The Military Wife (A Heart of a Hero, #1)(2)
“It’s been a while for me, too, but that’s not how I remember them, either.”
“A pity for us both.” Her mother pulled a jar of olives out of the fridge and proceeded to make martinis—shaken, not stirred. She raised her eyebrows, and Harper answered the unspoken question with a nod. Her mom poured and plopped an extra olive in Harper’s. “How was work?”
Harper handled bookkeeping and taxes for a number of local businesses, but a good number closed up shop in the winter. “Routine. Quiet.”
“Exactly like your life.”
Harper sputtered on her first sip. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I hate seeing you mope around all winter.” Her mom poked at the olive in her drink with a toothpick and looked toward Ben, dropping her voice. “He’s been gone five years, sweetheart, and you haven’t gone on so much as a date.”
“That’s not true. I went to lunch with Whit a few weeks ago.”
“He was trying to sell you life insurance. Doesn’t count.”
Harper huffed and covered her discomfort by taking another sip. “What about you? You never date.”
“True, but your father ruined me on relationships. I have trust issues. You and Noah, on the other hand, seemed to get along fine. Or am I wrong?”
“You’re not.” Another sip of the martini grew the tingly warmth in her stomach. Their marriage hadn’t been completely without conflict, but what relationship was? As she looked back on their fights, they seemed juvenile and unimportant. It was easier to remember the good times. And there were so many to choose from.
She touched the empty finger on her left hand. The ring occupied her jewelry box and had for three years. But, occasionally, her finger would ache with phantom pains as if it were missing a vital organ.
“You’re young. Find another good man. Or forget the man, just find something you’re passionate about.”
“I’m happy right where I am.” Harper hammered up her defenses as if preparing for a hurricane.
“Don’t mistake comfort for happiness. You’re comfortable here. Too comfortable. But you’re not happy.”
“God, Mom, why are you Dr. Phil–ing me all of sudden? Are you wanting me and Ben to move out or something?” Her voice sailed high and Ben looked over at them, his eyes wide, clutching his LEGO robot so tightly its head fell off.
“You and Ben are welcome to stay and take care of me in my old age.” Her mom shifted toward the den. “You hear that, honey? I want you to stay forever.”
Ben gave them an eye-crinkling smile that reminded her so much of Noah her insides squirmed, and she killed the rest of her drink. She was so careful not to show how lonely she sometimes felt in front of Ben.
“Harper.” Her mom’s chiding tone reminded her so much of her own childhood, she glanced up instinctively. Her mom took her hand, and her hazel eyes matched the ones that stared back at Harper in the mirror. “You’re marking time in Kitty Hawk. Find something that excites you again. Don’t let Ben—or Noah—be your excuse.”
Harper looked to her son. His chubby fingers fit the small LEGO pieces together turning the robot into a house. She had built her life brick by brick adding pieces and colors, expanding, taking pride, until one horrible day she’d stopped. Maybe her mom was right. Was it time to build something new?
“I’m not sure what I want to do,” she said in a small voice, the uncertainty but also the resignation startling. As a teenager, she’d been confident and ready to chase her dreams. Fate had intervened in a big way.
“I’m not saying you have to figure it out overnight, but I’m thrilled you’re even considering the future.” Her mom squeezed Harper’s hand before retreating. “How’s your friend Allison doing? I know you’ve been worried about her.”
“I got an email from her today.” Harper popped a martini-flavored olive in her mouth, glad to focus on the messiness of someone else’s psyche. “She didn’t say much about Darren, but … I’m worried.”
Nothing Allison wrote in the email raised alarms, but it was exactly what she had omitted that had Harper’s stomach dipping. Not a word about how Darren, her husband, was adjusting after his last disastrous deployment. He was alive, the cuts and bruises long healed, but the damage was more insidious.
From the bread crumbs Allison had dropped in their conversations, Harper feared Darren was exhibiting the hallmarks of PTSD. Allison’s tendency to put a sunny spin on things only increased Harper’s unease. PTSD wasn’t something a wife could coddle away with bandage changes or favorite meals.
“Why don’t you take the weekend and drive down to Fort Bragg? I’m happy to watch Ben.”
As soon as her mom suggested a visit, Harper realized the notion had been lingering in the back of her mind for days. “It would be a good time to go. Everyone is caught up and business is so slow in the winter. One condition”—she wagged her finger at her mom—“Ben is not allowed to tag along to your nudist painting class. That is a talk I’m not ready to have.”
“You make it sound like we all prance around naked. There’s only one naked model, and come to think of it, he’s single and young and I can vouch for the fact you won’t be disappointed. It might not make it to his kneecaps, but…” Her mother cast a gaze meaningfully between her legs. “A fling would do you good.”