I slipped on a pair of flip-flops and made my way downstairs to the patio.
“Hey, sugar!” Jack said, standing up and taking my hand, kissing me sweetly on the cheek.
I felt a faint blush heat my skin, very happy to see the broad smile on his face. At least the conversation with his mother hadn’t put him in a bad mood.
“Good morning, Maggie. Did you sleep well?” his mother asked politely.
“Too well!” I said, sinking into a comfortable cane chair. “I’m usually awake at sunrise. I’m sorry it’s so late.”
“You were beat,” Jack said, pouring me a cup of coffee. “That’s why I let you sleep.”
My eyes flitted to his mother, wondering what she thought of us sleeping together under her roof, but she didn’t bat an eyelid.
“It’s good to see you looking so refreshed,” she said. “Jackson has told me a little of what you went through in that terrible place.” She hesitated. “I read your newspaper article: it was very . . . vivid. Heart-breakingly vivid.”
My smile slipped. It was impossible to believe that this peaceful place existed on the same planet as Zataari.
“Thank you. It was . . . difficult.”
She nodded.
“Jackson never wants to tell me about what he’s doing,” she said, her gaze moving between us, “but what you do . . . you’re very brave.”
I was surprised, but when I looked at her, I saw beneath the polite southern hostess to the mother who could create a man like Jackson Connor.
“I’m not brave,” I said, as Jack squeezed my hand. “I write about brave people, and I write the stories that need to be told, that’s all.”
There was a long silence, and I tried to think of something to say that would ease the uncomfortable atmosphere.
“You have a very beautiful home here,” I said sincerely, if somewhat abruptly.
“Thank you, dear. We’re very fond of it.”
I wondered if her words had a double meaning. Was she trying to imply that one day Jack would want to come back here to settle down? And why wouldn’t he? It really was lovely.
“Well now, Jackson,” she said, changing the subject, “did I mention that Cousin Laura is having her baby shower today?”
“No, I don’t reckon you did. When did she get knocked up?”
I could tell by the glint in his eye that his language was a deliberate goad to his mother. She gave him a look that said she knew exactly what he was doing.
“Laura was lucky enough to become pregnant a couple of months after the wedding,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “The baby is due in the Fall.”
“I guess John is pretty excited about that.”
“Yes, he’s looking forward to being a father at last,” she said meaningfully. “Anyway, John thought that you’d like to catch up and have a few beers.” Then she turned to me, “and Cousin Laura has invited you to her baby shower. Isn’t that lovely? She really is the sweetest girl. Unfortunately, I’m volunteering at a fundraiser or I’d have been there, too. She wanted Lucy to go, as well, but summer school is keeping her busy and can’t get away this weekend.”
“That’s very kind of your cousin,” I said. “But when I packed, it was for a quick assignment to a refugee camp. I don’t have anything suitable to wear to a baby shower, and to be honest, I’m not sure I’m ready to be let loose in the civilized world yet. It can be hard to . . . adjust.”
Jack’s mother surprised me by leaning forward and taking my hand.
“My dear, that’s the exact reason you should go: you need something innocent and joyous, something to remind you that life goes on. I may not have experienced what you have, but I have seen my boy return from deployment time and again, so I do understand a little.”
Tears started in my eyes. Her warmth and compassion felt so much like having a mother. Her words echoed what my own mother had said to me when she was in hospital for the last time—words about looking for the light, even when you experienced the dark.
Jack’s mother squeezed my hand as I looked down to hide my feelings.
“And as for what to wear, I’m sure I can find you something of mine that would be perfect for you.”
Then with another kind look, she stood up and excused herself. I brushed a few stray tears from my eyes as Jack moved his chair nearer to mine.
“You doin’ okay over there, Maggie?” he asked tenderly.
“I was, until your mother started being so nice to me,” I said, laughing a little.
“Yeah, she’s kind of great,” he said warmly. “She really likes you.”
He leaned across and kissed my lips gently, then settled in his chair, his arm resting along the back of mine.
“You don’t have to go to any damn baby shower,” he said. “You should rest some more.”
I thought about that. The offer to lounge in this beautiful garden, eat, drink and be peaceful sounded much nicer than being with a bunch of excited women that I didn’t know. But on the other hand, it was really kind of them to invite me. Jack’s mother had even offered to lend me something to wear—I didn’t want her to think I wasn’t grateful.
“Actually, I think your mother is right. It might be just what I need.”
He threw me a skeptical look.
“You don’t have to. No one is going to think the worse of you,” he said, showing again how astute he was.
“No, it’s fine. And it’ll only be a few hours.”
“Well then, I’ll come with you.”
I laughed out loud at the thought of this tough-talking, hard-drinking Sergeant of Marines getting gooey over baby clothes.
“You realize, Sarge, that crashing your cousin’s baby shower will expose you to dangerous levels of estrogen. You’ll have to do lots of macho things just to hold onto your man-card.”
Jackson grinned, his smile white against the tan he’d developed in Afghanistan and topped up on the Gulf coast during the last week.
