A Hero to Come Home To

by Marilyn Pappano

  Six expectant faces looked her way. “Well…I guess we’re dating.”

  “We know that, sweetie.” That, along with a shoulder nudge, came from Therese. “We want to know how serious it is. How often do you see each other? Are you the only woman he’s seeing? What do you talk about? What do you do?”

  “Has he copped a feel yet?” Lucy’s words were followed immediately by a blush. “Oh, great, now I’m sounding rude like Jessy.”

  “I’m not rude,” Jessy protested. “I just cut through the bull—”

  Ilena clamped her hand over Jessy’s mouth. “Not in front of Hector Junior, please. Besides, we’re putting Carly under the microscope now, not you.”

  “Thank God for small miracles.”

  Carly looked from one woman to the next, ending with Therese, then quietly said, “I like him. A lot. He’s…special. And I think he likes me, too. A lot. I think.” Growing warm under their gazes, she twisted her wedding ring in slow circles. “It’s all pretty new, you guys. I don’t know where we’ll be in a month or six months or even next week. It’s kind of scary to look that far ahead. When I married Jeff, I thought it was for the rest of eternity. I didn’t know ‘forever’ was going to be four years.”

  Four years was no eternity. She’d been anticipating sixty or more.

  At least, however pitifully few, their years had been happy. They’d had fights, of course, and there’d been a few times when they’d gone to bed mad, but oh, the making up had been sweet.

  Blinking back the moisture that stung her eyes, she deflected the conversation away from herself. “Ilena, you’re not really going to call that child Hector, are you?”

  The blond faked offense. “I am, after his father.”

  “But his father went by Juan,” Fia pointed out.

  “Well…I am naming him Hector. Hector Juan Lewis Gomez. For his father, his father’s father and my father. But his daddy insisted we would call him John.”

  His daddy who’d never known of his existence. She and Dane had talked about so much, but she had no clue how he felt about kids. Did he like them? Want them? Was it too early for her to even be wondering?

  As she’d said earlier, it was all so new. She could be investing way too much hope in this relationship…but that was the way her heart worked.

  Please, God, don’t let it get broken again.

  It was Therese who moved to leave first. “Wish I could stay longer, but kids at home and school tomorrow.”

  Carly gathered her things, then hooked her arm through Jessy’s as they strolled to the door, a few steps behind the rest. “You okay?”

  Jessy gave her a sidelong look. “Sure. Why do you ask?”

  Should she mention the drinking? It wasn’t as if she’d ever seen the redhead tipsy or stumbling. She never slurred her words, didn’t miss work, didn’t drive after having a drink or two.

  Was it up to Carly to even decide what was too many? She readily admitted she wasn’t a drinker. Even Mia imbibed more than she did. Heavens, her own mother enjoyed a glass or two of wine with dinner on a regular basis.

  She chose to let it slide. “Just wondering. Can I give you a ride home?”

  Outside the door, Jessy paused, face tilted to the night sky, eyes closed. She took a few deep breaths, then looked at Carly, her gaze as clear as could be. “Thanks, but I like the walk.”

  “I’m not brave enough to walk alone at night.”

  “Night? See all these lights? And there are restaurants or clubs on every block. If I screamed once, a whole company of soldiers would come racing to my rescue.” Jessy’s grin was quick and lascivious. “Hey, that’s not a bad idea.”

  Carly laughed. She’d never had a bit of the other woman’s boldness and never would.

  “Go home, kiddo,” Jessy said, tugging her into a hug. “Call soldier boy and tell him good night. Better yet, invite him over and show him a good night. Then tell me all about it, would you?”

  Carly watched her head off west on Main Street before turning to the eastside parking lot and her car. Calling Dane and telling him good night…Hey, that wasn’t a bad idea.

  She drove home, letting herself in, then stopping abruptly in the doorway to the living room. Therese and Jacob had helped her and Dane put all the furniture back in place Sunday afternoon, along with laying the rug. It still surprised her every time she saw the new room, as if the turn in the very familiar hallway had taken her to a very unfamiliar place.

  She liked it.

