“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 Kaleb hated to take him away from Donna.
Why his gaze drifted to the woman walking beside him was beyond comprehension. He barely knew her. Still, she was military. So, in a practical sense, she would know what might be best for the museum. And, now that he thought about it, not having any personal attachment to him or anyone else might actually make her the best person for the job.
But there was a lot of stuff in those boxes. Stuff that spanned his life from boyhood to manhood. Did he really want her sifting through every photo and newspaper article? From basic training to the IED that ended his career.
They rounded onto Oak Street and Kaleb realized they were almost to the RV park. He’d been so lost in thought that he not only lost track of time, but location, as well. He hadn’t intended to walk Grace home, though he supposed it was the gentlemanly thing to do.
Unfortunately, he didn’t believe in accidents. God wanted him to walk Grace home for a reason. And as he continued to ponder the boxes in his spare room, he had a pretty good idea what that reason was.
“Grace?” He stopped in front of the empty campsite just down from hers and turned to look at her. “Would you be interested in helping me dig through my military memorabilia? I realize I’m asking a lot—I mean, you barely even know me—but I need help.”
She watched him, seemingly intrigued. “How much stuff are we talking about?”
“At least a dozen boxes.”
Her eyes widened. “No wonder you’re overwhelmed.”
He lifted a shoulder. “My mom insisted I share everything with her, and since I didn’t know what was important and what wasn’t, I had an ongoing box that I’d toss stuff into. When one got full, I’d send it to her and start on another.”
Grace smiled then. “That’s actually pretty sweet. Not many guys would be that considerate.”
“You obviously haven’t met my mother.”
Grace snickered.
“So what do you say, Grace? Would you be willing to forfeit your free time to help a poor soul?”
“Give up my free time? Boy, you really know how to sell this.”
“What if I throw in dinner?”
“Okay, now you’re speaking my language.” She crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze narrowing. “So why do you want me to help you?”
He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I don’t know. I guess for the same reasons I hired you as my office manager. Military background, attention to detail...”
She nodded, yet remained silent for a moment. “Okay, I’ll do it.” Lowering her arms, she turned and took two steps toward her campsite before twisting back around. “And just so you’ll know, steak is my favorite meal.”
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