A Hero to Come Home To (30 page)

His gaze jerked back to the redhead just as she tilted her head back for a throaty laugh. Jessy Lawrence.

Damn, she was beautiful.

Then it hit him: Jessy Lawrence was one of the women he’d thought might teach him how to live again. Jessy Lawrence, who picked up strange men in the cemetery and got drunk enough to have sex with them. Jessy, who’d looked him right in the eye a week later and had no clue who he was.

Hell, he’d rather stay exactly as miserable as he already was.

It was a perfect evening—belatedly Carly caught herself and substituted
beautiful
—for the margarita club to move their meal outside. The sky was a lovely shade of blue, the air was warm, the chimes around the perimeter tinkled sweetly, and even the traffic forty feet away on Main Street seemed slower, in tune with the evening.

Picking up her sweating margarita glass, she savored a drink, though she grimaced just a little when the liquid hit her throat. Even so, tonight she might drink the entire thing. She was celebrating, after all.

Leaning close to Therese, she asked quietly, “Did the kids get to their mother’s okay?”

Therese stirred from her funk. “Yeah. Jacob texted me from Abby’s phone. I know it was Jacob because it didn’t end with, ‘Drop dead, bitch.’” After a moment, she took a slug of her own drink. “I’ve got an appointment at JAG on Thursday. Just to ask some questions and get some information.”

Though the thought of her giving up custody of Paul’s kids made Carly’s stomach hurt, she forced a smile. “You know whatever you decide, we’ll back you all the way.”

“I know.” Therese tilted her head to one side, gaze narrowing. “What’s going on with you? You look…different.” She looked Carly up and down, then her mouth formed a silent
oh
when she came to the band on Carly’s right hand. “Is this because of Dane? Or for him?”

“For. I packed up Jeff’s clothes, and I—I called Mia this afternoon. She answered, ‘Ah, daughter-in-my-heart,’ and I almost lost it then. But I managed to tell her about Dane, and then we both lost it.” She touched the corner of her eye with her pinkie, careful to blot away the moisture without disturbing her makeup. She had plans for after dinner tonight. She’d even shopped for the event: a sundress in tropical shades that exposed way too much leg for school, strappy sandals, and even a little sexy lingerie.

If Dane was willing. If he was, she wanted to look all that willing and more.

She wasn’t going to call him until after dinner. She’d finished packing Jeff’s clothing, both military and civilian. She’d boxed up mementos from his youth and college and a few places the Army had sent him. Where the guest closet had held hanging clothes, now it held orange tubs.

Not everything was gone. She’d kept all the photographs, his dress blue uniform, his ribbons and awards. The small pottery dish on the dresser that held all the challenge coins he’d collected in the Army remained. She’d kept a few notebooks filled with his big loopy writing, his favorite pair of aviator shades and a few other sentimental items.

And then she’d called Mia, who insisted she was happy for her, but sobbed all through the call. Carly had no doubt Mia really was happy she’d met someone else, but she had to be going through a lot of sorrow again. It had to be a tangible reminder that all her dreams for Jeff and Carly were over.

Not that Carly would ever quit being part of Mia and Pop’s lives, unless it was too painful for them.

That call made, now she was free for one more, and the time was soon.

“So.” Therese drew her attention back. “You’re really ready to move on.”

“Yes. I am.”

“I hate you. Here you’re falling in love and being really happy again, and I’m…I’m just falling apart.” Therese lifted her margarita. “But I’m also unbearably happy for you. I hope you and Dane live a long, long life together.”

Carly clinked glasses with her, then gazed around the table at their friends, wishing she had a camera that could capture them all. In that moment, everyone, every single one, was smiling, even Therese. Everyone looked happy, as if they’d found some small measure of peace on this perfect Tuesday evening. It was enough to make her throat tighten and tears well in her eyes.

She was trying to surreptitiously wipe her eyes when Jessy’s voice arose above the others. “Oh, my God.” After a moment, in a less surprised tone, she said, “Carly, tell soldier boy he needs to get out in the sun. He’s way too pale for my fantasies.”

