The Military Wife

by Laura Trentham

  The woman’s confession slingshot Harper back nine years to when she was a newlywed struggling to fill the hours in their small town house off base while she looked for a job she wasn’t vastly overqualified for. It had never truly felt like a home. Her framed diplomas from UNC mocked her until she’d taken them off the wall and tucked them into a closet.

  “Not terrible,” Harper said. “I felt the same way after I got married. I graduated with honors, but it was hard to find a decent job. If it hadn’t been for Allison, I would’ve lost it.” She had loved Noah, but how long would that have sustained her? He’d died and she’d never had to face up to the answer.

  Some women stated their kids kept them plenty busy, but a handful of others agreed with Harper, lamenting the lack of opportunities for military wives to contribute outside of the household. The uncertainties military wives faced were unique, which meant their paths led them off the beaten track. Excitement went hand in hand with frustration.

  The meeting wrapped up with hugs and promises to talk soon. While everyone pitched in to clean up, Samantha pulled Allison aside for a quiet conversation that left Allison wiping her eyes.

  Once Allison and Harper were alone in the car, Allison pulled out a scrap of paper with a number written on it. “Samantha gave me the number of a group for soldiers that meets on base to talk about their experiences. Sort of like AA except for PTSD.”

  “That’s great.”

  “I don’t know if Darren will go.”

  “You’ll have to work on him until he does, that’s all,” Harper said lightly to counteract the darkness in Allison’s voice.

  “You make it sound so easy. Nothing’s been easy since he made it home.” Tears muffled Allison’s words.

  If Allison weren’t driving, Harper would snatch her up into a hug. “I know it hasn’t, but if anyone can make it through this, even if you have to drag Darren kicking and screaming with you to the other side, it’s you. It’ll get easier.”

  “Doesn’t feel that way.”

  “I can’t count the number of times some well-meaning person patted my hand and told me it would get easier. I didn’t believe them, but it turns out, they were right. So now I’m telling you the same thing, knowing it’s true.”

  Allison pulled in to their driveway, put the car in park, but left the engine running, the faint drum line from a pop song in the background. She took a deep breath, her face resolute. “I’ll talk to him tonight, and if he doesn’t agree to go, I’ll talk to him tomorrow night and the next and the next.”

  “Excellent plan.” They stared toward the house, and Harper gave a little laugh. “Should we make sure the house isn’t destroyed?”

  Instead of turning the car off, Allison shifted toward Harper. “Were you serious back there?”

  “About what?”

  “About being bored and feeling useless when you and Noah were together?”

  Harper didn’t detect judgment, only curiosity. “Don’t misunderstand me, I wasn’t unhappy, but I craved something outside of all military, all the time. Things got better after I started volunteering. Then I got pregnant and had something else to focus on.”

  “Did you ever tell Noah how you were feeling?”

  Guilt pinged. “I tried, but I’m not sure he ever understood. Not really. It was easier to act like everything was perfect. And in lots of ways—the ways that count—they were.”

  “I bet lots of wives on base feel like you did. Too bad there’s not an outlet for them beyond volunteering and their kids.” Allison turned the car off and got out. The echo of music faded into silence.

  At Allison’s meeting alone, three women expressed the same dissatisfaction. That was a slice of wives in one group and at one base. How many around the Southeast—the country—dealt with the same issues as they crisscrossed the world following their husbands?

  Allison hesitated at the front door and shot a quizzical look over her shoulder. Harper got out of the car and stepped into the chaos of the house, the three kids playing tag while Darren was sprawled on the couch and flipping through the channels.

  His eyes were red rimmed from lack of sleep, and he gave Allison a kiss on his shuffle to the stairs, disappearing for what Harper assumed was a nap, which would probably lead to a repeat of last night’s wanderings.

  Allison only watched him go, but the look on her face was more resolute and less downtrodden than it had been the day before. “I’ll talk to him later. Want to help me get dinner going for the kids?”

