Twenty-Six
Jolene woke to watery yellow sunshine pouring through her window. It illuminated everything in the room—including the empty wineglass on her nightstand and the collection of orange pill bottles.
Today was the day she would give all that up. No more sleeping pills, no more wine to calm her jangling nerves. She closed her eyes and imagined it in detail—she would rise confidently and go into the kitchen and make breakfast for her girls. Then she would take them aside and talk to them openly, tell them that the war had hurt her mind for a while and sucked out some of her spirit but that she could handle it now. She was ready to be Mom again, and that she’d always, always loved them, even when the numbness was at its very worst. They wouldn’t understand, perhaps, wouldn’t believe her completely, but it would be a start. From there, she would prove it to them by improving every day, by getting strong and showing her love more freely. She wouldn’t be afraid anymore.
She got out of bed and grabbed her crutches, hop-swinging into the bathroom. Emerging only ten minutes later, dressed for rehab, with her prosthesis on, she limped out into the kitchen and started breakfast. Pancakes today—like the old days. She got some blueberries out of the freezer and started the batter. Every now and again she caught sight of her wedding ring and it made her smile. Hope felt as close as it ever had.
As she poured the batter in dollops on the hot griddle, she heard Michael come up behind her. He moved in close, leaned over her shoulder. “Pancakes, huh?”
“A peace offering. I could have learned quantum physics in the time they took to make. ” She smiled at him, and for a second they were Michael-and-Jo again, and she thought: We can do it.
“Jo—”
She wanted to know what he was going to say, leaned closer to hear the words, but the phone rang. Michael went to answer it. “Hello?” It was obviously the office; he frowned, sat down, and lowered his voice to say, “When?”
The girls came thundering into the room.
“Mommy’s making pancakes!” Lulu said, her frown turning into a smile when she saw that the pancakes looked ordinary.
Jolene turned slightly, saw Betsy’s narrowed gaze. “The griddle’s too hot,” her daughter said.
“Thank you,” Michael said, hanging up the phone.
Jolene smiled. “Michael, Betsy thinks the griddle is too hot. Will you tell her I was making pancakes before she was born?”
Michael stared at her, unsmiling. “Maybe you should sit down, Jo. ”
“Sit down? Why? My leg feels great. ”
“Betsy, finish the pancakes,” Michael said.
“Why me?” Betsy whined. “Why do I always have to do everything?”
“Betsy,” he said so sharply Jolene frowned.
“Michael?” she said. “You’re scaring me. ”
He took Jolene by the arm and led her through the house, toward the bedroom. When she sat down on the bed, she looked up at him.
“It’s Tami,” he said quietly, sitting beside her. “She died last night. ”
Jolene couldn’t breathe. As if from a distance, she saw Michael holding her, soothing her, rubbing his hand up and down her back, but none of it reached her.
For more than twenty years, Tami had been there for her, keeping her strong when she felt weak. I’ve got your six, flygirl.
And Seth … he would grow up without a mom …
She made a great gasping sound and started to cry.
“It’s okay, Jo,” Michael said, stroking her hair.
“No. ” She felt wild suddenly, feral. “It’s not okay. My best friend died and it’s my fault. Mine. She died and then I left her behind…” Her voice broke. “I’m never supposed to leave anyone behind. ”
“Jo—”
“I’m sick of people telling me it will be okay. It won’t be okay. It’ll never be okay. ”
She couldn’t take this pain. It was consuming her, devouring her. She stumbled to the nightstand and grabbed her sleeping pills. Opening the container, she spilled three into her shaking palm. “A nap will help,” she said, her voice shrill. “I’ll feel better after a little nap. ”