Beyond the Point(102)

“Sitting on my bunk.”

“Have you opened the letter?”

Hannah peered at the stack of books at the foot of her bunk. A Bible. East of Eden, with the corner of page three hundred dog-eared to hold her spot. Neither of which she had opened. In the middle of the Bible she could see the small white edge of a letter, acting like a bookmark. The chaplain had handed Hannah the letter just before she’d boarded the helicopter at Bagram Airfield. Covered in Tim’s signature allcaps handwriting, it was postmarked November 12. The day he’d left on a ten-day mission into Samarra. One day before insurgents opened fire, sending three bullets into the chest of a soldier in Tim’s platoon. Before her husband ran to stop the bleeding and sixteen shots ripped through his chest, ending his life. The day before her husband died, he’d written her a letter.

Every moment, it felt like an elephant was stepping on her chest. She couldn’t breathe. This isn’t your life, she told herself as she stared at the edge of the letter. This can’t be happening. She hadn’t had a moment alone since the chaplain had handed her the letter and she didn’t want to open it until she could scream and wail as loud as she wanted.

“Hannah?”

“No. I haven’t.”

“Okay.”

Hannah placed the phone beside her head and listened to her sister breathing. Hot tears created a warm wet circle where her cheek met the pillow.

After some time had passed, Emily said, “Any update on when you’ll be back?”

The words made whatever was in Hannah’s stomach start to swirl. Like something was in the back of her throat, pushing on all sides of her esophagus. “No,” she said.

Silence.

“Okay. Well we’re trying to decide if we should stay at the house with you or get a hotel. Either way. Whatever you want.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Hannah said. But even as the words came out of her mouth, she knew it did. She had an opinion. She just didn’t know what it was. She couldn’t find it in her head. But it was there.

“Okay. We’ll be here waiting for you when you get home.”

LIKE EVERY OTHER building, the transportation office was a series of small offices, all inside a large tent. Fans whirred and buzzed in every corner, and men passed Hannah in beige camouflage uniforms, unconcerned about her presence. They didn’t know what she was doing or why she was here, which made no sense. She felt like a part of her body had been ripped off. The fact that everyone didn’t stare seemed absolutely impossible. How could a loss that big be that invisible?

By the afternoon, no one had come to retrieve Hannah and send her home. She wondered if they’d forgotten about her, the war widow, in the back of the bunkhouse. Days could pass before they remembered. Weeks.

So pulling herself up, Hannah had walked across Camp Buehring, to the office of the man in charge of outgoing flight manifestos. After she’d waited for more than an hour outside of his office, Lieutenant Colonel Williams stepped out of his door and waved her inside.

“Sorry about the wait, Lieutenant Nesmith,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

The colonel leaned forward in his desk chair, brown eyes full of a sickeningly sweet emotion that Hannah realized she’d have to get used to: pity. He had three combat patches on his uniform, dark eyebrows, and steely eyes that seemed to look both at Hannah and beyond her.

“I understand you’re trying to get home,” he said. “Emergency leave.”

“Yes, sir. I don’t mean to bother you. I just want to know if there are any updates. I heard there’s a flight leaving tomorrow.”

“Unfortunately, there’s not an open seat.” He spoke so quickly, it felt like he’d slapped her across the face. “The R & R schedule has been set for months. You understand. These soldiers have plans with their families. I can’t schedule your flight without bumping someone else.”

Hannah felt her throat tighten, like she was being strangled by an invisible hand.

“But, sir, I really . . . I need to go home. Doesn’t emergency leave give me any precedence?”

Cruelty was staring grief in the face and pointing to a spreadsheet.

Hannah didn’t try to stop herself from crying. She let the tears fall onto her uniform, right in front of him. He could say no. But she couldn’t shield him from the pain of that denial. She was done following the rules. She wondered why she’d ever followed them in the first place.

“Please don’t make me beg for this. I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. I voluntarily put my life on hold. I left my family and friends behind. I dug the trenches and built the tents and led my soldiers. I haven’t complained. Not once. But now? Now that I actually have to grieve the war you asked me to wage? You say I have to wait? How can America ask me to sacrifice everything I have to give . . . everything . . .” Her voice broke. “And now to deny my request when I’m begging, begging to go home? Sir. It’s been a week. Please let me go home.”

“I wish there were something I could do,” he said, his eyes softening.

“There is, sir,” Hannah said. “You can put me on that plane.”

He sighed, looked at his computer, and began rubbing his temples.

“All right,” he said finally. “Let me see what I can do.”