This Is the Wonder

by Tracey Ward

  “What do you mean he ‘yanked him’?”

  “Dad pulled him from his base in Florida and brought him here so he could keep an eye on him.”

  I gape at him. “He can do that?”

  “Oh yeah,” Jax laughs unhappily. “He can do just about anything.”

  “I bet Cade loved that.”

  “Not even a little. Dad told him he didn’t want him driving anymore as punishment and Cade immediately went out and traded in his old car for that Charger out front. Ever since then he and Dad haven’t been talking much.” He sits down on the bed, leaning back against the wall. “That’s probably what Mom is talking to him about right now. She’s the peacekeeper.”

  “Does she have to do it with you and your dad too?”

  “She has to do it with him and everyone. He’s oil in water.”

  I sit down next to him and he pulls me in until I’m lying halfway on top of him, my chest against his and our faces close. He reaches up and runs his hand through my hair, watching the strands trickle through his fingers like water.

  “It’s what happens when you’re never around,” he continues quietly. “He was always gone and it got to the point where she was the only person who actually knew him when he showed up. Joe and Mason are better with him. They’re older, they got more of his time growing up, but when I was a kid I used to cry when he came home from deployments or visits to other bases because I didn’t know who he was.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “That’s the life.”

  I reach up and take hold of the hand in my hair, stilling it and waiting for his eyes to find their way to mine. He’s gone somewhere—to that place where he’s hiding his guilt and remorse. He likes being a soldier. He doesn’t mind it, he’s happy doing it, but he doesn’t like what it means for me. For us.

  “It doesn’t have to be like that,” I promise him.

  He nods, unconvinced.

  “There’s video chat now,” I go on. “And Air Force deployments are shorter than Army ones, aren’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “So it won’t be like that. When you get married you’ll make it work, Jax. I know it. You’ll be present for her every day, even when you can’t be there.”

  “Can I give you your Christmas present?” he asks suddenly, his eyes urgent and eager.

  I don’t understand the shift, but I nod in agreement.

  He gently pushes me off of him and goes out to his bag. He rifles through his carry-on and comes back with a small green box that he puts in my hand. Then he swings his leg around behind me and sits so my back is against his chest, his arms and legs envelop me, and his chin rests lightly on my shoulder.

  I lift the top off the box and unwrap the Christmas red tissue paper inside until my fingers brush something cold and metallic. I pull it out and stare, not sure what I’m looking at. All I know is that it’s beautiful.

  It’s a heart about the size of the palm of my hand, misshapen and strange but somehow fluid and beautiful. It’s a swirling mix of both bronze and silver, polished to a near mirror shine, and etched with an intricate pattern of curls like ivy climbing up a wall, mixed inside until they’re nearly hidden as part of the pattern are two initials.

  W J

  “Do you like it?” he asks, his voice vibrating with depth in my ear.

  “I love it,” I whisper. I turn it so it catches the light then let it sit heavy in my hand so I can stare at it. “It’s amazing. Where did you get this?”

  “Hank.”

  I laugh, turning my head to look at him over my shoulder. His face is so close I end up brushing my nose against his cheek. He closes his eyes and leans in, pressing his lips against mine. His kiss is quick and warm, but I savor every second of it along with the feel of his body surrounding mine. I feel so safe and protected with him. It’s a relief from the anxious feeling I’ve had for six months, of wanting to protect him and never being able to.

  “Hank, as in our snowman?” I ask him, turning my head to look at the heart.

  He returns his chin to my shoulder. “I went back after I dropped you off at the airport. It was getting warmer and the snow was melting. He was already crumbling when I got there so I dug your necklace and my coin out of his chest and took them home. I found a jeweler in Germany who worked only in metals and asked him what he could do with them. He melted them down and reshaped them into that heart, decorated it, and carved our initials into it.” He pauses, reaching out to trace our initials with his finger. “I debated about whether I should put a J for Jax or a K for Ken since that’s my real name. In the end I went with the J for Jax because it’s what you call me, but I thought…” I feel his heart pounding frantically against my back. “I had him put my initial second because maybe someday it will fit.”

  I remind myself to breathe but it’s getting tough.

  W.J.

  Wren Jackson.

  I don’t know how to react. I’m afraid to. I’m terrified, actually. I’ve thought about it for months, but this moment is too much to process. I know he’s not asking, he’s saying someday and speaking in the abstract, but the fact that it’s crossed his mind is staggering for me. I’m panicking and I wish I could stop. I want to stay in this moment with him. I want to react the right way and make him smile the way he does when he sees that I love him, and dammit do I want to give that to him. I always want him to know it, to feel it, but I’m not good at the grand gestures or the romantic ones or even the simple, sweet ones, and suddenly I’m so scared I’m shaking.

  I clench my hand tightly around the heart, feeling the edge bite into my palm, and my hands still. I breathe in deeply twice, telling myself to calm down. I turn to face him, quickly burying my face in his shoulder and wrapping my arms around him. I can’t look at him because I don’t want him to see my fear and misunderstand it, because it has nothing to do with him.

