While he filled the glass, Noah steadied himself, so that when he pushed the beer forward, his smile was decent. “So what brings you to Jake’s Hut?” The ancient bar was well off the beaten track.
“I’m speaking at a seminar at the college. Someone recommended this place. How did you end up here? You dropped off the map. I called National Record and they said you’d quit.”
“They wouldn’t run my story.” Despite his brain’s deficits, he’d pecked out an apology about his foolhardy quest for bloody headlines, damn the human cost. Hank called it self-indulgent moralizing and refused to print it.
He’d probably been right.
“Truth is, the head injury made it hard to think or write. I was deadweight.” The first months his speech had been so faulty, he couldn’t deal with the phone. Email gave him time to look up words, but wore him out. Mostly, he preferred to be alone.
“You’re better now?”
“Getting there.”
“You broke bones, too, right?”
“All healed up.” His arm and leg were still stiff in the morning, coughing hurt his ribs and he would always limp. But he was alive and kicking, unlike Reggie Fuller.
“Well, you look good,” Paul said, clearly lying.
“I look like shit. It’s a hangover,” he said, not wanting to get into the truth—he’d had a flashback the night before, waking up crouched beside the bed, trembling and sweating, the echoes of gunfire in his head, the smell of motor oil and blood in his nose. He’d numbed himself to sleep with tequila, so he was hungover on top of that.
The flashbacks weren’t as bad as the nightmare—he remembered every detail of the nightmare. In it, he was carrying a wounded man to safety, while soldier after soldier got shot between the eyes, dropping dead so that he stumbled over their bodies, until he looked down and saw he held a machine gun, realizing to his horror, that he’d been the one mowing down the men. Every time he had the nightmare, the horror hit just as hard.
The flashbacks happened less often. At first, he’d had them even in the daytime, triggered by sudden noises or quick movements—even smells. In crowds, he’d start sweating and shaking, his heart beating so fast he thought he might black out.
The doctor he’d seen when his leg flared had prescribed an anti-anxiety med, but Noah wasn’t willing to fog his brain any more than it already was. He coped day-to-day. Small spaces and dark rooms still sent his pulse pounding, but he could fight it off better every day that passed.
“So you’re bartending now?” Paul was clearly trying to hide his bafflement.
“Here, yeah. In Denver, I sold newspaper ads. I washed cars in Sacramento, parked them in Vegas. Whatever got me grocery money.”
“But no reporting?”
“Soon, I hope.” Besides, needing time for his brain to heal, he’d needed some soul-searching about the grievous harm his single-minded drive for copy-inches had caused. The thought sent a wash of shame through him. It always would. Steady, man. “How’s the family?” He dispensed seltzer over ice from the gun to wet his dry throat.
“Great. Cindi’s pregnant again. Surprise! Never take birth control for granted, bro.” He gave a sheepish smile. “It’s wild this time. She’s had morning sickness from day one and Princess Emma, three-and-a-half going on fifteen, has started acting out big-time.”
“Of course. Her kingdom’s under siege.” Jesus. Another kid to raise and worry about and send to college. “But you two were born to be parents.”
“No one is, trust me. It’s on-the-job training. Day one, they let you walk out of the hospital with this innocent being who depends on you for everything. You’ll see.”
“You know me better than that.” He couldn’t imagine a less-likely fate.
“One day, you’ll get your gills caught in some poor girl’s net and she won’t have the sense to toss you back.” He was joking like the old days, but his tone was faint. He was clearly disturbed by Noah’s condition, which made Noah realize he maybe wasn’t as improved as he’d imagined.
“You’re catching me on a bad day. I’m in good shape. In fact, I’m headed to Phoenix to help my grandmother get moved. I need a job if you know of anything.”
“Yeah? I bet I could get you on as an adjunct professor.”
“I’m the last person you want teaching J school.”
“It would be a coup to have you.” Paul stopped as though sensing Noah’s resistance, and because he was a good friend, letting it go. “Public affairs needs writers for the web, I think. I’ll check the in-house postings. Where will you stay?”
“Camping at my grandmother’s place out in Apache Junction until I get it emptied out, then renting somewhere, I guess.”
“That’s way the hell out there. Why don’t you stay in our guesthouse?”
“Seriously?” They had a great location, which would help with whatever job he got. “That would be great.”
“Absolutely. You’ll be doing us a favor.”
“How’s that?” he said, taking a drink of the seltzer water he’d poured.
“Isn’t it obvious? Emma needs a babysitter.”
Noah choked on the water, but he was smiling. Smiling big.
“OOOH! OOOH! CAN I HAVE a Popsicle, Uncle Noah?” Emma asked from the backseat of his Jeep. He’d offered to drop her off at day care to save Cindi time, since he was headed to the downtown ASU office. “You get one and only one. After school. Your mom said.”
“Pullleeeeze, Uncle Noah?” Hanging out with the pint-size tornado two nights ago so that her parents could have a date, he’d unknowingly broken Cindi’s one-Popsicle-a-day rule. Now the little terror figured him for an easy mark. She was correct.
He swung over to the ice cream truck she’d spotted. “What flavor?”
“Grape! Purply-purple! Yay! I love you, Uncle Noah!”
“Food does not equal love, little girl. That’s half the reason we have an epidemic in childhood obesity. You’ll have to bite it down, no licking, so it’s all gone by the time we get there, or the other kids will feel left out.”
She nodded, eager to please now that she’d wrapped him around her pinkie. He was a sucker for those big eyes of hers. When she smiled, they lit up like two blue flashlights in her elfin face. Had to be some biological wiring to make sure you didn’t leave your offspring in the dust of the veldt when lions were on the prowl. Whatever it was, it worked like a charm.
He parked in the strip mall where the day-care center was and went to open Emma’s door. “Good lord, look at you.” Her mouth was purple and two rivulets of juice streaked her arm to her elbow. “We’ll clean you up inside so they don’t report your parents to Child Protective Services.”
“What’s
