The Hard Truth About Sunshine Read online

  The answer comes to me quickly, though I'm not sure if it's the only reason. "I care because it would have totally crushed Connor and Jillian if something happened to you."

  "They don't care either," she mutters as she tries to brush past me.

  I grab her arm to halt her, and she at least has the decency to look at me. Behind her, I can see Jillian's face as she looks out of the window with worry. I know she's thinking the same thing I am... Barb's death wish just manifested for all of us to see and take heed.

  "They care about you a lot," I tell her firmly. "How can you not see that?"

  "That's at their own peril," she snaps back at me, yanking free and getting in the Suburban.

  No one approaches what just happened when I get in and drive us out of there. It's getting late in the day, and we're all exhausted. My plan is to leave from the west exit of Yellowstone, which leads into Montana. From there, we'll need to cut south again to pick up the interstate that will take us toward Portland. But we can't leave without checking off the coup de grace of all buckets-lists items when coming to Yellowstone.

  Seeing Old Faithful erupt.

  The park literature says the geyser goes off around seventeen times per day with intervals ranging from sixty to one-hundred-and-ten-minutes long. There is no way to perfectly time it, but when we arrive, we're lucky. The countdown clock in the general store has predicted eruption in just ten minutes.

  We all hurry over to the geyser. The benches along the safety perimeter are already filled with people waiting, and the people standing behind it are four to five deep. I lead our group a bit further away so we don't have people right in front of us. The geyser itself is situated far enough back from everyone that we can still see the entire thing.

  It's like the longest ten minutes ever. It's really only a prediction, but it's pretty accurate. I know something's going to happen when I see the base of the geyser start to froth and bubble, spits of steaming water shooting up a few feet. I can hear the rumbling underneath the crusty top layer around the geyser's mouth, and the water gets more animated.

  "This is so exciting," Jillian says as she steps into my side. Her arm circles behind my back, and she presses a warm hand to my hip. It's what people in a relationship do... embracing the person they care about. It feels right and good and in no way awkward. While Connor sort of knows there's something there, I have no clue what Barb knows, and I find myself not fucking caring. I let my arm reciprocate, sliding it behind her back. Instead of curling my hand around her hip, I slip my fingers down into her back pocket. It's a bold move for sure, and Jillian looks up at me briefly with amusement. I just give her an innocent look and turn back to the geyser.

  Holding each other, Jillian and I watch Old Faithful as it comes to full eruption. The steaming water, which I'd read was over two hundred degrees Fahrenheit, shoots almost a hundred feet into the air.

  "Wow," Connor says in amazement as he holds his iPhone out, taking pictures as it goes off. I'd also read that the eruption lasts anywhere from two to five minutes. I bet that kid will take about a thousand pictures in that time period.

  "That is amazing," Jillian murmurs.

  "You can fucking say that again," Barb says from my other side.

  "That is amazing," Jillian repeats at her with a waggle of her eyebrows.

  Barb rolls her eyes, muttering, "Har-har."

  "Hey, let me get a picture of you two," Connor says, and he can only be talking about Jillian and me. We look over our shoulders at him, and he grins. "Turn around and face me."

  Jillian doesn't hesitate, turning her entire body and pulling me around with her as she loops a thumb in a belt loop at my hip. Connor backs up a few paces and holds his phone out to frame us with Old Faithful spouting up high behind us.

  "Okay, smile," Connor says goofily.

  I don't have to look at Jillian to know her smile will be bright and full of sunshine. My scar pinches as I do my best to match her. I even pull her in a little closer, and we tilt our heads in toward each other.

  "Oh, that's going to be an awesome photo," Connor says as he snaps a few frames. "Now, Barb... you get in there."

  Barb jolts, spins to look at Connor, and says, "Fuck no. I hate having my picture taken."

  "Pl-e-e-e-a-s-e," Connor whines with pitiful eyes. "I'm dying."

  Jillian and I snicker, and Barb snaps at him as she stalks to my side. "You little shit... that's not always going to work with me."

