The SEAL's Rebel Librarian by Anne Calhoun Page A

snort, and he knew she was thinking the same thing. “What’s her name?”
    â€œThere is no girl.”
    Keenan shot him a look.
    â€œThere’s always a girl,” Rose said to Keenan, who diplomatically avoided answering by inserting a forkful of roast and horseradish into his mouth.
    If Jack didn’t know better, he would think Rose was using his reputation to divert attention from her own questionable behavior, except Rose never behaved questionably. She was elected president of the student council and the Latin club and was Homecoming Queen. She planned dances and fundraisers and blitzkrieg trips through Turkey. She never had anything to hide.
    â€œClass is going fine, Grannie, thanks for asking.”
    â€œWhat are you taking?” Keenan asked.
    â€œIt’s a Psych class. I’m working on my final paper.”
    â€œWhat’s your topic?” Rose asked.
    â€œPTSD treatments from a veteran’s perspective.”
    That halted conversation at the table fairly effectively. Grannie, bless her flower-loving, rump-roasting, my-grandkids-do-or-die heart, said, “You don’t have PTSD, Jack.”
    â€œI’ve got something,” he answered as he held out his hand. Everyone stared at the tremor.
    â€œThat’s not PTSD,” Grannie said.
    Keenan and Rose kept quiet.
    â€œPTSD isn’t always going psychotic and picking people off from a clock tower,” Jack said quietly, thinking of the way his whole body used to shake, the raw nerves in his chest and head that fired every time he had a cup of coffee, the feeling like someone took steel wool to his skin. “It’s subtle, and insidious, and hinders all kinds of veterans in all kinds of ways.”
    â€œWell. You’re getting better,” Grannie said. “When you came home in January you looked awful.”
    â€œThanks, Gran,” he said over Keenan’s quiet snort, Rose’s giggle.
    â€œAnd now you look better. Even in the last week or so, your color’s better. Which is good, because you’re all invited to the Garden Club’s reception to welcome the high school’s Hall of Fame athletes. Jamie Hawthorn is the guest of honor.”
    â€œGot it,” Jack said. Jamie had been a couple years ahead of him in high school; he wasn’t the most physically talented player on the team, but nonetheless Jamie had been the undisputed leader during the boys’ basketball team legendary run to the state basketball championship his senior year. The fact that they ended up on the same SEAL team was a mild coincidence.
    â€œThey’re honoring both the boys’ and girls’ teams from that year,” Grannie said.
    â€œI’m glad,” Rose said. “A couple of the girls went on to play pro ball in Europe.”
    â€œIt was a very good year, and it’s time to induct both teams into the Hall of Fame.”
    â€œSounds very cool,” Keenan said. “It’ll be good to see Hawthorn again.”
    â€œWe hold the ceremony under a tent set up on the Garden Club’s lawn,” Grannie said. “It’s beautiful.”
    â€œThe club’s president, aka the mayor’s wife, rents the space to the high school for a nominal fee,” Rose added.
    Keenan looked like he was having trouble following. “Hawthorn’s mom,” Jack said.
    â€œAh,” Keenan said, clearly trying to reconcile badass Lieutenant Hawthorn, who’d once leveled a Russian soldier the size of the Hulk with a single punch to the jaw, with having a mother. “I figured him for a military kid.”
    â€œClose. His dad used to be the chief of police and is now the mayor. Their family has been Lancaster PD forever,” Jack said. “His brother’s in the police department. Hawthorn broke tradition to go into the Navy.”
    Thinking of breaking tradition reminded Jack of Erin, and all the ways she was starting her life again. He mulled