On Broken Wings

by Chanel Cleeton

  But I was worried. Worried things between us could get too messy, that the connection with Michael already made this so, so wrong . . . and not in some forbidden, tantalizing sort of way, but rather in a way that made me cringe every time I looked in the mirror, as though I might as well have a scarlet letter on my forehead.

  And whatever thoughts he had about the whole thing remained a mystery—he didn’t call, didn’t write, and the days stretched on and on.

  I sent the guys care packages, torn between the desire to write Easy and each time chickening out. Despite how awkward things were between us, during the day I found myself missing him and at night I woke from vivid dreams of his mouth on mine.

  Noah had gone back to Korea for his final month there, and I spent more time with Jordan and the baby. I didn’t tell her about Easy—couldn’t tell her about Easy—but she shared updates with me that she’d heard through the grapevine from Noah, and even though I worried about him daily it helped to hear he was okay, to feel that connection with him, however tenuous it was.

  The thing about boxes was that when you filled them, bursting to the seams, things snuck out, pushed and prodded their way to the surface and no amount of shoving could get them back inside.

  I went to Jordan’s halfway through the week, tired of my own company, of the doubts and questions running through my mind. And more than anything, I went for the news of Easy she gave me each time we spoke.

  “So how have you been?” Jordan asked as we sat next to each other on her couch, the baby asleep in the next room.

  “Good. You? Excited for Noah to come back?”

  She grinned. “You have no idea. I can’t believe it’s only a couple weeks away.”

  He was due back two weeks before the Wild Aces returned from Afghanistan. Not that I had a countdown or anything.

  We talked for a few minutes about Noah’s return and then I summoned the courage up to ask the question that had been in the back of my mind since I arrived at her place.

  “Have you heard anything from the guys downrange?”

  Have you heard anything about Easy?

  “Noah’s talked to Thor a few times. He seems to be doing well.”

  “That’s great.”

  My stomach pitched and rolled, nerves rumbling around. I waited a beat, and when she didn’t say anything else, I couldn’t resist.

  “How about Easy?”

  “He’s good. I actually talked to him a couple days ago. He asked how you were doing.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, he was a little worried about you.” She shot me a curious look. “Have you guys talked since he left?”

  “No, not really.” I tried to keep my voice and expression vague, even as I wanted to know more . . . What he’d asked, if he’d said anything about me, if she had any clue as to what had happened between us. There had been so many times I’d wanted to tell her, had needed to talk to someone, to try to explain and understand how we’d gone from friends to something else entirely, but each time the words stuck in my throat.

  “Is everything okay with you guys?”

  “Yeah. It’s fine.” My throat got really dry. “So what did he ask? Why do you think he was worried?”

  “He asked how you were doing, if you were still in Oklahoma, if the house had sold, that sort of thing.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That you were fine.” She hesitated. “He wanted to know if you were seeing anyone.”

  Did he really care?

  “What did you tell him?” I repeated, the words not coming as smoothly as normal.

  She shot me a suspicious look. “That you weren’t. You aren’t, right?”

  “No, of course not,” I squeaked, another ball of nerves rolling around in my stomach.

  “Okay, well that’s what I told him. If you guys had a fight, you should talk about it. Things are obviously strained between both of you and neither one of you seems happy about it. You’ve been too important to each other to lose that.”

  If only it were that easy.

  “It’s complicated,” I murmured.

  “Well, whatever it is, he obviously misses you.”

  “I miss him, too,” I admitted.

  She was right. Easy and I were friends, were too important in each other’s lives to let sex screw up the connection we had. We were adults, and yeah, it was awkward, but we’d talk about it and move forward. We had to. I wasn’t ready to throw away our friendship because of one night, spectacular though it was.

  “Then talk to him. There’s nothing you guys can’t get past.”

  “Thanks for the advice.”

  “No problem. Whatever it is, you guys will work it out.” She yawned, the rest of the words disappearing behind her hand. “Sorry. I haven’t been sleeping much with the baby. It’s not the company, I promise.”

  “No worries. I don’t even have the excuse of being a new mom and I’m tired all the time. I’ve been thinking about switching up my vitamins, or eating more protein, or something, because by the end of the day, I’m ready to fall asleep. I caught a cold last week and even though the symptoms are gone and I’m not contagious or anything, I haven’t gotten my energy back.”

  Jordan yawned again. “Ugh. That’s the worst. Maybe you should go to the doctor and have it checked out. You could be anemic or something.”

  “Yeah, I might. I’ve been a little dizzy lately, too.”

  Concern filled Jordan’s gaze. “Do you want me to go with you? I don’t mind.”

  “No, I’m fine, but thanks. If it doesn’t get better in another week, I’ll see the flight doc. It’s probably allergies or something.”

  “Be careful with the dizziness. I got so dizzy one day when I was pregnant I almost fainted. Luckily Noah was there, but I worry about you by yourself if you’re feeling that bad. You can always call me if you need something.”

  “Thanks, I really appreciate it.”

