Lost in Her

by Sandra Owens

  Her friend had sounded so excited that her husband was coming home, and Charlie got it because her heart had gone into overdrive at the news she would be seeing Ryan soon. She had raced to his place, showered, washed her hair, and now stood with a towel wrapped around her, trying to decide which T-shirt to wear. She finally picked the one that said, Feel safe at night, sleep with a pilot.

  Although she didn’t know anything about where he’d been other than he had landed in Finland, or what was involved, she had the sense it had been a dangerous mission. She wanted him to feel safe, and the T-shirt seemed appropriate. Never mind she was dying to feel his arms wrapped around her, both while sleeping and not.

  Ryan’s rabbit popped out from under the pile of clothes, his nose twitching. “He’s coming home, Mr. Bunny. He’s coming home!” The refrain bounced around in her head like the melody of a song.

  Once dressed, she went into the bathroom and applied a little makeup, then blow-dried her hair. She hadn’t been this excited since she’d gotten her pilot’s license. He was coming home, and she couldn’t wait to see him.

  Maria squeezed Charlie’s hand at the sight of a limping Jake walking toward them. “Stupid idiot, he went and got shot again.”

  “Did you know that?” Charlie asked.

  “No, ’cause he didn’t tell us when he reported in. And why not? Because he knew I would yell at him so loud he wouldn’t have needed a phone to hear me.” She let go of Charlie’s hand and headed for her husband.

  Charlie searched the faces of the people walking behind Jake. Where was Ryan? They probably hadn’t been able to sit together, and Ryan must have been at the back of the plane. So focused on watching for him to appear, she didn’t notice when Jake and Maria stopped next to her.

  “Sweetie, he’s not coming,” Maria said, giving her a hug.

  Not coming? What did that mean? Had he been hurt, too? Tears stung her eyes at the thought of Ryan hurt and alone in some hospital in a foreign country. “How bad was he hurt? Where is he? I’ll go to him.” Jake and Maria exchanged uneasy glances, and Charlie’s heart fell, landing with a heavy thud in the bottom of her stomach.

  “He’s dead,” Charlie whispered, and clutched her stomach as it took a sickening roll.

  “No, no, he’s fine. He booked a flight to Boston when we landed in New York.”

  Charlie stared at Jake in disbelief, and he gave Maria a look that as much as said, “Help me out here.”

  There was pity in Maria’s eyes, and Charlie hated that. “He called my brother, asked for some time off. Said he needed to go home for a few days to take care of some stuff. I’m sorry, Charlie. I didn’t know until Jake just told me.”

  Stunned, Charlie didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t even bothered to call and tell her not to show up at the airport. He was the one who had asked her to wait for him, and here she was waiting for a man who hadn’t cared enough about her to make one lousy phone call.

  “Did he . . .” She snapped her mouth shut. If he’d sent her a message, Jake would have told her by then. She stared at the floor, wishing it would just open up and swallow her. How pathetic she must look to them, showing up to welcome a man home who had better things to do than come back to her.

  “Listen, I’ve got some errands to run, so I’m taking off.” She had to get away before she suffered the ultimate mortification and broke out crying.

  “I’ll call you later,” Maria said.

  “Yeah, sure.” She waved a hand as she walked away. A few steps down the concourse, she stopped and turned. “Welcome home, Jake.”

  “Thanks.” His smile was soft, as if he were sad for her.

  He had Maria tucked up under his arm the same way Ryan liked tucking her into him. It was too much. The tears she’d been trying to hold back pooled in her eyes. She turned away to leave.

  “Charlie,” Jake called.

  Unable to bear seeing the couple again, nestled into each other, she stopped but didn’t turn. “Yeah?”

  “I’m sure he’ll call you tonight.”

  “Probably,” she said, although she didn’t believe it.

  The only place she knew to go where she could rid her mind of Ryan O’Connor and the ache he had put in her heart was the sky.

  Charlie adjusted her airspeed to enter a snap-roll maneuver. To do the stunt, she would have to depart from controlled flight, stalling one wing during an accelerated pull up. It was a sudden stall, roll, spin, recover heart-thrilling maneuver, and one of her favorites.

