She heard the alarm on her wristwatch bleat its lonely sound, but it wasn’t real. She knew it wasn’t real. She couldn’t have heard it above all this noise—the shooting, the screaming. “I’m sorry, Tam,” she said, dragging her friend through the dirt. Her vision swam, blood pounded through her head.
Behind her, the helicopter exploded. She threw herself on top of Tami, covering her friend’s body with her own. Something hit Jolene hard, knocked her sideways … she lay in the dirt, stunned, staring up at the night sky, seeing burning bits of metal falling like fireworks through the blackness, raining down on her.
She heard the bleating of her watch alarm again … or was it something else? A scream? A bomb whizzing past her? A shout? She thought, BetsyLuluMichael, and then she was falling, fading … and there was nothing.
Fifteen
Michael stood at the kitchen window, staring at the coming night. It was mid-September and cool, with a whispering breeze that made the skirts of the giant cedar trees dance along the edges of the tall grass. The days of beach walking were coming to a close; autumn was drawing near, with its cold, frosty mornings and endless falling rain. He knew without looking that the plum trees had begun to lose their leaves.
In the lavender light, he stared at the white fence line that delineated their land. This is us, Jolene had said as she helped him hammer the slats in place so long ago. The Zarkades family. Everyone will see this fence and know we belong here.
Down on the bay road, a car came around the bend, its headlights bright spots against the sunset. He watched the car approach—it was a boxy, official-looking vehicle. At the bend in the road, the car slowed … at his driveway, it slowed more and turned in, then parked.
Michael’s fingers curled around the smooth, cool white tile counter. Turn around, drive away … you’re in the wrong place …
A soldier got out of the car, slammed the door shut, and turned to face the house.
Oh, God.
Michael closed his eyes, breathing so hard he felt light-headed.
The doorbell rang, sounding ugly and discordant.
He walked woodenly to the door, opened it. “Is she dead?”
“I’m Captain Lomand—”
“Is Jolene dead?”
“She’s alive. ”
Michael clutched the door frame, afraid for a moment that his knees were going to give out.
“I’m sorry for coming like this. I knew how it would look, coming up the walk, but I didn’t want you to get a phone call from a stranger for … this. May I come in?”
Michael nodded numbly and stepped aside, thinking, But you are a stranger. The man walked into the house and went into the family room. He acted as if he’d been here before, which probably he had, but Michael had no idea who he was.
The captain stopped by the sofa, remained standing, and removed his hat. When he looked at Michael, his eyes were compassionate. “Jolene’s Black Hawk was shot down several hours ago. ”
Michael lowered himself slowly to the brick hearth. Behind him, a fire blazed. It was too close, and too hot, but he couldn’t feel anything.
“She’s being transported to Landstuhl, Germany, right now. It’s the biggest American military hospital in Europe. She’s in good hands. ”
“Good hands,” Michael repeated, trying to will his mind to work. “But how is she?”
“I don’t have any details, sir,” Lomand said.
“Was Tami in the helicopter with her?”
“Yes,” Captain Lomand said. “But I have no information about her condition at this time. Except that she’s alive. ”
“What do I do? How do I help her?”
“Pray, Michael. That’s all we can do for her right now. As soon as we have information, a Red Cross worker will call you. ”
Michael stared down at his hands, saw that they were shaking. Funny things came to him, stupid things—he heard his own heartbeat and the way breath escaped him, the sound of a beam settling somewhere in the house.
“People will stop by later. To help,” Lomand said.