Pet for Christmas

by Rachelle Ayala

  “Mama, can we call Papa? I’m lonely.” She huddles up to me.

  My mind is still too groggy to understand what she’s asking. Does she think I’ve found her biological father?

  I hug her close to me and run my fingers through her curly blond hair.

  “Maybe later, sweetie.” I promise her, even though with the twelve hour difference, now would be a good time to catch him. Little girls need their sleep, and I have to keep her on a regular schedule. “How about we wake up early and call him before he goes to bed?”

  “Okay.” She sticks her thumb into her mouth, and I take it out.

  “I thought you said no more thumb.” Five is too old, and I’m afraid she’d get teased in school if her classmates knew she still sucked her thumb.

  “Only when I’m lonely,” she mumbles as she puts her thumb back.

  “Then you can be lonely with me.” I kiss her and make room on the pillow for her. Children grow up so fast, and I want to relish every moment of her young life, even if it means not disciplining her as well as I should.

  “Mama?” her little voice pipes up. “Tomorrow, can we go to the pet store to look at kitties and puppies?”

  Unlike my mother’s storybook which was printed in the nineteen-fifties, pet stores in our neighborhood don’t sell dogs or cats.

  “Pets are a lot of responsibility. You should figure out what you want and tell me how you’ll take care of it.” I rub her back.

  “I know I want a dog just like Barney Beagle.”

  “Shhh … Nana’s sleeping,” I whisper.

  Her eyelids are fortunately heavy, and she snuggles up to me. “I wish Papa were here. He’d find me the right puppy.”

  “I wish he were here, too.” I close my eyes and say a prayer for Tyler. I love that man so much, but he needs to get Afghanistan out of his system before he can be truly back here with us.

  ~ Tyler ~

  Tyler coughed, choking on the dirt covering his nose and mouth. His arms and hands were pinned by rocks, dirt, and debris, and his headlamp had gone out, or it was buried under the cave-in. He had no clue how long he’d been lying down, or whether he’d passed out or not.

  Fortunately, parts of the rock wall had not collapsed, and he was able to turn his head into a gap between the rocks, drawing in the dank, smelly air.

  Pain shot through his limbs. The ground had stopped shaking, and he struggled to extricate himself from the rubble.

  “Arman? Arman?” he called for the boy.

  A groan came from nearby, but no answer. At least Arman was alive.

  Tyler worked one arm free and gradually, he was able to pull himself out. It was pitch black. From touching the sides of the tiny area he was entrapped in, he could tell that parts of the structure had held. He dug with his fingers toward where he heard moaning.

  “Hold on, I’ll get you out of here.”

  Pebbles and rocks skidded as he climbed over them. He had no idea which direction led toward the exit and which way was back to the compound.

  Tyler kept moving debris, only to have the dirt fill up any space he made. If Arman was underneath the dirt, he would suffocate soon. Tyler dug faster, sure that his fingers were bleeding.

  Another moan directed him. He had no idea how long he’d been digging when he touched Arman’s hand. A wall of dirt fell as Tyler pulled a rock and heaved it behind him.

  “You okay?” He pulled the boy from underneath an outcrop of rocks. Quickly, he checked for broken bones.

  “I’m fine. Just trapped. What do we do now?” Arman asked, his voice small and shaky.

  “Find a way out of here.” Tyler could barely stand up in the collapsed tunnel. “Not sure which way is out. Let me find a flashlight.”

  Tyler felt around for his assault rifle and backpack, but all he touched was dirt. The only things he had were the bullets wrapped around him and a knife tucked inside his pant leg. He’d lost everything else.

  “You hear that?” Arman tapped Tyler.

  “No, what?”

  “I think it’s a dog.”

  Tyler and Arman huddled together and listened.

  A faint bark sounded somewhere over his shoulder.

  “It came from that way.” Arman pulled Tyler’s hand toward the direction of the sound.

  “Great. Then that’s the way we’ll dig. Help me.”

