Returning to Eden (Acts of Valor, Book 1): Christian Military Romantic Suspense

by Rebecca Hartt

  “I think you should read this whenever you…can’t sleep,” she finished, again avoiding the world “fear” as she placed it in his hands. He started flipping through it. “The book of Psalms is—”

  “Right after Job,” he finished, finding it.

  Eden couldn’t believe it. Without question, Jonah had spent considerable time this past year acquainting himself with the Word. Something cynical inside of her shifted.

  He flipped through several pages until he found what he was looking for. “That was Psalm 49.” He skimmed through it in silence, then added without looking at her, “Dr. Schmidt said I would have nightmares.”

  So she’d been right. “Is that what woke you up?”

  “Yes. But I didn’t dream about the past. I dreamed I woke up in this house, and it was empty. You were gone—you and Miriam, both. Even the dog. You’d all been…taken.”

  When he looked back at her, the glazed look she’d seen in his eyes earlier was back.

  “Taken?” A droplet of fear trickled down her spine. “Who would take us, Jonah?” she asked, comforting both herself and him. “We’re safe here. You’re safe here.”

  He dropped his gaze, looking down at his lean fingers where they curved around the edges of her Bible. He gripped it like a drowning man would grip a raft.

  “I hope so,” he finally murmured.

  Oh, dear. What if his PTS was actually PTSD? She had never envisioned her confident, indomitable husband looking so vulnerable.

  Without thinking, she reached for him, combing his overlong hair from his eyes. He stilled, clearly registering her touch, then looked up at her slowly.

  The impact of his gaze startled her. Snatching her hand back, she moved away from him to clear their plates, dropping them in the sink to clean in the morning. Then she flipped off the light switch, making her intentions clear.

  “Better get back to bed,” she said. “You have a busy day tomorrow.”

  The next day was his appointment with Dr. Branson at the Oceana clinic.

  “Do you work tomorrow?” he asked her.

  Was that resentment in his voice? Eden locked her knees. “I have to cover for the instructor who’s taking my afternoon class. We switched places.”

  Jonah nodded, seemingly accepting.

  “I’ll keep an eye on Miriam,” he offered.

  “Thanks.” She drew out the word, wondering if that was his way of suggesting she didn’t spend enough time with her daughter.

  “She’s…,” he hunted for the right word, “wise.”

  Eden blinked. “You think?”

  “Yeah. She seems to know stuff. Not sure I can explain what I mean.”

  Eden hummed noncommittally, unwilling at that late hour to discuss her daughter’s struggles.

  “She’s old enough to stay home alone, but I appreciate you keeping an eye on her.”

  “No problem,” he said with utmost sincerity.

  “Okay, then.” Her gaze fell to the Bible. “You can keep that,” she said, nodding at it. “I have another one.”

  “Thanks.”

  His sincerity disarmed her. She reminded herself he was only on his first night home. Sometimes strangers treated each other better than married couples did—sad but true. Once he settled in, got more comfortable, Jonah would morph into the same demanding, self-absorbed warrior he’d been before, a man she admired but found hard to love, and even harder to live with.

  “Good night,” she murmured, rounding the island to head for her room. “You going to be all right?”

  He smiled his crooked smile. “Of course.”

  “Good.” For a second, she wrestled with the urge to say, Welcome home. That was what a loving wife would say. Then again, a loving wife would hold him in her arms and cradle him in their shared bed. She had relegated him to the study to sleep alone, with his nightmares.

  Guilt pinched the tops of her shoulders. Without another word, she spun away toward her bedroom, shutting and, as silently as possible, locking the door behind her.

  Closing her eyes a moment, she pictured Jonah the way he’d looked sitting in the muted light of the stove’s surface lamp clutching her Bible.

  “Father, please comfort him,” she whispered. “Comfort him because I can’t. I really can’t,” she insisted, even as her heart seemed to fold over on itself. She had loved Jonah with every ounce of her being, and he’d betrayed that love by putting his job first, by ignoring his stepdaughter, remaining emotionally aloof. She couldn’t put herself through that rejection again.

