Free Wrong Town: A Mark Landry Novel by Randall H Miller Page B

everything went. Sorry I can’t go.”
    “Ok, I’ll text you as soon as I’m out.”
    McDonough waited in the bathroom as Linda waddled her way down to the garage. She struggled with both hands to get the seat belt around her waist and adjusted the seat as best she could. When she started the car, the baby kicked hard.
    “Okay, buddy. Calm down. Momma’s ready to get this over with too. You’ll be out soon enough. Work with me, little man.”
    As Linda pulled out of the garage, McDonough inched his way from the upstairs bathroom to the kitchen. Every few steps he paused and stood motionless while his mind raced, stretching a thirty-second walk into several long minutes. From the kitchen, he gazed out the sliding glass door at his soon-to-be-finished deck. Once it was completed, he would immediately move on to another major project. Anything was better than talking.
    One day I’m gonna run out of shit to build.
    McDonough made one last check of his uniform in the full-length mirror he had installed next to the front door. Then he pulled down the visor on his cap with one hand while measuring two fingers from the bridge of his nose with the other. Standing up straight, he pulled his shoulders back, forced a smile, and walked proudly and confidently to the patrol car parked in the driveway.

Twenty-one
    Mark slapped the side of his mailbox as he completed his run and slowed to a brisk walk. The box popped open, revealing a thick stack of mail. With hands on hips, he walked around the cul-de-sac to cool down. It was hotter than he had imagined. The sweat-soaked t-shirt clung to his body. He made a mental note to add a runner’s belt and water bottle next time to help him conceal his handgun.
    After cooling down and stretching in the front yard, Mark started for the house, then remembered the mail. As he walked back toward the mailbox, out of the corner of his eye he noticed Kenny and his father walking slowly out their front door. They paused and then cautiously descended the front stairs, one step at a time, as Kenny coached and encouraged his father.
    “Okay, Father. Left foot first … good. Now bring your right foot alongside your left … good. Now step off with your left foot just like me … good …”
    Kenny helped his father lower his body into a lawn chair and sat down beside him. Mark waved as he walked across the lawn in their direction.
    “Good morning,” he said cheerfully.
    Kenny waved back but said nothing. His father sat motionless, head down, staring at the grass. Kenny awkwardly shook Mark’s extended hand without looking at him.
    “Great day to sit outside, eh? Good morning, Mr. Harrington.”
    No response.
    “Father’s not very talkative today. Okay, Mark?” Kenny offered defensively. 
    “Understood. No worries, Kenny. How are you guys doing today?”
    Kenny looked at him with an expression that said “ How the hell does it look like we’re doing? ” Mr. Harrington sat motionless in long pants, a tucked-in button-down shirt, and a black ball cap. He could not have dressed himself.
    Mark smiled and looked closer at the cap. Embroidered at the top, in thick block letters, were the words “Vietnam Veteran.” In the center sat the red, white, and blue logo of the 82nd Airborne Division. If the word Vietnam had been missing, he could easily have been mistaken for a World War II veteran. Mr. Harrington’s days of walking were numbered. Soon Kenny would be assisting him from room to room and from chair to chair.
    Scattered on the cap were about half a dozen small pins. Mark’s attention was drawn to the miniature Distinguished Service Cross and Ranger tab.
    “Okay. Well, you gentlemen have a good day. I’ll be around if you need me for anything.”
    Kenny nodded. Mark bent down, rested his hand on the old man’s knee, and looked deep into his vacant eyes. “Rangers lead the way, Mr. Harrington,” he said.
    To Kenny’s surprise, his father raised his head slightly and grunted. The old