by Cindy Gerard
TY FOUND REED, but instead of finding a doc or bunking down, he located the commo room, talked someone into letting him use a SAT phone, and dialed Jess’s number.
“Hello?”
“Hey.”
“Ty. Thank God.” It hurt to hear her voice, expectant, scared, relieved.
“We found him, Jess. I wanted you to hear it from me before you got the official word. We found him. He’s coming home.”
“I’LL BE RIGHT outside the door, ma’am.”
Rabia acknowledged the man named Nate Black, who had been so kind to her and her father. Then she walked slowly into Jeffery’s hospital room. Wanting to see him. Needing to see him. Knowing it would be the last time.
Her heart squeezed tightly at the sight of him lying in the bed, tubes coming out of his arm, intricate machines with pulsing lights making soft swishing sounds. He looked so pale. His eyes were closed, and he lay so still she did not know if he was awake or sleeping.
Then, as if sensing her there, he opened his eyes.
She walked hesitantly to his bedside. When he lifted his hand, she folded it in both of hers. “How are you, Jeffery?”
“I’m fine. Just… weak as a damn baby.”
She knew well how difficult it was for him to have his strength desert him. “You were very ill. The ride… was difficult for you. But I am told you are stable now.”
“Are you OK? Are they taking care of you and your father?”
She nodded, focused on their joined hands because she could not look him in the eye. “Yes. Yes, we are fine. They have treated us well.”
“Is your father still angry?”
She managed a small smile. “I could not say that he is happy. But he has accepted. What did you say to persuade him to come with us? I could not hear your conversation.”
He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “I told him he had to think of someone other than himself. That he had to think of you. I told him that he was the sun and the moon to you, and without him in your life, your days would be as dark as your nights.”
Tears filled her eyes. How could he have known so well what was in her heart? Could he possibly know that he also was the sun and the moon to her?
“Come with me, Rabia. Come to the States with me. Shh.” He raised their joined hands and pressed a finger to her lips when she started to protest. “You can return to teaching there. There’s a huge Muslim population in the States. We’ll find a mosque you and your father can attend. You can live in peace.”
This hurt so badly. But she must be strong. “We will be fine, Jeffery. Family in Kabul will make my father soon forget why he ever wanted to stay in the village. I will go back to my job.”
“What about the Taliban? They lost a lot of fighters last night. They lost a lot of face. They’ll retaliate. They’ll search for you. They’ll know when they return to the village and find you gone that you were the one who hid me.”
“How will they know? People abandon homes all the time. Salawat is a poor village. Many families leave to seek work in the city. It is not an unusual occurrence.”
“It’s unusual to have your front and back door blown off,” he said desperately. “They’ll know you didn’t leave because you wanted to. They’ll question your neighbors. Someone will have seen what happened. They’ll talk.”
He was right. And she knew she was in possible jeopardy. But she had no choice. “Kabul is a large city, Jeffery. They could not find you in a tiny village. They will not find us among three million people.”
“But they’ll search. They won’t quit.”
“They will search, yes. But they will not find us. There are many, many people named Kakar in Kabul. They do not know what I look like. And they will quit. Kabul is not Kandahar. The Taliban are not welcome there. You do not need to be afraid for me.”
He closed his eyes again, and for a moment, she thought he had fallen asleep. Then he squeezed her hand hard. “Please come with me. Please.”
Would life always be about loss? Would Allah continue to test her? Would she never be allowed to keep something—someone—so close to her heart that the thought of living without him left a huge hole inside her?
She must not question. She must only do what was right. She must do the only thing that was possible.
“You know that cannot happen. I cannot go with you. Even if it were possible to persuade my father, I cannot go.”
“You can.”
It physically hurt to look into his eyes and see her own pain reflected there. “Jeffery. Did they not tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
She searched his face through a blur of tears and knew what she had to do. She had to tell him what she had overheard Nate Black tell the American doctor.
“Jeffery. You have a wife waiting for you to come home.”
Chapter 28
San Antonio, Texas, early November
HE’D HAD THIS RIDICULOUS NOTION that once he was rescued, his life would make sense again. He’d get health care. He’d be relieved of the stress of the constant threat of death, and he’d remember. He’d be safe. He’d be home.
But he didn’t remember. He didn’t remember that the last post he’d been stationed was Fort Bragg—which was why he’d ended up at Brooke, the closest large Army medical center at Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio.
He didn’t remember that he had a brother named Brad, who had apparently flown in from Minnesota to see him and was due to arrive within the hour.
Along with his wife.
The thought sent a rush of terror and shame straight to his gut. He had a wife. Apparently, they’d been childhood sweethearts. Her name was Jess. And he didn’t remember what she looked like.
What he remembered, what he couldn’t get out of his head, was Rabia’s face when she’d said not only the last words he’d expected but also the last words he’d ever hear her say.
You have a wife waiting for you to come home.
If the rescue and his triage and initial medical assessment at Kandahar had been a blur, the next twenty-four hours and the subsequent flight home felt as though someone else had lived them.
