* * *
Kaleb had hoped for a relaxing evening and, so far, it had been just that. While there was no question that he wanted to support Roger by being here for him, he feared things could be a little tense. After the way he shut Grace down today... And even though they’d patched things up, one never knew how well that patch might hold.
Sitting in Roger and Donna’s dining room, next to Grace, no less, Kaleb finished his last bite of lasagna. “Donna, your grandmother’s lasagna has a new fan.” He set his fork atop his empty plate. “I’ve never tasted anything like it.” It was the perfect balance of meat, cheese and pasta. And those seasonings. Just the right kick, without overpowering the other flavors.
Grace’s mother dabbed the corners of her mouth with her cloth napkin. “That’s the response this recipe usually gets.”
“I only wish she’d make it more often.” Roger nudged his wife’s elbow with his own, sending her a playful grin.
Donna blushed, returning her napkin to her lap. “Kaleb, I can’t tell you how excited I am about the Hometown Heroes exhibit at the museum.”
His chest tightened. The way it always did when his name and the word hero were used in the same sentence. He was no hero.
“Hometown heroes? Museum?” Grace spooned another small portion of lasagna onto her plate. Her third helping, if he wasn’t mistaken. Where did she put it?
Donna addressed her daughter. “I volunteer at the historical museum here in town. We’re planning to have a whole room dedicated to those men and women from Ouray who have served our country. We’ve received a few items—everything from photos to uniforms to ration cards—dating back to the First and Second World Wars, the Korean War and Vietnam.” She smiled at Kaleb. “However, our most recent hero is going to round things out for us. Make the exhibit more personal and real by bringing it into the twenty-first century.”
Eager to deflect the unwanted attention, Kaleb motioned toward Roger. “What about Roger? I’m sure he’s got lots of items.”
“Are you kidding?” Roger draped an arm across the back of his wife’s chair. “Donna had me pulling boxes from my Vietnam days out of the attic weeks ago.”
“We’ll have the ribbon cutting on June twenty-third, a day we’re calling Hometown Heroes Day, and Kaleb here has volunteered to give a short speech, along with our other donors.”
Volunteered? More like coerced. A bunch of women ganging up on him like that, plying him with all kinds of baked goods. A fellow didn’t stand a chance.
Now he was committed.
“When do you think you’ll have your items ready for us?” Donna smiled sweetly.
“I need to finish sorting through everything.” Of course, before he could finish, he needed to actually start the process. For now, the untouched boxes were still stacked in one of his spare bedrooms, right where his parents had left them a month ago. He knew he needed to move a lever. Yet every time he thought about it, a sense of dread seemed to settle over him. “It’s a little overwhelming.”
“I can imagine.” Leaning back, Donna folded her hands in her lap. “You were in the army how many years?”
“Eight.”
Grace rested her elbow on the table, perched her chin on her palm and stared at him. “How many tours of duty?”
“Three. All in the Middle East.”
Donna gasped. “I just had an idea.”
Kaleb and Grace collectively turned to her mother.
“Grace, why don’t you help Kaleb sort through his things?”
A look of horror flashed across Grace’s face. She straightened, lowering her arm. “Mama, I don’t think that’s really appropriate. There may be some things that Kaleb doesn’t want anyone else to see.”
Donna laid a hand at the base of her neck. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” She met Kaleb’s gaze. “I apologize if I was out of line, Kaleb.”
“No worries, Donna.”
“Well, so long as we have everything by June ninth, we should be okay.” Donna pushed away from the table. “Who’s interested in dessert?”
Despite his stomach being twisted in knots with guilt, Kaleb managed to down a slice of chocolate cake, another of Grace’s purported favorites, before bidding Roger and Donna farewell.
“I’m going to say good-night, too.” Grace grabbed her jacket and pack from the closet near the front door. “Thank you for dinner, Mama.” She hugged her mother, the gesture appearing more heartfelt than the one they’d shared earlier that day. “The lasagna was even better than I remembered.”
Outside, the last vestiges of daylight faded in the western sky. The night air was cool, something he was used to, but he was glad Grace had a jacket.
They strolled along Fifth Street, silent. Was she feeling as sheepish in the wake of this afternoon’s events as he was? He struggled to think of something to say, but couldn’t.
Finally, “I, uh—” Grace stepped into the void. “I’m sorry for what my mother said. About me helping you. Obviously she’s a little out of touch.”
“Ah, she’s harmless. I know there was no ill intent.”
After another pause, Grace continued. “You haven’t begun to sort through your stuff, have you?”
Wow. He wasn’t expecting that. “You figured that out, huh?”
“Yep.” Her gaze remained straight ahead.
For some odd reason, he felt relieved. As if his secret was finally out in the open. “I have every intention of meeting that deadline, you know.”
“I know.” Hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket, she forged on. “But delving into your past makes you uneasy.”
“How did you know?” He’d known this woman barely twenty-four hours and yet she was able to read him so well.
She shrugged. “We all have pasts.”
He followed her around the corner at Seventh Avenue. “It’s not like I’m hiding anything.”
“I understand. You’d just prefer the past remain in the past.”
“Sort of. It’s just—”
She stopped in the middle of the street. Looked at him with eyes that seemed to cut right through him. “Just what?”
“Um— My prosthetic. Challenges. You know.” Now it was his turn to shrug.
“Memories.”
One innocuous word but, boy, did it pack a punch. “Yeah.”
Her weak smile said she understood. “They have a way of sneaking up on us, don’t they?”
Us? What memories did Grace not want to unearth?
“I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through, Kaleb. But your sacrifice deserves to be honored. People want to honor it. Why not let them?”
Because they might see that I’m a fraud. That I’m not worthy of their honor.
They crossed Main Street, the sound of the river growing louder as they approached. Much like the turmoil cutting a swath through him. Why couldn’t he go through those boxes? What was he so afraid of?
Perhaps Grace’s mother was right. Maybe he did need help. Someone to give him direction and keep him on task. After all, he had a deadline and he was a man of his word.
But who would he ask? His mother would want him to donate everything. His father was too close to the situation, too. Maybe Roger. He was military and knew how to cut to the chase. Though