Finding Purpose (Colorado Veterans Book 1) Read online

  “I can’t believe he kept them all.”

  I wish I could remember what I wrote in those letters. I know there were some things I wrote about Quincy but I have no idea what they were now.

  “Why didn’t you come to see him the last couple of months, Judson?”

  I’m quiet. I don’t want to answer this and it pisses me off that she put me on the spot, so I don’t reply. She groans and stops the swing from moving so she can stand up.

  “I’d better go help Ms. Polly. I’m glad you came; it means a lot to her. Keep that in mind when she asks you to stick around. I know it’s not your thing, but she needs you, even if it’s just for a little while.”

  Her words hit me like a slap to the face and anger swirls inside me, burning like it has for a long time, churning my gut and pissing me off more. I snatch her hand to halt her as she walks by.

  “You have no idea what it’s been like for me so don’t judge me because I didn’t come to see a dying man when he probably wouldn’t remember me anyway,” I growl through clenched teeth.

  My anger is mirrored in her eyes as she responds, “If you don’t want to talk about why you were a coward and couldn’t face him then don’t, but don’t you dare act like I’m the jerk here. He loved you like you were his own and you couldn’t be bothered. I get it. Poor Judson, life didn’t turn out the way you planned. Guess what? It never does. Not for any of us, but I need you to suck it the hell up long enough to help Ms. Polly get through this. Then you can go back to your cave and hibernate if that will make you happy. I’m not trying to be a bitch, but I can’t deal with selfish right now, so suck it up.” She yanks her arm out of my hold and storms off into the house without another word.

  Shit. I didn’t mean for things to go that way, but damn. Why’d she have to give me the guilt trip? She has no idea what I’ve been through. My body still aches, my future’s unclear and I’m floating without a damn purpose. That IED took so much from me, she has no idea.

  She’s right though; I’m a coward. I couldn’t let the Colonel see me in the state I’m in, all gimpy and strung out. I still haven’t kicked the pills all the way and I’m still an emotional mess. I didn’t want to deal with his judgment. If I saw even a little disappointment in his eyes when I faced him, I’m not sure I would’ve recovered. If I’d shown up during the last couple of months, he’d have seen me for the man I really am: a coward, a loser, and an all-around asshole.

  I sit outside stewing in my own piss and vinegar awhile longer, until I finally decide I’ve had enough. I do my best to move quietly through the house, avoiding people as I go so I won’t have to talk, but Ms. Polly catches me in the hall and places a cold wrinkled hand on my cheek. Her watery eyes meet mine before she asks, “I know it’s been a long day for all of us, but could you stay for a little bit after everyone leaves? There are some things the Colonel wanted you to have. If it’s too much today, we can do it tomorrow. I just know it needs to get done and he hated procrastination so I want to do it soon.”

  I look into her hopeful eyes and cave. “Yes, Ms. Polly, I can stay after everyone leaves. Can I help to get some things cleaned up right now?”

  She pats my cheek. “You’re such a good young man. You can clear the trays and take them to Quincy in the kitchen. I think she’s started the dishes. Maybe take out the trash. Thank you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She shuffles back into the living room to chat some more as I walk around dumping trash and collecting empty cups and trays. When I take them to the kitchen, Quinn doesn’t say a word as she continues working.

  She’s tied her hair up in a messy knot on top of her head and removed her suit jacket. Her sleeves are rolled up her arms and I notice a tattoo in script on the inside of her wrist. I can’t read it without getting right up on it, so I leave the kitchen and ponder what could be written there.

  A few hours later, everything is cleaned up and Quinn has disappeared in the house somewhere. I’m resting by the fireplace, watching the flames dance as I remember the day I met the Colonel at the shooting range all those years ago.

  I was 16 years old and at the range with my dad. He’d taken me there once a week since I was 10 years old to shoot the pistol and the rifle. He always said we had to stay in practice, never knew when we’d need those skills, but my mom told me later that it was my dad’s guaranteed time with my brother and me. My brother was an okay shot, but I was a natural. I had a steady hand and almost perfect aim right away.

