Holiday Under Wraps
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Katie Mettner
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Chapter One
“Hey, there, Lilah,” a voice said.
She smiled as she turned to him. “Luca. Where have you been?”
“Reloading our water and campfire supply. Did you find anything?”
“Sea glass,” Delilah said, holding her hand out to show him a broken piece of pottery. It was worn smooth from tumbling around in the lake for years.
“Your favorite,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her into a dance pose as he rocked her back and forth on the sand. “What will you do with all that sea glass, Lilah?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, gazing into his eyes. “Maybe I’ll make art from it to always remember the summer we turned twenty-eight.”
“I hope you won’t need the sea glass to remember.” Luca lowered his magical lips to hers and kissed her like a man in love. While they had never said the words, they didn’t need to. Their bodies did the talking. “I hope to be by your side the summer we turn sixty-eight.” He spun her around in a wide arc until they toppled to the sand, where they stayed, laughing as Lake Superior lapped over them and the sun shone down to dry them.
“Luca, you’re the kind of guy my daddy would have wanted me to bring home. I know it.”
“You think so? I thought your daddy was strict about everything, including his little girl dating.”
“Oh, he’d hate that I left the church and went to war, but he’d have loved you.”
“Since he’s been dead for twenty years, I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”
“I’ve been thinking, Luca.”
“Uh-oh. It’s never good when a woman opens with that line.”
Delilah rolled up onto her arm to look him in the eye. “You won’t think it’s good, but I made a phone call yesterday while picking up groceries.”
“Who did you call?” His words dripped with defensive dread.
“The VA hospital in Minneapolis. It turns out they have a program there that helps veterans with PTSD.”
“I don’t need a shrink!” His growled exclamation should have made her pull back, but she was past that fear. Delilah knew he’d never hurt her, but he might hurt himself. She couldn’t let that happen.
“It’s not just a shrink, Luca. It’s talking to other people in your situation and developing ways to channel your anxiety so you can live in the world as it is now.”
“My PTSD isn’t any worse than yours, Lilah.” His words were soft this time, and he caressed her face as though she would drop the conversation and fall into bed with him. In the past, she might have, but with his episodes escalating, she couldn’t put off the hard stuff any longer.
“But it is, Luca, and it’s okay to admit that. We had different experiences that did different things to our minds. I can’t wake up to find you in the middle of Lake Superior again. Not when I know there are people who can help you.”
“Will you go, too?”
“If you want me to,” she agreed, even though it was a lie. “I’ll do anything if it means you get help before it’s too late.”
“How long do I have to be there?”
“I can’t answer that question, Luca. That’s up to you and the doctors to decide, but from what I understand, it’s usually one to three months.”
He gathered handfuls of the warm September sand as he stared at the cloudless Wisconsin sky. “I don’t want our time here to end, Lilah. When I’m here, I can forget what happened over there. When I’m holding you, I can forget about the men who—”
What was that music? It was familiar, and Delilah Hartman was supposed to remember what to do when she heard it. Her eyes popped open and she grabbed her glasses, slipping them on to stare at the phone screen.
You’ve been found.
Technically, that’s not what the screen said, but she knew that’s what it meant. Her gaze flicked to the time at the top of the phone. It was 2:37 a.m. Not a great time of day to tuck tail and run, but she didn’t know if she had five minutes or five hours until someone started breaking down her door, so she couldn’t worry about anything other than getting out undetected.
She slid out from under the covers and stayed low below the level of the windows. Her go bag was packed and easily accessible, something she made sure of every night before bed. Her only decision was how to exit the apartment. It was the start of December, cold, and the recent snow was going to make footprints easy to follow. She could walk out the front door as though everything was fine and it was any other early Wednesday morning, climb in her car and drive away, or opt for escape via the balcony. She’d rented this apartment for the balcony. Beyond it was a forest as far as the eye could see, giving her a place to disappear as soon as she made the tree line. This escape would be the eighth in six years. It was a habit she didn’t like, and as she tied on a pair of boots, slid into her winter gear and slung the go bag around her shoulders, the truth settled low in her gut. She couldn’t do this alone any longer, but the only man who could help her lived somewhere in the middle of northern Minnesota. The one thing she knew for sure was that she wasn’t a Christmas present he’d be happy about unwrapping.
