by Debra Tash
“And how long am I welcoming you home for?”
“A whole week. In celebration of our niece. And aside from the time I have to give to staff meetings”—he patted the mattress— “we can spend most of that week right here in bed.”
Instead of engaging him in cheery—empty—banter, I sat up, swung my legs over the mattress, and sat with my back to him.
He let out a groan. “What is it, Beck?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I got to my feet, went to the end of the bed, and pulled my bathrobe from one of the four posts. I fastened the cotton tie at my waist and walked to the sliding glass door that led to our balcony.
“Hell, lady, you giving me the silent treatment?”
I kept gazing at the hills beyond our fence as I heard the door opening to the small refrigerator built into the bookshelf. “Helping yourself to a beer?”
“Yes,” he snapped.
I turned just as he flopped down on the recliner. He’d pulled on his pants, but not his shirt. Jason tipped the bottle and took several swallows, then wiped his mouth on his bare arm.
“What’s next?” I asked.
“Meaning?”
“Jason.”
“Early dinner. Late lunch,” he teased. “Or we go back to bed and have at it again.”
“Don’t be a son of a bitch with me.”
“Do tell.” He finished off the beer.
I strode toward him with hands balled into fists at my sides. “What’s next?”
“Cut through to D.C. That’s what’s next, Beck. If we can get to the capital, we could put an end to this.”
I came to my knees and rested my hands on his legs. “Jason, I’m going with you.”
“Hell, no.”
“Yes.”
“And I said no.” He leaned forward and spoke with the scent of beer on his warm breath. “For most folks that would put an end to the discussion.”
“Not for your wife. Up until five months ago, I was with you. I’d been with you since the beginning.”
He glared at me. I wouldn’t back down. Jason pushed himself up, brushed past, and headed for the refrigerator again.
“Will you listen?” I yelled.
“Damn it!” He slammed the refrigerator door and turned. “When you make sense. It’s gotten even worse out there.”
“Jason, I can’t stay here. Not knowing. I can’t take it. Not anymore.”
“You get reports.”
“That you haven’t been killed!”
“Well, that’s a hell of a lot more than I got when you were almost blown to pieces in Boston!”
“That wasn’t the same.”
“No? And just last year when you were with me on the front line. That one bullet to the chest could have taken you out. You were damn lucky it missed your heart.”
“And what about you? I’ve seen you almost…” I swallowed. “…almost get killed how many times? Wounded.” I pointed at him. “That graft near your spine. When were you going to let me know you were nearly paralyzed?” I braced myself as I stood. “I am not staying here. That’s the end of it.”
“The hell you say.” His jaw flexed as he tried to rein in his temper. “Drop it, Beck. You’ll stay. Safe and living like a queen in this palace.”
“I’m not staying!”
“I said, drop it!”
I spread my arms wide. “Damn it, Poole. Why should I? It’s your fucking palace! Not mine.”
His chin tipped up as if he’d just been slapped. Jason stood silent a long moment, shook his head, then pulled on a T-shirt and left the room.
The tension shot across the table as we sat in the dining room for an early supper. Thankfully, Tina was absent. Resting in her room, she waited for her C-section the next morning. But David had joined us, along with Andrews. The doctor was next to me with my brother-in-law on the opposite side, while Jason took a place at the head of the table. The only one who seemed to have an appetite was David, who wolfed down his meal. I never much liked Tex-Mex, and the cook, one of the men from our security detail, had really overdone the chilies. Dr. Andrews picked at his food and my husband preferred a tumbler of Scotch to his dinner.
At the moment, I disliked that room even more than the offering on my plate. The walls were a dusky burnt orange, the table a hefty piece, not glossy cherry wood or polished mahogany, but distressed oak. Its grain was stained dark, the top substantial, and its simple legs thick posts. It was a man’s idea of furniture, like everything else in that house.
