Homefront Holiday (14 page)

His nightlight made a soft glow in the corner, casting just enough light for her to see through the cracked door and into the room where Ali, in silhouette, knelt in prayer.

“God, can I please have a daddy? I got one all picked out. Mike’s real nice. He plays ball real good.”

Sarah stepped away, leaving Ali to his praying. So, she wasn’t the only one who had felt it tonight. They had become a family, not officially, but one of the heart. It had happened quietly without any of them noticing, and now it was too late to deny it. She couldn’t have a better Christmas gift.

And Mike? She hoped, how she prayed, that she and Ali were Mike’s holiday wish.

The phone remained silent as she passed by it, and she thought about calling him. Just leaving him an encouraging voice mail. She knew how hard he worked. Maybe a text message. She would think on it some more.

“Clarence!” She stepped into the dining room and shook her head at the cat. He was on the table looking at her with a serene expression. He rolled onto his side and tossed a catnip mouse into the air. Christmas for him had come early, too.

The young soldier’s wife was crying when he left her. The muffled sound of relief and fear followed him down the long shadowed corridor, echoing against the barren walls and in the lost places within him. The tiny place left of his soul hurt like it had been hit with artillery fire. He’d been able to give the young woman little hope and no comfort. The most that he could say was that her husband of thirteen months was still fighting.

It wasn’t enough. He had fought with everything he had for the young man’s life. For Zack, who was only nineteen. He had his whole life ahead of him, a nice wife and a kid on the way.

Weary, Mike rubbed his face. He was walking, his feet taking him down another long corridor. He felt restless, as if he could never be at peace again. He had blamed it on his deployment, on the stress and trauma and endless casualties, between the military and the civilians, and the inevitable death. The loss of life he couldn’t hold back weighed on him until he couldn’t breathe.

He ducked into the first doorway and stumbled to one of the back benches. Soft light from lit candles flickered like hope against the encroaching darkness. He buried his face in his hands and sat there, at rest but more tired than ever, paring down his feelings until he felt nothing, nothing at all. One day he was going to forget how. He was going to close down his heart late at night and come morning, it would be closed for good. It was coming sooner rather than later.

Maybe even now.

His phone buzzed. He’d turned it to vibrate after he’d seen Zack through recovery. He checked the screen before answering it. A text message from Sarah. It was 2:00 a.m. What was she still doing up?

He hit the Read button and her note popped up.
Just wanted to say hi. Know that I’m praying for you and your soldier. Hang in there.

He closed his eyes and snapped his phone shut. He sat in silence for a long time, struggling to feel something. Fighting to feel anything. He thought of her tonight, with her delicate wholesomeness and beauty. He thought of how her laughter could warm him when nothing else could, like hot cocoa on a cold winter’s morning. She was handing him what he needed most, her comfort, her encouragement, a soft place to land when he was falling hard and fast.

And it was too late. He’d already hit ground. He shoved the phone into his pocket. She was a dream he could not have. He had nothing left. Not for Sarah. Not for Ali. Not even for himself.

W
hile her dear little students were making all kinds of noise squirming and fidgeting in their seats instead of coloring, Sarah hefted the box of gift bags from beneath her desk, where she had put them this morning for safekeeping.

It hadn’t been the best morning. He had promised to call today. She had slept fitfully, wondering about Mike. She hadn’t heard from him. How was his wounded soldier doing? She feared no news was bad news. It wasn’t easy pasting a smile on her face, but she did so for her kids.

“Are y’all ready to get this party started?” she called out above their noise.

A chorus of affirmations rang out loud enough to hurt her eardrums. There was nothing like a holiday party on the last day before Christmas break to put kids in the best mood. Definitely something to celebrate. As long as she didn’t think about Mike’s silence, she didn’t have to start worrying and doubting, and she could concentrate on celebrating, too.

“Merry Christmas, Ellie.” Sarah put the first bag on Ellie Saunders’s desk and the next one on Paige Paterson’s desk. “Merry Christmas, Paige.”

Ali was next. He was hard at work coloring away at what looked like a green triangle. “A Christmas tree.”

“So I see.” She set his gift bag on the edge of his desk and moved on. She could hear the students who had opened their bags exclaiming, and more expectant faces had turned toward her, their coloring forgotten.

Time to speed up the process. She heard a knock at her door. Could it be the surprise she had planned? She gave Josie Mayhew her bag and glanced over her shoulder. She could see them through the little window. There was a man and woman standing together hand in hand.

“Ellie, would you please go see who is at the door?” Sarah continued passing out gift bags, moving faster now that their guests of honor had arrived. “Y’all remember our adopted soldiers, right?”

