Return to Tomorrow

by Marisa Carroll

  “Probably covering the general’s retreat.” Simon leaned closer so that both Micah and Rachel could hear.

  “He’s going to have a hell of a time explaining today to his Chinese and Vietnamese friends.”

  “Playing both ends against the middle is damned risky business in this part of the world.” Micah made a grab for the seat, as the helicopter banked sharply and began to descend.

  “Heavy casualties,” Jurras relayed. “They want the medics on the ground, pronto.”

  Rachel closed her eyes against a rush of dread that threatened to pull her under into total darkness. She would not believe he was dead until she had no other choice. When she opened them again, she saw both her brothers watching her, and the love and compassion in their eyes was almost her undoing.

  Don’t pity me, she wanted to scream out above the churning beat of the rotors, don’t pity me. Instead, she said, “I’m all right.” She pulled her hat down more firmly on her head. “I’m all right. Simon, you’re closest. Let the medics know I’m a nurse and that I speak Thai. They might need my help.” He nodded and she turned her head to look out at the ground, approaching at a dizzying speed, so that she didn’t have to be brave for their sakes a moment longer.

  “I’m all right,” she repeated to herself. But, dear God, please don’t let him die, don’t let me be alone again.

  As soon as she jumped out of the helicopter and looked around, Rachel knew her prayer might not be answered. There were wounded and dying men everywhere. Her only consolation was that she recognized none of them. After a quick discussion with the Thai medics, they split up into three teams and began evaluating the injuries. In less than fifteen minutes, two of the most seriously wounded Thai Rangers and three of Brett’s men were placed in the helicopter and airlifted to the hospital in Chiang Mai.

  She worked steadily alongside the medics for over an hour, keeping her fears at bay by simply refusing to consider them. The gunship made three more passes over the clearing and then settled to the ground. The distracting beat of its rotors faded away, normal jungle sounds began to return, and if she tried very hard not to listen, she couldn’t hear the crackle of flames from the burning building, or smell the smoke.

  Her back ached and the sun beat down on her head. She straightened from helping one of Brett’s men pull his shirt down over the heavy padding of dressing on a wound in his shoulder and winced.

  “Once a combat nurse, always a combat nurse.” She whirled around to find Billy Todd grinning at her from a dirt-streaked, ashen face. He hobbled closer, leaning on a teak staff, supported on the other side by Micah’s strong right arm. “I figured you’d get here, somehow.”

  “How bad is it?” she asked, indicating the wound in the fleshy part of his thigh, a few inches above the knee. She pulled off her rubber gloves and grabbed a new pair from the surgical field kit the medics had supplied.

  “Didn’t hit nothin’ vital.” He’d torn a strip from his shirt sleeve and tied it around the wound. Rachel picked up a pair of bandage scissors to cut the cloth and found her hands were shaking. She bit her lip and willed herself calm.

  “I’ll be the judge of that. Has the bleeding stopped?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good.” She knelt beside him, slit his pant leg from above his boot to his hip and surveyed the wound. “T&T,” she said, satisfied now that she’d seen for herself what Billy said was true.

  “What the hell does that mean?” Micah asked, as he watched her irrigate the wound with an antiseptic solution. His expression was grim. Rachel smiled up at him, reassuring, as she worked.

  “T&T means through and through. There’s an entrance and exit wound. It’s clean. Billy’s right—being a combat nurse is something you don’t forget.” She finished the dressing and peeled off the gloves. “You need to check in at the hospital, too, get this looked at by a surgeon.”

  “Doctors and hospitals can wait.”

  “I can give you something for the pain.” The fear was back, stronger than ever. She busied herself with vials and syringes. As long as she kept working, she could keep the fear at bay, keep from thinking about Brett. She touched the small glass bottles of morphine. They represented what was bright and good about the poppy, the standard by which all pain medication was measured.

  “No. I have to get the gold back to the command base before dark. Khen Sa’s men are scattered all over these hills. It won’t take them long to regroup. The gunship can only fly cover for us until sunset.”