The air smelled of sharp seasoning and melted cheese. I longed for solid New England cooking. Rich stews and fresh fish, food I grew up with and we used to serve at our diner, my dad and Vera cooking it, then later Tina with her flair for preparing the hearty fare. I’d been starved for a long time, yet it made no difference now. I didn’t want what was in front of me, felt restless, yearning for something familiar…anything at all from my home.
I shoved aside the plate, grabbed the bottle of red wine at the center of the table, and poured myself a helping. I picked up the glass, raised my chin, and exclaimed, “To the Bay State!”
David continued to eat, while Dr. Andrews sat back, crossed his arms, and looked at me.
Jason lifted his tumbler of Scotch. “To Texas.” He gave me one of his crooked smiles. “Our home.”
We both belted down our drinks. I mimicked him, wiping my mouth on my sleeve.
“They sure do raise ’em without much sense in the Bay State,” Jason said, pointing to the red stain on my white shirt. He planted his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “This here woman lives pretty damn good compared to some of her New England cousins. But is she grateful?” He shook his head. “Is she a loving wife to her long-suffering husband?” He shook his head again. “Is she acting like a damn fool?” He didn’t shake his head this time. “Well, you figure that one out for yourself.”
Silence again. My back stiffened as I raised my glass once more. “To our dear leader from which all good things come. Heil Poole!”
My husband sat there a moment, his gaze deadly steel. He shoved back his chair, the legs scraping against the clay tile floor. He stood, hands pressed into fists as he planted them atop the table and leaned forward. “David, call a staff meeting for eighteen-hundred hours.”
“Jason?”
“I know you wanted to spend time with your wife,” my husband said, eyes narrowed, his gaze fastened on me. “It won’t run long.”
“As you say.”
Jason left. A moment later, the room resounded with the bang of a door slamming shut. He must have headed straight to the command center in the basement.
David got to his feet and scooped up his empty plate. “I have a little time. Think I’ll go upstairs and check on Christina.” He dipped his head to me, then to Andrews.
“Leave the plate in the sink,” I called after him as he went into the kitchen. “I’ll take care of it.”
Andrews picked up his own plate. “Let me help you.”
I shook my head. “It’s okay.”
“No, let me help you.” He gathered up what Jason had left behind, and piled the dirty dish and glass on top of his.
I trailed him into the kitchen, setting my own plate in the sink as he stood scraping off the leftover food. He paused, then pointed the fork in his hand to an old pot I kept on one side of the double sink. “You still saving the scraps for the chickens?”
“Yes.”
He began putting the scraps in the chicken bucket. “Jason has a lot on him, Rebecca.”
“He’s always had a lot on him since I met him.”
The doctor shrugged. “True enough.” He set a clean dish in the drainer. “But then he’s always had you.”
“What are you getting at?”
“He doesn’t do well alone.”
“
Then why did he tell me I couldn’t go back in the field with him?”
“Tell you to stay here?” Andrews started in on another dish, the lemon scent of the soap replacing the unwelcomed smell of our dinner. “Somewhere safe. Somewhere you’re cared for. Secure, in a place he loves.”
“I know what he feels,” I snapped, then bit my lower lip. That was out of place. “I know,” I went on, trying not to let my temper escape. “That’s what he wants. To keep me safe.” My tone softened a little as I went on. “But I don’t want…I mean…it’s not being safe. It isn’t about being here. Making this a home. It’s every night. Thinking…lying there in the dark…thinking…maybe, at that moment. Just maybe right then. Jason’s hurt. Wounded. Or…” I swallowed. “Worse.” I shook my head. “He’s not the only one. Not by half.” I lifted my gaze and looked through the kitchen window at the vast landscape beyond the fence line. “It’s so empty out there.”
I turned away, afraid of my tears, of emotion too hard to shut away. I felt a slight tremor as the doctor lightly placed his hand on my back. My voice was barely above a whisper. “Guess that’s the problem with the both of us.”
