Her Hometown Hero
Autorzy
Jacquelin Thomas
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17,8K
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32
HarlequinCHAPTER ONE
TREY ROTHCHILD STARED out the window at the sea of people lined along the sidewalk waving flags and holding up signs and posters. Friends and neighbors standing around chatting, some sitting in lawn chairs, waved as the vehicle passed them. He dreaded the moment when he would have to exit the SUV.
When people look at me, they’re only going to see half a man in this wheelchair. A burden to my family and a failure to my team. Trey’s heart was filled with the shadows of guilt, incredible loss and shame, and he wasn’t at all sure he would ever be able to leave that darkness behind.
“Looks like everyone on the island came out for you,” his brother, Leon, said, “and they don’t seem to mind standing out there in the sun on a hot June day.”
“Yeah,” Trey muttered. For the first time in his twenty-nine years, he hated being the center of attention. The life I wanted is over, so it would’ve been better if I’d just died along with my team.
Almost as if Leon knew what he was thinking, he said, “I’m so glad to have you back home safe. I was afraid I’d lose you, too.”
“I made it,” Trey said, but he wasn’t grateful or thrilled about being a so-called miracle, as the doctors had exclaimed. They hadn’t expected him to survive his injuries, but he’d surprised them all—including himself. He didn’t feel worthy of being alive when his team members hadn’t survived. Although he’d been told over and over he’d done nothing wrong, Trey felt differently. He failed his team and their deaths weighed heavily on him.
“Aunt Eleanor never gave up hope,” Leon was saying. “From the moment we got to Walter Reed Hospital, she wouldn’t leave your bedside. She just sat there praying for you.”
Trey continued to stare out the window, blocking out the sound of his brother’s voice.
Leon parked the SUV, then looked over at Trey, smiling. “We’re here. Welcome home, little bro.”
A wave of apprehension swept through Trey as he scanned the crowd outside a second time. The faces and the wording on the signs suddenly began to blur. He felt dizzy as beads of perspiration broke out above his lips.
“I—I need a minute,” Trey stammered.
Leon looked instantly concerned. “Are you okay? You in pain?”
“No...” It wasn’t exactly true, but Trey wasn’t one to complain. “I just feel overwhelmed and need a moment. I didn’t expect to see everybody on the island.”
“You’re still Mr. Popular around here,” Leon said.
Not after they see me in this wheelchair. I can no longer take care of myself or anybody else. I’m no hero.
GIA HARRIS STOOD alongside other residents of the Polk Island community to welcome Trey home. All around her, people held up signs and colorful banners to celebrate his return. She hadn’t seen Trey since she left for college, except on those few occasions when she came home on a school break.
Leon’s vehicle slowed to a complete stop just yards away from where she stood. Gia watched him retrieve the wheelchair from the back, then bring it around to the passenger-side door. Her heart pulsed in a sharp rhythm and minuscule pains shot through her ribs as she witnessed Leon’s efforts to place his brother in the chair. She noted that Trey’s legs had been amputated just below the knees.
She hadn’t seen him in years. A memory of him when they were in school pranced across her mind. Images of Trey in a football uniform, dancing at the homecoming celebration, and of their first and only kiss.
Trey glanced up and met her gaze. He seemed surprised but happy to see her. “Gia...”
She stuck her hand in his, their fingers intertwined, sending tiny tremors up her arm and down her spine, all the way to her toes. She reluctantly eased her hand away. “I’m very happy to see you, Trey. Thank you for your service.”
He almost seemed to wince at her words. After a moment, he asked, “Are you home for good?”
Gia smiled. “I am.”
Before Trey could say another word, Leon interjected, “Hey, Gia...it’s good to see you. I’d better get him inside. Maybe we can catch up later.”
“Of course.”
A young woman standing near Gia uttered, “He’s still fine, but I can’t deal with a man in a wheelchair like that. He can’t do nothing for me.”
“That man is a hero,” an older lady responded before Gia could say anything. “The poor dear lost his legs protecting this country, but it doesn’t make him less than a man. Just you remember that.” Sneering at the insolent young woman, the lady stated, “He’s much too good for the likes of you anyway.”
The girl looked appalled, then strutted off with her friends.
Gia bit back a smile. She couldn’t agree more. In her eyes, despite what some may think, Trey was still very much a man. He was handsome and had a whole lot of living left to do.
She’d recognized that vacant expression on Trey’s face. Her father had had that same look when he’d returned home from the Gulf War. His right arm had been maimed, rendering it useless for the rest of his life. Although he’d hated being away from his family, he had always talked about feeling honored to serve in the military. When he couldn’t do it anymore, Eugene Harris had sunk into a depression while also suffering from PTSD. Alcohol became his coping mechanism. Her father never fully recovered from his injuries physically and emotionally, but he had eventually learned a better way to cope.
He was a hero, and to honor him, Gia had become a physical therapist to help others regain mobility and a sense of freedom. Her motto had always been to let go and enjoy the ride, despite what life threw at you.