  Rachel looked at him and saw the agony and loss in his eyes. She closed her own against the sharpness of the pain in her heart and knew, suddenly, why tortured souls like Lonnie’s sought oblivion with dangerous drugs such as heroin.

  “Where’s Brett and Lonnie?” Rachel finally blurted out.

  She heard footsteps behind her and turned her head to see Simon coming toward them. No one said anything. No one was going to make it easy for her.

  “Where are they?” she repeated. The three men looked at each other, waiting for one to speak. “Billy!” Rachel couldn’t stand the silence. She tried to take a deep breath and almost choked on the acrid smell of smoke in the air.

  “I never saw them after the shootin’ started.” His hand clenched around the teak staff and he pulled himself to his feet. “They were headed for the opium barn.”

  “Simon?” He’d been with the Thai captain directing the operation, interrogating two of Khen Sa’s soldiers who had been captured by Brett’s men.

  “We can’t be certain, Rachel. The two we got are just boys, fourteen, fifteen at the oldest and scared to death. They speak very little Thai.”

  “For God’s sake, will you tell me what you know?” She bit down on the inside of her lip so hard she tasted blood.

  “They saw two men go into the barn. One of them was wounded.”

  “Brett?” She would not cry. Not now, not yet.

  Simon shook his head. “It was Lonnie. They were positive. They’d never seen a man with red hair before.”

  “Go on.” She was so stiff she couldn’t move.

  “Khen Sa ordered them to rush the opium barn when he learned Billy had managed to get away with the gold. Three men tried and died for their trouble. The general was furious. He ordered an all-out assault, but the barn blew up before they could make their move.” She was starting to shake. Micah took her in his arms, held her tight. She melted against him, then felt her heart and soul harden as an icy shell formed inside her.

  “Then the explosion? It wasn’t an accident?”

  “I don’t think so.” Simon found it hard to meet her eyes.

  The tears came then, hot and stinging, but they could do nothing to melt the icy carapace around her heart. She was alive. She would survive. But she was alone again, this time, forever.

  “Is he dead?”

  Simon was silent. He looked away, then slowly back at her. “No one could have made it out of that inferno alive.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  IT HAD BEEN WINDY ALL DAY, but as the sun dropped low in the western sky, the wind relaxed into a playful breeze and a team of kite fighters, in the park across the road from Brett’s house, attempted to launch a chula. The enormous kite was over six feet long and the team was having trouble getting it aloft. Several pakpao kite fighters already had their small, one-man kites in the air, and good-natured insults flew back and forth between the combatants and were audible to the watchers in the garden.

  “The red and yellow one is very pretty,” Ahnle said, as she finished giving Domha his bottle. “I like it best.”

  “The breeze is too fitful to launch the chula,” Billy said, taking the baby from his mother as the youngster fussed to be set free.

  “I thought so, too,” Rachel agreed, “but there it goes.”

  The big dragon kite caught the breeze and spiraled high into the air. Immediately, one of the small kites charged, zigzagging toward the big kite, trying to dodge past it and get to the other end of the field. Th
e chula was slow and hard to maneuver, but its team was skilled. With a smooth change of direction, they cut across the small kite’s path, snarling its string and sending it crashing to the ground.

  “I hoped the little kite would make it,” Ahnle sighed.

  “He never had a chance,” Billy said. “He’s too slow.” He pointed his finger at another of the kites. “I’ll put my money on that purple and gold one there. He’s a runner, like a good scrambling quarterback. Watch. He’s gettin’ ready to make his run.”

  Rachel looked up, shielding her eyes from the metallic brightness of the sunset sky. The purple and gold kite climbed high and fast, its owner running swiftly downfield toward the chula’s handlers. He pulled the purple diamond down sharply, let it slip under the big kite’s string, then let it fly high and swift once more.

  “Ha,” Billy gloated, “told you so.”

  “Beautiful,” Rachel said, and meant it.