  Together, the man and boy scrabbled at the mounds of dirt and debris. It didn’t seem as if they’d made any progress, but every so often, the dog’s bark would direct them. They moved rocks and dirt, and climbed up a pile of rubble.

  “Look, I see light.” Arman pointed up.

  The dirt overhead must have collapsed, exposing it to the outside. Even though his fingers were pierced with pain and every muscle in his body ached, Tyler scratched his way toward the hole.

  He climbed the rubble, pushing Arman in front of him. When they got to the top of the pile, Tyler lifted Arman as high as he could.

  The boy was able to get a handhold onto a rock ledge, but the rock pile Tyler was standing on crumbled, and he fell back into the hole.

  “I’m coming back for you,” Arman said.

  “No, go. Get yourself to safety,” Tyler said. “Where are you? Can you tell?”

  “The moon’s up. We’re outside for sure. It’s quiet out here. I smell smoke, but nothing’s burning. They must have put the fire out.”

  “Do you know the way home? You must go. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Just go.” Tyler urged the boy. He was much safer alone than traveling with an American, especially since Tyler had shot and killed several Taliban.

  “I’ll find a rope,” Arman said. “I’ll be back.”

  “Don’t come back. I’ll find a way out. Go. They won’t hurt you,” Tyler begged the boy.

  There was no answer other than Arman’s departing footfalls.

  Tyler settled back on the collapsed dirt pile. At least one child made it out. But what about the other children and the remaining staff who’d been gathered in the cafeteria when the truck exploded? These were boys whose parents had entrusted them to Tyler, believing them to be safer with him than in their villages.

  If he hadn’t set up this stupid sports camp, these children and the employees would still be alive. How naïve he was to think sports would offer a way out for the people in this part of the world.

  He tasted blood thick in his throat, and his hands screamed with pain. All he’d accomplished was to cause the death of more people. Instead of helping people, he ended up hurting them. Dammit. He couldn’t do anything right.

  With the aid of the faint moonlight, Tyler made a pile of rocks, but every time he tried to climb it, the rocks would tumble down.

  He had no choice but to keep trying. He’d try until he died. And while he tried, he’d keep Kelly and Bree’s names on his lips. Beautiful, strong, and courageous Kelly, and sweet little Bree. He had to get back to them. There was no more good he could do in Afghanistan, and he’d been selfish to come here to ease his demons.

  Dear God, help me get back to my family. Forgive me for causing these people to die. I should have died, except you have a plan for me. Please show it to me and give me the strength to carry it out. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

  Tyler continued to pile the rubble into a heap. Not only did Kelly and Bree need him, he also had a son, a baby boy Kelly was carrying. A new Manning.

  Manning’s never give up. That was his family motto. He had to get back to them to love them and form the family he always wanted. His heart ached with pangs of longing and love. As incredible a woman as Kelly was, she needed someone to love and cherish her. It was time he became that man.

  Chapter Four

  ~ Kelly ~

  The baby inside me awakens me with a sharp kick to my bladder. I turn over in bed, but no one is there. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and the comforting murmur of breakfast chatter seep under the door.

  I blink and try to chase away the bad dream I had. It’s too unspeakable to think a
bout, especially since Bree kicked me for half the night.

  Please, dear God, let Tyler be okay. It’s just a silly dream from my subconscious. Tyler has to be fine. He’s coming home for Christmas. He promised.

  I pad to the bathroom to take care of my needs.

  “Mama, Mama,” Bree’s voice chants. Her footsteps skip to just outside the bathroom door. “Auntie Ella says there’s a Black Friday special at the pound. All black dogs are free. Can we go? Please, please, please?”

  I’m so not ready for a dog or anything else. Why had I thought to distract Bree with the pet idea last evening? At least she’s not asking for her biological father anymore.

  “I thought you wanted a brown dog like Barney Beagle,” I say to delay the trip. “They might not have one of those at the pound.”

  “We won’t know until we try.” Bree taps on the door, repeating my infamous phrase, the one I always use to tell her to try something new.