  It’s me and my ghosts and the shadows of a man who made me question everything I thought I knew about myself.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Angela and Bill Jackson should have their genes studied. They should have them sampled, frozen, and saved to ensure the gloriousness of future generations.

  I’m standing in the living room of their immaculate house, each room ripped from the pages of a magazine featuring good taste and the comfiest couches God ever gave to man, and I’m looking at the large family portrait over the mantel. It can’t be too recent. All of them but Angela are in uniform, but Jax said they haven’t all been together in years.

  Amber has her mom’s blond hair and petite build, but she has her dad’s expression. Even in this photo where she’s smiling, there’s a hard set to her eyes that says she won’t take any of your shit, no matter who you are. Her face is fierce and gorgeous, exactly the kind of girl I want to hate but I have a feeling I’ll love.

  Jax is standing next to her and he’s just Jax—handsome and happy and the best-looking guy I’ve ever seen in my life, though he’s obviously a little bit younger than he is now and his hair is all but shaved off. He looks like a picture he showed me from when he graduated Boot Camp.

  Then there’s Cade. His hair is a little longer in this picture, his smile kind of loose and uncaring, and I wonder what was going on when the picture was taken. Was this before or after the DUI? There’s something about the look of him that’s unruly. Dangerous. He’s painfully hot but he looks like trouble. He reminds me a little of Ben.

  Joseph and Mason are night-and-day different, but both of them are stunning in their own way. Joseph is dark like his dad and Mason has the fair hair and complexion of Angela, but they’re both tall and broad, both fit and cut to perfection, looking like models on a romance novel cover in their uniforms.

  “Amber was so angry about that picture,” Angela tells me. She’s appeared out of nowhere with a glistening glass of lemonade in her hand. She gives it to me, her eyes on the mantle. “She didn’t want to take it. Some days I want to take it down because I look at it and I reme
mber what the mood was like in that room and it makes me anxious.”

  “Why was she angry?”

  “We took it when we were all together for Zack’s funeral. They were cousins but they were close like brother and sister. Amber was really torn up when he died and she didn’t want to have to smile for any pictures. I didn’t blame her, I wasn’t much in the mood either, but we see each other so rarely that I wanted that picture. And now every time I look at it I remember how sad we all were.”

  “Why do you keep it up if it bothers you?”

  “Because it’s honest.”

  The door bursts open and two raven-haired children come thundering into the room. They run straight for Angela.

  “Nana! Nana!” the little girl yells, her arms outstretched.

  She’s probably about six, but I’m terrible at gauging the age of kids. I’m not around them much so they’re kind of a mystery to me. In fact, sometimes I think they know how nervous they make me and maybe hate me a little. Whenever I happen to make eye contact with a kid while waiting in line at the store, they always freak. I smile and wave, they frown and turn away. Just a couple weeks ago I made a baby cry. With my smile. I’m that kind of charismatic.

  Behind the girl is a little boy stumbling and tripping after her, a big drooling smile on his face.

  Angela kneels down to absorb their hugs and pull them in close. She listens patiently as the girl rambles on about a show she saw where the boy was friends with a ghost and I smile at the man stepping in the front door. I recognize him from the photo on the mantle. He smiles back, nodding distractedly, then turns to take a diaper bag from his wife coming in behind him. She’s where the kids get their dark hair. She’s a small woman of Asian descent—but like the kids’ ages, I can’t gauge where she’s from. Maybe China, maybe Cleveland. Who knows?

  She’s carrying a baby who’s asleep on her chest, its chubby little legs sticking out from its pants and a sock half-falling off its foot.

  “Hi,” she says softly when she sees me. She lifts the fingers of her hand pressed to her baby’s back in a wave. “You must be Wren.”

  “I am, yeah.”

  “Tana,” she supplies. “Mauling their grandmother over there are Bristol and Kyle. And this sleeping beauty is Kadence.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too.”

  Her husband stands up from rifling through the diaper bag and hands his wife a white cloth. He leans across the back of the couch separating us and shakes my hand. “Joseph, hi.”

  “Wren.”

  “Is Ken out back with Dad?”

  I gesture to the back yard as though I’m telling him where it is in a house he knows by heart. “Yeah, they’re heating the grill.”

  “Mom, is there beer?”

  “Honey,” Tana frowns. “You can’t mix alcohol with the meds.”

  “I’ll just have one.”

  Angela stands. “In the fridge, Joe. In the door.”

  He disappears and the kids follow after.

  I go with Tana and Angela into the kitchen, but it’s not long before I feel wildly out of place. I don’t do well with most women. It’s not that I have a problem with other women, it just seems like I have more in common with men. My sense of humors lands better with them, my language doesn’t get me judging looks, and I don’t feel like I have to watch nearly as much of what I say. Sitting at the kitchen bar listening to Tana and Angela discuss breastfeeding schedules and teething is painful for me simply because I don’t know anything about it and I hope that I won’t for quite a while.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket.

  You look like you want to die.

  I smile, looking out the window to see Jax standing with his brother and dad, his phone in his hand and a grin on his lips.

  I’m learning about nipples and teeth and not in a good way, I reply.

  I’ll give you a lesson later.

  In a good way?

  In the best way. Come out here. I miss you.

