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“They’ve been really nice to me and nothing but sweet to Ben.”
“But don’t you go forgiving that woman too soon. You are a strong mother, you don’t need their help.”
Julia clapped a hand over her mouth to stop the incredulous laughter. Beth, as usual, had no clue what Julia needed.
Julia was a twenty-four-year-old widow. She had a two-year-old son who only knew his father from photographs. Her own father was dead and her mother, though loving and involved in Julia’s life, was still an active engineer in the army. And when the United States wasn’t at war, Mom was home in Washington, D.C., for only about half the year. For the past three years, Beth had spent eleven months out of twelve in Iraq.
No one had ever truly been there for Julia and Ben. And she needed that to change. Ben needed family, people in his life on a daily basis. Not twice a year for a few weeks.
“Do you have enough money?”
An excellent question, Mother. “I’m fine,” she hedged.
“Okay, I’ll let you get some rest.” Beth’s deep breath echoed down the line. “Remember, sweetheart, you can always come here. I leave to go back on Saturday to help the Brits with their water problems so my house will be empty.”
Another empty army house. Exactly what Iam trying to avoid.
“I know, Mom, thanks. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
They hung up and Julia’s spirits bobbed upward. She smiled at her son, who was nearly asleep where he lay against her legs.
“Everything is going to be okay,” she told him and hoped with every last thing in her body that it was true.
THE DREAM CAME as it had for the past five months. She stood at the front door of the small apartment in Germany she and Mitch shared briefly before he went to Iraq. She was dressed in her favorite white skirt and a sweater that Mitch said made her eyes look like the sky. She knew she was opening the door to something special. Excitement danced over her skin and she was happy, the way she’d been for the first few months of her marriage. But when she opened the door there was only fire and smoke and the sound of someone screaming.
She ran into the smoke, sure that someone needed her. Just her, no one else could help. The smoke shifted and on the floor of the hallway sprawled Mitch, bloody and hurt.
“Hey, baby,” he said with a smile she recognized from the days when he was trying to get her in bed.
She dropped to her knees beside him, looking for the source of all that blood, but she couldn’t find it.
“Is this a trick?” she asked, angry.
“No trick,” a voice said behind her and she turned and Jesse, Mitch’s best friend, stood there with a hole in his chest that she could see through. His dark eyes seemed to burn and smolder, the way they had the day she met him. “I can’t stay here,” Jesse said and turned away into the fog. Julia wanted to tell him to wait, to take care of that wound, to stay. But she didn’t.
She remained silent in the middle of a war with her husband.
CHAPTER THREE
JULIA WOKE to the smell of pancakes and coffee and—she took another sniff of the air. Oh, boy. Bacon. It wasn’t so much the food that had her eyes flying open, it was that she didn’t have to make it. All that food waited for her.
She stared at the ceiling and luxuriated in the faded blue sheets. She had slept like a rock on this soft mattress with all the extra pillows. It was heaven.
This was definitely the right place for Ben. She could feel their roots growing already.
Growing up as an army brat, Julia had worked hard for years to never form material attachments. But one night in this room and she coveted everything—the mahogany bed frame that matched the old washstand in the corner and the five-drawer dresser on the far wall. She wanted the mirror hanging over the dresser that reflected the small window and the perfect California day outside.
Everything was so beautiful. So permanent and substantial.
She’d even take the Michael Jordan posters.
This is a brand new day. Opportunity was here, glimmering like dust motes in the sunlight. She could shed the past and try something new. Try to be someone new.
Try to figure out who I am.
She rolled over to see how her son had slept, but he was nowhere to be found. She sat up and searched the floor around the bed. Where did he go? How could he have woken up and left the room without her noticing? She didn’t trust him entirely on his own with stairs, and they had followed Agnes up a steep wooden flight last night to this bedroom.
Julia rolled out of bed and ran downstairs, her bare feet slipping across the polished hardwood floors on her way to the kitchen. She burst into a scene right out of Norman Rock¬ well.
Ben sat in an ancient high chair, cheerfully shoving blueberries in his mouth.