  When I was 15, the owner of the range suggested to my dad that I try a competition, so he signed me up. I did well and enjoyed it, so he signed me up for more. The Colonel was scouting when he saw me at one about a year later and tracked me down. He showed up at the range where I practiced in town and talked to me about attending OSU and being on the team. He stayed in touch until I was ready for college decisions and jockeyed hard to get me there. Because he was offering me scholarship money for room and board and I wanted out of Colorado Springs, I decided to go. Jenny and my mom wanted me to stay in state, near my hometown, and take over the farm one day, but I wanted different things for my life. Things that would take me much further than a few states away so I compromised by going to college in Ohio. I don’t know why I thought I would want to go back home after I got a taste of life outside of Colorado, but I’d convinced myself I just needed a little bit of adventure. So off to Ohio I went.

  I’m not sure why, but the Colonel and I started a friend/mentor relationship right out of the gate. At first, I figured it was the way he was with all his shooters, but over time I realized he considered me special and I was further convinced of this when he pulled strings to get me into the Navy immediately and to roll me right into BUD/S after boot camp. No one else slipped right into the Navy or BUD/S that easily. Most had been in the Delayed Entry Program for six months to a year before they even went to boot camp.

  Breaking me from the memories, Ms. Polly steps in front of me and hands me a large plastic bin and instructs me to open it. Inside, bundled neatly and tied in yellow ribbon is probably every single letter I’ve ever written to the Colonel. Quinn said he kept them and they read them, but I thought maybe she was exaggerating about it being all of them. As I look at the stacks I realize there are probably six or seven hundred letters in here.

  My eyes lift to Ms. Polly’s and she holds up another box I didn’t realize she’d gone and gotten. I close the lid on the box of letters and set it on the floor. Then I put the next box on top and open it up. Ms. Polly sits down next to me as I peek inside. I pull out the first item wrapped in black velvet cloth and realize it’s a shadow box of the Colonel’s service ribbons. There’s a note attached to the outside so I peel it off and open it up.

  Dear Judson,

  You are the only person left on this earth who would understand what these mean and could learn something from them. As you know, I’m very proud of the time I spent in the Air Force and although I didn’t share the worst of my stories with you, I had them. There are some things that happen in times of war that we are unable to share with anyone else due to the horrific circumstances or the fact that the mission was classified. Sadly, it’s the nature of the beast.

  As you review the ribbons, I want you to know each represents a memory of the time I was in the Air Force, both the good and bad. Over the years I’ve learned to be proud of every step of my journey because they all brought me back to Polly in the end, and the love of a woman like her is worth every bit of what I went through.

  You can throw them away, hide them in a closet or stick them on the wall, but whatever you decide, I hope you’ll take a few moments to compare your own ribbons to mine. I think you’ll see some similarities you didn’t know were there. Be proud of your time in the Navy even if it ended in almost the worst way possible, and I stress “almost” because I’ve never been more thankful for almost in all my life. When I got the call about your accident and we weren’t sure you were going to make it, I swear I was ready to die myself that day. My hear
t hasn’t known that kind of pain since Colin died over 50 years ago. Your life has purpose, you just need to find it again. They say that almost doesn’t count unless it’s horseshoes and hand grenades; well they forgot to say IEDs too. For us that’s the truth.

  More than anything I want you to know I’m proud of you and I believe in you. You will find your place and make a difference, I’m certain of it.

  Sincerely,

  Colonel Gene A. Banks

  The next thing I find in the box is a photo album, so I open it up and on the first page is a group photo of our pistol team at OSU my first year there. The next couple of pages are all the clippings from the papers and trade magazines for my accomplishments while I was at OSU. Following that he has all four years of Quincy’s time there. According to this, she was selected to train with the national team here in Colorado Springs after her senior year and she accepted. Past that, my picture from the Navy is in there and every picture I sent him is tucked neatly within the plastic coating.

