Beyond the Point(86)

On their seventh morning together, Hannah lay in bed beside her husband, in no rush to start the day. When they’d first arrived at the house, she’d felt nervous to undress, aware that he hadn’t seen her naked in months. Would he still like what he saw? But that initial hesitation was immediately replaced by an overwhelming sense of urgency and desire. They only had fourteen days. There was no time for modesty.

The clock on the bedside table read 4:58 A.M., but Hannah knew she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. Instead, she admired Tim’s chest, rising and falling with each breath. His hair had grown back since Ranger School and was dark on the white pillow. The tattoo of an Irish cross on the inside of his left bicep had faded slightly, as tattoos do. Hannah wanted to wake him—to shake him until he opened those bright hazel eyes and looked at her with that same sense of childish adventure she’d grown to love. But he looked too peaceful to disturb.

Hannah ran a finger along the jagged scar on his right shoulder. Unlike the tattoo, it hadn’t yet faded.

The accident had happened about this time, four years ago. During the season-opening football game their junior year, Hannah had stood in the stands with the rest of the Corps of Cadets staring at the sky. The crowd had erupted in shouts as six tiny black specks emerged into view, and all of a sudden, all six parachutes spread out like small yellow blooms over their heads. Hannah scanned the sky for Tim. After what he’d done that summer during Air Assault training, they weren’t speaking. But she still loved to watch him fly. She saw the red and white stripes of the American flag waving behind him and breathed a sigh of relief.

What happened next would forever remain in Hannah’s memory. A strap snapped off his shoulder, sending the yellow parachute vertical. He spun out of control, falling like a bird shot out of the sky. The entire crowd gasped and Hannah went silent, covering her mouth with her hands.

When she’d arrived at the hospital, Hannah immediately knew that she was no longer angry. Tim had been propped up in a bed, his right arm and shoulder stabilized in a metal contraption that looked like a vise. When he noticed her in the doorway, Tim shook his head, his chin quivering and face reddening with emotion.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he said. “I’m so sorry . . . I—”

“Shh.” Hannah had placed a hand on his uninjured arm, squeezing it tight. “I forgive you.”

He’d started laughing through his tears. “When I was hanging in that tree, all I could think of was how mad I would have been if I had died and we hadn’t made up. We have to make up. I still love you.”

Hannah had laughed through her tears, too. Six months later, they were engaged.

Tim’s accident hadn’t just resurrected their relationship. It also resurrected his belief in God. Even the doctors couldn’t understand how he hadn’t died, simply from the height of the fall. Had he not been scarred, Hannah wondered if she would even be sitting here, in his bed, married. So she loved his scar. It symbolized everything that had brought them back together. And even though Tim wasn’t perfect—he was flawed and cocky and at times a bit too charming for his own good—Hannah knew he was perfect for her.

Slipping from the sheets, Hannah grabbed her copy of East of Eden from the bedside table and stepped outside onto the porch, where she could watch the sun rise over the Atlantic. Two months earlier, on Hannah and Tim’s second wedding anniversary, Dani had sent her a sweet e-mail, full of memories and photos of their wedding day. Even her sister, Emily, remembered the anniversary—sending Hannah a bouquet of flowers all the way to FOB Sharana in Afghanistan. But not Avery. That girl had fallen off the face of the planet.

Hannah only heard from her in group e-mails that Dani addressed to all of them, and even then, Avery’s responses were shallow and short. Hannah couldn’t understand how you could be so close with someone for so long only to let the friendship fade. After everything they’d been through, Hannah had been certain that Dani and Avery would be her best friends until they were old and gray. But things had changed. She was married now. Maybe her best friend wasn’t supposed to be a girl from her college basketball team—maybe her best friend was supposed to be the man still sleeping in the other room.

Just then, Tim emerged onto the porch with two steaming mugs of coffee. Passing one to Hannah, he stretched and yawned.

“How many people our age do you think wake up this early?” he asked.

Tim took a seat in the rocking chair next to hers and began rubbing her neck slowly with his warm hand. Hannah involuntarily closed her eyes. His touch was like a drug.

“I guess we get more out of life than they do,” he said.

“Maybe. But they get more sleep than we do.”

Tim sipped coffee, then said, “Eh. Sleep’s overrated. I’ll sleep when I die.”

Hannah bristled. She didn’t like hearing that word. Not when they were counting down the days. Her flight back to Afghanistan left in less than a week. Tim left for Iraq a few weeks after that. It would be late 2007 before they were together again.

“What?” Tim asked, feeling her tense up. “Die?”

“Yes. Don’t say it.”

Tim laughed. “Okay,” he said. “I won’t roll the die, or discuss your hair dye, or remember Princess Di. There are so many conversations we’ll miss out on now. But whatever you need.”