  That was the thing about the wives—we stepped in and helped one another when we needed it, when we were left behind. We were a sisterhood of sorts, connected by an unbreakable bond. We celebrated birthdays together when we would otherwise be alone, marked anniversaries when our husbands weren’t here with us. We were family; while the pilots formed their bonds in war, ours came from keeping everything together while they were gone.

  “How long have you been feeling bad?” Jordan asked.

  “A couple weeks, maybe? Not long.”

  “Are you PMSing? I get light-headed before mine’s about to start.”

  “Maybe.” I tried to think back to the last time I’d gotten my period. I’d never had much of a regular cycle—yet another reason why Michael and I had struggled so hard to get pregnant—and after he died my cycle had nearly disappeared entirely, popping up at the most random times. I’d gone to the doctor only to be told it was likely stress and grief, and I’d lost more weight than I should have thanks to the stress and grief.

  How long had it been?

  I half listened as Jordan kept talking, pulling out my phone and checking my calendar, trying to figure out the last time I’d written it down.

  April. So if I’d had a normal cycle, I should have gotten my period in May. But I didn’t have a normal cycle . . .

  “Dani?”

  I jerked my head up, struggling to focus on Jordan, white noise rushing through my ears.

  “Yeah?”

  It was probably a nutrition thing. After Michael died I’d hated cooking for myself, spent far too many dinners eating cereal . . .

  “Are you sure you’re okay? You look really pale.”

  We hadn’t used a condom . . .

  It was crazy. I was being crazy. I’d been married for seven years, spent a large chunk of them trying to get pregnant, only to have one miscarriage. I was reproductively challeng
ed. There wasn’t a chance.

  And there was no way I would be able to relax until I knew for sure.

  “I’m really sorry, but I’m not feeling great after all. I’m going to head out.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nodded, my heart pounding. I was overreacting, letting my mind spiral, but I couldn’t help it. Until I confirmed what I suspected, that it was anemia or diet, or something totally mundane, calm would be a pipe dream.

  I said bye to Jordan, and then I was driving to the drugstore, replaying that night, trying to calculate the odds of a thirty-one-year-old woman getting pregnant from one night—one time—of unprotected sex.

  When I got to the store, I headed down the feminine-products aisle, my head ducked lest anyone recognize me, feeling like all eyes were on me anyway. My fingers shook as I grabbed the box, experiencing a sense of déjà vu and a pang in my heart at the memory of the last time I’d done this and the baby I’d subsequently lost.

  I checked out with the pregnancy test—okay, tests—with all the subterfuge of a back-alley drug deal. The drive home seemed to take forever, fear gnawing at me, mixed with something else I wasn’t ready to name.

  If I were pregnant, this thing with Easy would become so much more complicated; impossible, really. I’d always imagined being a mother with Michael by my side, had this image in my head of baking cookies at holidays, and family dinners, and smiling proudly as we watched our kid play a pumpkin in the school Thanksgiving play. Being a single mother wasn’t part of the plan. Then again, neither was being a widow.

  A part of me, a part that grew with each moment that passed, wanted to be pregnant. So badly. It was such a long shot, and yet now that it was just me, it might be my only chance. Maybe it was selfish to want a baby when I couldn’t give it the stability I’d always imagined, but right now the kernel of hope, the possibility of it, was enough for me to cling to even as I knew the best thing was for it to be negative.

  I skimmed the testing instructions, fumbling with the packaging. I went through the motions, and then I sat there waiting, staring at that little stick. My hands shook.

  A minute passed as I waited for the digital reading to finish, the test flashing that it was still processing.

  How long did this take?

  Bile rose in my throat.

  The minutes stretched on and on, each time I checked the screen the stupid test-processing message stared back at me, and then it wasn’t anymore.

  Pregnant.

  I blinked at the word, convinced I’d hallucinated it, that I was reading it wrong, that I was dreaming.

  Pregnant.

  Ohmigod.

  My legs gave way and I sank down to the floor, my back against the wall, my palm on my stomach, hovering over the life that was there, the life we’d created. My baby. Easy’s baby.

  Pregnant.

  The first tear trickled down my face, and then another, my body shaking as I sobbed, as my emotions bubbled over until I didn’t know why I cried or what I cried for.

  I was overwhelmed and scared, and through all of it, shining bright, piercing me with surprising intensity, I was happy, so happy. Laughing as I cried. Already in love with the life inside me.

  Pregnant.

  Would the baby be a little girl? A boy? Would it have my green eyes or Easy’s blue ones? My auburn hair or blond hair like his?

  It was bittersweet. The image of the child I’d carried in my head changed now, its features shifting from the ones I’d always imagined it inheriting from Michael. We’d wanted a baby so badly, spent so many nights lying in bed imagining the kind of parents we’d be.

  I had no clue if Easy even wanted to have kids.

  Would he be happy or scared? Would he want to be involved in the baby’s life or would he be happy to take a more hands-off role?

  I didn’t know.

  I wanted to have faith in him, in us, wanted to believe things would work out between us, but right now we were rolling down a cliff, and I didn’t know where we’d end up. Our night together wouldn’t remain a secret, would become something public, something I would have to face.

