Sweet Tomorrows (17 page)

Friday afternoon I was busy getting the inn ready for a full house with guests booked throughout the weekend. I was in the kitchen when my cell chirped on the counter. Little did I realize what an impact that single phone call would have on me and my life.

With barely a thought, I automatically reached for the phone and pressed it to my ear while I took out a container of milk from the refrigerator. I didn't bother to check caller ID. Only close friends and family had my personal phone number.

Big mistake.

Perhaps if I'd looked I might have been able to prepare myself for that call.

“Hello.” I half expected it to be Greg. We talked every day, often multiple times, and had gotten closer than ever.

“It's Dennis.”

Lieutenant Colonel Milford. I froze, my hand still clenching the milk carton. This could only involve news about Mark. I'd been waiting for this call, hoping, praying, for a definitive answer, no matter what it was. Instantly my heart shifted into overdrive and my stomach clenched, not nearly ready to hear the news and yet I had to know.

“Yes?” I didn't wait for a response before I asked another question. “You heard something; you have word?”

The quiver in my voice got Emily's attention because she froze, too, glancing anxiously at me.

“Mark is alive.”

I gasped, and forgetting I held a half-gallon of milk, I dropped the plastic container onto the floor. It landed with a loud clunking sound and the top burst open, the contents flooding the tile.

“Mark's alive?” My hand flew to my mouth as I gasped in relief and shock. It felt as if my legs were about to go out from under me and I grabbed hold of the kitchen counter in order to remain upright.

“Jo Marie? Are you okay?”

“Tell me…tell me everything,” I blurted out, my voice shaking uncontrollably.

“Listen, I don't want to mislead you. Mark was located and he's in bad shape.”

“But alive.” That was all that mattered; all I needed to know.

“He's been transported to JBLM.”

Joint Base Lewis-McChord, the same base where Paul had once been stationed.

“He was shot, Jo Marie, weeks ago. The wound wasn't tended to properly and became badly infected. Ibrahim's wife did what she could to nurse him, but the only means available were primitive at best. I don't want you to get your hopes up. What information I have is sketchy.”

“He's alive.” I couldn't think beyond that. As long as Mark had breath, hope remained.

“Let me put it like this: Mark's alive for now.”

Reality struck a hard blow. “For now?” I repeated.

“He was half dead by the time he made it into Saudi Arabia. He's been transported, everything that can be done to save him is being done, but from what I understand it doesn't look good.”

I refused to accept that he would make it back to the States only to die. “What about Ibrahim and his family?”

“They're fine, doing well, and are settling in.”

“Where are they?” My concern for Mark turned to immediate anger. “How long have you known?” I demanded.

If Ibrahim and Shatha were already in the States, then where was Mark all this time?

“Jo Marie, listen, I went out on a limb as it was, getting involved in this. I found out this information only minutes ago myself. Mark's been stateside a week or so now.”

A week? I didn't dare let myself think about that. The one thing Mark had asked of me was to look after his friends.

“Ibrahim and Shatha and the two children are in Detroit. They have family connections there.”

“Ibrahim left Mark behind?” From everything I'd learned about the other man, which I had to admit wasn't much, it didn't seem like something he would do. Especially after Mark had risked his life in order to rescue him and his family.

“Ibrahim had no choice but to leave Mark once he was stateside. If Mark survives, I'm sure they'll reconnect.”

If Mark survives.

If Mark survives.

If Mark survives.

The words reverberated in my head like an echo against a canyon wall.

“When can I see him?” My head had started to clear and a plan of action formed. All that was important was to reach Mark as quickly as possible.

“He's at Madigan Army Medical Center…”

“When can I see him?” I demanded a second time, cutting him off.

“Jo Marie.”

“Tell me,” I shouted, losing all patience. I had to get to Mark, had to look at him for myself, had to let him know I was at his side and that I loved him.

“There's no guarantee. I believe the only reason I was informed was because they don't expect him to live much longer.”

“He will survive.”

“You don't know that,” Milford argued. “No one does.”

“I do. He's home where he belongs.” It was useless to debate the point. “Just tell me what I need to know to get to him.”

“He isn't conscious, Jo Marie. He's in a coma and has been for some time now.”

“Tell me,” I cried, unwilling to listen to anything but my own heart, which told me I needed to get to Mark as quickly as possible.

Milford relayed the information, which I immediately wrote down.

The lieutenant colonel continued to warn me, continued to speak, but by this point I'd stopped listening. All that was important, all that mattered, was getting to Mark. I'd waited nearly a year for this and nothing, absolutely nothing, was going to stand in my way.

Not the military.

Not the United States government.

And, certainly, no doctor, nurse, or hospital.

I cut the connection and doubted anyone had dared hang up on the mighty Lieutenant Colonel Milford in his entire army career. I dared.

“Jo Marie.”

I heard my name through the haze of turbulence and realized it came from Emily.

“Mark's alive,” I told her, stretching out my arm to her.

“So I heard.” She grabbed hold of my hand, squeezing it hard and tight. “What do you need me to do?”

