In Name Only (A Pine Falls Novel Book 2)

by Jennifer Peel

  “Brock, it wasn’t—”

  “My baby. I know. But you are my wife, and that baby was part of you. The baby was my family too.”

  I held back my tears. I was so tired of them. Not to say my baby wasn’t worth them, but still I wondered if there would be a day where I didn’t cry. “Did you tell your therapist the baby wasn’t yours?”

  “Of course not. That’s not what is most important to me.”

  “Really?” I couldn’t keep the skepticism out of my voice, even though I felt guilty we were discussing the baby when I thought we would be talking about his experiences at the center. And possibly his experiences in Afghanistan.

  “I understand why you might not believe me. But the day you lost the baby changed me in ways I never knew were possible. I’ve seen carnage and men hurt in battle, but when I saw my wife,” his voice quavered, “bleeding and pleading for my help, it hurt so keenly in places I didn’t even know existed. I thought I might lose you. I’ve never been so afraid in my life.”

  “Not even when you were . . .” I wasn’t sure how to say it.

  “Being tortured,” he owned it. “Not even then. I would have taken the beatings over and over again to spare you that day. To save you the pain of losing the baby.”

  I stood and began to walk the floor. The pacing helped me think. “I would never ask that of you. I know what it’s like to have you die. I know the pain you speak of. It made me—”

  “I know. And I understand now why. I’m sorry for behaving like a spoiled child who didn’t get his way. I was jealous of my brother because I felt like he took something that wasn’t his. Not to say you’re something to be owned. You know I don’t see you that way. You are your own person. Free to give yourself to anyone you want. That’s why I was angry. It was because I knew you would have given yourself to me but I had been too selfish to make you my wife.”

  I looked down at my painted pink toes, courtesy of Sheridan, hardly believing what I was hearing. Trying so hard not to get my hopes up. My heart was still in that squishy cocoon stage, resisting transformation. Flying meant we could crash and burn. Yet I found myself aching to soar. “Sounds like you’re having quite the epiphany.”

  “Damn therapy,” he chuckled, “it makes too much sense.”

  “Have you sung ‘Kumbaya’ yet?”

  “Close. There was a group therapy session with some hugging I wasn’t all that fond of.”

  I laughed. “Sounds dreadful,” I teased.

  “You have no idea. I now know why this place is way up in the mountains—it keeps you from escaping.”

  “No one is holding you hostage.”

  “That’s not true. You are keeping me here. I want to be whole for you, though I’m not sure that’s possible after what happened in Afghanistan,” he whispered as if he were ashamed.

  “Brock, I don’t expect you to be. None of us get through this life without scars. And you . . . you went through something most people can’t imagine. Those men took something from you that you can’t get back, but you can learn to cope.”

  “That’s what Patrick says.”

  “Sounds like a pretty smart guy.”

  “I suppose,” Brock relented. “You know what else he said?”

  “What?”

  “He said we should give the baby a name.”

  I fell back against the wall and sank down to the hard floor, breathing heavily. “Why? We don’t even know if it was a boy or a girl.”

  “Because it will help give us closure. It will help us to accept that it was a person, not only an idea.”

  Those tears I had been holding back flooded my eyes and rushed down my cheeks. “It’s a lovely idea actually, but we . . . I mean, I never thought of names because . . . well, because I’d hoped maybe someday you would help me choose one.”

  “I want to now. Boy or girl?” he asked so gently.

  I placed a hand on my empty womb. “I kept dreaming of a little girl with dark hair and olive skin.”

  “Beautiful, like her mother,” he sweetly replied.

  “She was beautiful and so real. I want her,” I cried.

  “I want her too.”

  “You do?” He had no idea how I had longed for those words.

  “Yes. What should we name her?”

  I thought for a moment. “I always loved the name Charlotte. It’s a pretty name.”

  “That was my great-grandmother’s name.”

  “Really?”

  “I think she would be honored.”

