Page 30 of Finding Our Reality

“Well, it’s pretty damn obvious you weren’t fine. Or else you wouldn’t look like an eighteen-wheeler drug you across the interstate. What damage was done?”

“Shrapnel. That was the worst of it. It basically imbedded metal and plastic along the back of my shoulder blade and top of my bicep. A larger piece of metal sliced part of my upper arm away,” he points to the area where I saw the large circular scar. “When I went down, I tore my rotator cuff and a ligament. It could’ve been a lot worse. I’m actually pretty lucky.”

I cough, clearing my throat. “Lucky?”

“Yes, Lulu. I made it out alive.”

I stare at him. “They sent you home after that?”

“Yeah. It was a long recovery.”

“How did you become a deputy? Doesn’t the injury rule you out?”

“Nope. I just had to pass their physical fitness test and receive clearance from a doctor. And trust me, their physical fitness test is nothing compared to the Marines.”

There are so many questions. I furrow my brow in thought. “When?”

“Our convoy was hit the day before my twenty-fifth birthday. I was sent home. Received a medical honorable discharge. I spent that whole year rehabbing and working out like some kind of damn steroid addict. Took the first deputy test on my twenty-sixth birthday.”

No wonder his body looks so good. Apparently, he’s kept up with the regimen.

“You don’t have any lingering problems?”

“The shoulder surgery went perfect. But you can’t have shrapnel injuries and not have some lingering problems,” he says, with a glance at his shoulder.

My hand flies to my mouth in horror. “Oh my god. It’s still coming out of you, isn’t it?”

He sighs softly, “The body knows what should be there and what shouldn’t be there. So, yeah, it works its way to the surface, just small pieces. But, it’s fine.”

“It’s fine?” My voice raises. “You have pieces of debris coming out of your body, and you say it’s just fine? Are you delusional?”

His jaw clenches and his hands ball into fists. I’ve pissed him off. “No, Lulu. I’m realistic. I’ve got it good. I can see. I can hear. I can walk. I can talk. I can work and provide for myself. I can wipe my own ass. All major accomplishments in my book. Especially if you had seen what I’ve seen.”

My heart pounds against my ribcage, snuffing the fight right out of me. “I didn’t mean it like that. I apologize.”

He drags his hand across his stubbled jaw. “I know.”

“You must have seen some terrible things.”

He sits back, spreading his legs in front of him. He studies me, long and hard. Smirking, he takes a long drink of the beer, downing half of it in one swallow. “Go ahead and ask me. I know you want to.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t beat around the bush, Lulu. I like you when you get to the point.”

He can be so arrogant sometimes. “Fine. Do you suffer from PTSD? You say you’re fine physically, but you went through a major trauma. Are you doing okay?”

He leans forward, preparing to tell me a secret. “Listen to me, Luella Margaret Hill, I saw a lot of fucked-up shit when I was in the service. People blowing themselves up just to a make a point. Terrorists shooting little kids just because they happened to be in the vicinity of us troops. Men beating their women just because they walked more than a quarter mile away from their home. But none of that gives me nightmares. None of that keepsme awake at night. The only thing that makes me toss and turn is you.”

He slams his chair back. Swinging the beer bottle from the table, he stalks away to the bar.

Well. What am I supposed to say to that?

Chapter 13

CRUTCH

It’s a busy Friday night. The only available spot at the bar is next to Holt. It looks like Ray has already headed home for the night.

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