* * *
The questions dragged on, and Kel wondered if the police were ever going to let him go home. One of the officers had escorted Marilyn to one of the squad cars so that her statement could be taken, but now she was waiting by their car, her face still looking too pale.
When the officer interviewing him started to repeat the same questions yet again, Kel finally interrupted, “Look, I really need to get my wife home. You have my number if you need more information, but I’ve already told you everything that happened.”
The officer looked over at Marilyn and seemed to accept Kel’s request. “Okay, Commander.”
Kel gave him a nod and then limped toward his car. When he reached Marilyn’s side, he asked, “Why don’t you let me drive?”
Marilyn didn’t question him. She simply handed him the keys.
Kel took her by the arm and walked her to the passenger side of the car. Then he climbed behind the wheel and glanced over at her. “Let’s get you home.”
Marilyn remained quiet all the way back to the house. He parked in the garage, but he had barely turned off the car when Marilyn pushed her way out of the car and hurried into the house.
Not sure what to think, Kel hurried after her and found her in the kitchen with a cup of water in her hand. “Are you okay?”
Marilyn shook her head, still clearly in shock.
“Why don’t you sit down?” Kel suggested.
Again, Marilyn shook her head, but now she looked up at Kel with an odd expression. She drew a slow breath and then spoke in an even tone that edged toward accusatory, “You killed a man.”
Kel felt like he’d taken a bullet to the heart. He took a deep breath of his own. “Yeah, I killed a man. I killed a man who was threatening my wife and dozens of innocent civilians, a man who was trying to kill me.”
“You didn’t have to kill him,” Marilyn said now. “I mean, aren’t you a sharp shooter? Couldn’t you have just wounded him?”
Kel felt his chest tighten as he drew another breath and slowly let it out. He searched for the right words, wondering if they even existed. “In my line of work, I shoot to kill. If I had wounded him, he might have still been able to shoot back. I couldn’t take the chance that he would hurt you.”
He could see in her face the way her world blurred and then refocused in the blink of an eye. “You’ve killed before.”
Slowly, Kel nodded. “Yes, I’ve killed before.”
“How . . . ?” Marilyn began, apparently struggling against this reality now that she could visualize what her husband did when he was away from her. “How can you do this for a living? How can you go to church on Sunday knowing that you’ve taken someone’s life?”
Kel paced across the room and stared out the window. The pain in his leg was fading fast, but a new ache was quickly taking over. He turned back to face his wife, hoping he could somehow explain what he did, why he did it. “When your dad was killed, would it have been okay if he’d shot and killed the man shooting at him?”
“That’s different,” Marilyn said immediately.
“No, it’s not. I don’t kill people who aren’t trying to kill me or someone I’ve sworn to protect,” Kel insisted as he prayed for guidance. “Every time I take a life, a part of me dies inside. And every time, I pray that my actions are justified.”
Marilyn’s voice was incredulous. “You pray after killing someone?”
“Yes, I do. There have even been times when I’ve gone in to talk to the bishop after a really difficult situation,” Kel said, recognizing how odd his admission must sound. “It’s not easy to take a life, even when I know that killing someone is ultimately going to save lives.”
Kel paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “That bank robber today had every intention of killing someone. If he had succeeded in shooting me, you might have been next.” Kel sat beside her, reached for her hand, his heart breaking a little as he watched the tears streaming down her face. “Don’t you understand? You are everything to me. I don’t think I could live with myself if something happened to you, especially knowing I could have done something to stop it.”
“I don’t understand anything anymore,” she said through her tears. “I feel like you’re two people—the man I married and a complete stranger, both sharing the same body.”
“Marilyn, I’m still the same,” Kel insisted. He wondered if it were even possible to explain what he was feeling or to understand her emotions. He reached over and touched her cheek, waiting for her eyes to meet his. “Every day I pray that I won’t have to shoot anyone, that I won’t be forced to make that choice. I hate that there are people in this world who make it necessary for men like me to carry guns and sometimes use them.”
“But you do it,” Marilyn said now. “You carry a gun, knowing that you might have to use it.”
Kel nodded. “Yes.”
“Maybe it was better when I didn’t understand what you did,” she said softly. Then she pulled her hand free, stood up, and left the room.
33
Kel rocked gently on his front porch as he watched the neighborhood kids at play. The scene before him was what he always imagined life should be like in middle-class America. Kids on bicycles, skateboards, and scooters, a couple more playing fetch with a dog. He wanted to be part of the scene in front of him so badly it hurt.
He ached for children of his own, a dog in the backyard. He wanted to be hanging out with the other dads who were standing across the street watching over their kids. He wished Marilyn had a reason to hang out on the neighbor’s porch with the other moms as they visited before calling their families in for dinner.
Instead, Marilyn was locked in her office upstairs, undoubtedly working on her computer. He wondered if she ever looked out and saw what he saw, wished for the same things he prayed for. He had thought that they shared the same dreams, but the words she had written still haunted him. That window to her inner thoughts and feelings had opened his eyes, proving that he didn’t really know his wife. Today had apparently shown her that she didn’t really know him, either.