Her gaze jerked to Jessy, then past her to the parking lot. Beside her, Therese gasped and whispered, “Bless his heart.” Understanding barely registered as Dane came toward them. He wore a T-shirt, as he nearly always did, and cargo shorts that ended at his knee. His right leg, as Jessy had pointed out, was too pale to match the rest of him. His left leg wasn’t the pretty flesh-toned one, but a mechanical robotic prosthesis that looked futuristic and efficient.

His stride was nearly perfect, but his face was red with self-consciousness. That was when the enormity of it hit her: He was
wearing shorts
in public. He was putting himself and his prosthetic leg on display for anyone who wanted to look—and everyone on the patio was looking. Not because they’d never seen a soldier with a prosthesis before, but because this soldier was special. He was worth looking at.

And he’d done this—come here like this—for
her
. He wasn’t ignoring his leg, covering it up, pretending it didn’t exist so no one else would know it did, and he was doing it for
her
.

He walked through the gate that led directly onto the patio, passed off a grimace for a smile and murmured a few names as he passed. “Ilena. Jessy. Marti.”

Carly was about to rise from her seat when Therese stopped her. “This is his show,” she murmured. “Let him play it out.”

He circled the table to her seat. Space was tight, so Fia, Lucy, and Bennie scrambled to slide their chairs back and give him more room. At the same time, Therese, with help from someone unseen, pulled Carly’s chair back from the table so he could face her. He stood there in front of her, gazing down at her, his dark eyes nervous and comfortable and calm. A serious calm that she’d never seen on him.

Everything on the patio had gone dead-silent. Even the strangers at the bar had stopped talking to watch.

His voice was husky but steady, low but strong. “You said you needed time, and I waited more than forty-eight hours. But if there’s one thing you and I both know, it’s that time is precious. I don’t want to wait any longer, Carly. I
can’t
wait.”

“Oh, Dane—”

A round of shushes went up from the table, and the anticipation level tripled. Carly felt everyone’s attention riveted on them even though she didn’t once let her gaze shift from him.

Resting one hand on the arm of her chair, he started to move, then stopped for a wry grin. “You realize I may need a little help here in a minute?”

All she could do was bob her head. Her heart was pounding about a hundred times a second, and if she didn’t get a breath in her soon, she was going to slide down into an unconscious heap at his feet.

Awkwardly, carefully, he lowered himself to one knee, the prosthetic resting on the tiled floor. “You were right that I should have told you about my leg. I wasn’t in a place where I could do that. I was too angry and bitter and…afraid. I’d lost so much, and I didn’t want to lose you, too. In the beginning, I didn’t know if it would make a difference, and later…You had a right to think it was because I didn’t trust you. I should have. I knew the first time I talked to you that you were special. I just didn’t know how special.”

A tear rolled down her cheek, and he raised his hand to wipe it away. “I don’t like gestures, Carly. That’s not why I’m doing this here, now. But I want you to understand that I’m not going to hide anymore. So I lost a leg. For a long time that was the worst thing I could imagine. But I’ve got these great fake ones. I can walk. I can do anything, with a little help and imagination. But losing you…” His voice quavered, then steadied. “There aren’t enough adaptive skills in the world to get me through that. I love you, Carly. I want to marry you. I want to have little Jeff Juniors and Dane Juniors and Carly Juniors to chase after with you.”

He stopped, swallowed hard, glanced around, then locked gazes with her again. “I don’t need a leg to make me whole, Carly. I just need you.”

Soft sighs swelled around them, and she swore she heard a sniffle or two before she realized it came from her. Tears filled her eyes, her heart actually hurt with joy, and wonder made her hand tremble when she laid it on his cheek. “Dane, I love you,” she whispered.

“Speak up, Carly, we’re having trouble hearing at this end,” Leah said.

She laughed, and the tears began seeping away. Her voice as strong and certain as she could make it, she said, “I love you, Dane, and I would dearly love to marry you.”

There were voices then, cheers, applause, but she was only dimly aware of it all because he was kissing her with every bit of the need and hunger and love that welled inside
her
. For one instant, she thought of Jeff, smiling with approval, before his image faded. He was happy for her. She had no doubt.

When Dane ended the kiss, he gave her a look so perfect that she knew she would remember it always. “Can you miss dinner just this one night? I’d really like to be alone with you.”

Thinking of his words just a moment before—
I can do anything, with a little help and imagination
—she smiled and whispered in his ear, “I’d really like to be alone with you, too. I’ve got
tons
of imagination.”

