Home Front

There. She’d thought it. Nothing mattered more than her children, and she was losing them, pushing them away, frightening them. She’d punched her husband in the face and didn’t remember doing it. What could she do to her children? She went to the phone. After a quick look in the phone book, she dialed the Department of Veterans Affairs.

“I think I need to talk to someone,” she blurted out when the receptionist answered.

“About what?”

“I’m an OIF vet. Injured. I need to talk to someone about the nightmares I’m having. ”

“Just a sec. ”

Breathe, Jolene. Don’t hang up.

“Can I help you?” a man said abruptly.

“Oh. Yes. I hope so. I’m a returning Operation Iraqi Freedom vet, and I’m having some trouble sleeping. ”

“Are you thinking of hurting yourself or others?”

“What? On purpose? No. No, of course not, but I just—”

“I can make you an appointment with a counselor. ”

She sighed in relief. “That would be great. Thanks. ”

“How is December fifteenth?”

“I’m sorry. Did you say December fifteenth? It’s October. ”

“Yes. That’s how long the wait is. We’re backlogged. A lot of returning soldiers need help. If you’re thinking of hurting yourself, however…”

She knew what would happen if she answered in the affirmative. They’d stamp whacko on her file. “No. Thank you. I don’t need the December appointment. I’m sure I’ll be fine by then. ” She hung up the phone and sat there.

Her phantom pain was back, twisting her ankle hard.

She made her way to the family room and collapsed on the sofa, trying to gut it out. Sweat itched across her scalp. She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing through the pain.

Later, a knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She came awake sharply. How long had she been asleep? Were the girls home already? She glanced at the clock. It was only three. She got up, retrieved her crutches, and limped slowly to the front door, opening it.

Ben Lomand stood on her porch, holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Ben,” she said, smiling for the first time in days. “It’s so good to see you, come in. ” She led the way back into the family room and sat down on the sofa.

“I came to see how you’re doing,” he said, sitting beside her. “Michael said you’d be home now. ”

“I’m getting better every day,” she said.

“That’s good. ”

She steeled herself. “Have you spoken to Smitty’s parents?”

He nodded. “At the funeral. ”

“Do they blame me?”

“Of course not, Jolene. They know their son was a hero and that he died serving his country. They’re proud of him. ”

“I tried to get to him. ”

They fell silent, each knowing there was nothing to say.