Home Front(103)

At his entrance, they stopped shrieking at each other and started screaming at him.

“Whoa,” he said, raising his hands. “Slow down.”

“Mommy doesn’t like us anymore,” Lulu said.

“She was a bitch, Dad. I know that’s a bad word, but it’s true,” Betsy said. “And now she’s in her room and she won’t come out. When I went in, she said, ‘Not now, Betsy.’ She hasn’t even apologized for this morning.”

“This morning? What happened this morning?” he asked.

“We were late to school. We missed the bus,” Betsy said, her voice shrill with the remembered horror of it.

“She dropped the water for oatmeal and said a bad word,” Lulu added solemnly, her mouth trembling. She was seconds away from crying.

“Now, girls, you remember we talked about this. It isn’t going to be an easy transition. We’ve talked about being patient, remember?”

“Yeah, well, you should have talked to her about it. I even offered to help with breakfast and everything,” Betsy said. “There’s something wrong with her, Dad.”

Through the blustery anger, he heard his daughter’s fear, and he understood it. Jolene wasn’t the same woman she’d been before, and none of them knew quite how to deal with her. “We’ll be okay, Betsy.”

“You know what, Dad? I’m sick of hearing that. It’s a big fat lie.”

“She’s different,” Lulu whispered, crying now. “She didn’t even talk to us after school.”

Michael knelt down and opened his arms. The girls ran at him, throwing themselves into his embrace. He held them tightly.

When they finally drew back, Michael saw the tears in Betsy’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, Betsy. I know she hurt your feelings—”

“Mine, too!” Lulu said.

“Both of your feelings,” he corrected. “But just think of how bad it feels when you get a cut or a bruise. She lost her leg. It’s going to take a while for everything to get back to normal. I should have prepared you for that. Hell, I should have prepared myself for it.”

“You said a bad word,” Lulu said.

“Thank you, Miss Word Police.”

“What if she never gets better?” Betsy asked.

“She will,” he promised. Then he kissed each daughter’s cheek. “Now, go order a pizza, Betsy.”

“She might as well still be gone,” Betsy mumbled, walking away.

Michael went over to the office. Knocking softly, he waited for an answer. Not getting one, he opened the door just a crack.

The room was dark. Pale gold light from the eaves outside provided an ambient glow, illuminating the sharpness of her cheekbone. Beside the bed, the silver handles of the wheelchair glinted like strands of mercury. On the nightstand was an opened bottle of wine and an empty glass.

Frowning, he went to her bedside, stood beside her. In all their years together, he’d never seen her take more than a sip of wine. He picked up the bottle—it was half empty, at least.

He wanted to wake her up, talk to her about what had happened today—why she was drinking wine—but he knew how precious sleep was to her.

And would she talk to him about it, anyway? Even before the deployment, back when their marriage had been intact, Jolene wasn’t one to talk about bad days or failures or disappointments. With the exception of love, which she showed exuberantly, she kept her emotions to herself.

It was part of why they’d gone so wrong. She’d never needed him.

He closed the door and left her alone.

He spent the evening with his daughters, eating dinner with them, playing a game, watching a Discovery Channel special on dolphins. They were still hurt and angry and confused when he put them to bed.

When the house was quiet again, he put on some sweats and went back to work on the Keller opening. The trial was set to start soon, and he still hadn’t figured out how to make the jurors really understand PTSD, how to put them in Keith’s shoes. He was making a note about that when a bloodcurdling scream echoed through the house.

He threw the papers aside and ran out of his room. Another scream rose up from downstairs, swelling, spiking.

He ran down the stairs and pushed open the office door.

Jolene was screaming in her sleep, writhing so much the sheets and blankets had come free of their moorings and were twisted around her. Pillows lay scattered on the floor.

She screamed, “Mayday! Tami—I can’t lift you. Damn it—”

“Jolene!”

“We need a perimeter,” she yelled, crawling across the bed toward the nightstand.

“Jo!” He grabbed her by the hand and she elbowed him hard in the gut. His breath rushed out and he let go for a second. She kept moving, toward the edge of the bed.

He lunged at her so she wouldn’t fall off, put his arms around her. She punched him in the eye so hard he lost his balance, and they fell to the floor together, landing with a thud.

She came awake with a gasp, frowned in confusion. “Michael?”

Betsy and Lulu stood in the doorway, looking terrified.

“WHAT’S WRONG WITH HER?” Betsy shrieked.

Jolene was shaking; he could feel her trembling.

“Your mom had a nightmare, girls. That’s all.”