"Dental records have already confirmed it's Mark. It's your husband, Mrs. Sellars." The captain then looked at James. "Sorry, sir."
James waved him off. "Hey, I'm only a bystander at this point. It's all good."
I turned to James. "Please, James, you're much more to me than a bystander. You're my husband now."
Then I turned back to the captain, and he smiled tightly at me. I spoke directly to him, "Well, James is my husband now. Don't you see?"
"Ma'am," said the captain, rising to his feet, "I'm sorry we've complicated your life but I'm also happy Chief Sellars has been found. We're going to leave you two now so you can talk. Here's my card. I'm assigned to the Joint Personnel Recovery Agency out of Virginia. I'm the base Special Operations Officer, and I'm always nearby. Please call me if you want. Anytime. And if you need to come by and talk with me or with any military staff, please call me, and I'll make arrangements. Good night, ma'am. Good night, sir. We'll see ourselves out."
Just like that, they were gone, slipped off into the night and leaving me with the worst and most fantastic news I'd ever received. My personality immediately split: one part of me couldn't wait to see Mark; another part of me was already swearing I would remain faithful to James. Heart versus head, I guess, is what I was really feeling.
I turned in my chair and looked at James.
"Is Gladys in bed?"
"She is. She's been up there almost an hour. I can still hear her singing, though. Maybe you can tell her goodnight."
With a calming inhalation of air, I climbed to my feet. On the way upright I had to steady myself with the arm of my chair. "Whoa!" I said as I nearly fell over. James was at my side in an instant, and it came to me: he is always there for me. He loves me, and I love him.
Upstairs I found Gladys sitting up in her bed, three dolls spread across her bedspread. They were in various stages of undress as I came in. She leaped from her bed and ran to me. "Mommy!"
My arms opened wide, and I swept her up and began spinning around. She held on, and peals of laughter erupted as we made one circle after another--our usual nighttime routine when I came home from work late. Then I slowed down, stopped, and hugged her tightly against me. "Love you, Pumpkin," I whispered in her ear.
"Love you, Mommy. I love Daddy, too."
"Yes, I love Daddy, too."
"Mommy, who was downstairs?"
"Just some men."
"Why were they wearing uniforms?"
"They're in the Army."
"Oh."
"Yes."
"Am I going in the Army?"
"No, sweetheart, you're never going in the Army. Mommy and Daddy are too old to go. So none of us is going in the Army."
"Then why were they here?"
I didn't lie to Gladys. She had a right to the truth, I believed, no matter how hard or upsetting it was. That's what life is about, I always thought, learning how to deal with the truth. Not learning how to live without fantasy. So she got the truth from me that night.
"The Army found Mommy's first husband, Mark Sellars."
"Oh. Was he lost?"
"He was. He was a prisoner of war."
"Oh. Will he be coming to live with us?"
"No, Mark won't be living with us."
"Do you still love him?"
"Mommy still loves him," James said, suddenly appearing behind me. "Mommy still loves Mark, and that's a good thing. We can love other people in our house. It's safe to do that here."
My eyes welled up at his words. I hung my head almost in shame as if I'd been caught doing something wrong, something I wanted to hide from James.
He came up behind me and encircled my waist with his arms.
"Come here, Gladys, you get in on this family hug too," James said to our little girl.
Then it was just the three of us, a unit, a family I knew I could never let go.
But what of Mark? How would that work? I began crying then, my head tossed back as I silently wept.
Gladys didn't see my tears. Honesty was one thing. Honesty overlaid with screaming pain--that was something else. She didn't need to see that. With any luck, she wouldn't ever experience that, either. At least not until she was grown.
One thing was clear to me. I wasn't going to forsake James, and I wasn't going to forsake Gladys. Neither one of them deserved to share in the hell I felt settle down over me that night as my mind went wild.