  Connor smirks as he takes our picture. Barb doesn't do anything but stand next to me stiffly. I think about putting my arm around her waist, but knowing Barb, she'd probably pull out a knife and cut it off, and well, body parts are a precious commodity to me.

  "Okay, now we need a selfie with all of us," Connor says cheerily.

  "Jesus Christ," Barb mutters as Connor trots up to us.

  He hands me his phone. "You have the longest arms, so you take the photo."

  I don't hesitate, because damn it... the kid is dying and why shouldn't we take a selfie together to commemorate this trip?

  You've come a long way in three days, Christopher, you sappy son of a bitch.

  Connor turns his back to me, grabs Barb by the arm, and pulls her to his side. He tugs her until she crouches as he does the same. I turn the camera to selfie-mode and hold it out. Bending a little too, I put my head close to Jillian's. In the camera's frame, Connor's face is just below Jillian's and Barb's is at my chest. Jillian and Connor are both grinning, and Connor's holding his fingers up in a "peace" sign. Barb is scowling while boiling water shoots up behind us.

  "For fuck's sake, Barb," I say in exasperation. "Can you at least smile just once?"

  Her scowl turns darker.

  "Pl-e-e-e-a-s-e," Connor begs without losing his grin or peace sign as he looks at the camera. "I'm d-y-y-y-ing."

  Simultaneously, Barb and I both erupt into laughter. I hold down the shutter button to snap multiple pictures while Old Faithful goes off behind us and Barb has a smile on her face.

  After I'm done, we turn to continue watching the ecological spectacle, being no less wowed by it as time goes on. When the spout of water finally declines and then disappears, we start walking back to the Suburban. Connor flips through his pictures as we move along with the crowd.

  "This is a great one," he says as he stops in place.

  Jillian immediately goes to him, looking over his shoulder. I do the same. Barb just keeps walking.

  And it is a great picture.

  I can't stop staring at Jillian as the late afternoon sun lights her blonde hair up in the photo. Those blue eyes I can only see half of are crystalline... sparkling with joy... real life gemstones. Full lips spread into a wide and natural smile. Her temple rests against mine, our heads tilted together.

  My eyes slide over to me in the photo. For a moment, I'm taken aback.

  I'm smiling as well.

  Big.

  Bold.

  Full teeth.

  Light in my eyes.

  Happiness in my expression.

  I don't even recognize that guy.

  Chapter 22

  Seven months ago...

  One of my brothers, Hank, was due for a visit today, and I dreaded it. It would be his third time to see me since I arrived at Walter Reed, but the first time since I'd moved into Fisher House while I completed my rehabilitation. I was on pace to get completely discharged in about two months, which would put my total hospital and rehab time at thirteen months.

  The Fisher House was on the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center campus, and it was designed to house military families who had loved ones in the hospital. It also had several rooms that were ADA compliant so those of us who could move from inpatient rehab were able to get a room there as well.

  I didn't start to get truly lucid until they took my leg. And with lucidity came knowledge and awareness of my circumstances. I started to understand the meaning of abandonment and hopelessness, and I fantasized about dying. I had fallen int
o one big cesspool of shit, and my days got darker and darker. I was faced with being a cripple for the rest of my life. My military career was down the drain. I had nightmares about the explosion, reliving every noxious, painful memory of my injuries and recovery. My emotional wounds from Maria breaking up with me caused nightmares of their own... the type that were deep, desperate, and without hope.

  I had not one friend I could talk to. The mandatory psych counseling was a waste on me because I refused to engage with the therapists beyond the bare minimum that could get me a pass out of there. I was stuck in an endless cycle of loneliness, pain, humiliation, and anger, and I was just about through with it all. Not even the prospect of getting discharged and having the ability to move on with my life brought me any sense of joy or excitement.

  "Barlow," someone shouted from the first floor of the Fisher House. "Visitor."

  With a sigh, I laid my Men's Health magazine on my bedside table and swung my legs over to the floor. I still had to give a slight rocking motion to propel myself off the bed rather than trust the mechanics of my C-leg, but I was improving every day.

