The River Within

Foreign Correspondent Greer Madison has spent thirty years doing what few men could ever do, but life in a never-ending war zone has started to lose its luster. While trying to prove that she’s still relevant, still capable, still in the game, she takes a young reporter on what will become a deadly trip into Iraq.

Returning back to the States to recover at the home of her best friends, Doug and Darlene Richardson, she finds that home isn’t quite what she remembered. Darlene, a war advocate, is struggling with the oppressive guilt that her political beliefs led to her son’s enlistment into the Navy, and his ultimate death in country. Distraught by his tragic, senseless end, she erects a series of impenetrable walls around herself and his memory. Spiraling downward, she keeps the details of her son’s death from her husband and her daughter, and carefully plans a tragic quid pro quo to atone for her sins. Doug, secretly blaming his wife, as well, turns to the bottle and another woman for the solace he can no longer find at home.

Kate, Doug and Darlene’s headstrong daughter, mourns for the loss of her family, and aches to find someone who understands her need to talk about her brother. She has a wonderful fiancé that is handsome, sweet, and beloved by her mother. But, deep down, she knows she doesn’t really love him, at least not now, maybe in the future.

Darlene is living a lie. Locking herself into Chris’ room to read and reread his letters from Iraq, she retreats further into self-loathing and desperation. Kate and Greer, meanwhile begin to form a relationship, open up about their mistakes, their failures, and ultimately their darkest secrets. Darlene mistakes their intimacy for what it could be, and the resulting explosion rips through every barrier erected to keep them each safe. The thing is, without the barriers, they find there is strength, forgiveness, and healing in their numbers.

Chapter One

The snap of a bullet over her left shoulder. A puff in the sun-baked wall. The sting of concrete ripping her cheek. With no recollection of bolting, she is in mid-stride, aiming for the ruined wall. If she can get to where it’s crumbled within a few feet of the ground, she can vault it. But Greer Madison is no athlete. She prepares for a graceless landing amid rebar and cinderblock.

She pistons and scissors. Her neck is long and stretched. Like the Iraqi policeman dangling from the Karbala bridge. On her right, the expanse of dirt street. Where the shots come from. Where the round with her name on it may be slicing through air even as she thinks it. The wall tumbles from eight feet to six. Four. She gathers to leap. The toe of her boot hooks broken concrete. She falls. The pain in her knee is hot, queasy-making. She stands but the knee won’t hold. Her eyes record detail as she falls – a plastic bag skips down the road; a comet-tailed smear on the wall; old bullet pocks. She wonders if the bullets slammed into the wall clean or gored. She lands in dirt that smells like eons of piss. Dragging her leg like a rotten log she crawls through the rubble of an earlier skirmish.

She considers dropping, playing dead.

Never, she decides.

And in those eternal seconds playing out in the Mesopotamian dust, the forever sun burning her back, blood from her palms slaking the perpetually thirsting land, Greer knows without knowing how that this moment is fated. It has been perfectly writ and scripted, waiting only for her to pass through it. If this is the moment she dies nothing can stay the hands of the gods. If it is not the moment, nothing can move them.

She crawls on her good knee. That much closer to the ruined wall. She anticipates the bullet with her name but is unafraid. Greer smiles.

Until she sees Sigbrith. Running toward her. Hunched. Coming to help.

Greer screams, “Get back!”

A mortar explodes. Sig freezes, staring behind Greer.

“Get down goddamn it!”

She motions for Sig to flatten but fear has petrified the young woman. Greer is maybe ten feet from her. She hates leaving the little cover she has but rises to launch herself at Sig, pack them both into the rubble –

That is all she remembers until she comes to in Landstuhl.

“Ma’am?”

Greer turned to the stewardess.

“Are you all right? Do you need help?”

She looked around the empty plane.

“No.”

She stood, collecting bag and equipment case, the motion causing a sick ache in her head. She leaned against the cargo bin, letting the pounding ease, then deplaned into a setting sun. Taxies waited at the curb. She took the closest one. Cabbies were high on Greer’s list of favorite people to talk to but she was grateful this one asked for no more than the address. She concentrated on familiar exit signs – Mission Street, State, Cabrillo, the famous Santa Barbara beaches.

The taxi swerved and Greer instinctively slid to the floor, curled for the impending blast. The car straightened and slowed. The driver twisted, peering at her.

“Señora? Okay?”

“Yeah.” She crawled back onto the seat. “Bueno.”

Sure, she thought. Muy bueno. Everyone goes fetal when their taxi swerves.

Her adrenaline ebbed as the cab turned off the highway and wound into the foothills, through coiled lanes interred in dusk and shade. She asked the driver to turn the heat on.

“Si, si,” he said, blasting tepid air.

She focused on the Thomas Kincaid homes rolling by. Even the shabbiest tear-down cost a million bucks and she wondered what Hassan would have thought. A shard of memory caught her eye, a morning nearly twenty years gone, in a fly-bound, pissed-upon Peshawar bazaar. Their gazes trailing after a beautiful, childless woman, Hassan had shrugged, “Vanity flowers but it doesn’t bear fruit.” Dismissing him, she had laughed, “Sometimes the flower is sweet but the fruit poison.”