But he sat up in his hospital bed and went through the motions, shaking hands with the members of the team who had accompanied him to Texas and had crowded into the room to wish him well and tell him good-bye.
Their names he would always remember. Those men had risked their lives for him, and he had no idea on earth how he could repay them. He’d said his good-byes and given his thanks to Jones, Reed, Green, Mendoza, and Coulter in Kandahar, grateful to know that they would personally escort Rabia and her father quietly to Kabul, then head home from there.
Cooper, Taggart, Carlyle, Santos, Waldrop, and the Brown brothers, Mike and Ty, stood back as Nate Black extended his hand.
“Good luck, Albert. Proud to know you.”
“Thank you, sir.” He clasped Black’s hand firmly in both of his before letting go. “That goes both ways.”
“I’m sure you’ll be briefed after the doctors clear it,” Black went on, “but I want to assure you again that the lid’s on tight. No one’s going to get word that you’re back. Not from the military. Not from our end. Two people know. Your brother and your wife. How you handle it on your end is up to you. Mr. Kakar and his daughter are safe with their family in Kabul. No one will know of their connection in any aspect of the operation or of the aid they provided you—which, in a way, is unfortunate, as this country owes them a great debt.”
“The best way to repay them,” he said somberly, “is, as we discussed, never to acknowledge their existence.”
How strange that it was so easy to say those words, when everything in him wanted to reach out to Rabia. To talk to her. To know that she was safe.
To touch her. To see her face.
“Good luck, son.” Black’s voice brought him back to his new reality. To a world and a life that, ultimately, was as foreign as the life he’d just left.
NATE HAD A buddy h
e wanted to catch up with in San Antonio, and when the rest of the team decided to find a local watering hole and have a quick beer, Ty begged off.
“You guys go ahead,” he said. “I’ve got to make a few calls. I’ll meet up with you at the airfield.”
Mike hung behind, his eyes full of concern. “You’re waiting for Jess.”
“Yeah,” Ty admitted. It would be pointless to lie to his brother. “I’m waiting for Jess.”
“And then what?” Mike asked as the guys stood at the end of the hall, holding the elevator and waiting for him. “Why torture yourself?”
“Go,” Ty said, understanding that Mike was worried about him. “I’ll be fine.”
Only he wasn’t fine. He was never going to be fine again.
Mike gave him a hard stare, then lifted a hand in surrender. “Call if you need me.”
Ty nodded and watched Mike walk away.
He thought about going in to talk to Albert. And say what? Hey, man. Glad you’re home safe. And by the way, I’m in love with your wife.
Yeah, that would be a real stand-up thing to do. Hit the man while he was down. Albert didn’t even remember Jess. He didn’t remember anything about his life before he was captured. How could a man forget a woman like Jess?
By going through hell. By suffering untold horrors.
That could have been him… or a thousand other men or women who’d gone off to war. Any one of them risked being killed or captured every time they signed up for service. How would he feel if he’d lived through that kind of mental and physical terror, if everything in his life had been taken away from him for more than three years, and then come home to hear the news that, oh, yeah, by the way, your wife is in love with another man and had planned to marry him until you showed up and screwed it all up.
He had to let it go. He had to let her go.
Mike was right. He shouldn’t be here.
He headed down the hall toward the elevator and had almost reached the nurse’s station when he heard her voice.
Jess. Asking for J.R. Albert’s room.
Oh, God. He wanted to see her.
He couldn’t see her.
He ducked quickly into the men’s restroom and held the door open a crack so he could see the hallway.
Brad walked by first. Looking big and happy and anxious.
Jess followed. Slower, hesitant, brave.
Seeing her face, the uncertainty, the guarded hope, and the pain in her eyes, was all it took to make him realize he couldn’t go to her. Not without hurting her more. Not and still be the man he’d been raised to be.
He had no place in her life now.
So he left without saying hello.
Without saying good-bye one last time.
IT FELT ODD walking into Brooke Army Medical Center for more reasons than one. Womack, the Army medical center at Fort Bragg, was the last hospital where Jess had worked as a nurse. Brooke very much reminded her of Womack—except on a larger scale. And it was at Bragg that she’d last seen J.R. It was at Womack, while on shift, where she’d been told he was dead.
“Mrs. Albert?”
Jess swung around to see a doctor walking toward her, his white coat flapping around his legs as he rushed down the hospital hall just as she and Brad were about to walk into J.R.’s room.
“Mrs. Albert?” he asked again with a lift of his brows when he’d caught up with her.
“Yes. I’m Jess Albert.”
“I’m Dr. Jasper. I’m overseeing Jeff’s care.”
He extended his hand, and Jess shook it. “This is J.R.’s—” She stopped, corrected herself. Only family and friends at home knew him as J.R. “Jeff’s brother, Brad.”
The two men shook hands.
“I wanted to catch you before you went in to see your husband. Do you mind? Can we talk a bit first? We can use the waiting room down the hall.”
She looked at Brad, who nodded, and they followed the doctor toward the waiting room. Jasper looked to be in his mid- to late fifties. He was trim and fit and reminded her a little bit of Tommy Lee Jones.
