Home Front

Jolene was turned away from him, looking out the small oval window, watching the ground crew do its job. He could see by the tightening of her mouth that she was missing her old life now: the military, flying, the woman she’d been before the war.

He reached over, took her hand in his. It was rare these days for her to be sad, but at times like this, when the melancholy seized hold, she gave in to it, let it be. The watch he’d given her for her birthday encircled her small wrist, the faceted face glinting in the light. It was an odd contrast with the plainness of her gold wedding band. When he’d first seen her wearing it, he’d been embarrassed. He’d offered to replace it. I shouldn’t have bought it for you, he’d said, that was when I was different. I should have gone with you to the damn party.

Old news, she’d said with a smile. We’re both different now, and thank God.

It was true. They had all been changed in the past year.

Jolene most of all. She’d learned in the last few weeks—they all had—not to gloss over sadness. She squeezed Michael’s hand.

The plane’s engines started up, rattling the seats slightly. She was probably remembering how it felt to climb into the pilot’s seat, to put on a helmet, to go through the preflight check.

The plane backed away from the Jetway and rolled across the airport to the runway. It picked up speed, rocketed forward, rose up … up … up into the air.

Blue sky filled the windows.

“Did I ever tell you about the plum trees?” she said quietly. “We used to see them when we took off from the post. You’d look down through the blue sky and see these blurry pink trees, and it was so beautiful. ”

It took his breath away, how easily she said it, how good she sounded. After a moment he said, “I want to take the girls to my dad’s grave. ”

She looked at him. “You’ve never gone there, not since the funeral. ”

“I guess I’m not the only one in this family who has trouble letting go. ”

“Yeah. ” She sighed. “I still haven’t read Tami’s letter. ”

“I know. ”

She leaned against him.

“By the way, I talked to Ben Lomand last week,” he said.

She turned. “You did?”

“I was going to save it for Christmas, but here we are, up where you belong … so, I talked to him about you flying again. He doesn’t see any reason why you couldn’t do it on your snazzy new leg. He said something about a smaller chopper—there were a bunch of weird words and letters, and, well, he lost me. But he’s willing to work with you. When you’re ready. Maybe you could fly a news helicopter someday. Who knows?”

“Who knows indeed?” She smiled. “I love you, Michael Zarkades. ”

* * *

In the abstract, Jolene had known that Washington, D. C. , was a city of monuments. She’d read about the various places dedicated to the country’s history, but until she stepped out onto the busy streets, she didn’t quite understand how they all joined one to the other and told a story. Everywhere she looked—on tiny slivers of snowy ground, on plaques on park benches, on white marble statues—there was a memory, a reminder. The scale of the city surprised her, too. She’d imagined a New York–type city, full of thrusting skyscrapers. But this city felt grounded in a way she hadn’t expected; there were no high-rises, no canyons of concrete that made passersby feel small.

New York was a city that showed off its greatness, sought to make tourists look at man’s accomplishments with awe. D. C. knew that man’s greatness lay not in stone and steel, but rather in ideas and decisions.

“Are you ready?” Michael asked.

She turned away from the hotel room window, which overlooked a quiet street covered in snow.

Behind Michael, a gilt-framed mirror hung on the wall above a sleek French reproduction dresser. In it, Jolene saw herself from the waist up.

A soldier again—if just for this moment—in her class A dress uniform, with her hair pulled back and a black beret positioned with care. Medals and insignia decorated her chest, reminding her of who she used to be. This was probably the last time she would wear this uniform. She was in the process of taking a medical retirement from the military. Soon, this uniform would be like her wedding dress, a memory hanging in plastic in the back of a closet.

That part of her life had ended. The future lay cloudy in front of her, full of possibilities.

“Jo?”

She smiled. “I’m fine, Michael. It’s just weird, that’s all. ” She slipped into the coat he offered her.

She held Michael’s hand as they walked to Constitution Avenue. The whole city was gray and white, with slashes of black, a moody chiaroscuro. They walked through the Constitution Gardens; snow glazed the tree branches and benches.