Page 52 of Destiny Reclaimed
Triiinng, triiinng, triiinng.Jack reached over and depressed the button on the alarm clock. He flipped the covers back, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and pressed his right hand to his sore left shoulder. Upon sight, the wound was healed, yet sometimes he felt the pain as if he’d been shot yesterday.
He shook his head in a lame attempt to shake the incident from his memory bank. It never worked. Standing, he willed his sluggish feet to carry him the ten steps to the bathroom. He flipped on the light and took notice of himself in the mirror above the rusted, pedestal sink. Then he turned slightly and eyed the round, purplish scar with jagged edges on his shoulder.
Lightly. he pressed his fingertips to the wound. He’d been lucky. It could have been a lot worse. The physical injury itself wasn’t the problem. The issue was the emotional injury caused by the fact he believed he’d been shot by one of his own troops. Each time the movie reel played in his head, he gained a clearer picture of the one who held the weapon aimed at a fellow soldier.
His pulse pounded. He leaned over the bathroom sink and splashed cool water over his heated cheeks.
Thank God for the tiny soldier, and thank goodness Gary returned home safely a month ago. Jack sighed. The man was home, but was he really? He’d heard Gary suffered from memory issues, claiming he didn’t remember much about his time in Vietnam, let alone the incident that scored him his ticket home. The Tebon family had already lost Marvin, the eldest son, losing another son would probably have been too much for the tight family to bear.
Often, he thought of that small-framed soldier. In all the chaos, he’d never even got the name of the person who’d helped him to safety. Yet, the soldier seemed oddly familiar. Even though not much time had passed, the memory of that soldier’s face faded to a blur. All he could recall was thinking at the time, the troop was tiny for a man, his features dainty, but his grip was strong, his tone commanding, yet his stare was soft. Strange.
He pulled his gaze from his wound, clearing his thoughts in the process. He shaved, showered, and dressed in his standard work uniform. He didn’t particularly care for his job as the assistant manager at the dime store, but in desperate need of work when he returned from Vietnam, he took what he could get. A job was a job, and right now he needed money, both for him and his parents. His dad had taken ill while he was away and could no longer work his part-time job to supplement his social security. His parents had saved a small amount of money through the years, but they’d begun tapping into that for normal living expenses. Considering the meager amount his father made working as a janitor at the hospital, he was lucky to save what he had.
Jack straightened his black bowtie and strapped on his apron over his long-sleeved white shirt, then studied himself in the mirror and shook his head. His whole life didn’t feel right. This apartment, his job at the store, his parents near broke. It was like he was living someone else’s life.
He pulled his gaze from the stranger in the mirror, stepped out of the bathroom, and walked through his small apartment to the door leading to the staircase to the store on the first floor. His residence above the shop was provided as part of his pay.
The stairs dumped him into a dark storage room where he flipped the master switch for the lights and grabbed the cash box from the safe. Then, he made his way to the front of the store to put the cash in the register drawer, unlocked the front door, and flip the sign to open.
Through the cluttered window display, he could see the town coming to life. Cars filled the parking stalls in front of the café across the street. The mailman walked along the main thoroughfare, pulling envelopes from his bag and stuffing them into boxes affixed to buildings. A police cruiser drove by slowly. The red bubble on top wasn’t flashing. Always a good sign.
First things first, he headed over to the lunch counter and started the coffee brewing, then he walked through the aisles, straightening the merchandise and taking note of what inventory needed to be ordered, a task recently assigned to him by the manager.
Before he finished, Phil, bounded through the door with the daily bakery delivery. Followed by a lady and a small boy.
Jack handed Phil a cup of coffee and they shot the breeze as he transferred the pastries from the box onto a glass-covered tray, then he snatched a custard-filled doughnut and took a bite to satisfy his growling stomach.
The bells on the glass door clinked, drawing Jack’s attention. Gwendoline Dupont, Gary Tebon’s sister, stepped through. His heart did a little dance. She was the most divine creature. Beautiful inside and out. Her older brother Marvin had been his best friend. He often thought of his buddy. The pain associated with him being killed in action was still raw. Luckily, the Tebon family endured a better outcome with Gary.
Gwendoline’s caramel gaze turned toward him. The flecks of green in her irises brightened the room nearly as much as the welcoming smile she flashed with her full, bow-shaped lips.
She lifted her hand into the air and gave a quick wave. “Good morning, Jack and Phil.”
“Morning,” he replied in unison with his friend.
Without missing a beat, Gwendoline disappeared down aisle two and headed to the back of the store. Though she’d greeted them warmly, the usual bounce in her step was not present.
“How in the hell did Arthur ever get her?” Phil asked. “I mean, yeah, he’s a war hero and all, and I respect that, but he’s also an arrogant ass. Always has been.”
His friend took another sip of his coffee and kept his gaze on him as if he should respond. Jack wanted to reply all right, but his mother had taught him if he couldn’t say anything nice, he shouldn’t say anything at all. This was a hard practice when it came to his distant cousin, Arthur, or any of the Duponts for that matter. They were mean as rattlesnakes, yet so many people thought they walked on water. Arthur’s father, Lewis, was a top-notch doctor in terms of processes, but the guy’s bedside manner left a lot to be desired. He’d mastered the art of making kids cry, but fixed them up nonetheless. Deep down, he was glad to hear his comrade diss the guy.
“And he’s so callous. A woman like Gwendoline deserves better,” Phil added.
Jack nodded. “Love is funny. The heart wants what the heart wants.” And, since just before the war, his heart wantedher.
“I hear she’s pregnant.”
Jack’s chest tightened. The Dupont men were not known for their kindness to anyone, including their children. He hoped for Gwendoline’s sake Arthur would break the mold.
Phil’s ceramic cup clinked against the countertop. “I’ll see ya tomorrow,” he said as he turned and headed for the door.
The woman and her child walked up to the checkout counter where the boy placed his coloring book on the counter. His mom paid, and they left.
Jack made his way to the back of the store, in the hope to inconspicuously catch a glimpse of the beauty he wished was his. Finding her was easy. All he had to do was follow the delicious vanilla scent that hung in her wake.
He risked a glance up at the security mirror that hung from the ceiling in the corner, hoping she wouldn’t catch him staring. Her lovely caramel gaze stayed fixed on the fish. She seemed as mesmerized by them as he was by her.
Lowering his gaze, he peeked around the end of the aisle and studied her as she continued to stare at the carefree fish swimming around in their tanks. Her tense shoulders lowered, bringing his attention to her shiny strands of hair, the same base color as her eyes, that hung to midway down her back. His fingers itched to comb through those silky strands.
