Wednesday's Child

by Gayle Wilson

  “What did that mean?” she demanded again, her eyes searching his face.

  “It meant I don’t want you to go.”

  “You’re going.”

  “Me? Where the hell do you think I’m going?”

  “Back to your unit. That’s what you said. That it was all you’ve ever wanted. You were so excited.” She stopped, comprehension flooding her eyes. “Oh my God, Jeb. McKey.”

  He knew, as unbelievable as it seemed, that she hadn’t thought what the doctor’s death meant to him until now. That was hardly surprising. She’d had to deal with the authorities and the press, on top of trying to reconnect with Emma.

  Besides, he was a grown man. And normally a realistic one. Even with McKey’s influence, it would have been a long shot that he’d have gotten another extension. The Army didn’t work that way, especially not with Delta.

  “It probably wouldn’t have changed anything.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he said too harshly. He needed to say this without revealing the tangled emotions he’d already had time to come to terms with. “McKey was a murdering son of a bitch. He killed at least three people, and he would have killed you and me and Emma without giving it a second thought. He deserved to die, Susan. I’m glad I was the one who got to do it.”

  “And I’m glad you were there to do it. So don’t tell me I don’t have the right to be grateful.”

  “Except gratitude isn’t what I want from you.”

  You’d made it this far, and then you had to spill your guts. The question had already been asked and answered.

  “What do you want, Jeb?”

  As open an invitation as he’d ever gotten. Except if he told her what he wanted, and she turned him down—

  Then what? At least he’d have tried. And he wouldn’t spend the rest of his life regretting that he hadn’t. All she could do was say no.

  “I want what Richard had.”

  The stillness after his confession stretched a long time. He could hear the faint hospital noises from the corridor outside, but they seemed to belong to another world. His had narrowed to what was taking place in this room.

  “And what would that be?” Susan asked finally.

  “You.” First and always. “Emma. A place to come home to. Someone waiting for me there when I do.”

  “To come home from somewhere like Iraq?”

  He knew what stresses the kind of life he’d lived brought to a marriage. Some didn’t survive. Some grew stronger.

  Now that Susan was starting to put her life back together, to rebuild the bonds with Emma that had been broken so many years ago, it wouldn’t be fair to ask her to undertake that as well. Besides, he’d given it his best shot. Even with McKey’s influence, it might not have worked. Without it…

  Delta, and all it represented, was over for him. After that night when he’d fought for their lives, he had known he couldn’t change that. For injuries as extensive as his only so much rehab was possible. He had reached that point. Maybe if he hadn’t found something he loved as much as he’d loved his profession, he might feel differently. But he had. And he didn’t.

  “Jeb?”

  She was waiting for his answer, which was more than he deserved. But not deserving it wasn’t going to prevent him from reaching out and taking what he wanted. He’d never been afraid of a challenge, even one he knew he might lose.

  “Not from Iraq. From Linton. Or Atlanta. From wherever you’ll agree to let me call home.”

  “Does that mean…? What does that mean?”

  A desk. Retirement. Things that had been unthinkable a few days ago. The only unthinkable thing now was letting Susan walk out that door and knowing he’d never see her again.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never done anything in my entire adult life except the Army. But…I’m willing to try. If you are.”

  “Are you asking me—” She stopped, shaking her head slowly.

  “Is that a no?”

  “It’s not a no. This is just such a surprise.”

  “Yeah. To me, too. Good or bad?”

  “What?”

  “A good or bad surprise?”

  “Just…Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “The one thing I didn’t have that night was a concussion. I, Jubal Early Bedford, being of sound mind—”

  “That’s for making a will.”

  “I think deciding to get married should require a sounder mind than making a will.”

  “Is that what we’re doing? Deciding to get married?”

  “I don’t know what you’re doing, but I think I decided that a pretty good while ago.”

  “So this has nothing to do with McKey’s death. Or the fact that…”

  “That I’m not going to go back to Delta?” he supplied when she hesitated. “Maybe. At least partially. But it has a whole hell of a lot more to do with how impossible it would be to watch you walk out that door and know you aren’t coming back.”

  “I have a daughter, Jeb. An eight-year-old daughter who doesn’t even know me.”

  “It’s as easy to get to know two parents as it is one. We may as well start as we intend to go on.” He laughed, remembering where he’d learned that. “Lorena says that all the time. I never understood what it meant until now.”

  “What do you think it means?”

  “That I intend to marry you. And that I intend to be a father to Emma. And that I intend to love you both for the rest of our lives.”

  “Do I have any say in any of this?” she asked with a smile.

  “Only if your say is yes.”

  “Then…yes.”

  He had expected resistance. At least some hesitation. A plea for time to think. He was infinitely relieved there had been none of those. Just yes. Unquestioning and unequivocal.

  “Soon,” he suggested. Now that he had her agreement, he wasn’t going to allow her time to have second thoughts.

  “How soon is soon?”

  “As soon as I’m out of here.”

  This was going to be one memory not tainted by starch-assed nurses and the smell of disinfectant. He hadn’t had many of those during the last ten months, but this one was going to be right.