  Why don’t you come in here?

  Because my MOM is talking about nipples in there. Not happening.

  I’m on my way.

  I pocket my phone and stand, accidentally getting the attention of both women. They look at me with expectant eyes, as though I had planned to contribute to the conversation. I smile and gesture to the fridge.

  “I was just going to grab a beer and head outside for a minute.”

  “I have white wine,” Angela offers.

  “No, thanks. A beer sounds great.”

  “Take one out to Bill, too, if you don’t mind. He’s probably almost done with his first.”

  I hastily grab two beers and head outside. The summer heat is horrible but it’s worth it. Jax smiles when he sees me and the beers in my hand.

  “You read my mind,” he says. “I’m on empty with this one.”

  “How do you know they’re not both mine?”

  “In honor of meeting my family did you decide to pick up a drinking problem?”

  “Wouldn’t be the first one to do it,” Joe mumbles into his beer.

  The General casts him a sharp look.

  “Actually, this is for your dad,” I tell the boys, handing the cold bottle over to the General.

  He grins at me, tipping it in my direction. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

  “You’re welcome.” I go to stand next to Jax, already feeling more comfortable.

  “So, Wren,” the General says conversationally, “what’s your plan now that you’ve graduated?”

  I freeze, my body going rigid. And just like that, I miss nipples and teeth.

  The General is watching me curiously, his scrutiny intense and unnerving.

  I twist my beer bottle in my hand, shaking my head helplessly. “I’m not really sure yet.”

  His brows drop. “Really? Jax said you have a job lined up.”

  “I do. I start in September at an ad agency in Boise. A friend helped me line up the job but it’s not what I want to do forever.”

  “You studied advertising? I thought you studied business.”

  “I didn’t. I mean, I did. Not advertising, but business. I did. I studied that. I got a degree.”

  Clearly what I didn’t study was public speaking, I think nervously.

  “But you’re not using your degree?”

  “Not yet, no.”

  “Why didn’t you get a degree in advertising instead? Then you’d be utilizing it and the skills you were taught.”

  “I didn’t know I was going to work in advertising until about a month ago. I was already completing my business degree then.”

  He shifts from one foot to the other, studying me closely. I wish he’d drop it. “Then why not get a job in business?”

  “Dad,” Jax says gently, “don’t.”

  “Don’t what? I’m asking questions.”

  “You’re asking too many. You’re cornering her.”

  The General shifts his eyes back to mine, demanding confirmation. “Am I?”

  I give him a faint smile and nod. “A little.”

  “That wasn’t my intention.”

  “It’s okay,” I tell him, though I’m not sure why. It’s not okay; I don’t like it and I want him to stop.

  Bristol shows up then, red-faced and out of breath. “Daddy, I need a glass of water.”

  Joe gestures with his beer toward the house. “Go ask your mom, hon. She’s in the kitchen. And take your brother with you. Where is he?”

  “In the playhouse.”

  “Go get him and hang out inside with your mom for a while, okay?”

  Bristol groans but she goes to get her brother and drags him into the house. She has some trouble sliding the glass door shut behind her, but eventually she gets it and it slams forward with a loud bang! that shakes the glass in the frame.

  Joseph visibly starts, his entire body clenching. The look on his face is instantly changed, suddenly becoming distant and wild. Aggressive. There’s an energy rolling off him in
hot waves that cascades into me and sends me back a step toward Jax.

  “Joe,” the General says, his voice taking on a surprising softness. “Do you need a drink? Maybe some water?”

  Joe looks at him without seeing him. He’s looking through him, his chest rising and falling in short panting gasps. Then almost as quickly as his mood turned dark, it lightens. His eyes focus on his dad and he shakes his head faintly. “No. I’m fine.”

  “Good. That’s good.”

  “Shit like that happens a lot lately,” Joe explains, not looking at anyone in particular. “The kids. They’re loud. I’m not used to it.”

  “No need for you to be.”

  “They must love having you home,” I say, not knowing what how to react to this awkward moment. There’s more to it than I’m seeing, but I’m not sure I want to know what’s being hidden. One glance over my shoulder at Jax and I know that I don’t want to know.

  His eyes are wary and hard, trained on his brother with almost suspicion.

  Joe groans. “They’re all over me. I don’t know how Tana does it. I couldn’t do her job, wrangling them all day every day.”

  “And she couldn’t do yours,” Bill agrees. “You’re a team and everyone knows their part to play. Keeps you solid. Keeps things moving smoothly. That’s how your mom and I have made it for nearly forty years. Communication. Honesty. You won’t make it four months—let alone forty years—without it. Your brother learned that the hard way.” The General surprises me when he looks me dead in the eyes and fills in the blanks for me. “Our oldest, Mason—he and his wife are divorced. She was unfaithful.”

  “So was he,” Jax reminds him.

  “After they were separated.”

  “Still married. Still cheating.”

  “Tell that to your brother,” he says darkly, and I get the impression he’s not referring to Mason. He takes a drink of his beer, his eyes wandering out over the yard. “I heard he was here this afternoon.”

  “Cade?” Jax asks, obviously understanding more of this conversation than I do. “Yeah, he was.”