Home Front(70)

“You wanna watch Mommy read to me, Daddy?” Lulu asked.

Michael tried to move, but he just stood there, swaying slightly, holding the door frame for support. Then he lurched forward and snapped the TV off.

Betsy frowned. “What’s the matter?”

In the silence that followed the question, Betsy’s face drained of color. “Is it Mom?”

“Mommy’s home?” Lulu said. “Yippeee! Where is she?”

Hope, Michael thought. He had to put his own fears aside and give them hope.

But what if it turned out to be false hope? He had no idea how injured Jolene was, or even if she would survive.

Shot down.

He swallowed hard, wiped his eyes before tears formed.

“Tell me,” Betsy said grimly. It broke his heart to see how afraid she was and how hard she was trying to be grown-up. He picked his way past the clothes heaped on the floor and climbed up onto the bed. Lulu leaped onto his chest without warning.

“Where is she, Daddy?” Lulu asked, bouncing.

Michael sat up, stretched his legs out. “Come here, Betsy,” he said quietly.

She moved cautiously across the bed, eyeing him the whole time, her mouth trembling, although she was trying to stop it, he could see.

“Mommy’s been in an accident,” he said when he had both of his daughters in his arms. “She’s on her way to a really good hospital right now. And…” She’ll be fixed up. He couldn’t say it, couldn’t make himself say the words.

Lulu pulled free, sat on his thighs, and looked at him. “Mommy got hurted?”

“Is she going to be okay?” Betsy asked softly.

Never in his life had Michael felt so painfully inadequate. “We have to believe she will be. We have to pray for her.”

Betsy looked at him, her composure crumbling. The tears started falling; her whole body shook.

Lulu burst into tears.

Michael took them both in his arms, clinging to them, holding back his own tears.

They cried for what felt like hours. Finally, Lulu pulled back. Her black curly hair was damp and stuck to her pink cheeks. “If Mommy’s hurted, will they give her ice cream? Remember how Mommy gave me ice cream when I fell down the stairs, Betsy?”

“Strawberry,” Betsy said and Lulu nodded.

“With sprinkles.”

Betsy wiped her eyes, sniffed hard. “Remember when she twisted her ankle at the beach last summer, Lulu? It got all swollen and purple and gross, and she said it didn’t hurt at all. She only stopped running for, like, a day.”

“And when that dog bited her at the grocery story, she was bleeding but it hardly hurted, remember? Cuz she’s a soldier, that’s what she said. She’s army strong. Right, Daddy?”

Michael could only nod. To them, these stories were a comforting way to bring Jolene home, where she belonged, but all he could think about were helicopters hurtling to the desert floor, crashing, exploding—catastrophic injuries. He thought about the letters he hadn’t sent to her during her deployment and the things he hadn’t said and the things he had—I don’t love you anymore—and he felt sick to his stomach.

He was grateful as hell when his mother showed up two hours later.

“Mommy’s hurted, Yia Yia,” Lulu said, starting to cry again.

His mother moved purposely forward. “Your mother is a warrior, Lucy Louida, and don’t you forget it. She needs our happy thoughts right now. How about if you guys get into your pajamas and I read to you a story?”

Michael extricated himself from his daughters and got up. He was shaky on his feet as he moved toward his mother.

“Oh, Michael,” she said softly as he approached, her voice wavering, her eyes filling with tears.

“Don’t,” he said, sidestepping her outstretched hand. He couldn’t be comforted right now, not in front of his children. At his mother’s touch, he might just crumble. He moved past her and kept walking out into the hallway.

He closed the door on them and went downstairs. For some time—he had no idea how long—he wandered around the house, just staring at things. The wedding picture in the bookcase, the end table they’d refinished together, the You Are Special plate that hung on the kitchen wall.

The phone rang, and he lurched for it. “Michael Zarkades.”

“Hello, Mr. Zarkades. This is Maxine Soll, from the Red Cross.”

He gripped the phone more tightly, thinking, Please God, let her be okay. “How is my wife?”

“Her helicopter was shot down in Al Anbar province last night. Because of heavy fighting, rescue was difficult. I don’t have much in the way of details, and I can’t give you information on the rest of her crew. But I do know she’s alive and stable. She has been treated at Balad and is now on her way to Landstuhl, Germany.”

Michael’s relief was so great he actually sank to his knees on the kitchen floor. “Thank God,” he murmured. He heard the Red Cross worker talking about the hospital, but he was barely listening.

He hung up the phone and went outside, where a cold black night surrounded him. Jo, you’ll be coming home now … you’ll be okay …

He was so caught in his own thoughts that it took him a moment to see the man standing on the dock across the street. Although he couldn’t really make out the figure—could just see a silhouette in the glow from a distant streetlamp, he knew who it was.