“Well, Jolene,” Conny said at the end of the day. “It’s been good knowing you. ”
Jolene felt a tightening in her throat. How could she ever thank this man, who had been there for her every step of the way? She walked to him, barely limping at all, feeling no pain in her stump. “You saved me, Conny. Without you—”
“It was always you, soldier girl. You have the heart of a champion. ” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I’ll miss you, too, but don’t make a scene. ”
“I never used to be a scene-making gal,” Jolene said, her eyes bright.
“Life changes us, that’s for sure. ”
Jolene stared at him a moment longer, thinking that he was like the men and women in her unit. The job was what mattered, not the thanks. She nodded one last time, letting her gaze say it all, then she took Michael’s hand and they walked outside.
Rain engulfed them, splashing beneath their steps. Jolene amazed herself—she ducked her head, held on to Michael’s hand, and ran for the car.
Ran.
It wasn’t perfect, of course, her leg didn’t bend like it should, but she did it. Her hair was dripping wet by the time she got into the car.
“That was a pretty sexy bit of running on your new leg, Mrs. Zarkades. ”
“Everyone’s going to want one, I can tell you. ”
She couldn’t help looking at her new leg; she kept lifting her pant leg and staring at it. It was almost impossible to stop smiling.
He stopped at the mailbox, picked up the mail, and drove up the driveway. When they pulled into the garage, she turned to her husband. “You’ll be home for dinner?”
He handed her the mail. “Before that, even. As soon as the Byer dep is done, I’m coming home. How about dinner at the restaurant above the marina?”
“Perfect. ” She leaned over and kissed him, then got out of the car and practically skipped into the house.
Inside, it was quiet. Jolene made herself a cup of hot tea and went through the mail.
There was another letter from Sarah Merrin, the young marine who had lost her leg in Iraq.
Jolene sat down at the kitchen table and opened the letter.
Chief,
I understand why you haven’t written to me. You probably feel as crappy as I do. I guess I’m just hoping there’s a silver lining out there. Ha.
I’m still at Walter Reed. I’m thinking of painting the walls, that’s how long I’m going to be here. They had to amputate the other leg. Infection.
Honest to God, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.
How do you do it? I guess that’s all I really want to know. They tell me I’ll be able to walk again—even skate—but I think they’re full of shit. And my husband couldn’t get out of here fast enough.
Again, any words of wisdom you got would sure be helpful.
Sincerely,
Sarah Merrin
Jolene sat there a long time, staring down at the words.
* * *
On a cold, rainy mid-December day, Jolene and Michael boarded an airplane for Washington, D. C. , and took their seats in the third row.
Michael settled back into the comfortable blue leather and buckled his seat belt.