Summer of Two Wishes

by Julia London

  And he thinks, I can’t die this way.

  The reunion with Macy and his family was happening so fast, too fast—the next thing Finn knew, he was in a room, waiting to meet more television and print reporters. He didn’t give a damn about the press or military brass or anything else but being with Macy. She was sitting beside him, her hand in his, the warmth of it penetrating the fog around him. Finn wanted nothing more than to make love to her, right now, to connect with her in a way he desperately needed to connect…

  But he was trapped by ceremony and duty and expectations that felt overwhelming, making him feel heavy and fatigued and numb.

  The army had tried to prepare Finn for his homecoming, but he was not prepared for all the emotions that had begun to stew in him like a bowl of bad shorwa. He was glad to see his family, of course he was, but they all watched him so closely, like they thought he might disappear if they blinked. And his mother hadn’t stopped crying.

  Finn needed a little bit of space to decompress. He needed time alone with Macy, just an hour or two. Just enough time to find his bearings, to put his face in her hair again, to feel her body next to his.

  So far, all they’d done was parade him in front of the press corps where Finn had answered a few questions precisely as he’d been told to answer them. I am so glad to be home. My first meal is going to be a steak. I was lucky to escape and find the Coalition forces.

  Now he waited in this room, feeling like he was going to crawl out of his skin, surrounded by people who couldn’t possibly comprehend all he’d been through. They were laughing and smiling and talking of home, of people he couldn’t remember, of a town that seemed a universe away from where he was. But when Finn tried to ask about his ranch and his horses, no one really answered him. They asked questions about what had happened to him in Afghanistan.

  That was not something Finn wanted to discuss. That was not something he could discuss. He’d been in hell for three years and he’d escaped, and once he’d understood he was truly free, he did not want to look back or think of Afghanistan ever again.

  He’d given his family only a terse account of his life in Afghanistan. He didn’t know about the bombing other than what he’d been told, for he didn’t remember anything but riding in the armored Scout vehicle and horsing around with Danny Ortega, singing a stupid country song. The next thing Finn remembered was waking up in a hospital with a dirty sheet over his naked body and realizing his wounds had been tended to. Danny was gone—no one had to tell Finn that, he just knew. No one—including him—should have survived that blast.

  After several hours—maybe days—of lying in that room, of being questioned endlessly by a man whose English made no sense, Finn was taken to a dirt hovel and, for all he knew, left to die.

  There was more, so much more that he couldn’t bring himself to tell anyone in this sterile room.

  “I bet you want some good ol’ American food, huh?” his father said, his eyes a little misty. That was all Rick Lockhart had to say to the few details Finn had related, but that was his dad. He hadn’t changed a hair on his head since Finn last saw him. He wasn’t one to show his emotions, and he’d raised Finn and his brothers Brodie and Luke to be the same way. “I’m gonna get you the biggest, juiciest steak I can find. What do you think about that?” he asked Finn.

  What Finn thought was that there had come a point when he’d stopped thinking about the kind of food he missed and thought of nothing but freedom. Honestly, he’d eat dirt as long as it was American dirt. “That would be great, Dad,” he said. “How are the horses?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

  His father hesitated. “They’re horses. They’re fine,” he said with a shrug.

  “How many calves did we have this year?”

  Now his father looked at him blankly. “Didn’t count. Not many. We had a pretty good drought that didn’t break ’til fall and I ended up selling about twenty head. Brodie says you only got a few scars from the bombing.”

  “Yeah, a few.” Finn guessed that the army had given his family the same song and dance they’d given him about post-traumatic stress. He’d figured it out when Brodie wouldn’t say much about home, and he’d seen the pamphlet on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder sticking out of Brodie’s bag. Go easy; don’t say anything to set him off, they probably warned him. That’s why they were treating him with kid gloves—they were afraid to say or do anything that might upset his apple cart.

  They couldn’t be more wrong about that—he was too grateful to be free to have PTSD. There was nothing wrong with him, other than a voracious need to be with his wife. There was nothing that was going to set him off.