  With a sharp sniff, she drove back the tears that threatened and crossed to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Like she’d told Jonah, tomorrow was going to be a busy day.

  Using the light coming from the stove, Jonah read Psalm 49 a third time in its entirety. Verse 9 leaped out at him, so he read that one aloud, pitching his voice low to keep from disturbing his family. “‘He makes wars cease to the end of the earth; he breaks the bow, and shatters the spear; he burns the shields with fire.’”

  Weapons. There was something significant about weapons. Something he had to remember!

  Startled, he looked up from the Bible and thought back.

  Almost immediately, pain pierced his left eye, driving back any memories that might have surfaced.

  Grimacing, Jonah thumped a fist on the countertop, then flinched at the noise he’d made. Miriam and Eden were sleeping. He, too, should sleep as it was his responsibility to keep an eye on Miriam tomorrow.

  Taking the Bible with him, he returned to the study.

  Surprisingly, his middle-of-the-night interlude with Eden had been a pleasant one. Not only was his stomach replete, but he’d found comfort in her company and solace in the Word. Touched that she would share her personal Bible with him, he hugged it briefly to his chest before placing it atop his dresser.

  He decided he could sleep now, without the nightmare reoccurring. If not, he would reach for the Bible and find another passage to act as a balm for his troubled soul. He wouldn’t trouble Eden again. For reasons that pained him to imagine, there were limits to how much she would comfort him.

  Chapter 5

  “Mrs. Mills, would you care to join us for a bit?”

  Eden looked up from the article she was reading about PTSD in the armed forces. Supposedly, special operators like Jonah were less susceptible to the disorder, thanks to the rigid selection process and prolonged exposure training. But acquiring the disorder was still a possibility depending on a number of factors, including the severity of the trauma experienced. A year of captivity and torture probably qualified as severe.

  Caught off guard by Dr. Branson’s invitation, Eden regarded him a moment before setting the magazine aside.

  “Sure,” she said, willing to do whatever it took to keep Jonah from being diagnosed with the disorder.

  Entering the office, the first thing she noticed was Jonah’s pained expression. He seemed embarrassed by her participation. He had chosen what looked like the least comfortable chair in the room and was sitting ramrod-straight in it with his arms crossed.

  No wonder Dr. Branson had asked her to join them.

  Jonah’s discomfort prompted her to take the seat next to his. Sending him an encouraging smile, she put her purse in her lap and waited for the doctor to begin.

  Dr. Branson dropped into the wingback chair opposite. Leaning back, he interlaced his fingers and divided a friendly gaze between them. A pudgy man with a head of gray hair, his eyes made Eden think of the ocean on overcast days.

  “Mrs. Mills,” he began, “Jonah was telling me the last thing he remembers, and his recollections apparently end soon after the death of a colleague of his. Did you know Blake LeMere?”

  “No. He died before Jonah and I met.”

  Jonah spoke up in a flat voice. “Do you remember how he died?”

  Eden thought back to what Jonah had told her. “He never deployed his parachute. The coroner said he was unconscious when he hit the ground.”

&
nbsp; “Doesn’t make any sense,” Jonah muttered, evidently fixated on the memory. “I was with him when he jumped. He was fine—cracking jokes and everything. I don’t see how he could have lost consciousness.”

  The doctor hummed thoughtfully. “A tragedy to be sure,” he said, “but let’s talk about how you two met. Jonah doesn’t remember the occasion. Perhaps your description of the event will jog his memories.”

  Jonah’s sidelong glance conveyed chagrin.

  Eden hesistated. Her courtship with Jonah had been an ecastatic experience. The disillusionment that came afterward wasn’t something she wished to relive.

  Dr. Branson must have sensed her reluctance because he added, “It would be helpful to Jonah to fill in the gaps. That way he has some continuity and a context for the memories that return to him.”

  Fine, she thought, resigning herself to getting it over with. “We met in Annapolis at my parents’ house. My father was one of Jonah’s instructors at the Naval Academy.” She met Jonah’s inquiring gaze. “You remember Captain Evans, don’t you?”