I wiped my eyes on my sleeve and chuckled. How stupid that red stain on my white cotton shirt looked. I sucked in a deep breath and faced the doctor. He had rolled up his own sleeves to keep them dry. That’s when I noticed the small telltale lump just under his skin near a vein in his left arm. “You have a prime.”
“That I do,” he acknowledged as he hastily rolled down his sleeves.
Our father had had a prime in the latter stages of his illness. It delivered morphine directly into his bloodstream to keep down the pain. No wonder Andrews had no appetite and had lost so much weight. The gray pallor of his skin…just like Daddy. “Ho-how long?”
“Not long enough, I’m afraid. I won’t be here for the final showdown.” The doctor squared his shoulders. “Now that’s enough revelations for one meal.” He crooked his arm. “How about a walk outside? Like to visit Henry. Hear he’s still laying at least one egg a day.”
I threaded my arm through his. “That he is.” He was so frail now, a bare whisper of a man. I forced a smile as we walked outside, greeted by the late-afternoon sunshine.
The day waned outside the windows and the white Texas sky deepened to a dark blue as an orange sunset ignited the western horizon before it faded away. I sat out a long while on our balcony, my gaze fixed on the vault of heaven. The stars came out, a few winking into existence at first, to become whole clusters of glittering light. Every time I witnessed that spectacle I would remember Deven Michaels. He had chosen the stars. I always wondered if he ever found them.
The moon rose in the east. Its bright glow devoured the night. It was past ten and Jason still hadn’t come back to our room. I went inside, peeled off my shirt and pants, climbed in bed, and lay on my back. The overhead fan whirred above me. The air ran over my bare skin. It reminded me of early summers at home with our windows open and a rainstorm cooling the world outside our house. I closed my eyes and fell into a fitful sleep. Dreams. Nightmares. Flashes of eastern cities in ruins, death, hardship…so much of what I’d experienced and what I could only fear had become worse.
I woke with a start, tangled in the bedclothes, my face damp with tears. The fan still spun overhead in lazy circles, and I was still alone in our bed. I heard the sound of coyotes yipping to one another over the muffled hum of the fan. They must have had a kill by the way they were carrying on.
One of our horses whinnied. I got up, tugged on my bathrobe, and walked to the balcony. The moon washed the landscape with a steely blue light. With my gaze fixed in the direction of the stables, I could just make out a lonely figure seated atop one of our horses. More a shadow at that distance, whoever it was rode that mount around and back in the arena, putting the animal through her paces. I hurriedly dressed, pulling on one of Jason’s T-shirts, my jeans, and boots. The house was quiet as I stole my way downstairs, through the kitchen, and out the back door. I could see it was Jason even before I closed the distance. The hoofs of the mare he rode struck the hard earth, sending up dust that looked like wisps of smoke in the moonlight.
I came to the railing, my hands resting on the topmost bar as I watched my husband ride. One more turn around the arena, the horse loping with long, easy strides. When Jason saw me, he pulled back on the reins, bringing the horse to a standstill. “Beck.”
“Poole.”
He hung his head a moment, then looked toward the hills dusted with that eerie light. “My dad died out there,” he said, one hand atop the horn of his saddle, the other resting on his knee.
“You never said anything about your father.”
He adjusted his weight, shifting to one side, then back to the other as if he were no longer comfortable on that perch. “He died right over there,” Jason said, pointing to some distant spot. “Feds had been taking our land for years. Piece by piece. Bit by bit. Habitat for this son of a bitch frog or that Godforsaken lizard. You remember me telling you our family used to lay claim to over five hundred acres. Ran cattle over those hills. But with no cooperation from the Feds, and down to less than ten acres, we had to start raising goats.” He clicked his tongue. “Damn. I sure as hell hated those goats.”
I climbed over the fence and walked to him, stopping next to the horse to look up at my husband.
The mare snorted and pawed at the ground as if she wanted to shoo me away and start prancing around again. Jason tugged on the reins. “Easy, girl. Easy.” He set back his shoulders as he looked at that distant point once more. “My father had a heart attack out there. Dropped dead at the none-too-ripe age of forty. I was only eight.”
