What Part of Marine Don't You Understand - By Heather Long Page 0,1
about your hand?”
“Not particularly.” Flexing his fingers, he enjoyed the stinging sensation stretching across the damaged skin.
“Okay then. Let’s run.”
The light jog was hardly a run, but he couldn’t go all out anymore. Not without risking tripping over his feet when the world took to playing tilt-a-whirl. But Jethro didn’t complain about the pace, trotting right at his side as they hit the trail.
And it felt good to stretch.
***
He dripped with sweat after the run. With James for company and Jethro eagerly keeping pace, Matt ran harder than he’d intended. He made sure the dog’s water and food bowls were full before stripping out of his clothes and getting in the shower. The hot water sluiced away most of the sweat. A hard scrub took care of the rest. His phone vibrated on the counter when he stepped back out. Wrapping a towel around his hips, he checked the caller ID.
His mother.
Thumbing it on to answer, he dredged up a cheerful voice. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hey, sweetie. I wanted to make sure you arrived in Dallas okay.” Sounding upbeat, if hurried, she didn’t chastise him for not calling her when he’d arrived—the week before—or for avoiding her phone calls since.
Yeah, I’m a bad son.
“Yes, ma’am. Been settling in.”
“Good. I’m running late for a meeting at the bank. They approved the refinancing. Everything is going to be fine.” Tangible relief echoed in her words. With five other children, two getting ready for college and three spread out through junior and senior high schools, his mother shouldered a lot of the financial burden. Matt sent money whenever he could, dividing a full half of his disability pay so he could help. But she didn’t complain.
“That’s great.” He hesitated. “I got a dog.”
The pause on the other end of the phone worried him. Then his mother exhaled. “Really? What kind?”
“A Labrador. His name is Jethro. Some friends were training him, but they’re out of town and asked if I’d keep him company.” Okay, so maybe he hadn’t quite gotten a dog.
He combed his hair and grimaced. He definitely needed a haircut. It fell below his collar and covered his ears. Mike’s Place didn’t have a barber per se, but he knew of one across the highway. Maybe he and Jethro could take another walk.
“Send me a picture.” Was his mother smiling? “With you in it, too, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He laughed, the rusty sound rattling in his chest. “He’s a good dog. I like him.”
“I can’t wait to see him. Matty?”
“Yes, Mom?”
“Call me later, okay?”
Dropping the comb on the counter, he leaned forward and took a deep breath. His chest didn’t squeeze so tight and the request sounded reasonable. “Yeah, what time will you get home tonight?”
“Probably nine my time? Brock’s got a game at six.” His baby brother, the basketball enthusiast.
“Cool. I’ll call you then, and tell Brock I said drive it forward.”
Silence and then a real smile wreathed her words. “I will, baby. Have a good day.”
“You, too.”
Ending the call, he stared at the phone. Nails clicked across the tiles behind him, and Jethro shoved his cold nose against his side.
“Hey, boy. Want to go for another walk?”
Jethro wagged his tail.
“Yeah, me too.” He walked out into the bedroom. First things first, make the bed and clean up. Then dress. “Give me ten.”
Jethro walked over to flop in the doorway and waited patiently while he squared the room away. It took him a minute to find clean clothes. Gathering the dirty laundry into a pile, he’d wash a load while they went for the haircut.
After the haircut—he’d call the doc and make an appointment.
No more skipping.
***
“I know to get a diagnosis you need me to actually show up for appointments.” Matt leaned forward. He sat on the sofa in James’ office, with Jethro settled across his feet. Doc hadn’t minded when he asked to bring the dog with him.
“Matt, I had your diagnosis five minutes into our first session.”
The information surprised him. “You did?” The haircut helped more than Matt cared to admit. High and tight once more, he felt like himself and not some discarded piece of refuse who forgot he was a Marine.
“You have Post-traumatic stress disorder. You’ve been struggling with it since you came home.” Doc tapped his capped pen on the white legal pad in his lap.
“That’s bad. Right?”
“No, that’s normal. Matt, you can’t remember what happened without reliving it.” It sounded so utterly simple and reasonable.
“But I’m fine….” He held up his hand at James’ skeptical look. “Okay, I’m