Home Front(101)

He eyed her as if she were a bomb that might go off. “If you’re sure…”

“Sure about what?” Betsy said, coming down the stairs.

“Your mom is going to make you girls breakfast and help you get ready for school,” Michael said.

“She is?” Betsy said, clearly suspicious of Jolene’s ability.

“Today’s definitely special,” Lulu said, eyeing Jolene as if she were unsure about this whole turn of events. “Cap’n Crunch.”

Betsy groaned.

“You sure, Jo? Because I can do it.” Michael asked again.

“I’m sure.”

“The girls catch the bus these days. They know the times,” he said.

Another change. It was just as well. Jolene could hardly drive carpool.

“Okay. I have voir dire today, so I’ll be in court most of the day. Mom is going to pick you up for PT in an hour. I’ll be home no later than six.”

“You never get home by six.”

“People change, Jo,” he said, giving her a pointed look.

“Kiss Mommy good-bye,” Lulu said when he picked up his coat.

Michael and Jolene looked at each other. Then he moved toward her, leaned down slowly.

The kiss he gave her was butterfly light. The kind of kiss a man would give an old woman, or a dying one.

From her chair, she watched him leave the house. When she heard his car start up, she snapped out of it. “Okay, girls, go get dressed for school. I’ll have breakfast ready in no time.”

She rolled into the kitchen, surprised to realize how small it was from chair level. There was barely room for her to maneuver, and the counters were too high; she couldn’t reach them easily.

She was still trying to figure out the logistics when the girls returned to the kitchen and sat down at the table. Jolene glanced at her calendar, the one she’d left for Michael. Today was oatmeal and wheat toast with sliced bananas.

She climbed out of the chair and clung to the counter with one hand while she tried to dig through the cabinet for a pan. The clanging of metal got on her nerves, made her think of gunfire and cement cracking …

“You want help, Mom?” Betsy asked.

“No,” Jolene said. “I can make a damn pot of oatmeal.”

“Well, excuse me,” Betsy said, stung.

“Mommy said a bad word again,” Lulu said.

Jolene found the pot, grabbed it, and looked over at the sink. There was no more than ten feet between her and the faucet, but the distance seemed to swell before her eyes. God, how she wanted to just walk over there like she used to, laughing with her girls as she cooked.

Instead, she gritted her teeth, lowered herself to the chair and wheeled herself to the sink. There, she climbed to her feet again, turned on the water, and held the pot under the faucet.

Blood spurted out, poured down the soldier’s face. Jolene yelled, “Smitty, get the medic, this man isn’t going to make it—”

“It’s seven fifty-seven,” Betsy said sharply.

Jolene came back to the present. She wasn’t in Iraq, flying a medevac mission. She was in her kitchen. She looked down; the pot was overflowing with water.

“Mom, it’s—”

“I know,” Jolene said. She turned off the water and set the pot on the counter. Pivoting on her foot, she repositioned the wheelchair.

“Dad has oatmeal ready by now,” Betsy added.

Jolene grabbed for the pot without thinking, using her right hand. It happened in an instant, her losing her grip, but she saw it in slow motion: the grab, the turn, the fingers failing her, opening, the pot falling …

It hit with a clang.

“You got water all over me!” Betsy screamed, scrambling back from the table. “Oh my God. I have to change—” She ran out of the room.

Jolene slumped into her chair.

“You made a mess, Mommy,” Lulu said, frowning. “The floor looks like a lake.”

Jolene just sat there, stunned.

“Mommy? You made a mess,” Lulu said again, sounding scared. “I want my daddy.”

“Who gives a shit?” Jolene snapped.

Lulu started to cry. “I want my daddy NOW!”

Betsy came back downstairs, dressed now in jeans and a white hoodie. She picked Lulu up. They stared down at Jolene.

“Well?” Betsy said to her mother.

“Well what?”

“What’s wrong with you?”

Jolene felt bitterness well up. She wanted to hold it back, be a good mother, but she couldn’t stop herself. The anger and edginess overtook her. “What’s wrong with me?” She held back from screaming do you not see?

Outside, the school bus chugged up to the driveway, gearing down to a stop.

Betsy screamed and dropped Lulu, who hit the ground hard and started to cry. “She hurt me! She hurt me!”

Betsy ran to the kitchen door and flung it open. “Wait! Wait!”

But it was too late. Jolene heard the bus driving away.

“I’m late,” Betsy shrieked, stomping over to her. “Now I’ll have to walk into first period late. Everyone will stare at me.”

Lulu wailed. “I’m hungry. I want my daddy.”

“Well?” Betsy demanded. “Are you just going to sit there?”