Considering Catherine had called yesterday to try to weasel out of this visit—“I don’t know that I’m ready for this”—Therese wasn’t hoping for help from her.
Clunky steps plus the thud-thud of a bag being dragged sounded from the stairs, forcing Therese into motion. She walked into the kitchen, avoiding Abby as studiously as Abby avoided her. By the time she’d filled a travel mug with coffee and adjusted it to her tastes, Jacob was coming into the room. He tossed his lone backpack onto the floor next to Abby’s two suitcases, then headed for the refrigerator.
Weren’t they a cheery family?
When her nerves were strung as tightly as she could take, she put her coffee down and got her purse. “Here’s your IDs.” She laid the Department of Defense dependent ID cards that entitled them to medical care, among other benefits, on the island. “Spending money.” Two equal piles of cash. “And a power of attorney allowing your mother to get medical care for you if you need it.” After a moment’s hesitation, she laid the folded piece of paper with Jacob’s things.
Abby’s eyes widened, then her entire face narrowed in a sneer. “Oh my God, you’re giving her permission to take her own kids to the doctor? She’s our mother. She has that right. She doesn’t need your okay for anything.”
Therese was debating whether to respond or bite her tongue until it bled when Jacob matter-of-factly said, “Yes, she does.” He stuck the money and ID in his left pocket, then folded the power of attorney into a small square and stuck it in his right pocket. “Therese is legally responsible for us. Mom doesn’t have the right to do anything. She gave up those rights when she gave us up.”
Abby glared at her brother as if he’d betrayed the family bond by speaking up. Therese turned away from them to hide her sad smile. She fully believed siblings should be raised together whenever possible, but if no one in Abby’s family stepped up to take both of them, surely it would be all right for Therese to keep Jacob, wouldn’t it? He didn’t deserve the foster system just because his sister was out of control.
Guilt turned the coffee sour in her stomach, but she stubbornly pushed it away. She wouldn’t take the blame for this. Yes, it was her decision, but Abby had made it for her. She’d pushed Therese into a corner where giving up custody was the only hope for her own future.
She was not at fault.
And she would keep repeating it until she believed it.
A grand gesture. Justin had spent the rest of Sunday, all day Monday, and most of Tuesday telling Dane that was what he needed. Something seriously romantic, to make Carly swoon, to make her go all soft and warm and forget that he hadn’t been open with her. Trouble was, neither of them had a clue what kind of gesture would sweep Carly off her feet, and Dane wasn’t any good at gestures anyway. They seemed phony to him—an insincere attempt to make up for what he’d done wrong, when he’d never been so sincere in his life. Like he’d told her, he wanted her, wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.
Like he hadn’t told her, he loved her.
And he was pretty sure she loved him, too, even if he wasn’t perfect.
It had been hard, but as of five Tuesday afternoon, he hadn’t called her. She’d said she needed time. He’d given her that. She’d said she would call him. He’d waited. He’d kept his cell phone right next to him all day; he slept with it in his hand at night. He’d had a couple calls from his mother that he let go to voice mail, and a couple from Justin with more suggestions for grand gestures. But not one from the only person who mattered.
The only person…He hadn’t treated her that way. Yeah, he’d been scared, but she was right. That day at the cave, it should have been so easy to say, I’m at Fort Murphy at the WTU. She would have known what that meant. All Army people did. Little words, big meaning, awkwardness avoided.
Either she would have cared and they wouldn’t be where they were right now, or she wouldn’t have cared and they wouldn’t be where they were right now. Either way, heartache avoided.
When his phone rang, jerking him out of his thoughts, for an instant his heart pounded and his palms grew clammy, even though in the next instant he knew from the ring tone that it wasn’t Carly. Since Anna Mae didn’t give up easily, he might as well get this over with and get a head start on a little peace until the next time she called. He settled more comfortably on the couch and said, “Hello.”
“Did that accident cripple your dialing finger, too, that you can’t even pick up the phone and press return?”