“Airplane!” he cried. “Big airplane.”
“And what else?” Agnes asked.
“On a bus.”
“You were on an airplane and a bus in the same day?” Agnes asked, her eyes wide as though no one had ever done such a thing.
Ben nodded.
“Such a big boy!” Agnes cooed and Ben smiled, his teeth blue. He lifted his hands above his head to show her how big he truly was. Julia loved this game, loved wondering if he was broadcasting how big he felt, the size of his cheerful spirit.
Ron laughed. “All done?” he asked.
Ben nodded, his blond curls waving, and Ron leaned in to wipe Ben’s face and hands. “Let me atcha.”
Agnes picked up a camera and took a couple of pictures of Ron attempting to clean Ben up.
“Smile, Benny,” she cooed and Julia tried not to cringe at that nickname.
Julia had only sent them one picture of their grandson. A family shot of her, Mitch and Ben taken six months ago—the night Mitch was on leave from Iraq.
Jesse had taken the picture.
Shame and regret trickled through her.
She should have been the bigger person, tried harder to breach the gaps between her and the Adamses. But she was too much like her mother, maybe. Too proud.
New beginnings, she reminded herself.
“Momma,” Ben cried, dodging Ron’s washcloth. Agnes and Ron turned toward her, their smiles radiant.
“We heard him wake up and knew you needed your rest so we brought him downstairs, hope you don’t mind,” Agnes said with a bright smile before focusing on her grandson again.
“Of course not,” Julia croaked, her voice rusty from nearly twelve hours of sleep. Despite her assurance, something in her chafed at the idea that they had come into her room while she slept.
Really, you’re gonna get mad because theylet you sleep an extra hour? She tried to relax. Clearly she had been on her own for too long.
Ben struggled to lift himself out of the chair with one hand and reached for Julia with the other.
“Stay there, Ben.” She walked over to kiss his cheeks and his hands, rub her nose with his damp one. All of their morning rituals. He laughed and clapped in response.
“Hog heaven, huh, buddy?” she asked, letting him put his hands on her face leaving sticky hand-prints on her skin. “Pancakes and blueberries.”
“Nana,” he said, pointing to Agnes, but watching Julia.
“That’s what I told him to call me,” Agnes said with an embarrassed laugh, pulling at the neck of her yellow T-shirt. “I’ve always wanted to be a Nana.”
“Sounds good.” Julia swallowed a lump of emotion.
“Ron.” Ben pointed to Ron and everyone laughed.
“Grandpa is for old men,” Ron said with a grin. The metal frame of his glasses caught the sunlight and winked, making him seem particularly merry. “Besides, Ron is easier to say.”
He looked young, trim and healthy with his blond hair shot through with a little silver. He appeared younger than his wife and Julia wondered if Mitch would have looked that way. Respectable. Dependable.
She doubted it.
“Ron, it is.” Julia nodded definitively as if she were checking that off a list. What to call Grandfather—check.
“Ron,” Ben mimicked Julia’s nod and tone.
“He’s such a sweet baby,” Agnes said.
“The sweetest,” Julia said, smiling in agreement. She ran her fingers through her son’s hair to try and work out a knot of maple syrup near his ear.
“Look at us, forgetting our manners.” Agnes stood, suddenly a flurry of activity.
“Would you like something to eat, Julia?” Ron patted the chair next to him at the small kitchen table. “Some coffee?”
“Coffee would be a dream.” Julia sat and an uncomfortable silence blanketed the room. They had covered the basics last night. Weather. Flights. How they must just be exhausted. This morning all the unsaid things and the hurt they had caused each other in the past pulled up chairs and sat at the table.
Julia curled her bare toes into the braid rug under the table and folded her hands into her lap, trying to look the opposite of a gold-digging whore. She felt shabby in Mitch’s old army T-shirt and pajama bottoms.
I should have worn something nicer, she thought, when unease and doubt slipped under her guard. I don’t have anything nicer.
“How did you sleep?” Ron asked.
