Reese nodded. “Yeah, pretty much. Thanks for your help here.” He motioned to the clothes he now wore.
“Like I said,” Charlie murmured, dumping the clothes into a huge wastebasket, “our country owes you.” He came back and pushed the two Styrofoam boxes toward him. “I called up Kassie Murphy. She owns Kassie’s Café down the next block on the plaza. I asked if she’d donate you some vittles. Once she found out you were a vet, Kassie said to tell you it’s on the house. You can come and eat at her establishment anytime you want, no questions asked. Folks in these parts? Many of them served, and have sons or daughters in the military. So we have a real soft spot in our heart for military vets like yourself. I hope you like the two hamburgers, coleslaw, and French fries. Julie, one of the waitresses who brought these over here for you, said there’s homemade apple pie with three scoops of vanilla ice cream in there, too. Why don’t you grab that chair back at the coffee station, sit down, and enjoy your meal? Shay won’t be here for another hour.”
“Thanks,” Reese said. “And thank everyone over at Kassie’s Café for me?”
“Oh,” Charlie murmured, shrugging, “I’ve a feeling when Shay gets a gander at how strong and tall you are, she’ll hire you on the spot. And then, when it suits you later, you can go over and thank those hardworking gals at Kassie’s yourself.”
It was all Reese could do to hold it together. He carefully walked to the coffee station, holding the boxes in his hands as if they were the greatest treasure on earth. His feet were warm. He was clean. Really clean. There had been a toothbrush and toothpaste in the cabinet as well. Deodorant. He’d used the scissors to cut his hair the best he could; it was still on his nape, but hopefully he didn’t look like the homeless person of before. The beard was gone, thanks to the fact that Charlie had stashed five razors in the medicine cabinet. And he’d used all of them, since his beard was so damned wiry and thick. Emotions swept through him as he sat down and opened up the container with the two huge hamburgers. The scent of the food nearly made him faint. It smelled so good.
Reese had never starved in his life except for the last year. Jobs had been sparse, and then only part-time or they were seasonal and ended in a month or two. Sometimes he was fired because he couldn’t handle the stressful demands that forced him to work swiftly and continuously. His anxiety ran him. He had no control over it and he’d found out quickly, after his discharge, that a stressful job only tripled the monstrous anxiety that was always there, always waiting to leap upon him and scatter his thoughts, his actions.
As he bit into the burger, he closed his eyes, made a low sound of pleasure in the back of his throat, slumping against the metal chair, in Nirvana. Reese knew if he gulped it down, he’d more than likely throw it up, so he tamped down on the animal desire to gulp. He chewed it slowly, savoring every last bite of the lettuce, tomatoes, onion, cheddar cheese, and bacon on it. It took him thirty minutes to clean up everything. The apple pie was melt-in-your mouth, reminding him of his mother’s own home-cooked pies.
An old ache centered in his heart. His parents wanted him home, but God, that had been a disaster. Reese wasn’t going to make them pay for his PTSD, and they didn’t understand why he had to leave. He wasn’t the best at talking about his shame over the symptoms that he couldn’t control. His father had been in the military, retired, and was now a hardworking mechanic. He had saved all his life for retirement, and Reese wasn’t about to take his money that he’d offered to him. He had to stand on his own two feet, pull himself up by his bootstraps, and not accept handouts.