She laid one hand on his. “That’s just the body. You know the spirit is someplace so much better.” At least, she prayed so for Ed’s family’s sake. “Jeff’s funeral was huge. Kalitta Charters made the dignified transfer from Andrews to Fort Carson. There were hundreds of Patriot Guards on their motorcycles, police officers, sheriffs’ deputies, and highway patrolmen in the caravan, and people with flags and signs lined the road for forty miles to the funeral home. There were so many names in the guest books for the visitation and the funeral itself—family, friends, veterans, dignitaries, strangers. It meant a lot to his parents that for those few hours, he was front and center in people’s thoughts.
“Most of his Army buddies weren’t there, though. Some were still overseas. Some sent flowers or cards. Someone, we never knew who, dropped off an envelope at the church that was full of pictures taken over there with him in them. Some guys we never heard anything from. Everyone has their own way to remember and honor those who have passed.” She picked up her coffee cup, warming her hands, but didn’t drink. “I can tell you from experience that it would mean a lot to Ed’s parents and especially his children if you’d write them a letter. Let them know he won’t be forgotten.”
She knew Jeff would never be forgotten, not by the people who’d known and loved him. But there were times she wondered if his sacrifice would be remembered by anyone else, or if he would become just one more casualty of a war that a lot of people had long since grown tired of. He’d given his life for his country, and she didn’t want everyone besides his family and friends to forget that. She didn’t want it to be for nothing.
Dane’s expression was grim, but he nodded. “I’ll do that.”
Silence settled for a moment as they drank their coffee and indulged in the chocolate-caramel candies. She did have willpower, Carly decided, limiting herself to only two a day. Just not enough to lose the extra pounds she was carrying.
“I’m sorry to take you away so early from the club.”
Carly glanced at the clock. The group would be breaking up about now, heading home to empty houses or hypertension-inducing stepchildren. She’d never missed a minute of their fun, had always met the end of the evening full of pleasure competing with regret that it was over. Tonight, when she’d heard Dane’s voice on the phone, she hadn’t given a second’s thought to regret. She’d had to go to him, plain and simple.
“Jessy and Marti were in top form, trading stories about their families and themselves. No one missed me.” Not entirely true. She hadn’t told them why she was leaving, just that she was meeting Dane. Therese, of course, figured something was wrong and told her to take care of him, and everyone else had said good-bye, but there’d been a few looks, a you’re-choosing-him-over-us sort of thing. It wasn’t that at all. He’d sounded so vulnerable, and they’d been laughing nonstop. It was a simple choice: who needed her more.
While she would give anything if his friend hadn’t killed himself, there was something awfully satisfying about being needed.
“Jessy’s always in top form, isn’t she?” he asked drily. “And Marti…black hair? The one who announced that Ilena is preggers?”
“That’s her. She can be a real drama princess, which is fair, I guess, since her mother is the East Coast’s reigning drama queen.”
“How are they all doing?”
She blinked. Most people assumed that because they had each other, they were fine, all the hurts were healed over and life was moving on. They were better than they’d been six months ago, but instead of healing, some of the hurts had merely formed scabs, and scabs could break.
“I worry sometimes,” she said honestly. “Therese’s stepdaughter is a major pain—sorry, Therese says she’s in major pain, which makes her behavior okay. Fia’s looking worn down, and Jessy seems to…to drink too much.” She hesitated. Of all the problems people didn’t talk about, substance abuse headed the list. It seemed disloyal to even think the thought, much less say it aloud, but she went on, curious about Dane’s impression. “I don’t know, maybe she doesn’t drink the rest of the week, but she has three or four margaritas with dinner every Tuesday, and you’d never guess it. She never slurs, stumbles, or anything. And maybe that’s because it’s all right. Because I’m imagining a problem where there’s not one.”
She didn’t realize she was looking hopefully at Dane until he shook his head and disappointment welled inside her.
“I spent too much time drinking too much booze after the divorce. If she’s drinking that much and not showing any effects, my guess would be either the drinks are pretty weak or she’s pretty tolerant—and places popular with soldiers tend not to sell watered-down drinks.”
She sighed. “I hate to say anything, but how can I not? I’ll just have to figure out what and how and when. Fia says she saw her doctor last week and he says there’s nothing to worry about, so hopefully she’ll be better soon. And poor Therese…I don’t think her situation’s going to get better until she smacks some manners into that brat, Abby. We tell her she needs to make both Abby and Jacob behave, but none of us are parents, so what do we know? And it’s tougher since she’s just their stepmother and she feels really, really sorry for them.”
“Jacob seems like a good enough kid.”
“He was with you. He’s just sullen and rude with Therese. He locks himself in his room with his video games and ignores the world.”
Dane grinned. “You just described half of the ten- to eighteen-year-old guys in this country.”
“I know. But when it’s your kid, like it is for Therese, it’s just one more thumbs-down on your parenting skills.”
“I take it she’s tried counseling.”
“She has. Abby hated it so much that the therapist actually suggested they take a break. She’s grieving her parents, of course, but on top of that, she’s spoiled and self-centered and the most obnoxious child I’ve ever known.”
