Absolutely Truly (2 page)

I, on the other hand, have straight brown Lovejoy hair and am not even remotely petite. I've always been the tallest one in my class, but this past year, shortly after I turned twelve, I shot up to just under six feet. I felt like the scene in
Alice in Wonderland
after she eats the cake and grows that weird long neck and says good-bye to her feet, which she can hardly see anymore because she's such a giant.

I wish I could say good-bye to my feet. They grew right along with me, unfortunately. I wear size ten and a half now, and my shoes look like something a clown would wear. Especially next to Mackenzie's.

My cousin is a really good best friend. She knows how much it bothers me to be so tall. My father calls me an Amazon. They were warrior women a zillion years ago, and I guess it makes sense for him to call me that, being a soldier and all, but still, that's a nickname I don't want to get stuck with. Anyway, Mackenzie promised to take me under her wing and introduce me to everyone when school started, so for once I'd be ahead of the curve. I'd be the cousin of cute, perky Mackenzie Gifford, instead of just the freakishly tall new girl.

After our family's move to Texas, Mackenzie and I had the best summer ever. I talked her into trying out with me for the summer swim team, and we rode our bikes to the pool every morning for practice, then hung out for the rest of the day at my house or hers. We had sleepovers and backyard barbecues, and she helped me pick out paint for my new room—a really pretty shade of aqua called “Mermaid.” We went to the movies and shopping and to Amy's for ice cream at least once a week. July and August were heaven.

Then came Black Monday.

That's what Mom called it, afterward.

I was practicing the piano that morning while I waited for Mackenzie to finish breakfast and come over. Hatcher and
Danny had gone fishing, and Mom was paying bills and keeping an eye on my younger sisters, who had made a fort under the dining room table and were playing zoo with Lauren's hamster, Nibbles, and Thumper, her rabbit.

I didn't pay much attention at first when my mother's cell phone rang.

“J. T.!” she cried happily.

I looked up. She was talking to Dad! As I watched, though, her smile faded and the color drained from her face, until she was as white as the sheet music in front of me. My fingers stumbled on the piano keys, leaving a jangle of sour notes hanging in the air. Something was wrong.

My mother listened for a minute, then stood up abruptly, sending her chair toppling backward onto the floor. She pressed her cell phone against her chest and turned to us. “Go upstairs, girls.”

My sisters poked their heads out from underneath the table.

“But, Mom—” Lauren protested.

“Now.”

“Yes, ma'am,” my sisters chorused. Wide-eyed, they scrambled out of hiding.

“Make sure y'all take those animals with you.” My mother turned her back on us and raised the cell phone to her ear again.

Automatic pilot kicked in, the kind that obeyed without
question when given an order. I crossed the room, scooping up an armload of critters and hustling my protesting sisters up to the room they shared.

“What's happening?” Lauren asked me. “Is everything okay?”

I wasn't sure, and I didn't want to scare her. She's only nine. “It's probably nothing,” I said, and steered her and Pippa over to Pippa's Barbie house.

I waited until they were busy building a new zoo, then slipped out of the room. I heard the front door open, and tiptoed over to crouch at the top of the stairs. I didn't care if it was bad news—I needed to know what was going on.

“Dinah, I'm so sorry.” It was Aunt Louise. Uncle Teddy was with her, and he had his arms around Mom. She must have called and asked them to come over.

I squeezed my eyes shut tight.
Please, Dad, still be alive! Please, please, please!

“He only had a few days left!” my mother sobbed. “Just a few days!”

My heart nearly stopped.

“He's just wounded, Dinah,” Uncle Teddy murmured. “He'll be safe at home again soon.”

My heart started again. Wounded was better than dead.

“What happened?” asked Aunt Louise. “Was it a helicopter accident?”

My father was an army pilot.

Mom shook her head. She drew a shaky breath. “IED,” she replied.

My stomach lurched. I knew what that meant. Every military kid with a parent serving in a war zone knew what that meant: “Improvised Explosive Device”—a homemade enemy bomb.

I saw Aunt Louise and Uncle Teddy exchange a glance.

“How did he sound when you talked to him?” Uncle Teddy asked gently, and my mother let out a soft sound, halfway between a sigh and a moan.

“Not like himself!” She started to cry again, and Aunt Louise patted her shoulder. After a few moments, my mother drew another shaky breath, then added, “He's in the hospital in Kabul, but he's being transferred soon to Germany. I want to book a flight just as soon as possible.”

“You leave that to me,” my uncle told her.

Everything was a bit of a blur after that. As the news of my father's injury spread, the rest of Mom's family started to gather. My mother has six brothers scattered all over Texas, so there were a lot of aunts and uncles and cousins underfoot for a couple of days.

In the end, while Mom flew to Germany to be with Dad, Aunt Louise, Uncle Teddy, and Mackenzie came to stay with Danny and Hatcher and my little sisters and me. Over the next few weeks there were lots of phone calls at odd hours, and whispered conversations between the adults, and then, finally, a videoconference with Dad. He didn't say much, but I was
relieved to see that he looked like himself. Well, mostly. If you didn't count the fact that where his right arm should have been there was a whole lot of nothing.

“Upper extremity loss,” the military calls it.

“He's alive,” Mom reminded us every time she called to talk to us, first from Germany and later from the military hospital in Maryland. “We need to be grateful for that. Not every family is as fortunate as we are.”

She meant the Larsons. Dad's best friend, Tom Larson, had been in the same transport hit by the IED, and he wasn't coming home. I couldn't even imagine how his family must be feeling. We'd spent lots of time with them over the years—we'd even gone to Disney World together last spring break.

“Your father's going to get through this, and so will we,” Mom told us.