“Like a rock,” Julia said brightly and wondered how she could stretch that answer for another hour of conversation. “Very well, thank you.”
More silence.
“You have a lovely home.” She hoped that didn’t make her sound like a gold digger. She was only telling the truth. Every room was filled with books and art and warm rich colors, rugs, beautiful wood floors, light stucco walls with dark wood support beams across the ceiling.
“Thank you.” Ron nodded and took a sip of coffee.
Kill me now, Julia thought.
Agnes cleared her throat and Julia looked over to where the woman, short and round, stood in a pool of light from the window above the double ceramic sink. Tears glittered on Agnes’s cheeks.
“I am sorry, Julia,” she whispered and shook her head. Squeezing her eyes tight. “I was horrible to you and—” She stopped and a single sob came out.
Julia leaped to take the coffee mug out of her mother-in-law’s hands. She wrapped her arms around Agnes’s curved shoulders. “I wasn’t the best, either,” she said.
“I was just so upset that you got married without telling us,” Agnes went on. “Mitch is—” another sob escaped “—was our only son and I know we expected a lot but it was just such a shock. The marriage and then the news of the baby—it was just such a shock.”
“Tell me about it,” Julia said dryly, relieved when Agnes gave a watery chuckle. “Trust me, getting pregnant and marrying a helicopter pilot was the last thing I expected to happen.” Or wanted to happen, she didn’t say. Her life tended to be made up of things she had to make the best of.
“You know how your son was,” Julia said softly. “He was so—” She stopped, at a loss for words, trying to remember exactly what it was that had attracted her so ferociously to Mitch Adams. “Bright, you know? Shiny and bold. Like the world was there just for him to enjoy.”
“Yes,” Ron agreed. “He was like that.”
“He just swept me off my feet.” Swept wasn’t even the right way to describe the sensation. It was as if she had been blinded by the light that always shone around Mitch.
“When I got pregnant—” she cleared her throat, uncomfortable with the topic “—we hadn’t known each other very long.”
“A month,” Agnes said, obviously casting judgment on Julia’s loose morals. Julia swallowed the protestations of her innocence. They seemed pretty stupid, in light of what had happened. What did it matter if Mitch had been her first? She’d been so completely paranoid about pregnancy that they’d used two forms of birth control.
She’d gotten pregnant anyway, after only knowing Mitch for three weeks. She had been so stupid and silly with lust and love.
“I was twenty-one—”
“So young,” Agnes said, lifting watery brown eyes to Julia.
“Mitch didn’t hesitate. He wanted to get married. He wanted to give our child what you guys gave him.”
He just never managed to be around enoughto do it.
Agnes, who had been weeping silently, buckled a little and put a hand on the counter to brace herself.
“We wasted so much time with him.” Agnes sighed. “Three years. I would give anything to have them back.” Her face twisted in agony that struck a chord in Julia’s own grief. “Anything.”
“Nana!” Ben yelled. “Don’t cry!” Ben hated when Julia cried. He got angry and fussy. But when all three of them turned to the little boy he looked away, confused and embarrassed. Julia wondered if he’d ever had the undivided attention of three people.
“You want more pancakes?” Agnes asked Ben and he broke into a beatific grin, revealing all of his little teeth.
“That’s a yes,” Julia translated needlessly.
“Well, sit and drink your coffee,” Agnes said, drying her eyes with a dish towel. “I’ll make some more pancakes.”
Agnes put a steaming mug of coffee in front of Julia and darted a quick look at Ron. It was a cue of some sort and Julia braced herself. Not for any particular reason; it was the conditioned response of a woman who had never felt as though she really belonged anywhere.
“Julia,” Ron started uncomfortably. He drummed his fingers on the table briefly and cleared his throat. There was a glacial undercurrent in the room suddenly and she was not so sure of her welcome here. “What are your, ah, your plans?”
“Plans?” she croaked. This was it. This was “the good to see you, don’t be a stranger, but could you move on?” speech. Her stomach churned bile. Maybe Mitch was right. She was a fool for believing in the good things.