  It was a beautiful day in Northwest Florida; the sky was an azure blue and the gulf below an emerald green. Fluffy white clouds floated lazily overhead as if they had all the time in the world to get where they were going.

  As she set up for the maneuver, she cleared her mind of everything but her and her plane. Why she could vanquish all her problems so easily when flying was something of a mystery, but from the minute her wheels lifted off the runway, she felt like she could breathe again. It was always like that. If she was sad, she flew. If she was angry, she flew. If she wanted to get a certain green-eyed hot guy out of her head, then time to go flying. As she prepared for the stall, her mind cleansed of all the crap going on in her life, she laughed from the joy filling her heart. This! This was all she needed for life to be good.

  She came out of the roll, applied the opposite rudder, and released the back pressure to unstall the wings. As she leveled out the Citabria, she saw two navy F/A-18 Hornets circling off to her left, the pilots watching her. They both tipped their wings in a salute. Charlie grinned, and unable to resist showing off, she climbed until she was above them, inverted her plane, and flew over them like Tom Cruise in Top Gun, her all-time favorite movie.

  Although she was breaking every regulation in the book, she didn’t care, nor, it seemed, did the navy pilots. Each gave her a thumbs-up, and one blew her a kiss. As they rolled away and flew off, Charlie watched them until they’d disappeared, envious of their planes. How she would love to be behind the controls of an aircraft that flew at Mach speed.

  No way her troubles could catch up with her.

  Ryan walked out the door of Boston’s Logan International Airport and hailed a taxi. He’d told no one he was coming, not even his mother. Instead of sending Charlie a text when changing planes in New York, letting her know that he was on his way to Boston, he should have called and told her everything.

  So call her now, you dumb shit. Taking out his phone, he clicked on her name and stared at it, wondering what to say. How to explain that he wanted a future with her, but until he put Kathleen and the past behind him, his wife would always be between them. Charlie deserved better from him.

  He missed her. His finger hovered over the Call icon.

  “Where to?” the taxi driver asked.

  He stuck the phone back into his pocket, and before he thought better of it, he gave his parents’ address. Then, “No, take me to the Marriott on Long Wharf.” The hotel was reasonable, but more importantly, close to where Kathleen’s jewelry store had been.

  If he showed up at his mom and dad’s door, they would be thrilled to see him, but there would also be questions he wasn’t ready to answer, especially from his mother. She had eyes that could see into her children’s souls. What he had in his, he didn’t want her to see.

  He would take the first few days home to do what he needed to do, then spend some time with his family. After checking in, and throwing his go bag on the bed, he opened the curtains in his room and looked out at the harbor marina. He tried not to think that he had possibly ruined whatever he and Charlie might have had. In a corner of his mind, he held on to her promise to wait for him.

  The next morning, and after a sleepless night, Ryan showered, shaved, and dressed. The last time he had slept well was with Charlie. Before he left his room, he called her, got her voice mail, and disconnected without leaving a message. What he needed to say couldn’t be left on a machine.

  His first stop was at Kathleen’s father’s house. “Hel
lo, Donal,” he said, hiding his shock at how much the man had aged. The last time he’d seen Donal had been at her funeral, and although that had been only a little over a year ago, his father-in-law looked ten years older.

  “Ryan?”

  Of course he was Ryan. Why was that a question? “Can I come in?” he asked when Donal stared at him as if not pleased to see him. They had always gotten along, so why did he not feel welcome?

  “Of course. Of course.” Donal stepped back, his slippers scraping over the tiled foyer.

  Offered a cup of coffee, Ryan accepted and followed his father-in-law into the kitchen, a place he’d spent many hours. Now it felt as if he were a stranger to the old man. The tingle at the back of his neck that he’d long ago learned to trust sent off warning signals. Any doubt he’d had that Kathleen’s father knew more than he’d let on vanished. The two of them had been close, as much friends as father and daughter. Somehow Ryan had to find a way to get the man to reveal Kathleen’s secrets.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch,” Ryan said. “After she died, I didn’t know what to do with myself, but that’s no excuse.”

