Page 22 of Destiny Reclaimed
In any case, he’d have to wait to hold this conversation until he was alone with him, assuming his mom hadn’t a clue about this.
Jack bounced his gaze between his parents, appreciating the moment. This was the life. Right now, in this very moment, his life was as perfect as it could be. Sitting at the table with two of the three people he loved most. Soon, when Gwennie finished her shift at the hospital today, they’d start making wedding plans. That is, if she and her mother didn’t stay up through the night to do so.
The thought made him chuckle as he forked another mouthful of eggs. Then he caught his dad peeking from around the newspaper he read. His gaze focused on his stitched-up ear. Preoccupied with his new engagement, and the actual time travel, he'd forgotten about his injury. He turned slightly to face his father more directly in an attempt to hide the wound from his mom, as he was unsure how he'd explain it to her.
His dad's gaze met his. "I need to run to the hardware store, and I have a couple of other errands to do this morning. Do you want to come with me?"
Truth be told, it was more than an ask. His father knew he'd time traveled and the stitches on his earlobe were proof.
"Yes. Sounds great."
"Ruth, do you need anything while we're out?' his dad asked.
His mom glanced over her shoulder at them, her hands still wringing out a wet washcloth over the sink.
"I can't think of anything."
Jack stood and handed his mother his empty plate, all the while intentionally averting his wound from her. Surely, she would notice it eventually so he'd have to come up with a good cover story—lie.
Not a fan of lying, his chest tightened.
He glanced at his dad. "I'll be ready in a jiffy."
His father folded the newspaper, rose from the chair, stepped toward his wife, and kissed her on the cheek. "We won't be too long."
She smiled warmly. "Take your time. Get caught up."
Jack grabbed his jacket off the coat rack by the door and slid into it as his dad did the same. Then he exited through the side door of their home and stepped onto the driveway as he waited for his father to back the car out of the garage. He stared out over the large front lawn covered in snow. Looking beyond the street, he took in the sight of the frozen-over bay. Unlike summer, when the bay was full of sailboats, fishing vessels, and pleasure crafts cruising by or docked at the shoreline, it looked desolate. Fond memories of summer days spent on the water warmed him even as the chilly air nipped at his face. He looked forward to next summer with Gwennie at his side on his dad's small sailboat. The fun they would have as they started their life together.
The rumbling engine of the Pontiac drew his attention as it stopped an arms-length away from him. After Jack climbed in, his dad backed out the driveway and headed toward the hardware store.
"What do we need to pick up?" he asked.
His father chuckled. "Nothing really. We'll just see what's going on."
Jack smiled. Some things never changed. The downtown hardware store was a place where men congregated to get the scoop on local gossip and solve the world's problems while drinking coffee and enjoying pastries from the local bakery up the street. His mouth watered at the memory of custard-filled donuts from Knapp’s Bakery. It had been a long time since he'd indulged in that pleasure.
Unusual, but his dad scored a parking spot right in front of the store.
As he pushed through the front door, the bells dangling from the frame clinked against the glass drawing the attention of everyone who congregated at the coffee station.
Mr. Anderson, the owner of the store, took a double-take, then set his coffee mug down, wiped his palm over his red vest, and hurried toward him with his hand outstretched. "Jack, welcome home."
The gentleman gripped his hand so tight he thought his bones might break. Emotion constricted his chest. Did he dare ask about his son? Had Ken survived the war? Ken had been a year ahead of him in school; they weren't friends, but in a small town, everybody knew everyone.
Jack studied the guy's watery eyes. Mr. Anderson cleared his throat and swung his glance around the group of men standing with him. "We're so happy to have you home. Every time one of you returns it's like a huge weight is lifted.” No mention of his son.
A lump of guilt rose in his throat at the thought of making it out alive when so many others hadn’t.
Pats on the back ensued from the other men making him feel even more uncomfortable, but they seemed so genuinely pleased and happy for him.
"Jack," a familiar voice sounded from behind the men.
The group parted like when Moses held out his staff and God parted the Red Sea, splitting in the middle, each lining a side. Silence filled the room as Ken wheeled his way forward. The expression he wore was grim, weathered, but he managed the slightest of smiles. Glancing down, Jack couldn’t help but notice the missing limb, a couple of inches or so below his knee.
He nearly choked on the recurring lump in his throat. Would he ever not feel guilty for making it home with barely a scratch to his temple when others ended up with life-altering injuries, or didn’t make it back at all?
Lifting his gaze, he noticed Ken wore a red vest that matched his dad's, letting him know he worked in the hardware store. That had to be a good sign, right?
