The Soldier's Secret Child. Lee Tobin McClain

Maybe something with kids, since he was looking to become a teacher.

      No, it wasn’t about Lacey. He’d had some feelings for her once, but he’d turned those off when she’d married, of course. He’d been over her for years.

      “Vito!” Lacey approached, a summery yellow dress swirling around her legs, the wind blowing her short hair into messiness.

      She looked so beautiful that, for a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

      He crooked his arm for her to take it, an automatic gesture he’d learned at his nonna’s knee. The way a gentleman treated a lady. And then he remembered how she’d stepped away when he’d done the Italian thing and thrown an arm around her yesterday. He put his arm back at his side.

      People are disgusted by your scars, he reminded himself. And she hasn’t seen the half of them.

      As they turned toward the café—Vito carefully not touching her—he caught a whiff of something lemony and wondered if it was her shampoo, or if she’d worn perfume.

      Inside, everything was familiar: the smell of meat loaf and fries, the red vinyl booths and vintage tables trimmed with aluminum, the sight of people he’d known since childhood. Even the counter waitress, Nora Jean, had been here since he was a kid and called a greeting.

      “Sit anywhere, you two. Lindy’ll wait on you, but I’m coming over to say hello just as soon as these guys give me a break.” She waved at her full counter.

      Dion Coleman, the police chief, swiveled in his chair and stood to pound Vito on the back. “I’m glad to see your ugly mug,” he joked. Which didn’t feel awkward, because it was the exact same thing Dion had always said when Vito came home, even before his injuries. “Police business has been slow these past months, but with you home, it’s sure to pick up.”

      Vito shook the man’s hand with genuine pleasure. “I’ll see what I can do about knocking down some mailboxes and shooting up signs, just to give you something to do. You’re getting soft.” He nodded down at Dion’s flat belly and then at the grilled chicken salad on the counter in front of him. “Eating too much. Just like a cop.”

      “You never change.” Dion was laughing as he sat back down. “Give me a call, you hear? We have some catching up to do.”

      Lacey had headed toward one of the few empty booths at the back of the café, and as he followed her it seemed to Vito that conversation stopped, then rose again when he’d passed. He rubbed a hand across his face, feeling the uneven ridges of his scars.

      As soon as they sat down, they were mobbed. The young waitress could barely squeeze in to take their order. Everyone, friend or acquaintance, stopped by to say hello. They wanted to know where he was staying, how long he’d be in town, where he was stationed. Explaining that he wasn’t in the army anymore felt embarrassing, since he’d always intended it to be his life’s work. More embarrassing were the sympathetic nods and arm pats. People felt sorry for him.

      But he kept it upbeat and answered questions patiently. Once people knew his story, they’d settle down some. And maybe someone would think of him when a job opening came up, so he made sure to let everyone know he was looking.

      After people had drifted back to their tables and they’d managed to eat some of their lunch, Lacey wiped her mouth and smiled at him. “That got a little crazy. Are you wishing we’d gone somewhere else?”

      He swallowed his massive bite of cheeseburger and shook his head. “Best to get it over fast. Let people get a good look.”

      She took a sip of soda. “You think they all came over to look at your scars?”

      “That, and find out the latest news. But mostly to see how bad the damage is, up close and personal.” His support group at the VA had warned him about people’s reactions, how they might not be able to see anything but his scars at first.

      “They’re not looking at your scars in a bad way,” Lacey said, frowning. “They’re grateful for your service.”

      Of course, that was what most of the people who’d greeted them had said. And they weren’t lying. It was just that initial cringe that got to him. He wasn’t used to scaring people just by the way he looked.

      His friend with severe facial burns had told Vito that you never really got used to it. “Older people do better, but young people like pretty,” he’d said. “Makes it a challenge to get a date.”

      The waitress refilled his coffee cup and headed to a booth across the way. Vito gestured toward her. “You can’t tell me someone like that, someone who doesn’t know me, isn’t disgusted when she first sees me.”

      Lacey looked at him for a long moment, her brown eyes steady. “Look over there,” she said, pointing to a twenty-something man in an up-to-date wheelchair, sitting at a table with an older woman. “That’s our waitress’s brother,” she said. “He served, too.”

      Vito blinked and looked more closely, seeing how the man’s head lolled to one side, held up by a special support. He wore a hoodie and sweats, and as Vito watched, the older woman put a bite of something into his mouth.

      “Wounded in service?”

      Lacey nodded. “I think he was a Marine.”

      “Is a Marine,” Vito corrected. “And I’m sorry. You’re right. I need to get out of my own head. I’m more fortunate than a lot of guys.” He met her eyes. “Gerry included, and I’m a jerk to focus on myself.”

      She shrugged. “We all do that sometimes.”

      Had Lacey always had this steady maturity? He couldn’t help but remember her as a younger girl, pestering him and her brother when they’d wanted to go out and do something fun. And he remembered how flightily she’d fallen for Gerry, swept away by love and unable to listen to anyone’s warnings.

      Now though, there was real thoughtfulness to her. She was quieter than she’d been, and more assertive.

      He liked that. Liked a woman who’d call him on his dumb mistakes.

      And he didn’t need to be thinking about how much he liked the new Lacey. Best to get to the real reason for their lunch. “So, I was looking into options for Charlie and me,” he said. “I talked to the family Nonna rented her house to.”

      “And? Did you ask if they’d let her out of the contract?”

      “I couldn’t even bring it up.” He lifted his hands, shrugging. “They’re thrilled with the house and the price Nonna gave them, and they need the space. And she’s pregnant out to here.” He held a hand in front of his stomach.

      “Well, look who’s back in town!” Old Mr. Love from the hardware store, who had to be in his eighties, stopped by their table and patted his shoulder. “I’d recognize that voice anywhere!”

      Vito stood and greeted the man, and then looked at the gray-haired woman with him. “Miss Minnie Falcon? Is that you?”

      “That’s right, young man. You’d better not forget your old Sunday school teacher.”

      “I couldn’t ever forget.” He took her hand, gently. Unlike some of the other kids in Sunday school, he’d actually appreciated Miss Minnie’s knowledge of the Old and New Testament, and the way she brought the stories to life, infusing them with a sense of biblical history.

      Mr. Love was leaning toward Lacey. “I was hoping you’d find romance.” His voice, meant to be low, carried clearly to Vito and Miss Minnie. “Now that Buck’s out of your hair, it’s your turn, young lady.” He nodded toward Vito, raising an eyebrow.

      “Harold!” Miss Minnie scolded. “Don’t make assumptions. Come on. Let’s get that corner table before someone else takes it.” She patted Vito’s arm. “It was nice to see you. Don’t be a stranger. We like visitors over at the Senior Towers.” She turned and headed across the restaurant at a brisk pace, pushing her wheeled walker.