a good time.” Especially since no one thought of holding barbecues at this time of year, thaw or no thaw. In a pinch, the barn would do for shelter.
It was nearly a year since the funeral, and when Miri thought over the simple, short emails she and Gil had exchanged, she felt that now he was even more a stranger than he had been when Al had shared stories about him.
“Reserved” might be an understatement when describing Gil York. From the little she had seen of him at the funeral, she would now describe him as distant. Maybe even closed off. She had a feeling that during their brief meeting she’d had her first close encounter with what she’d heard called the “thousand-yard stare.”
She’d talked about it with Edie Hardin, a former combat search and rescue pilot who now worked for the county’s emergency medical services as a helicopter pilot. The woman had a son who had frequent play dates with Miri’s next-door neighbor’s son, and Edie and Miri had developed a friendship over time.
“I know what you mean,” Edie had answered. “I’ve seen it plenty of times.” She had missed the funeral because she was on duty that day, but her husband, Seth, a former SEAL, had been part of the honor guard.
“I see it in Seth sometimes,” Edie had continued. “What these guys do? Especially special forces like Seth and Gil...so much, for so long. It’s like a brain shock, or an emotional shock. It haunts them, Miri. Anyway, don’t worry about it. Gil seems to have a handle on it, from what you said.”
Handle on it? Truth be told she was surprised he’d continued their irregular email conversation. Little said on his side, while she tried to pass along interesting tidbits about life around here. She kept expecting him to just not answer.
Then for two months he hadn’t. It had been a shock to her to learn he’d been wounded and that he was on indefinite medical leave. An even bigger shock when he’d written that he’d like to visit, if that was all right.
Of course it was all right. He’d been Al’s best friend for years. By extension he was family. But what about his own family, where he’d been headed when he first told her he was wounded?
As the sun slipped behind the mountains and the afternoon began to darken into twilight, she decided she was getting entirely too anxious about Gil’s visit. He was probably just taking the opportunity to do a little traveling while he was on leave. He undoubtedly knew people from all over the country and was catching up. Considering that Al had been one of his best buddies, he probably wondered how the Baker family was getting along.
Losing Al still hurt. Grief, she was discovering, never really lessened; it just came less often. Like ocean waves, rolling over her occasionally, sometimes softer, sometimes hammering. Talking with his parents, she’d found they were experiencing the same thing, only much more painfully. Their only child? Indescribable.
The folded flag took pride of place beside Al’s official portrait on the Bakers’ mantel over the fireplace. Around it were all the presentation cases holding Al’s medals, and a white votive candle that was never allowed to go out. Miri had offered recently to get all the medals mounted and framed—an expensive proposition, to her surprise—but they hadn’t decided yet.
The Baker family continued to move forward with life, because that was what the living had to do, but Miri couldn’t escape the feeling that part of Betsy, and maybe Jack, as well, had been frozen in time, at the moment they’d learned of Al’s death.
Jack was still running the ranch; his grief didn’t diminish realities. Yet some light in him was gone.
Maybe that was what was going on with Gil. Some light had been extinguished. Well, how would it be possible to spend sixteen or more years fighting for your country on dangerous and covert missions, without a bit of your internal light going out?
Then she realized why she was so on edge, and it had little to do with Gil personally. It had to do with the concern that his visit was going to freshen a grief they all, particularly Al’s parents, had been gradually learning to live with.
Outside, the January thaw had thinned the snow to almost nothing. Icicles were beginning to drop from the eaves, tiny spears for the most part, probably a good size for leprechauns.
The day faded rapidly toward early night. Miri hated waiting, but she couldn’t seem to do anything else just then. Finally, after what seemed like forever, a dark-colored car pulled up out front. A few minutes later she recognized the unmistakable figure of Gil York.
He looked different out of uniform, wearing a black parka, and as he came around the front of the car, she realized everything about him had changed.
The ramrod-straight posture and confident movement she associated with him were gone. He walked a bit gingerly, using a cane. He wore laced-up desert boots and camouflage pants beneath the parka, an odd assortment of pieces, and she wondered if the camo was simply comfortable, preferred over jeans or regular slacks.
He caught sight of her as she opened the door and gave a small wave. She noticed how deliberate his pace remained and the caution with which he navigated the sidewalk and the porch steps.
“It’s good to see you again, Gil,” she said when he reached the porch. She noted that sweat had beaded on his forehead, and it wasn’t an especially warm day, thaw or not. That walk must have been difficult.
“Come inside. I’ve got coffee if you want, and a casserole that’s just waiting to be popped in the oven.”
At last the rigid lines of his face cracked a bit, serving up a faint smile. “Thank you, Miri. Hard to believe that I sat through that long drive and I’m already looking for another seat.”
“You’ve been wounded,” she replied, stating the obvious. “It must take time to come back.” She opened the door wider and motioned him inside. Her house was small, the foyer about big enough for four people, with the living room on one side and the kitchen on the other. At least the kitchen was big enough to eat in. Two bedrooms and a bath at the back. Cozy. Easy to make crowded.
Gil was a large enough man that he was making her house feel even smaller. She guided him straight to the kitchen and pulled out a chair for him at the battered wooden table, which doubled as food prep space when she needed it. While he removed his parka, revealing a loden-green chamois shirt, she asked, “Coffee?”
“Please. Black.”
She placed a large mug in front of him, then slipped the casserole into the oven, which she had preheated more than an hour ago. That freed her to join him at the table.
“I was surprised when you said you wanted to visit,” she remarked. “Everyone’s glad you are, we just didn’t expect it. Was the trip rough?”
Again the faintest of smiles. “It’s a long way from Michigan by car. Some really great scenery, though. Mostly, it was peaceful.”
There was something important in the way he said that, but she felt she shouldn’t ask, not yet. He had an aura that made her feel getting personal might not be wise. That he didn’t easily allow it, if he did at all.
“How are Al’s parents?” he asked.
“One day at a time. Jack’s still running the ranch, although I think his heart has gone out of it. He planned to turn it over to Al when he left the army. Now it’s just something he needs to do. He’s muttered a couple of times that maybe he can find a Japanese buyer.”