“I figured you did.” He released her and steeled himself for the process of standing.

“Tell me what you need,” she said, unsure what kind of help to offer.

He grinned, pushed to his feet with grace and strength, then offered his hand to her. “Only you, Carly. Only you.”

T
he first thing Therese Matheson did when she arrived at Tulsa International Airport was head to the bathroom and blot her face with a damp paper towel. She should have taken an extra antianxiety pill this morning or skipped the pancakes and blueberries for breakfast. Maybe she should have stopped off somewhere for a fortifying drink, even though it wasn’t yet noon, or guilted one of her friends into coming along.

“It’s not that scary,” she whispered to the pale reflection staring wide-eyed at her. “You’re just picking up the kids after their spring break trip. Paul’s kids.”

Usually, reminding herself that Abby and Jacob were Paul’s kids helped calm her. Paul had been the love of her life, and when his ex-wife had sent the kids to live with them nearly four years ago, Therese had embraced the opportunity for a ready-made family. When he’d deployed to Afghanistan not long after, she’d promised to keep them safe for his return. When he didn’t return, well, she’d been shocked that their mother didn’t want them back, but she’d done her best. They were his kids, after all.

Now, she’d used the time they were gone to seek advice about giving up custody of them.

Shame crept into the reflection’s eyes. She’d promised Paul. She’d wanted to love them. She’d tried, God help her, but in the end, it had come down to two choices: keep them or find some much-needed peace. Break her promise to their father or break her own spirit.

She was surviving Paul’s death, but she wasn’t surviving life with his angry, hostile, bitter children.

Child, she corrected. Before they’d left for the visit with their mother, Jacob had shown her some sympathy, even some respect.

It was Abby who was breaking her.

With a deep breath, she forced the shame from her gaze, then left the bathroom and took the escalator to the baggage area above. There weren’t many people waiting for the incoming flights. She missed the happy reunions that once were common in airports. Getting off the plane and finding someone waiting for you had been part of the fun.

Someone who was happy to see you, she amended when passengers started appearing in the skywalk from the main terminal. She wasn’t happy to see Abby, already texting on her cell, strolling lazily, mindless of the people who dodged her snail’s pace, and the swell of pleasure brought by the sight of Jacob wasn’t really happiness. It was a start, though.

Tall and broad-shouldered, Jacob had a pack slung over one shoulder—his only luggage for the six-day trip—and buds in his ears. A person could be forgiven for thinking him six or eight years older than his eleven, not only because of his size, but also the look in his eyes, the air of having lived about him. He looked so much like his father that most days seeing him made Therese’s heart hurt.

Next to him Abby looked even more petite than ever—and less angelic. For once the bright streaks that sliced through her blond hair were gone, and the blond was platinum instead. It had been cut, too, in a sleek but edgy style, sharp angles, short in back, longer in front, no bangs but a tendency for the entire left side to fall over her face—her
made-up
face.

Her clothes were different, too. Therese had seen swimsuit bottoms that covered more than Abby’s shorts, and the top looked more like a beach cover-up than a blouse except that it was too short to cover anything adequately. The bright print was semitransparent and kept sliding off one shoulder or the other, revealing the straps of her new black bra.

Therese’s efforts to breathe resulted in a strangled gasp. Another pill, two more pills, and definitely a drink, or maybe she could borrow a sedative. Surely someone in the Tuesday Night Margarita Club still had a stash of sedatives somewhere.

She couldn’t pull her gaze from her stepdaughter even when she had to move left or right to maintain line of sight. Abby’s skin was darkly tanned, a startling contrast to her white shorts and platinum hair and her shoes—

Another strangled sound escaped. White leather, heels adding at least four inches to her height, skinny straps crisscrossing her feet and wrapping around her ankles to end in bows in back.

Oh, my God.

Beside Therese, the conveyor belt rumbled to life and people began nudging her aside to get prime spaces for reclaiming their bags. She took a step toward the kids as they neared, digging deep to find a neutral expression and to stifle the shriek inside her.
What was your mother thinking?

Abby barely slowed when she reached Therese. Recently manicured nails didn’t pause in typing as she said, “My bags are pink. I’ll be waiting at the door.”