Hassan. Now there was a story.

Greer rubbed at her eyes hoping to lessen the ache behind them.

Good translators required an articulate understanding of the languages they worked with. They had to be willing to translate honestly, without bias, and be personable enough that people wanted to talk to them. In addition, they required the pluck and stamina to stick with a story no matter how nasty it got.

Inherited from a retiring BBC correspondent, Hassan Rahman came with all that plus humor, patience, and an endless store of quotable maxims. He had saved her from warlords, thugs and land mines, but most importantly he had saved Greer from herself. Between Afghani assignments with Hassan she had covered Libya, Chernobyl, Lebanon, the Persian Gulf and Pakistan. Over the years she would interview Barbak Karmal, Benazir Bhutto, Mikhail Gorbachev, even Saddam Hussein. She was in Berlin when the Wall fell and the Cold War thawed. Already solid, she immortalized her reputation by covering the first Gulf War live from a hotel in Baghdad. After that she hop-scotched from crisis to crisis – Bosnia, Chechnya, Gaza, Kurdistan, Kosovo. In 1999 they offered to make her Middle East Bureau Chief. It was the ultimate goal for many of her fellow newsmen, but Greer declined the posting after considering it less than twenty-four hours.

Later – cold, wet, under fire – she’d regret her decision, but remained convinced that if she had traded action for analysis she’d have been long dead either from cirrhosis or a gin-induced car wreck. She was a war whore, a smoke jumper. Covering crises was all she knew.

Now she wondered even about that.

Greer tried to think what Hassan would advise now that she was pushing fifty and nursing her third concussion, which platitude he’d have offered with a shrug and a grin? As always when she thought of him, there was the last memory.

“As hard to avoid,” he’d have said, “as a lion in your blanket.”

She opened her eyes to the passing view as if it could displace his puffed and mottled body, the black nub where his tongue had been. She took in the verdant lawns pocked with oranges and lemons in the deep, bruising shade; purpling bougainvilleas and lantana hedges, each flower a miniature bomb blast; roses blooming crimson wounds and vines scrabbling over rock walls bearing flowers as violet as corpses.

“Here?”

The cab slowed. Greer recognized the tall wood fence covered in ivy, just a peek at the top of the bone-white house gleaming through beyond.

“Yes.”

“I take you up,” he offered.

“No. Aqui bueno.”

The cabbie shrugged and she tipped him handsomely. He jumped out to carry her bags but she waved him off.

Greer considered the driveway curving behind a line of oaks. Not all the land mines were in war zones; one waited up the driveway, a powerful explosive that could rip apart a very old friendship. After a moment Greer gathered her luggage. With a slight limp, she made her way carefully up the Richardson’s drive.

Chapter Two

The tricky part would be getting into the water without drawing attention. Even in Southern California a woman walking fully dressed into the ocean at high noon was bound to be noticed. Not to mention the fifty pounds of steel she’d have strapped on her back so she couldn’t change her mind. Not that she wanted to, but to be sure.

Slacks rolled neatly above her shins, Darlene Richardson waded through the foamy scrim and wondered about shoes. Her Cole Hahn loafers would look nice with the slacks she planned to wear but it would be awkward crossing the sand in them with all that extra weight. Maybe she’d wear Tevas and switch to loafers at the water. That would be awkward too. She knew from a trial run she could get into the backpack by putting it on the hood of the car and sliding into the straps. She didn’t think she could drop the pack and pick it up again without help. Changing without dropping the pack, balancing fifty pounds on one foot in the restless sand, seemed equally daunting.

         The sea rolled around Darlene’s ankles. She settled on loafers the entire way. She would walk into the water as her son had – shod, clothed, carrying her gear.

         The idea thrilled her. It had from the instant of its dark inception.

         She’d been walking the beach on an afternoon like this, the sky blue under a warm sun. A cool breeze came from the marine layer where it lurked at the edge of the horizon, waiting until sundown to begin its nightly assault upon the shore. She’d been kicking through the surf like she was now. She couldn’t remember what she’d been thinking but all of a sudden she knew she had to be in the water. She had to know what it would feel like closing over her head and what the sun would look like from below. She had to know what Chris had known.

         The need doubled her over like a fist to the gut. She fell to her knees and threw up in the sand. When she was empty she sat back on her heels. It occurred to her, vaguely, that she would be committing a mortal sin. The unforgivable sin. But the failure to please God paled next to her desire.

         There was no question, no doubt or debate. She was going into the water. Like Chris had. She would know once and for all what he had suffered and through his suffering she would be reconciled with him. Even if she were cast to Hell for eternity, she would have the satisfaction of sharing what he had gone through. It was more than a fair trade.

         Darlene stopped to check her watch. Greer was on her way. She might even be at the house already. It would look suspicious if she wasn’t there to greet her. Darlene’s stomach fluttered. She’d had a year to convince Doug and Kate that she was all right, and other than her refusal to talk about Chris she felt she gave a reassuring performance. But teasing out truths was what Greer did for a living and after a lifetime of friendship she was particularly skilled at tugging it from Darlene.

