25 – Second Chances

They say good things come in threes. Well, this couldn't have been more perfect. As soon as we got home from the Busy Bee, Henry rushed to his computer to check his e-mail, and there it was: an official letter from the University of Wyoming – Casper College - not only reinstating Henry as a guest lecturer, but apologising for the "misunderstanding" that led to the current situation, and inviting him to resume his talks as soon as he was available. You could see him swell with pride. He wasn't a lecturer by trade, but he enjoyed sharing his knowledge. He believed that he had something of value to pass to the next generation and the professors agreed. His reputation was being restored. And, what filled him now was not simply pride, but his honor returning.

The next e-mail was from Professor Ackerman, a staunch supporter of the Native culture, and of Henry, requesting a "moment of his time" at the end of the month. In all outward appearances, Professor Ackerman seemed to be a dottery old man: small and skinny, white Einstein-hair, and round wire-rim glasses, but when he spoke, people listened. He commanded his classes with a quiet tone of ancient wisdom and humor and they loved him. Theology was his field and his Introduction to Religion class often had a waiting list. He had been instrumental in pressuring the college to reinstate Henry and had planned his usual line of speakers to give the students first-hand knowledge from the experts. Now that Henry was back on the list, could he come? Henry immediately shot back, Yes.

I hugged him from behind, his happiness being a tangible thing, and as he turned to return my embrace, the computer dinged again. Incoming mail from Gillette. Professor Tate had just received word. Henry was no longer blacklisted. Would he be interested in speaking in his class? History of the West.

Henry eased himself onto a kitchen chair staring at the computer screen, happy and dazed.

It had been an amazing day: the agreement with Malachi, confronting Deena, receiving word from the colleges, and as a result, almost immediately getting offers. He shook his head, feeling great satisfaction.

xxxxxxx

There were a handful of people in the staffroom: a few faces I knew well enough to say hello to, one I always tried to avoid, and Troy. He was sitting across the room on an old vinyl sofa that, I think, used to be white in another lifetime. A petite, young woman with a short bob of auburn hair and big brown eyes sat with him – the Civics teacher. I nodded to both as I entered and quietly checked the row of wooden slots used as mail boxes for the staff. Unexpectedly, mine contained two small slips of paper. The only things I ever got where attendance lists. Curiously, I pulled them out. One was an invitation for brunch on Sunday from Troy. The other simply read Happy Anniversary. Glad you're still with us. Staring at the note, my back to the others, I puzzled, thinking back.

Then, it came to me. How could I forget? My breath shortened in instinctive panic. One year ago today, I was on the other side of the world, facing to a known terrorist who had once held me hostage. A man who had beaten me and ordered the execution of some of my colleagues. He needed to explain that he was innocent of the present accusations against him. The violent coupe in South Sudan was not his fault. Hard to believe since his men held me at gunpoint and he was using my former team as a human shield. I stood stock-still, though clad in light blue Kevlar, my hands raised in submission, unarmed and vulnerable, fearing snipers from the rooftops. But, he had specifically asked for me. He knew that I would listen. Somehow, over the years, this vicious, volatile man had come to trust me, to respect my word. As a result, when the uprising threatened my friends, my teammates, my family, he saved them from certain death. He was willing to let them go. He just wanted me to listen.

"So, Julia." I snapped back at Troy's voice, turning with an awkward smile. "Think you can make it?"

I didn't know what to say. The invitation? He couldn't be asking me out… could he? He was at least ten years younger, probably more. "Ummm."

"It'll be fun." His companion smiled. "There should be about ten of us."

Relief. I released, smiling back, glancing at the paper. "10:30 at the OK Corral? I'm not sure. We're heading to Casper that afternoon."

Porter snorted from his spot at the end of the table. "Got date with your girlfriend? Gotta take it outa town?"

Annoyed with his constant taunts, I scowled. "Actually, my boyfriend and I are both lecturing at Casper College on Monday morning. We plan to leave Sunday and spend the night."

"Oooo, lecturing at college. What'do ya lecture about? New ways the save the rainforests?" he jeered.

"Maintaining international policy in militant locations."

Oh, this caught his attention and I saw Troy smirk.

"By the way." He grinned. "Happy anniversary."

"I figured that was you."

"Happy anniversary for what?" Porter was now interested but we ignored him.

"I hope it didn't stir up bad memories. My class will be looking at that incident next week. I know you wanted to keep things quiet..." He suddenly glanced around the room noticing that others were listening. "Sorry."

"Don't be," I reassured. "It's something that I have to deal with. I've never been big on divulging my past but I'm coming around… slowly."