  Grabbing my cane for stability, I made my way slowly down the stairs. It was one of the first obstacles that therapy made me conquer as they wanted to get me out of the hospital and over to Fisher House so I could start becoming independent again. They called it part of my "pride healing." It was to teach me that I could be a normal person one day.

  What a fucking lie. I'd never bought into it.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Hank waited for me. He was five years older than me and was the one I'd always been closest to. He was a coal miner, as was my oldest brother Jody who was thirty-four. My brothers James and Justin, twenty-eight and twenty-nine years old respectively, also worked in the mines. And then there was my sister Sharon, who was a year younger than me and the baby of the family. Her husband was ten years older than her and had been mining since he'd graduated high school.

  I was the only one who had escaped a mining fate, and a huge chunk of my bitterness was owning up to the fact that if I'd just stayed in West Virginia where I belonged, none of this terrible shit would have happened to me.

  "Look at you movin' around on that thing," Hank said as he smiled up at me. I grunted an acknowledgment back, then concentrated on the last few steps. When I reached the foyer where Hank was standing, he held his hand out to me to shake. We'd never been a hugging type of family. "Good to see you, brother."

  I gave him my right hand, wrapping my two fingers and thumb around his palm. The skin was mostly healed but still shiny, red, and angry looking. It was pretty numb and painless, and I was still learning all kinds of fine-motor skills with it, but I could do a good handshake. I watched Hank carefully, but he neither winced, looked disgusted, or put out by my deformity. He just smiled like he was glad to see me.

  This actually hurt me... seeing the happiness on his face. It hurt because he was the only one who cared, and this was only the third time he'd been to see me. The lack of familial support I'd received had probably been my most crushing blow, even more than Maria's betrayal. I understood that at least--it had been a relationship that was more tenuous than I'd given it credit for, but my family? We were fucking blood.

  When I pulled my hand away from Hank, I gave a nod toward the door. "Want to sit outside?"

  "Yeah, buddy," he said enthusiastically and turned to open it. "Nice day."

  As I walked out onto the front porch, I noted the balmy summer morning, blue skies, and white fluffy clouds overhead. The large oak trees in the front yard dappled the grass with shadows and flowers lined the sidewalk. Nothing nice about any of it.

  The Fisher House was a complex of three buildings done in a beige stucco with white columns. It was surrounded by gorgeous landscaping and dotted with tables and benches for people to sit at. I lumbered my way to the closest bench under a shade tree that was unoccupied and sat down more heavily than I'd wanted. The bench shuddered under my weight for a brief moment. Even though Hank was a roughened coal miner, he settled in far more gracefully beside me.

  But, of course, he had two legs and great balance.

  "How's rehab going?" he asked, turning to face me and casually throwing his arm over the back of the bench.

  "Good," I told him. "Learning all kinds of neat stuff."

  "And your leg?" he inquired.

  "Still missing," I said in a singsong, happy voice.

  His lips turned down in sorrow as his eyes went soft on me. "I know it's hard."

  "Do you?" I threw back at him angrily. "Because this is only the third time you've been to see me even though you're only a three-and-a-half-hour drive away. So tell me, how exactly do you know it's hard for me?"

  "Christopher," he pleaded with me. "I'd be here every day if I could. You know that. But I got work obligations, a wife, and three kids with another on the way."

  "Four fucking brothers... a sister... parents... nieces and nephews... friends... a girlfriend... and this is only my fourth visit from anybody in eleven fucking months," I gritted out as my insides burned with rage.

  He reared back from me. From the malice in my voice. Still, his face was awash with sympathy. "I can't speak for anyone else, buddy... but I'm sorry I couldn't be here more."

  Hank tried, I knew that. He called me a few times a week, texted almost every day, and he even sent me care packages. He was the only one who really tried.

  And it meant nothing to me. My bitterness stemmed from the overall failure of everyone in my life to protect me. At my government for sending me to a war when I wasn't equipped to understand the risk, and at my family who abandoned me... all of it had completely consumed me with darkness. I was one pissed off son of a bitch.