  After a noisy, fun dinner, Allison sent the kids upstairs to get ready for bed and to finish any homework before heading back to school on Monday.

  “I wish you didn’t have to leave so soon.” Allison scooped out chocolate ice cream for their dessert and set the small bowls on the cleared table.

  Harper took a spoonful and was cast back more than a decade to her summer job in the ice-cream shop. Bittersweet memories.

  “I’m afraid to leave Ben under my mom’s sole influence. She’ll turn him into a socialist, nude-painting, granola-eating tree hugger in a week.” Her exaggeration achieved the intended result when Allison laughed with only a hint of her earlier strain.

  “Your mom is incredible.”

  “She totally is.” Harper jabbed at her ice cream. “I can’t stop thinking about what you said in the car. About base wives looking for something to do. What if I came up with something?”

  “Like what? Knitting?”

  “Not a hobby. I’m talking about a business to employ military wives. Something they could keep doing no matter where they were stationed.” The seed Allison had planted earlier bloomed into full-on excitement.

  Allison stared at Harper as if she’d switched to a different language and Allison couldn’t understand her. “What kind of business?”

  Harper shot from the hip, ideas coming fast and furious. “Something homegrown. Maybe military focused but appealing to everyone.”

  “What do you know about running a business?” Her question came out more astonished than disparaging.

  “I graduated from UNC with dual degrees in business and marketing, and I’ve been dying to put them to good use. Plus, I’ve been doing bookkeeping and taxes up and down the Outer Banks since Noah died. I understand a good business plan.” Harper left her ice cream to melt and paced the floor. Her body felt tingly and alive, as if someone had taken paddles to her chest and jump-started her life.

  “I don’t want to be a Debbie Downer, but what about money to get started? Doesn’t it take tens of thousands of dollars?”

  “At least that much, but I invested the money I got from Noah’s bravery award. Even if I keep some back for Ben’s college, we should have enough to get started. Once we come up with a solid, marketable product. Do you think the women in the group want to help?”

  “I’m sure they do. We can set up a group chat or something. Hang on a minute, though. What bravery award? I don’t remember that.”

  “He received it posthumously.”

  “And it came with money?”

  “Yeah, lots of it. I was shocked.”

  “Define ‘lots’?”

  Allison’s tone finally registered and Harper sank back into her seat. “A hundred thousand?”

  “Not government death benefits?”

  “No. This was different. The man handed me a cashier’s check and told me it was for a bravery award. I think he gave me a certificate, too.” Had she kept it? Had it even been real? Harper had printed Ben a certificate off the internet when he’d finished potty training, for goodness’ sake.

  Allison uttered a word Harper didn’t think was even in her vocabulary before continuing. “Who was this man?”

  Unease blunted Harper’s excitement. Had she done something wrong or, even worse, illegal? “That time was a blur, but his name was Caldwell, I think.”

  Allison looked down and fiddled with her spoon. “Of course. Bennett Caldwell. Makes sense.”

  “What are you talking about?”
<
br />   “Did Noah never mention him?”

  “Was he a SEAL?”

  Allison nodded. “Served with Noah and Darren.”

  “Noah used everyone’s nicknames at home. Even called Darren ‘Family Man.’”

  A small smile helped erase the worried crinkles in Allison’s brow. “Noah’s nickname was my favorite.”

  “He hated being called Peaches.”

  “Bennett Caldwell, aka Grizzly, and Noah were close. According to Darren, Bennett was there when…”—Allison’s gaze skated to the floor, her voice turning vague—“you know.”

  Harper knew. Or had at least imagined what Noah’s last moments had been like. She had played the scenarios over in her head so many times she wondered if she’d go mad. But what drove her insane was knowing that whatever she imagined hadn’t come close to the terribleness of his death.

  And Grizzly had been there. While the name Bennett Caldwell was unfamiliar, she was well acquainted with Grizzly. Or at least stories about him. Noah had talked about Griz like he was a big brother and a father and the biggest badass ever all rolled into one.