My mind went blank before shifting through my responsibilities, my schedule for that day and the weekend. Immediately, I felt overwhelmed; I couldn't be in two places at the same time.

“I'll take care of everything here, don't worry,” Emily assured me as if she'd read my mind. “You do what you have to do. I'll handle everything else.”

“Thank you.”

“I'll get everyone registered this afternoon and tomorrow and see to the breakfasts.”

“Right.” My thoughts were scattered like broken glass across the kitchen floor. I pressed my hand to my forehead. “I need to call Bob and Peggy…let them know.”

“Do you want me to do that?”

I nodded and checked my watch, calculating how long it would take me to drive into Tacoma. Urgency filled me.

Emily had the mop out before I realized I stood in a puddle of spilled milk. “I'll take care of this, don't worry. Just do what you need to do.”

I wasn't sure where to turn first and then realized my entire body was shaking. It felt like an earthquake, but it wasn't the earth that shook. This seismic tremor was a personal one that had uprooted my life.

I'd given up hope, given up believing, given up entirely. This news was more than my heart and my head could absorb.

Emily set the mop aside and reached out to hug me. I needed that hug, that human touch. I exhaled and relaxed against her, the relief overwhelming. I hadn't realized how tense I'd been not knowing, wondering, suffering with doubts and suffocating fear that I'd lost another man I'd loved.

“Everything is going to be fine,” Emily assured me, as if she had an insider's view to the future. “Mark is alive and is coming home.”

The trembling didn't stop.

“Do you need me to drive you somewhere?”

“Give me a few minutes.” Once I'd had time to assimilate the realization Mark was alive, I would be able to control my emotions, control my response, and control my shaking.

“Of course.” Emily was my rock. I don't know what I would have done without her in those first few minutes after the call from Milford. While I went to my room to change clothes, she made me a cup of strong coffee, heavy on the sugar, and insisted I drink it.

“Take a minute, sit down and drink the coffee.”

“I will later,” I promised, frantically throwing off my jeans and top while I searched through my closet for something more appropriate. Mark had been gone a year and I wasn't greeting him in jeans, coma or not.

“Drink the coffee now,” Emily insisted and thrust the cup at me.

“Rover,” I said urgently. “Where's Rover?” As nuts as it sounded, I needed my dog.

“He's right here,” Emily said, pointing him out. Rover had followed me into my room and sat on his haunches, carefully watching me. I could only guess what he thought of my erratic behavior.

I fell to my knees next to my dog and wrapped my arms around his neck. “Mark's alive,” I told him, burying my face in his fur. Once I raised my head, Rover licked the tears off my face. I hadn't even realized I'd started to cry.

I took the coffee from Emily and grimaced at the sweetness of it. While I changed clothes, Emily disappeared and returned in short order with news. “I called Thyme and Tide and spoke to Peggy. When I told her you'd gotten a call from Lieutenant Colonel Milford about Mark, she burst into tears. Bob is out running errands. One of them will meet you at Madigan sometime this afternoon.”

That encouraged me. “Good…thank you.”

The coffee, despite its sweetness, or perhaps because of it, settled my nerves and I left the inn soon afterward. My head was full of questions as I drove south on my way to the military medical facility.

I parked what seemed like a mile from the entrance and ran into the building, bursting through the doors.

“Jeremy Mark Taylor,” I told the volunteer who manned the information desk.

She typed his name into the computer system and then glanced up. “We don't have anyone here by that name.”

“He arrived sometime within the last week,” I said, angry all over again that I hadn't been told. I remained as calm as my pounding heart would allow. If necessary I'd plow my way into every room until I found Mark. “Check ICU.”

“He isn't listed.”

“He has to be.”

“I'm sorry I can't help you.”

“You will help me,” I told her with the sweetest of smiles. Not willing to accept her word without a major fuss, I pulled my phone from my purse and hit redial. Milford answered on the fourth ring, just when I was about to lose hope. We spoke for a few minutes and I disconnected.

“You'll be receiving a call shortly,” I told her and stepped aside and waited impatiently for the promised connection to come through. Milford didn't disappoint me.

The phone on the receptionist's desk rang, and I watched as the volunteer answered. After a few seconds her eyes connected with mine. When she replaced the receiver, I approached her desk a second time.

“Will you help me now?”

She nodded. “An escort will be down in a few minutes.”

An escort.
I hadn't expected that.

Sure enough, within five minutes a uniformed officer met me in the foyer. His name tag identified him as Officer Whitney. “I need to prepare you for what you're about to see,” he said, as he led me toward the elevator banks.

I listened, but I don't think any of what he said sank in. Reality hit me hard when I was led into the ICU room where Mark was currently hooked up to a number of devices and machines. If I hadn't been told the man in the bed was Mark, I would never have recognized him. He was thin, thinner than I'd ever seen him, his skin bronze from the sun, and yet his face was a sickly shade of yellow.

The color of death.

Glancing at the monitors, I saw that his pulse was slow and uneven. His blood pressure was so low I had to look twice to be sure I had read it correctly.