Kel continued to rock, thinking that his house probably looked normal to those walking by. The lawn was neatly mowed, thanks to the lawn service Kel had hired to help out until he was able to take care of it himself. The “For Sale” sign was no longer in the yard, and the front porch was now equipped with two wooden rocking chairs Marilyn had found the week before at a yard sale.
He thought of Marilyn once more. Everything had being going so great up until that morning at the bank. Sure Ramir had someone out there who might be trying to kill him, but the most important thing in his life, his relationship with his wife, had improved significantly over the past few weeks. Not that they hadn’t fought through some struggles, but they were finally pushing through so many of the obstacles they had created over the years that had been interfering with their happiness.
Now he could only wonder if a single event could unravel everything.
He still couldn’t quite get past the randomness of his presence at the bank that morning. What are the chances . . . he thought to himself once more. What were the chances that he would choose that exact moment to stop by the bank? That he would be there to stop the robbery before it happened? And what were the chances that it would all take place in front of Marilyn, where she would be forced to see him for who he really was? What he really was?
A car turned onto his street, moving slowly as it waited for the sea of kids to move out of the way so it could continue forward. Moments later it parked in front of Kel’s house, and Brent got out and crossed the lawn in long easy strides.
“I heard you had some excitement today,” Brent said as he climbed the porch steps and lowered himself into the other rocking chair.
“You could say that.” Kel’s voice was flat.
Brent looked at him sympathetically. “How is Marilyn doing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Still in shock?” Brent asked, continuing before Ke
l could respond. “I’m sure seeing someone point a gun at her had to be traumatic.”
“You would think so.” Kel nodded. “But she seems more focused on the fact that I killed someone in front of her.”
Brent’s voice softened. “How are you doing with that?”
“What do you mean, how am I doing with that?” Kel asked edgily. “I shot and killed a man in front of my wife and a dozen civilians.”
“A man threatening you with a gun,” Brent reminded him. Then he shook his head. “I thought you would have worked through this crisis of conscience years ago.”
“Crisis of conscience?” Kel shifted now to look at Brent. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What would you call it?” Brent asked evenly. “You’ve admitted that you don’t like to talk to Marilyn about work. Maybe you were just afraid of what she’d think if she knew that we sometimes have to kill the bad guy. If you haven’t come to terms with that part of our lives, there’s no way you can make her understand.”
“After what happened at the bank, I think it’s pretty obvious how she feels about killing the enemy.”
“She’s still in shock,” Brent insisted. “Come on, Kel. Look at it from her point of view for a minute. She’s probably never seen a dead body in her life, and she certainly hasn’t ever seen someone killed right in front of her. That would shake anyone.”
“Yeah, anyone except those of us who kill for a living.”
“She said that?”
“More or less.”
“I hate to say it, but she probably just needs some more time.” Brent hesitated and then added, “And she needs you to trust her enough to tell her what our life is like at work.”
“What do you do?” Kel looked at Brent, his voice shimmering with anger. “Do you come home at the end of a mission and tell your wife, ‘Hi honey; I’m home; I had to kill someone today; I’m not sure if it was the right thing to do, but I was under orders, so I guess it’s okay’?” Then Kel waved a frustrated hand in the air and shook his head. “You don’t even have to say anything to Amy. She can read the mission reports.”
“She can,” Brent conceded. “But I still talk to her about it, especially when things go bad.”
“How?” Kel looked at him, trying to comprehend how anyone could possibly verbalize the pain, the conflict that came from taking another human life. “How can you make her understand what it’s like? How can anyone really understand what it’s like to pull the trigger and know that your actions ended a life?”
“I don’t think anyone really can understand it unless they’ve experienced it themselves,” Brent admitted. “But Amy does know what it does to me. She knows that I’m going to struggle sometimes with what we have to do, and she’s there to remind me that we don’t always have any other options.” Brent leaned back in his chair, his eyes serious. “Wars have been around since biblical times. The Lord understands what’s in our hearts.”
“But Marilyn doesn’t.”
“Just talk to her,” Brent insisted.
Kel glanced back at the house and let out a sigh. “I guess I don’t have a choice.”
* * *
Marilyn paced across the room for the hundredth time, her mind unable to settle down enough for her to write. She wanted to escape into her novel, to sort out her feelings, but her characters had become strangers to her. Her novel was nearly done, the story so close to finding its happily ever after, but every time she sat down at her desk, the desk Kel had bought for her, the words wouldn’t come.
She dropped down onto the loveseat and looked around the room. It was a dream come true—her own private place to write, to create, to fantasize. How could Kel understand her so well and she know him so little? Kel had somehow worked past the shock of finding out her deepest secret and then had done everything he could to keep it from becoming a barrier between them.
Marilyn didn’t know if she could ever overcome the barrier between them now that she understood some of Kel’s secrets. She closed her eyes, fighting back the nausea that welled up when she let herself remember the events of that morning.
The man who had fought the bank robbers wasn’t someone she knew, wasn’t even someone she had ever seen before. She let out a sigh, other memories surfacing.