  “Yes, but you haven’t told me how you’ll take care of a dog.” I turn on the shower to warm the water and open the bathroom door, sticking my head out. “We have to make sure we can care for it so it doesn’t have to go back to the pound.”

  “If my real father were here, he’d show me how to take care of a doggie.” Bree has the confidence only young children and naïve idealists possess. “Have you found him yet? I bet you can find him on Google.”

  There she goes again. What happened to last night when she crawled into bed and said she missed Tyler? Or at least I assumed it was Tyler she asked for.

  “After I shower, let’s call Papa, okay?” I ruffle her head.

  “You found him? Really, truly? And does he have a dog for me?” She hugs my legs, bumping her head against my pregnant belly.

  “No, Bree, I’m talking about Tyler.”

  Bree scowls and her eyebrows draw together. “I want a dog.”

  “Actually, Mama isn’t ready for a dog. Maybe a smaller pet, like a fish or a hamster is easier. You won’t have to walk them every day like you would a dog.”

  “I love to take my dog on walks.”

  “Even when it’s raining?” I turn off the water, now that it reached the desired temperature. The drought in California has been running longer than expected. Except for that deluge last December, we haven’t had much rain since I moved here over a year ago.

  “I love to walk in the rain.” Bree’s gap-toothed smile spreads as she holds her arms and hands up and dances around the room.

  “Why don’t you draw a picture of walking your dog in the rain and show it to Nana?”

  “Okay!” she squeals. “I’ll draw a black dog for Black Friday.”

  After she leaves the bedroom, I take off my pajamas and jump into the shower. My belly is getting to that stage where it’s in the way wherever I turn. Thankfully it’s not tight this morning. I pat my baby and give him a kiss in my mind.

  Sorry, buddy. But it looks like we got off to a bad start already. I should have waited until your father was ready for you. I promise you, I’ll be both your mother and father if I have to. Love you, bud.

  After I finish showering in record time to conserve water, I pull my clothes on—maternity pants with elastic spandex in the abdominal area and a peasant blouse that flows over my hips. I twist my hair before clipping it. No time for makeup. No one’s looking at me anyway.

  “Mama!” Bree jumps from the chair at the kitchen table when she sees me. “Look at my picture. I drew a black doggie with my baby brother and me in the rain.”

  She’s looking so sweet and cute with her pretty blond curls and her big blue eyes. How can I be the mean one here? The picture shows all three, dog, brother, and Bree with big happy smiles. It’s dotted by blue streaks of rain and signed, Bree with the “R” backward.

  “That’s a pretty picture.” I take it from her and examine it so she knows I’m appreciating it. “Why don’t we show Papa when we Facetime him?”

  “Yay! Let’s call him right now.” She bounces at my side.

  Good. At least she’s thinking of Tyler again as her father. I glance at the kitchen clock. It’s nine at night over there so he should be done with his duties for the day. I sure hope that supply convoy has arrived and he’s getting a new center director so he can head home.

  “Let your mother eat first,” my mother says, patting Bree on the back. “More juice, toast?”

  “Yes, please.” Bree holds her plate and grins. “I want to grow up big and strong like Papa.”

  “Great,” my mother says. “Why don’t you take your plate to the living room and watch the parade?”

  “I used to live in New York,” Bree says excitedly. Before we moved to California, I always took her to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade every year. “Maybe Papa will take me to New York and Wall-E street with my puppy.”

  She takes her plate and juice and toddles into the living room.

  I heave a sigh. I get it now. When things are going her way, she thinks of Tyler as her father, but whenever I tell her no, or she feels threatened, out pops the mythical real father who’ll solve all her problems.

  “How are you feeling?” My mother sits down next to me after I poured my granola and almond milk.

  “Kind of tired, but the baby’s okay. Bree crawled into bed with us last night.”

  “I know. It’ll be good for her to spend more time talking to Tyler. They got on so well before you got pregnant.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I can’t help the annoyed tone.

  “Nothing. You’re so sensitive,” Mother says, stirring cream into her coffee. “It’s just that you knew Tyler came with major problems. Post traumatic stress disorder so severe he was caught running through the subway station chasing ‘terrorists.’ Adding the pressure of a new baby is bound to bring more relapses.”