“Maybe Therese can get her a new stepfather. One along the lines of a Marine Corps drill instructor.”
Carly chuckled. “Oh, I’d hate to see a Marine cry.” After a moment’s silence, she laid her hand over his. “I’m glad you called tonight.”
His smile was faint and awkward. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it, right in the palm, then wrapped his fingers tightly around hers. “So am I.”
Therese was carrying an armload of hanging clothes to her room Saturday morning when a rustle inside caught her attention. She frowned at the reflection of blond hair, streaked with turquoise at the moment, in the mirror over her dresser but didn’t say anything, instead waiting for Abby to notice her.
There wasn’t even a hint of guilt when the girl did. Her upper lip curled and her nose wrinkled, but she continued rooting through Therese’s jewelry box.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for some earrings.”
Her movements tightly controlled, Therese laid the clothes on the bed, then walked to the dresser, nudged Abby’s hand away and closed the lid on the wooden box with a thud. “No.”
Abby tried to open the lid again, but Therese refused to move. Heaving her well-practiced sigh, Abby clenched her hands on her hips. “What’s the big deal? It’s not like you have anything expensive. Most of it’s just junk.”
Buzzing started in Therese’s head, right in the spot where her temples always hurt, then spreading outward. Some of the pieces in the box were expensive, and none was junk. More important, they all held sentimental value for her. And even more important, that wasn’t the point. “No,” she repeated, half surprised by how deadly calm her voice remained. “It’s my jewelry, and you’re not taking any of it.”
Abby scoffed. “I don’t want to take any of it. I wouldn’t be seen in most of it. I just want to borrow a few pairs for the trip. I need something to wear with that red shirt, and I need those long dangly silver ones for my—”
“No. Don’t come into my room again without permission, and don’t ever take anything of mine—borrow
anything—without asking first. Understand?”
The anger in her stepdaughter’s eyes was breath stealing, turning her from a beautiful pale angel of a girl to a raging mass of emotion. “You can’t order me out,” she said petulantly. “This is my father’s house, not yours! I have as much right to come in here as you do!”
“Your father and I bought this house together, and we invited you and your brother to live here. You have your own room, and you’re welcome to use the other rooms, but you respect Jacob’s privacy and mine. Do you understand?”
Abby’s shriek was so shrill that it made Therese’s ears ring. “You can’t tell me what to do! You’re not my mother, you’re not even my dad’s wife anymore! You’re just a stupid woman who married him for his money and I hate you! I hate you more than I hate him!” Her gaze darting wildly, she gave a sudden violent shove to the jewelry box and everything else on the dresser.
The box slid from Therese’s grip, crashing to the floor and spilling its contents, while perfume bottles, photographs, and other odds and ends tumbled down.
“Abigail Catherine!” Therese snapped, and Abby glared at her, then gave her a shove, too.
Therese caught her arms, both to stop her and to catch her balance, and Abby responded by jerking her right arm free, then swinging it back, her open palm connecting with Therese’s face.
Shock ripped through Therese. She stared, wide-eyed, her hand automatically rising to her stinging cheek. Her thoughts were a jumbled rush: I can’t believe…oh God, that hurt…no one’s ever…I should slap her…
From the open door came a low, horrified gasp. “Abby! What did you— Abby!”
Her gaze jerked from Therese to Jacob, then back again as her eyes filled with tears. “I hate you! I hate you all!” she cried, running across the room, shoving past her brother, slamming her door a moment later.
Slowly Therese sank down on the bed, her hand still hovering a millimeter above her cheek. She felt the heat and knew she must have an imprint in the shape of Abby’s delicate palm. She was horrorstricken, furious, shocked, stunned and hurt. Oh, God, she hurt so much, not her face, but deep inside.
“Are you—” Jacob came a few steps into the room. “Are you all right?” Instead of coming to her, he went to the dresser, kneeling to pick up the items scattered in front of it. The jewelry box lid hung crookedly, and bits of gold, silver, gems, and enamel nestled in the carpet nearby.
Therese couldn’t answer him. All she wanted to say was Dear God, and all she wanted to do was cry. For the first time since Paul’s death, she was grateful he wasn’t there. Seeing his precious baby girl whom he’d adored so thoroughly strike his wife would have broken his heart.
She stared at nothing, nerves taut to the point of exploding, tears in her eyes. Her heart pounded in her chest, and the shock echoed like a rush in her ears.
When Jacob’s lean, strong hand touched hers, she flinched, and he hastily drew away. Just as quickly, she caught hold of his fingers. “I’m sorry. I—I—”
He was kneeling on the floor, having undone the mess created by Abby’s fury. “She didn’t mean— She’s just nervous about seeing Mom— She didn’t mean to do that, any of that, I swear. She’s— She’s—”
“I know, Jacob.”
He was out of words to describe—defend his sister’s actions. For the moment, so was Therese.
She was also out of empathy, sympathy, and everything else. Abby had threatened not to return from this visit to Catherine’s, and dear God, Therese hoped she didn’t. She prayed for it now, and intended to pray for it every hour of every day she was gone.
She didn’t care what Abby wanted, what Catherine wanted, or even what Paul would have wanted. As of this moment, she was done.
