Swallow the Moon (11 page)

Eric walked back down Bridge Street with a spring in his step. Finally, he was back in control. He put his hands in his jacket pocket, felt something and thought, what was that? Curious he pulled it out, a scrap of paper with June's name and phone number.

After yesterday's encounter with Van Man Go, the freak of the century, June didn't seem so bad. In fact, he owed her an apology. Eric grinned. This could work out. He was pretty slick when it came to women. He waited until afternoon to call her. Sprawled out on the bed, all he could think of was the kiss.

"Hello?"

"June? It's Eric."

"Hi." Her voice was very quiet. She didn't hang up on him.

"Look – uh – I owe you a lot, including an apology for yesterday."

"Yeah – uh – I'm at work, I can't talk right now." There was a strain in her voice.

"Can I see you tonight?" Eric used his best 'come-on' voice.

"What for?" Her voice sounded amused.

"An apology should be face-to-face."

"Come out around six."  

"See you then." He shut his phone and grinned. He had time to kill, might as well get some lunch. He unchained the bike from the gas meter, then checked her over. The front tire felt soft. He took it easy to the gas station, where he filled up the tank and the tire.

 Eric turned into the Lake View Diner lot and parked by a police car. He was careful to not gun the engine. He wanted lunch, not trouble.

The Lake View was doing brisk business. Eric took a seat at the counter. He set his helmet at his feet, then ordered a meal. The young cop sitting by the window made eye contact. Returning the greeting was automatic. The cop came to the counter, taking the stool next to Eric. Eric checked the cop's badge for his name: 'Orson.' A couple years younger than Eric, Orson had an earnest look, much like guys in the Guard before they went to 'Stan.

Something in Eric braced for trouble.

"Jake, what are you doing here?" The cop spoke in a low voice.

"Sorry?"

Go with it; see what he knows
.

Shit, now he was hearing voices.

"I can't believe you brought that bike back here. Are you crazy?"

"I'm just passing through." Eric hunched over his coffee cup.

"Better pass fast," Orson said. "We didn't bust the whole gang. Somebody is going to kill you."

"Somebody in a Cadillac Escalade already tried." Eric narrowed his eyes against a stabbing pain in his temples.

Too much information; answer a question with a question.

There it was again. Deep and raspy, the voice sounded like the dead DEA agent from his flashback.

"Everybody knows that bike." The cop shook his head. "You shouldn't have brought it back here."

"Yeah, well, shit happens." Should he tell the cop who he was; or who he wasn't?

Don't be stupid, GI Joe, play along.

"Can you get word to the DEA?"

"No." Eric brought his coffee to his mouth and sipped. The strong harsh taste cleared his head. He was hearing a guy's voice – confessing that to a cop would get him a rubber room and an 'I love me' jacket.

"I'll talk to a buddy of mine on the state side."

The cop gave Eric a pat on the shoulder. He tossed a ten dollar bill on the counter, then got up.

"I haven't forgotten what I owe you." He walked away.

What the fuck was going on? Was he suffering from some kind of delayed PTSD where he was hearing voices? The waitress set the plate in front of him. Eric hung his aching head, his stomach twisted into knots. It was no wonder that Jake was dead, Eric thought savagely. The idiot killed someone in a drug bust, then kept a one-of-a-kind motorcycle.

Which you now own, bright boy – deal with it.

He'd deal, all right. He was going back to talk to June and this time he was going to get some answers.

~^~

June sat down on a cushion and lit a candle in the center of her protective pentagram. There wouldn't be any random spirits bothering her today. Relaxing into a lotus position, she breathed deep and slow until she had the right rhythm to tap the well-spring of energy, as pure and clear as moonlight. Deep in meditation, she floated in the center of a glowing bubble.

There were moving orbs around her, they cast shadows.

A drifting shadow took on a familiar form. Who did that remind her of – Aunt Lizzie or Grandma? It moved slowly away. There were more; some whizzed by, others drifted, all were on the move. June followed the one that reminded her of Aunt Lizzie. It faded away like a firefly, only to reappear just out of reach.

There was a faint humming – like music played far away. June no longer searched, she drifted. There was no sense of time or space…

She was brought back to her body with a painful snap. There was a hand on her face and a man calling her name.

"June?" Eric was crouched on the inside edge of the circle. He had his helmet under his arm and his leathers on. He smelled of wind, leather and cologne.

"What?" June was still half in the world of shadows. She could still see the shadow world overlaid on the real world. Some part of her wanted to go back to the other side.

"Hey, are you okay?" Eric's hand on her face kept her anchored.

"I'm fine." She smiled at him as her mind cleared. Cora was nearby, watching. June breathed out, expanding the sphere of white light to push the spirit out of her garage.

"What were you doing?" He stood up – held out his hand.

"I was meditating," June explained, taking his hand and rising in a smooth motion.

He gave her a funny look – skeptical and amused, not disdainful.

"Are you hungry?"

"Always," Eric laughed as he followed her into the house. "After two years in 'Stan, I'll eat anything."

"Tell me about that." June rummaged in the refrigerator for a big bowl of soup.

"What?"

"Afghanistan." June held out the bowl.

"It sucked." Eric took the bowl from her. Something flitted across his face, pain, guilt, shame? She wasn't sure. "I just nuke this, right?"

"Four minutes." She grabbed the rest of the meal. "What happened over there?"

"Shit happened." He was looking at the microwave as if it was going to do tricks. "A lot of ugly shit happened. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

June leaned against the counter, watching him stare at the microwave. Like called to like; dark secrets were an invitation to dark energy – like Cora.