  “We’ll have to get the boy a kite when he’s older. If he’s going to be livin’ in Bangkok, he’ll have to know how to ‘fight’ a kite.” He smiled at the little boy bouncing happily on his good knee. “Won’t we, buddy?” Domha laughed, in perfect agreement with Billy’s plans for his future.

  “Billy, stop! You bounce him too hard,” Ahnle protested, only half-seriously.

  “He likes it.”

  “He will spit up,” Domha’s mother predicted, “and that is most unpleasant.”

  Billy looked perplexed. He shot a glance at Rachel, who shrugged, hiding a smile. “He did just finish his bottle,” she reminded him.

  “Whoa, fella.” Billy slowed the pace of their game.

  Domha laughed and gurgled, urging his friend to resume their play. Billy shook his head. “Your mama thinks you’ll barf if we keep it up.”

  “Barf? What new word is this?” Ahnle looked to Rachel for guidance.

  “It’s American slang for spitting up,” she explained.

  “Barf?” Ahnle repeated the word, a slight frown between her brows. “What a strange word. American is a difficult language, much more troublesome than English. Sometimes I do not understand it at all.”

  She frowned harder when both Billy and Rachel laughed at her puzzlement.

  “What joke, now, do you share at my expense?” she asked good-naturedly.

  “Nothing.” Rachel’s thoughts erased the smile from her face. How amazing the human spirit was. She could enjoy this gentle joke at Ahnle’s expense, smile and laugh aloud, while inside her, a cold, hard lump of misery had taken the place of her heart.

  “Whatever word you call it, I don’t want him doin’ it on my clean shirt.”

  Billy sat the youngster down and watched him take a few uncertain steps toward his mother.

  “I can’t get over how fast he’s learnin’. Two weeks ago he took his first step. Now he’s walkin’ all over. In another two weeks he’ll be runnin’ everywhere he wants to go.” He spoke with a father’s pride and the absolute certainty that Domha was the most remarkable baby ever born on the earth.

  “He does learn much quickly.” Ahnle reached down to gather the child into her arms and smiled at the man she loved.

  Rachel turned her head away, looking out over the twilight-shaded garden, pretending to watch the chula soaring victoriously, after vanquishing another of its small foes. She blinked back fresh tears before the others could see. It worried them all to see her cry. She tried not to, but the tears came too easily and too often these days.

  “Billy,” Ahnle said in a prompting tone of voice. Rachel was only half listening to their conversation. She was lost in her own thoughts, fighting the cold, aching sense of loss that was stronger at some times than at others, but that was always with her.

  Two weeks. Brett had been gone—dead—for two weeks.

  It may as well have been two lifetimes. She had not thought it would be so hard to go on without him.

  “Rachel?” Billy’s voice was rough but gentle. “It’s time to leave for the Lemongrass.”

  She shook her head. “You go on without me. I’m not hungry, really. Nog’s wife made fruit salad and left it in the refrigerator. That’s all I want.”

  “You need more,” Ahnle said, sounding a great deal like Rachel’s mother. “Come with us.”

  “I’ll be fine here.” She tried another smile, knew it looked as strained as she felt and let it slip away. “Take Micah and Simon with you. They both love the food. They won’t turn down the invitation.”

  “It is not good to be alone so much.” From the corner of her eye, Rachel saw Ahnle lift her hand to Billy in a pleading gesture.

  “Let her be, Ahnle,” he said softly.

  Coming close to death had changed something in Billy. He no longer seemed afraid to show his growing love for Ahnle and her son. Rachel was going to miss them when she went back to Camp Six. There was no doubt in her mind, at all, that Ahnle would remain here, in the city, with him.

  “Go. I’ll be fine.” Rachel repeated the phrase that was her stock answer to any query about her health or state of mind.

  “We won’t be late,” Ahnle promised.

  “Stay as long as you like. Is Nog’s wife sitting for Domha?”

  “No,” Billy answered. “He’s coming with us. We’re showin’ him off tonight.” He stood up, slowly, favoring his injured leg. Ahnle stood, also, and handed him her son, then tucked herself close to his side to lend him support. He’d given up using a cane several days before, but his injured leg was still stiff.