  Donal turned sad eyes on him. “I understand, son. I didn’t know what to do with myself either.”

  They sat at the worn table where the three of them had spent hours talking or playing Hearts. They had even laughed together at this very table over Donal’s blatant cheating. As they each sipped their coffee, Ryan tried to think how to ask his questions so he would get answers.

  “I miss her,” he said. And even as he said it, it hit him that he missed Charlie even more.

  “As do I.” Donal traced the pattern of the checkered, vinyl tablecloth. “You didn’t just drop in out of the blue, did you?”

  Donal had migrated to America as a young man and his Irish accent was still there in his speech. A wave of homesickness rolled through Ryan. They’d had such happy days: him, Kathleen, her father, his family. That time was gone, though, and if he was to move on, he needed answers. He decided to just spit it out.

  “You knew she was pregnant, didn’t you?”

  Donal’s eyes met his before his gaze shifted back to the strawberries in the middle of the green squares of the tablecloth. “Why are you asking this now, son?”

  So, he did know. “Because I have to know why.” When there was no response, Ryan tried again. “Because it’s eating me alive, and there’s this girl back in Pensacola that I like a lot. I loved Kathleen with all that I was, you know that. But it seems that wasn’t enough for her. If I can’t understand why, then I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust again.”

  The strawberry next to Donal’s coffee cup got traced twice over before his father-in-law sighed, then sighed again. “Tá tú ag briseadh mo chroí, buachaill.”

  Ryan tried to translate, but gave up. “What does that mean?”

  “I said, you’re breaking my heart, boy. I loved my daughter. I love you. Which one of you do I remain true to?”

  That was an easy question to answer. Ryan covered the old man’s hand with his. “As much as I wish otherwise, Donal, she’s gone. I’m still here. Your answer won’t hurt her now.”

  “Talk to Patrick,” he said as the nail of his index finger dug through the middle of the strawberry, leaving a two-inch scratch.

  Why would Patrick know who had fathered Kathleen’s baby? “I don’t understand. If Patrick knew something, he would have told me.”

  Tears rolled down Donal’s cheeks as he met Ryan’s eyes. “Ask yourself what the one reason would be that he kept such a secret. It probably won’t help, but they both were sick with regret that they allowed such a thing to happen.”

  “Patrick?” That was the only word he could get out before his throat closed on him.

  Donal nodded. “I’m sorry, son. You were such a good husband to my Kathleen, and I prayed you didn’t know.”

  Ryan felt as if he’d been sucker punched, losing all the air from his lungs. His own fucking brother? Without asking, he stood and blindly made his way to the bathroom. When there was nothing left but dry heaves, he stumbled to the sink and rinsed out his mouth, then splashed cold water over his face.

  A knock sounded on the door. “Are you all right, son?”

  No, he wasn’t fucking all right. He swallowed, trying to clear his throat. “Had to use the john. Be there in a minute.”

  Forcing himself to spend another few minutes with Donal, he finally said his good-byes, promising to come again in the near future. It was a lie. He would never come again. Not that he blamed Kathleen’s father for what had happened, but he had to mentally cut ties with anything to do with his wife, including her father.

  She had betrayed him with his brother, and he didn’t know which of them he hated more. A stranger, someone he didn’t know, who wasn’t supposed to be loyal to him; that he could have accepted. Maybe never understood, but he could have gotten past it.

  A few blocks from Donal’s house, he pulled over and took out his cell phone, flipped to Patrick’s number, and punched Call.

  “Well, if it isn’t Squirt.”

  His older brother had called him that as far back as Ryan could remember. Where before it hadn’t bothered him, now he wanted to reach through the phone and wrap his fingers around Patrick’s neck until the lifeblood was squeezed out of him.

  “Yeah, it’s me. When you get off?”

  “My shift’s over at seven, why?”