“Has anyone briefed you about Jeff’s condition?” Jasper asked after they’d found a quiet corner in the waiting room.
Jess shook her head. “Not yet, no. I know only that he has multiple medical issues that need to be addressed. And that I need to be prepared because he’s lost a lot of weight.”
Jasper offered a kind smile. “That’s true. He has lost weight. When he arrived, it was immediately clear that Jeff suffers from severe malnutrition. According to his military records, his weight upon arrival in Afghanistan was two hundred pounds. He’s now down to one hundred thirty.”
Jess sucked in a breath. Beside her, Brad swore softly.
“He’s lost a great deal of muscle mass, and his metabolism has been damaged by chronic malnutrition—basically, a starvation diet. The NATO medical facility in Kandahar did a triage of sorts, stabilized him, and sent along their findings, but we’re still in the midst of a more thorough physical and mental evaluation. We’ll know better how to help him with his issues as more test results come in.
“In the meantime,” Dr. Jasper went on, “what we’re trying to do is replace what we can with IV fluids and medications and work to get him eating right again. We’ll have to do this slowly so as to not cause more damage to his system.”
“But he’ll recover from that, right?” Brad asked.
“In time, yes.” Jasper nodded. “Unfortunately, there are certain conditions he won’t recover from. Jeff suffered a detached retina in his right eye. Had he had medical assistance available immediately, it could have been treated. Since it wasn’t, unfortunately, the blindness in that eye appears permanent. Of course, we’re consulting with our best ophthalmologists, and their assessment is not yet complete, but in situations such as these, the sooner medical treatment is given, the better the chances for recovery.”
“So you’re saying there’s little chance he’ll regain his sight in that eye,” Jess said shakily.
“Unfortunately, that’s correct. I’m sorry. But we’ll wait for the final word before we assume the worst.”
“His other eye. It’s OK?” Brad sounded anxious.
“Perfectly fine. He’s already adjusted remarkably, considering the circumstances.”
“What else?” Jess needed to know.
“At some point—at least three years ago, according to the X-rays—Jeff incurred a broken left tibia.”
“Tibia?” Brad scowled.
“The main bone in his shin,” Jess explained, interrupting Jasper’s reply. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m a nurse, Dr. Jasper. The last place I worked was Womack.”
“Well, that’s great news for Jeff.” Jasper smiled kindly, then went on. “The bone was never set; consequently, that leg causes him a deal of pain. There’s also a loss of function in that extremity. It’s not life-threatening, but it will have to be dealt with later, most likely with surgery. The concern is that he’s currently not strong enough to tolerate the procedure, so we will have to wait until he’s recovered some of this strength.”
Jess felt physically ill. Starvation. Detached retina. Broken bone. In an attack? During torture? She wanted to know. She didn’t want to know. “What… what else is he dealing with?”
Again, Dr. Jasper smiled gently. “Another concern is his diagnosis of positional vertigo. He’s fine unless he moves his head the wrong way or he’s jostled, and then it manifests itself. His vertigo is most probably a result of a traumatic brain injury. A blow or several severe blows to the head,” he clarified when Brad looked puzzled. “The TBI also causes him intense headaches. There are several good noninvasive treatments including physical therapy and medications that can help treat both the vertigo and the headaches. We’re conducting a complete neurological workup to find out exactly what we’re dealing with. The good news here is that they started him on medication in Kandahar, and he’s already seeing some relief on both counts, so that’s very posit
ive.”
Jess nodded and attempted to smile at this bit of good news, but she suspected she hadn’t heard the worst of it yet.
“That’s the extent of his physical issues, although you must be prepared. He was tortured. He has scars from injuries that, fortunately, did not result in long-term health issues but will affect him emotionally for years to come.”
“PTSD,” Jess whispered, and closed her eyes. She’d been prepared for this diagnosis, but still a wave of nausea hit her.
“Yes, I would be very surprised if Jeff doesn’t exhibit some manifestation of post-traumatic stress disorder. Regardless, it’s going to be difficult for him to adjust to the real world again. Medications can help, if it’s determined that he needs them, but he will most likely require extensive therapy to regain some semblance of normality. We won’t know how much until we perform further evaluations. Which leads us to the final concern.” He faced Jess somberly. “Jeff’s memory has been affected by all he’s been through.”
“His memory?” Brad leaned forward in his chair. “What’s wrong with his memory?”
“Jeff advises us that it was only recently that he was able to recall his name, his unit and battalion, and what happened to him the night his team was attacked.”
“Because of the TBI or emotional trauma?” Jess asked.
“At this point, we don’t know. RA, retrograde amnesia,” he clarified for Brad, “can also be induced by either physical or severe emotional trauma. So what you must both keep in mind during the coming months is that the brain is very complex and malleable, and everyone is different in his course of recovery. How well Jeff does will only be known as time passes.”
“Wait—you’re saying Jeff has amnesia?” Brad asked in disbelief. “That there are things he still doesn’t remember?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“He… he doesn’t remember me? Or… or Jess?”
“I’m sorry. No.”