  “Charlotte it is.” It felt right somehow, like it belonged to her. And in acknowledging my Charlotte, I felt a tiny piece of my heart stitch back together.

  “Charlotte Holland,” Brock said her name so reverently. In a way that made me love him even more.

  “Thank you, Brock.”

  “Thank you for trusting me enough to be a part of that.”

  I rested my head against the wall and ran my hand through my hair, taking a moment to let what had just happened sink in. Brock seemed content to let the silence linger between us. In the silence there was a peace I hadn’t felt in a long time, especially where Brock was concerned. I immersed myself in the comfort it gave. I felt as if I had my best friend back. I had missed him more than anything.

  After a moment of reflection and a prayer of thanks in my heart for the grace I had felt, I asked, “Besides the hugging in group therapy, how is it going there?”

  He let out a long sigh. “Honestly, I hate it half the time. I don’t like people being in my head, and I can’t stand feeling broken. I don’t like reliving what happened, though I know I need to. I know—” He paused. “I know I need to talk to you about Afghanistan.”

  I brought my knees up to my chest and held on tight. “I’m here for you,” I couldn’t hide the tremor in my voice. I meant it, yet I knew it was going to be hard to digest what he had to say.

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I want to,” I said, braver this time.

  “There are parts I’m not ready to talk about yet.”

  “I won’t push you. I’m here to listen.”

  It took him a good two minutes before he spoke. I didn’t mind waiting. Finally, he exhaled loudly. “It was night and suffocatingly hot. It doesn’t cool down there in the summer, even after the sun goes down. And the dust in the air is ever present. It carries with it the smell of raw sewage and sweat. Those smells live on everything outside the base.”

  I found myself wrinkling my nose while he spoke.

  “We had to go at night, under the cover of darkness. The village wasn’t particularly welcoming to Americans. I can’t blame them. While we’re there to help, sometimes we hurt. Innocent people die.” Remorse and anger wove through his words. “Asadi, though,” his voice hitched, “his friend needed our help. He was too sick to be transported, and even if he could have been, the man refused to leave his home. I say home, but most of the villagers live in rudimentary cement houses with no electricity. Our prisoners in America live in much better conditions.”

  “I can’t imagine how hard it was for you to see the disparity between our two countries.”

  “I’ll never complain about my life,” he responded before continuing his story. “Even Asadi, who was a doctor, lived a very basic life, barely able to provide for his wife and three children,” his voice trailed off. “He had a family. Nicholas did too. A wife and a baby on the way. A baby who will never know him.” The guilt was apparent in his fractured words and tone.

  “Brock, it’s not your fault they died.”

  “Maybe not. But why did they die when I lived? A man with no one who was depending on him. Who was too afraid to commit because I was so damn worried about giving up the freedom to do whatever I wanted whenever I pleased. All while these men begged me with their last breaths to take care of their families—to tell them how loved they were.”

  Tears silently dripped down my legs. “Brock, I needed you to come home. Your family needed you.”
r />   “The hell you all did. Look at what I did to you. You almost died because of me.”

  “I didn’t almost die.”

  “Dani, you were closer than you think.”

  I shuddered from the force of his words.

  “All you wanted was for me to love you and your baby. It’s all I wanted too, yet I pushed you away because I wasn’t man enough to understand and let go of the fact that you sought comfort with my brother. I pushed you so far you didn’t feel comfortable enough to call me when you needed me most.”

  I wiped my tears because it was true, yet I also found I couldn’t stand the anguish he was in over it. “Brock,” I whispered. “I didn’t almost die because of you, I almost died because of complications with a miscarriage. And yes, I didn’t turn to you sooner because I didn’t feel comfortable, but there came a point that I wanted to call you, but I couldn’t move. I knew you would help me. When you found me that day, I felt saved.”

  “Don’t try to make me feel better about it. I’m a bastard.”

  “Sometimes, yes,” I teased.

  He lightly chuckled.

