The Secret of You and Me - Melissa Lenhardt Page 0,2
yell and scream at me before I go back home. Let her test out her arguments with you first. Refine them a little bit. I want only her best temper tantrum. And, frankly, I’d rather hang out with your kids.”
“You are so weird sometimes, Nora,” Jeremy said. “Don’t take them to Dairy Queen. They’ve already had three cookies each.”
I mock saluted and said, “Yes sir.”
Jeremy left, leaving me to study the casserole offerings. I leaned over and inhaled the tangy aroma of an especially delicious-looking green chile chicken enchilada casserole. “What should I avoid, Emmadean?” When she didn’t answer, I glanced up.
“You are home.”
I straightened, confused. “Hmm?”
“You said Mary could yell at you before you go home. Lynchfield is your home.”
I picked up a paper plate, found a serving spoon in the drawer next to the sink, and dished up a helping of enchiladas while Emmadean watched.
“Ray’s dead, Nora. No reason you can’t stay.”
“My life is in DC. My career. My friends.”
“Your family is here.”
“I’ve gotten along without my family for years.”
“That was your choice, not ours.”
I took a bite of enchiladas, savoring the contrast of the spicy tang of the sauce and the smooth creaminess of the cheese, and wondering what had compelled me to return to my hometown for my father’s funeral. I’d managed to sever myself cleanly from him, and, for that matter, from Lynchfield, Texas. I told myself I could come, pay my respects, and leave, unscathed and untouched by memories, and long-buried emotions. I knew it for a lie as soon as Emmadean took me into her arms. By her body language and expression, so did she. The enchiladas turned sour in my mouth, but I continued to eat to avoid answering.
Emmadean shook her head and said as she walked out the back door, “Can’t run from your problems forever, war hero.”
I dumped the paper plate into the trash.
“Come on, you heathens! Quick trip to DQ before the visitation!” I called.
They let out a cheer. The sound of feet pounding down the hallway made me smile.
two
nora
I’m not a war hero, nor have I ever claimed to be. I’m a war hero like anyone who wears the uniform is deemed a hero, by merely doing the job we signed up for, volunteered for, or were, sometimes, persuaded into doing.
I stared down a never-ending line of people who knew me, but whom I couldn’t remember to save my life. I smiled and shook hands and listened to them shower me with platitudes, and thank me for my service, though I’d been out of the army for eight years. Seemed like yesterday. Seemed like forever ago.
“Your father was proud of you.”
“Proudest day of his life when you deployed over to kick some Saddam Hussein ass. Thank you for your service.”
“To hear old Noakes talk you’da thought you toppled that statue yourself. You didn’t, did you?”
“Talked about you all the time.”
“Loved you so much.”
“So proud. Thank you for your service.”
“He missed you but understood how important your job is.”
“Kept everyone up-to-date on your career.”
I caught Emmadean’s eye with a clear What the hell are these people talking about? expression.
She shrugged a shoulder and took the man in front of me off my hands. “Earl, thanks for coming.”
Mary, on my opposite side, leaned near me and whispered, “Rest assured, Pop hated you. Emmadean’s who talks you up.” She leaned away and smiled at the woman in front of her. “Hello, Mrs. Wyatt. Thanks for the enchiladas.”
“They weren’t too spicy, were they?”
“No, they were perfect.”
My stomach twisted. This woman I knew. Joyce Wyatt’s hair had gone from a dark brown Steel Magnolias football helmet to a blond Steel Magnolias football helmet. Her solution to going gray, I supposed. It wasn’t a bad look on her, but hair dye couldn’t mask the fine wrinkles mapping her still-lovely face. She held her purse tightly in front of her and looked at me with a hesitant expression as if she wasn’t sure how she would be received. I held out my hands. “I should have known those enchiladas were from you. They were delicious.”
Mrs. Wyatt sagged with relief. Holding hands wasn’t enough for her. She pulled me into her arms. “Nora. I’ve missed you so,” she whispered in my ear.
“I’ve missed you, too,” I said.
She pulled back. “When you left so suddenly, then didn’t call...?”
She waited for the explanation that never came, and one I would never give. “Mrs. Wyatt, that was all a long time ago.”