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“So what did you do?” Rita asked. Chrissie would have done something. The woman had the softest heart.
Chrissie fiddled with the appointment book, turning up one corner of the pages. “I couldn’t stand thinking about him just sitting there, so I took over some food and a bottle of wine. I thought someone should welcome him home.”
“Uh-huh. So what’s the strange part?”
Chrissie’s eyes clouded and she blinked rapidly. “It was awful. The house was cold—he hadn’t even turned up the heat yet. I guess he’d been too shocked or upset to care.” She swallowed and continued. “Tammy had really cleaned the place out. The only thing left in the living room was a recliner and a coffee table. The dining room was empty. No telling what else she took. It was just…sad.”
“I guess he was pretty broken up, then.”
“I guess…mostly he was angry. When he figured out I was the Chrissie Tammy had written to him about, he went a little crazy. He told me it was my fault for taking her out and introducing her to single men.”
“He blamed you?”
“I guess…he had to blame someone. I was there.” She shrugged.
“What did you do?”
“I left. I ran home and locked my door.”
Rita leaned forward and put a hand on Chrissie’s arm. “You don’t think he’d try to hurt you, do you? Some of these guys come home and they’re…well, they’re a little crazy. They do crazy things.” Not a month went by when the news didn’t carry a story of a local man who’d hurt his wife or shot himself or someone else. Coming home intensified every emotion, good and bad, and some men, and women, too, didn’t handle it well.
Chrissie shook her head. “No. I’m sure he wouldn’t.”
“You know to call someone if you have any doubts. Promise me.”
“I promise.” She turned back to her desk and checked the schedule. “Your two o’clock is late.”
“Mrs. Mendoza. She’s got two toddlers. Hard to get anywhere on time, I imagine. Meanwhile, you’ve got time to tell me about Tammy’s ex. Or soon-to-be ex. What’s Mr. Hughes like?”
“Captain Hughes. He’s…good-looking.”
Rita didn’t miss the way the corners of Chrissie’s mouth tried to turn up in a smile. “How good-looking?” she asked.
Chrissie gave up and let the smile burst forth. “Really good-looking. Tall, dark and handsome. I predict he won’t be living alone for long.”
“You ought to have an advantage, living right next door.”
The smile vanished. “I told you, he hates me. He blames me for Tammy leaving him.”
“That was just hurt talking. He’ll come to his senses sooner or later. He was married to the woman. He had to know what she was like.”
Chrissie looked doubtful. “I don’t know about that. He was really furious. Besides, I’m not crazy about getting involved with another soldier.”
“Woman, you are living in a town full of single men—ninety-nine percent of them soldiers. You are never going to find someone if you don’t give one of them a chance.”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t think Ray Hughes is going to give me a chance.”
A tapping on the window interrupted them.
“Sorry I’m late,” Mrs. Mendoza said when Chrissie slid open the window. “Michael was fussy and took forever to get dressed.” She looked back at the two little boys with her. The youngest, Michael, was about three. He rubbed his eyes and stuck out his lower lip. The older boy, Anthony, grinned at them. Both boys’cheeks were red from the cold.
“Hello, boys.” Chrissie leaned over and smiled at them.
“Hello,” Anthony said. Michael sniffed and said nothing.
“I’m ready for you to come on back, Mrs. Mendoza,” Rita said. She picked up the woman’s chart and held open the door leading to the procedure rooms.
“All right.” Mrs. Mendoza turned to her sons. “You boys behave yourselves while I’m gone.”
Chrissie motioned to them. “Why don’t you two come back here and play with me while your mom’s getting her teeth cleaned.”
When Rita and Mrs. Mendoza walked past the little office area, Chrissie had Michael on her lap and was showing him how to punch holes in colored paper with her hole punch, while Anthony stapled papers together.
Rita shook her head. If anyone was meant to be a mother, it was Chrissie. She hoped Captain Hughes would get over his temper tantrum and take a second look at the woman next door. After the rotten way Tammy had treated him, he’d be in heaven with a woman like Chrissie to care for him.
As for Chrissie, she definitely needed someone to care for. Soldier or not, Rita couldn’t keep from hoping Ray fit the bill.
RAY PARKED THE CAR in the drive of his parents’ townhome and started up the walk. The townhome was in one of those upscale developments that catered to older adults with money. His mom and dad had sold their house and moved here three years ago. His dad liked not having a yard to maintain and his mother enjoyed all the social activities. A year ago his dad had sold his hardware store and officially retired, at age fifty-five. Now he and Mom spent their time golfing, traveling and playing poker with friends.
At least, that’s how they’d spent their time until last month, when Tammy had brought T.J. to them. From what Ray could tell from brief phone conversations and e-mails with his mom, T.J. had been seriously cramping their style.
He rang the doorbell and waited, fidgeting. After months in fatigues and uniforms, his blue jeans and sweatshirt felt both familiar and odd. The clothes were comfortable, but they weren’t what his body had grown used to.