Therese turned to watch her go, then whispered, “Oh, my God.”

Jacob stopped beside her and pulled the buds from his ears. “Scary, isn’t it?”

Forgetting Abby for the moment, she studied her stepson. He looked exactly the way he had the day he’d left. He might even be wearing the same clothes. Whatever effects the visit with Catherine had had on him, they weren’t as painfully obvious as with Abby.

She wished she could hug him or even just lay her hand on his arm to welcome him back home, but he kept enough distance between them to make it difficult. “Did you have a good time?”

He shrugged. “It was okay. We didn’t do much.”

Of course not. By the time Catherine had bought new clothes and shoes for Abby, taken her to a tanning salon and gotten her hair cut and colored, there probably hadn’t been much time left over for Jacob.

“If you want to go on and get the car, I’ll get her bags.”

“Okay.” Therese took a few steps, then turned back. “Why are her bags pink? She left with black luggage.”

He grimaced. “Mom bought her new ones. She said only—”

After a moment, Therese said, “It’s okay.”

“Only boring people use black luggage.”

She forced a smile. “Well, I never aspired to be exciting. She did bring them back, didn’t she?” Black though they were, the suitcases were sturdy and still had a lot of miles left on them.

At the hopefulness in her voice, he grinned. “I did.”

“Thanks.” This time she did touch his arm, just for an instant. “I’ll meet you guys out front. Make her carry her own, will you?”

He grunted as he stuck the earbuds back in.

A warm breeze hit Therese as she walked out of the terminal, then crossed the broad street to the short-term parking lot. Her flip-flops keeping familiar tempo, she pulled out her cell and dialed her best friend back in Tallgrass.

The call went straight to voice mail. No surprise since Carly had gotten engaged just a few days ago and was still celebrating. After the beep, Therese said in a rush, “I know you’re probably busy with Dane, so don’t call me back. I won’t be able to talk for a while anyway. I’m at the airport, and oh, Carly, I sent a wholesome sweet-looking thirteen-year-old to visit her mother and got back a tarted-up twenty-three-year-old streetwalker-wannabe! Makeup, high heels, platinum hair! I’d be afraid she’s got tattoos or piercings or something even more inappropriate except that there’s not enough of her clothing to
cover
anything like that!”

She drew a deep breath. “Okay. I’m breathing. I’m in control. I’m not going to explode. Yet. I’ll call you later.”

Once she reached the mom van, she buckled herself in and practiced a few more breaths. As she flipped down the visor to get the parking ticket stub, her gaze landed on the photograph of Paul she always kept there. He’d been in Afghanistan, smiling, full of life, in a khaki T-shirt and camo pants, with dark glasses pushed up on top of his head. He’d emailed the photo to her, then followed it up with a print copy, where he’d scrawled on the back,
Major Paul Matheson, Helmand Province, counting the days till he sees his beautiful wife Therese again.

“Oh, Paul,” she sighed. “I wish you were here. You were the only person in the world who loved both Abby and me. Maybe you could negotiate a truce, because, sweetheart, we are facing a major battle. Send me some strength, will you?”

She sat there a moment, wishing she would actually feel
something
. Just some small sign—a bit of warmth, encouragement, hope.

The only thing she felt was sorrow.

It took a few minutes to exit the lot and circle back around to the loading lane in front of the terminal. She was breathing normally, and a glance in the rearview mirror showed her shock was under control. It also showed the grimness in her eyes, dread for the upcoming skirmish.

The kids were waiting, Jacob with the suitcases, Abby still texting. She did pause long enough to open the rear passenger door, slide inside and fasten her seatbelt, then she ducked her head and went right back to it.

Therese got out and helped Jacob load the luggage. The black one was easy to lift, since it contained nothing but the other empty black one. His muscles bulged as he hefted the matching pink ones inside. “Thank you, Jacob.”

He started to go around to the other passenger side, then stopped. “Can I ride in front?”

Her first response was a blink. For years, she’d chauffeured the kids nearly everywhere, with emphasis on the hired-driver concept. On the rare occasions it was just her and Jacob, he sat in the front seat, never talking to her but listening to music and playing video games, but if she had both kids, they always sat in back and pretty much pretended she wasn’t there.

