1
T-Minus 21 Days
Sitting on the edge of his bed in the moonlit room,Asher inhaled in slow, measured breaths. Wiping the sweat from hisbrow, he shook away the nightmare and tossed on his runningclothes. The offensively bright red numbers on the clock cast aneerie glow across the room like a sub on red alert.
No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’tsleep in late. SEALs had drilled it into him. Awake before dawn.Every day. PT for an hour, minimum. Drills, meetings, planning forthe next mission.
Not anymore.
Burning off the nightmare with a punishingrun around his parent’s property and beyond, his lungs burned, hismuscles tremored from exertion. As he rounded the final bend, thehouse came into view, the predawn glow casting off the darkwindows. Despite the early summer heat, a sharp chill brushed overhis sweat-soaked skin like razorblades.
Anything less than the five-mile run, and theunspeakable shit in his head followed him like a wicked shadow alldamn day. He almost felt like himself when he pushed his body tothe limit like this. If he even knew who that was anymore.
Or ever, really. Eight fucking years in thenavy, and he still didn’t know what he wanted out of life. Neverdid. Maybe never would.
Not like his sister, Pippa. She’d knownexactly what she wanted since kindergarten.I’m going to be ateacher when I grow up. I’m going to marry Lincoln, have threekids, and we’ll live next door to you in Foothills.What kidfigures it out that early?
Turning the shower on lukewarm to cool histhrobbing muscles in the stinging spray, he rinsed off the thick,salty sweat like a damn workhorse. He didn’t linger, not wanting tomiss his favorite part of the day. With a quick teeth-brushing andan attempt to tame his past-due-for-a-trim hair, he consideredshaving to fully present himself as an upstanding citizen.
Nah. He rather liked his stubble. Maybe he’dgrow a full beard one of these days, but that just seemed socumbersome. Would irritate his dad nicely, though. Maybe thatuptight sister of his while he was at it. Yikes, old habits rearingback up. All grownup, nearly thirty, remember?
Tossing on yesterday’s jeans, he smelled ashirt he found in a laundry bin by the door. Huh. Fresh and clean.Folded too. His mom was taking it way too easy on him.
Paul was glad he was home like Mom was; hewas almost sure of it. When his dad continually pestered him totake over the family business, asking when he was going to dosomething with his life, what he really meant wasI love you,son.
Sure. Keep thinking that. As if finishing afour-year degree in three years, then eight years as a Navy SEALwasn’t meaningful. What his dad really meant was,when are yougoing to be more like me?
Asher had been home a few weeks. Or had itbeen a month already? Two? He’d totally lost track of time. All heknew for sure was that therapy at the VA was every Monday, thengroup therapy every Wednesday. He was working his ass off to feelnormal again. If that was even a realistic ambition. Had he everbeen normal?
Had done pretty well for himself, consideringthe shit he’d gone through, but he was a work in progress. Hedidn’t like being unemployed any more than Paul liked it. But hisdad didn’t seem to understand that Asher needed to get his head onstraight before he could consider becoming a productive member ofsociety.
He had set the coffeepot to be done just ashe finished his run and shower each morning. His parents wouldn’tbe up for another hour or two, thank goodness. They were greatparents despite his dad’s highhanded nature; he knew he was lucky.But sometimes it was nice to savor the peace and quiet of themountains.
Sneaking across the living room with hispiping hot cup of coffee in hand, both to avoid spilling and to notrisk waking his parents, he slipped silently through the glassslider to the front deck. As he had made the habit since cominghome, he sat on his favorite Adirondack chair to watch the sunrising over the mountains. Shades of pink, purple, and orangefingered across the craggy peaks as the sun awoke, rising behindthe Cascades. Each breath filled his lungs with crisp mountain air,each sip of the robust brew calmed his thoughts.
It would be hot this afternoon. He couldn’tremember the temperature going over eighty much when he was growingup, and that wasn’t until August. June had barely begun, and theNational Weather Service was predicting sunny and eighty-two today.Would be drought conditions and nearly a hundred degrees by August,or so they said.
All too soon, the moment came to an end, asit did every day. Coffee drained, sun burning brightly in his eyes,he headed out to the garage. Soon, he’d start work for his dad.
Not today. Not that he could put it off muchlonger. He’d already been putting it off for twenty-nine years.I just got home…give me a month…let’s plan onafter Pippa’s wedding... I should be able to start by mid-July.Paul had to know he was stalling, but he also had to know thatAsher had no desire to work at the hardware store.
At no point had he ever indicated to hisfather that he wanted to take over the family business. Ever. Hisdegree was in political science and his only real experience was incombat. When had he ever indicated an interest in runningSutherland’s Hardware?
Popping the hood of his antiquated pickup, hegot to work. This old truck would run, whether it wanted to or not.The rust-bucket had gotten him through high school, college, andeight years with the navy. It couldn’t give up on him yet.
Not with all the damn new parts he’d put init; it was becoming quite the bionic rig these days. He wouldn’t besurprised if it stood up and declared it was an alien here to saveEarth from the Decepticons. Wasn’t owning a Transformer every guy’sfantasy?
***
Clutching her official license in her hands,Sophie twirled a sprightly jig around the room. Carefully, to avoidtripping over the neatly stacked boxes which made up the complexmaze that used to be her living room.
Sophie Jones, Certified Public Accountant.Master’s graduate, financial genius, successful businesswoman.Okay, maybe let’s not go that far just yet, but Sophie couldn’tseem to reign in the thrill of recognition for her accomplishments.It had been a long haul.
“Pip, where are you? It came. I passed,” Shehollered across the apartment, grinning so wide she could feel thewarm breeze from the open windows blowing across her teeth.
“What? In here.” Pippa Sutherland, her bestfriend and roommate of the last four years, called back from herbedroom.
“Can you send me your Aunt Jane’s number? Iwant to send her a pic, so she knows her protégé is official.”Sophie tried to calm her prancing feet to show Pippa thecertificate, but she couldn’t seem to stop the happy dance inprogress.