         This time, though, this visit, she mustn’t give in to Greer, to the lure of her playful affection, her generous acceptance of Darlene’s quirks and frailties. Because she couldn’t risk melting into Greer’s confidence she had decided to keep her distance. She would be warm and solicitous but she wouldn’t spend any time alone with Greer lest she suck the truth from her as easily as water through a straw.

         She checked her watch again. It was the first time she had dreaded one of Greer’s visits.

         Darlene turned back. She took comfort in the details of what she planned to wear. She had settled on her Ann Taylor suit but vacillated between blouses. She tended toward her silk crème buttondown, afraid her white cotton one would make her look like a waitress, but the white blouse had a longer tail. She didn’t want to be found with her shirt floating up over her breasts. She thought about shopping for a new blouse but didn’t want to waste money on something she’d only wear once.

         Her jewelry would be simple. The chain around her neck would be left on Chris’ door, the key on it fitted to the lock. She would wear only her wedding ring and communion cross. Everything else would be left for Kate in the jewelry box on the dresser. Where she would prop the note.

         It occurred to her to mention that Greer be found and told as soon as possible. She’d want to know. And deserved to be – she’d been Doug and Darlene’s best friend for nearly thirty years.

         Darlene’s breath caught. Chris hadn’t even lived that long.

         She trudged the short ramp to the parking lot. She unlocked the car and sat brushing sand from her feet.

         The keys. They’d be locked inside the car. She could leave her spare set next to the note.

         Rolling pant legs into place she slipped her work shoes on. A laughing couple walked by. Each carried a squirming toddler. Darlene looked away. Once, she and Doug had been that happy couple, Chris and Kate the wiggly children. She never could have guessed on all those sunny afternoons, never could have foreseen that one day the water would claim Chris and in a short time would have her too.

         Chapter Three

         “Honestly, honey.”

         “Here it comes,” she muttered. Hungry for anything yet nothing in particular, Kate Richardson stuffed a slice of cheese into her mouth and chased it with a few olives.

         “You’re never going to be able to get into your dress if you keep grazing like this.”

         She gave the inside of the fridge another glance before closing the door. She toyed with the idea of lying to her mother that she’d missed lunch, but it wasn’t worth it. Kate wandered into the living room and dropped onto the couch next to her fiancée.

         “So,” Jason asked his watch, “when’s she supposed to be here?”

         “Soon,” she replied, her attention on the evening news.

         Her father offered, “There’s no telling with Greer. She just shows up.”

         “Why doesn’t she call?”

         “Never has,” Doug Richardson said into his drink. “Doesn’t want us to fuss.”

         “Then why are we holding dinner?” Kate grumbled.

         “You know your mother. She likes to feed everyone.”

         “She could start with us.”

         “And who else?” Jason asked. “You’re mom’s made enough food to feed half the city.”

         “No one else. Just Greer. It’s always a big deal when she comes. But,” she bit at a hangnail, “it’s nice to see her stressing about something other than the wedding.”

         “Don’t.” Jason took her hand from her mouth.

         She scowled at him and brought her hand back up. During a commercial he bent to her ear and whispered, “Want to go wait in your room?”

         She entertained the idea. Greer would probably arrive the minute they started, but at least then they could eat. If she didn’t, they’d get a quickie in. Either way it was a win-win suggestion.

         “Hey.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him from the couch. “Let me show you that You Tube video.”

         “What?”

         “Come on.”

         Gracing her father with an ingenuous smile she asked him to let her know when Greer arrived.

         “Will do,” he replied, not bothering to look from the television.

         They trotted upstairs and as soon as Kate closed her door she shoved Jason onto the bed. He went down laughing, “Wait a minute. Let me –”

         “Sh.” She straddled him. “No talking. No noise.” After kissing him, she peeled her shirt off. Her breasts swung above him. He reached with his mouth but she reared away. Teasing him to hardness she unbelted his buckle. Then she undid the button. Pulled his zipper down slow enough to make him moan.

         “Sh. No noise,” she reminded, but he gasped when she took him out.

         Sliding a leg free of her jeans, she guided him into her panties. She knew he liked that and moments like this – she caught her breath as he thrust all the way inside her – when they fit together perfectly, she was sure she could love him. That she did love him.

         Kate bit her lip to keep from groaning. She wanted to make it last but was too ready. Jason gargled her name and she covered his mouth with her hand, coming hard as he exploded inside her.

         “Ohh,” he breathed. “Ohh.”

         “Sh.” She kissed him and got up. “Ready for dinner?”

         “Ready for a nap.”

         “What did you think of the video?” she grinned.

         “Huh?”

         “The video we just watched.”

         “Oh, yeah. Outstanding. Katie does Jason.”

         His eyes closed and she pulled him into a sitting position.

         “Buckle up, mister. Back downstairs. Maybe Greer’s here.”

         Tucking his shirt in, he mumbled “So who is she again? I know she’s a reporter but how does she know you guys?”

         Kate sighed, pinning auburn hair off her shoulders. “I told you. She’s Mom and Dad’s friend from college.”