SOFT BUT LIVELY music served as a backdrop to the laughter and the various conversations going on around Trey. Lost napkins fluttered from tables and booths as customers sat around talking and enjoying their meals. The sizzle of food cooking, silverware clinking, dishes breaking, servers taking orders—all familiar sounds that evoked memories of his youth. Trey had spent a lot of time in the café growing up. His mother had worked there until his parents’ death. He would come after school and do his homework in the last booth near the kitchen so his aunt Eleanor could keep an eye on him.
Eleanor and her first husband, Walter, had opened the doors of the Polk Island Bakery almost thirty years ago. Five years later, they’d purchased the building next door and renovated it to include the café. In recent years, the kitchen had been remodeled after a fire, with all-new appliances. His aunt and her current husband, Rusty, had decided to paint the café in honeyed hues, which Trey thought was a good choice. The color seemed to add a sweetness and warmth within. The tables were a rich, dark brown—the color of coffee. On the other side, the bakery was painted a soft green color, and behind the counter were rows of muffins, cakes and other delicious treats.
Whenever Trey talked about the Polk Island Café & Bakery, he told folk it was the best doctor and medicine combined. The coffee, the music and smiling employees, a chance to enjoy company—he considered it a fragment of heaven. Trey was appreciative of the warm welcome home, but he would’ve preferred to have just gone straight to the house without all the fanfare. The flight from Washington, DC, to Charleston, then the thirty-minute drive to the island, had taken a toll on him, and the throbbing ache in his knees was not easy to ignore. He’d already taken his pain medication, but it hadn’t kicked in yet. He struggled to keep his expression unreadable, but the exhaustion and the pain were becoming increasingly unbearable.
Trey fought against his personal agony to make small talk with old friends and neighbors who stopped by the table to personally welcome him home. Every time he heard the words Thank you for your service, he felt nauseous.
“Son, you look tired,” Aunt Eleanor observed aloud. “And you hurting. I can tell.”
“I am,” he responded. “I don’t want to be rude. It was nice of these folks to come out to see me, but I just want to go home.”
“’Scuse me, everyone,” Eleanor shouted. “We wanna thank y’all for the warm welcome back to Polk Island but Trey needs his rest. We gwine get him home now.”
“Thanks, Auntie,” Trey said in a low voice.
“Don’t you worry ’bout a thing, suga. We gwine take you to the house and put you to bed. Did you take your medicine?”
He nodded. “I think I waited too long to take it, but it should kick in soon.”
A few minutes later, Trey was back in the SUV with Leon, driving to Eleanor’s former house, their childhood home after their parents died. When Eleanor married Rusty, she’d moved into his house and deeded her place to Trey, since Leon had his own home with wife, Misty.
Eleanor sat in the back seat. She insisted on seeing that Trey was settled and comfortable. She leaned forward to pat him gently on the shoulder. “I’m sho’ glad to have you back home so we can take care of you.”
That’s just it. I don’t want anyone feeling like they have to be my caregiver. His aunt and Rusty had only been married for a few years. Trey didn’t want them focusing on him—they were in their prime and deserved to just enjoy their time together. The same went for Leon and Misty, who were raising two children.
“We changed some stuff and renovated the place,” Eleanor said as they turned on Forest Avenue, where the house was located.
Leon pulled into the driveway and parked.
Trey gazed at his childhood home in amazement. There was now a wheelchair ramp made of wood leading up to the porch, painted and styled to match seamlessly with the exterior design of the Victorian house.
Inside, his cousin Renee was waiting with balloons, some of which floated all over the living room. “Welcome home,” she exclaimed before rushing over to give him a hug.
“I’m happy to see you, too, roomie,” Trey said. Renee had left New York a couple years ago and opened a high-end boutique on the island. It was his idea that she live in the house instead of leaving it empty. He glanced around at his surroundings. He’d always thought he would come back here to raise his family once he retired from the marines.
“When did y’all do all this?” Trey asked, thoroughly surprised to find that the interior of the house had been completely renovated to make it accessible for his comfort. “Auntie, I thought you meant y’all had it painted. I figured you moved some things around, but not all this.”
“We got started on the renovations as soon as we heard you were coming home,” Leon replied. “We had a lot of help from the community. Boyd Davis...you remember him from the football team? He’s an architect. He offered to make the house more functional for you. The sunroom is more of a living room now. We made the first-floor bedroom bigger and added a full bath and roll-in closet for you.”
“Suga, we installed an intercom by your bed in the event you need Renee for anything,” Eleanor said.
He gave a defiant tilt of his chin as his body tensed. “I don’t need anyone to babysit me, Auntie. I can take care of myself. I didn’t come home to disrupt anybody’s life.”
“Trey, I’m here if you want to watch a movie together, take a beating in Scrabble or whatever. That’s why we installed the intercom,” Renee interjected. “It was my idea.”
He chuckled. “Beating me at Scrabble...that’s not the way I remember it.”