  His surprise was almost comical. “You’re Captain Evans’s daughter? He was my favorite instructor! He taught military strategy.”

  Jonah’s unguarded delight was encouraging. She warmed to her tale. “You were his favorite midshipman,” she continued, smoothing all judgment from her tone. Her father had loved Jonah’s unwavering drive. “After graduating from SEAL training in Coronado, you came back to visit him. That’s when we met. I was staying with my parents at the time.” She’d been going back to school to earn the degree she’d failed to get the first go round.

  Jonah’s thoughts turned inward. She could see him trying desperately to recollect their initial encounter. Interestingly, he didn’t wince as he did when he thought of his captivity.

  Dr. Branson inserted a request. “What was your meeting like? Could you recreate the scene for Jonah?”

  Eden described the foyer of her parents’ elegant brick home located on the campus of the Naval Academy and who was there.

  “Do you remember Jonah’s first words to you?” the psychiatrist prompted.

  She pretended to think about it when, in fact, she remembered every single second of the magical moment.

  “He said the usual things. Nice to meet you. Stuff like that.”

  Jonah gave a quiet laugh.

  “Do you remember something?” his doctor asked.

  “No,” he said. “I’m just picturing myself staring at her. I probably couldn’t talk at all.”

  The flattering comment heated Eden’s cheeks. “Hardly,” she drawled, correcting his assumption.

  Jonah and the doctor both looked at her for clarification.

  “What I mean is…you were never at a loss for words. Confidence could have been your middle name. You asked my father right then if you could take me out to dinner. It didn’t occur to you to ask me first.”

  Jonah frowned.

  Dr. Branson sat forward, clearly intrigued by their exchange. “So you went on a date that evening. Where’d you go?”

  “One of the nicer restaurants in Annapolis,” Eden said, naming it. At the time, she had thought the evening to be the highlight of her life. The October weather couldn’t have been more perfect. “We sat outside, shared a bottle of Chardonnay. You had rockfish and I had the scallops.”

  Jonah shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with his inability to remember.

  “What were you wearing, Eden?” the doctor asked her. “What color?”

  Supremely self-conscious, she plucked at a loose thread on her sundress.

  “I’m not sure,” she heard herself say, even as she pictured the little black dress she’d worn for the occasion. “I don’t remember.”

  “Hmm.” Dr. Branson’s bushy eyebrows quirked. “How was the conversation? Did you hit it off right away?”

  It dawned on Eden their session was sounding more like marriage counseling than therapy for Jonah’s memory loss. “Well, of course we hit it off,” she said, masking her sudden impatience. “Jonah was everything a woman dreams of. Handsome and smart, and he knew a hundred ways to kill somebody. What woman wouldn’t be drawn to him?”

  Jonah and the doctors’ mutual silence informed her she hadn’t hidden her sarcasm well at all.

  “I’m sorry. I just don’t see the point in discussing our first date when Jonah’s missing two years of his memory.”

  At her apology, Jonah looked away, staring at a spot over the doctor’s shoulders.

  Dr. Branson’s eyes had narrowed. “That’s exactly why I brought it up,” he explained. “Every significant event that Jonah has forgotten should be detailed for him. Any one of them might trigger his memories.”

  Chastened, Eden swallowed her chagrin.

  “Why don’t you give us the highlights of the time you spent with Jonah, right up to his disappearance,” the doctor insisted.

  Eden nodded. “All right.” She thought a moment. “We dated for just two months. You were about to deploy on a lengthy mission,” she said, glancing at Jonah. “So you wanted to marry before you went. We bought the house in Sandbridge, moved in, and then you left.”

  When he’d come back from his seemingly interminable absence, Eden had been overjoyed that her knight in shining armor had finally returned. Everything was going to be perfect. He would assume his role as husband and father and they would live happily ever after.

  Only it hadn’t worked out that way.

  “When you came back, you became troop leader for Blue Squadron, so you were really, really busy,” she said, trying to mask the disillusionment that still hurt. “The next year flew by. You were home maybe six months out of twelve.” She shrugged, hoping to imply their marriage had been so brief, so uneventful, it wasn’t any wonder he’d forgotten.

