Home Front

“She would be pissed to hear you say that,” Carl said quietly.

Jolene nodded. It was true. Tami would have hated to hear that Jolene felt guilty about the crash, but how could she not? “I wonder if she knows we’re here?”

“She knows. ”

Jolene wanted to believe that. She felt a sudden rush of loss, of grief. They had been best friends for more than twenty years. Tami was as rooted in Jolene’s soul as Michael and the girls. The thought of losing her …

No. She wouldn’t think that way. “You’ll come back to us, Tam. I know you will. You’re probably just doing this for attention. ”

She told Tami about her own injury, and about Smitty, and about Jamie, who was recovering in a room just one floor down, and who asked about Tami every day. She talked about home, and the beach, and the summer they would spend collecting sand dollars and flying kites.

“We’ll run along the beach again, both of us. ” She heard her own words and lost steam. Tears scalded her eyes, fell, and all she could do was plead. “Come back, Tam. ”

“What if—”

“No. She’s not going to die,” she said softly. “You hear me, flygirl? No dying allowed. If I have to live with one leg and one arm, I will need you. ” At that, she realized the gravity of it all, the looming loss, and she closed her eyes, thinking, come back.

She held on to the slick metal rail. Her leg was starting to ache, but she didn’t move. She wanted to stand here until Tami woke up.

She stared down at her best friend, seeing the whole of their lives in a second—the girls they’d been together, in uniforms, in cockpits, wanting so desperately to prove themselves … and the women they’d become and the battles they’d weathered together, the jokes they’d shared. They’d been together forever, side by side, listening to everything from Madonna to Tim McGraw, keeping each other strong. Army strong.

“They’re sending me home soon,” she said to Carl.

“That’s great news,” he said.

Jolene looked at him. The thought of going home, of leaving Tami behind, was more than she could bear. “How can I leave her?”

“You have to,” he said gently. “She would want you to. Go home to your kids, Jolene. ”

* * *

How long did she spend with Tami and Carl? Minutes? Hours? She didn’t know. As she stayed with her friend, time lost all meaning, even the pain in her leg was put aside. She kept trying to find the right words to say to Carl, a perfect way to package hope and hand it over, but as the minutes passed, she faded. There was no other word for it. Finally, they ended up sitting in a painful silence, and Jolene called the nurse and asked to be taken back to her room.

In her own bed, she closed her eyes and tried not to think about the worst things—about Tami not waking up and Smitty never coming home.

She was vaguely aware of people coming and going, checking on her, adjusting her medications and tending to her residual leg—lifting, wrapping, cleaning. Hours passing. She tried to keep her eyes closed and ignore it all.

“Jo?”

She heard Michael’s voice and felt a wave of exhaustion. “I thought I asked you to go home. ”

“You didn’t mean it. I’ve been trying to tell you I love you, Jo. And I’m sorry. ”

She didn’t care. Not anymore. What good was an unreliable love? Slowly she turned her head, looked up into his eyes. “Go home and take care of our children, Michael. Please. ” Her voice broke. “Please. They’ll need you. I don’t. ”

“Jolene—”

Tears stung her eyes. “Go, Michael. I’ll be home in a few days. They’re getting ready to release me. You know that. You can’t fly home with me anyway. Go. Take care of our children. That’s how you can help me. ”

“Okay,” he said slowly, as if maybe he knew it was the wrong thing to do, but he was glad to get the chance to do it. “I’ll go. But I’ll be home, waiting for you, when you get there. ”

“Lucky me,” she murmured, closing her eyes.

* * *

On the long flight home, Michael told himself he was doing what Jolene had asked of him, and there were moments when he believed it. But most of the time, he knew the truth: he was running away, just as he’d done when his father was dying. It was a failing in him, bruiselike, purplish and ugly. He couldn’t stand seeing people he loved in pain.

Worse than the shame was the guilt. He kept thinking that he’d caused all of this. He’d broken Jolene’s heart with careless words and then sent her off to war while he simmered in righteous anger and blamed her for making a dangerous choice.