Missing her.
That would be the worst. How was it he hadn’t thought of all of this when he’d so foolishly said I don’t love you anymore? Then, he’d thought of the worst of who they’d become. She’d seemed to him to have grown so big and so small at the same time—the lynchpin of his existence in an irritating way. He’d resented her strength, her independence. He’d wanted to be needed by her, even though he knew he was unreliable. He’d blamed her for his unhappiness, when all along he had been the one to let go of what mattered.
And now maybe he would have to live without her. The idea was overwhelming. He could consider the symptoms—the talks, the responsibilities, the public moments—but the real truth of it, the imagining of a life going on with no heartbeat, was more than he could bear.
He stumbled over to the kitchen counter and picked up the cordless phone. It took him three tries to dial his mother’s number—his fingers were shaking so badly he kept hitting the wrong numbers. When his mother answered, sounding breathless and happy to hear from him, pain rushed in, tightened Michael’s throat until he could hardly speak.
“Hey, Michael. It’s good to hear from you. I’m just unpacking some boxes at the store. Are we still on for—”
“Jolene,” he said, his eyes stinging.
“Michael?” his mother said slowly. “What is it?”
He leaned forward, rested his head on the kitchen wall (papered in sunny yellow, shouldn’t a kitchen be sunny, Michael? It’s the heart of a home). He couldn’t see anything now. “Jo’s been shot down. She’s alive—on her way to a hospital in Germany.”
He heard his mother’s indrawn breath. “Oh, my God. How—”
“That’s all I know, Mom.”
“Oh, kardia mou, I am so sorry…”
The endearment, spoken so softly, cracked his composure. He drew in a great, shuddering breath, and then he was crying as he’d never cried before, not even at his father’s death. He thought of Jolene, smiling, laughing, sweeping their daughters into her strong arms, twirling them around, and putting her arms around him, holding him close at night.
He cried until he felt empty inside, hollow, and then, slowly, he straightened, wiped his eyes. His mother was still talking, saying something … her voice droned on, but he couldn’t listen. There was nothing to comfort him now. “Give me a little time, Ma. A couple of hours to tell the girls,” he said.
She was still talking when he hung up.
He leaned over the kitchen sink, thinking for a second that he might vomit. He’d done that before at bad news—when they told him his father’s cancer had metastasized. He swallowed thickly, trying to calm his heart rate by force of will. She could die. The silver drain blurred before his eyes, and fresh tears formed, burned, fell down his cheeks, splashing on the white porcelain.
How long was he there, bent over, crying into the sink?
When he could breathe again, he dried his face and forced his spine to straighten. Moving slowly, he went through the house, up the stairs. Every riser he took was a triumph, like bicycling up the Rockies. By the time he reached Betsy’s door, he was breathing hard, sweating.
He paused at the door, wishing more than anything that he didn’t have to tell them this … Then he went inside, remembering a second too late that he was supposed to knock, that adolescent girls demanded privacy.
They were on the bed together, watching the videotape of Jolene reading a bedtime story.
Michael wanted to stop right there, on the threshold to his daughter’s room, and turn around. They wouldn’t be the same after he gave them this news. They’d know, from now on, that bad things could happen, and they could happen fast, while you weren’t even paying attention. Helicopters could be shot down. Mothers could be hurt … and worse.
He actually stumbled.
“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.
He closed the door behind him and walked down the gravel driveway, hearing his footsteps crunch on the small gray stones. The night smelled of low tide, vaguely sulfuric.
“Carl?” he said, drawing near. “Lomand came to see you, too?”
Carl nodded. “I needed to get out of the house. Seth is … I don’t know what the hell to say. Tami’s mom is with him now.”
“Yeah. My mom is with the girls, too. How is Tami?”
“Damn military and Red Cross haven’t told me shit. She’s alive. In critical condition. That’s what I know. Jo?”
“Alive and stable. That’s all I know. Nothing about the rest of the crew.”
“I found a letter from Tami today. She’d e-mailed it before the mission, I guess. She sounded so…” Carl’s tired voice trailed off for a moment. Then, quietly, he said, “Afterward, I read it again and thought, are these her last words?”
Michael had no idea what to say to that, so he said nothing. But he couldn’t stand the silence, either. “You catching a flight tomorrow?” he finally asked.
“Yeah. You?”
“Yeah.” Michael stared out at the black water, listening to it lap at the shore. The longer he stood there, the more ill at ease he felt. Finally, he and Carl had something in common, but it didn’t exactly bring them together. “Well, I better get back to the girls. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Right.” Carl paused, turned. “Thanks for coming down here, Michael.”
Michael nodded and headed back up to the house, but once inside he almost wished he’d stayed with Carl. Everywhere he looked, he saw Jo.
I found a letter …
He went into his office and turned on the computer, then pulled up his e-mail.
And there it was in the in-box: Jolene’s military e-mail address in bold, black type.