  Jonah just listened, his gaze boring a hole in the opposite wall.

  Dr. Branson’s thick eyebrows nearly touched as he regarded Eden.

  “Did you know Jonah would be gone so much?” he asked. “His absences must have taken a toll on your young marriage.”

  No kidding. She sent him a dry look. “I think I knew what to expect. My father was a fleet officer when I was growing up. My mother taught us both how to be self-sufficient.”

  “Both?” he prompted.

  “My older sister and me.”

  “I see. What about your daughter?” the psychiatrist asked. “Jonah says you have a daughter—Miriam?”

  “Yes, Miriam’s almost fifteen. What about her?” she asked, then realized that the question sounded rude.

  The doctor cleared his throat. “How did she handle Jonah’s absences?”

  Eden flicked a glance at Jonah’s stony profile. “No worse than she handled his being at home.”

  The doctor looked like he might ask her what she meant when Jonah abruptly stood up from his chair, halting their conversation.

  “I think we’ve done enough for one day,” he said in the tone he used to lead his troop—no one argued with it. “I’ve got a splitting headache,” he added, closing his eyes briefly to convey his discomfort.

  “Of course. You should have told me sooner.” Dr. Branson’s tone was apologetic, perhaps even relieved. No doubt he’d felt Eden’s tension and didn’t know what to make of it. “We’ll continue this discussion at your next session. In the meantime, you both have a little homework assignment. Preferably tonight or as soon as possible, I’d like you to review some photos together in the hopes they’ll awaken memories.”

  He pushed to his feet to consult his appointment book, and Eden followed suit.

  “Jonah, I’ll see you again on Friday, at the same time.”

  “Wait.” Eden protested before she could stop herself. “Can we do a different time of day? Morning maybe? It’s just that I usually teach a two o’clock class, and the woman I’m switching with might not be able to switch with me again.”

  “I can take an Uber,” Jonah offered stonily.

  “I’d prefer Eden at
tend sessions with you.” Dr. Branson frowned at his calendar. “Let me see if any of my morning patients can switch to afternoons. I’ll give you a call if that works out. How’s that sound?” He looked to Eden for her corroboration.

  “Thanks,” she said. “You have my number?”

  He glanced back down. “Ends in 4292?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do I have a number for you yet, Jonah?” He looked inquiringly at Jonah, who in turn, looked at Eden.

  She had dropped his phone from her plan several months ago. Why did that now seem like some terrible betrayal?

  “You have a phone,” she said, picturing the non-descript Android in her top drawer, “but I’ll have to add it to our plan again.”

  Jonah shrugged as if to say it didn’t matter to him.

  “Okay. Well!” Dr. Branson smiled and gestured toward the door. “You two enjoy the rest of your day. Don’t forget your homework assignment. Eden, I’ll be in touch about Friday.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured again.

  “Jonah,” the psychiatrist called as Jonah trailed Eden out the door, “be sure to take your prescriptions regularly, as prescribed. That’ll help you sleep at night and not in the day.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jonah muttered.

  As she waited by the exit, Eden cast a regretful glance at the magazine she’d been reading. All that information on PTSD seemed far more helpful than the session they had just attended.

  Jonah held open the door for her—a courtesy that had been ingrained in him from his time at the academy—and she stepped outside. Afternoon sunlight blinded her. Finding her sunglasses, Eden slipped them on, while Jonah squinted. She’d donated his sunglasses about two weeks ago to the base thrift shop, along with many of his uniforms. Guilt stitched through her at the reminder.

  “Sure is hot,” she commented, wondering if it was too late to get the items back.

  Once inside the Jaguar, she cranked on the air conditioner and snapped on the radio, making conversation unnecessary as she drove them home. To distract herself from Jonah’s brooding silence, she planned what she would make for dinner. She had some pork chops in the refrigerator. Applesauce? Check. Corn on the cobb? Yes. She added that to a salad of mixed greens. Dinner was complete.