LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter 2

      Maurice Lawson winced when he attempted to push up from the couch and stand. The pain in his leg vibrated through his entire body. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. Slowly the searing fire ebbed to a dull throb. He inhaled deeply and sat back down.

      That night, flying over the Afghanistan mountains flashed in his head. The skies were clear with just enough cloud cover to camouflage their mission. He and his Navy SEAL crew were on a stealth mission. Everything was going according to plan. The target was illuminated on the control panel of the Black Hawk Helicopter. And then without warning the world seemed to explode. He’d lost two men on that mission and he’d barely survived himself. He’d spent three months in the hospital and the next three months in rehab, learning how to walk again.

      The doctors said he’d always have pain…and nightmares. But over time both would diminish. They hadn’t.

      That was more than a year ago. He still battled the pain and the nightmares…and the guilt. Some days, the guilt was more painful than his injury.

      “Maurice…”

      He opened his eyes and his gaze settled on Dr. Morrison.

      “Are you all right?” She put down her pad.

      He nodded. “Yeah.” He forced a laugh. “I should be used to it by now.”

      “How are you sleeping?”

      He shrugged. “Some nights are better than others I suppose.”

      Maurice Lawson had been referred to her through the Veterans Administration. After recovering from his wounds it was clear that his injuries were more than physical. She’d been working with him for about six months and the psychotherapy was slow, but there were days when she felt they were making progress. Then there were days like this one when that haunted look would come into his eyes.

      Dr. Morrison leaned forward. “Maurice, your physical therapy is over, but I can’t get you beyond that night if you won’t let me help you to help yourself. You’re holding on to more than physical pain and that’s what’s really debilitating.”

      The corners of his eyes pinched. His full mouth drew into a tight line. “What do you want from me?”

      “I want you to accept that what happened that night was not your fault.”

      “But it was!” he bellowed. “Why can’t you understand that? I was in charge. Those men relied on me to get them in and out of there safely. And I didn’t.”

      “What could you have done differently?” she softly asked.

      He turned away from her penetrating stare. He’d asked himself that very question a million times. He’d gone over every minute of that flight. Nothing stuck out. It was textbook. But he had to have missed something. And that’s what haunted him.

      “What?” she asked again.

      “I don’t know,” he finally answered, his voice filled with defeat. “I don’t know.”

      “How about your friends, family, have you been in touch with them?”

      “We don’t have anything in common. They all want to act as if nothing is wrong or that everything is.” His laugh was ragged.

      “You can’t continue to live in your head, Maurice, disconnected from everything. It’s well past the time that you rejoined the world. Begin new relationships.”

      “Is that right, Doc,” he said derisively. “You mean if I join the world, as you put it, I’ll be all better.” This time he fought against the pain and stood.

      “I’m saying that you can’t continue to punish yourself by shutting everything and everyone out.”

      “It’s not that easy,” he said, gritting his teeth against the pain.

      “I know it’s not. It never is. But if you are ever going to regain some semblance of life, of an existence, you’re going to have to try. You’re going to have to work at it, just as hard and with just as much passion as you’ve put into being a decorated fighter pilot.”

      He stole a look at her. “I don’t know how,” he admitted.

      Dr. Morrison stood up and came to him. “I have a friend who owns a fabulous Bed & Breakfast in Sag Harbor. I think a change of scenery and the relaxation of being by the water would be therapeutic.”

      “I don’t think so, Doc.”

      “At least think about it, Maurice. And I’ll only be a phone call away…when you want to talk.”

      He pushed out a breath. “Yeah, I’ll think about it.”

      She returned to her desk and wrote the information down on a prescription pad, tore off the paper and handed it to him.

      He looked at the neat handwriting. “The Port.”

      “Go, Maurice. A few days, a few weeks.” She studied his face. “Give yourself a chance. And think about getting back in touch with Ross.”

      His gaze jumped to hers.

      “You’d

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