“I can handle it. Maybe I’ll chop wood and wrestle alligators before driving my truck listening to Van Halen.”
“You think that will be enough? Maybe you should bite the tops off bottles with your teeth.”
He nodded thoughtfully.
“And then I’ll crush beer cans against my forehead, just ‘cause . . .”
“You’re a goofball, Jack!”
“You bring it out in me,” he grinned. Then his smile slipped. “You really doing okay, Maggie? You’ve been through a lot in the last few days.”
“Honestly? I don’t know. My emotions are all over the place,” I admitted. “It usually takes me at least a week to start feeling . . .”
“Normal?”
“I was going to say, feel I can move on with my life. Those weeks are almost like being in limbo, or . . . as if I have to go through it to come out the other side. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I know, Maggie. We have to stay on the base for the first two weeks after coming back from a deployment. We’re debriefed and wrap up what we learned or did. They figure if we don’t do it then, we’ll get drunk and forget it all.” He gave me a tired smile. “We all get to see the base shrink as well. I prefer the way it used to be.”
“Which is?”
“I hate talking about the bad stuff. Every Marine meets a shrink these days. We all have the ‘cure’ when we’re back from deployment. I preferred the old-school method: three bottles of beer and a 48 hour pass to Vegas.”
“I’m not sure that’s a particularly healthy response, Sarge,” I said gently.
He glanced at me sideways.
“I don’t remember ever having a boss, an officer or anyone else, tell me to drink less. It’s cheap therapy. “
“That’s pretty cynical.”
Jackson shrugged.
“It’s the truth. Any improvements to our mental health, they’ve been led by a few individual senior commanders, but there’s nothing consistent. The rest has been led by the public. They don’t like the way their heroes are t
reated.”
His voice rose sarcastically on ‘heroes’ and he threw me a look.
“I guess reporting the issues has helped. But it doesn’t really come from the military—guys would lose their careers if they told the truth about what it’s like.”
“But surely you can talk to your CO about it?”
He shook his head.
“Not really. You’re not supposed to have feelings. You’re supposed to be a good little Marine and do as you’re told.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what I’d be if I left. You’re a hero while you wear the uniform. But as a civilian? Just another damaged person to ignore.”
I heard the pain and confusion in his voice, but his cynicism saddened me.
I also knew that this expression of vulnerability was his way of supporting me, of showing me that he understood how hard it was to come back, to pretend that I hadn’t seen the awful things I’d seen, to pretend that I hadn’t been soaked in the blood of another human being. A child.
I closed my eyes, but that didn’t stop the horrific images. It never did.
“I get it, Maggie,” he said softly. “You don’t have to hide anything—not from me.”
I stood up and shifted onto his lap, my hands winding into his short hair. I buried my face into his neck, breathing in his scent, soothed in those strong arms.
He held me, rocking me gently, and we didn’t speak because words weren’t necessary. A deeper tie of understanding and shared experience bound us together.
I didn’t want to let him go. I didn’t ever want to let him go.
But then I heard the soft click of his mother’s sandals, and I pulled away from him. He held onto me for a moment, then let me go.
I slid back into my chair, but from the tender expression on her face, I knew she’d seen us.
“Well now, honey,” she said, smiling gently at me. “I have two or three summer dresses that would look pretty on you. Why don’t you come with me and choose whichever you’d like.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Connor.”
“Oh, please! Mrs. Connor was my mother-in-law. Call me Evelyn.”
Jackson grinned at his mother, and I couldn’t help thinking that I’d passed some sort of test—maybe with both of them.
I followed her into the house, and she took me to her bedroom which was furnished lavishly and decorated with a pale violet theme.
Two photographs sat on her dresser: an older man who was the spitting image of Jackson, and a beautiful black-and-white photo of Evelyn with a baby Jack.
“My two boys,” she said, touching the frames of each reverently. “I’m so happy he’s found you, my dear. Be kind to each other.”
Her words left me speechless, but before I had a chance to digest her meaning, she pointed at the dresses.
“Now, here are three sweet outfits that I think would look darlin’ on you.”
She pointed at a pretty sundress with pink frills that was more suitable for a girl like Emmy; a pale blue shift dress; and a mint-green floaty, slightly hippy dress that was much more my style.
“Oh, good choice,” she said, as my eyes fell on the green dress. “That will look perfect with your lovely complexion. It belongs to my daughter, Lucy. I wish she could have been here to meet you.”
“Jack said she was studying at Ole Miss?”
“Yes! At least one of my children decided to go to college,” she smiled. “Now then, I have the cutest sandals to go with it.”
“That’s so kind of you, Evelyn,” I said, testing out her name and finding that I wasn’t uncomfortable being so familiar with her. “Thank you very much.”
“Oh pish! Any woman who can put a smile like that on my boy’s face . . . well, I think I should thank you.”
She passed me a pair of flat, strappy sandals that were simple and elegant but also comfortable-looking, and patted my hand.
I didn’t quite know what to do with her kindness after having overheard her conversation with Jackson this morning, but I decided to take it at face value.