  Following that are pictures of Quincy over the last 10 years with different hairstyles and different clothes. A few newspaper articles since she started at Denver PD and then the last few pages are blank like he meant to put more in there but just hadn’t made it that far.

  I look up to find Ms. Polly watching me.

  “When I asked him if he wanted me to separate the pages and give yours to you and hers to her, he said no. He said you missed out on knowing what went on in Quincy’s life while she knew what was going on in yours. He wanted me to share this with you. He thought you’d want it. If you don’t, I can remove her pages and give them to her.”

  I shake my head. “He was right. I do want to see this. How did she know about me? How did she see all of this?”

  “Over the years she’s spent a lot of time with us and made no secret of her curiosity about your life and career so Gene shared with her. He always suspected she was in love with you, but never really gave her any grief about it. When the call came in that you were injured, she was staying with Gene for a few days and I was at my sister’s house in California so she accompanied him to the hospital in Germany to be with you.

  “I’m sure you don’t remember any of that. They both said you were out of it, but Gene said she was a mess. Anyway, that’s her story to tell if you care to ask her. He just thought you’d want to see it. The last thing in there is a little tape recorder and a tape with a message he recorded for you to listen to when you have time. I have no idea what’s on it since he wouldn’t let us anywhere near his room when he made it. Quincy tried to explain that there are more modern ways to do that but he was a stubborn old goat when it came to technology. He wanted to do it this way so forgive him for using archaic technology.”

  After I thank her I collect the boxes and carry them to my truck. Then I step back inside to say goodnight and hug Ms. Polly. I know Quincy’s pissed at me so I should probably stay away and give her space, but something is pushing me to say goodbye to her. I wander back to the kitchen only to find it empty. Ms. Polly enters behind me so I ask, “Where might I find Quincy?”

  “Try her room. Down the hall, last door on the right.”

  As my heart beats heavily in my chest I knock on her door.

  She calls out, “Come in!”

  I turn the knob and step inside. Relaxed on the love seat by the bay window, she lifts her eyes to mine. Her legs are curled up under her, hair still up, book in hand and she’s now wearing a pair of sexy black-framed librarian glasses. I feel a stirring in my pants and the shock of it must register on my face because her forehead wrinkles as she asks, “Are you okay?”

  I’d love to tell her I’m great, but I don’t think she’d be quite as impressed by the beginnings of a hard-on as I am. This is the first time I’ve had any kind of action down there since the accident. The doctor told me not to worry about it, the function would eventually return, it’s mental more than physical, but I was afraid it never would. For a guy my age, no blood flow to the dick is a terrifying thought.

  I cross my hands down low, trying to discreetly cover up. She’d never understand. Who gets a boner the same day he buries someone close to him?

  “Yeah, I’m okay. I just wanted to come and say goodbye.”

  She lifts the glasses from her face and sets them on top of the book she’s placed on the table next to where she’s seated. When she stands and takes a few steps toward me I realize my heart is pounding harder than it was when I knocked on the door, like I’ve run a few miles. It’s been far too long since I’ve had this kind of reaction to a woman.

  “How long are you staying?” I inquire.

  “A couple of weeks. I promised the Colonel I’d help Ms. Polly take care of everything. We have to go through some things out in the shed this week too. Are you leaving to go back East right away?”

  “No. I’m moving back here. I’m staying at one of those extended stay hotels by the interstate until I can find something. If you need help going through any of his stuff or lifting some of those things, let me know. I don’t have a lot on my schedule yet.”

  Her head tilts and her eyes narrow like she’s trying to figure out if my offer is genuine.

  I lift up my hands in a gesture of surrender as I say, “I’m not saying you can’t do it, just that I’m available if you want help. I’ll write my cell number down and you can use it, or not.”