  Except maybe Macy’s cell phone.

  It seemed to buzz every five minutes. She’d glance at the number and toss it back in her bag, and then smile so warmly, so gratefully, that he would feel a little more human. She’d answered the phone only once, when they were waiting to meet the press corps. She’d let go of his hand—pried her fingers free, really—and had taken the call out in the hall. When she returned, she smiled at him, took his hand again, and said, “Everyone in Cedar Springs is anxious to know when you’re coming home.”

  Just when Finn was thinking he couldn’t take the waiting any longer and was idly contemplating putting his chair through the window, Major Sanderson, Finn’s handler, suddenly bustled into the room. “All right then, the bus is en route. We’ll be on our way in half an hour,” he crisply informed them, as if he were conducting a tour. He passed around a sheet of paper to everyone. “Please review this sheet and let me know if you have any questions.” He briskly went out.

  Finn glanced at the paper. The Return: Handling the Media.

  Macy gently squeezed his hand, and Finn smiled at her. God, but she was pretty. Texas pretty. The kind of pretty that wasn’t afraid of life. A whole lot prettier than he’d remembered, in all honesty, with big blue eyes the color of a summer sky, hair the color of raw honey. Jesus, he wanted to touch her, to kiss her, to feel her beneath him.

  The door swung open and Sanderson swept in again, this time carrying a clipboard. “If everyone could turn his or her attention to the paper I handed out? Let’s review…”

  Every word the major said seemed to float down some long tunnel away from Finn. He was aware of only Macy beside him, of her hand in his, of the tension in her body. He didn’t know if he should be thankful he still knew her body almost as well as his own, or apprehensive that she was so tense.

  “Any questions?” Sanderson asked.

  “Yes,” said Rick. “When can we feed this boy?”

  Everyone laughed except Finn.

  “Sergeant Lockhart has a round of interviews tomorrow, a list of which you will find at the bottom of this sheet of paper. I would like to remind you all that we want to keep these interviews as positive as possible.”

  “A round of interviews?” Macy asked uncertainly.

  “Yes. We’ll start with Good Morning America, and then the Today show. After that, we have a Nightline taping, and then Dateline.” Major Sanderson smiled. “We have to keep all the networks happy. There is some talk of an interview with CNN and Larry King, but the details have not been worked out.”

  Finn blanched. What about his life? His ranch, his horses, his dogs? When did he get back to that?

  “Wait,” Macy said, holding up a slender hand. A diamond tennis bracelet twinkled on her wrist. “You said he was going home after the press briefing. You said he was going home right away.”

  “We have just a few more press obligations. The current administration puts a high value on our openness with the media. I know you’re all anxious to get Sergeant Lockhart home just as soon as possible, but we need to spend a day or two here. Trust me, if we handle it here, chances are you won’t be swarmed in Texas. All right then, everyone, if you are ready? The bus is outside, if you will follow Corporal James,” he said, indicating a soldier over his right shoulder.

  “All of us?” Jillian asked, looking at Macy.
“Finn, too?”

  “Yes, Sergeant Lockhart, too.”

  That was the best news Finn had heard all day. He stood up. His mom did, too, and linked her arm through his, pulling him away from Macy. Finn glanced back at Macy and saw anxiety in her eyes. He wondered if this is what Dr. Albright, the shrink who’d talked to him in Germany, had meant when she’d said things would seem strange at first, because Finn was starting to feel like something was a little off. Maybe he was just tired. It had been a long flight home, a long time with the press. He just wanted this day to end, to get out of here and try to get back some of the time he’d lost with Macy.

  On the bus, Emma produced a bottle of champagne and some plastic cups. Strange, Finn thought as they toasted his survival, he would have killed for a sip of champagne only a month ago. Now, he didn’t want it. He smiled as they toasted him and sipped from the cup. Macy, he noticed, was clutching her cup. She was smiling and laughing along with everyone else, but there was something not quite right in her eyes.