  I hated the world and everyone in it.

  I lurched up from the bench and looked down at Hank. My flesh and blood.

  A stranger.

  "Don't come back to see me," I told him.

  "Christopher," he said in shock and shot up off the bench. "You don't mean that--"

  But I'd already turned away from him.

  "I do mean it," I growled over my shoulder. "Stay the fuck away. Tell everyone to stay the fuck away."

  Chapter 23

  Present day...

  "You good?" I call out to Connor as I rake my fingers through my wet hair, scrutinizing myself in the mirror as I wonder if I should shave.

  "I'm good," he calls back, then deepens his voice a bit to a serious tone. "Go have fun... but not too much fun."

  I grin at myself in the mirror. Just before my shower, I'd told Connor I was going to see if Jillian wanted to go for a walk along the small stream that ran alongside our joined rooms.

  We'd made it out of the western side of Yellowstone into Montana and headed south into Idaho, making it to Ashton where there were hotels around seven PM. We were all in agreement we wanted hot showers, mattresses, and TVs, as well as a meal that wasn't hot dogs.

  We lucked into a cool motel that sat on a small stream--which was really just a wide ditch with-slow moving water. The motel was clean and had a restaurant attached. Connor knocked off another bucket-list item by ordering Rocky Mountain Oysters, and Jillian gagged the entire time he ate his bull testicles. After dinner, we splurged on two rooms that were duplex-like cabins, with Jillian and Barb taking the left room and Connor and me taking the right.

  When I walk out of the bathroom, I find Connor laying on one of the beds, eyes roaming over something on his smartphone. His gaze lifts, and he smirks at me. "Is this like your first date or something?"

  "I'm just seeing if she wants to go for a walk," I grumble. The little ditch filled with water had a nice concrete pathway that ran alongside it with decorative light posts every twenty feet or so. The light reflected off the water, the stars hung low in the sky, and... fuck... I guess this would be a date by ordinary definition.

  "Be nice," Connor teases with a smile.

  I start to say I'm always nice, but I'm not. So I smirk at him and say,
"Fuck off."

  His eyes narrow at me and turn hard. He's not teasing now. "Seriously... be nice."

  "Or what?" I ask, completely amused by his overprotective nature. "Gonna beat me up?"

  Connor just shakes his head. "Nah... no way I can beat you up. But I'd poison you or something. I'd be stealthy about it too."

  I blink at him several times, wondering if he's serious or not. Regardless, it doesn't really matter because I intend to be nice to Jillian. I have no reason not to be. On the contrary, she seems to bring out the fucking best in me for some reason.

  For a brief moment, I fantasize about what it would have been like had I been with Jillian when I was injured. A woman who hasn't once shied away from my assholery or deformities. Who looks past the broken pieces to see the whole.

  She never would have betrayed me.

  I bet she would have been by my side the entire time.

  A wave of longing and bitterness swells through me. I wonder why I didn't deserve that then, and I sure as hell don't get why I do now.

  "I'll be nice," I admit in a low voice, and Connor's eyes lighten. "Be back later."

  I pull on my flannel-lined denim jacket as it's a little chilly out. I'll need to remind Jillian to grab hers, although if she forgets, I could be all kinds of chivalrous and offer her mine. Or we could cuddle. Or kiss. Something to warm up.

  I'm chuckling to myself by the time I walk out our cabin door, take two paces to the left, and knock on theirs.

  Almost immediately, the door swings open. Barb stands there looking wholly unsurprised to see me. She just cocks an eyebrow.

  "Thought I'd see if Jillian wanted to go for a walk," I mutter, a little embarrassed to look like a love-struck puppy to this hardened, skeptical woman.

  To my surprise, Barb grins at me. "She's just finishing up her shower. You can come in and wait."

  I step inside, noting their room looks the same as ours, right down to the same style of bed coverings and wall art--all western themed. I can hear a blow dryer running in the bathroom.

  Barb doesn't close the door, but rather reaches down to the floor where her backpack is. She pulls it up, unzips a side pocket, and reaches inside as she steps up to me.