting. Jesus Christ! Waiting for the effing Ancient Mariner to share the secret of life. Death. War.
Whatever.
"I've got to finish up outside," he said, brusque. "The ladies wouldn't forgive me if your rocky railing means you take another fall."
"Help me out of this chair, then," Monroe ordered. "I like to get some real sunshine on me every day, just in case it's my last."
"We could only get so lucky," Griffin said, crossing to give his neighbor his arm. Then they walked together to the front porch. To free up the extra chair for the old man, he tossed his shirt and cell phone to his sister.
The women, predictably, gathered around Monroe, and Griffin didn't have to check to know that he ate up the attention. Skye, in particular, couldn't stop peppering the coot with questions. Was he certain he was well enough to be sitting up? Had he remembered anything more about the incident? Why had he gone onto the porch at that time of night anyway?
Rex replied in versions of yes, no and he couldn't remember. It was possible he'd heard some strange noise, perhaps a scuffling outside his front door.
Skye's voice rose. "You think someone was trying to get inside?"
Hammer in hand, Griffin looked over from his seat on the first stair only to