“Oh,” she said, slowing. She looked him up and down, seeing a lean, rangy man in worn carpenter’s jeans and combat boots. The big restless hands at the end of long bony wrists that stuck out past the sleeves of his brown canvas work coat. Her eyes lingered on his angular face, wolfish and unshaven.
Her expression was neutral. It occurred to Peter that maybe he wasn’t quite what she expected in a Marine officer.
She said, “You must be Lieutenant Ash.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I appreciate your letting me get started without meeting in person. You said that the front porch was your most pressing repair, and you were correct.” He tried a smile. He wasn’t used to people yet. “Please,” he said. “Call me Peter. Jimmy talked about you so much I feel like I know you.”
She didn’t answer. She was tall, almost as tall as Peter, and wrapped in a long wool coat that went past her knees. She carried her keys spiked out from her fist, something Jimmy would have taught her for self-defense. It looked natural.
She measured him with cool eyes, reserving judgment. But polite.
“Please, come in,” she said. “You must be hungry. I’m making supper, if you’d care to stay.”
“I’ll wait outside,” he said. “It’s a nice night.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “It’s cold. Please, come in.”
Peter pointed at the back door, the bottom panel covered with a piece of bare plywood. “Something happen here?” he asked. It looked like a quick repair after someone had kicked in the door.
“We had a break-in,” she said. “Not long after James.” She blinked. “Died.”
“I’m sorry,” said Peter. “I can replace that when I’m done with your porch.”
She turned her key in the lock. “Come inside,” she said. “Get out of the cold.”
He hesitated, but picked up the suitcase and followed her inside.
He had questions.
4
She sat him down at the big kitchen table, where the static prickled at the base of his brain. Peter took long, slow breaths. His knee bounced to the time of his internal metronome. In a few minutes his shoulders would start to get tight.
Dinah set her large canvas handbag on a wooden chair, then went deeper into the house to hang up her coat and check on her boys. The bag was big enough to carry a complete change of clothes, including shoes. Maybe two or three pairs of shoes.
He heard the front door open, then her sharp intake of air. And the growl of the ugly dog at the far end of its rope.
She came back into the kitchen. “Lieutenant Ash.” She raised her eyebrows in an expression that was half surprise and half reproach. “You’re doing more than a few repairs. My porch is gone.”
She didn’t comment on the dog.
“Please, call me Peter,” he said. “And yes, I took some liberties. But once I started to take it apart, I could tell it wasn’t safe. Don’t worry, I’ll have it together again tomorrow or the day after. And it’s all on the U.S. Marine Corps.”
Peter had seen her picture in Iraq, Dinah with the two boys. Jimmy carried it in his shirt pocket on every mission. Said they were his good-luck charm.
He’d clutched it tight waiting for the medevac, eyes locked on the faces of his family while the corpsman was putting the tourniquet on his leg. “I’m such a lucky bastard,” he said, his grin widening as the morphine kicked in. “You got to come visit when you get stateside.”
Peter had gone to the mountains instead.
—
In the picture with her kids, Dinah had seemed fragile, like fine china kept high on a shelf.
In person, she was anything but.
He knew she was an ER nurse, so he was expecting the air of calm competence. But he wasn’t prepared for how the green hospital scrubs showed her shape, or the way she carried herself, fluid, capable motion with her head held high, her back straight as an iron rod.
And the picture definitely hadn’t captured her eyes.
They were the pale blue of deep glacier ice, and filled with knowledge and sadness. And no small amount of concern.
Dinah Johnson clearly hadn’t made up her mind about him quite yet.
Jimmy came home damaged in body and soul. Peter hadn’t done a very good job taking care of Jimmy over there, and he’d never come to visit when he got stateside. Jimmy had recovered from his physical injuries, after multiple surgeries and months of physical therapy. But his other injuries, the ones not visible to the eye, must have been beyond healing.
Less than a month ago, Jimmy had killed himself.
The least Peter could do was fix the porch on Jimmy’s house.
Even if he had to lie to Jimmy’s widow to do it.
—
He’d called her from Manny’s house, less than a week after he’d heard the news. He wanted to help.
If he was honest with himself, he’d say he needed to help.
So he invented a Marine Corps program that provided free home repairs for the families of veterans. Dinah was the only client, and funding came from Peter’s back pay.
From Jimmy’s description of the house, there would be no shortage of projects.