         “Right. And she’s gay but your mom likes her anyway.”

         “Adores her. You’ll see. They’ll start drinking and telling stories. She’ll cheer mom up. Get her to stop thinking about the wedding for a while.”

         Her stomach gurgled and she urged, “Come on. Let’s go see if there’s anything to snack on.”

         “Oh, man. Your mom’ll have a fit.”

         “Tough shit. I’m starving.”

         He got off the bed, belting himself. “She’ll give you grief about the wedding dress.”

         “She already has and now you are, too. Come on.”

         “Hold on, hold on.”

         She left him stumbling behind, smoothing his hair so that it wouldn’t look like Mr. Richardson’s baby girl had just had her very wicked way with him.

         Chapter Four

         It was quarter to seven and Darlene still hadn’t heard from Greer. That wasn’t unusual. Greer rarely announced her arrivals, preferring to appear on the doorstep with a bag and a grin, expecting everyone to drop their routine and welcome her with open arms. Darlene always had, her joy at seeing Greer overriding her passion for order.

         But this time she wasn’t giving in to Greer’s charm. She poured sauce on the noodles. It was a weeknight and she couldn’t hold dinner any longer, the kids were starving.

         Carrying the salad into the dining room, she called, “Dinner’s ready!”

         She cringed to hear herself hollering like a hillbilly but hadn’t the energy to walk to the living room.

         “Coming,” Kate yelled.

         The TV went off and she heard Doug drop ice into his glass.

         “Honestly,” she muttered, hoping he wouldn’t be plastered by the time Greer arrived. She went back to the kitchen for the spaghetti. Behind her Kate asked, “Need help?”

         “The bread’s in the oven. Could you get it?”

         “Sure.”

         They settled around the dining room table.

         Jason rubbed his hands. “Oh man, this smells good!”

         Managing a smile for her future son-in-law she started grace. Doug rattled the ice in his glass. Darlene ignored him.

         “Amen,” she finished, shortening the prayer for Jason’s sake.

         He fell on the spaghetti, so much like Chris it made her heart hurt. Kate passed her the bowl and she spooned a token serving. Silverware clanked in the silence. Darlene started to ask Doug how his department meeting went but was interrupted by the doorbell.

         “I’ll get it.” Doug stood with his drink.

         Relieved yet anxious the hour had come, Darlene assembled her best-friend face and followed. She stood back while her husband folded Greer into his arms.

         “Aren’t you a sight?” he beamed, holding her away.

         Darlene couldn’t help but gasp. She stared at a purple gash running from Greer’s cheek to her jaw.

         “Argh,” Greer growled, slapping a hand over one eye, “I’m a pirate come to claim me booty, Lass.”

         Darlene had just enough time to brace for Greer’s hug. She endured it briefly then stepped back.

         “You look ghastly.”

         “You look wonderful.”

         “Your timing’s perfect,” Doug said. He curled an arm around Greer and guided her to the dining room. “We just started dinner.”

         “Do you want to wash up?” Darlene asked, trying to recover from the shock of Greer’s gash, the dark moons under her eyes.

         “No.” Greer lifted an arm and waited for her to walk under it. “I’ve kept you long enough.”

         Kate and Jason stood as they entered the room.

         “Miss Kate.” Greer murmured. “Look at you.”

         Darlene watched Greer and her daughter hug, still stunned by Greer’s ghoulish appearance.

         “The last time I was here…you’ve filled out. You look magnificent.”

         “Oh, great,” Kate laughed, “you mean I’ve gotten fat.”

         “Not at all. As I recall you were affecting that vogue, dissipated junkie look. This is far more attractive.”

         Kate laughed again. The silvery notes startled Darlene. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard Kate laugh.

         “Greer, this is Jason, my fiancée.”

         He pumped her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

         “Likewise. I’ve heard great things about you.”

         Recovering her manners, Darlene gestured toward the vacant chair. “Greer, honey, sit.”

         Doug asked, “What can I get you to drink?”

         Greer slid into the seat. “Water would be great.”

         He nodded. “What else?”

         “Nothing. Come eat.” She patted the table near his plate. “Your food’s getting cold.”

         “To hell with my food. What else do you want to drink?”

         “Nothing.” She tapped her head. “The concussion. I’m on the wagon.”

         “On the wagon? What kind of crap is that?”

         “Doug,” Darlene broke in. “She doesn’t want a drink. Could you just get her a bottle of Perrier?”

         “Tap water’s fine,” Greer said.

         “Our water’s terrible,” Darlene protested.

         “You forget where I’ve been. Anything short of mud will do.”

         “Well.” Darlene smoothed her napkin in her lap. “You’re not there anymore. Jason, honey, pass the spaghetti.”

         “No.” Greer raised a hand. “Really. I’m not hungry. I ate on the plane.”

         “On the plane?” Darlene made a face. “That’s not food.”

         “You’re right,” Greer agreed but she pushed her plate beyond Darlene’s reach. “I’m not hungry. More exhausted than anything. And damn glad to be here.”

         “I see you’re sporting a new look,” Kate said, touching her own cheek.