"You speak at the colleges. Would you speak with my class? You lived what they're studying," he asked hopefully.

"Can you give me the weekend to think about it?"

Troy smiled with a nod.

"What're you two talking about and why in hell would you be talking about international policy and militant whatever…?" Porter was annoyed at being left out.

Turning to him and taking a steadying breath, I briefly explained, "I work with the National Guard at Casper, Gillette and Sheridan Colleges. My talks cover a variety of topics. For this one, I've been told that some of the recruits have an interest in joining the military, going overseas. I've been asked to shed some light on what it's like, what to expect."

"And, what would you know about it?" Porter sneered.

I shook my head, not wanting to entertain him further, and left the room. The scrape of a chair had me dreading what was coming next and Porter trailed me into the hall, past a cluster of students.

"Come on, Rosy," his chiding continued, referring to the imaginary rose-coloured glasses he always said I wore. "Enlighten me. Do-gooders like you. What do you know about anything important? Ooo, let's save the environment. Live in your own bubble. Maybe you should hit the gym, loosen up a little. I'll even give you pointers."

He continued to push, and I silently moved through the students feeling the pressure rise up my neck. I really wanted to ignore him but it was becoming increasingly difficult. But, this was not the time or the place for a confrontation. Too many people. As I approached the main lobby, Vihoe Silver Fox, a student from my special class, intervened, stepping between Porter and me. Vihoe was a tough kid, behavioural issues, certainly not intellectual one. He was smart but couldn't see the value of an education, and he forced Porter to stop.

A wall of calm, he vehemently ordered, "Watch what you say, man. She deserves more respect."

Porter was surprised but didn't back down, his barrel chest almost touching the smaller Cheyenne boy. He bent his head, virtually nose to nose and growling.

"An' what'r you going to do about it, Screw-up?" Porter was a good head taller than Vihoe and tried to use his size to his advantage. But, it was a stand-off. Vihoe, tough and wiry, wouldn't retreat.

Silence fell quickly. A cluster of students watching.

"Vihoe," I quietly warned.

"No, Ma'am. This ain't right."

"What's going on here?" Principal Pierce quickly emerged from his office, pushing his way through the gathered crowd.

Vihoe withdrew slightly. I could see his hands flex. A habit, I'd noticed, when he was trying to maintain control. "He was spouting off at Julia. Man's rude. No one disrespects the Miss like that."

At that, Porter sneered, surveying his audience. "Got yourself your own tribe, do ya?" He jutted his chin seeing that I was surrounded not only by my class but by at least six other Native students.

"You know nothin', man. She stands up for us. Taught us to stand up for each other."

"And we stand up for her." Andy Hutchinson joined his former nemesis, the two boys shoulder to shoulder facing the football coach.

Porter looked at the principal, innocently shrugging. "All I did was offer her a few sessions in the gym to work out some of her … issues." His lips curled mockingly.

"You know nothin'." Vihoe pointed an angry finger sharply at the coach. "She's lucky to be alive, never mind walkin'."

I tried to stop him but he was mad, not listening anymore.

"What do you mean?" Porter growled.

"She got shot to hell in Somalia a couple a years back. Sorry, Ma'am." He suddenly turned to me. "We thought it'd be funny to find stuff out about you." He motioned to the class. "You're on Wikipedia and there's lots of videos and other cool stuff on the internet about you, and that news clip of you getting shot was on YouTube. Man, we didn't expect that. That was totally wack!" He turned back to Porter. "An', last year. She was to South Sudan. Africa, man. Stood up to a terrorist. Saved people's lives. That was in the news, too. No way." He was in Porter's face. "She deserves more respect than what you've got."

Heads nodded angrily and my chest swelled as my class as others from the Rez defended me.

Whispers began to run through the rest of the observers. My story was out. Damn it. Now, I had no choice but face it.

Porter backed off, a bit stunned, muttering, while the principal and present teachers dispersed the curious crowd.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am." Vihoe turned to me when they left. "I couldn't let him get away with that. Since you've been here, you've done nothing but help us. And, you stand up for folks who can't stand up for themselves. We'll stand up for you."

Nods all around.

"Thank you," was my choked reply.

xxxxxxx

Above freezing temperatures. Bright sunshine. A warm breeze that gently blew had people's moods lifted with the hope of an early spring.

Henry and I spent a long weekend in Cheyenne the week before Valentine's. He drove. Now that the boot was off, he drove everywhere. His truck. My car. It didn't matter. He drove. I didn't mind, though. It made him happy. Sugar came with us, her doggy grin priceless as we sped down the I-25 listening to vintage Springsteen on the radio, Henry's hands cheerfully tapping the steering wheel.

