by Annie Stone
I don’t know whether I’ve ever seen her happier than in that moment. I put her in her car seat, but before I get in, I tell Carey over the roof of the car: “He needs to tell her he loves her. She needs to know she’ll always be loved by the important people in her life.”
He nods. “Already made a mental note.” He pulls an envelope from his pocket. “Also, I’m supposed to give you this.”
My hands tremble a little as I touch the paper. A letter. A letter from Hunter.
Suddenly, I’m trembling with excitement. What did he write?
Back at the hotel, I put the letter on top of my dresser. I’ll have to read it when Hazel’s asleep—the moment she falls asleep. Carey gives Hazel a bath while I just keep staring at the letter.
And staring.
Oh goddamnit, I’m going to read it now!
I open it, after a few fumbling tries. Oh God. What did he write?
And then I see his crooked writing and remember it must have been physically painful for him to write this. Which makes it all the more meaningful to me…
I read the letter three times. Am I imagining it, or is every word brimming with love? I mean, until the last sentence—“I’ve missed you”—he’s only written about Hazel, but it sounds like he’s talking about me, too. Like he’s not just hoping for me to let him see Hazel, but to let him see me, too.
When I read the letter for the fourth time, tears run down my cheeks. I’m nearly positive he still loves me.
“Mommy try,” Hazel observes as she scurries out of the bathroom wrapped in her fluffy robe.
Carey squeezes me for a second before distracting Hazel with a book. They get set up to read it in bed, and it doesn’t take her long to fall asleep against him. He carefully tucks her in and whispers, “So? What did he write?”
I sniff. “That he wants to be part of her life and hopes I’ll let him.”
“Well? Are you going to let him?” Carey teases.
“There’s nothing I want more in the world,” I reply.
He nods and glances at Hazel, but she’s sleeping like a log, so he turns on the TV. I sit down at the little desk in the corner and take out some of the hotel paper to write back.
Dear Hunter,
I’m so happy you’ve already fallen in love with our daughter. I’ve told her so much about you, and she knows you from pictures and videos. Although, you were a little younger in them. But she knows you. And to her, it was a dream come true to finally meet her daddy.
Yes, I want nothing more than for her to have her dad in her life. I’m so glad you want that too. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
She’s a little whirlwind, though she sounded very proud today when she told me you two cuddled. Obviously, she likes just spending time with you. Which is rare. Usually, she’s moving nonstop, running around, a flurry of activity. And soon, her daddy will be able to run after her.
Your suicide attempt came as a shock to me, but I hope you know both Hazel and I need you. And Carey needs you, too. Please don’t think you’re on your own. We are here for you, and we love you—all three of us.
Yes, we really need to talk, and I hope you’ll be home soon. I know you want inpatient treatment, but you are always welcome in our home. Even if you only want to be Hazel’s father and Carey’s brother.
You need to know that I will always be in your corner. Even though I’m hoping for a certain result, I’m not going to push you. Only you know what is best for you.
But one thing you need to know… I love you Hunter. From the bottom of my heart. And I chose you, even if I was too stupid to show you that night. Forgive me. I love you.
Yours truly,
Mac
If you think I wrote that dry-eyed, you’re sorely mistaken. I tuck it in an envelope and hand it to Carey. “Can you give this to him tomorrow?”
“Sure thing.”
I also hand over two shopping bags. “I went shopping today.”
“For me?”
“No, for Hunter. I didn’t know what kind of clothes he has. What made it back from Afghanistan. So I just bought him…well, everything.”
Carey grins. “You bought him boxers?”
My cheeks go pink. “I… I just…”
He laughs his head off. “You’re so funny, doll. It’s unbelievable.”
“You want him to go without underwear?”
He shrugs. “If he wants to.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t, liar.” He smacks the mattress next to him. “Come on. Let’s watch some trash.”
“Just a second. I’ll go brush my teeth and put on some PJs.”
“Sure. Go put on your flannel sack. I bet Hunter would get silk and frills.”
I blush hard. It’s like he knows I was shopping for sexy underwear today. Carey jumps up and runs over to the rest of the shopping bags.
“No, Carey! Don’t! That’s private!”
Obviously, he doesn’t stop, not until a La Perla bra is dangling from his fingers. “Gotcha!”
“Carey,” I whine, surely red as a tomato.
He smiles. “So you’re planning to seduce my brother, wounded and injured as he is.”
“I…”
“Admit it! You want to take advantage of the fact that he’s helpless and—”
“Oh my God, I can’t stand you!” I wail as he goes back to pawing through the bag.
“Hmm, sexy, sexy. I knew you were keeping the good stuff for Hunter!”
“Oh my God. Carey Tilman, you’re such a nutcase!”
He smiles. “What, you’re only realizing that now?”
“No, but it amazes me anew every day.”
He shoots a bra over to me like a slingshot. “Off you go. Put on your flannel sack so we can watch Duck Dynasty.”
“Carey—”
“Don’t.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”
“Yes, I do.”
“What am I going to say then?”
