The Hard Truth About Sunshine Read online

  My scar pinches. I don't even bother fighting the smile that comes to my face as I turn my attention back to the road and let Jillian and Connor have their moment.

  "Come on, Barb," I hear Connor yell above the music. "Sing it with us."

  My eyes flick quickly to the mirror long enough to see Connor give Barb's shoulder a slight push to get her to move.

  Back to the road, back to the mirror.

  "Please, Barb," Connor practically whines as he pushes at her. "It's on my bucket list... to have you sing with me. And I'm dying."

  God, he's ruthless. I wince as I look to the road. When I glance at Jillian, she looks back at me with amusement over Connor's tactics. I quickly flick my eyes back to the mirror. That was a low blow and for a moment I don't think Barb is moved.

  She glares at Connor, and then miraculously, she gives a roll of her eyes and a huge sigh. Turning to look at Jillian she says, "Crank it louder. My singing voice sucks."

  "Awesome," Connor shouts as Jillian turns that hideous song up.

  And before I know it, all three of them are singing and bopping in their seats to the song.

  But I keep cruising,

  Can't stop, won't stop moving

  I drive and let them have their fun, keeping most of my attention on the road but sneaking glances at Jillian since she's the best thing to look at. And yes, the smile stays on my face and I don't begrudge it.

  My eyes flick to the mirror to look at Barb again, as she's the odd duck here, and I find her staring back at me. She must know I'm smiling because I'm sure she can see my eyes crinkled in the mirror's reflection. She flips me off but not before she smirks and looks out the window as she continues to sing along with Jillian and Connor.

  Chapter 15

  It's dark by the time I pull the Suburban up to our campsite on the western side of Denver. I'd left here with Barb about an hour ago after I'd built a quick fire and left instructions with Jillian and Connor on how to keep it going. I also told them to try to put their tent up, but I'd help them when I got back if they couldn't.

  Then I told Barb to get in the car, and we took off to the nearest pot dispensary, which I'd Googled before we left. Without a Colorado driver's license, a person twenty-one or older could purchase seven grams. I brought her so we could get double, giving us close to thirty joints. I thought I'd be saddened to purchase from a legal dispensary because that goes against the whole anti-establishment, criminal thing I got going on, but I was actually glad.

  Glad I'm in a state that legalized pot, so we can get Jillian high tonight.

  As my headlights sweep across our campsite, I'm pleased to see that Connor and Jillian were able to get their huge-ass tent set up. Connor had watched me carefully the first time I'd put it up, assisting when he could. He's a pretty bright dude so I guess I shouldn't be too surprised he figured it out on his own. The fire is still going strong, and I see they're working on my tent.

  Awesome.

  Barb and I exit my SUV. The ride to and from the dispensary was without conversation. Barb had put her earbuds in but before she secured them, I'd asked, "Want me to put some Taylor Swift on?"

  She growled back at me. "Bite me."

  I'd laughed, played some Alice in Chains, and we'd made the trip in companionable silence.

  I go to the rear of my car and open the tailgate, pulling my duffle bag out. I also grab the two bags of groceries from a quick stop we'd made at a small market up the road. I bought as much junk food as I could because if we're smoking tonight, we're going to get the munchies.

  "Need any help?" Connor asks as he rounds the back of my vehicle.

  I push the groceries at him as well as my duffle bag. "Yeah... take these. I'll grab the cooler."

  I'd stocked that with beer and ice at the store. I intended to get smashed tonight.

  We dine on hot dogs roasted over the fire, the conversation pretty much carried between Jillian and Connor. As per usual, Barb and I don't offer much, but it's different for me this time. I usually don't participate because I'm pissed at being strong armed to do so. But tonight, I just endured enjoyed listening as Jillian and Connor exhibit the easy-going friendship they've developed. No clue what Barb is thinking, but rather than sequester herself away from us, she's stayed seated at the picnic table long after she took her last bite of hot dog.

  I drain the rest of the beer in my can and crush it in my right hand. Despite being light two fingers, it's pretty strong and that's due to the months of rehab I endured. Standing up from the bench, I ask, "Anyone want another beer?"

  "I do," Connor says.