How many times had she seen Kel’s gear in the garage? Or seen him cleaning his sidearm or sharpening a knife? How often had Brent stopped by to see if Kel wanted to spend some extra time on the shooting range?
Logically, she knew that this part of Kel’s life wasn’t really a mystery to her. Emotionally, she still couldn’t quite move past the knowledge that her husband had killed a man. That it hadn’t been the first time.
Had she been deluding herself all of this time? Perhaps she had gotten caught up in pretending that Kel was simply the handsome man in uniform, the one who made her feel beautiful. All of these years, she had never let herself think about why he spent so much time on weapons training or what his career required him to do.
Tears welled up in her eyes as a new realization washed over her. Could this be the reason Kel never talked to her about his work? Had he sensed that she didn’t want to know the whole truth about what he did? Perhaps he knew that she couldn’t handle his reality when he was away from home. Was he right?
An emptiness spread through her, a sensation she couldn’t push away as she gave in to the tears. Suddenly chilled, she pulled the afghan from the back of the loveseat and curled up beneath it. Squeezing her eyes shut, she surrendered to the onslaught of emotions.
34
Kel crossed the hall to Marilyn’s office and stared at the closed door for a moment. She hadn’t ever come to bed last night, and he didn’t know if he could stand the silence between them anymore. They had certainly had their share of difficulties before but never like this. Never had Marilyn been unwilling to face him and discuss the issues with him.
Determined to talk to her, he pushed the door open, his eyes immediately landing on the desk and the empty chair beside it. Then he noticed Marilyn sound asleep on the loveseat, despite the light that was streaming through the windows.
A sense of wonder and panic coursed through him. She was so beautiful—her light brown curls against porcelain skin, her long fingers curled into a fist and tucked under her chin. Her eyes were puffy, a bit of mascara smudged under them. He thought of the tears she must have shed and wondered what he would do if she couldn’t come to terms with his past and his present.
Staring down at her, he didn’t know what to think. He thought of his talk with Brent the night before. He had spent most of the night wondering what he could say, what he could do to help Marilyn comprehend who he really was and how much he needed her to accept and support him.
Could she even fathom his desire to protect and the way that desire often warred with the necessity to kill? More importantly, did she understand that his desire to protect stemmed from his unwillingness to lose her as he had his parents and sister?
He reached down and softly brushed a curl from her cheek. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake. He could only wonder if her tears had come because of the trauma she had suffered the day before or if they had stemmed from his part in stopping the bank robbers.
Though he wished he could stay and watch over her, Kel straightened and left the room. He quietly closed the door behind him and started to head downstairs. Then he stopped and reversed course, going into his bedroom instead. Slowly, he dropped to his knees beside the bed and poured out his fears to the Lord. As he prayed, he asked for Marilyn to find comfort and understanding and that somehow she would be able to accept who he was. Though he hesitated to say the words, he finally added a request that the Lord would also help him find peace with the violence of his past and that he might gain understanding of what he should do in his future.
When he finally closed his prayer, Kel felt as though he had more questions than answers. His heart still heavy, he grabbed his car keys and headed out the door. As he pulled out of the
garage and drove to his physical therapy session, Kel mentally adjusted his plans for work that day. Certain that his obligations in the office could wait, he decided he would let his wife sleep for the next hour. Then somehow he was going to break down these walls that had been built between them.
* * *
Halim crossed off another address, gritting his teeth as he looked at the remaining possibilities. Pages of crumpled paper littered the back of his car, a sign of his frustration as he eliminated one house after another. He hated the way he was living right now. He hated the mess, the chaos, the need to assimilate with these infidels.
He watched the tall blond load her two children into the car and pull away from the house he had been staking out. As soon as they disappeared around the corner, he started the rental car and put it into gear. Only one more page of addresses to check and he would be out of options. If the Bennetts didn’t reside at one of them, he would have to start over.
Fury bubbled inside him as he considered having to start over again. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself as he remembered that he needed to blend in. Slowly, he pulled away from the curb and started for the next address on the list.
* * *
Marilyn started to roll over, nearly falling off the narrow loveseat. Reaching back to rub at the kink in her neck, she let her feet drop to the floor and shifted into a sitting position. Blinking slowly, she looked around the room, feeling it come into focus. She started to smile, remembering this gift Kel had given her. Then the expression faded as other memories surfaced.
For a moment she didn’t move, listening for any sound that would indicate that Kel was still home. When she heard nothing but the hum of her computer, she stood slowly and crossed the room. She moved the mouse to deactivate the screen saver and looked at the time in the lower right-hand corner. Nine fifteen.
Kel would be at physical therapy by now.
She could feel the puffiness under her eyes and immediately knew that no amount of makeup was going to hide the fact that she had given into a long crying spree the night before. She was a little surprised that Kel hadn’t come in and woken her when she hadn’t come to bed the night before. He typically wasn’t the type to let a fight last past bedtime, except, of course, when an argument was caused by the phone calls that took him away for duty and he wasn’t home to make things right.
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