missed something. And that’s what haunted him.
“What?” she asked again.
“I don’t know,” he finally answered, his voice filled with defeat. “I don’t know.”
“How about your friends, family, have you been in touch with them?”
“We don’t have anything in common. They all want to act as if nothing is wrong or that everything is.” His laugh was ragged.
“You can’t continue to live in your head, Maurice, disconnected from everything. It’s well past the time that you rejoined the world. Begin new relationships.”
“Is that right, Doc,” he said derisively. “You mean if I join the world, as you put it, I’ll be all better.” This time he fought against the pain and stood.
“I’m saying that you can’t continue to punish yourself by shutting everything and everyone out.”
“It’s not that easy,” he said, gritting his teeth against the pain.
“I know it’s not. It never is. But if you are ever going to regain some semblance of life, of an existence, you’re going to have to try. You’re going to have to work at it, just as hard and with just as much passion as you’ve put into being a decorated fighter pilot.”
He stole a look at her. “I don’t know how,” he admitted.
Dr. Morrison stood up and came to him. “I have a friend who owns a fabulous Bed & Breakfast in Sag Harbor. I think a change of scenery and the relaxation of being by the water would be therapeutic.”
“I don’t think so, Doc.”
“At least think about it, Maurice. And I’ll only be a phone call away…when you want to talk.”
He pushed out a breath. “Yeah, I’ll think about it.”
She returned to her desk and wrote the information down on a prescription pad, tore off the paper and handed it to him.
He looked at the neat handwriting. “The Port.”
“Go, Maurice. A few days, a few weeks.” She studied his face. “Give yourself a chance. And think about getting back in touch with Ross.”
His gaze jumped to hers.
“You’d mentioned in earlier sessions that the two of you were close, that you even played in a band together. I’m sure he would be glad to hear from you. Have you spoken to him since you’ve been home?”
He lowered his head. “No.” He folded the paper and shoved it in his pants pocket. “Time up?”
She moistened her lips. “Yes.”
He bobbed his head. His jaw clenched as he turned toward the door. “See you next week, Doc.”
Maurice opened the door to his one bedroom condo apartment. He’d lucked out and was able to purchase the condo from his Veterans benefits in one of the most sought after communities in the quickly gentrifying neighborhood of Ft. Greene. One of the perks of fighting for your country, he thought derisively.
He’d been in the space for nearly a year after leaving rehab and it was still sparsely furnished, only the basic necessities. It didn’t matter much to him. It was only him. He didn’t have company, there was no woman in his life and all he needed was a place to sleep, eat and bathe.
He tossed his keys into a plastic bowl on the kitchen counter and limped over to the window. He drew in a long, slow breath. Never in a million years would he have imagined his life coming to this point. His breathing echoed in the cavernous space. Alone. Broken.
Dr. Morrison’s words bounced around in his head. …if you are ever going to regain some semblance of life, of an existence, you’re going to have to try. You’re going to have to work at it, just as hard and with just as much passion as you’ve put into being a decorated fighter pilot.…And think about getting back in touch with Ross.
Ross. He almost smiled. Ross McDaniels was his best buddy all through high school and into college. They discovered their love of music together and that it was a surefire way to charm the ladies. Ross was the sax man, he the piano. The two of them together were a lethal combination. Ross had been in his corner when he lost his father and never once came down on him for cutting himself off from his family, even if he didn’t agree. They’d stayed in touch throughout his years in the service and it was not until the accident that Maurice cut off all contact. He didn’t think he could stand to see the look of sympathy in Ross’s eyes. That, he knew he could not take.
He slung his hands into his pockets. Ross didn’t deserve that. His stomach muscles clenched. Was his number still the same? He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and scrolled through his contact list.
Ross McDaniels. What could he possibly say to him after all this time?
Maurice swallowed over the tight knot in his throat. Ross had a birthday coming up. His was a month earlier to the day and Ross used to always tease him about being “the oldest.”
He stared at the number, debated a million reasons why and why not and finally pressed Call before he could change his mind.
The line rang three times before it was picked up.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Ross, it’s me…Maurice.”
For a moment the line went completely silent.
“Mo…” he finally said. “Don’t B.S. me, man, is this really you?”
The tight knot in his gut burst loose and a tentative smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah, man, it’s me. You usually have impersonators calling you?”
Ross laughed from deep down in his belly, a sound so welcome and familiar. Maurice’s eyes stung.
“Not usually. I…where the hell are you?”
“In Brooklyn.”
“Brooklyn? You’re back? Why haven’t you called? I tried to find you for months. The Navy wouldn’t tell me shit. What happened? How long have you been home, man?”
Maurice waited a beat. “I’ve been home a little over a year,” he said quietly.
He could almost see the waves of confusion pass over Ross’s face as he tried to process what he’d just been told.
“Say what?”
“It’s a long story. I…would have…I should have called…”
“I’m gonna forget that I should be pissed as hell right now. Brother, I thought…we all thought you were dead, man.”
Maurice heard Ross’s voice crack and that nearly broke him. “Look, I had my reasons.”
“I’m listening. No, as a matter of fact, this is not for a phone conversation. I want to put my eyes on you. Where are you in Brooklyn?”
“Fort
