The Summer Hideaway

“Makes me glad,” said the female soldier. “You don’t want technology to take the place of everything, right?”

Ross paged through an old copy of the New Jersey Star-Ledger. Gang murders, sports reports, community news. A headline about the state prosecutor’s office caught his eye; he scanned a story about corrupt state troopers. One of the prosecutors mentioned was Tyrone Kennedy. Father of Florence, the last friend Ross had made in Afghanistan.

“How about you, Chief?” the other soldier asked Ross. “You got a family waiting for you at home? Wife and kids?”

He shook his head, offered a slight smile. “Not at the moment.”

“Interesting answer,” said the female soldier. “Is this something you’re putting on your agenda?”

Ross chuckled. “Never thought of it in that way, but yeah. Maybe I am. Being in country so long makes you realize…having a family gives a guy something to hold on to.”

“Sometimes the only thing,” said the woman. “Sometimes it’s the thing that saves you.”

Ross knew she was right. The bond of family was a powerful, invisible force, feeding the will to survive. He’d seen wounded soldiers keeping themselves alive by sheer determination alone. Sometimes there was more healing power in the sight of a loved one’s face than in a team of surgeons.

“Yeah, one good thing about deployment is it makes you appreciate the life you have,” said the beer-drinking soldier. “Because nobody’s life sucks as bad as bunking in the desert in winter.”

“Hey, don’t be so sure,” said another soldier, turning around in his seat. “You haven’t met my wife.”

“Okay, now you’re scaring me,” said Ross. He knew he was joking as much as the soldier. In his life so far, he had done everything he was supposed to do as a Bellamy. He’d acquired a fine education and learned a useful profession. He’d served in the military. He just assumed the rest would come to him, that he wouldn’t have to go looking for it.

He liked women. He dated a lot. But he’d never found someone he wanted to wake up next to for the rest of his life, someone he wanted to have kids with, build a life. He hated the way his last relationship had ended just before he enlisted. It had faded away—not with an explosion of emotion but something possibly more devastating—disappointment. He’d been faced with the sinking realization that he’d made a huge mistake, convincing himself he was in love when he really wasn’t.

“It’s been my experience that love happens when you least expect it,” Granddad had said. “Sometimes it’s not convenient. So what you do is you simply stay open to the possibility, all the time.”

Ross tried to do that. Before going overseas, he’d dated a lot. He had good times. Great sex, sometimes so great he felt a flash of emotion and mistook it for love. But nothing ever lasted. He always ended up with a hole in the middle of his life. Without someone to share everything with, the future was just an endless string of days.

He wanted more than that. He needed more. The realization had been so clear to him on that final evac mission. He had vowed then to find a life that meant something, rather than waiting around for life to find him.

They landed in Newark. Civilians whipped out mobile phones and soldiers jumped up, grabbing their gear for the final push to the jetway. Families were gathered just past the TS A security point. There were women with kids clinging to them, spouses holding hand-lettered signs, parents and siblings, faces beaming through bouquets of flowers and balloons. A couple of contraband pets had been smuggled in.

Returning soldiers were enveloped by their loving families, many of them literally surrounded and swallowed up. Tears flowed and laughter erupted. Camera flashes strobed the area. Spontaneous applause erupted from onlookers.

Ross skirted the excited crowd, his duffel bag balanced on one shoulder and held in place with an upraised arm. Just seeing the rush of love that greeted everyone filled him with satisfaction. These soldiers had earned it. They’d fought and bled and wept and despaired, and they had earned the right to be home with their loved ones at last.

He was not naive enough to believe every single one of them was headed for some life of unrelenting familial bliss. Indeed, they would face hardships and disappointment and setbacks, just like anyone else. But not now. Not today.

He left the homecoming lovefest behind and scanned the throng for his mother. He tried not to seem too eager or desperate. But hell, he’d been gone a long time, long enough to start thinking of her fondly and remembering the good times.

There was a group at the back of the crowd, gathered under a sign labeled Any Soldier. It appeared to be some grassroots organization meant to provide a warm welcome home to any service person, particularly those who, for whatever reason, didn’t have anyone to meet them on the ground.

Did they really think some soldier would avail himself of their greeting? They might as well be holding up signs labeled Losers Register Here.

To his surprise, a big-shouldered guy with sergeant stripes approached the group. At first he was tentative, his bashfulness at odds with his massive size. Someone in the group noticed him, and he was immediately enclosed by the friendly mass. After that, a few more soldiers approached, some looking almost furtive, but then pleased to have a hand to shake, a friendly word to exchange.

Ross walked on past the strangers. Any port in a storm, he supposed. Family meant different things to different people.

To others, he thought, spying his own name on a handlettered sign, it meant not a whole hell of a lot.

The sign read R. Bellamy, and it was held by a white-gloved, uniformed stranger in a banded hat. He wore a badge that said Royal Limo Service.

Great, thought Ross. His mother had sent a car service to pick him up from the airport. His stomach sank, and he mentally kicked himself for expecting anything else.

“That’s me,” he said to the limo driver, offering a brief handshake. “Ross Bellamy.”

“Welcome to New York, sir,” the driver said with a vague accent. “My name is Pinto. Can I take your bag?”

“Thanks.” Ross handed over the duffel.

“Baggage claim is this way,” said Pinto. “Did you have a pleasant flight?”

“It was fine.”

“Where you coming from, then?”

“Afghanistan, the eastern part of the country, by way of Mobile, Alabama.”

Pinto gave a low whistle. “You mean you was on deployment.” He set down the duffel and shook Ross’s hand. “Glad you’re back, man.”

“Yeah.” The handshake felt ridiculously good.

The limo was actually a Town Car, which was a relief to Ross. A big stretch limo ran the risk of seeming ostentatious. The plush leather of the car’s upholstery sighed under his weight as he slid in and fastened his seat belt. His mother had clearly ordered the VIP package. There was an array of amenities—ice and drinks, cocktail snacks, mints, a phone for customers’ use.

He picked it up and dialed his mother’s number. “Mrs. Talmadge’s residence,” said her assistant.

“It’s Ross,” he said. “Is my mother available?”

“Hold a moment, please.”

“Ross, darling.” Winifred Talmadge’s voice trilled with delight. “Where are you?”

“On my way from the airport.”

“Is the car all right? I told the service to send their best car.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s great.”

“I can’t tell you what an utter relief it is to know you’re back. I nearly lost my mind worrying.”

It was natural, even normal for a mother to worry. When your son was in a battle zone, it was to be expected. “Thanks,” he said.

“I mean, what can he possibly be thinking?” she rushed on. “I haven’t slept a wink since he announced his intention to go off to the Catskills in search of his long-lost brother.”

“Oh,” said Ross. “Granddad. That’s what you’re worried about.”

“Well, aren’t you?”

“Of course. Listen, traffic doesn’t look bad at all. I should be there soon. Can we talk about it then?”