The Princess of I Hate You had created her last disturbance.
“I wrote the letter.”
Dane felt the instant Carly’s gaze moved from the tomato plants she was inspecting to his face, though he didn’t meet her gaze. He pretended not to notice, more comfortable with looking at the pots filled with bell pepper plants instead.
After a moment, she went back to the tomato plants. “Good.” Then…“Did you mail it?”
“I did. This morning on my way to your house.”
“Good.” She picked up a large Better Girl tomato plant, started in a greenhouse and already loaded with tiny fruit, and added it to the ones already in the cart.
They were two aisles over, looking at cucumber plants, when he went on. “I just mentioned the good things about him. How he took care of everyone. How he was responsible. How he missed his kids so much. But I kept wondering if they’d think, ‘If he missed us so much, why didn’t he come home sooner?’”
“They might,” she agreed. “They’re too young to understand that sense of duty.”
He nodded as she bypassed a spindly plant for another greenhouse start, one with a few yellow blossoms already formed. “I also found all the pictures I had of him and printed those out to go with it.”
“They’ll appreciate it. I know Mia and Pop and I did.” She looked over the plants in her cart, then smiled. “Time to get down to the real shopping.”
“What? Tomatoes, cukes, and peppers aren’t real?”
“These are for just one small bed. I need flowers. Lots of them.” Grinning, she led the way to the other side of the nursery.
Also grinning, he followed. When she’d told him the margarita club had an out-of-town birthday dinner tonight, his first thought had been that this would be the first Saturday in five weeks that they hadn’t spent at least part of together. Then she’d invited him to lunch and the nursery, and he’d been happy to accept. Better than not seeing her at all, right?
The thought made him feel about twenty. It had been so long since he’d cared whether he spent time with any particular woman. Even in the last few years of his marriage, time together was a given, not a gift.
Time with Carly was definitely a gift. She made him feel normal and satisfied and hopeful. Little things, but, as Ed’s death had pointed out, so necessary when you’d already lost so much.
He’d sent flowers to the service, too, taking the advice of the clerk at Pansy’s Posies on what to send. The message on the card had been lame—Sorry for your loss—but hopefully the letter would make up for it.
“Do you know how to do any wiring or plumbing?”
He brought his attention back to Carly, motionless for the moment, surrounded by water fountains. “I do. I look in the Yellow Pages under Plumbers and Electricians. I’m very good at dialing numbers and scheduling appointments.”
She laughed. “Ah, a man who thinks the way I do. I like that. Jeff considered calling a professional an affront to his manhood.”
That quickly his good mood dissolved. He managed to mumble, “My manhood doesn’t reside in my ability to fix things I know nothing about.” But heat was rushing through him to the accompaniment of his snide inner voice smirking, No, it resides in your missing leg. The blast and the amputations missed the vital organs by a good nine inches, but you can’t tell it by the way you act.
He should have told her already. It wasn’t fair to lead her on, not letting her know right up front that he was damaged goods. He’d had no right to pursue her—and that was exactly what he’d done, whether he admitted it—no right to kiss her or do anything else with her until she knew what she was signing on for.
He excused his silence: The time’s never been right.
To which he could hear everyone else—Justin, the cadre, her friends—saying, So make it right.
And he would. As both Justin and First Sergeant Chen had pointed out, they couldn’t do it without her noticing. And he really wanted to do it with her. Just as soon as he found the courage to tell her.
If it didn’t matter to her.
If she still wanted to bother with him.
It was scary how much he wanted her to bother.
She picked enough flowers to fill one flat cart, then sent him back
to the entrance to get another. He didn’t recognize most of them, but the colors were like a bright pop of sunshine in the middle of a black night: orange, yellow, red, hot pink, white, purple, blue. By the middle of June, her yard was going to look like the lushest of oases on the Oklahoma prairie, and he had a deep need to see it for himself. To see it this June, next June, and ten Junes later.
After she’d paid the bill and they’d loaded the miniature Eden into the back of his truck, they stopped at Subway for a couple of sandwiches to go, then went home. Just carrying most of the flats and pots from the driveway to the backyard was enough to make his leg twinge. He wasn’t sure how well he would endure the bending and kneeling that came with planting, but he damn well intended to try. To show her that he could do anything a whole man could do—almost. That he might be missing a leg but he tried harder.
The reasons made him uncomfortable. They didn’t sound like a guy who was making progress at accepting the changes in his life.
While he moved the last of the flowers she’d designated for the backyard —there were still a half dozen flats plus pots for the front—she pulled two lawn chairs to flank a small iron-and-stone table where she set out their lunch and cold drinks.
“It’s a perfect day, isn’t it?” she asked after they’d made a good start on their food.
There was that word again: perfect. Still, he forced himself to look before responding at the sky, deep blue with hazy clouds drifting slowly. The temperature was in the mid-seventies, a light breeze was blowing from the northwest, and the air smelled clean, fresh, fragrant with mown grass and new green. As weather went, yeah, it was just about perfect.
“If you want to watch TV while I plant, you can go inside, or you can bring my laptop out if there’s anything you want to do online.”
A Hero to Come Home To Page 24
