A Soldier's Homecoming. Rachel Lee

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       Chapter Four

      Gage was halfway back to the office when he got the radio call from Velma.

      “Connie’s all upset. I’m sending Sara over there.”

      “What happened?”

      “Some stranger approached her daughter.”

      “I’m on my way.”

      “Uh, boss?”

      At least Velma didn’t refer to him as the new boss. “What?”

      “Those kids are already terrified.”

      “Meaning?” He thought instantly of his scarred face, of the shiny skin where the bomb that had killed his family had burned his cheek. There had been a time when he’d thought he ought to wear a mask like the phantom in Phantom of the Opera, so he wouldn’t scare children, but surprisingly few, if any, kids were scared of him. Certainly not around here.

      “Well, I was just thinking,” Velma said, “too many cops all at once…”

      “Might make them feel safer,” Gage finished. “I’m on my way.” With that he switched on his light bar and hit the accelerator hard. If some creep was hanging around, the sooner they got him, the better.

      Micah got home before Ethan had finished half a cup of coffee. He walked in the door, hat in hand, and froze almost as soon as he was inside. His dark gaze flicked from his wife to Ethan, then back.

      Ethan rose to his feet and stared at the man he had been told was his father. There was an instant when he felt almost as if he were looking in a mirror, but only an instant, for almost at once he saw the differences. His face was weathered, but Micah’s was substantially more so. His own jaw was a little squarer, and he was the taller by almost an inch. Less muscular, though. Running around the Afghan mountains on very little food had made him leaner, rangier.

      But then gaze met gaze, and there was an instant of almost preternatural recognition that pinned them both to the spot.

      “Micah,” Faith said. “Micah?” Her husband looked at her. “This is Ethan Parish.”

      Micah’s gaze shot back to the younger man. “Parish?”

      “My mother was Ella Birdsong.”

      “Ella…” Micah repeated the name slowly, almost doubtfully. Then his face darkened. “She left me when I was ordered overseas on an extended op. I never knew where she went.”

      “She told me.”

      “She never said…”

      “That she was pregnant,” Ethan finished. “I know. She told me that, too. There’s no blame here.”

      After a moment, Micah nodded. Then he advanced farther into the kitchen and reached out to shake Ethan’s hand. “Good to meet you,” he said, as he might have said to any stranger.

      “Sit down, love,” Faith said. “I’ll get you some coffee. The kids will be home from school soon.”

      Micah nodded again, put his hat on a peg, then sat at the table. His gaze remained fixed on Ethan. “How’s your mother?”

      “She died three years ago.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      Ethan nodded. “I am, too. She was a good woman. I don’t know why she never told you. She just said it was for the best.”

      “I know she wasn’t happy about me being special ops.”

      “Then maybe that’s all it was.”

      Micah thanked Faith for the coffee and took a sip, still studying his son. “What have you been doing?”

      Ethan almost heard the unspoken question, Why didn’t you come sooner? But he chose to take his father’s words at face value. “Marine recon,” he said.

      “Iraq? Afghanistan?”

      “Both.” Ethan hesitated. “I just got out of Walter Reed. I’ll be discharged soon. Medical.”

      Micah’s face tightened. “I’m sorry.”

      “I’m better off than most.”

      “I can see that.”

      Faith stirred. “Why don’t I go out to meet the kids at the bus? So you two can have some time. Ethan, you’re welcome to stay with us.”

      He looked at her. “No, thank you, ma’am. I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

      “If you ever change your mind, the invitation will be open.” Then she grabbed a sweater off the peg beside Micah’s hat and slipped out through the screen door. It slapped closed behind her.

      The two men stared at one another, tied by blood, separated by a gulf of years.

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