Then again, maybe he would be.
Delilah wondered how Lucas would feel about her popping back into his life unexpectedly after disappearing six years ago. He was probably angry that she’d dropped him off at the VA Medical Center and never returned. That wasn’t by choice. If he wasn’t angry with her, that would quickly change if she brought a passel of bad guys along with her, so she had to be thoughtful about her approach. None of that mattered if she didn’t successfully escape from 679 North Bradley Street in one piece.
Her fingers found the scar on her chin and traced it while she rechecked the app. They had just broken the code and accessed her information, so there was no way they’d be here this quickly. She had time to walk down the stairs, get in her car and drive away. She’d abandon the car at the airport and hop on a plane. When she did, Lavena Hanson would cease to exist. The same way all those other names had over the years. Whether she liked it or not, it was time to be Delilah Hartman again if she ever wanted to live a normal life. Not that she could even define what a normal life was anymore. Normal ended the day she signed up for the army. What a lousy life decision that turned out to be. Not that she had many options. After her father died, her mother struggled to make ends meet, much less pay for college. Enlisting was a way to get her education paid for and come out with real-world work experience. Delilah couldn’t argue with that. She’d gotten the necessary experience, but she couldn’t use it if she wanted to stay alive. Not exactly what she’d had in mind as a fresh-faced army recruit.
Crouched low, she snuck out of the bedroom into the sparse main room of the apartment. The one-bedroom upper had been the perfect place for her when she’d found it nearly five months ago, but she knew better than to do anything but live in it like a hotel room. A stopover on the road of life. She’d been disappointed the first time she’d had to leave a place she’d made her home and promised herself she’d steer clear of using that word again. She patted the fridge on her way by, which held her only decorations for the holidays. Magnets in the shape of Christmas ornaments covered the front of it in holiday cheer. They’d remain there now for someone else to enjoy.
Delilah had her hand on the doorknob when she heard a commotion in the hallway. “Hey, man, you don’t belong here,” came her neighbor’s muffled voice through the front door. She peered through the peephole, and her insides congealed with fear at the scene in the hallway. There was a man dressed in black with a gun, and behind him was the man who fueled her nightmares. He’d come again, and by the looks of the knife in his hand, he meant business this time.
She heard the pop-pop and was running for the balcony before she even registered that her neighbor had just been shot. Don’t die. Don’t die. She hummed to herself as she silently cut the screen and slithered down the rope tied to the balcony post for this very purpose. She hit the ground quietly, flipped her night vision goggles down, a throwback to her military days, and searched the grounds for signs of life.
Movement to her left caught her eye. The dude was in black head to toe but had his back to her as he faced the front of the building. Slowly, she turned her head to the right and saw another guy dressed the same at the opposite end of the building. Unfortunately, they were wearing night vision goggles, too, which meant she wasn’t undetectable. She pulled her pistol from her holster and steeled herself. She had to make a run for it, but she had to do it right if she didn’t want to be caught in the crossfire. She also didn’t want more innocent people to die here tonight. Her bullets had to find their marks for multiple reasons, the least of which was this snow was going to make it easy to track her. Shooting on the run was always hard, but she had no choice. A part of her brain registered that this was the first time they’d sent more than two guys. Maybe that meant something, maybe it didn’t, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it if she wanted to stay alive. Her concentration could be nowhere but on getting to the trees.
A deep, steadying breath in and she ran, her movement catching their attention, as expected. The guy to her left turned first, and the pop of her gun had him on the ground before he got off a round. Unfortunately, the guy on her right heard the shot and swung his gun in an arc toward her. By the time his buddy hit the ground, she was already firing. Dude number two crumpled, and she turned tail, slid through the trees and ran like the hounds of hell were on her heels.
DEATH. NOT AN easy word to wrap a person’s head around, especially when no one can escape it. At the same time, very few people live like they know that. Lucas Porter wasn’t one of those people. He had intimate knowledge of how swiftly death came and held no illusions that he had any control over it. Lucas agreed with the idea that when it’s your time, it’s your time, but he didn’t agree with the old saying that someone cheated death. No. No one ever cheats death. It simply wasn’t their day to die. He’d seen it on the battlefield so many times. Days when three men rode side by side, an IED exploded and two died, but one was unscathed just inches away. That soldier didn’t cheat death. He had something left to do before death took him. And it took everyone.