It came to me then, a hard, bitter truth: I hadn't thought about Lisa for the past half-hour. My loss of Lisa had been overshadowed by my finding of Mark. Which could only make me wonder: would my reunion with Lisa be just as fraught with such conflict as I now felt with Mark returned? Or would it be pure love, both ways, no regrets?
I had to find out. More than ever, I had to find out.
With Mark back--the father of my missing child--I was that much closer to those answers.
If anyone could find her, it would be Mark.
LATER THAT NIGHT, after James and I had made love, we lay beside each other. Neither of us was sleepy. Our lovemaking had been fast and clumsy as we had tried to prove with our bodies just how secure our marriage was and just how much each one of us wanted to keep it that way. I needed desperately to be able to say something to James to guarantee my fidelity. I felt like I wouldn't ever leave him and, after a few hours had passed since the Army visit, I had begun feeling put upon, like an outside force was trying to saddle me with an overwhelming burden, and I was fighting to stay clear of it.
How do you choose between the husband you love and the husband you love? There should be a song or a poem or a book or something that gives some guidance to people like me. I was certain I wasn't the first military wife whose husband returned after years of captivity. Surely there were others.
James dropped off to sleep, and I tiptoed downstairs to my office. My laptop came on instantly, and I was unthinkingly reviewing my email. Then I saw it: an email from Captain McMillan. Evidently, he hadn't wasted much time getting from my house back to his office, where he emailed me. He said that he'd just received word that Mark had been transferred to Walter Reed Army Hospital in Bethesda, Maryland. He also said that Mark was anxious to see Lisa and me. Nobody had told him anything yet, evidently.
I emailed Captain McMillan in reply. Who would tell Mark of my remarriage and the disappearance of our daughter? I asked. I told him that on the one hand, I thought the Army doctors should do that but on the other hand I, as his wife, felt like I should be the one to break the news to him.
It appeared that Captain McMillan lived at his office because he emailed me back not five minutes later. They would update him on his family--if I requested--or they would leave that to me. It was my choice.
I closed my laptop and sat back. This had shaken me to my core. When I saw the official Army emails my heart had jumped, I had to admit. Just the notion that I could have my Mark back if I only said the word made my husband upstairs look like he was on the moon. How had he ever come between us? I wondered. Then I kicked myself. Stupid girl, he didn't come between you, you picked him out from any number of interested men, seduced him, and created an easy path into your life. Unlike with Mark who'd done all the pursuing and wooing, with James, it was different. I was the predator, for want of a better word. Plus, predator was pretty accurate. I had found him and devoured him once we fell in love. Poor James never had a chance.
Into the kitchen I crept, intent on pouring a late-night glass of wine, only to find James there at the table ready to talk.
"Look," he said, "I've been thinking about it. I think you should have the freedom to go to your husband and do what you need to do with him. Then decide. Make a decision and make it last forever. We all deserve peace about this, and nobody wants it dragged out over time, least of all me. I'll wait here with Gladys while you're gone and I'll be here with her when you come back. If you don't come back, Gladys will live with both of us, one week with you, one week with me. It'll be awkward for her and uncomfortable, but life isn
't always perfect, and she knows that. Is this what you need to hear from me? I could tell I wasn't getting through to you upstairs and I don't like to leave things hanging. So talk to me, Melissa, please."
My hand shook as I poured a tall glass of wine. "You want?" I asked. He declined, saying he had work tomorrow.
Taking my seat, I brushed imaginary crumbs from the table as I sat there thinking and feeling my way into whatever it was I was about to say.
Then I began. "We're in a situation that's nobody's fault. It's not Mark's fault, not your fault, and not my fault. Remember, James, I buried my husband before I met you. He was gone, and in the ground, the Army told me. The only thing was, the service and funeral preparations were closed-casket, so I didn't get to ID my husband. I can't imagine the horrors someone else is going to face when her husband is found in my husband's burial plot. Just devastating for her."
"What do you need to do, Mel?"
"I need to see Mark and tell him. It needs to come from me."
