Home Front

That was all he had to say. She knew what it had been like for him, how he’d served his country. He’d patrolled streets lined with IEDs, day after day, watching people—friends—blow up. He’d been on bag duty. How many hero missions had she flown for his buddies?

“Is there something I can do to help you?” she asked gently, leaning forward.

“Help yourself, Chief. That’s what I wanted to tell you. We both know what’s in our heads, how hard it is to think sometimes, how bad the nights can be. I should have told Emily everything and held on to her. Instead, I pretended I was okay. I could handle it. I’m a marine. And here I am … and there she is. ” He leaned forward. “You have kids, right?”

She nodded, sitting back.

“Don’t be who you needed to be over there. Come home to the people who love you. I wish to hell I’d figured out a way to do that. ” He leaned forward, lowered his voice. “Talk to Michael. He’s a good man. He wants to understand. ”

There was so much she could say to this wounded young man, but in a way, he’d said it all in those few sad words. He understood her: her pain, her fear, her reluctance to show weakness. He’d been there, and because of that, he was here.

A soldier’s heart.

No wonder they’d called PTSD that in days gone by. It was true. We can come home broken, she thought. No matter how strong we are … The military should have prepared her for it. There was so much training before one goes to war, and so little for one’s return.

Keith rose. Staring down at her, he bent his arm in a salute. To her horror, she felt the sting of tears. She shook her head. “I’m not a soldier anymore. ”

Keith’s smile was heartbreaking. “We’ll always be soldiers, Jolene. ”

* * *

When they got home, the house was empty. Mila had taken the girls out for dinner and left a back by 8 note on the kitchen table.

Jolene limped into her bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed. Although she was in considerable pain, she felt jittery, edgy. Michael’s opening statement had been seductive, romantic, and it scared the hell out of her to believe—even a little—that he’d changed. On the long ride home from court, she and Michael had made small talk. She listened to his questions and formulated answers, but both of them heard the echo of all their unspoken words.

Michael knocked at her bedroom door, walked into the room.

She stared up at him. “There’s something wrong with me,” she said quietly. Her heartbeat kicked up. “I’m afraid. ” It was as honest as she knew how to be, as honest with him as she’d ever been. “What if I’m like Keith?”

“You’re not. ”

“How do you know?”

He walked toward her, came to her side. Taking her hand in his, he pulled her to a stand. His gaze was steady, and in the darkness of his eyes, she saw the shadowy reflection of their whole lives, the good and the bad. He leaned slowly, slowly forward, saying, “I’m going to kiss you, Jolene…”

She knew he was giving her a chance to stop him, and there was a part of her that wanted to push him away and run and protect what was left of her heart. But she couldn’t.

His kiss was everything she remembered, everything she’d ever wanted. Her body responded to him in the way it always had, wholly and completely.

When he drew back, she could see that he was as shaken by the kiss as she had been. His breathing was ragged.

“Tell me it’s not too late for us,” he said. She heard the desperate plea in his voice and knew she’d never heard it before.

“It’s not too late,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “But I’m not ready…”

He smiled at last, and it was his smile, the one that had swept her away all those years ago. How long had it been since she’d seen it? He walked over to the nightstand by the bed, opened the drawer, and took out a small plastic bag.

She heard the jangle of metal as he opened the baggie, and she knew what was inside of it. Why hadn’t she thought about it before? Her belongings. They’d given her jewelry to him in Germany—her dog tags, her watch, her wedding ring. He took something out of the bag before putting it back in the drawer, closing it with a click.

She drew in a shaky breath.

He moved toward her, reached for her left hand. Without looking away, he slipped the wedding ring back onto her finger. “You will be,” he said, and the certainty in his voice struck a chord deep within her.

She watched him walk away, close the door behind him. Twice, she almost called him back, almost said, I was wrong, I am ready, but she was too afraid.

She hobbled into the bathroom and got ready for bed. Climbing under the thick comforter, she positioned the pillows around her residual leg and closed her eyes. The simple golden band added a forgotten weight to her hand. For the first time in weeks, she went to sleep without a glass of wine or a sleeping pill. Keith was right. She would take his advice. She would come home to the people who loved her—her husband, her family. She had to be able to do it. She’d gone to Iraq, for God’s sake, she’d flown helicopters in combat. How could it be harder to come home than to go to war?

Her last thought, as she drifted off to sleep was, Tomorrow I’ll start over, Tami. I’ll be Mommy again. I’ll come home at last.