  At the hotel, they all stood awkwardly in the lobby for a few minutes until Brodie announced he would get them all a dinner reservation somewhere. Corporal James offered to assist and the two of them went off to speak with the concierge. The rest of them stood looking expectantly at Finn until Macy put her hand in his. “Well! If everyone will excuse us, Finn and I have a lot of catching up to do.”

  Finn’s mother pressed her lips together.

  “Come on, Finn,” Macy said with a bright smile as she tugged his hand. “Let’s go.”

  Finn grinned at the rest of them. “Later,” he said with a wink. This was the moment he’d been waiting for, the moment he would be reunited with his wife.

  They rode up the elevator to the fifteenth floor. Macy marched down the corridor, pulling him along. She opened the door to room 1513; Finn held the door open so she could enter first, then locked the door behind them.

  Neither of them spoke for a moment. Finn put his palm against her cheek. “I would have sworn you couldn’t be any prettier than you were in my mind, but damn it if you’re not.”

  Her lashes flickered. “God, Finn…” She put her hands on him, sliding them over his arms, his torso, her gaze following her hands.

  Every stroke of her hands brought Finn a little more back to life. This is what he’d lived for. “Listen,” he said softly, and reached for her hair, stroking it, letting it slide through his fingers, “there is so much to say and I don’t know where to begin. This must seem as surreal to you as it does to me, and I’m sure they probably gave you the speech about not knowing what to expect. I don’t either, baby. I just know that I’m home, and I’ve missed you more than I can ever put into words. I’ve been gone a whole lot longer than I ever thought I’d be, but I’m still the same old Finn, and I still love you more than life.”

  Macy gazed up at him with wide blue eyes. She slipped her arm around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

  She felt so good, so right in his arms. He caressed her face, pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. For so long, he’d woken up believing every morning was his last. But then the woman in the chadari veil would appear with his breakfast of flat bread, and he’d figure they wouldn’t feed a dead man, and he’d start another day of waiting to see if he would stay alive.

  When he thought of all those days, he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He’d made it. He was home. He’d survived. “I can’t believe I’m here, either,” he said breathlessly. His hands stroked the familiar curves of her body, stirring memories of their lovemaking.

  “Why did it take so long?” Macy moaned. “Why didn’t they find you? Why did they let me believe you were dead?”

  “I’m not dead,” he assured her. “I want to show you just how alive I am. God, how I’ve dreamed of this moment. I’ve dreamed of touching your skin,” he said, his knuckles skimming her chest. “Of tasting you.” He put his mouth to her neck. “Of making love to you,” he murmured against her skin. Macy sighed and bent her head to one side to give him access.

  Without lifting his head, he unbuttoned his coat and shrugged out of it, then took her hand and pressed it to his heart, just like he used to do. He’d crawl into bed when she was sleeping and put her hand against his heart. “Finn?” she’d say, and open her eyes and smile at him.

  “Feel it beating? I’m here, Macy. I’m really here.”

  “Thank God,” she whispered, and went up on her toes to kiss him.

  Finn melted into that kiss and into his wife. She was just as he remembered her—the taste of her mouth, the feel of her lips on his, her body soft and slender against his. He held her tight and kissed her like the first time they’d ever kissed—deep and long.

  The sensation flared through his body, lighting him up like a firebomb. He suddenly twirled Macy around and up against the wall. He pressed his mouth against her neck again and caught the scent of her perfume. He moved to the hollow of her throat, bit the pearls she was wearing, and moved again, to the swell of her breasts. He cupped one in his hand, the weight and size so familiar to him, and pushed against it with his palm.

  “Jesus, Finn…” Macy’s voice was shaking as he kneaded her breast through her clothing. She pushed her hands through his hair. “There is so…so much I want to say, but I…”

  “It’s okay,” he murmured against her shoulder. He knew something wasn’t quite right—something with the ranch, he guessed, since no one would talk about it. Before he’d joined the army, he was barely breaking even year-to-year. He figured Macy didn’t know how to tell him how far in debt she was.