He smiled faintly. The only thing accidental about his injury was that the enemy had intended to kill him and instead they’d just maimed him.
Just maimed him. The thought made him go motionless. His heart was still beating. His brain was still functioning. His spirit was beaten but intact.
His future was still ahead of him, not buried in the losses of his past.
He believed that as completely as he believed the sun would rise tomorrow. Too bad, though, it had taken him so long to get to that point.
“Hello, Mom. How are you?”
“Wondering if my son’s still alive. What keeps you so busy you can’t call me? And don’t say physical therapy. You’ve been using that excuse for months. If you’re not walking good by now, it isn’t ever going to happen. You should just settle for what you’ve got and be happy with it the best you can.”
Something was different this time, but it took him a moment to realize what: His muscles hadn’t gone tight the way they usually did when Anna Mae said something rude or insensitive. The bitterness wasn’t seeping through him. “Your mother’s a fool,” Carly had said, and in the ways that mattered, she was right. He’d known that even as a kid. He’d never turned to his mother for approval or advice or anything else. All that had come from his father, his grandparents and coaches because his mother simply wasn’t capable of it. Never had been.
Why, in the toughest situation he’d ever faced, had he begun accepting what she said as fact? Because he’d been weak. Well, hell, he’d had all the weakness, cowardice and self-pity a man could stand. Like the slogan said, he wasn’t just strong. He was Army strong.
“I’ll tell the doctors you said that.”
Of course she missed the irony in his voice. “They’re just delaying the inevitable, if you ask me. Instead of all this rehabilitation, they should help you find a job you can do and put all this behind you.”
“I have a job, Mom. And when I’m ready to get out of the Army, there are plenty of other jobs I can do. Pretty much anything I want.” With the right attitude, the right adaptations, and a little support. He’d never get that from Anna Mae.
But he’d get it from Carly. Had gotten it already from Carly just by knowing her.
“How’s your baby quilt coming?”
Anna Mae hesitated a moment. He could picture her, the prettiness that was steadily giving away to bitterness, eyes narrowed the way they always did when she suspected him of mischief. “I’ve picked the fabrics—the most adorable stripes and polka dots and prints in pastels. They remind me of the cotton candy you used to get at the fair when you were little. I never did figure out how sugar crystals ended up in your ears and down your back and even inside your shoes. Anyway, I showed the fabric to Sheryl today, and she thought it was just beautiful.”
“How’s Sheryl?”
Another silence, this one potent enough to make him smile. He never asked about Sheryl, not once since the divorce, and said little more than grunts when his mother brought her up.
“She—she’s fine. Doctor said she’s the healthiest mama-to-be in town.” Anna Mae cleared her throat, then cautiously asked, “How are you? Is everything okay?”
Mark this day on the calendar: Mom finally asked how I was doing. “The docs say I’m the healthiest amputee in town.” And he had the opportunity to be the happiest.
Anna Mae made her usual shushing sounds. It was her philosophy of life. Ignore the ugly, and it will go away. Never stop wishing for what you want. Pretend for all you’re
worth.
It was sad. He hadn’t wanted to be part of that when he was a kid, and he didn’t want to now. She wasn’t about to change. She’d always gauged life—success, happiness, love—by her own standards. No matter what she had, it was never enough.
He’d spent his last day pitying himself for the leg he’d lost. From now on he would be grateful for the life he’d kept and the future he’d gained.
He waited until she took a breath, then said, “Hey, Mom, I’m sorry to cut this short, but I’ve got to change clothes, then go ask a girl a question. I’ll call you.”
She snorted. “You haven’t called me since your last Mother’s Day in Afghanistan.”
He’d missed a Mother’s Day in between, and another one was coming up in a few weeks. He would make a note on the calendar. “I’ll call you,” he repeated. “I love you.”
Before she could respond to that, he hung up.
