Home Front(21)

“At work,” Jolene said, wondering what she’d say if he stayed away tonight, too.

Betsy looked up sharply. “He left already?”

Jolene turned to pour herself more coffee. “You know what it’s like when he has to catch an early ferry,” she lied, not looking at her daughter.

The moment seemed to draw out; she could feel Betsy’s suspicious gaze on her back. “Hurry up,” she said. “We need to leave in twenty minutes.”

As soon as breakfast was over, Jolene herded the girls upstairs to finish getting ready. They left right on time, and by nine fifteen, she was home again.

She parked in her garage and then walked next door. Waving to Carl, who was working on a Ford truck, she went to the front door, opened it, and said, “Hey, Tam,” at the same time she went inside.

Tami was in the living room, in a fraying blue robe and sheepskin slippers, sipping coffee from a huge insulated mug. Behind her, the wood-paneled walls were studded with dozens of family photographs, all framed in white. Dead center was Tami’s military portrait.

“Hey, flygirl,” Tami said, grinning. She sat on the blue plaid sofa, her slippered feet propped on the glass coffee table.

She looked at Tami, and for a second she couldn’t say it, couldn’t force the words out.

Tami frowned and put down her coffee cup. “What is it, Jo?”

“Michael said he doesn’t love me anymore,” she said quietly.

“You don’t mean—”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

Tami walked forward slowly, put her arms around Jolene, and held her. It took Jolene a minute to lift her own arms, to hold on to Tami, but once she did, she couldn’t let go. She wanted to cry, was desperate for a way to release this pain, but no tears came.

“What did you say to him?”

“Say?” Jolene stepped out of the embrace. “After I don’t love you, what is there to say?”

Tami sighed. “Couples fight, Jo. They yell, they say things they don’t mean, they storm off and come back. Granted, Michael said a stupid thing, but he didn’t mean it. You can forgive him. This isn’t the end.”

Jolene heard the undertone of pain in Tami’s voice, knew her friend was remembering the affair Carl had had ten years ago. “I know about forgiving people and loving them anyway, even after they hurt you.”

She did know. Jolene had spent a childhood forgiving her parents, hoping that tomorrow or next week or next month they would change. But they hadn’t changed and they hadn’t loved her. She’d started to get better when she accepted that simple truth. She’d stayed whole, become whole, by not needing their love anymore. She knew what Tami was saying; hell, it was what Jolene would have said if the situations were reversed. One sentence couldn’t end a marriage. But she couldn’t hang on alone, either. Hadn’t she learned that from her mom?

“He didn’t mean it. Michael loves you.”

“I want to believe that,” Jolene said quietly, and it was true; she wanted to believe in Michael and his love for her, but her faith had been shaken. She was afraid to trust him so completely again. If he could just fall out of love with her, what did it all mean?

“I’m sure—”

Before Tami could finish, her phone rang. She went to the kitchen and answered. “Oh. Hi. Yes, sir.” She turned to Jolene, mouthed Ben Lomand, and then said into the phone, “Really? I see. When, sir? So soon? Oh. Okay, Jolene and I will handle the phone tree. Thank you, sir.” Tami hung up the phone slowly and turned to face Jolene.

“We’re being deployed.”





Six



When Jolene and Michael had first seen the house on Liberty Bay, it had been a beautiful sunlit July day. They’d been out driving, enjoying their time together after an afternoon barbecue at his parents’ house. They hadn’t been looking for a house.

But there it was, just sitting at a bend in the road, waiting for them, a for-sale sign stuck haphazardly by the mailbox. A quaint little farmhouse in need of love, a sagging wraparound porch, and three green acres that cascaded down to the black ribbon of a quiet country road. Across the road, there was a small patch of land, an afterthought really, that lay tucked between the road and the sweeping gray crescent of beach.

It was the little bit of beachfront that drew them in. The first thing they did to the property was build a deck above the sand. They built it with their own hands, she and Michael, laughing and talking and dreaming the whole time.

We’ll barbecue out here on the Fourth of July … and show Betsy how to find sand dollars … and eat dinner from paper plates while the sun sets into the water …

It was only a thin strip of grassy land stitched alongside a winding ribbon of asphalt, but it was Jolene’s dream, her slice of paradise. The smell of the sea and the sound of the waves comforted her. She had always come out here to think, to recharge. Especially in those long, barren years between Betsy and Lulu, when Jolene had been so desperate to conceive another child. Here, alone, month after month, she’d cried when her period started. And here was where she’d come to thank God when her prayer had finally been answered.

Now, she sat in one of the Adirondack chairs that flanked a rusted metal fire pit. It was raining, but she hardly noticed. She stared out at the flat gray waters, pockmarked by falling rain, and thought: How will my children handle this? How will I? How will Michael?