Although money was still tight, he had booked us into the Hampton Inn between the I-25 and I-80. A lovely hotel. Nice perks. Breakfast included. Fitness center. Clean, spacious room with a bed the size of a football field. The friendly receptionist had questioned us about Sugar and for the first time since coming to Wyoming, I had to show the dog's service papers. Not a problem. They were always in her Go bag and interesting reading for the unsuspecting civilian. We could see the young woman's eyes widen as she read the documents, looking over the counter with a compassionate smile as Sugar obediently sat by my side. She then handed the papers back and proceeded to inform us of the restaurants and attractions within the hotel's proximity.

The Cheyenne VA Medical was only a ten minute drive from the hotel. Part of the reason for the trip. Dr. Webb had called the month before wanting to see me. It had been over a year since my last visit having missed a scheduled appointment when I was in Missouri. I think I made an impression. I wasn't military. Not qualified for the VA but having seen me once already, he wanted to keep in touch, keep an eye on me. Sweet old man. We spoke and he proceeded with the physical, sent me for tests, then wanted an eval from the physiotherapist. Three hours later, the results were in. All positive. I was stronger, both physically and mentally, and he was pleased with my progress. I was pleased with my progress. Far cry from being told that you shouldn't be alive and not to hold out hope to ever walk again. Ha! Fooled them! Nightmares were rare. Hypersensitivity to noise and crowds was still evident but not nearly as bad as it was. I had my moments. I was still working out at the Tone but, since last summer, had Tom's routine drilled into my head. He had worked me hard, and I had kept it up. As a result, Dr. Webb reduced my meds again. Yay! Down from five pills last year to three. Something told me that I would never be free of those three. But, hey, better than the eleven I was on when they first let me out of the hospital in New York. He'd send the results to Dr. Warner in Durant to keep on file.

While I was at the VA, Henry met with Dean Campbell to thank him personally regarding the reinstatement. He'd already spoken at Casper and Gillette Colleges, but Sheridan was still holding out. Dean didn't understand why, but we figured it was because of location. Casper and Gillette were further away from Durant, therefore away from the fallout from the summer's drama. Sheridan was just up the road and a lot of students that attended the college either lived or worked in or around Durant. Closer to the epicenter of the disturbance. It bothered Henry as he had always had a close relationship with Sheridan, had even taught a course there a few years ago. But, he understood their desire to keep a distance. With the added expenses incurred from last summer's troubles, he would gratefully accept whatever extra money was coming in.

We had reservations at Steamboats Steak and Smokehouse for six. Peak time for the dinner crowd. Good thing Henry was friends with the owner who was waiting for us at the front door when we arrived. He greeted us like long-lost friends, grabbing Henry into a manly bear hug, and slapping his back, laughing. He pulled me in next and acknowledged Sugar, asking if he could pat her. I nodded and the poor dog got a hearty scratch between the ears. She comically shook her head afterwards. We were placed on the far side of the restaurant, private and against a wall, plenty of space for Sugar under the table. Our waiter arrived within minutes, and Henry's friend bid us good-bye, off to supervise his staff. Busy. Busy.

We searched the menu and I was as overwhelmed now as I was on my first visit here, my first summer in Wyoming. Portions were huge. I could have had an appetizer as a meal, but Henry sighed happily as he perused the restaurant's steak selection.

"Pellegrino or iced tea?" he asked offering a drink, then grinned. "Mountain Spring. In the bottle. Cap on."

"Old habits die hard." I grinned back. "What are you looking at?" I referred to his menu choice.

"Hmmm." He pressed his lips together, thinking. "Big Sky Ribeye or the Buffalo Ribeye. I cannot decide."

I flipped to the steak page and nearly choked. "They're huge. You really don't love me, do you?" I joked. "You eat all that, you'll fall asleep as soon as we get back to the hotel."

He reached across the table and took my hand, stroking his thumb lovingly across the back. "I have plans for you tonight. I will be fine." He grinned mischievously.

Henry opted for the twelve-ounce Big Sky Ribeye, medium rare, with a side of broccoli cheese, a loaded baked potato, and a Snake River beer. I shook my head, thinking that it was going to be a long, lonely night. He'd be asleep before eleven. So, I surprised him by ordering the Gun Barrel Top Sirloin… a steak… me… six-ounces, the smallest I could get, medium well (I didn't want it to moo), house salad and sweet mashed potatoes. I figured if you can't beat him, join him. I stuck with the water, though.