His mother opened the door and stood on tiptoe to hug him. “Welcome home, Ray. How are you doing?” She was a petite woman with short, frosted hair and smooth, unlined skin. Ray suspected she’d had a little surgical help fighting off the wrinkles, but he wouldn’t have dared ask.
“I’m okay,” he said. He looked past her, searching for his son.
“T.J.’s in the den with your father,” his mother said.
Ray followed her into the house. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked. “A soda or a beer?”
He shook his head. “I just want to see T.J.”
“All right, dear.” She led the way through the formal living room, down the stairs to the den in the finished basement. Ray heard the television and when he stepped into the room found his father on the sofa, a little boy next to him. They were watching a game show.
Charlie Hughes glanced over his shoulder when they entered, frowning. “Hello, Ray,” he said, his voice even. The polite voice of a man who refused to make a fuss with his enemy in public.
Maybe enemy was too harsh a term, Ray thought as he walked over to stand behind the sofa. His dad didn’t hate him or even wish him ill. But he had never approved of Ray’s decision to join the military, and was a vocal opponent of the war. Ray had met other war protesters who nevertheless welcomed soldiers and did whatever they could to support them. But when his dad looked at Ray, he seemed to only see the government and the military his uniform represented, and not the man inside the clothes.
Ray looked at the little boy, who was staring up at him, one hand in his mouth. “Hey, T.J.,” he said. “Remember me?” It hurt to breathe while he waited for an answer.
“T.J., it’s your father.” His mother rushed forward, not giving the boy time to answer on his own. “He’s come to take you home with him.”
“Daddy?” The toddler looked doubtful.
Ray came around and dropped to one knee in front of the sofa. “Hey, buddy,” he said softly. “How’s it going?”
T.J. took his hand out of his mouth. His brown eyes looked huge in his little face. His mother’s eyes, Ray thought. He wanted to pick the boy up and hug him close, but told himself to take things slow. The child had had a lot of upheaval in his life lately.
He looked up at his mother instead. “Thanks for looking after him,” he said. “It helped, knowing he was here with you.”
His mother pressed her lips into a tight line. “I don’t know what that woman was thinking,” she said.
Obviously, Ray had been clueless about what was going on in his wife’s mind. He’d been hurt and stunned when she’d announced she was leaving him, but when he’d learned she’d left behind their son, too, he’d realized he hadn’t known her that well at all. What kind of mother walked out on her child?
“You know we never liked her,” his mother said. “If only you had waited—”
He gave her a warning look, then glanced at T.J. and shook his head. He wasn’t going to discuss this in front of the boy.
“Come into the kitchen and I’ll fix you something to eat,” she said. Without waiting for an answer, she turned and headed back upstairs.
Ray followed. He was suddenly hungry, not having eaten all day. He also knew he needed to talk to his mother, though it was a conversation he wasn’t looking forward to.
He sat at the breakfast bar and watched while she prepared a meat-loaf sandwich. “How’s he doing?” he asked after a moment.
“T.J.? He’s upset, of course. He misses his mother, doesn’t understand what’s happened. Frankly, I don’t either.” She gave him a pointed look, one that said she expected an answer. An explanation.
“Her letter said she couldn’t live this way anymore. That she wanted a divorce.”
She spread mustard on a thick slice of rye bread. “She’d met someone else?”
He nodded. “I found out that part later. Another soldier.” A civilian would have been bad enough, but a fellow soldier? She didn’t think that guy wouldn’t get sent off to Iraq or Afghanistan or East Podunk and she’d be alone again? Or was loneliness merely a cover for the real reason—that she didn’t love Ray anymore?
His mother set the sandwich in front of him. “Frankly, I don’t see how you’re going to raise that boy by yourself. A child needs his mother.”
“Obviously his mother didn’t need him.” He picked up the sandwich with both hands. The rich aroma of meat loaf and mustard made his stomach growl. When was the last time he’d had something this good? A year, at least. Maybe more. “He and I will do fine together,” he said. “Men raise children all the time.” He took a bite of the sandwich and closed his eyes, as much to savor the flavor as to avoid the doubt in her eyes.
“You are not the nurturing type,” she said.
He opened his eyes and glared at her. When he’d finished chewing and swallowed, he said, “I don’t hear you volunteering to help.”
“And you won’t hear it either,” she said. “Your father and I raised you and now we’re enjoying our freedom.”
Freedom. A word people threw around a lot. He’d been fighting for freedom. Tammy had wanted her freedom. “I certainly wouldn’t want to interfere with that,” he said.
Her expression softened. “I’m happy to offer advice by telephone, and you’re welcome to visit anytime. But your son is your responsibility.”
“I never said he wasn’t.”
He ate the rest of his sandwich in silence, while she cleaned the counters and put on a pot of coffee. “You’ll need to find day care for him while you’re on duty at the base,” she said after a while.
