Page 61 of Finding Home

“I told you!” Noah said, his grin cheeky as he high-fived Todd.

Carmen buried her face in her hands, trying to conceal her loud giggles. Mathew looked away, hiding his smirk. Even Clayton chuckled.

Elle’s forehead wrinkled. “What’s so funny?”

Todd turned the bottle he had poured from, revealing the label. “This one is called the Doc Owens.”

Realization reddened Elle’s face knowing full well the “Doc” on the label was not Clayton’s father. She buried her face against Clayton’s chest as the entire group erupted in raucous laughter.

“The beer is smooth, just like my guy,” Noah bragged, raising his glass.

“To Doc!” Everyone shouted, raising their glasses to Clayton in salute.

Todd poured more beer and the cheese board was emptied of its contents. The best of the late 90’s played in the background. Elle finished a second full glass of Doc Owens as her Doc Owens’s arm twined around her.

With an “I’ll be back,” Clayton slipped away to call his sister, who was flying in the next morning for their mom’s sixty-second birthday.

“I’ve got a treat for you all,” Todd announced. “It’s called Surviving Christmas, and we’ll have it and the pumpkin ale in our sample packs for the holidays. See if you can taste the different flavors. I age it in a special barrel.”He poured samples for Mathew, Carmen, and Elle.

She sniffed and the aroma assaulted her nostrils. Every muscle grew rigid, and a chill slithered down her spine making the air feel like a cold January night instead of the heat of August. The scent of bourbon flooded her senses and her hands trembled as she placed the glass down. She splayed her fingers on the bar’s smooth surface, trying to anchor her in the now and not slip to the past.

That smell.Closing her eyes, the softness of her dress suddenly transformed into the scratchy fabric of her grandma’s afghan. Mathew’s laugh morphed into a sneering voice saying, “You’re lucky it was me.” The faint aroma of chocolate in the beer transformed to sticky, spilled hot chocolate.

Gripping the edge of the bar, she sucked in a hard breath. I’m safe. I’m in Noah’s basement and not on that couch.

“Elle.”Noah’s voice was hushed as his warm hand covered hers.

She flinched.It’s Noah, not Jamie.

Noah’s eyes were bright with concern. “I almost forgot you asked where the bathroom was. Guys, we’ll be back,” he said, like nothing was happening and everything was okay.

But it wasn’t.Fucking bourbon.All it took was one tiny sniff to drag her to the past.

Gently, Noah took Elle by the arm, and guided her nonchalantly up the stairs. “I got you, you’re safe,” he whispered so only she could hear.

Blinking as if waking from a long sleep, Elle found herself in an unfamiliar room, atop a plush armchair. Noah knelt in front of her, patience and worry drawn on his features.

Elle’s breath settled, and her eyes focused. Her tense muscles released, and she felt as if all the air whooshed out of her. She inhaled sharply and realized where she was and what had happened. It had been so long since that had happened, since Jamie crept into a happy moment like an unwelcome dinner guest.

“I’m sorry. Did everyone notice?” She steadied her breathing.

“No. Everyone was focused on something stupid Mathew was doing,” Noah assured her.

Elle exhaled shakily, thankful for Mathew’s goofball antics. “But you noticed?”

“Only because I know that look… I have PTSD from my time in the Marines,” he said.

Elle closed her eyes, trying not to picture what horror Noah might have seen or heard during his two tours in Iraq. Better than most, she understood how trauma affected people.

“I used to love fires in our firepit. My family did them every Sunday, even in the winter. But after… we don’t anymore. I can see images on the news and watch war movies, but when that burning smell comes up…it clobbers me.”

“Bourbon does it for me.”

“Shit. Todd ages that brew in a bourbon barrel. I saw the dazed look in your eyes when you smelled it, I knew something was wrong.”

“Did he tell you?” Her whispered question held an unspoken hope that Clayton hadn’t said anything.

“Clayton? He’d never utter a word unless you told him it was okay.” His look was earnest. “I don’t know what happened, but I do understand triggers. I’ve had some great counselors at the VA. The triggers and the memories never go away, but you get better at dealing with them. Good friends and a sturdy shoulder to lean on help.”

---