Home Front(127)

“I never used to be a scene-making gal,” Jolene said, her eyes bright.

“Life changes us, that’s for sure.”

Jolene stared at him a moment longer, thinking that he was like the men and women in her unit. The job was what mattered, not the thanks. She nodded one last time, letting her gaze say it all, then she took Michael’s hand and they walked outside.

Rain engulfed them, splashing beneath their steps. Jolene amazed herself—she ducked her head, held on to Michael’s hand, and ran for the car.

Ran.

It wasn’t perfect, of course, her leg didn’t bend like it should, but she did it. Her hair was dripping wet by the time she got into the car.

“That was a pretty sexy bit of running on your new leg, Mrs. Zarkades.”

“Everyone’s going to want one, I can tell you.”

She couldn’t help looking at her new leg; she kept lifting her pant leg and staring at it. It was almost impossible to stop smiling.

He stopped at the mailbox, picked up the mail, and drove up the driveway. When they pulled into the garage, she turned to her husband. “You’ll be home for dinner?”

He handed her the mail. “Before that, even. As soon as the Byer dep is done, I’m coming home. How about dinner at the restaurant above the marina?”

“Perfect.” She leaned over and kissed him, then got out of the car and practically skipped into the house.

Inside, it was quiet. Jolene made herself a cup of hot tea and went through the mail.

There was another letter from Sarah Merrin, the young marine who had lost her leg in Iraq.

Jolene sat down at the kitchen table and opened the letter.



Chief,



I understand why you haven’t written to me. You probably feel as crappy as I do. I guess I’m just hoping there’s a silver lining out there. Ha.



I’m still at Walter Reed. I’m thinking of painting the walls, that’s how long I’m going to be here. They had to amputate the other leg. Infection.



Honest to God, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.



How do you do it? I guess that’s all I really want to know. They tell me I’ll be able to walk again—even skate—but I think they’re full of shit. And my husband couldn’t get out of here fast enough.



Again, any words of wisdom you got would sure be helpful.



Sincerely,



Sarah Merrin



Jolene sat there a long time, staring down at the words.

*



On a cold, rainy mid-December day, Jolene and Michael boarded an airplane for Washington, D.C., and took their seats in the third row.

Michael settled back into the comfortable blue leather and buckled his seat belt.

Jolene was turned away from him, looking out the small oval window, watching the ground crew do its job. He could see by the tightening of her mouth that she was missing her old life now: the military, flying, the woman she’d been before the war.

He reached over, took her hand in his. It was rare these days for her to be sad, but at times like this, when the melancholy seized hold, she gave in to it, let it be. The watch he’d given her for her birthday encircled her small wrist, the faceted face glinting in the light. It was an odd contrast with the plainness of her gold wedding band. When he’d first seen her wearing it, he’d been embarrassed. He’d offered to replace it. I shouldn’t have bought it for you, he’d said, that was when I was different. I should have gone with you to the damn party.

Old news, she’d said with a smile. We’re both different now, and thank God.

It was true. They had all been changed in the past year.

Jolene most of all. She’d learned in the last few weeks—they all had—not to gloss over sadness. She squeezed Michael’s hand.

The plane’s engines started up, rattling the seats slightly. She was probably remembering how it felt to climb into the pilot’s seat, to put on a helmet, to go through the preflight check.

The plane backed away from the Jetway and rolled across the airport to the runway. It picked up speed, rocketed forward, rose up … up … up into the air.

Blue sky filled the windows.

“Did I ever tell you about the plum trees?” she said quietly. “We used to see them when we took off from the post. You’d look down through the blue sky and see these blurry pink trees, and it was so beautiful.”

It took his breath away, how easily she said it, how good she sounded. After a moment he said, “I want to take the girls to my dad’s grave.”

She looked at him. “You’ve never gone there, not since the funeral.”

“I guess I’m not the only one in this family who has trouble letting go.”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “I still haven’t read Tami’s letter.”

“I know.”

She leaned against him.

“By the way, I talked to Ben Lomand last week,” he said.

She turned. “You did?”

“I was going to save it for Christmas, but here we are, up where you belong … so, I talked to him about you flying again. He doesn’t see any reason why you couldn’t do it on your snazzy new leg. He said something about a smaller chopper—there were a bunch of weird words and letters, and, well, he lost me. But he’s willing to work with you. When you’re ready. Maybe you could fly a news helicopter someday. Who knows?”