  She was ready for bed, warming a cup of milk in the microwave and debating what changes to make next, when the cell phone rang. Recognizing the number on the display, she answered with a smile. “Hello.”

  “Do you ever get tired of Mexican every Tuesday night?”

  Tilting her head to hold the phone, she stirred chocolate sauce into the milk, then licked the leftover bit on the spoon. “No. I’m just a routine sort of person, I guess. I find it comforting to know that a few things in my life are carved in stone.”

  Dane’s voice was thoughtful when he replied. “Yeah, I can see that. How are the margarita girls?”

  Taking her milk and a magazine from the day’s mail, she padded down the hall to the bedroom. Maybe the dimly lit corridor should be her next project. Sunshiny yellow or pure bright white. She’d have to ask Dane’s opinion.

  She settled in bed, sliding her feet under the covers, and gave him a quick update on the six regulars.

  “And how about you?”

  “Good.” It wasn’t her usual automatic response, the one that had become standard after Jeff’s death, the answer most people hadn’t really wanted to hear to a question they felt obligated to ask. I’m fine. I’m doing okay. I’m all right. People showed they cared by asking, and she acknowledged it by not burdening them with the truth.

  Tonight she really was good.

  “What are you up to?” she asked.

  “Seeing how long I can lie on the couch flipping through the TV channels and eating potato chips.”

  She laughed at the image. “Wow, strenuous work. What’s your record?”

  “Forty-seven hours if you don’t count bathroom breaks and switching to cookies when the potato chips ran out. That was in Italy.”

  “After the divorce?” She couldn’t imagine the woman who’d chosen affairs over him, especially being so indiscreet. If Carly ever had an affair, it would have to be the most closely guarded secret in America and she would have to be certifiably nuts. She didn’t believe in breaking vows.

  “Yeah, but that wasn’t why. We’d just gotten back from three weeks’ training in Germany and had a long weekend off. That was how I spent half of it.”

  She echoed his words back to him. “Yeah, I can see that. I’d certainly need forty-seven hours vegging out on the couch after three weeks in Germany.”

  “Hey, it was work. Mostly.” His yawn came through the phone. “Want me to bring anything tomorrow night?”

  Just yourself. “Um, no, I’ve got it covered.” Mia’s recipe for the turkey, Lisa’s for the dressing, Therese’s foolproof gravy. She’d figured out the sweet potatoes and the pecan pie on her own.

  “Okay.” This time his yawn triggered the same in her. “I’ll see you around six.”

  “Good night.”

  The instant she laid the phone down, she missed him. It had been that way with Jeff. He could have been 7,500 miles away, but while they were on the phone, it was as if he were right next to her, and when he hung up, she felt so alone.

  This time there was a certain comfort, though, in the fact that the solitude wouldn’t last long. She would see Dane in about eighteen hours, and instead of dwelling on the time apart, she was anticipating tomorrow’s dinner. As she settled pillows behind her back and opened the magazine, her brain warned that she was expecting too much too soon.

  But her heart didn’t care, and it hadn’t led her wrong yet.

  The last thing on Dane’s schedule before leaving work Wednesday was meeting with the fi
rst sergeant, his cadre squad leader, about his upcoming thirty-day assessment.

  “You haven’t decided yet what you want to do,” First Sergeant Chen remarked. “You know, this is just a preliminary report. No one expects you to be a hundred percent about anything yet. Are you leaning one way or the other?”

  Dane shifted in his chair. “Depends on when you ask. After physical or occupational therapy, I’m pretty sure the answer is transition out. Some days I think I might as well stay, and others I wonder…” He gazed at the framed commendations on the wall, thinking of his own collection on his own wall. “I always thought I’d make a career in the Army, in Airborne. I wasn’t prepared to put in twelve years, then not be able to jump anymore, not be combat-ready anymore.”

  And there was one more thing to factor into his decision now: Carly. Obviously she didn’t mind dating a soldier, but how would she feel about getting serious with one? A lot of women were like Army groupies, going from one soldier to the next, but Carly wasn’t that kind. She’d been through the training, the deployments, the separations. Worse, she’d had to deal with Jeff’s death: the casualty notification; the days waiting for his body to return; the dignified transfer home to Colorado; the funeral arrangements; the funeral itself; living without him.