  "Me," Barb mutters.

  "Me too," Jillian adds, and I wonder what type of drinker she usually is. She doesn't look like a beer type of girl, yet she'd drained hers almost as quickly as I had during dinner.

  I grab beers from the cooler and take a quick look around at the other campsites. The one on our left is empty. To our right, there's a two-man tent setup but I've yet to see people there. There's a family of four on the other side of that with two preteen-looking kids.

  I have a scant moment of turmoil, but then squash it. I'd read the law on where dope can legally be smoked as it was posted in the dispensary, and we're in a private campground on our private spot we paid for. We're good to go. So what if the kids happen to look over and get a peek of us getting stoned?

  It will be a life lesson their parents can explain to them.

  After distributing the beers around the table, I pull out the plastic bag of marijuana and some rolling papers.

  "What's that?" Jillian asks from across the table.

  I roll my eyes at her. I only told them that Barb and I were going grocery shopping when we left, but surely she knows what pot looks like.

  "Oregano," I tell her dead-panned.

  "What for?" she asks, slowly blinking her eyes.

  "To get you high," I tell her with a sly smile, and her mouth forms into a little "o" of understanding. "Figured the perfect time to do that was while we were in a state where it was legal. That will hopefully take care of any paranoia you might have about getting in trouble."

  "Well, I'm not sure now's the best time--" Jillian starts to say, but Barb cuts her off.

  "You said it was a bucket-list thing, and we're doing bucket-list things on this trip. So you are getting high."

  "Yeah," Jillian says quietly, giving Connor a motherly look. "But Connor's not even eighteen--"

  "You're not in charge of me, Jillian," Connor snaps at her, and I turn to look at him in surprise. That's the first time he's ever lashed out at her for her overprotectiveness. "I'm pretty sure if I get arrested for underage consumption of marijuana, my parents aren't going to be too pissed off given my time table."

  Jillian's face flushes and she lowers her eyes to where her hands are clasped on the table. "I'm sorry. I'm just being paranoid before we even start, I guess."

  "It will be fine," I assure her as I start to roll a joint. "There's hardly anyone around."

  "When did you start smoking pot, Christopher?" Connor asks from my left.

  I don't take my eyes from my task, but I answer him. "I smoked some in high school. After I got out of inpatient rehab, I moved to a halfway house for disabled veterans who were independent enough to get out of the hospital, but still needed intensive outpatient rehab. My roommate there smoked a lot, and I had him score for me as well. A lot of veteran's self-medicate that way."

  "Is that what you call it?" Jillian asks softly. "Self-medicating?"

  "Well, none of the pills the doctors gave me were working, so yeah... why not?"

  I lick the edge of the paper, finish my roll, and stick it in my lips. Pulling my lighter out of my pocket, I stare at Jillian as I strike the flame and bring it to the end. One short suck to get it going, then a longer inhale to pull the smoke deep into my lungs, where I hold it. Pulling the joint from my mouth, I hand it across the table to Jillian.

  She takes it from me, stares at it as if it's dangerous, then loo
ks back to me with those lazy, sexy eyes. I exhale the smoke from my lungs and nod down to her hand. "Go on. It won't hurt, I promise."

  "Bucket list," Barb mutters from Jillian's side to remind her she asked for this.

  "Here goes nothing," Jillian murmurs and brings it to her lips. I watch her carefully because I know this is the first time smoke has probably touched her lungs since she's so averse to my cigarettes. She sucks on the end, the cherry flame brightens, and then inhales. It immediately puffs back out of her mouth as she starts to cough, holding the joint out to the side so Barb can take it.

  Jillian hacks with her hand covering her mouth, tears filling her eyes.

  "It will get easier," I tell her with a wink. She looks across the table at me, blinking her eyes at a sloth's pace to dispel the wetness. "Next time, just pull a little into your mouth. Once it's in, then inhale it. Don't try to take it directly down."

  She nods and gives another cough.

  Barb takes a long hit, then passes it to Connor. He takes the advice I just gave Jillian, sucking it in like a pro, and fuck... I'm kind of proud of him.

  When it comes back to me, Jillian asks, "How long before I start to feel something?"