  “Rachel, are you sure?”

  “Let her be, woman,” Billy ordered with mock gruffness. He smiled down at Rachel. “How about a nightcap when we get back?”

  “I’d like that.” She leaned back against the bench and narrowed her eyes. She craved solitude, but when she was alone, she felt the fear and loneliness beating dark wings against her soul. She fought the urge to break into tears again. She’d cried and cried the first days after they’d returned from the hills and it had done no good. Crying couldn’t change what had happened. Lonnie was dead. Brett was dead. And she was alone, as she’d been for so many years.

  The sunset faded to mauve and rose; the short, tropical twilight crept across the garden, silvering the light. In the park only one small fighter remained to challenge the dragon kite. She hoped he made it. As she watched, the little kite made its last run. Its handler held it in tight, let it soar quickly to the left as the big kite feinted to the right, then pulled it back, sending it plummeting dangerously low to the ground before it darted beneath the dragon kite’s string and raced on down the park to victory.

  “He made it,” Rachel said half-aloud to herself. “I’ll make it, too, Brett. I’m a survivor—you taught me that about myself, but I’m so alone.”

  The kite fliers gathered up their fighters and with much banter and trading of insults, they dispersed into the gathering night. Silence descended around her. The air was heavy with the scent of night jasmine and honeysuckle. Crickets began to sing in the undergrowth, a raucous chorus that soon overpowered the silence.

  Rachel felt cut off, sealed within herself, and she was afraid. “You promised me memories, Brett,” she said in the same soft whisper. She needed to hear the sound of a human voice, even if it was her own. “You didn’t tell me I would have to remember them alone.”

  “I DON’T THINK IT’S A GOOD idea for Rachel to be so much by herself,” Micah said. He stood at the screened opening that replaced one wall of the room Brett had used as his study, looking out over the garden at the park beyond. “I think we ought to make one last stab at getting her to come home with us.”

  “Be my guest. I don’t think it will do any good.”

  There were times, Micah realized, when he could happily wring his brother’s neck. This evening was one of them. He turned around. Simon was sitting behind Brett’s desk, an antique mahogany table of remarkable craftsmanship and great beauty. His fingers were laced behind his head. He looked tired and strained. But there was something
else, an air of suppressed excitement that hadn’t been there before.

  “Doesn’t it bother you that Rachel’s decided to stay in Thailand and go back to Camp Six?” Micah asked, frustrated by his brother’s incomprehensibly cheerful mood.

  “She’s a grown woman. She knows her own mind.”

  “Ahnle and Billy have been trying to get her to stay here with them. At least until they’ve settled…Tiger’s estate.”

  Even now, it was hard to believe his friend was dead. But there was no denying the fact that two bodies, burned beyond recognition, had been found in the ruins of the opium barn. An old-fashioned silver cigarette lighter had been found with one of them. Billy had identified the lighter as Brett’s. When Micah heard that, he had to accept the reality; his friend was gone.

  “I think it’s time we get back to the States ourselves.” Simon’s observation interrupted his unhappy thoughts. “I’m scheduled for debriefing in less than a week. And we’ll need to find a buyer for the pearls before then.”

  “I’ll leave that up to you.”

  Billy had produced the black velvet jeweler’s box yesterday. Brett, he said, had intended to give them to Rachel. She, in turn, passed them on. The satisfaction of knowing that Colonel Ky had been brought to justice, thanks to Brett and Billy, and was likely to end his days in a Russian military prison for trying to smuggle heroin into the Soviet Union, was payment enough for Micah. The pearls were merely icing on the cake. Although he had to admit he’d be glad to use the money they’d bring to pay off the mortgage on his house. Thinking of his home made him think of the woman he loved.

  “Maybe Carrie…” His wife had brought him back from the dark wastes of sorrow and regret. She and Rachel were genuinely fond of each other. Perhaps she could help persuade his sister to come home.

  “Carrie needs you with her. In Michigan. Not halfway around the world. Especially now that you know for sure there’s a new McKendrick on the way.”