  “Why would he give me so much money?” Harper asked. “Are you certain there’s no bravery award? Maybe within the unit?”

  “The military enjoys its pomp and circumstance. A bravery award given to a fallen hero would have merited a huge ceremony and the front page of the paper.”

  With the sharp lens of hindsight fixed on the moment, Harper blamed her naïveté on grief. The man with the check had given her more than money; he’d given her something to cling to. Bravery. Honor. Something to be proud of in those dark days and months. Was it all a lie?

  “I don’t feel right taking his money.”

  “He obviously chose to give it to you and hasn’t come asking for it back.” Allison shrugged. “Seems to me he wanted you to have it for some reason.”

  “But why?” Harper whispered, not expecting an answer from Allison.

  The obvious answer was to alleviate guilt. What did he have to feel guilty about? Another thought tripped onto the last. Bennett. Ben. Had she unknowingly named her son after him?

  Noah had suggested the name Ben their last night together, cuddled under the covers. She’d been barely six weeks pregnant, but they’d spent the night imagining what their child would be like. Boy or girl, blond or brown haired, outgoing or shy. Afterward, the name had provided another connection to Noah.

  “What happened to Caldwell? Where is he?”

  “Last I heard he got out right after Noah was—” Allison cleared her throat.

  “I never got the full story, you know. On Noah’s death.”

  “Not even now?”

  “I’ve asked every year on the anniversary. Why do I keep torturing myself? It’s always the same answer.” She put on a pompous voice. “‘Details are classified, but rest assured, Mrs. Wilcox, your husband died a hero. Let me send you the same vague report we’ve sent the last four times.’”

  “Darren gave me the same runaround when I asked him. He takes classified intel seriously, but I can try again. Not sure if he’s up to reliving it, though.” Allison sent a weighty glance toward the stairs.

  “No, don’t do that.” The last thing Darren needed was Harper selfishly adding to his troubles. “My imagination is digging up conspiracies that aren’t there. Knowing won’t bring him back, so I guess I should let it go?” Her voice lilted the statement into questioning territory.

  “Maybe.” Allison popped up. “But maybe not. You deserve closure, and if details are what you need, then Bennett Caldwell has them. Also, this award thing is superweird. Let me grab my laptop and we’ll do a little cyber-stalking.”

  Harper scooted her seat around and bounced her knee as the computer booted up. “What if he turned into one of those hermit preppers who live in an old missile silo?”

  Allison typed in his name and hit enter. “Or … holy moly, what if he runs a survival school in Virginia?”

  The first hit was for a Caldwell Survival School, Virginia Beach, Virginia, owner/operator Bennett Caldwell. Harper muttered a curse that made a regular appearance in her vocabulary but made Allison giggle-gasp.

  Allison clicked on the link and a well-designed, welcoming website popped up. A wideshot of a man in camo, hat, and sunglasses standing on the ridge of a mountain was in the bottom corner along with a brief tag line—“Decorated former Navy SEAL Bennett Caldwell.”

  “It’s been five years. You sure you want to open this door? It might be more painful than satisfying.” Allison’s voice hitched with hesitancy.

  “Could be, but I can’t in good conscience use money if it isn’t really mine. I need to know why he pretended Noah was awarded that money for bravery.” Harper sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. Betrayal nipped even though she wasn’t sure why. “I read the bare minimum of facts the military provided, but I want to know … everything that happened to Noah.”

  Allison breathed her name. A warning Harper would ignore.

  “Looks like my next stop is to see Bennett Caldwell.”

  Chapter 4

  Past

  Bennett Caldwell stashed his clothes in the closest locker and examined the men he’d be spending the next six months with. Some of them, anyway. Statistically, the washout rate was cited as anywhere between 75 and 90 percent, depending on how bad the man you asked wanted to scare the shit out of you.

  While Bennett wasn’t overly confident, he wasn’t a wet-behind-the-ears recruit straight out of boot camp like some of the kids. He was twenty-four and had served his time in the regular Navy on an aircraft carrier in the Middle East.

