Page 5 of Beauty Beneath the Sorrow
“Usually, your brother brings our drinks, B. What the hell?” Avery comments.
“They all know what we drink. I’m sure they’ll be over shortly.” As soon as Bailey says those words, four martinis are placed on the table in front of us.
“Cheers to us all looking adorable on this fine evening.” Avery lifts her glass. The rest of us follow.
Chapter Two
Carter
As I place a new word on the board, the smell of disinfectant and a subtle undertone of a sweet, fruity scent fill my nostrils.
“PEACH. Twelve points,” I say, adding the numbers to the scorecard. Three sets of eyes are pinning me from all angles around the table.
“Iris, your grandson beats us every week,” Betty murmurs, sitting on my left.
Sitting on my right, Warren shoots her a side-eye. “I told you to pick a new game this week.”
My grandmother has been in memory care for the last few years. She’s been battling the progressive symptoms of dementia. I come weekly to play board games with her and some of the other patients. But in the last few months, her doctors have seen a decline in her health, so I’ve made it my priority to visit with her more often.
Usually, when I come for games, some of the friends she’s made here come as well. Most of the time, it’s Warren, Nancy, and Betty who are able to play with us each week.
They tell me stories from their lives—some I’ve heard many times, and others are new to me. Warren is a veteran of WorldWar II, and given my career in the Navy, it’s no surprise we bonded right away. We swap stories of what it was like in the service and how it shaped the men we are.
I share with them my experiences as a commercial pilot and how my life is now different from the life I had before—but alike in many ways, too.
“It’s not my fault my grandson is smart, talented—and a hero.” She brags like I’m not even in the room.
I laugh, leaning back in my chair. “I can hear everything you guys are saying.”
“Sometimes I forget that other people still have working ears,” she jokes.
Warren moves closer, angling his good ear toward us. “Huh?”
Betty cups her hands together. “Nothing, Warren,” she says, amplifying her voice.
“Oh, okay.” He nods, looking away.
“My ears work fine.” Betty winks in my direction. “Other parts of my body, not so much.”
“Carter, tell us more stories from your fighter pilot days.” Nancy smiles at me from across the table.
I sigh. “You’re trying to deflect from the fact that I’m about to beat all of you once again at Scrabble.”
“Next week, we play Gin Rummy,” my grandma says. “It’s still your turn, Warren.”
Warren rubs the white stubble on his chin. “Oh, hell. The only thing I got is MAGIC.”
I add up his score as he places his tiles on the board. “That’s ten points. Not bad, my friend.”
“I’ll take it!” he exclaims.
“So, how are you adjusting to life after the Navy?” Betty turns to me as the rest of the table stares down at their tiles, creating potential words to play on the next round.
Twenty years in the service was enough. I craved a different life. I never started a family and had kids like other guys I knew. I was set on traveling the world, excelling in my career, and rising to the top. The jobs that I’ve done would not have been suited for a family. The risk, multiple combat tours, training, and demand were difficult on me.
As the years flew by, I realized I hadn’t had many serious girlfriends—none of whom I’d consider spending my life with. But suddenly, I woke up thirty-eight years old and ready to put down roots. The following year, I retired. I wanted to prepare for a calmer life that had room for someone else. My goal was to move into a more stable role in leadership as a flight instructor and to help train and mentor the next generation of fighter pilots.
“It’s going alright, Betty. Thanks for asking. It’s always good to be in the air,” I answer. I’ve only been a commercial pilot for a year—and have been officially retired that same amount of time.
