The Vacation

Chapter 9

The morning broke overcast and stormy. All plans to head out and explore the small, interior villages in search of local artisans were scrapped. Brenna had to admit she was relieved that at least for one day she wouldn't be the party pooper.

Using a stool to prop her foot and Mac as her willing runner she was still able to make pancakes with homemade papaya syrup. The gang was in the process of polishing them off and sipping coffee when the storm broke sending great sheets of rain down in a torrential downpour.

They turned on all the lights to dispel the gloom created inside by the lack of sun outside. The wind battered and shook the large house. Brenna made her way to the library in search of a good book. The crutches were uncomfortable and chaffing but she assumed she'd get used to it. Just about the time she was healed up.

The library was open and cozy with overstuffed armchairs and ottomans tucked into the corners or placed in front of the fireplace. Brenna scanned the shelves for a while before finally settling on a classic Jane Austen and one of the chairs in front of the fireplace.

She was several chapters in when Reego entered and padded to her side. His master entered close on his heels.

"Hope you don't mind, this is a good spot for the day." He sat in the chair across from her with a woodworking magazine.

"It is a good spot," she agreed. "What are you going to make?" She pointed at the magazine.

"I am thinking about trying to take on a hope chest. The kind with all the interior compartments that move in and out." He motioned with his arms to illustrate.

"That sounds difficult."

"Do you ever turn down a recipe because it sounds difficult or does the difficulty attract you to it more?" His face mirrored the curiosity in his tone.

"Touche." She smiled wide. She was surprised but apparently he'd figured her out on such a short acquaintance.

"So you speak German, love dogs, and are a skilled woodworker as well as a veteran and a law enforcement officer, which both of the latter are special callings all in themselves. What else should I know about you  Mac Tullman?"

"I can't cook. I'm a terrible speller. My handwriting is completely illegible and I absolutely refuse to wear anything wool because it's itchy." He delivered his list with a completely deadpan face which only added to the absurdity of it all and sent Brenna into a fit of giggles. Having achieved his goal he broke into a broad smile.

"I'm really pretty boring. When I got out of the Marines I wanted nothing but peace and quiet. I tried running my own landscaping business but the peace didn't agree with me." He looked down at his hands and his voice dropped lower. "The faces in my dreams wouldn't let me be. I still owed them. So I joined the sheriff's office so I could stay busy and utilize the skills Uncle Sam paid for."

"I can understand that." Her voice was almost imperceptible under the sound of the rain pounding on the roof.

"You saved the kid. You put yourself between a madman and a child. I don't see how you can feel at all responsible for anything bad about that?"

"Derek yelled to me. He told me they guy was dead and I was so relieved." She let out an explosive breath.  "Then the explosion happened. I heard it but I didn't care because they were picking me up and it hurt so bad but I knew I was going to go to the hospital and get help." Her voice hitched. "He was gone and I didn't care; I was completely wrapped up in me."

"You didn't know that then. Derek said you were practically unconscious and on the brink of death. You didn't know about the bombs." She remained silent and he knew that the truth didn't matter to her. No one could reason away the guilt she carried until she was ready.