  “You are also the man who made my vision for Children to Love a reality. It’s always you who makes up for any shortages in donations around Christmastime, if needed. Not to mention you play a great Santa when I make deliveries. And don’t forget, you were trying to help a man when you were attacked. No one made you leave that base. And I know you will do everything you can for Asadi’s and Nicholas’s families.”

  “I’m trying to get Asadi’s family into the US, and I’ve set up a trust for Nicholas’s wife and unborn son.”

  I wasn’t surprised by any of this information. “All very non-bastard things to do.”

  “I see what you’re trying to do.”

  “You caught me. I’m sorry for trying to make you feel better. Would you like me to stop?”

  “No,” he whispered.

  “Okay. Do you want to finish your story?”

  “No, but I need to, if you’re willing.”

  “I am.” I sat still and waited.

  “Dani, it all happened so fast. One second, we were driving down this rutted dirt road with our lights off, trying to remain undetected, and the next second, we were being showered by gunfire. We were in an unarmored car, trying to blend in. Asadi and Nicholas were in the front seat and each got hit. How I was spared, I still don’t know. Not even my bulletproof vest was hit. Asadi somehow managed to stop the vehicle before we crashed.” He paused for several moments, as if trying to catch his breath. “Nicholas began reciting bible verses, “Though I should walk in the valley of the shadow of death . . . no evil would I fear . . . for you are with me.” In between, he begged me to tell his wife he loved her. I yelled at him to hold on. I tried to stop the bleeding from his neck and arm, but another bullet sailed through the windshield and . . .” his voice shook.

  I grabbed my knees tighter. My entire body tensed. “You don’t have to say, if you’re not ready.”

  “His blood,” he cried. “I was covered in his blood. I can still smell it. Even taste it.”

  I could hear his labored breathing through the phone. I covered my mouth, stifling a gasp. “Oh, Brock.”

  Rushing out the words, he continued. “I was able to get Asadi out of the vehicle while I radioed the base for reinforcements. But it was too late. Those bastards shot at us at the exact spot where they wanted us to be. An IED went off, and the vehicle exploded. The last thing I remember, before I went unconscious from being knocked back from the blast, was watching my friend burn before my eyes.”

  “That’s why they thought it was you,” I whispered.

  “Asadi was my friend—it made sense that I would be in the front seat. Damn Nicholas, he gets carsick in the back. It should have been me.”

  “Don’t say that. Please,” I begged.

  “I dream every night that I’m trying to save them, but I never get there in time. I’m always too late. You’re there too. Not once have I saved you. Not in my dreams. Not in real life. What’s worse is, by marrying you, I fired the kill shot at you.”

  “No, Brock. You gave me your name to protect me.”

  “That’s not true. Hell, I didn’t know my dad was blackmailing you; I didn’t know you needed protection from that. I married you because I loved you. It had nothing to do with honor.”

  “I think loving someone, especially when it’s difficult, is honorable. And you knew marrying me was protecting me from a firestorm, blackmail aside.”

  “Loving you isn’t difficult,” he said like a man truly in love.

  “Our love story has been anything but easy.”

  “Do you ever think it will be?” he begged to know.

  I shrugged, even though no one was around to see it. “I don’t know. Grandma has always said that love is the hardest work around.”

  “I want to make it work with you.”

  I nibbled on my bottom lip. “I believe you.”

  “What do you want, Dani?”

  I pressed my back against the wall. So many swirling ideas went through my head, but they all culminated into a singular thought. “I want to feel free to hope again.”

  “What would you hope for if you could?”

  That was an easy answer. “You.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Today each of you are going to create a résumé, and we are going to do some job interview role playing.”

  There were a few groans.

  I didn’t know why people disliked role playing. Okay, maybe it was a little uncomfortable, but so were job interviews.

  Neveah raised her hand. “What if we’ve never had a job before? How can we write a résumé?”

  “Good question. Everyone, log in to the laptop in front of you, and we’ll talk about that.”