"You mention Afghanistan at the strangest times."

"I spent two and half years of my life in that frigging sand pit." He was tensed like a guitar string, his jaw clenched. "It's hardly a secret."

"It's not what you say." She tried to put the feeling into words. "It's what you aren't saying..."

"It was fucking Disneyland in the desert." Opening the microwave, stirring the soup required his complete concentration. "What else can I tell you?" The microwave door snapped shut.

"You went to war. Your world fell apart when you got back." She put all her compassion into her voice. "That had to leave scars."

"There's the understatement of the year." His hands were clenched on the counter, the knuckles white.

"I came here to apologize, not argue." Eric turned, leaned his back against the counter, with his arms crossed in front of his chest. She waited, not speaking, for him to collect his thoughts.

"You have no idea what it was like. Too cold, too hot, getting ambushed, shot at, or blown up." His eyes looked farther away. "My unit lost people every time a convoy was ambushed. It was a regular thing."

"You must have been scared." June wanted to say something that would heal his heart. Instead, she laid her cheek against his shoulder and slipped her hand around his arm. He stood, tension vibrating from every muscle for a long moment, then he let out a shuddering breath.

"It's not the same country," he spoke in a low voice, his head down. "I missed home so much. But this isn't home anymore."

"Maybe it's you that's changed," June squeezed his arm. "You survived, but you aren't the same person."

"Maybe." Eric straightened, looking at her with wounded eyes.

"You're here, now." June touched his face, running her fingertips over his bearded jaw. She felt his pain and bewilderment.

"That's something else that bugs me. I've been in firefights and ambushes. I can take an ass-whipping with the best of them. But I have never been as scared as I was in your garage the other night.

"I'm sorry that I yelled at you and called you a freak." He covered her hand with his.

June savored being right for a moment before she touched his face.

"I forgive you." It wrung her heart to see him so humble.

Then he brought her closer, kissing her tenderly.

There was no sense of being over-run by another entity. June felt only the reassuring touch of Eric's hands. This was good and right for both of them. She wrapped her arms around his neck, giving herself up to the moment, to his kiss.

The microwave chimed. Eric released her slowly.

"Apology accepted." June smiled up at him.

They sat at the bar, the mood lighter as they ate. She noticed Tasha was glued to the floor at Eric's feet. When he thought she wasn't looking, he slipped Tasha bits of bread. June turned her head to hide her smile.

She needed to figure out something for them to do – otherwise she might end up in bed with him. He was wounded to the heart; she was foolish enough to use sex to try to heal him. It wouldn't work.

"Do you want to help me make soap?" she asked when they were finished eating. She gathered the dishes, thinking she would leave them for later.

"Soap?" He took the dishes from her, washing them as if from habit.

While she wiped off the countertop, June told him about the bar of soap that had cost her nine dollars and her idea of making soap made from her own store of herbs.

"Making soap is easy enough." Eric stacked the dishes in the drying rack.

"Well, I messed it up, somehow."

"Did you read the directions?"

"I read them twice."

Done with the dishes, he turned to her, giving her a fond smile.

"But did you follow them?"

"I did."

"Why do I doubt that?" His eyes laughed at her. "This time you have a chemist to help you."

"Oh. Get out of my kitchen, you jerk." June snapped him with the dishtowel. They wrestled for control of the towel – which set the dogs to barking. June ducked away, heading out to the garage, the dogs followed.

"Since you know so much – here." She handed him the directions.

"Works for me. Give me a minute to get my bearings."

As June set up the workspace, Eric scanned the directions. He poked the ruined batch with his finger. The tan soap was still soft; his finger dented it. He started rummaging around the table, picking things up and moving them. He was confident again, taking a lot of pleasure in teasing her.

"This looks like Appalachian Engineering to me."

"You want to explain that term to me?" June slanted a look at him.

"Are you serious about this or just messing around?"

"I'm serious." June crossed her arms. "I want to use my herbs to make soap and lotions. Then I want to sell what I make at shops and over the internet."

"If you want this to turn out right, you're going to have to change some things." Eric tossed the plastic measuring cups into the chipped graniteware pot and put it all under the counter. "You need a stainless steel pot and glass or stainless steel measuring cups."

"Why can't we use those?"

"The enamel is chipped. The exposed metal turned your soap brown." He grinned at her. "That's not what you want is it?"

"What do you know about soap?"

"Chemistry is chemistry, honey-child," he teased her. "If you want first rate results, you need the right equipment. A stainless steel pot is your top priority. Measuring the chemicals precisely will give you the results you want."

June shot a look at her first attempt.

"This stuff costs money." Eric rubbed it in. "Can't see how you can afford to waste it."

"Fine." June walked into the house, grabbing her best stainless steel pot and glass measuring-cup and metal spoons. She returned to the garage, then set the items on the counter.

"Now, let me show you the way to make perfect soap." He insisted they wear gloves and safety glasses. Then he started setting up for the new batch of soap.

"I'm surprised you called me. I thought you would be as far from here as you could get."

"I found Van Man Go."

"Where did you find him?"

"He has a shop in the Harbor."

"That figures." June snickered. "The Harbor is a weird place."

"It's not just the Harbor," Eric said with a grimace. "Van Man Go is the King of Weird. He's pierced and tatted up like a freak show." He told her about the collage and the photos of Cora. How Cora was a stripper and Van appeared to be her number one fan.