         “Katherine!”

         “What?”

         Greer grinned, “I like to think of it as rakish.”

         “Oh, it’s that,” Kate laughed.

         Jason asked about her flight, allowing Darlene the chance to steal another peek at Greer. The scar was a shock, and how thin she was, and while she’d certainly seen Greer tired, she couldn’t recall seeing her so…

         While she searched for the word Doug came back with the Perrier and Darlene dropped her eyes to her plate.

         Still trying to coax her into a drink, he argued, “You’ve never let a concussion stop you before.”

         Greer took the water. “I’ve never had one this bad before.”

         “Really?”

         Darlene searched Greer again. ‘Spent’ was the word she’d been looking for. Greer looked like a husk that a draft could blow away.

         “My third one,” she shrugged. “Doctor said I should take it easy for a while.”

         “Perfect,” Kate said. “That’s why you’re here.”

         Greer nodded. Turning to Darlene, she assured, “I know my timing’s not the best, with the wedding and all, but I promise I won’t be in the way.”

         Amazed, even a little embarrassed at what an accomplished liar she’d become, Darlene forced a smile.

         “You’re never in the way. But I do wish you’d eat something.”

         Chapter Five

         “It must be great to be back in the States,” Jason said.

         “Yes.” Greer said it noncommittally and Kate admired how she sat slumped with her chin in her hand. If she’d dared to sit like that her mother would scold her to straighten up, take her elbow off the table and eat.

         Before cramming a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth, Jason asked, “How long are you on assignment each time?”

         “Depends. I might have to run off to cover a story somewhere else. Or fill in for another reporter. The average is about three months. I usually extend out. Makes my editors happy. Colleagues too. The ones with families like shorter runs.”

         “Where do you stay when you’re not working?”

         “Here most often. Or with my editor. I have a couple friends that put me up.”

         “Hm.” Her father smirked. “Friends.”

         He and Greer shared a smile and Kate was jealous. Greer and her parents had been friends since before she was born. She wished she had someone like that, that knew her so well.

         “So, what’s it like over there? I mean, the war, and everything. How are we doing?”

         Kate pinched his thigh.

         “Ow!”

         “Greer,” said her mother. “Honey, eat something. Look at you. You’re so thin.”

         “I will. I promise I’ll let you fatten me up. Just not tonight.” Pushing away from the table, she added, “Truth be told, I’m beat. I really just want to go to crash.”

         “Oh, God,” her mother cried. “Of course you do! Poor thing. Flying all day, with your head like that. What was I thinking? Doug,” she said, standing, “could you bring Greer’s bags?”

         “Don’t,” Greer put a staying hand on his shoulder. “I brought them all the way from New York. I think I can manage a few more feet. I’ll see everybody tomorrow. Forgive my boorish manners, huh?”

         Her father made the sign of the cross. “Yada-yada hummana-hummana. You’re forgiven. Get some sleep, gorgeous.”

         “Gorgeous.” She bent and kissed his five o’clock shadow. “That’s why I love you.”

         “Well,” her mother fussed. “Let me get a flashlight”

         Kate snickered, “God, Mom. It’s lit up like a movie set out there.”

         Her mother ignored her, digging a flashlight from out of the sideboard. She insisted on carrying one of Greer’s bags. As they left the room Jason turned to her and whined, “Dude, why’d you pinch me so hard?”

         “Dude. Sometimes you are so incredibly dense. When was the last time you heard the word ‘war’ in this house?”

         She watched his mistake come to him.

         “Oh. Sorry. I forgot.”

         “Don’t worry about it.” Her father waved off Jason’s gaffe and disappeared to fix another drink.

         “Still,” Jason persisted, “you didn’t have to pinch me that hard.”

         “Maybe next time you’ll think before you open your mouth.”

         “Your brother’s been dead like a year. Is she ever going to talk about him?”

         “Wait a minute. Aren’t you the one always telling me I should be over him?”

         “Yeah, but there’s a difference between being over something and pretending it never happened.”

         “Tell me about it. Let’s just eat and get out here.”

         Kate bolted the rest of her meal, hoping to snag desert before her mother returned.

         Chapter Six

         Darlene and Greer stepped out the kitchen door, triggering the motion sensor lights.

         “Jesus.” Greer lifted her forearm to her eyes. “Kate’s right. It’s like a prison break. All we need are the dogs and sirens.”

         Darlene defended, “We had to put them in to keep the wildlife out of the pool. Honestly, I’d love to drain the damn thing and fill it in but Kate and Doug won’t hear it. I’m sorry the grass is so long. We’ve been meaning to get it done. The man that used to cut it retired a couple months ago and we haven’t found anyone capable yet. I asked Doug to mow before you got here but you know how much he loves yard work.”

         “I’ll do it,” Greer said.

         “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll do no such thing.”

         Darlene opened the door to the cottage, pleased with how inviting it looked. She’d turned the covers down and left the lamp on by the bed. Coals glowed from a fire Doug had lit in the tiny wood stove and the room was warm and welcoming. Everything Darlene was not.