  Ugh. I’ll never live this down. Mother’s right. Tyler hadn’t signed up to be a father. I was supposed to have been on the Pill, but I’d forgotten to renew my prescription once and skipped a few days. I should have used backup birth control.

  “All this isn’t Tyler’s fault, you know,” Mom continues when she sees me staring into space. “He’s had a lot to deal with.”

  “Strange, last night you were pissed that he wasn’t here for me.”

  “Actually not. You need to tell him what you need, instead of saying everything’s fine. I see him running back to the war zone to exorcise the ghosts he has hanging over him instead of staying here and getting treatments. The war’s over, you know.”

  “Is it?” I slap my spoon on the table and cup my face in my hands, rubbing my eyes. I’m so damn tired of the war, following the news, reading about PTSD and asking questions on the various veterans’ spouses’ forums online. “The war will never be over for Tyler.”

  “It has to be. He has to let it go.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” I pull at the roots of my hair. “I hate what war did to Tyler. I hate what he has to deal with. How he suffers. I hate how it broke a man who is good and loving and caring, and turned him into a ghost, the walking wounded.”

  Mother reaches over and rubs my shoulder. How can she irk me and comfort me at the same time?

  “You and Bree are suffering from it, too. You need to let him know he’s not the only victim.”

  My breath catches in my throat, and I fight hard not to give in to the tears that come so easily these days. Of course we’re suffering, but it’s only a side effect of his pain.

  “Mom, you don’t understand.” I dab my eyes with a napkin and take a deep breath. Maybe it’s time to let my frustration out. It’s only my mother who’s listening, and she’s stuck by me through everything.

  “Try me, sweetie.” She hugs me.

  “The thing is, I can’t complain to him and make demands. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells. He’s trying so damn hard. He’s fighting his demons and earning the money he needs to provide for us. He loves us so much it hurts. But we need him. Bree, me, and the baby. We nee
d him because we’re weak. Yet I feel so guilty that sometimes I’m glad he’s gone. That he’s not around, because when he is, it’s chaos. I don’t know when the next bomb will drop or when he’ll act out, or run away. Don’t you get it? When he’s away, it’s peaceful, and all we do is miss him. But when he’s here, gosh, it’s so difficult.”

  “Oh, honey, I suspected as much. You cover it up well in front of me, but I know Bree sees it.” Mother hands me another tissue.

  “She’s scared of him when he starts raving about the enemy and stalking around the apartment like a madman, or she hears the screams at night when he’s having a nightmare. I didn’t want to tell you. I’m such a horrible mother. I should never have exposed my daughter to all of Tyler’s terrors. Honestly, he’s better off in a war zone. At least there, he gets to shoot at the enemy. Here, it’s all I can do to not get him arrested and confined to a mental ward.”

  “And now you have his son.” Mother never fails to point out the obvious.

  “Yes, now I have his baby.” I toss the tissues and push from the kitchen table. “If I have to do it myself, I will. If Tyler wishes to stay in Afghanistan for the rest of his life, I’ll have to accept it. I’m through with begging him to choose me and Bree.”

  “So, wait, you’re not getting married?” Mother’s face slackens and a corner of her eye twitches.

  “I’m not sure he’s ready to marry anyone. If it’s only to cover up for having the baby, it probably won’t work out in the long run.”

  “I’m sorry. I truly am, and I’m here to help you with Bree and the baby. You know that.”

  “I know, Mom.” I hug her. “You’ve always been here for me and Bree. I should have listened to you.”

  “It’s okay, Kelly. One thing I’ve learned too late is a man you have to chase is not the man for you. I made that mistake with your dad, and I hate seeing you do the same.”

  Chapter Five

  ~ Tyler ~

  Tyler’s body ached from the soles of his feet to his fingertips. His head throbbed, and his mouth was so dry, he had no spit left. The bone-chilling cold numbed his lips and face, and stole the breath from his lungs.