Page 1 of Four Times Saved

Chapter 1

Eric

"Get down! Get down!"

A car backfired in the distance. My father ran and ducked for cover on the open sand and sea behind their Florida home. He waved at me, frantic, eyes bloodshot and army crawling.

"Dad, it's okay. It was just a car," I told him.

"No! They're coming for us, coming back to punish me for all the lives I've destroyed." He panted, swinging his head from left to right. I wasn't trained for this, and the nurse was inside with my mother. I was only hoping my mother hadn't heard the bang, or it would be pandemonium both inside and outside of the house.

Having a nurse was so much help; I couldn't say I knew what to do in situations like these, and if I had to be here for two retired veterans, on my own, I'd be so stressed, I'd lose my mind along with them. Make that two veterans who were my parents. The emotional investment was on another level. I commended anyone who had taken on that task; it was the furthest thing from easy. Nurses and caregivers were literal angels sent from heaven. And the family members who couldn't afford care, but did their best, they were like super angels or something.

It was hard to watch the person you love struggle, even harder to not recognize the person you love, or have them fail to recognize themselves. My parents were strong and forces to be reckoned with. They still were, but in a way that could be threatening if not contained, and devastating all at the same time.

Doing my best, I approached him like he was an anxious child and I was there to rescue him. I was glad he recognized me in the blur of his panic, as his son, and not an enemy. Mom wasn't as lucky, which was why they were kept separate from each other now, even living in the same house.

"It's okay, it's okay." I kept my voice low and my steps soft. "Look around you, what do you see?"

Grounding worked for my anxiety, which was nothing in comparison to this. But I hoped that at least, it would help him.

"Ever hear of a calm before the storm, son!" my dad yelled. "Get down!"

It was no use trying to reason with him by telling him that after one shot, a torrent of bullets would already be raining down on us if the enemies were here. I'd been here a week already and I'd figured that one out. I tell you what, walking into this and not knowing what to expect, with the expectation of being here for my vulnerable parents, it was like being slapped full force with a boulder of emotions, especially with parents as stubborn as Maureen and Charles Fletcher.

"I won't let them hurt you, Dad." I held out a trembling hand.

"And what the hell are you going to do about it? Where are my guns?" He looked around, panic charring his skin.

Ah, the guns. After that stunt he pulled with Mom, all the guns had been removed from the house.

"Dad, look. I'm still standing. I'm alright." His eyes went big, he swore and took off running toward me, a decision to risk his life in an attempt to save mine, tensing his body.

He was strong, like a bulldozer. I got my exercise from surfing, swimming, hiking with Matt, or more lately, spending time with Lily, wink.

Man, I missed her. It was more important for me to be here now, though. I already couldn't wait to hear her voice tonight.

Knocked onto my back, I was grateful for the sand that cushioned my fall. Up close, my father's eyes were even more terrifying. His breathing was rapid, spit fell from his mouth onto me and my eyes filled with tears. Damn it, this was hard.

"Dad." I wrapped my arms around him, unable to help myself.

It was a split second decision, but I thought it was distracting him. He froze. I couldn't tell the last time we shared a hug, with my dad or mom. I held on to him, patting his back, murmuring it was okay, for the two of us. For his demons and my inner child who missed out on a lot of moments like these whenever they were deployed. I was so glad they were home and in one piece, at least as far as the physical went.

They should have been spending their retirement relaxed and free at last, to let their hair down and enjoy the fruits of all they'd risked their lives for. They shouldn't have been looking over their shoulders the rest of their lives, unsettled in their bodies and their minds, unable to escape the wars, themselves, their nightmares.

"It's okay, Dad." My voice cracked and for the first time in my life, I experienced my dad shaking in my arms, crying. Oh thank goodness, because I was holding back my own tears, trying to be strong for him, or as strong as he'd approve of.

His vulnerability lasted a few seconds before he was pushing off me and standing, and we were brushing ourselves off, preparing ourselves for eye contact.

He avoided mine, picking up his fishing rod and heading toward the house.

Another day spent being strong for my ex-military parents marked off. I needed a minute. So after we had come inside, my dad lost it.

"Come on, Dad. She's just trying to help. There's no need to yell at the nurse like that," I remarked.

"You don't get to tell me what I can or can't do, boy! I said I don't want no damn pills. I don't like the way they make me feel!" He grabbed the pill bottle from the nurse's hand and threw it to the floor. The nurse backed away as he directed a crazed glare her way.

"What's all the shouting and hullabaloo for down there?" My mom's voice came from upstairs. I wasn't aware people still used that word. Where's it from, the eighteenth century or something?

---