Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,40
you are, neither. Take a load off.”
Walker had to smile at the old guy. “Well, hell,” he admitted ruefully. “Don’t mind if I do.”
Before long, he and Brimley were eating together and chatting like two old friends. Daylight stretched into dusk. Turned out Brimley was former Army, a draftee from the Vietnam era.
“Yeah. My PTSD wore my wife out. I don’t blame her for leaving. Never could tell her what all that crap back in ’Nam did to me. Not like she would’ve understood anyway.”
“So you kept it inside?” Walker asked, his sandwich gone, the bottled water Brimley had offered him gone as well, and the bottle crunched for recycling.
“Didn’t seem much sense in telling anyone, ’specially her.” Brimley’s gaze stretched over Walker’s shoulder to the sea beyond. “She wasn’t there, was she? She never could’ve understood, and she sure as hell didn’t need to know all the details of what I did or what I had to do there. Was bad enough I had to live with it.”
Which was so damned sad. How could a simple, sweet woman ever hope to erase the horrors of war when the VA couldn’t/wouldn’t help the men and women who came home battle-scarred, unwanted, or afraid of the dark and loud noises? And to think most of those draftees had been mere eighteen-year-olds when they’d gone to war. Godawful shame was what the whole damned mess was. What it still is…
Yet Walker also knew there were good women who’d stood by their wounded warrior husbands when they’d come home, no matter what. Who’d fought their men’s VA battles for them, bathed them when they couldn’t bathe themselves, cleaned up their messes, even argued with them when those old farts wanted to give up and die. Women who’d loved those damaged guys with all of their hearts. Who’d never once thought of leaving them, just because those loved ones had done what their country had asked, and in the process, might’ve lost a limb or two—or part of their minds. Maybe equal parts of their souls...
He sucked in a deep, cleansing breath of crisp sea air. During his life, he’d learned to rely on the ocean’s remedy for relief. If you can’t fix it, set it down and let the tide take it far, far away. Let it go and tell it goodbye. Give the unforgivable and unforgettable back to God. Grief, forgiveness, and vengeance were in His bailiwick. Let Him worry about those damned loose ends.
“Your rig secure for the night?” Brimley asked. “You need some place to stay instead of that bobber you’ve got tied up at the dock?”
“You’ve seen Persia Smiles?”
“Persia who?” Brim waved Walker off. “Nah, I don’t know which fishing boat’s yours. She’s got a pretty name, though. You name her after the woman you love?”
Excellent question, one Walker didn’t yet know the answer to. And because he couldn’t define his feelings for Persia, he changed the subject. “Why? You looking for company, old man?”
Brimley’s gaze dropped down to his feet. “Guess maybe I am. Seems like you been in a few battles, too, and you’re American. Sumbitch, a man gets tired of not knowing what folks around him are saying all the time. But if you’d rather not hang around with Rover and me, hell, ain’t no skin off my nose. I’ve got somewhere else to be. Rover, come on, boy, let’s git.”
The Azores attracted tourists from all over the world, especially from Europe, Portugal, and Africa, even as far north as the Netherlands and Scandinavia. Walker had noticed more Japanese and Chinese tourists this time around. Which was comforting in a way. They might watch American news, but he doubted they paid attention to something as insignificant as US Navy trials. No one in America seemed to care about the military. Why would foreign tourists? But those differing nationalities also created language barriers. Not many people cared to play charades just to order off a menu or buy a trinket.
“You and Rover are welcome aboard my rig,” he parried. “I’ve got lots of room. Spend a night on the water. Do a little fishing. Might do you and Rover some good.”
Brimley stared straight at Walker. Two warriors, eye to eye. Two men too proud to take each other up on their offers of charity. At last, Brimley’s gaze dropped to his faithful companion. “What you think, Rover? Should we trust this smart-aleck or hightail it back to our place?”
Rover’s energetic bark sealed the deal. For at least