When Dane had mentioned the support group Sunday, Dalton had pretty much brushed him off like he brushed off everyone who wanted him to talk. I’ll keep that in mind. Usually he said the words and immediately put whatever it was right out of his mind.
That hadn’t been the case this time. At odd moments while he was working, showering, trying to sleep, the thought came unbidden into his head: A group of people who’d been through what he had, who’d felt what he felt.
More or less, he added with a scowl. It wasn’t likely any of those women’s husbands had chosen suicide over coming back home to them. It wasn’t likely they’d meant so damn little to their husbands.
Still, they knew what it was like to plan to spend the rest of their lives with someone and have that plan blown all to hell. They knew how it felt to wake up in the middle of the night and forget just for a moment, to reach to the other side of the bed expecting to find their spouses’ warm body, only to suddenly realize they were alone. They knew how to live with the loss and the anger and the despair and the loneliness.
He wanted to know how to live.
The clock on the kitchen wall showed five twenty-five. He’d knocked off work early, showered, shaved, put on his newest jeans and best boots. And still he paced the kitchen.
This group of Dane’s girlfriend was all women. Though Dalton had paid nearly zero attention, Noah had even mentioned them before—the Fort Murphy Widows’ Club. How the hell was he supposed to approach a bunch of women he’d never laid eyes on and bare his private sorrows to them?
He wasn’t. It was unnatural. There were other ways to deal.
Like letting a pretty stranger pick him up in the cemetery, for God’s sake, and getting so drunk that he barely remembered having sex with her?
Grimacing, he snatched his keys from the hook near the back door and headed for his truck. He would drive in to The Three Amigos. Have a drink, maybe dinner. Maybe even look up an old friend to join him. There must still be a few of them around. If he spoke to the women, that was fine. If he didn’t, well, that was fine, too.
The miles passed in a blur, his stomach knotting. It was six o’clock when he passed Pansy’s Posies. Six oh five when he caught the red light at Main downtown. Six ten when he walked through the door of The Three Amigos.
“How many?” the pretty hostess asked.
“One.”
“Bar or table?”
“Bar.” The way his gut felt, booze would go down easier than food.
She flashed a smile. “Inside or out? Our patio is officially open for summer.”
He glanced around the dining room and saw no more than four women in any group. “Out.”
The patio was on the east side of the restaurant. Dining tables filled three-fourths of the area, with a small portable bar at the north end providing seating for five. Three of the stools were occupied. Dalton chose the one nearest the building and ordered a beer before slowly turning his attention to the women who dominated the area.
There were seventeen or eighteen, ranging in age from very young to mid-fifties. They were white, black, Asian, Latina, underweight to overweight with a stop at every ten pounds on the scale in between, with hair that was blond, black, brown, gray, and red, and they—
His gaze jerked back to the redhead just as she tilted her head back for a throaty laugh. Jessy Lawrence.
Damn, she was beautiful.
Then it hit him: Jessy Lawrence was one of the women he’d thought might teach him how to live again. Jessy Lawrence, who picked up strange men in the cemetery and got drunk enough to have sex with them. Jessy, who’d looked him right in the eye a week later and had no clue who he was.
Hell, he’d rather stay exactly as miserable as he already was.
It was a perfect evening—belatedly Carly caught herself and substituted beautiful—for the margarita club to move their meal outside. The sky was a lovely shade of blue, the air was warm, the chimes around the perimeter tinkled sweetly, and even the traffic forty feet away on Main Street seemed slower, in tune with the evening.
Picking up her sweating margarita glass, she savored a drink, though she grimaced just a little when the liquid hit her throat. Even so, tonight she might drink the entire thing. She was celebrating, after all.
Leaning close to Therese, she asked quietly, “Did the kids get to their mother’s okay?”
Therese stirred from her funk. “Yeah. Jacob texted me from Abby’s phone. I know it was Jacob because it didn’t end with, ‘Drop dead, bitch.’” After a moment, she took a slug of her own drink. “I’ve got an appointment at JAG on Thursday. Just to ask some questions and get some information.”