"And then?"
"Well, he'll have Charlie and Rebecca. They won't leave his side. I'll call them in the morning and give them the news. They'll probably beat me back to Bethesda."
"So you're going to Maryland?"
I looked at him. "Do I have a choice."
He looked at me. He shook his head. "No, Mel, you really don't have a choice. And just let me say this. If I were in your shoes, I'd do the same thing. I'd need to go tell my spouse and be there when they fall apart."
"I'm not looking forward to it. Thanks for being understanding, James. You always come through for me."
"This one's a no-brainer, Mel. You have to be there for him. He deserves to know. What will you tell him about Lisa?"
"What do you mean? I'll tell him she was abducted from the hospital years ago. What else is there to say?"
"He'll want to talk to your detective. He'll want to do something."
"You know Mark pretty well. Yes, he'll want to do something, and you know what? I'm going to be right there egging him on. I'm in his corner on that one."
"When are you leaving?"
"Friday. The show needs me the next couple of days, then I'll go."
"Like I said before, Gladys and I will be right here. We're not going anywhere."
"Neither am I, James. I'm just going to deliver a message and some bad news, see what I can do to help lessen his pain; then I'll be home. I expect I'll leave here Friday and be home Sunday. That's all it should take."
"Good. We'll pick you up at the airport. Just let us know."
"Would you mind if we went back to bed and tried again? I really need to be held," I said. The wine wasn't helping, just making me feel sour and heavy-legged. I poured most of it down the sink.
Then James followed me back upstairs, and we went into our bedroom and closed the door.
An hour later, I fell asleep about the same time as my husband.
For the first time in weeks, I slept all the way through to the alarm.
Heavenly.
17
Chicago to Washington via Dulles Airport took right at two hours. Then a cab to Bethesda and I was in place late Friday night. I called the hospital. Tomorrow morning at ten I could see Mark.
The next morning at exactly ten a.m. I was allowed to go up to his room. His "quarters" they called it. Upstairs on the elevator I went, then stopped at the nurses' station. I introduced myself.
"I'm Chief Sellars' wife, and I have a question."
The rather buxom, flaxen-haired nurse close by looked up at me. "Sure, hon. What can I tell you?"
"My husband has been gone over ten years. We thought he was dead.”
"Ma'am we know all about the Mr. Sellars. Skip to your question, please."
"How is he? I mean, how do I treat him? He knows where he is and he's oriented by now, I'm sure, but what should I expect that'll be different from how it was all those years ago?"
"He'll be more nervous than you. He frets terribly that he looks sixty years old now. He says you're going to leave him over the lines in his face. When he arrived here, his hair was very long. We've had the barber over here twice to fiddle with his hair. Plus they wanted to shave his beard. He fought them but the military won, and he had to shave it off."
"Wait, the barber came here?"
"Yes, he did."
"Why here?"
"Ma'am, Mr. Sellars is confined to quarters. He can't leave his room. Against orders."
"Whose orders?"
"The Army's orders. Does it matter who?"
"I'd like to know just in case I need to contact them."
"Well, the Joint Personnel Recovery Agency is who actually has orders for him presently. I can get you their number."
"No, not necessary. So what I do, just go down to his room and walk in?"
"Why not? He knows you're coming. He got the message you sent to the nurses' station."
With that, I shrugged and began walking toward Mark's room. It felt otherworldly to me like I was operating in a dream. My stomach was clenched up with fear of what I had to tell him, and another part of me was excited to see this man. The last time we were together, he was my husband. Now he doesn't know that he's not my husband anymore. No one's told him, my request which the Army has allowed me. Just outside his door I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Just breathe normally, I told myself. Breathe.
At first, I didn't recognize the man. He was lying on the bed, wearing khaki shorts and a blue-striped bathrobe over a T-shirt that said ARMY STRONG. But he was the only man in the room, so it had to be him. His hair was clipped short, military-neat, and he was clean-shaven. I smiled and walked toward him, arms outstretched. In my mind's eye, I thought this was how a wife separated from her husband should look when approaching the man she loved.