  One hour and another round of hot dogs later...

  Jillian is laughing uncontrollably. It started out as a snicker, which erupted into a snort and then turned into a cackle. Then came the deep belly laugh, followed by wheezing.

  I hold out the second joint of the night to her, but she shakes her head and gasps, "I can't do anymore. I'm dying as it is."

  And that's almost true. She's been laughing her ass off at almost everything since she felt the first effects. Connor has too, for that matter. Barb and I are just mellow, although I've found myself chuckling more and more.

  I take another hit off the joint and offer it to Barb. She takes it without hesitation. I'm betting her tolerance dependence for the stuff is higher than mine because I'm pretty sure she smokes it daily.

  "Connor," Jillian says with a slap of her hand on the table. "Did I tell you that I told Christopher he was hot?"

  My jaw drops slightly, gaze shooting over to Barb for a brief moment. She looks at Jillian with interest before taking a deep drag on the joint.

  "But he didn't believe me, I think," Jillian says in exasperation. She throws her hands up as if she's confused and says, "I don't get it though. He absolutely stumps me."

  There's a moment of silence before Jillian's eyes slide guiltily to mine.

  I lean across the table and murmur in a low voice, "Did you just use the word 'stump' in reference to me?"

  She winces slightly and swallows hard. Her brows draw inward and her lips purse and for a moment, I think she might cry. But then she slaps her hand on the table again as a laugh bursts through her closed lips, making a pppffffbbbbtttt sound.

  She starts laughing hysterically, gasping as she sucks in air. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to say 'stump'."

  But she doesn't quit laughing, leaning so far over the side of the bench I'm afraid she might fall off. It takes no more than three seconds for my scar to pull and my lips to peel back in a grin.

  And then, I start laughing too.

  Two hours, a bag of Doritos, a bag of Cheetos, and a can of Pringles later...

  Marcy Playground's Sex and Candy is playing on my iPhone that I'd set into the center of the table, and I take the last hit off the third joint of the evening before I drop the paper end to the ground. Pushing the heel of my tennis shoe over it, I ensure it's snuffed. We're all mellow right now. Even Barb looks relaxed, which is strange because I don't ever recall seeing her that way. Gone is the permanent scowl. She's actually got a slight smile on her lips, although her eyes are barely open because she's so stoned.

  "Hey, Barb?" Connor asks, his voice slightly thick from the pot, beer, or the combination of both.

  "What?" she says, opening her eyes up more to focus on him.

  "Do you still talk to your parents?" he asks softly, and the air goes still over his bold question.

  In any other circumstance, Barb would probably tell him to go fuck himself or viciously stomp off, but she merely says, "Nope. They're dead."

  "Dead?" Jillian asks.

  "Killed in a house fire," Barb says without an ounce of remorse or pain in her voice. In fact, it almost sounds like triumph.

  Jillian gasps, her hand coming to her chest. "You didn't...?"

  "For fuck's sake," Barb says with a half laugh, half growl directed at Jillian. "I'm suicidal, not homicidal."

  I can't help but snicker at the obvious relief on Jillian's face that there isn't a murderer sitting at our table.

  "I left home after I gave the baby up," Barb reveals to us, and there's the pain I know that's a driving force. "Never went back."

  "Jesus," Connor whispers.

  "You know the funny thing?" Barb says, but I don't think any of us will laugh at what she says. "I'd have died too if I was still living with them. How ironic is that? I wanted to die, and they did it so fucking easily."

  "Do you still want to die?" Jillian asks, and that question right there completely kills what was left my mellow mood.

  Barb actually gives a genuine smile in return as she nods. "Every damn day."

  None of us know what to say, so silence envelopes the table.

  And then... in a voice that's barely audible, Barb adds, "But I also want to live every damn day too. I'm just not sure which I want more."

  Chapter 16

  Fourteen months ago...

  "Hey, Peanut," I said as I answered the phone. That was my nickname for Maria because she was so tiny compared to my six-three height. I liked that about her... how small and vulnerable she seemed. It made me feel more like a man as her protector.

  Silence.

  Then an awkward clearing of the throat.

  "Listen... Christopher... we need to talk," she said tentatively.