But, I have to say, my goodness, it was so good.

When, at last, the last plates were cleared, Henry held his hands over his stomach and groaned lightly. "I think you were right. So good, but I am so full."

I shook my head, tucking wrapped pieces of steak into my purse. Sugar would appreciate the treat. She'd been so good and had fallen asleep under the table. We had chuckled over the dog's snoring when looks came from the nearby customers.

Bidding good-bye and thanking Henry's friend, we stepped out into the cold. Dampness was in the air again. More snow on the way. Sugar was given her treat, and the three of us walked west down Dell Range Boulevard toward Frontier Mall to walk off some of the meal. Henry took my hand is his, bringing it to his lips, smiling.

"Do you have any idea how happy you make me?"

I squeezed his hand, released it, and wrapped my arm around his waist. "I'm glad I do. It's been a long time since I've been this relaxed, felt this safe. You do that." I pulled him close.

He sighed heavily, smiling contently as we approached the car.

xxxxxxx

I lay on my back, eyes closed, enjoying the sensation as Henry's deft fingers ran down the center of my chest, tracing the four-inch scar that was now a thin, white line. Shifting, he moved to gently kiss the dime-sized welt on my left shoulder between the collarbone and joint. I never did understand his fascination with my injuries. It was almost ritualistic. Whenever we took things slow, took the time to enjoy each other fully, he made a point to acknowledge them. A brush over the hole in my leg or back. A kiss on the shoulder or chest. I had asked him once, at the beginning of our relationship, and his answer had tugged my heart: "I wish I could take the pain and memory away." He continued the slow assault as we lay on the cool white sheets, our clothes in a heap on the floor near the doorway.

"I am sorry about last night." His knuckles brushed the underside of my breast, fingers spanning my ribs.

I smirked. "I knew you'd fall asleep with all you ate. Twelve-ounces of beef, with all the trimmings." I chuckled, turning toward him, gently kissing the soft spot by his ear. "Honey, I confess. I wasn't far behind."

He smiled. "As much as I enjoyed being away, I prefer being home, in our own bed."

I nodded. The football field-sized bed had been fun but we kept losing each other in it. Our bed was just the right size, perfect for cuddling. We had gone for breakfast in the hotel dining room and stopped at the shopping mall before heading home to take an afternoon "nap".

Now, with the sun shining through the bedroom window warming the air, we chatted under the soft covers, comfortable in our own skin, comfortable with each other.

"Do you remember where we were one year ago today?" he asked, rolling onto his back, tucking his left arm under his head and me to his right side.

I thought for a moment, then smiled. "We were in Kenya... Nairobi… The UN Complex… a little lodge on the savannah, to be exact." I smiled at the memory. It was a good one. Peaceful.

"Do you remember what we were doing?" His fingers absently drew circles on my shoulder as he thought.

"Doing this?" I rolled on top, kissing a line down the center of his chest.

He chuckled. "No. You do not remember?"

I lifted my head. "We did so much. I know that by this time last year, we were back at the Complex getting ready to come home."

"Exactly," he sighed. "I will never forget that day. That moment." I rolled off and sat beside him, cross-legged, puzzled as he pulled himself up to face me, sheet pooled in his lap, dark hair mussed. "We were sitting on the wooden deck watching the sunset. You had been on the computer all afternoon. When I asked what you were doing, you showed me. You had written your letter of resignation." His voice was the mellow, steady voice I remember from when we first met. The voice that had drawn me to him. "Sugar." He called, and she obediently clicked her way into the bedroom. "Come on, girl." He patted the bed, inviting her up.

"You're letting the dog on the bed?"

His smile was slow and sweet. "This involves her, too." He rubbed her head as she curled against his knees. "That day, you told me you wanted to go home. Here. This was home. It filled me in a way like nothing ever has. You fill me. My heart and my spirit." He paused, obsidian eyes serious and strong. Taking my hands in his, he kissed the back of my fingers. "Marry me, Julia. Be with me always."

Our eyes locked and my hand instinctively rose to stroke his cheek.

Of all I had done, all I had lived through, had survived, I had rebuilt my life far away from everything I knew, everything I was familiar with. I was alive, accepted, and I'd found love when I thought it had died years ago.

I smiled, warmth filling me, stealing my voice.

Life. I guess it's all in how we see things.

"Yes."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N - Sorry for the delay. This is it for now. Thank you to all those who made contact with me, to those who reviewed, and to those who simply read and enjoyed. I'm not sure where to go next, so I think I'll just take a break. It's been fun.

Dani