         She glanced at Greer, surprised that she looked distressed. Like she was about to cry. Darlene reached to touch her than thought better.

         “Honey? Are you all right?”

         Greer put her bag on the floor and turned to her.

         “You shouldn’t go to so much trouble.”

         “It’s no trouble. You know that. Doug knows how much you love a fire. He laid a stash of wood up for you. You know where it is, behind the cottage.”

         Greer nodded. She sat at the end of the bed and pinched her temples.

         “That was sweet, but you guys have enough to do without fussing over me. I don’t want to be in the way.”

         “Don’t be silly. Does your head hurt? You’ve been rubbing it since you got here.”

         Greer dropped her hand but Darlene insisted, “Can I get you anything? Tylenol? Aspirin? Advil.”

         “No. It’s not that bad. More like the headache you get when you’re hungover and haven’t slept enough.”

         “Well. We’ll fix that. Now you’ll probably laugh,” Darlene brandished an instrument on the nightstand, “Doug did, but this is a walkie-talkie. For your head. In case you need anything. I’ll have mine on by my bed so if you need anything in the middle of the night or if something happens just call me. You won’t have to get all the way over to the house.”

         She thrust the two-way into Greer’s hand. “Use it for anything. Okay?”

         Greer put it on the bed with a smile. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. It’s just a concussion.”

         “That’s what Doug said. But still. Anything can happen.”

         She turned to show Greer the robe in the bathroom, the clean towels, new toothbrush.

         “Can you think of anything you need? I’ll have Doug bring water over. You really shouldn’t drink what comes out of the tap, what with pesticides and MTBE. E-coli. God knows what else. There’s shampoo and conditioner in the shower. Soap. Let me know if there’s anything else you need or want. I’ll be glad to stop on my way home from work, or have Kate get it.”

         Greer was staring at her. Darlene knew she was rambling but couldn’t stop. It was the details, the minutiae that would get her through this visit. She felt she’d been convincing so far and was pleased with her performance.

         “Is your face, is it going to scar?”

         “I don’t know.” Greer fingered the furrow. “Have you told them yet?”

         Darlene hadn’t expected that. At least not so soon. But that was so like Greer not to waste time on small talk.

         Frightened now, certain she’d give herself up if she stayed, Darlene rushed, “Sleep as late as you want. There’s a ton of food. Bacon, eggs, cereal, fruit, yogurt. Help yourself. You know that. Anything we don’t have we can get. Just let me know.”

         “Dar.”

         She grabbed at the doorknob.

         “Call if you need anything. I’ll see you in the morning.”

         Darlene made sure the latch caught behind her and then like the panicky deer that wandered down from the hills she bolted across the light shattered lawn.

         Chapter Seven

         Greer eased herself down on the bed. Her head was killing her. The plane ride hadn’t helped but this was where she needed to be. The cottage was her haven when she needed to hole up and lick her wounds.

         Studying the old beams in the ceiling she considered Darlene’s hasty departure. From rare phone calls and increasingly unanswered emails Greer knew that Dar was handling her son’s death the way she handled every crisis, chin up and pressing on. That she had run off instead of answering Greer’s question indicated she still hadn’t told Doug and Kate exactly how Chris Richardson had been killed. Thinking the wedding must be a marvelous distraction, and wondering what would happen to her friend when it was over, Greer dozed off.

         Something woke her.

         She tensed, listening hard. Slowly she realized she was in the cottage. She was in the States, in sunny California. An earthquake was the worst thing that could happen to her. When her heart slowed she rolled over. She was still in her clothes. The clock next to the bed glowed 1:23. Her stomach grumbled for something more substantial than airline snacks, and she wondered if that was what woke her.

         She hadn’t been dreaming, or didn’t remember if she had and was grateful. She shifted and inventoried various body parts. The shoulder she’d been curled on was stiff; her big toe ached from having been broken in the fall; her knee complained when she straightened it, but her eyes didn’t hurt and her head wasn’t pounding like a Gene Krupa solo. Streaking her fingers through her hair she snagged her sleeve on her cheek. She’d forgotten the gash. It didn’t hurt, just caught on clothes and made people stare.

         The worst of her wounds was invisible. It couldn’t be found in an X-ray, MRI, or cat scan. Only Greer could see it. Like a wraith in a spook house it wavered constantly at the edge of her vision. She tried not to look too closely at it for when she did the haunt gathered strength, materializing fully into the strutting young woman that had once been Sigbrith Vandergaard.

         Greer laid a forearm over her eyes, as if that would repel Sigbrith’s ghost. It only made the memory of the sassy woman that much more vivid. The what-ifs followed Sig’s ghost like a pack of well-trained dogs

         What if she had looked up Jordan’s Prime Minister that afternoon, like her editor had suggested?

         What if she had hit the street for leads instead of planting herself at the bar in the Intercontinental?

         What if she hadn’t gotten so drunk?

         And of all the gin joints in the world why did Sig have to walk into hers? On that night? At that hour?

         What if it had been an hour or two later? She’d have probably passed out by then and not followed Sig up to her room like a moony teenager.