  And I heard it.

  Instantaneously, my skin prickled with hyper awareness. I knew... just knew by the tone of her voice, what was coming. And I wasn't about to make it easy on her. "Well, that's exactly what we're doing... talking. You called me after all."

  She laughed nervously, and I could almost envision her chewing on her bottom lip, which was what she did when she was anxious. "About us," she added.

  "What us?" I asked, because I needed her to get to the point. I'd had enough long and drawn out pain in my life, and I didn't need any more of that shit. I needed her to admit that in her mind, there wasn't an "us" anymore. I'd heard what she hadn't said clearly through the phone. I'd been suspecting it, but now I heard it for sure.

  "I'm seeing someone else," she said in a quavering voice filled with regret.

  Now that I wasn't expecting. "What the holy-ever-loving fucking kind of shit is that?" I yelled through the phone.

  I thought I'd known what was coming. A breakup. A sob story about how she couldn't deal with my gross stump of a leg and my mangled arm and hand. I figured she was disgusted and didn't want to be burdened with a cripple, but never in my wildest, fearful imagination had I thought she'd cheat on me before she came to that final realization.

  I just didn't think she had it in her to do that.

  "I'm sorry," she wailed in misery. And then she proceeded to lay it all out. "I was lonely. You've been gone for so long, and Kellan--"

  "Fuck me," I roared. "You're seeing Kellan Fucking Meister? He's a fucking jackass who's so stupid he can't string a coherent sentence together. He's got a unibrow for Christ's sake, Maria. I'm pretty sure he's inbred."

  "Just stop it," she cried out. "I love him, and he's asked me to marry him."

  And all the air was just sucked out of my lungs. A sharp, piercing stab of pain rocketed through my gut, and I massaged my stomach in an attempt to alleviate it.

  Maria Alvarez and I had gone to high school together, but we didn't date back then. I was from Cascade, West Virginia, a tiny, unincorporated town near the East Crescent Mine where my father
and four older brothers all worked. My sister, Sharon, was married to a miner. Maria, two years younger than me, was also from Cascade. Her father Jorge--a second-generation Mexican immigrant--worked in the same mine. Tansy, Maria's mom, was born and raised in Cascade, where her father and brothers also worked in the mine.

  You see the pattern?

  Everyone worked in the mines because if you lived in rural West Virginia, that was about the only chance you had to make a decent living. But Maria and I had bigger dreams that didn't involve lungs soaked with coal dust and perpetual grime embedded into the top layer of your skin. My way out was the Marine Corps.

  Maria's way out was with me.

  After I finished boot camp at Parris Island, I was stationed with Combat Logistics Battalion 6 at Camp Lejeune where I became a support marine in Motor Transport. I eventually became a motor transport operator. While I was qualified to drive seven-ton transporters or fuel and water rigs, I actually drove a HMMWV--pronounced Humvee, or as some juvenile boys would giggle at the name when they were younger, Hummers--during my first deployment to Afghanistan. My vehicle was modified to carry a TOW anti-tank missile system, and I never failed to get a jolt of pure adrenaline rush whenever it was fired. During long convoys, I'd be awake sometimes in forty-to-fifty-hour stretches with nothing but ten-minute cat naps to rest my eyes, always constantly on the lookout for a potential ambush and stressed I might drive over an IED. Exhaustion such as I'd never known, yet when it was time to put the TOW into effect, I'd almost become alive with exhilaration. TOW stood for "tube-launched, optically tracked, wire guided," and it could launch a warhead that would hit a target over two and a half miles away. It was a thing of beauty, and I was proud to be a part of it.

  I loved my career with the Marine Corps. I made great friends, saw plenty of action, and definitely didn't have any problems with getting girls. The Corps was an escape for me--a way to get out of a dreadful life that had been planned for me since I was born. I didn't join for any sense of patriotic duty or to avenge those who died on 9/11. I didn't have grandiose ideas that I could actually do something to stop terrorism. No, I joined the military for the sole reason that it would get me far away from West Virginia and would be a decent career for me. Fortunately, the military suited me very well and I made the rank of sergeant about halfway through year four of my six-year enlistment. I was twenty-two years old.