Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 69468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
“Aha!” I made a knowing noise. “Already got an out.”
“I’m terrible.” Jude joined my laughter. “I know. I hate change and spending money.”
“I hear that.” I leaned back in my seat, enjoying this light banter. Everything felt easier around Jude, including speech. “I’m cheap. Base housing.”
“Even as an NCO?” Jude whistled low as I nodded.
Nearly fourteen years of service, and I’d never so much as investigated off-base housing options. What did I need more than a room and private bath for anyway? I was happy to let those with families take the better options and save my cash.
“Okay.” Jude grinned conspiratorially at me. “We might be the same kind of thrifty.”
“Yep. Miss my old truck.” I gave his dashboard a fond pat. I’d sold my most recent vehicle before my last deployment. That truck had been nearly as old as Jude’s, and I’d balked at the garage fees for storage while deployed. Never thought it might be my last vehicle.
“I bet.” Eyes soft, Jude shot me a sympathetic look as he turned toward Durango. “Is the driving restriction permanent?”
“Dunno.” I gave Jude a more honest answer than I would most. His tone had been curious but not prying, which I respected. “Hope not.”
In the months since my injury, clarity had been in short supply. The recommendation that I not drive seemed to stem from a combination of caution around the medication I was on, continued symptoms like the sudden-onset headaches, and fears around my coordination issues. Multiple experts, ranging from doctors to physical therapists, meant multiple answers, none of which I liked.
Jude nodded thoughtfully, undoubtedly well-versed in medical uncertainty. “Well, hopefully your team will give you the green light to try soon.”
“Maybe.” I wanted to keep my expectations low, but my yearning for Jude’s wish to be reality came through in my voice. “Reflexes getting better.”
I’d made a point to continue my occupational therapy exercises whenever I found myself alone with a few moments to spare, doing things like dropping a pen and trying to catch it, squeezing stress balls in my pocket, and completing eye-movement exercises.
“That’s awesome.” Jude’s tone was enthusiastic as opposed to patronizing. “Speaking of, I do want to have you over to game sometime. That might be good reflex practice too.”
“Gaming therapy.” My laugh came out giddier than I intended. Having someone who seemed genuinely happy for my little successes was something of a novelty and made me feel like I’d just racked heavy weights, a lightness coming over my limbs. “I’m down.”
“Good.” Jude drifted into silence before flipping the radio to the same country station I’d enjoyed on the last trip to Durango.
Outside, the evening sky was the sort of cloudless pale blue against the rugged red terrain that made a body feel grateful to live here. I appreciated how Jude didn’t demand conversation, but perversely, his easy acceptance made me more determined to engage.
“Tell me about…your truck.” I got the question out with only the barest of hesitations. I wasn’t simply making small talk either. I was honestly curious about Jude’s attachment to this battered green truck. I’d learned a long time ago that nearly every beloved truck held a story, and I wanted Jude’s.
“Sarge here started out life as a secondhand purchase by an army buddy after we finished basic training together.” Jude’s storytelling ability didn’t disappoint as his rich voice took on a more animated tone. “Private Earnest McGilchrist. Skinny kid out of Alabama. Good soldier, better friend. Never made it home from our second deployment.” Jude paused to exhale hard. “I bought the truck off his folks. My first and only car purchase. We’ve seen some miles together.”
“Lotta years.” I echoed his solemn tone.
It went without saying that I was sorry for the loss of his friend. Fact of life in the service, a harsh reality no one enjoyed. Maybe someday, I’d have the words to tell Jude about my collection of mementos. A belt buckle. A lucky quarter. A dog-eared paperback. A faded picture with a message scrawled on the back. Tiny items that took up less than a pocket in my duffel bag, but each represented a friend lost too soon. Voice thick, I patted the truck’s dash again. “Good truck. Earned its retirement.”
“That’s a great way to look at it.” Jude brightened some. “It’s been a good truck for sure. Served me well.”
“Give it an honorable discharge.” A barky laugh escaped my chest, wiggling past the tightness of loss. “Better than a lot get.”
“Truth.” Jude’s expression turned more pensive. “Glad I got out when I did.” His left eye twitched as he glanced over at me. “Sorry. That was insensitive. I know you didn’t choose your medical discharge.”
“Nah.” I waved off his concern. I’d met my share of folks like Jude who either regretted serving or who couldn’t get out fast enough. “Why’d you join up?”