  It was close to impossible, but Ryan forced his voice to sound normal. “I’m in town. Meet me for a beer at O’Reilly’s.”

  “The hell you say? Mom didn’t tell me you were coming.”

  “She doesn’t know I’m here, so keep it that way.” He hung up before Patrick could ask any more questions. He returned to the hotel, parked his car in the garage, then walked down to the wharf. As he aimlessly wandered the downtown streets of Boston, he tried not to imagine Kathleen in Patrick’s arms, kissing his brother, letting Patrick know her in the ways only a husband should. It was impossible to block out what his imagination conjured.

  He probably should have told his cop brother to leave his gun at home. Before the night was over, one of them might be tempted to use it.

  Leaving the wharf, he walked past his hotel and up two more streets to where Kathleen’s shop had been. Over the door, there was a sign of an outstretched palm, with the words Madame Loka’s Palm Reading.

  Something ugly coiled inside him as he stood on the sidewalk and stared at the garish purple and green paint covering the bricks. The last time he had seen the storefront, the bricks had still been red as bricks were supposed to be, and the classy sign with Kathleen’s name on it, followed by a pair of entwined rings, had still been there. A woman dripping diamonds walked by him and entered the shop.

  Ryan turned away and spent the rest of the day walking the streets of Boston, stopping for a few minutes at each place he and Kathleen had been to . . . the restaurants, the shops, the theatre. As he left each place behind, he left a bit of his rage, handing over those pieces at each stop to her ghost, because although he couldn’t see her, he could feel her.

  “Why?” he asked her when he finally came to their favorite restaurant. Not expecting an answer and not getting one, he returned to his hotel. He almost called Charlie, but he needed to finish what he’d started before he tried to make things right with her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  By the time he walked into O’Reilly’s, Ryan was strangely calm. Although he still needed to hear from Patrick’s mouth why he had violated every rule that existed between brothers, there was nothing Ryan could do to change it. The day he had spent exorcising his wife’s ghost was something he should have done long before. If he had, he would be home, holding Charlie in his arms, and more than anything, that was where he wanted to be.

  Patrick was already in a booth along the back wall, two mugs of beer on the table. Ryan slid onto the seat across from his brother, and unable to meet his eyes, he picked up the beer closest t
o him and downed half of it.

  “Liquid courage.”

  “What?” Ryan jerked his gaze up to Patrick. There was sadness, maybe even regret in his brother’s eyes.

  “Liquid courage. You know, but you don’t know how to ask me.” Patrick spun his mug in a full circle before lifting it to his mouth. “I stopped by Donal’s before coming here. I check on him a few times a week. He said you were there this morning asking questions.”

  It was going to be that easy? He had thought his brother would try to deny his affair with Kathleen. Ryan studied Patrick. It would be obvious to anyone they were brothers, but Patrick was bigger, his hair redder. His green eyes were always flashing with humor, one of the reasons women loved him. Was that why Kathleen had been drawn to him? Had he made her laugh in ways Ryan hadn’t been able to?

  “She was pregnant.”

  Tears pooled in Patrick’s eyes. “I know.”

  “This morning, when I found out it was you, I thought about killing you.”

  “And I wouldn’t blame you if you had. Mom would be pissed at you, though.”

  Ryan laughed, surprising himself. “Yeah, then she would’ve killed me for killing you.”

  “Nah, you were always her favorite.”

  “Bullshit. We were all her favorite.” Ryan sucked in a deep breath, then let it out. “Why, Patrick? I have to know.”

  His brother raised two fingers when their waitress walked by. “It wasn’t supposed to happen. I want you to know that.”

  “No shit, brother.” Ryan drained the rest of his beer, renewed anger vibrating through him.

  “Every deployment, you asked me to keep an eye on her, and I always did. If I could, I’d be there when she closed her shop, make sure she safely got to her car. The last time you were gone, I stopped by to walk her to her car one afternoon. It was the day after Erin and I broke up, and Kathleen knew as soon as she saw me that I was upset. She decided I needed a shoulder to cry on and insisted we go somewhere for dinner and talk. That was—”