“That you wouldn’t use Hunter. But you don’t need to say that because I know. And, besides, I know Hunter loves a good BJ.”
Rolling my eyes, I turn around and head to the bathroom. Just before I disappear inside, I turn around again, grinning. “He does indeed.”
When I come out, Carey’s waiting for me on his bed with popcorn ordered from room service. I sit next to him, and we watch some trash together until I get tired and slip into my own bed.
“Sexy dreams,” Carey whispers before he turns off the light.
“Oh yeah,” I murmur.
“About Hunter?”
“Mmm.”
“You’ve got it so bad it’s disgusting.”
“Oh, shut up.”
He laughs. “Good night, doll.”
“Night, asshole.”
I have to smile when I hear his amused snort. Oh, I love my family.
11
Hunter
After neither Dr. Wilson nor Mac were able to change the charge nurse’s mind, I’ve decided to talk to her myself. Maybe that’s what I should have done in the first place.
“Sergeant Tilman,” she says brightly when she finds me sitting in her office. “What can I do for you?”
“You can allow my daughter’s mother to visit me.”
She raises an eyebrow. “But you’ve told me personally that she’s the only person you do not want to see.”
“I didn’t. But I changed my mind.”
She leafs through a stack of documents. “That would not be a problem if she hadn’t broken hospital rules.”
“I understand, but she had a good reason for doing that.”
The nurse sighs. “I know. But that doesn’t change the fact that she entered our premises without authorization to do so. So, I’m sorry, but my hands are tied.”
“She brought my daughter to meet me,” I say imploringly. “She turned my whole world upside down—which it needed—and gave me a completely new perspective on things.”
�
�Unfortunately, I couldn’t make an exception, even if I wanted to. Rules are rules.”
I rub my neck, and a sharp pain in my wrist reminds me of the stupid thing I did that got me into this situation. “How long’s my suicide watch going to last?”
“Normally, we have forty-eight hours to make a decision about whether to discharge. But, in your case, there was an actual attempt, so we are permitted to keep you here longer.”
“I’m here because I want to be here.”
She nods. “That’s true, but it is our obligation to make sure you no longer pose a danger to yourself.”
“Talk to my therapist.”
“I did. We want to keep you until the weekend.”
“So let Mac come see me. Please.”
“We can’t. I’m sorry. But we can get everything ready for your transfer to San Diego on Saturday.” She smiles a little, but all I see is the warped grimace of an obsessive-compulsive person trying to keep me away from Mac.
“Your priority should be your patients’ well-being.”
“It is.”
“No, it isn’t. Having Mac with me would help me. We could talk about everything that was keeping us apart.”
“Talk to Camille. She’ll take good care of you.”
“But she agrees with me on this.”
The nurse nods. “Yes, she does. And I agree, too. But that doesn’t change the fact that, as a professional, I cannot break the rules of this hospital.”
“Give me permission to leave the building then.”
“You’re under suicide watch, Sergeant Tilman. There’s nothing we can do.”
“That’s ridiculous!” I’ve learned not to get so worked up about things anymore, but this lady is on my last nerve. “I’m not a prisoner.”
“You are not a prisoner, Sergeant Tilman. But it is our professional obligation not to let your leave the premises while there is a risk that you might again attempt to end your life.”
I shake my head. “This is absolutely laughable. Mac is one of the only things that would have a positive influence on my recovery, and she’s the very thing you’re keeping away from me.”
“I understand you’re frustrated, but there are rules, and she broke them. You just have to be patient. This weekend, you’ll be able to see her again.”
I can’t believe this. It’s not like Mac came running into the building with a bomb. I mean, she kind of dropped a bomb on me, but still. She didn’t cause problems for anybody else. It’s so stupid I’m speechless. Before I freak out—and end up behind bars for murder—I stand up and leave.
The next thing on my agenda is physical therapy. Walking with my prosthetic still feels weird, but the good thing is that I still have my knee, which gives me pretty good mobility. It feels strange that I can’t move my ankle, but it’s nothing you couldn’t get used to.
We start off at the bar so I can walk holding on to something.
“Do you think I might be able to run after a two-year-old soon?”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” my physical therapist says brightly. “You’re young and fit. The prosthesis fits pretty good. And there are very impressive foot components these days that allow you to exercise and go running. Depending on the material, some you can even use in salt or fresh water.”
“That sounds interesting. What material do you use for that?”
“Carbon.”
“Oh, you mean those things without feet?”
“They’re especially useful for active people. Carbon foot springs give you a very efficient energy return. They’re very light, making your range of motion really natural. If you wear long pants and shoes, nobody’s able to tell you’re not walking on two real legs.”
“Shoes?” I repeat. “But I thought there was no foot.”
“Depending on the model, you can add a foot component or just have a spring.”
“What do most people have?”
“Mostly springs, because they give you a better range of mobility.”
I pause. I want to be able to move, but… “Doesn’t it look kind of freaky?”
He looks at me. “The people close to you know you have a prosthetic anyway. And who cares about the others?”
“But, uh, what about a two-year-old?”
He smiles s little. “If your daughter grows up with it, she’ll think it’s normal.”