Paige’s hand shot in the air. “Miss Alpert? It’s them. They’re at the door.”

“That’s right. Whitney is well, and she and John are here, just as they promised they would be.” That had been so long ago, it seemed. Before Mike’s return and Ali came into her life.

Ellie held open the door and the guests of honor, whole and healed and joyful, walked into the room, their hands linked. Despite their hardships at war so far away from home, they looked calm and centered. Maybe because they had their faith and one another to lean on, to share with and to love.

Sarah thought of Mike. He had been alone during his deployment. It hadn’t been good for him. It wasn’t the way God intended things to be. If only he would reach out to her.

She set a bag on the last child’s desk. “John and Whitney, welcome. We’re so happy to have you. You both look wonderful.”

“We’re glad to be here, Sarah.” Whitney’s smile beamed as she looked to her husband, the man who had remained unfailingly at her side. “Merry Christmas. Thank you everyone for your cards and letters. Your happy voices in those letters stayed with me even when I was sick and helped me to get better. I just want to give you all a great, big hug.”

Chaos erupted. Little chairs squeaked against the floor and the thumping of a dozen pairs of feet herded Whitney’s way. Sarah let the kids go, blinking at the tears in her eyes. It was a miracle to see the young soldier alive and well. It was proof positive of what prayer and love and God could do.

“Come color with me, Whitney!” “Come sit with me, Whitney.” “John, look at this.” “We’re havin’ cupcakes.” The children’s voices rang out with happiness, the most miraculous sound of all.

She took a moment to slip her cell out of her pocket and check the screen. Her ringer was silenced, but there had been no new calls or messages. Nothing from Mike. He could have worked all night and be sleeping today, or back at work. She shouldn’t take it personally.

The thing was, she knew Mike. Was he regretting their kiss? Was he coming to the conclusion that they may have had a great time together last night, but that he still couldn’t open his heart to her?

Worry about it later, Sarah.
She tapped out a quick message.
I hope you are ok,
and hit Send. The kids were tugging Whitney and John over to the desks. It was time to bring out the cupcakes.

It had been another tough day and coming home just made things tougher. He closed the refrigerator door and there was the kid’s picture. Maybe it was his sleep deprivation, but those memories had faded as if years instead of months had passed.

That didn’t mean he didn’t love the little fella. Mike popped the top of the can and took a long swig of iced tea. He let the cool tartness sweep down his throat, cooling him from the inside out. He turned his back on the picture, wishing he could find himself, wishing he knew what to do.

You’re tired is all, he told himself. His defenses weren’t as strong.

So why did he keep remembering kissing Sarah? He could try to convince himself it didn’t mean anything, that it was only because of the mistletoe and the café owner’s urging. But it was more than that. He had wanted to kiss her. He wanted to remember loving her.

Nothing. He felt nothing at all. He wasn’t himself. He didn’t know who that was anymore. All he knew was that there was nothing left. Of him. Of his memories of her. Of their love. He felt like a man drowning, going down for the third time, praying to God he could miraculously swim.

He took another pull of tea and reached for his phone. Her message was there, caring as always. That was Sarah. He didn’t deserve her. Not by a long shot.

I’m coming over after Ali is in bed. Meet me outside.
He hit the Send button. He tried to picture Sarah in her cozy kitchen, probably doing dishes this time of night, with Ali chatting away and that cat of hers snoozing on the couch. Then would come TV time and story time. The Christmas lights would be flashing and there would be a mound of presents under the tree.

He had already done his Christmas shopping. It hadn’t been hard. He had no family, not anymore. Ali’s gifts were in a sack in the bedroom closet, along with a little something for Sarah. He knew she would love it. And there was one more thing he couldn’t forget to give her. The photo album he had made for Ali.

It had taken all his spare time when he had been overseas to track down the photographs of Ali’s family members who had died. Mike felt nothing remembering the often dangerous trips with a few of his special forces buddies along for protection from insurgents to visit friends of Ali’s mother. He felt nothing now at how kind the villagers had been, offering up sometimes their few remembrances for the little boy.

Mike’s hand shook as he stared at the Message Sent screen. He was doing the right thing in making a clean break. He would apologize to her, give her the gifts and the album and stand strong on his own two feet. That’s what he had to do. He didn’t feel anything.

He wished that he could.

The anxiety gripping her stomach worsened when she saw Mike’s shadow cross her lawn. She had been waiting for his truck to turn into her driveway. All evening long she had been unsettled not knowing. Was he regretting getting closer to her? Or did it have something to do with his own post-traumatic stress?

She clutched her coat around her and closed the door behind her. As Mike came closer, the glow of the Christmas twinklers flashed over him as if drawing him into the light, but he stood shadowed, as if in darkness. He looked grim.

