Read Online Behind the Walls by Merry Jones - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Merry Jones
Ads: Link
himself, not your relationship. You can’t fix it for him, Harper.’
Leslie’s voice was soft but firm. She waited for her comment to sink in. Then added, ‘I can refer him to someone. If he’s willing. If he’d go.’
Oh God. Did Leslie think Hank was seriously in a crisis? That he needed professional help? ‘What are you saying?’
Leslie paused, her eyes steady on Harper’s. ‘What I’m saying is this: you love this man. You helped him survive. Now, he’s got to want to.’
On her Ninja, Harper roared down the hill, letting the chill air slap her. Thinking about Hank. How insensitive she’d been. How oblivious to his feelings. She’d been wrapped up in their life, getting it back, having him home. Continuing her PhD program as if he’d never been hurt. Pretending he was fine. How selfish of her. How superficial. How lonely he must feel.
Well, she’d make it up to him. She’d encourage him to explore new options. Maybe suggest he see a therapist? She pictured it. ‘Hank, Leslie has a referral for you. A colleague who can help you.’
He’d resent it. He’d glare. Maybe snarl. ‘You think. Need. I. Damned. Shrink?’ And stomp out of the room. Slamming the door.
No. Better to be supportive. Wait and see.
Harper stopped for a red light. Looked around the intersection. Pedestrians crossing. Cars waiting. Leaves scattering the street, golden and red. The sky pillowed with purple clouds, foreshadowing winter. She closed her eyes, collecting herself. Focusing on the moment.
Almost time to meet Burke Everett. Damn, she hadn’t even mentioned him to Leslie. Or Peter Murray’s obituary. Who had sent it? And why?
The light changed. Harper rode, taking a long route to the Ithaca Bakery, concentrating on motion, the wind on her face, the chill of the air. Trying to think of nothing.
Burke had lost his swagger. He dashed into the Ithaca Bakery, looking over his shoulders, glancing out windows. Drawing attention to himself by trying not to. Spotting Harper at a table near the door, sliding into the seat opposite her.
‘We should move.’
Not, hi. Not, good to see you. Not, you look great.
‘Move?’
‘To the corner.’
He was on his feet, leading the way. Harper followed. Burke positioned himself where he’d have the greatest view of the area: against the wall, facing the room, windows nearby. He looked around, satisfying himself that no one was watching him. Not the table of students across the room, not the elderly man reading the paper, not the guys behind the counter, not the construction workers buying coffee.
Finally, Burke’s eyes stopped wandering, settled on Harper. ‘You look good.’
‘What’s going on?’ She pictured him back in Iraq. Complaining about the rations. Or the ninety-second showers. Or the heaviness of his gear. Complaining. Always. ‘Why are you so jumpy?’
He snickered. ‘So much for foreplay.’
‘You didn’t come all the way from Milwaukee for foreplay.’
‘No.’ He looked around again. Shifted in his seat. ‘Thanks for meeting me.’
Harper riveted her gaze on him. He was practically quivering. ‘You hear about Murray?’
Burke’s eyes looked away, darted side to side. He hunched forward. Lowered his voice. ‘You got the obituary? I sent it while I was there, down in Atlanta. For the funeral.’
Why was he whispering? The funeral was no secret. Burke seemed downright paranoid. Was he having a breakdown? Some vets had trouble adjusting to civilian life, lost their grip. He looked thin, gaunt. Maybe he should eat something. Aromas of fresh bread, sugar, chocolate and cinnamon surrounded them, closing in.
‘Why don’t we get some food?’
‘No – don’t get up. Just let’s stay here a while.’ More looking around. At the door. Out the windows.
‘So you drove here all the way from Atlanta?’
He nodded. ‘Couldn’t risk buying a ticket. Look, I can’t stay long. Gotta keep moving.’
‘Burke.’ Harper leaned back. ‘I’ve got to
Leslie’s voice was soft but firm. She waited for her comment to sink in. Then added, ‘I can refer him to someone. If he’s willing. If he’d go.’
Oh God. Did Leslie think Hank was seriously in a crisis? That he needed professional help? ‘What are you saying?’
Leslie paused, her eyes steady on Harper’s. ‘What I’m saying is this: you love this man. You helped him survive. Now, he’s got to want to.’
On her Ninja, Harper roared down the hill, letting the chill air slap her. Thinking about Hank. How insensitive she’d been. How oblivious to his feelings. She’d been wrapped up in their life, getting it back, having him home. Continuing her PhD program as if he’d never been hurt. Pretending he was fine. How selfish of her. How superficial. How lonely he must feel.
Well, she’d make it up to him. She’d encourage him to explore new options. Maybe suggest he see a therapist? She pictured it. ‘Hank, Leslie has a referral for you. A colleague who can help you.’
He’d resent it. He’d glare. Maybe snarl. ‘You think. Need. I. Damned. Shrink?’ And stomp out of the room. Slamming the door.
No. Better to be supportive. Wait and see.
Harper stopped for a red light. Looked around the intersection. Pedestrians crossing. Cars waiting. Leaves scattering the street, golden and red. The sky pillowed with purple clouds, foreshadowing winter. She closed her eyes, collecting herself. Focusing on the moment.
Almost time to meet Burke Everett. Damn, she hadn’t even mentioned him to Leslie. Or Peter Murray’s obituary. Who had sent it? And why?
The light changed. Harper rode, taking a long route to the Ithaca Bakery, concentrating on motion, the wind on her face, the chill of the air. Trying to think of nothing.
Burke had lost his swagger. He dashed into the Ithaca Bakery, looking over his shoulders, glancing out windows. Drawing attention to himself by trying not to. Spotting Harper at a table near the door, sliding into the seat opposite her.
‘We should move.’
Not, hi. Not, good to see you. Not, you look great.
‘Move?’
‘To the corner.’
He was on his feet, leading the way. Harper followed. Burke positioned himself where he’d have the greatest view of the area: against the wall, facing the room, windows nearby. He looked around, satisfying himself that no one was watching him. Not the table of students across the room, not the elderly man reading the paper, not the guys behind the counter, not the construction workers buying coffee.
Finally, Burke’s eyes stopped wandering, settled on Harper. ‘You look good.’
‘What’s going on?’ She pictured him back in Iraq. Complaining about the rations. Or the ninety-second showers. Or the heaviness of his gear. Complaining. Always. ‘Why are you so jumpy?’
He snickered. ‘So much for foreplay.’
‘You didn’t come all the way from Milwaukee for foreplay.’
‘No.’ He looked around again. Shifted in his seat. ‘Thanks for meeting me.’
Harper riveted her gaze on him. He was practically quivering. ‘You hear about Murray?’
Burke’s eyes looked away, darted side to side. He hunched forward. Lowered his voice. ‘You got the obituary? I sent it while I was there, down in Atlanta. For the funeral.’
Why was he whispering? The funeral was no secret. Burke seemed downright paranoid. Was he having a breakdown? Some vets had trouble adjusting to civilian life, lost their grip. He looked thin, gaunt. Maybe he should eat something. Aromas of fresh bread, sugar, chocolate and cinnamon surrounded them, closing in.
‘Why don’t we get some food?’
‘No – don’t get up. Just let’s stay here a while.’ More looking around. At the door. Out the windows.
‘So you drove here all the way from Atlanta?’
He nodded. ‘Couldn’t risk buying a ticket. Look, I can’t stay long. Gotta keep moving.’
‘Burke.’ Harper leaned back. ‘I’ve got to
Similar Books