“Sure. That’s fine.” It wasn’t much, but as she’d thought earlier, it was a start.

Jessy Lawrence rolled onto her side with a groan and opened one eye. All she saw was pale aqua with a strip of brown on one edge. Closing her eye again, she digested that bit of information. She was lying on the couch, and it was daytime. Late morning, judging by the light coming through the south-facing windows of her apartment. It was Saturday, so there was nowhere she needed to go, nothing she needed to do.

She did a little shimmy, just enough to realize she was wearing clothes and not the tank top and boxers she normally slept in, and a flex of her feet revealed she still wore the heels she favored to disguise the fact that she was vertically challenged.

That little movement was enough to make her aware of the queasiness in her gut and the throb in her head. She hadn’t felt so bad since she’d gotten the flu last winter. She’d stunk of sweat then, too, and had been certain that the slightest movement would make her puke.

Slowly she nudged the pumps off, and they fell to the floor with a thud muffled by the rug. Her arches almost spasmed in relief. Next she rolled onto her back and opened her eyes, then oh, so slowly she sat up. Her stomach heaved, the sour taste of its contents making its way into her throat, making her clamp her hand over her mouth, and
that
movement sent daggers through her head. She could only hope the brain tissue they destroyed was nonessential, but she wouldn’t count on it. After all, this wasn’t the first time she’d done this to herself.

The absence of sound in the apartment both soothed and pricked at her. It was always so empty, and it made her feel even emptier. She lived there alone. Slept there alone. Got sick there alone. Grieved there alone.

Home was the second floor of an office building in downtown Tallgrass. Originally, an abstract company and a dentist had shared the space, then a dance school, but after it had stood empty for twenty years, the owners had converted it into residential space. It was the first place she and Aaron had looked at when the Army had transferred him to Fort Murphy, and the last. She’d loved it on sight, with its high ceilings, tall windows and ancient wood floors. She’d loved the old architectural details of the moldings and the couldn’t-be-more-modern kitchen and bathroom and the convenience of being within walking distance of restaurants, shopping and clubs.

Aaron hadn’t loved it so much. He had wanted an extra bedroom or two for kids and a yard to mow and play in, but he’d loved her so he had agreed to the apartment. It wasn’t like it was permanent, he’d said. They could always move as soon as she got pregnant.

She hadn’t gotten pregnant.

He had died eleven and a half months into a twelve-month tour in Afghanistan.

And she was so sorry that she was drowning in it.

It was too early to start feeling bad—worse—so she carefully pushed to her feet, swayed a moment, then headed toward the bedroom. She was halfway there when the doorbell rang, the peal slicing through her. Cursing the day she’d given her friends keys to the downstairs entry, she reversed direction and went to the door, opening it without looking through the peephole.

Ilena Gomez stood there, blond hair loosely pulled back, face pink from the exertion of climbing the stairs. Her hands were in the small of her back, and she was stretching, making her pregnant belly look huge compared to normal. She greeted Jessy with a smile, all white teeth and pleasure, and said, “Hector and I are starving. Are you ready?”

Jessy tried to erase the dull look she was certain glazed her eyes while searching her mind for a clue.
Starving
meant food; obviously she had agreed to go to lunch with Ilena today. She must have been insane at the time—or as fuzzy as she was right now—because Saturdays were never her best days.

But she couldn’t renege. Sure, Ilena would understand, but that was rule number one in Jessy’s life these days: never fail to be there for any member of the Tuesday Night Margarita Club, also known around town as the Fort Murphy Widows’ Club. Without them, she wouldn’t have survived the past year, and by God, she would return the favor.

“Give me ten minutes. Come on in and sit down.” As quickly as her stomach and head would bear, Jessy went into the bedroom, then the bathroom with an agenda. First: Take aspirin. Second: Brush horrible taste out of mouth. Third: Shuck clothes and give sigh of relief that everything was fastened properly and she still wore her underwear. Fourth: Shower, dress, and apply makeup. Fifth: Avoid looking in mirror until absolutely necessary.

Missing her target by only four minutes, she returned to the living room. She wore one of her girl-next-door outfits: cargo shorts, T-shirt, sandals with a thin sole. Her red hair was short enough that all it needed was a finger fluff, and her makeup was minimal to go along with the nice and innocent look.