Lucas saw death enough times that he made the conscious decision to live every day like he was dying. He wasn’t afraid of death, knowing it was inevitable, so he also made every effort not to leave anything unresolved in life. Unresolved situations only hurt the living, and Lucas never wanted to put that on anyone’s shoulders. He carried some of those situations and feelings that could never be resolved as anyone does, but those memories were motivation not to create more.
He could accept those unresolved situations as casualties of the war he had been forced to fight. He went into the army thinking he could make a career, make a difference, right some wrongs—how wrong he’d been. He was sold a pack of lies, shipped off to a foreign land and given no choice but to fight for his life by taking someone else’s way too many times. He understood it had to be done to protect his country, but he didn’t have to like how it had to be done.
“Time to work, Haven,” Lucas said, unsnapping the dog’s seat belt from the SUV. “Get dressed.” The German shepherd patiently waited while Lucas slipped the military-style harness over his head, fastened the buckles and then double-checked the patches to make sure they were easy to read. Six words stared back at him. PTSD Service Dog. Do Not Distract.
That was Haven’s job. When they were at Secure One, the dog didn’t need his harness to announce why he was there. He was an extension of Lucas, and everyone knew why. When on assignment, not a soul on the team cared about the real reason Haven stood beside Lucas. They knew he would defend any team member. Haven may have been the runt of the litter, but dressed in a black harness with his ears at attention, Lucas hadn’t met anyone who would take him on.
Was he ashamed of having PTSD? No. He knew it wasn’t his fault that he had it, but that didn’t mean he liked announcing to the world why Haven was always with him. Despite the acceptance of PTSD throughout the country, it still carried a stigma that was difficult to see on public faces when they read the patches. He couldn’t count the times he’d been told to “get over it,” “just forget about it, you’re home now,” “just think happy thoughts” and “it will go away with time.” Lucas wished even one of those things were true, but they weren’t and it had taken a lot of therapy for him to trust in his coping mechanisms.
Truthfully, PTSD was a shared experience at Secure One, which Lucas had come to appreciate quickly. The team was great at pulling someone back who was falling too deeply into the past. Haven was trained to key in on Lucas and keep him steady, but he never ignored signs of anxiety from any team member. If they needed help returning to the present or decompressing from an assignment, Haven was there for them. He felt lucky that he could contribute to the team by sharing his dog that way.
“Today, you’re all mine, buddy,” he told the dog as he checked the SUV and glanced around the area, a habit he had picked up on the base that now came in handy working for Secure One. “If what Cal said is true, I’ll need you to keep me steady.”
A deep breath in and a walk up the sidewalk gave him time to focus on the perimeter of the past instead of the center of it. He reminded himself that he didn’t have to think about his time over there, only the time he’d spent with Delilah on the beach six years ago. Determined to keep his breathing steady, he opened the double door and entered the funeral home. The plush carpet deadened the sound of his footsteps, as though even his footfalls were too loud for the dead.
Silence pervaded the funeral home, other than a piano rendition of “Silent Night” flowing through the speakers. Apparently, you couldn’t escape Christmas music anywhere this time of year. A glance to his left revealed a small tree decorated with white lights, gold ribbon and a gold star. It was simple and understated, but felt like it belonged in the space where it sat. Recognition of the hope and peace of the season, even in a place where there was likely little of either to be found for families of lost loved ones.
He’d been told to ask for James, but first, he’d have to find a living soul in the building. Haven whined and stepped on Lucas’s foot twice, a sign that his anxiety was building. He stopped and inhaled a breath, counted to three and let it out. Then he held his breath for the count of three, inhaled to the count of three and then held his breath to the count of three. He’d been taught several breathing techniques in therapy, but box breathing was the one that helped him the most. It distracted his mind and his body from the situation that was causing the anxiety. Technically, it was called the triple fours, but he’d modified it using a three count, something he’d been accustomed to using in the service and could do without thinking.
“Are you Lucas Porter?”
Lucas turned to a man dressed in a dark gray suit. His shirt was white, bright and starched, with a dark burgundy tie resting against his chest. He wore a name tag that said Edwards, Roberts and Thomas Funeral Home. James.