“I’ll find out who Tammy used. And there are plenty of day-care centers in the Springs, and soldiers’wives who take care of children.”
“What will you do if you have another tour of duty?”
He’d been home less than twenty-four hours, he wanted to protest. Couldn’t he get used to that idea before contemplating another tour? “I’ll figure out something,” he said.
She took his empty plate from him. “We leave for our cruise day after tomorrow.”
“I’m going back to the Springs in the morning.” He slid off the stool. “Thanks for the sandwich.” That was the trouble coming to visit his folks. This place wasn’t his home; he always felt like an intruder here. Visits were marked by a studied politeness, and everyone involved felt better as soon as he left.
He returned to the den. The television had been switched to a news show. T.J., thumb back in his mouth, looked around when Ray entered. Ray smiled, but the boy stared back solemnly.
Charles’s gaze remained firmly on the TV. A young blonde was describing an explosion in Tikrit that had killed four U.S. servicemen and two Iraqis. Ray’s stomach tightened as a picture of the crumpled remains of a Bradley Fighting Vehicle flashed on the screen.
“It’s a crime,” his father said. “We have no business being over there.”
It was an old argument, one Ray would not be drawn into. Instead, he looked at T.J. again. The boy offered a shy smile. Ray held out his hand. “Could you maybe come over here by me?” he asked.
T.J. hesitated, considering the idea, then, thumb still firmly in his mouth, slid off the sofa and walked over to Ray. Ray patted his lap and the boy climbed up and settled against his chest, as if he did this all the time.
Ray pretended to focus on the television, but all his attention was on the boy in his lap. He smelled like peanut butter and baby shampoo. The stuff Tammy used when she used to bathe him. He weighed more than Ray had expected, a good solid weight against his thighs.
Tentatively, he slipped one arm around the boy, across his chest. T.J. didn’t seem to mind and, in fact, settled more firmly against him.
Ray’s eyes stung and his throat ached. He stared at the television, at the blurred image of a weather map, and tried to swallow past the tightness in his throat and chest. He was bone tired, nerves rubbed raw, anger at Tammy and life in general a slow simmer in his gut, another kind of annoyance at his parents a dull throbbing in his head. He had no idea what further tortures the future had in store for him, but if his record so far proved anything, he couldn’t expect much good ahead.
But all of that was overtaken by this sense of grief and happiness and…love that swamped him now. He tightened his grip on T.J. and bent his head to plant a soft kiss on the boy’s silky brown hair. “It’s going to be all right, son,” he whispered. He would make it all right. If not for himself, then most certainly for his boy.
CHAPTER THREE
THE DRIVE FROM Omaha to Colorado Springs went well, with T.J. sleeping most of the way. From time to time, Ray glanced in the rearview mirror at the boy. T.J.’s head lolled against his car seat, and from time to time he made soft dream noises. His son. The thought of being responsible for this little life both swelled Ray’s heart with pride and made his stomach tighten with fear. He could assess a dangerous situation in a war zone and direct and care for a group of soldiers in his command, but what did he know about looking after a three-year-old?
His hands tightened on the steering wheel and he forced his attention to the road. He could learn this job the way he’d learn any other. He’d use the rest of his leave to get T.J. settled, find day care and buy a new truck. And sometime soon he’d find a lawyer and talk to him about the divorce. It wasn’t something he looked forward to, but it had to be done.
He pulled into the driveway of the house on Kirkham Street in the late afternoon. The snow from the storm had started to melt, bare patches of brown lawn showing through the white in places, rivulets of water running across the blacktop. With luck, they were done with snow for the year and spring could make an appearance. He leaned into the backseat and unfastened T.J.’s seat belt. “Time to wake up,” he said. “We’re home.”
T.J. rubbed his eyes and stared sleepily up at Ray, then extended his arms in a silent plea to be lifted and carried. Ray picked him up and carried him into the house. Balancing the boy on one hip, he unlocked the front door and stepped inside.
He had halfway expected to feel the same sense of loss and loneliness that had buffeted him when he’d returned to this house the other night. But now, in the daylight with the comforting warmth and weight of his son in his arms, he felt only relief at finally being in a place he could relax, regroup and figure out the next step in his life.
“You awake enough to get down now, buddy?” he asked T.J.
“Yeah.”
Once on the floor, T.J. looked around. “This isn’t our couch,” he said, rubbing his hand across the brown leather.
“It’s a new one,” Ray said. Better than the white one Tammy had picked out. “It’s our couch now.”
T.J. climbed up on the sofa and settled back against the cushions. “The TV’s new, too,” he said.
Ray admired the new television, a forty-inch LCD flat panel. Sweet. “You want to watch TV?” he asked, reaching for the remote.
T.J. shrugged. “I guess.”
Ray punched the remote and flipped through the channels until he found a cartoon. “This okay?” he asked.
T.J. nodded, gaze fixed on the screen.