         Or an hour earlier and she might have been sober enough to laugh off Sig calling her “Gran’mama.”

         The most persistent what-if wouldn’t happen for another three days, until they crossed from Jordan into Iraq. Sig had been squirming beside her in the back of the dented Peugeot. It was all new to Sig, the sand, the heat, the dust, and despite the jounce she kept her Nikon out the window snapping frame after frame.

         Turning to Greer she asked, “Why’d you get me the visa?”

         Greer, who had been treating Sig cooly at best, offered a slight grin.

         “Consider it apology for my boorish behavior the other night.”

         Sig smiled. “You were pretty awful.”

         She went back to photographing the empty landscape and Greer stared at the desert, unseeing. The truth was, she’d gotten Sig’s papers to prove she could, that she was nobody’s ‘Gran’mama.’And there was a lot more she was going to prove to the lovely young Dane, but not yet. For the time being she was content to ignore Sig. Until they neared the checkpoint into Ramadi.

         The driver, who had been glaring into the rearview mirror more than watching the highway, decelerated as they approached the guards. Greer was telling Sig to put the camera down when she felt the car speed up.

         “Hey!” She leaned over the seat and tapped him. “Shway! Slow down!”

         He laughed but stepped on the brake. Greer glanced at the checkpoint guards. Three, in mismatched uniforms. They stared but their guns were down. On her left she caught a dull glint. Sig had nosed the Nikon out the window. Greer saw the guards step and raise their rifles as she swiped at the camera, but too late. Automatic fire deafened her as the windshield fell in.

         The car lurched. The driver slid to the floor, his dead foot jamming the accelerator. Wind burned through the car bringing the sulfurous tang of gunfire. Rising up from the floor of the backseat she oozed into the front like an amoeba. She yanked the driver’s leg and unwedged it. The car slowed.

         “Fahadi!” she shouted. “Journalist! Fahadi!”

         To Sig, still in the back seat, she yelled, “Keep down! Stay down!”

         The car tipped. It rolled off the road and bumped to a stop. The guards kicked the doors open. They jerked Greer and Sig from the car and shoved them face down to the molten asphalt. Sig sprawled beside her, eyes huge and blue, like two new skies fallen to earth. She winked at Sig and gave a quick, reassuring smile, insisting they were, “Fahadi! Fahadi!”

         The guards tore their credentials and ground the scraps under their heels. Black rifle eyes stared at them while a small crowd gathered. The guards raved and paced. They yanked the women to their feet and gesticulated at the driver, his ruddled head and torso hanging from the idling Peugeot. They found Sig’s camera. With much spitting and cursing they vetted each picture. Greer continued explained in broken Arabic they were just journalists. They didn’t know the driver. They meant no harm.

         The guards smashed the camera with their rifle butts. Sig started to protest but Greer grabbed her. Tilting her chin toward the driver she promised she could get Sig a new camera but not a new body. Sig kept her mouth shut. The guards continued their rant but were running out of adrenaline. The crowd dissipated. An hour later they roughed the women back into the car and told them to return to Amman.

         That should have been the end of their adventure. But Sig had gotten her first taste of adrenaline dope and like a junkie, she begged Greer to take her back. By the time they’d returned to the Intercontinental Greer’s enthusiasm for the adventure had decreased considerably and when Sig slyly asked if she’d like to share a room, Greer knew she had Sig right where she wanted her; the follow through would have been mere formality. She should have been happy to quit there, but to quit would make her look chickenshit, like the ‘gran’mama’ Sig had impudently called her. So she rounded up another driver and a new camera. Two days later, fresh papers in hand, they crossed into Iraq.

         Greer jumped from the bed. The sudden movement made her sick but she paced circles in the tiny room. She paused to peer out the window. Across the yard through the pale fog she could make out the house and a dim glow from the kitchen. Her stomach growled as if it could see the promise of food. Greer crossed the stone pavers connecting cottage to house and tried the back door. It opened.

         Greer silently blessed Dar for leaving it unlocked despite her fear of burglars, rapists and Christ only knew what else. She was prowling the fridge when headlights cut through the room.

         “What the hell?” she whispered, craning to see out the window. A car door closed and a moment later Kate tiptoed from the night into the kitchen.

         Chapter Eight

         Kate snuck in hoping she was being quiet enough not to wake her mother. She’d gone ballistic when Kate got on the pill at seventeen and now it made her crazy that she hadn’t moved in with Jason. She said it was “abnormal” that Kate didn’t want to spend the night with her fiancée.

         Like anything was normal lately.

         “Hey.”

         “Oh my God!” Kate jumped. “You scared me!”

         “Sorry,” Greer apologized. She grinned at Kate’s pajamas. “What are you doing?”

         “I should ask you the same thing. I thought you were sleeping.”

         “I was. My stomach woke me up. Want a sandwich?”

         Kate peered at the jars on the counter. “Wow. I haven’t had peanut butter and jelly since…”

         She was habituated to not speaking her brother’s name but took the chance.

         “Since Chris died.”

         Greer kept spreading jelly.

         “Want one?”

         “Sure.” Kate eyed the food. “Do you want a glass of milk?”