  Actually, he thought as Susan took a step toward the bed, it was all going to be right. For the rest of their lives.

  EPILOGUE

  Eighteen months later

  “SOFTBALL, HUH?” Jeb had put down the book he’d been reading as Emma sat down on the arm of the couch beside him.

  Susan never tired of watching the two of them together. And never ceased to be amazed at the effort Jeb had made to win her daughter over. An effort that no one who knew them could doubt had been successful.

  “And we need a coach.”

  “Don’t look at me. I don’t know anything about softball.”

  “It’s not that different from baseball. You know something about baseball, don’t you?”

  “I played a little.”

  “Don’t worry. You don’t really have to do anything. Not like running or hitting or anything. You just have to say who gets to play where. Like who’s on first and all.”

  “And I don’t know’s on third.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Old joke.”

  “Oh, like in Rain Man.”

  “No, like in Abbott and Costello.”

  “Whatever,” Emma said dismissively. “Will you do it?”

  Sending Emma to private school in Moss Point had been the one concession they’d made to the firestorm of gossip that had rocked the area after the truth had come out about Richard’s murder. Other than that, they had tried to live their lives in Linton as normally as possible.

  Susan had briefly considered returning her new family to Atlanta, but the memories there were almost more painful than the ones here. And she could send her illustrations to her publisher from anywhere.

  Besides, there had also been Lorena to consider. The growing bond between the old w
oman and the child who had come to live in this old house was something Susan was also grateful for every day of their lives. Every child needed a grandmother, and there had never been a more loving one than Lorena.

  “Who told you to ask me?”

  “We talked about it.”

  “We who?”

  “The girls. We decided you should be our coach.”

  “I think you should be flattered,” Susan said. She folded the last of the clothes she’d taken out of the dryer and put them into the basket to take upstairs.

  “Flattered because I’m being told I can take the job without having to worry about being able to run or bat?”

  “Maybe they think you’re too old,” Susan teased.

  She loved the hint of gray now mingled with the dark hair at his temples, but she would imagine that to a bunch of preteen girls that would certainly suggest old age. She would beg to differ, but then her knowledge on that particular subject was far more intimate than anyone else’s.

  “What do you think about that?” he asked, a gleam she recognized in his eyes.

  “I think you ought to take the job.”

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  “I know what you meant.”

  “So will you?” Emma demanded, thankfully missing the subtle undercurrent of their words.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “But I need to know by tomorrow. We have to have uniforms and everything. Oh, and a team mother,” she said, turning imploring eyes toward Susan.

  Little could her daughter know how flattered she was by the suggestion. She suspected Jeb was as well, but this would be a greater commitment of time for him.

  “What color are the uniforms?” Jeb asked.

  “I don’t know yet. We haven’t decided.”

  “Make it khaki, and we have a deal.”

  “Khaki? Who wants a khaki uniform?” Emma asked, her small nose wrinkling in disgust.

  “Certainly nobody around here,” Jeb said, grinning at Susan. “That was just a touch of nostalgia.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “That’s because you’re just a little girl,” Jeb teased. Emma leaned over, putting her face very close to his. “Will you or won’t you?”

  “For you, princess, anything.”

  “Does that mean yes?”

  The joy in her face would, Susan suspected, be reward enough, but when Jeb nodded, putting his forehead against Emma’s, she threw her arms around his neck in a hug.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Emma scrambled off the couch to head to the phone. “Oh, I forgot,” she said, turning back in the doorway. “Would it be okay if I called you Daddy? That’s what the other girls…” The explanation trailed, but the hope in her eyes expressed the one she hadn’t quite articulated.

  “I think I’d like that,” Jeb said.

  “Maybe just not during the games. I should probably call you Coach then.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Okay. I’ll go tell them.” Emma disappeared, bare feet slapping against the wooden floors of the wide front hall.

  “I think I like that, too, Daddy,” Susan said. “Congratulations.”

  “Better than oak leaves any day of the week.”

  “I don’t think I’ve said thank-you lately,” she said, taking Emma’s place on the arm of the couch. She moved the book out of the way before she leaned down, just as her daughter had, to press a kiss against his forehead. “Thank you.”

  “Not that I’m opposed to a little gratuitous gratitude, but what exactly am I being thanked for here?”

  “For Emma. For sharing Lorena with her. And with me.” She kissed him on each eye and then on the tip of the nose as she enumerated the items. “For loving her. For loving me.”

  With her final kiss against his lips, Jeb pulled her into his arms, wrapping them around her so that once more she could feel his heartbeat. Slow and steady. Comforting. Dependable.

  After a moment, he put his chin on the top of her head and whispered what sounded like, “‘I thank whatever gods may be…’”

  “What?” she asked without moving.

  “Something I read once. It seemed appropriate.”

  “I love you, Jubal Early Bedford.”

  “And that, my love, in case I haven’t told you lately, is what I’m grateful for.”

  ISBN: 978-1-4603-6242-6

  WEDNESDAY’S CHILD

  Copyright © 2005 by Mona Gay Thomas

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  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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