“I am,” he answered, shaking the outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you, James.”
“I’m sorry that it’s under these circumstances.”
Lucas suspected James said that a lot in his line of work. The man was shorter than Lucas’s six feet, had a head full of blond curly hair and a baby face that was at odds with what he saw and did in a place like this.
“Me, too. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard the name Delilah Hartman.” That was a lie, for James’s sake. Lucas heard that name every night in his dreams and thought of it every time he looked at Haven. “Is this situation common for you?”
“You mean having decedents arrive in the mail?” James asked, motioning him into a small room. At the front was a granite altar the size of a podium where an urn sat next to a spray of flowers. “More common than you might think. With the rise of cremation and the ability to send remains through the mail, we’re often the go-between for families who live across the country to get a loved one home to a family plot.”
“That makes sense, I guess,” Lucas said, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot. “Not that I ever thought about it. We have a much different system in the military.”
James patted his shoulder. “From what I understand, Delilah was no longer active military?”
“As of six years ago, she had been discharged. What happened after that, I can’t say. I haven’t seen or heard from her. That’s why I was so surprised to get this call.”
“I’m sure you were. I wish we could have softened the blow, but sometimes, there is no easy way to break the news to someone.”
How well Lucas knew the truth of that statement. Too many times, he’d had to be the one to break the news to someone on the base that their buddy, girlfriend or boyfriend was not coming back.
“I understand that on a level that would probably surprise you.”
James’s gaze landed on Haven for a moment before he spoke. “Truthfully, not much surprises me anymore, Lucas. Did you serve with Delilah?”
“Indirectly,” Lucas answered, inhaling a breath and holding it for the count of three. “Is that her?” He motioned at the small altar where the urn sat. There was a laser-etched American flag on the front, the only indication that the person inside had once served her country on foreign soil.
“Yes. The box next to it is also for you. It came sealed and has remained sealed to maintain privacy.”
“Do you know how she died?”
“I’m sorry, we don’t. It all arrived in the mail with a note to ensure you got the items and Delilah’s urn. We’re still working to get a death certificate. The whole thing has also surprised us, but we’ll try to sort it out. In the meantime, take as much time as you need. The room is yours for the day. Did you bring anyone with you?”
“Just Haven,” Lucas answered, staring at the box by the altar.
“Then please, stay until you feel comfortable driving again. Would you or Haven like some water? We also have coffee and pastries.”
“We’re okay for now. Thank you, though.”
“You betcha,” James said with that classic Minnesota twang. “If you have questions, I’ll be around. Don’t think you’re bothering me by asking them.”
“Yes, sir,” Lucas said with a nod. Haven stepped down on his foot until Lucas shook his head. “Sorry. That urn is throwing me. Can we turn it so the flag isn’t facing out?”
James patted Lucas’s shoulder and walked to the altar, turning the urn until only the brushed steel faced them. “I’ll be right outside this door.” He showed Lucas where, and after he nodded, James walked through it and closed it behind him.
“Delilah, what happened?” he whispered, dropping Haven’s lead and walking to the altar. He rested his hands on the cold granite and hung his head, the memories of the summer they spent together rolling through his mind and his heart. Those days had been some of the best and worst days of his life. While he hadn’t talked to Delilah in years, he thought about that summer they spent together every one of the last 2,190 days apart.
Haven budged his leg with his nose, and Lucas snapped back to the room, eyeing the dog for a moment before he nodded and picked up the box. It was small and weighed almost nothing, which surprised him, though maybe it shouldn’t. Delilah was never about material things. She was always about experiences. Probably because her job in the army focused on things. Things people needed and it was her job to get, and things that other people wanted and would do anything to obtain at any cost.
“Something feels smudgy about this, Haven,” he whispered to the dog as he stared at the box. “Delilah was a veteran and would have been treated and buried as such, even if she had no one else.”
Voicing what his brain had been saying freed him. He split open the tape on the box and moved aside the packing paper. At the bottom was an envelope that said Luca. She had always called him that, and he allowed it, but only from her. He recognized the slanting L immediately as her handwriting, so he gingerly lifted it from the box. Under it, taped to the bottom, was her army Distinguished Service Medal—the only possession she ever cared about in life and wanted to be buried with in death.