That makes sense. So far, Hazel has been fine with my prosthetic. Maybe I just need to have faith in the adaptability of young children. I turn around and walk slowly back down the bar. With every step, it gets easier. “Do you have more mobility around the ankle with a carbon spring?”
“You don’t really have an ankle, but you don’t notice it’s missing because the spring adapts to the ground you’re walking on. You can’t move sideways, but up and down isn’t a problem.” As he’s talking, he’s observing my movements, giving me instructions when I get something wrong as my body instinctively tries to go easy on the prosthetic. And, of course, he’s always encouraging. “That looks great.”
I’m moving slowly, but it works. I don’t think it’ll be easy, but at least I can imagine myself walking again. It doesn’t seem to be the end of the world like it did a few days ago. So far, everything’s been as good as possible—considering the circumstances. I hope it’ll stay that way.
Knock on wood.
“It’s important for you to be patient and not rush things,” he goes on. “Don’t ask more of your body than it can take. Walking practice helps, but you need to give yourself time. If you overdo it, you risk losing another part of your leg, including the knee. And that’s not worth it.”
Next, I lie down on a table for some exercises that are supposed to strengthen the muscles in my knee. Since I haven’t been able to use both legs in weeks, I’m a little weak in that area—and pretty much everywhere else. Looking at my upper body, I know I need to do something about that, too. One step at a time, I tell myself. Obviously, I want to look as good as possible for Mac, but I think she’ll be more interested in me living a relatively normal life than in well-defined abs.
I can’t seem to control my thoughts. I want to take things slow, but everything’s been put on fast forward. This is going to be a disaster…
When I’m done with my exercises, my therapist helps me back into my wheelchair and I wheel myself over to the visitors’ room.
“Daddy!” the little voice calls out. I laugh when I see her smiling face running toward me. Who would have thought one word and one little face could ever give me so much joy?
“Hi, Haze,” I say and pull her onto my lap. She snuggles up to me. “What have you been up to?”
“Part with Mommy and Ree. Draw with Mommy.”
“What did you have for lunch?”
“Tates and tarots.”
I give Carey a helpless look.
“Potatoes and carrots,” he translates.
“Yup,” Hazel chirps as Carey pushes us over to the table. “Dame,” she says, and Carey pulls a puzzle out of his bag.
“The puzzle?” he asks, and she nods.
It’s a picture of farm animals. Before we take it apart, I point at the donkey. “What’s this one called?”
“Molly.”
For a moment, I’m lost. Then I laugh out loud. Carey smiles broadly. Hazel looks up at me, probably confused about why I’m laughing. She is such a little clown. This is awesome.
“But what is that?” Carey asks, pointing at the donkey again.
“Donty.”
Okay, I guess you have to ask the right questions… “What about this?”
“Horsey!” she squeals.
“That’s her favorite,” Carey says, but I could tell as much from the enthusiasm in her voice.
“Have you ever been horseback riding?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I want!”
Carey shakes his head. “Oh, now you’ve started something.”
But Carey doesn’t know how I feel. Ten feet tall, strong as a bear. N
othing can stop me. And if I have to tame a wild horse myself so my daughter can ride it, I will do it.
“Daddy, horsey,” she says, her eyes lighting up.
Oops. I should really find out what Mac’s philosophy on raising children is before I end up promising this kid a pony. “I’m afraid you’ll have to talk to Carey about that, Haze,” I say sympathetically.
She looks at my leg. “Daddy, ouch?”
I nod, and she pets my leg. So cute. So damn cute.
Carey looks at me, and I can see him moving to stand. “Does Mac know you’re leaving us alone?” I ask.
He nods. “Of course. There’s nothing about Hazel she doesn’t know.” Before he leaves, he bends down and whispers in my ear, “Mac says you need to tell Haze that you love her. She shouldn’t doubt for one second that you do, and that you’re proud of her.”
I nod. I wasn’t sure whether I should do that, or could do that, or whatever. God, I need to talk to Mac.
Hazel scatters the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle across the table, and together we put them back together. Until one piece falls on the floor.
She looks at me.
“Can you pick that up, Hazel?” I ask.
“Daddy ouch,” she says, starting to climb down. I help her to the floor, and she tries to pick up the piece. But it’s flat on the ground, so she can’t get a hold of it, like a dog trying to eat a slice of salami stuck to the floor. When she finally manages to scrape it up, she proudly hands it over to me.
Together, we put in the last piece, and she claps her hands.
“Yay! You did it, Hazel!” I say, and I’m actually a little proud. “Good job! That was awesome!”
She beams, looking shy at the same time. Mac is right, I realize. This little girl needs to hear she’s awesome. I squeeze her, kissing her on her head. “I love you, Hazel baby.”
Like she’s done before, she puts her fingers in my beard. “Love you too, Daddy.”
I’m a Marine. I’ve made it through BUD/S, two deployments to Afghanistan, sand in my ass crack, days without sleep, the Taliban wanting to kill me. But this little girl makes me weak. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for her. She’s holding my heart in her little hands.