I didn't see how, though, and I couldn't stop worrying about it.

Not that anyone noticed. You wouldn't think I'd be that hard to overlook, given the fact that I'm now the family Clydesdale. Somehow, though, I still tend to get lost in the shuffle.

My cousin Mackenzie is an only child, and after just a few days of looking after the five of us Lovejoys, I could tell that Uncle Teddy's and Aunt Louise's heads were spinning. I guess they decided that divide and conquer was their only hope of survival, because pretty soon my uncle was busy having lots of man-to-man talks with my brothers, while my aunt turned
her attention to us girls. Which mostly meant Pippa.

My baby sister is a Drama Queen with a capital
DQ
. Pippa may just be a kindergartner, but she knows how to grab the spotlight. She can turn on the waterworks at the drop of a hat. And with her halo of blonde curls, two missing front teeth, and pink sparkly glasses—well, hardly anybody stands a chance. Pippa had Aunt Louise wrapped around her pinkie finger in nothing flat.

Mackenzie and I were assigned to keep an eye on Lauren, meanwhile, which pretty much left me to fend for myself. I didn't say anything, though, because I knew everybody was doing the best they could.

By mid-September, my father was deep into physical therapy, learning how to use his new temporary prosthesis—the fake arm he'll have to wear—and adjusting to life as a lefty. I could only imagine how that was going. My father is not the world's most patient person.

“He's a real trouper” was all my mother ever said, but from the tone of her voice I could tell that wasn't the whole story.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, school started. Before Black Monday, I'd actually been looking forward to it, which is kind of unusual for me. Since military families move every couple of years, you'd think I'd be used to changing schools. This is our normal. For me, though, I'd always dreaded that
first day, especially since I turned into Truly the Amazon. Austin had felt different, thanks to Mackenzie, and for once I didn't have butterflies stomping around in my stomach during the weeks leading up to it.

After Dad was injured, though, I didn't think about school at all one way or the other. It just kind of snuck up on me. I was pretty dazed that first week, even though Mackenzie took me under her wing just like she said she would. Her friends were all really nice to me and everything, but somehow it all felt wrong, like I was sleepwalking or something.

I tried to act normal, and I tried to focus on my classes, and I made an effort to get involved, the way my mother's always urging me to do whenever she catches me moping after one of our moves. I continued swimming, and I even joined a bird-watching club, ignoring Mackenzie's snarky little comments about my bird obsession.

Which isn't an obsession. Not really. Well, okay, maybe a little bit.

It didn't help that Mackenzie had suddenly become interested in boys. And not just boys in general, but one boy in particular: Cameron McAllister, seventh-grade star of Austin's Nitro Swim Club. All my cousin wanted to talk about was how cute he was, how funny he was, and how she was pretty sure that he liked her back.

Crushes were the furthest thing from my mind. It was all I could do just to get through each day. In spite of my efforts
to blend in and be normal, underneath I was anything but. Underneath, I was “Hi-my-name-is-Truly-and-my-father-just-lost-his-arm-in-the-war.” I thought about Dad all the time. I couldn't help it. I wondered if he was scared when the bomb exploded. I wondered how he felt about losing his best friend. And I wondered if he'd ever be able to fly again.

The one thing my father loves more than anything else in the world, except maybe us, is flying. Being a pilot was his life. Would he still be able to fly, with just one arm? I had so many questions.

And then he finally came home, and my life turned upside down again.

“J. T., what are you thinking?”
I overheard Mom ask as my father hung up the phone in the kitchen. He'd been back in Texas less than a week. “They made it very clear they want you, despite—you know, everything.”

“A one-armed wrestling coach?” Dad scoffed. “That's about as useful as a one-armed pilot. It wouldn't be fair to the team in the long run, and I don't need their pity.”

“That's just pride talking and you know it. You have plenty to offer.”

My brother and I, who were doing our homework at the dining room table, looked at each other wide-eyed. We probably weren't supposed to be hearing this conversation.

“Did Dad just turn down UT?” Hatcher whispered.

“Um, I think so,” I whispered back.

“That can't be good.”

The whole reason my parents had decided to settle in
Texas—besides the fact that my mom's family was there—was because my father had two job offers lined up. The airline he was going to fly for was based out of Austin, and on top of that, the University of Texas had offered him a part-time job as an assistant wrestling coach. Dad had been an all-star wrestler for the Longhorns, recruited out of high school on a scholarship, and UT was where he'd met Mom. After college, he'd joined the army, but he and his former coach had stayed in touch, and when UT heard he was retiring, they'd jumped at the chance to add him to their coaching staff.

All of this was before Black Monday, of course. Since the injury, my father's plans for flying had been dashed. Apparently commercial airlines aren't exactly lining up to hire one-armed pilots.

And now it looked like his wrestling days were over too.

Dad wouldn't reconsider, despite Mom's pleas. Lieutenant Colonel Jericho T. Lovejoy has a stubborn streak.

After that, he turned into Silent Man. He barely went out, and none of us kids quite knew how to act around him. We're used to Dad either barking orders or joking around, but while the barking continued, the joking did not. Our fun-loving father seemed to have vanished into thin air. He still got up every morning, still shaved, still got dressed in khaki pants and a white shirt, his usual off-duty uniform. But he rarely wore his prosthesis—the hook at the end of it scared Pippa—so one shirtsleeve was usually empty, and there was an emptiness to
the rest of him too. Mom tried to make up for it by being extra cheerful, but by Halloween, her upbeat attitude had wilted, and she was looking strained and pale.

And then Gramps and Lola showed up.

The two of them arrived unannounced in early November, a taxi having deposited them on our doorstep one evening just as we were finishing dinner.