Twins For The Soldier. Rochelle Alers

“It’s not about your or ours, but my dilemma. It was me who let some slimeball sweet-talk me to where I trusted him so much that I believed everything that came out of his corrupted mouth until it was too late. I—”

      “Enough!” Lee said gently. The single word, although spoken quietly, had the same impact as if he’d shouted. “We’re not going to talk about your so-called friend ever again. He’s your past and will remain that. I’m back to help you look ahead and rebuild what you feel you’ve lost. The house is still standing and with a few repairs it will be back in business, good as new.”

      “That’s what I told her.”

      Lee went completely still when he heard a voice he’d almost forgotten. Turning slowly, he stared at the person he hadn’t thought he would ever see again. It had been at least twenty years since he and Emory Remington had come face-to-face, and those encounters were branded in his mind like a tattoo.

      Even before and after serving his sentence for armed robbery and finishing his parole, Emory would show up without warning and stay for a week or two. Whenever he came, Viviana was like a kid in a toy shop, laughing with delight that her father was back, but for Lee it was different. They barely exchanged more than a dozen words, and it always was as if he was waiting for the other shoe to drop and he’d wake up to find his father gone. And only when his father left had he allowed himself to relax. It was if Emory had a restless spirit that wouldn’t permit him to stay in one place too long. There were so many things he wanted to say to Emory and most of them weren’t good, but his upbringing wouldn’t permit him to openly verbalize those thoughts.

      Emory was only fifty-one, but appeared much older. It wasn’t just the snow-white ponytail or the lines around his brown eyes, but the obvious weariness in his nut-brown face that was probably the result of years of drug use coupled with incarceration. What hadn’t changed was his slender physique and the ramrod-straight posture of a former marine.

      A muscle twitched in Lee’s jaw. “What are you doing here?”

      Viviana reached for Lee’s hand, her fingernails biting into his palm. “Please, Lee, don’t start with him. If you want I’ll have Daddy move into one of the guesthouses.”

      Lee glared at his sister. If she had told him Emory was staying with her he would’ve been more than prepared to see the man again. “Don’t. It looks as if I’m the intruder here. I’ll check in to the Heritage House extended-stay motel off the interstate.”

      “Lee, please stay,” Viviana pleaded.

      He forced a smile he didn’t feel. “It’s okay, Vivi. I need some time alone to get used to civilian life again. Call me when you get all of your paperwork together. Check every place in the house where your ex-boyfriend could’ve hidden receipts from you.”

      That said, he turned on his heel and walked out. He returned to his jeep and backed out of the driveway. It took every ounce of self-control not to say all of the things he’d wanted to say to the man who was his father. For years he’d rehearsed the words he would tell Emory Remington to let him know just how he felt about him. However, time and maturity had changed him to a point where he now rarely thought of the man or how his absence had emotionally scarred him. He had lost his mother, while his father had abandoned his wife, son and daughter.

      Lee had discussed his fears and apprehensions with the army psychiatrist, and those sessions had helped him see things in a whole new light. The doctor had pointed out that if his father had been killed in combat the result would’ve been the same: Emory would not have been there for his wife or his children. It took a number of sessions for him to realize there were different forms of loss and abandonment.

      As much as he wanted to come home to help his sister, something had him dreading his decision. There were things about his hometown that wouldn’t permit him to feel completely comfortable living there again. It had been people with long memories dredging up stories about how immoral the Wolfes had been to their employees, how they’d preferred shutting down the mines and putting people out of work rather than improving safety conditions. Then there was the gossip about his mother breaking her engagement to a boy from a good family to elope with Emory, an aspiring artist, who got a job as a sign maker while he painted in his spare time.

      Lee drove onto the county road leading to the interstate. He had wanted to yell at Viviana for not warning him that Emory was back and living with her, but that wouldn’t have solved anything. His sister was already emotionally drained, having allowed a man to take advantage of her kindness and generosity, and arguing with her would only acerbate her more about her predicament.

      A wry smile twisted Lee’s mouth when he thought of how his sister’s life had paralleled their mother’s. Both had fallen in love with men who had not only disappointed them, but had also broken their hearts.

       Chapter Two

      Lee parked the jeep in the lot adjacent to the Heritage House. He sat motionless and stared out the windshield as a gamut of emotions washed over him like storm-swept waves. Encountering his father again after nearly twenty years had shocked him to the core, because for a long time the lingering images of shackled prisoner Emory Remington would occasionally surface and prevent him from getting a restful night’s sleep.

      And seeing him that way had prompted Lee to ask his deceased mother’s older sister about his absentee father. Aunt Babs had explained as simply as she could to a nine-year-old about Emory’s descent into drug addiction, and told him how his father had been arrested in Tennessee and charged with the robbery of a convenience store to get money to buy drugs.

      Even before Emory was incarcerated Lee had become accustomed to not having his father around. The man would come and go every few months, and whenever he asked Emory about his absence, his explanation was always the same: “I have a job painting a sign and I’ll be back as soon as I’m finished.” Lee knew parents had jobs, but he didn’t understand why his father’s work took him away from home so often.

      Lee closed his eyes and shook his head. He was back in The Falls and so was Emory. He didn’t know how long Emory planned to stay, but Lee knew he wouldn’t be able to live under the same roof as the man because he could not let go of the memories of seeing his mother crying for her husband as she lay dying.

      He opened his eyes and exhaled an audible breath. The extended-stay residence, once a motel, had been expanded and renovated. A neon light on an overhead sign indicated there were vacancies. He removed his duffel and backpack from the trunk and pushed open the door to the lobby. The man dozing on a chair behind the front desk sat up when the buzzer rang, indicating someone had come in.

      “Welcome, soldier. What can I do for you?”

      Lee smiled and noted the name Leroy on the badge pinned to the pocket of his chambray shirt. “Good evening. I’d like to check in to one of your one-bedroom suites.”

      The portly man pulled up a pair of suspenders attached to the waistband of his slacks. “How long do you plan to stay? I’m only asking because we have special rates for folks who stay for at least three months. And because you’re military we also offer a fifteen percent discount.”

      Lee digested this information. June. July. August. He would take the three months to settle back into civilian life until he planned his next move. “I’ll take it,” he told the man with a shaved pate and friendly brown eyes.

      “I need a credit card and some government ID.” Lee handed him a credit card and his military driver’s license. “I have one available with a kitchen that includes a full-size refrigerator, dishwasher, compact washer-dryer, stovetop and microwave. Your suite will also have Wi-Fi, televisions in the living and bedrooms, and housekeeping services. If you need clean sheets and towels, just hang the placard on the door and someone will replenish your supply. I’m only going to charge you for half of June, with the fifteen percent discount of course, and if you’re still here in July I’ll charge you for that month. We have a policy that you can