Page 17 of Forgotten Pieces

“Anyway, I was callin’ because I figured you were holed up in that house crocheting blankets or whatever it is you manly Marines do in your downtime and might want to get out of there and help me out with a job.”

Mac works for my uncle’s construction business. He practically runs it with his dad. “Where at?”

“In White Creek. I should have called you earlier in the week. I know idle hands aren’t really best for you.”

“I manage,” I growl into the phone. Mac knows about the accident a year ago and he knows I suffer from PTSD but I hate when everyone pretends they know how to fix me.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said it that way.”

“It’s fine. I’ll head over that way. Text me the address.” I hang up without saying goodbye. I’m not mad at Mac but sometimes I need to shut down conversations before they lead to the darkness. I am glad he called though. I need to get out of the house. And good old construction sounds like the perfect way to clear my head.

I meet Mac at a house on the outskirts of White Creek, near the house I am having remodeled. It’s a hot day but the physical labor and the sweat help release the tension I’ve been feeling. The house we are working on is a new build and I am tasked with cutting two by fours for the studs. It’s easy work but I enjoy it. If I stayed cooped up in that rental any longer, I might end up teaching myself to crochet.

We work until three in the afternoon. The sun is peaking and it becomes unbearably hot. Mac calls off the crew while I chug a bottle of water.

Mac walks over and dumps a bottle on his head. “That feels so much better.”

“It’s hotter than hell out here.”

“Yeah, I try to shut the crews down by noon when it gets like this but we were making such progress I lost track of time,” Mac says.

“Well, thanks for getting me out of the house. It helped.”

Mac claps me on the shoulder, “Anytime, man. Want to go get a drink?”

I know alcohol isn’t the best for me. It puts me in a mood, brings me back to the darkness. But right now a cold beer sounds like what I need. “Sure.”

I follow Mac to Sawyer’s, a local bar in White Creek. I’ve been to it a few times when I lived here eight years ago. It’s Easton’s friend’s bar and I could use a friendly face.

We walk into the dive and take a seat at the end of the bar. We both order beers and share a plate of nachos.

“So how has it been livin’ over in Towson?” Mac asks.

“Oh you know, just about the same as living here.” I shrug as I take a sip of beer.

“That bad, huh?” Mac dives into the nachos before continuing. “You know I never thought I would see the day that you move back here.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Mac knows a lot about my family and the reason I came here eight years ago. He also knows why I left and why I said I would never come back. “Yeah, well Shelley loves it out here.”

Mac laughs. “That is a strange thing. She seems way too uppity for this place.”

“Yeah, well, she loved Summer’s farm when she was at a wedding there last year. When I told her I used to live here, she thought it would be a great place to live.” I sip my drink, leaving it at that.

“You hate it here.”

“I know, but I couldn’t tell her that. She seemed so excited about the prospect of living here. I had just gone on leave and she thought it would help clear my head being out in the country.”

Mac studies me for a few minutes before answering. “She doesn’t know about your past.”

I sigh and pick at the label on my bottle. “Not the bad parts.”

“You’re marrying her.”

I look at Mac. “I am well aware of that.”

He shakes his head and looks for the bartender before glancing back at me. “I think if you plan on marrying someone they should know about your past.”

“She knows enough,” I grunt.

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