I went back to Jack’s room and changed into my borrowed dress. I was pleased how much it suited me, and even more pleased when I heard Jack’s appreciative whistle.
“You sure scrub up nice, Maggie,” he teased. “You look different when you’re not up to your knees in mud and dust.”
“I could say the same about you. And your bedroom smells a lot better than your sleeping quarters in Now Zad.”
He pulled a face.
“You try sleeping with twenty other sweaty grunts. Scratch that! I don’t want you ever to know!”
I laughed and kissed his freshly shaved cheek.
“I’ll take it under advisement.”
He gave me a lopsided grin as he peeled off his faded USMC t-shirt, swapping it for a pale blue polo shirt that made his eyes pop, and a pair of khaki chinos.
“You look like you’re about to go and play golf,” I teased. “No one would ever believe that you’re a leatherneck.”
He rubbed his hand over his short hair and grinned at me.
“I happen to play a pretty mean round of golf.”
“You are full of surprises,” I said, dropping a light kiss on his lips. “Now take me somewhere I can buy a gift for a baby shower.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said grabbing me by the waist and spinning me around. “Did I mention that I love it when you give me orders?”
“Later,” I laughed.
The only person I knew at the baby shower was Emmy, which felt a little awkward. But to hand it to her, she was nothing but friendly, introducing me to the other women as Jack’s girlfriend.
Everyone there was beautifully dressed, pearls being a favorite accessory, but with my borrowed outfit, I didn’t feel too underdressed.
Emmy was wearing a gorgeous shantung silk dress in a rose pink that perfectly complimented her strawberries and cream complexion.
I caught her staring at me several times during the afternoon, a perplexed expression on her face, as if she couldn’t quite work me out or what Jackson saw in me. And I don’t think she did get it. For one thing, I was several years older than all these women; and for another, even though they’d all gone to college and gotten their degrees, only two of them worked full time, and one of those admitted that she’d give up work as soon as she was pregnant, which she planned to do as soon as possible.
Lisa, the only woman there who had no plans to reproduce in the immediate future, threw me a sympathetic look and came to sit next to me, explaining that she was a lawyer, specializing in criminal law. We had an interesting discussion about world politics until the others deemed it “too miserable” for the current occasion. They were probably right.
The rest of the women were friendly, inquisitive, but really I had nothing in common with them. I smiled at the baby clothes and made the appropriate appreciative noises. I drank iced teas and laughed at the ‘guess the baby food’ games.
When Jack arrived by taxi to take me to dinner, I was very ready to leave. Two hours of small talk had left me feeling like the outsider I was. But as soon as he walked into the room, several of the women came over to hug and kiss him, and it was only then that I realized it had been more than two years since he’d paid a visit to his home town.
Emmy was one of the ones to greet him. She was friendly, but not over-friendly, although she couldn’t completely hide her disappointment that he was with me.
Jack gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and passed on his mother’s good wishes.
Then, with a sigh of relief, we climbed in the taxi and drove away.
“How’d it go?” he asked.
“Very polite,” I said with a smile. “Very friendly.”
“You hated it, didn’t you?”
“No, honestly I didn’t. We don’t have much in common, but they were very sweet.”
“You’re sweet,” he said, his gaze slightly unfocused. “You’d make a great Marine.”
I couldn’t help laughing at his non s
equitur.
“Is that right? A Marine, huh?”
“The British Army used to have WRACs,” he said, grinning broadly.
“Excuse me? Racks?”
“Yeah, Women’s Royal Army Corps—WRACs. You know, racks . . . which means . . .”
“Let me guess: you screw them against the wall.”
Jackson burst out laughing, I guess he really was pretty drunk.
“How many beers did you have while I was at that baby shower?” I chuckled.
“I kinda lost count,” he murmured into my ear. “Let’s go home and fuck.”
“Are all you southern boys such gentlemen?” I laughed.
He grinned sloppily and tickled my neck when he kissed me.
“Oh boy, I think I’d better find a restaurant and feed you,” I said.
“I sure could eat,” he smiled, raising his eyebrows and licking his lips.
“Behave,” I said. “Let’s get you fed, then you can take me home and misbehave as much as you like.”
“God, I love you, Maggie,” he said.
And I wished with my whole heart that he’d said the words when he was sober.
I stayed another week with Jackson and his mother. I became truly fond of Evelyn, grateful that she was willing to share his time with me, a stranger who’d been thrust on her. But during those days, I saw where Jackson got his insight into people from. Behind the soft-looking southern woman was a steely reserve born of early widowhood and bringing up two young children by herself.
I also gathered that Jack had been something of a rebel in his younger years, and instead of going to college and law school, which is what had been planned for him, he’d left home at eighteen years of age to join the Marine Corps.
But time was passing too fast, and I needed to get back to New York and to my life. I had work to do, and Jack’s leave was nearly through. In another two days, he’d be flying back to San Diego.
“We couldn’t be much further apart,” I sighed. “Me in New York, you in California.”
We were curled up together in bed, delaying the moment when we would have to get up so Jack could drive me to the airport.
Battle Scars Page 11