“Y’all always been competitive,” Eleanor said, shaking her head at them.
Trey cleared his throat, then uttered, “I want to thank y’all for everything. I appreciate everything y’all done for me.” He found himself getting choked up as he considered the many gestures of love behind all the renovations. The Rothchild family was close-knit, and Trey knew the sacrifices they’d made on his behalf. He was grateful but decided they’d done enough for him. Others like him had found a way to live independently, and so would he.
For now, however, he was happy to be reunited with his family. Trey had missed his aunt and brother more than anyone could imagine. In truth, he’d missed everyone on the island. He was truly thrilled to be home.
“We just wanted to make you as comfortable as possible,” Leon said. “I put your music collection and your books in your room. Your friend Greg shipped them to me.”
Trey smiled. “Sounds like you thought of everything.”
“We tried,” Leon replied. “You ready to see your room?”
Trey gave a slight nod.
On the main floor, the renovated bedroom was now fitted with a barn door wide enough to maneuver his wheelchair through. One wall featured shelving from floor to ceiling. “We put your music collection at the top. We figured you wouldn’t be playing the records...”
“No, I just want to keep them,” Trey said. “I like that all my books are on the shelves low enough for me to reach—I won’t have to constantly yell for Renee to come downstairs just to get me something to read.”
“That was my idea, too.” Renee chuckled. “I know you.”
He was happy with having his cousin as a roommate. When she moved in, Trey liked the idea of family living in the house while he was away. He didn’t want to leave it sitting empty or to rent it out to strangers.
“Your bed has an adjustable frame, which should help you get comfortable,” Leon stated. “I know you’re more a fan of the minimalist style, so we tried to open up as much space in here as possible. Misty and Renee did all of the decorating.”
“I know you didn’t do it. Everything’s not one color,” Trey said with a short laugh. Behind the gray wooden shelves, the wall was painted a dark navy blue. The other walls in the room were more of a light blue. There were bright yellow accent pieces placed around the room to match the throw pillows on the navy blue sofa positioned in a corner near the door.
Leon grinned. “They redecorated the whole house. There’s lots of color everywhere.”
Trey rolled his wheelchair over to the closet, noting the lower rods and accessible shelving.
“We can put up a door there if you’d like,” Eleanor said. “Renee didn’t feel that it needed one.”
He glanced back at them, saying, “It’s fine, y’all. I like it just the way it is. I’m really glad there’s no carpet on the floor.”
“Leon told me you would prefer hardwood floors, so Rusty updated the ones that were in here before.”
Trey planted a genuine smile on his face. “Auntie, y’all really did a great job.”
“Check out your bathroom,” Renee suggested.
The roll-in frameless shower could fit at least four people. Trey appreciated the built-in seat and storage for the shower items, and the metal rails. He especially liked the double showerheads.
“Rusty came up with the design for it,” she said.
They knew how much he valued his independence and had clearly kept that in mind during the remodeling. “I can see that a lot of thought and love went into this project,” he responded. “I don’t know if saying thank-you is enough.”
“We’re so glad you’re home, son.” Eleanor bent down to embrace him. “I’m happy to have my boy back here with me. I’m gwine stay here a few days to make sure you’re eating and taking your medicine the way you should.”
“You don’t have to do that, Auntie. You should be home with Rusty,” Trey said.
“He and I both will be here,” Eleanor announced. “Just for two or three days.”
“You might as well give up,” Leon stated, so Trey let the subject lie, and ten minutes later, Leon had him situated in his bed.
“Are you hungry?” Eleanor asked. “I noticed you didn’t eat anything at the café.”
“No, ma’am. Just tired.”
She nodded in understanding. “I’ll leave you be. C’mon y’all. He needs to rest.”
When Trey was alone in his room, he closed his eyes, hoping to escape the rest of the day by sleeping. He was tired from the traveling and his wounds were burning in agony. He massaged his left thigh, then did the same with the right. Trey hated taking pills of any kind, but he reached for the prescription bottle to take another one to fight the pain.
The attack had happened four and a half weeks ago. The reality that he was back at home began to sink in deeper. Trey knew it in his head, but it was taking his body longer to process that he was no longer in danger. He was safe. He could sleep without worry of being attacked by insurgents. Trey relaxed his body and mind.
An image of Gia Harris danced across it. She was the last person he’d expected to run into—the last he’d heard was that she lived in North Carolina. He was glad to see her, but he wished Gia hadn’t had to see him like this—in a wheelchair. He wondered why he hadn’t seen her father. He knew without a doubt that at some point, Master Gunnery Sergeant Eugene Harris would pay him a visit soon.
The years had been kind to Gia—she hadn’t changed much from the way she looked back in high school. She’d been in Leon’s class—two years older than Trey. She was still absolutely beautiful, with her short hair in honey-tinted curls and her dark hazel eyes.
The one kiss they’d shared in high school was still imprinted on his heart. Trey forced the thoughts of Gia out of his mind. There was no point in venturing down a road he could never travel.