“I’m so sorry, Jason.”
“And I’m sorry, too, Honey Beck.” He let out a heavy sigh. “Sorry we didn’t get one minute of normal together. An easy Sunday afternoon. A ride in the hills. One minute of peace. We didn’t get any of it. Just fighting to gain something back what so few of us even remember possessing. They whittled it away just like they did with this land. Stealing our freedom piece by piece. Bit by bit.”
He looked down at me, his voice a hoarse whisper as he said, “I want to bury them here.”
“Jason?”
“My folks. Want them buried on this land.” He snorted. “Suppose that would make you hate this place even more.”
I rested my hand on his knee, my fingertips touching his, wanting him to feel me there, close. “Jason, I don’t hate this place. I never did. I just…well, you’re my family.” I swallowed. “You’re my home.”
A few silent moments. Again, a deep sigh as he held out his hand. “I sure have missed you, Beck.”
I squeezed his hand. “You promised to teach me to ride.”
“That I did.” He slid back on the saddle. “Climb on up here and I’ll teach you, my darlin’ Bay State gal.”
CHAPTER 26
Dr. Andrews collapsed early the next day. Hospitalized in Fredericksburg, he was not expected to recover. He didn’t get to share in the celebration of new life. Christina had her scheduled C-section the same morning. As we welcomed Vera Margarete Hernandez to the family, I knew I’d have to bid someone else farewell.
After visiting my hours-old niece near sunset, I slipped away and located the cancer ward. Given his own room, Andrews lay in bed, face turned to the window while instrumentation clicked and beeped as it measured his fading life. It reminded me of Mother in the sick bay at Hadley. Standing in the doorway, I ran my hand along the jamb, considering retreat. As if he sensed my presence, Andrews turned to look at me.
I stepped into the room and came up beside his bed. His face had become even paler, his breathing choked and hesitant. Dr. Daniel Gilford Andrews was shutting down.
“Have a seat,” he said.
“I just came to wish you well.”
“Please.”
I sat on the chair
next to the bed.
“I’m okay,” he said, then chuckled. “Well, not okay like ‘getting better.’ But I’m okay. You understand, Rebecca?”
I hesitated a moment, then nodded.
He settled into the solitary pillow. “No regrets. Well, no regrets besides Mags.” He let out a sigh. “Hopefully I’ve made amends.” He shrugged. “Then again, maybe not.” He sucked in another deep breath and sighed once more. “I stopped looking for forgiveness years ago.”
His gaze fixed on me, eyes locked, nearly pleading. “I’m not afraid of hell, Rebecca. Not of the pain. Not of anything except…nothing.” He paused, lips pinched, brow creased. “What if there’s nothing? Just nothing? It scares me. That one thought. An empty eternity.”
I leaned forward and whispered a cherished secret, “You have to trust me on this, Daniel. I haven’t told anyone, not even Jason. There’s so much. Trust me. They’re waiting.”
His eyes widened.
I nodded, gaze still locked with his.
A moment slipped by, then another before a wan smile played across his ashen face. He patted my hand and turned once more to stare out the window, searching not for redemption but for something beyond the sunset.
At end of the week, we were ready to board the helo. I stood beside Jason, absorbing the melted sunshine traveling on those lazy currents. I tried to hold fast and keep it so I could bring the breath of Texas with me. After that last week I’d spent with Jason there, I knew this place would always be my home.
David cooed and awed over his baby girl. He held her one last time and placed a light kiss atop her head. A week really wasn’t long enough for a father to become acquainted with his newborn, to discover the small details of this special person who had come into his world. I could see it on David’s face. Like me, he wanted to hold onto that moment.
Tina motioned us over, the uncle and aunt. My husband gently stroked the baby’s cheek with the back of his hand. It was that quiet gesture that always demonstrated his affection.
Then it came my turn. I removed my Raggedy Ann doll from the duffle bag slung over my shoulder. “For Vera Margarete.”