  Life had become infinitely more complicated.

  Pregnant.

  I sat there with my hand splayed over my stomach, running through a mental checklist of all I needed to do—doctor’s appointments and prenatal vitamins—calculating my due date, trying to figure out how I would make this work. And in the back of my mind constantly was Easy, and the knowledge that I would have to tell him eventually, even as I struggled to come up with a plan, and I worried about how he would respond.

  FOURTEEN

  DANI

  I scheduled my first doctor’s appointment after going through five home pregnancy tests, each one telling me the same thing.

  I was definitely pregnant.

  Despite the positives, the small changes I began to notice in my body, I was relieved when the doctor confirmed the pregnancy and told me the baby was doing well. My earlier miscarriage was in the back of my mind constantly now, and I was afraid to get too attached to this baby, to go through the same pain. With each day that passed, though, I grew a little more confident, a little more secure, and when the doctor told me he didn’t think there was any reason why I couldn’t have a healthy pregnancy now, I felt a overwhelming sense of relief.

  I refrained from buying anything for the baby until I made it through the first trimester, some superstitious part of me wanting to get over that first hurdle, but I occupied my time making lists and planning for what I needed to buy. I checked out a giant stack of books from the library, filling in the gaps in my knowledge that I hadn’t gotten the first time around.

  I spoke to the baby constantly, each day falling more in love. I dreamed about it—sometimes a little girl, other times a blond-haired boy with a wobbly smile—imagining this tiny person curled up inside me needing to be kept safe.

  During my first pregnancy I’d been sick often, my entire body aching in one way or another. This time around was completely different. I was tired during the day, and my breasts were growing at an alarming rate, but otherwise I felt good. There was no morning sickness, no dramatic mood swings. Despite the circumstances and all the unresolved issues, I was happy. So, so very happy.

  “You look like you’re better,” Jordan commented as I stepped over the threshold to her house and gave her a quick hug, wondering if she would notice the differences in my body, the weight I’d put on. I didn’t have a bump yet, but I kept staring at myself in the mirror, wondering when my stomach would pop. Wanting it to.

  I grinned. “I am. Thanks.”

  “I’m about to put Julie down for her afternoon nap. Do you want to hang out in the nursery for a bit?”

  “Sure.”

  I sat with Jordan while she fussed with the baby—she really was adorable—watching as she put her in her crib for her nap, the whole time wondering if I would get my stride, if I’d be able to figure out how to be a mom. The books I read all talked about parenting styles, and the importance of getting your kid into the right preschool, and how old was ideal to learn a foreign language, and I was somewhere back at the beginning, still adjusting to this change, still trying to figure out how I would answer some basic questions: Where would we live? Would I end up doing this alone? How would I tell Easy?

  I followed Jordan out to the living room when she finally got Julie to go to sleep.

  We sat down next to each other on the couch, the ceiling fan whirring to life overhead.

  “She’s beautiful.”

  Jordan gave me a tired smile. “She is. She’s such a sweet baby, too. Just not a good sleeper.”

  “Is it hard to get her to go to sleep?”

  “Hard to get her to go to sleep, hard to get her to stay asleep, hard to get her to sleep more than a few hours.” Jordan made a face. “It’s as if she’s afraid
that if she does sleep, she’ll miss out on something exciting.”

  I laughed. “You can’t argue with that. Well, if you ever need me to help, I’m happy to watch her so you can nap or something.”

  “I really appreciate the offer, and I definitely might take you up on it. My mom’s coming to stay with me for a bit next week, but it’s been difficult with Noah gone.”

  “How are you doing?”

  She shrugged. “In some ways it’s easier than it was before in the sense that it’s not just me; now I have the baby to take care of, so that keeps me focused, distracted. At the same time, now it’s harder because I have the baby to take care of and if I thought I was tired during pregnancy, tired with a baby is a whole other ballgame.”

  A thin thread of panic filtered through me as I wondered if that was the future before me—life as a single mom. I wanted to tell myself I could do it and do it well, but I’d also have been lying if I didn’t admit part—most—of me was scared.

  “Enough about me, though. What’s going on with you?” Jordan asked. “Anything new?”

  Only a secret that was now somewhere between the size of a green olive and a prune.

  I opened my mouth to tell her everything was fine, but suddenly I couldn’t do it anymore. I hadn’t told anyone about this, not my family or friends, and it was this big secret bursting inside me that I didn’t want to keep anymore. Jordan knew us both, and she was one of the least judgmental people I knew. If I could trust anyone to keep my secret, it would be her.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  Worry clouded her gaze. “What’s wrong?”

  I didn’t even know where to begin, merely that I wanted to say it, wanted to get her advice on how to handle this. Easy was home in two weeks; I couldn’t put the truth off much longer.

  “You know how I was hanging out with Easy a lot before the guys deployed?”

  “Yeah. Does this have anything to do with why you guys haven’t talked in a while? And why he was asking about you when I spoke to him a couple weeks ago?”

  I nodded. “We got close. I mean, we always were close, but I guess we got closer.”