  Two of his roommates, Hollis and Carter, were ordinary in every way, except for a special swagger only bestowed by BDUs. They had arrived first and claimed the top two bunks, not that Bennett cared. This was a temporary stop on his way to receiving his trident.

  Bennett hadn’t offered his name or much more than a grunt in greeting and didn’t miss the eye rolls as Hollis and Carter left for the chow hall. Not that he gave a damn what they thought.

  “Where you from?” Bennett’s third roommate was a blond-haired, blue-eyed All-American type with ruddy cheeks and a broad, lanky body. His smile was friendly and open.

  Bennett narrowed his eyes and didn’t return the overture. He wasn’t here to make friends. He didn’t need them. His plan was to keep his head down and do the work. “Mississippi.”

  “That’s awesome. I’m from Georgia.” His tone implied because they were both from south of the Mason-Dixon that afforded them a special bond. It didn’t.

  Bennett’s years being passed around foster care in Mississippi didn’t incite the warm fuzzies. If he never stepped foot in Mississippi again, it would be too soon. He didn’t offer up additional information, but the kid didn’t get the hint.

  “I’m Noah Wilcox.” He stepped closer and held out a hand.

  Bennett hesitated longer than was polite but took it in a shake. There was no reason to be a total dick. “Bennett Caldwell, AW.”

  “You’ve been serving already?”

  “Six years. Last assignment was on the Carl Vinson.”

  “Cool.” Noah’s tone was awed with more than a hint of worry. “I signed up straight out of high school. This seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, I’m not so sure.”

  The kid was wide-eyed and untarnished. Bennett was pretty sure he’d never looked like that. Not much he could offer except the truth. “BUD/S is going to be hard as hell.”

  Passing Basic Underwater Demolition was the first step in becoming a SEAL. Actual SEAL training followed, with men washing out at every phase. Optimism wasn’t in Bennett’s nature or vocabulary, but his grim hold on reality had gotten him through tough times before, and he would make it through BUD/S or die.

  “I guess the worst that can happen is I get shuffled into regular Navy.” His laugh was an anxious one.

  Bennett grunted, his respect for the kid taking a dive. If Noah was already thinking in te
rms of contingencies then he might as well quit right now and give his spot up to someone who wanted it more.

  After he got his things neatly stored, Bennett lay down on top of the blankets and closed his eyes. Sleep would be a thing of the past soon enough, and he wasn’t going to spend energy on a kid who was already a ghost.

  * * *

  Wake-up the next morning came before dawn. The alarm dragged Bennett out of a deep sleep where old dreams didn’t trouble him. It was dark in the room, but Noah was up and rustling through his locker for clothes.

  Within ten minutes, the BUD/S class gathered on the black-painted concrete and asphalt yard outside the quarterdeck doors, affectionately referred to as the grinder. Bennett quick-stepped to the far side where there were fewer men. He didn’t realize Noah was on his heels until he stopped and the kid bumped into him, mumbling an apology. Besides high color on his cheekbones, he was pale and looked ready to shit his pants.

  Bennett wasn’t that far gone, but his heart galloped along, nerves fraying his usual calm. This was the start and, for many, it would soon be the finish.

  He’d done his best to ignore the bell hanging from the rafter next to the open space of their soon-to-be torture area. But the bell drew his gaze as if magnetized. It was smaller than he’d anticipated, innocuous looking even, but ringing it would signal the death knell of his dreams.

  He snapped his attention forward and his body straight when a monster of man in BDUs stalked to the front of the class. Another man, shorter, slighter, but no less cut, stood to the side in parade rest.

  “You maggots want to be SEALs?” the monster in the front yelled with a Southern twang. Just Bennett’s luck to be tortured by a man from the South.

  The group hesitated and when they answered it was at different times and on top of one another.

  “I said, do you little fuckers want to be SEALs?” His voice increased in volume and intensity if that was possible.