  If Dane stayed in, he wouldn’t likely be sent back into combat, but he was still deployable. There would still be separations, and there were still hazards inherent to the job. Would she want to be with another soldier, not just dating but on a permanent basis? Would she want even the slightest risk of being an Army widow not once but twice?

  God, was he really thinking about getting married again? Falling in love again?

  Not so much thinking about it, he was afraid, as verging on doing it. Getting involved. Caring. Wanting a lot from a woman who still didn’t know exactly the man she was dealing with.

  “You know, there’s a lot you can do besides Airborne,” Chen said. “You’re an Eleven-Charlie. You could reclassify without too much trouble and teach at the artillery school at Fort Sill. You could be an instructor at TRADOC at Fort Polk, getting units ready to deploy. If you have any interest in medicine, you could go to Fort Sam.” A wicked grin spread across his face. “If you want to go back home, you could do recruiting.”

  Dane snorted. “Yeah, I’d be a great one to sign up new recruits. Join the Army, get shot at, and get your leg blown off. No, thanks, First Sergeant. Recruiting’s tough duty.”

  And the worst place he could possibly be stationed was back home, where he would almost certainly run into his ex-wife and her happy family, where his mother would make sure not a soul in the county was unaware of her poor crippled son. I told him not to join the Army, but no, he wouldn’t listen. And there he is, not even a whole man anymore. Good thing his wife left him before this happened. Can you imagine how hard this would have been for her?

  “You got any particular reason for getting out or staying in?”

  “Besides the body parts I lost?” Dane asked drily.

  Chen laughed. “Yeah, but lucky for you, the Army had replacement parts in stock.”

  “Yeah. Lucky me. Lucky us.”

  Dane had met First Sergeant Chen eight years ago, when they were both stationed in Korea. They’d been friendly enough, though not the kind of buddies who hung out together. They’d been through a lot since then. Chen had gotten married, Dane divorced. Chen had three little girls no more than a year apart in age, their photos decorating the desk. Dane wasn’t sure kids were in his future. They’d both gone to Iraq twice.

  Chen had lost his left arm from the elbow down and his left foot on his first tour in Afghanistan, and Dane had lost his leg on his second tour.

  Chen was coping. Dane wasn’t.

  “There’s a woman.” Dane blinked. He’d intended to say no, nothing pulling him either way, but the words had come out on their own.

  “Isn’t there always.”

  “She doesn’t know.”

  “About your leg?” Chen waited for him to nod. “Yeah, I’ve noticed you tend to avoid any unnecessary display of the prosthesis.”

  “I can’t pretend it’s not there if I have to look at it all the time.” Though at the moment, even with his pants leg and boot covering it, he couldn’t forget it for a second. “She’s got this thing about perfection.”

  Chen’s chair squeaked as he rocked back, hands folded across his stomach. His left hand was so similar in skin tone and he was so comfortable with it that people who didn’t know it was a prosthetic wouldn’t notice the difference. “Is she perfect?”

  Wishing he hadn’t started this conversation, Dane managed a weak grin. “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “Is she pretty? Smart? Nice?” After Dane muttered “yeah” to each question, Chen grinned again. “Then what’s she doing with you?”

  Getting over Jeff? Taking a step back to some semblance of a normal life? Maybe falling for him, too?

  “There comes a point where she’s got to know. Seriously. I mean, you can’t”—he shrugged—“without her finding out. If she’s smart and nice, it’s not going to matter. If it does make a difference, better to find out before it’s too late, right?”

  That all sounded good and logical. But…“How can I ask her to accept something I haven’t gotten used to yet?”

  “I’ll tell you something my wife told me back at Walter Reed, Staff Sergeant. There’s only two ways to look at the situation you’re in. You can be grateful for what you’ve still got and make the most out of life, or you can mourn what you’ve lost and miss out on the rest of your life.