  She watches me intently as I jot down my number and leave it on the table. Then I walk back over, place my hands on her shoulders, kiss her forehead, lingering a little longer than I should so I can absorb the scent of her again, and limp out the door. I don’t wait to see if she has anything to say or any reaction to the chaste kiss. My heart and body both ache and I wish I were a different man. A better man. One that could have a woman as beautiful and amazing as she is and be worthy of her.

  There are a million things I want to say to her, but can’t. Ten years and 100 regrets later, I find that the man I am now is a coward who can’t express a single emotion or tell the truth to the one woman he still loves. She never knew I fell in love with her all those years ago. I was too busy escaping reality and following a selfish dream in the Navy to tell her the truth about my feelings. I wanted her to have a better life than one of waiting on her husband to come back from whatever godforsaken corner of hell the Navy sent me to. I kept quiet and left her standing in front of her dorm and didn’t see her again until Germany. By then I was in no shape to have a heart-to-heart. I barely remember anything beyond confusion and pain from that two-week period. She’s right, I’m still a coward 11 years later.

  I hug Ms. Polly and tell her I’ll see her soon. She already has my number so I encourage her to call me if she needs me. I pull away from their amazing house on top of the hill with Ms. Polly in my rearview mirror waving as I go.

  When I arrive at my hotel I lug the bins inside, grab a beer from the fridge and press Play on the cassette. Did he realize how much it would mean to me to be able to listen to his voice? I wish I knew. For the first few years after my dad died I always wished I could hear his voice and of course I didn’t have a recording of it anywhere.

  Two beers and a half hour later I’m untying the bow around the first batch of letters, ready to read them as he’s instructed. I have no idea why he’s pushing so hard for me to read them. I wrote them, I should know what was said. I’m the one who said it in the first place, but he swears there’s something to learn from this exercise so I’m starting it.

  After the first 10 letters, I realize a few things. One, I wasn’t quite as worldly as I thought I was at 21 years old. Two, I was madly in love with Quincy and not as subtle about it as I thought I was. I wonder if I were to ask the guys from my team if they’d say they knew it too. I was never a big talker or bullshitter, but after joining the Navy I got quieter, even less in your face than before. I’m not sure if that was a survival tactic or I just didn’t have much to say. I’m surprised by how loquacious I was in the letters. I don’t remembe
r that being the case.

  I entered the Navy at one of the lowest points in my life. If I would’ve had to wait to go to boot camp like all other American recruits, I’m not sure I would’ve done it with some time and perspective on my side. After I expressed what I wanted in the weeks following my dad’s death, the Colonel called in a favor or two and with my ASVAB scores, doors were quickly opened and I was shoved through. It was up to me to prove I belonged there.

  BUD/S was physically the hardest thing I’d ever done in my life at that point, but it still came easier to me than it did to most of the other guys. The Colonel had a theory that I’d become emotionally detached after the death of my father, making it easier to navigate the more mentally torturous training we went through. He probably wasn’t far off the mark. The hardest part for most of the guys wasn’t the physical torture we endured, it was the mental stress.

  While reading these letters, I find it funny how I’m able to see from a different perspective how often I asked about or mentioned Quinn. In my head it was only occasionally, but so far, all 10 letters ask about her in great detail. He was always good to answer me back but he kept things vague. There are so many things I want to know now that I realize he never answered them for me. Why isn’t she married? Is she seeing anyone? Where will she live when she leaves Ms. Polly’s house? Is she on a leave of absence from work or did she quit? I probably have twenty more questions, but the biggest question of all is, How do I walk away again now that I can see what I’ve been missing? It’s too bad asking her straight out doesn’t seem to be an option.

  Chapter Three

  Judson

  Two days later, I’m sitting at my mom’s apartment drinking coffee with her when I receive a text from Quinn asking if I can help them in the garage later in the day. The smile that hits my face at her request draws instant suspicion with my mother.