He stood up from the bed, took a step toward me, and stumbled. Then I saw: his foot was curved in at the ankle so that when he tried to stand, he was standing on the outside edge.
"Broke some bones when I crashed," he said with an endearing smile. He picked himself up from the floor and, as he was struggling to come upright, I grasped his upper arms to help lift. Immediately I felt the difference: this man's arms and shoulders were rock-hard. I didn't remember the Mark I knew feeling like that. Then he was upright and holding out his arms, and I fell into his embrace. We stood like that for what seemed like hours, unspeaking but weeping.
Then, "Oh, my God," he whispered. "You're actually you, and you're actually here with me."
"I thought--I thought--"
"You thought I was dead. I know, Mel. The goddam Army told you I was dead. Bastards. I'm sorry about that. It must have killed you."
"It did. It killed me."
He looked over my shoulder. "Is Lisa here? I thought she'd be with you."
"Uh, can we go someplace and talk?"
"Can't leave my room. Let's sit on my bed. Here."
He smoothed the bedspread and helped me up onto the rather high mattress. I sat with my back to the foot of the bed, and he sat opposite me.
"Well? My daughter?"
I took a deep breath. "It was about two years after you left us. She was in the hospital with meningitis, and somebody stole her!"
Then I was weeping and looking for a box of tissues. I cried long and hard. It was the first time I'd been able to mourn the loss of my daughter with her father and the feeling just overwhelmed me. He reached and took my hands in his.
Then he said, "And you got her back? Or what?"
"We never got her back. She's been gone ever since."
His back stiffened and he released my hands.
"What have you done to find her?"
"Everything. Your parents and I spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on private eyes and surveillance and everything trying to find her."
"Where do the police think my daughter is?"
"Honestly? They don't know. There's a man's name we got from one woman who helped him watch us and plan the abduction. Her name is Nancy
Callender. The man's name is Ignacio Velasquez."
"Good. Now I know how I'm going to spend my back pay. Every last dime of it goes to finding our girl."
"Oh, Mark!"
He stood up again and limped back and forth beside the bed. Finally, he stopped.
"What about you? Did you wait for me?"
I burst into tears again. "I tried, darling. Honest to God, I tried!"
"But there's someone else now. I understand. I get that. You can tell me."
"I'm married to a nice man named James.”
"Okay. What's he do? Is he good to you?"
"He's a lawyer, and yes, he treats me wonderfully. You'd like him, Mark, he's--"
"I know. I know. Now let me tell you about me. There have been changes on my side of the street, too, Mel."
"I know."
"No, you don't know. While I was captured, I converted to Islam. That's why I insisted on keeping my beard. I told the Army the beard was religious, but they finally decided they could cut it off, that it would be legal to deny a soldier his religious beliefs."
"Islam? How does that work?"
"We have a mosque, we have prayers, we have church, though not like you'd expect, probably. We have religious holidays, and we have the book. That's what got me through all those years, my faith."
"The holy book of Islam."
"Yes. And there's lots more about it too. I'll teach you if you'd like."
"That would be good," I said, though I couldn't imagine how we'd ever be together long enough for him to teach me anything. Not if I had to go back to James.
Wait. Had to go back to James? Was that had like it was my duty? Or did I want to go back to James? The longer I looked at Mark, the more my inner reservoir of devotion to James was trickling away. Then definitely washing away, then it was gone.
I wanted my husband back. I was sure of it.
"Listen," I said. "I need you to listen to me for a minute, okay?"
"Okay."
"I want to be with you. I've loved you since we were teenagers in college and I still love you now. Just seeing you has turned my world inside out. That's how I really, honestly feel."
He was shaking his head. "Melissa, listen to you. You're talking about leaving your husband for me. I'll bet there are kids?"
The Empty Place at the Table Page 10