  But that was the last thing on his mind; he slipped one arm around her waist and picked her up, holding her against him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him as he twisted around and bumped up against the bed. Macy’s hands slid from his neck to his shoulders and she suddenly reared back, looking at him with the eyes he’d visualized one long month after another. They were glistening with tears. “Listen…” She bit her lip. “Finn, I…I—”

  “Macy, whatever it is, it’s okay,” he said anxiously, and loosened his grip, letting her slide down his body to her feet. “We can talk about everything later. It’s okay.” Right now he just needed to be with her. Not talk. Not think.

  “How…I mean, do you know?” she asked, looking confused.

  “I know that a lot of stuff can happen in three years. Whatever it is, I don’t care. The important thing is that we have each other.” His gaze flicked over the length of her, and he shuddered deep inside. He pushed her sweater from her shoulders. “We’ll start over,” he said absently.

  She squinted as if those words pained her, then made a sound like she was trying to catch her breath.

  “Macy…” Finn gathered her in his arms again, kissing her eyes, the bridge of her nose. Her mouth. “Tell me we can start over,” he whispered. “I need to hear you say it. Tell me that we can go back…”

  With a sob, Macy threw her arms around his neck. A rush of emotion and desire overcame him, and with a groan, he picked her up and put her on her back on the bed. He came over her, pressed his palm against her face, his fingers spanning her jaw and neck. “Baby, you always did take my breath away,” he said, his voice breaking, and when he kissed her again, he could feel her breath fill him, feel her body rise up to meet his.

  His desire was overwhelming; he tried to hold himself back, but he could not hold her in his arms and not want to be inside her. It was a ravenous need, as strong as any hunger he’d felt in the last three years. Macy had always had the power to stoke him and he needed, with a desperation that surprised him, to feel as much of her as he could, to be as close to her as he could, if for no other reason than to assure himself that he was truly home where he belonged and with the one person on earth who mattered to him.

  Finn’s hand brushed her knee and slid up beneath the silky fabric of her skirt to the smooth, warm skin of her bare thigh. He deepened his kiss and slid his
hand up higher still, his fingers brushing against her smooth panties, sliding over her pelvis and between her legs.

  With a soft moan, Macy raked her fingers down his chest. Finn slipped his hand inside her panties. She was wet, and Finn’s need was suddenly impossible to control. He started to fumble with his pants, trying to free himself. He lifted his head to look at his wife, his beautiful wife, and the years melted away. He was reminded of one summer night, after they’d been dancing. She’d been a little drunk, a little frisky, and she’d lain on their quilt-covered bed, completely naked, her hand loosely covering one breast. That night, she had looked at him with so much love that Finn honestly felt he could have lifted a mountain or two.

  She was looking at him like that again, but there were tears in her eyes. She caught his wrist before he could free himself completely. “I can’t,” she whispered.

  Finn did not move. He slid his hand into hers, interlocking their fingers. His heart was racing and blood was rushing through him. “What is it, Macy?” he asked, trying to catch his breath. “Is it the ranch? Don’t worry, I’m used to starting at the bottom and working my way up. Whatever happened, I’ve survived a whole lot worse.”

  “It’s not the ranch. It’s…it’s mistakes and…” She closed her eyes.

  Finn put his finger on her wedding ring. It was always sliding around her finger. He kissed her cheek, nibbled her ear. “What’s the matter, baby? Is it the horses? Did you sell them?” he made himself ask. A champion cutting horse was worth tens of thousands of dollars. He hoped she’d gotten the right price. He kissed her neck at the point it curved into her shoulder.

  “They told me you were dead.”

  “It’s okay. We’ll get more horses.”

  “It’s not okay—”

  “Macy, it’s okay.” He lifted his head and put his finger on her ring again, and through the haze of overwhelming desire, felt something odd. “None of that matters.”

  “They told me you were dead,” she repeated softly. “They said they had DNA and everything.”