  “I know it was hard losing your foot. I know it was even harder when they had to take you back and do the second amputation, and I can only imagine how tough it was when they did the third one, because they’re not just cutting off tissue and bone then, they’re cutting off hard work and hope. But you’re alive. You can still do just about anything you want. You just have to make adjustments, and the mental adjustment is the hardest one of all. But do you want to guess how many people buried in those cemeteries all across the country would have loved to trade places with you?”

  “Yeah,” Dane murmured. “One in particular.” At the first sergeant’s look, he went on. “Carly’s a member of this group in town. They call themselves the Tuesday Night Margarita Club.”

  Recognition flashed across Chen’s face. “The widows’ club. How long has it been for her?”

  “A couple years. A helicopter crash in Afghanistan.”

  “Any kids?”

  “No.”

  “You’ve got to tell her at some point, Staff Sergeant, even if you don’t know where things are going. Like I said, better to find out if it matters before it’s too late.”

  “Before it’s too late.” The words kept echoing in Dane’s head long after he’d gotten home, showered and dressed for dinner. How was he supposed to tell her? It wasn’t something he could just drop into casual conversation. This is a great meal. The paint job in the living room looks really good. By the way, when I mentioned I’d torn up my leg, what I meant was they amputated three-fourths of it. Mind if I grab another Coke?

  Yeah, that would go over well.

  He was kicked back on the sofa, the television on but muted, when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the screen to make sure it wasn’t Carly, then silenced the phone. Two minutes later it rang again, and once more two minutes after that. Anna Mae didn’t give up once she decided to do something, and apparently today she was determined to talk to him.

  With a sigh, he answered.

  “You know, you should really keep your phone with you all the time,” she said in place of a greeting. “I mean, in your condition and all, having so much trouble getting around, it would be easier if you kept it in your pocket. And what if you fell or something? How would you call for help?”

  “Funny thing about the Army. They keep tabs on us soldiers who need extra help—you know, the brain-injury patients, the ones with PTSD, and the people missing arms
and legs.”

  Anna Mae’s response was what his dad had always referred to as her “miffed sniff.” Bill had been good at teasing her into a better mood, but Dane had never had the gift. “As they should, considering they’re responsible for crippling all of you.”

  “Mom, I’m not crippled.” Like First Sergeant Chen had pointed out, a lot of people would rather have lost a limb or two than died. And a whole lot of people would have thanked God to get their child, spouse, or parent back in his condition.

  Another sniff. “Disabled, then. Do you prefer that?”

  Closing his eyes, Dane rubbed his temple with his free hand. It was the place where his patience resided, he decided, and Anna Mae could drain it empty with laser-guided accuracy in a matter of seconds.

  How many times had he told her he wasn’t disabled or handicapped? A dozen, at least. His brain still worked fine, and so did most of his body.

  So why did he care so damn much about the part that was missing?

  “I’d prefer not to be labeled at all.” Not that he expected her to listen, much less hear. “How are you?”

  “I’m just doing the usual stuff. Oh, and I’ve started volunteering at the church with the preschool program. I figure since I’m never going to get grandkids from you, I’d better find substitutes somewhere. Though, of course, there’s always Sheryl’s babies. They’re practically mine.” Her tone turned a hundred shades lighter, more enthusiastic. “She’s just glowing with this pregnancy. Her doctor’s got her doing yoga, and she’s looking more beautiful every day.” She heaved a longing sigh. “I do wish you would have tried to work things out with her.”

  “Sorry. It wasn’t meant to be.” Sheryl hadn’t liked monogamy, and he wasn’t cut out to ignore her affairs. His dad would have understood, but his mom had a different outlook. Yet Bill had loved her until the day he died. Some mysteries were never meant to be solved.

  “When can you come for a visit? You know, the baby’s due—”

  Startled by the question, Dane tuned out the rest. Sure, he’d have to go home sometime before his mother died, but he was figuring on at least another ten years before he had to worry about that. He didn’t want to go home. Didn’t want to stay in the house he’d grown up in, where he’d had such big plans. Didn’t want to see his ex-wife and her children.