Though the thought of her giving up custody of Paul’s kids made Carly’s stomach hurt, she forced a smile. “You know whatever you decide, we’ll back you all the way.”
“I know.” Therese tilted her head to one side, gaze narrowing. “What’s going on with you? You look…different.” She looked Carly up and down, then her mouth formed a silent oh when she came to the band on Carly’s right hand. “Is this because of Dane? Or for him?”
“For. I packed up Jeff’s clothes, and I—I called Mia this afternoon. She answered, ‘Ah, daughter-in-my-heart,’ and I almost lost it then. But I managed to tell her about Dane, and then we both lost it.” She touched the corner of her eye with her pinkie, careful to blot away the moisture without disturbing her makeup. She had plans for after dinner tonight. She’d even shopped for the event: a sundress in tropical shades that exposed way too much leg for school, strappy sandals, and even a little sexy lingerie.
If Dane was willing. If he was, she wanted to look all that willing and more.
She wasn’t going to call him until after dinner. She’d finished packing Jeff’s clothing, both military and civilian. She’d boxed up mementos from his youth and college and a few places the Army had sent him. Where the guest closet had held hanging clothes, now it held orange tubs.
Not everything was gone. She’d kept all the photographs, his dress blue uniform, his ribbons and awards. The small pottery dish on the dresser that held all the challenge coins he’d collected in the Army remained. She’d kept a few notebooks filled with his big loopy writing, his favorite pair of aviator shades and a few other sentimental items.
And then she’d called Mia, who insisted she was happy for her, but sobbed all through the call. Carly had no doubt Mia really was happy she’d met someone else, but she had to be going through a lot of sorrow again. It had to be a tangible reminder that all her dreams for Jeff and Carly were over.
Not that Carly would ever quit being part of Mia and Pop’s lives, unless it was too painful for them.
That call made, now she was free for one more, and the time was soon.
“So.” Therese drew her attention back. “You’re really ready to move on.”
“Yes. I am.”
“I hate you. Here you’re falling in love and being really happy again, and I’m…I’m just falling apart.” Therese lifted her margarita. “But I’m also unbearably happy for you. I hope you and Dane live a long, long life
together.”
Carly clinked glasses with her, then gazed around the table at their friends, wishing she had a camera that could capture them all. In that moment, everyone, every single one, was smiling, even Therese. Everyone looked happy, as if they’d found some small measure of peace on this perfect Tuesday evening. It was enough to make her throat tighten and tears well in her eyes.
She was trying to surreptitiously wipe her eyes when Jessy’s voice arose above the others. “Oh, my God.” After a moment, in a less surprised tone, she said, “Carly, tell soldier boy he needs to get out in the sun. He’s way too pale for my fantasies.”
Her gaze jerked to Jessy, then past her to the parking lot. Beside her, Therese gasped and whispered, “Bless his heart.” Understanding barely registered as Dane came toward them. He wore a T-shirt, as he nearly always did, and cargo shorts that ended at his knee. His right leg, as Jessy had pointed out, was too pale to match the rest of him. His left leg wasn’t the pretty flesh-toned one, but a mechanical robotic prosthesis that looked futuristic and efficient.
His stride was nearly perfect, but his face was red with self-consciousness. That was when the enormity of it hit her: He was wearing shorts in public. He was putting himself and his prosthetic leg on display for anyone who wanted to look—and everyone on the patio was looking. Not because they’d never seen a soldier with a prosthesis before, but because this soldier was special. He was worth looking at.
And he’d done this—come here like this—for her. He wasn’t ignoring his leg, covering it up, pretending it didn’t exist so no one else would know it did, and he was doing it for her.
He walked through the gate that led directly onto the patio, passed off a grimace for a smile and murmured a few names as he passed. “Ilena. Jessy. Marti.”
A Hero to Come Home To Page 29