Her knees went weak. She sank heavily to the top step. Had she let her hopes get too high? Had her only chance for happiness with him passed her by?

Bags rustled as he came closer. Shopping bags full of wrapped gifts. He towered over her, a stone pillar of darkness.

She longed for the buttery rich sound of his voice. She ached for the gentle lilt of his laughter.

He set the bags on the step in front of her. He seemed as if he were standing a thousand miles away from her. When he spoke, his voice sounded hollow. “Thought I would bring these over while I could. They have me working tomorrow and the next day. since I don’t have any family.”

He was working both holiday days? That didn’t sound right. He had volunteered to work those days, that was her guess. Which meant he didn’t want to be available to her and Ali. He didn’t want to be with them. No—correct that—he didn’t want to be with her.

He didn’t love her.

Don’t let him know how much that hurts, Sarah.
She straightened her shoulders, struggling to sound as if she wasn’t devastated. “I guess this means you won’t be spending any part of Christmas with us.”

“No, Sarah.” Gentle those words.

It didn’t lessen the pain. The first crack to her heart was like a hammer strike, and the second like a mallet. How could she let him go? Everything had been going so well. It was the kiss. It was too soon. She should have known Mike would pull away in response, but this? This wasn’t withdrawing a step, it was retreating from the field.

“I was kind of hoping that we could—” She couldn’t finish. Her eyes burned. Her throat ached.

“Me, too.” He clenched his fists. It was his only movement. He stood straight and strong, unmovable. “I had hoped, but I was wrong.”

The third crack to her heart was like a jackhammer. She loved this man, truly loved him, even when he was tearing her heart out. “I thought we were getting along really well.”

“We were. I just can’t do this. Not when we know how it will end.”

Agony rolled over her like a riptide. “I wouldn’t have made you choose this time.”

“Sarah, that’s not it. Please, I don’t want you to cry.”

“I’m not.” She lifted her chin, blinking fast. Really, she wasn’t crying. Her world was coming apart, but she wasn’t going to break down. “How am I going to say goodbye to you? All the time that you were away, I kept hoping that we could try again. I wanted a second chance with you.”

He hung his head, as if he didn’t know how to answer. He didn’t move, stoic and distant and in perfect self-control. “I’ll always want the best for you, Sarah.”

Goodbye. He was about to say it when she wanted to hold him close. When she needed his comfort and the shelter of his arms. Only his love could make this pain stop. “I’ll always keep you in my prayers, Mike. Always.”

As if she could ever stop hoping, ever stop loving this man who was her very own knight in shining armor. A heroic man who spent his life trying to save others. Who went beyond the call of duty. To whom courage and sacrifice was a daily act. She would always love him with a devotion that grew deeper by the hour, whether they were together or apart.

“Sarah, you’re crying.” He came to her side. Tenderly he cradled her face in his hands and brushed away her tears with the pads of his thumbs.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, unwanted and un-stoppable. She would give anything to have the privilege of being with him. She thought of the future she’d began to dream of again gone—a small, storybook wedding, making supper with Mike when he was able to be home and instant messaging him when he wasn’t. More children one day, both adopted and their own. They would build a life together, a family and a love so strong that it would make the world a better place.

Those dreams were gone now, vanished in the chilly air.

“It’s not your fault, Sarah. It’s mine.” He looked lost in the shadows, a part of the darkness. His voice was layered with pain and defeat and self-anger.

She could feel his despair, worse than her own. “What do you mean? You are not completely at fault, Mike.”

“I made the choice to walk away from you.” His throat worked. “I regret how I treated you.”

That made two of them. The final crack to her heart. It was over, and still she was looking for a way to hold on to hope. To hold on to Mike.

“You were right.” He pulled away, leaving her tears to fall. “I
was
wrong. I did keep you at a distance. I blamed you for not loving me enough, when that’s what I was doing. I was never going to let you get close to me. I’m just not made that way, Sarah. I’ll never be what you need.”

“Mike, we’ve both made mistakes.” She sat still, watching him with pleading eyes. “Please, don’t go. I don’t want this to be over.”

“It is.” He had failed her. The one woman he loved more than he thought was possible. He would lay down his life for her in a second. He would move mountains for her. He would leave her now, because he was only going to cause her more pain. That was one thing his heart couldn’t take more of.

His pager vibrated. His soldier in I.C.U. again. He didn’t need to look to know that it was work. It was just the excuse he needed to find the courage to walk away from the best woman he had ever known.

“Goodbye, Sarah.” He pushed to his feet. He had thought he could feel nothing anymore. He had thought there was nothing left within him.

But he’d been wrong. As he walked away from her, grief flattened him.