  I sat on the table in front of the classroom. I found my energy lagged at the end of the day now that I was back to work. A few weeks of lounging around had really zapped my strength. Yet, for once in my life, I was glad I had taken the time to let my body heal. As far as emotional healing went, I was still working on it. Being back at work seemed to help. Sheridan was right—helping others was a great cure. And I couldn’t stay cooped up in Brock’s house forever. Though it hadn’t been half-bad spending a few weeks holed up with Sheridan—Mom. If ever I needed a self-esteem boost, I was going straight to her. Thankfully, I got to go home to her every night. Well, maybe that wasn’t a good thing. It meant John was still being an idiot. Poor Sheridan was beside herself at having to contemplate a divorce.

  I was faced with the same dilemma, except my husband was doing his best to make sure that didn’t happen. We could only talk once a week, but he emailed me every day. I looked forward to his sarcastic commentary on his therapy sessions; and when he shared some of his profound experiences with me, I felt a deeper connection with him than I ever had before. He had even shared some of his journal entries with me. A few days ago, one of his journal prompts was, Is there anything you wish you had really taken the time to appreciate before the experience? His response was simply, DANI. They weren’t always that sweet. Yesterday he was asked to describe some key causes of stress in his life right now. He wrote, and I quote: 1. Being away from my wife. 2. The food in this place. 3. This feelings journal. 4. No sex. See number one.

  I had been stunned. We hadn’t discussed having sex since the hotel incident. Sex was a huge step. Sex meant we were staying together. I had written back late last night, well after I knew he had gone to sleep. I’d been honest with him about my experiences with sex and how I wanted all future experiences to be about making love. How I wanted sex to never be a question, as Grandma would say, but all about the exclamation points. I’d told him I needed to feel secure in our relationship before we took that step. I was anxious to see what his response would be later tonight.

  For now, I needed to focus on my students. “Everyone logged in?”

  I got several head nods.

  “Great. Let’s t
alk about Neveah’s question. Why do you need a résumé even if you don’t have any job experience? First of all, it will set you apart from your peers. Second, it will tell your future employer you care about the job you’re applying for. Even if it’s an entry-level position. So, what do you put on a résumé if you don’t have any formal job experience? Thoughts?” I turned it over to them.

  Darius raised his hand. “When I worked at McDonald’s, I learned I could shove all the fries in a medium-size order in my mouth.”

  The class erupted in laughter.

  Even I smiled. “That’s quite the feat, but while that may impress your buddies, your prospective boss probably won’t appreciate it. Any other thoughts?”

  Quiet and thoughtful Serena barely raised her hand before saying, “We can write our school experience down.”

  “Absolutely. Especially if you excelled in any classes. Think about the skills you learned in high school or here. What technologies do you know? Are you good with your hands?”

  “I know I am,” Manuel said way too suggestively. The males in the class snickered.

  “Inappropriate,” I reprimanded him gently. Children to Love was a place for people to feel safe. It was also a place where we taught appropriate boundaries, especially knowing that so many of the students were victims of sexual abuse.

  Everyone quieted.

  Manuel hung his head. “Sorry, Dani.”

  “Thank you, Manuel.” I moved on. “The first thing I want you all to do is to come up with a mission statement. Who are you? What kind of position are you looking for, and what can you offer your employer? This should be three sentences or less.”

  Erin popped in. “Hey, Dani, I’m sorry to interrupt; your father-in-law is here to see you. He says it’s important.”

  I grabbed on to the table and swallowed hard. I hadn’t seen John since the day before I’d lost Charlotte. I was sure this was no social call. “Please, tell him I’ll be right there.”

  “Will do. I’ll have him wait in your office.”

  I nodded, almost forgetting what I was doing. Mission statements. Right. I pointed to the whiteboard behind me. “Here are some sample mission statements. Feel free to work with a partner or in a group. I’ll be right back.” At least I hoped. You never knew what John had in store. Last time he’d come here, he’d forced me into marrying Brock. I would not be bullied by him today or ever again.