         “That’d be perfect.”

         She poured and Greer reminded, “I answered your question, now you have to answer mine.”

         “About?”

         “About why you’re sneaking home barefoot in pajamas at one in the morning.”

         “Oh.” She giggled. “I hate spending the night at Jason’s. His apartment’s so small. It’s like sleeping in a coffin. There’s no windows, no sun. I hate waking up there.”

         “He doesn’t mind that you leave in the middle of the night?”

         She accepted the sandwich Greer handed her. Her mother would have a fit if she caught them eating without a plate or at least a napkin to catch the crumbs.

         “He’s always asleep when I leave. I stay on weekends but on weekdays we get up and go so it’s not like we have lots of time to hang out.”

         “Why doesn’t he stay here?”

         “With my parents down the hall?”

         “Right.” Greer nodded. She attacked her sandwich.

         “My God,” Kate laughed. “You must be starving.”

         “I am,” Greer mumbled with a full mouth.

         Kate sobered.

         “You eat like him. Like Chris.”

         When there was no repercussion she continued.

         “He’d eat over the sink. It drove Mom crazy. She’d fly at him with a plate but he always finished before she got to him. He’d cram the last bite of whatever he was eating into his mouth and laugh at her. She’d swat him with the broom and sweep up after him.”

         A lump formed in her throat. It felt like sacrilege to talk about him but she didn’t want to stop.

         “I miss him.”

         “I bet.” Greer lowered her sandwich. “You two always seemed pretty close.”

         “We were.”

         The peanut butter and jelly was suddenly cloying. She offered it to Greer.

         She took it, saying, “I don’t think I’m going back to sleep any time soon. Want to come over to the cottage and talk?”

         Kate considered. It was late. She had to work tomorrow. And Greer had a concussion. Kate should let her go to bed, not keep her up all night chatting, but before Greer could change her mind, she answered, “I’d love to.”

         Chapter Nine

         Darlene sat in Chris’ room in the rocker by the window. Greer’s question had rattled her, but her alarm was steeling into anger. She loved Greer with all her heart. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for her, but what Darlene told her family about Chris’ death was none of Greer’s business. It was enough she had told them Chris was dead. That was all that mattered. Horrendous facts about circumstances wouldn’t bring him back and despite Greer’s insistence that she reveal each painful detail Darlene was determined to bury them with her.

         Kate’s VW crunched in the driveway. A moment later muffled noises drifted from the kitchen. She looked at the box in her lap and shook her head. Kate was never going to fit into her wedding dress if she didn’t stop living in the refrigerator. She listened with her eyes closed, waiting for her daughter to try to creep soundlessly up the stairs. From years of listening to her children try, she knew it was impossible. When she didn’t hear the familiar creak and groan of wood she assumed Kate was watching television.

         She relaxed, thumbing the latch on the box, but didn’t open it. Savoring the anticipation, she dreamed of the letters inside, wrapped snugly in an American flag. They were stacked in the order Chris had written them and that was the order in which she read them. It was like reading a great novel. More like great literature, she corrected, for literature tended to unhappy endings. But the early letters from boot camp and Pendleton, even the first few from that vile country, were the best. They were page-turners.

         Darlene smiled, recalling the zest and liveliness Chris had captured, how his words conveyed his enthusiasm and zeal. There was no doubt in reading the letters that this was what he’d had to do, but what haunted her was how he had come to his desire.

         She pushed the lock. It caught with the light click that made her breath catch. She raised the lid. Righting it square to the box she saluted the flag-covered bundle. With fingertips she stroked the soft flag. It was pure cotton. As soft as the diapers he’d worn as a baby. Doug had chided her for the mess and trouble of cloth diapers, and though her heart broke the first time she poked him with a pin, she had refused to wrap her son in disposable plastic.

         She could laugh now at what a trivial pain that pin had been.

         Darlene gathered the bundle and cradled it like a kitten.

         “I love you,” she whispered.

         She heard him answer in kind, with a tolerant grin and peck to her cheek. She touched her face where his kiss would have been and saw him tall and strong and smiling. The physical craving for him made her wince. Lowering the bundle she unwrapped the flag until her son lay bare before her.

         Christopher John Richardson.

         Blindly tracing a postmark, she said, “Dear Mom and Dad and Katie…”

         Chapter Ten

         Dear Mom and Dad and Katie,

         Gosh you guys, I’m totally sorry I haven’t written sooner but we were so busy with in-processing and then straight to training (After sleeping in the hall all night on our new seabags – no Mom don’t call a lawyer to get me out! I’m fine. As our RDC (Recruit Division Commander said –well, shouted actually – LACK OF SLEEP NEVER KILLED ANYONE!)

         The day starts at 0600 (Yes, Katie, that’s 6AM) and basically what we did in P week was learn how to make our racks in two minutes (you’d love it Mom!) and stencil our underwear (I’m not kidding!). There was a lot of classroom work about the Uniform Code of Military Justice and standards of conduct, lots of grooming and hygiene classes (I’m telling you Mom you could be an RDC!) then lights out at 2200. Oh and our RDC made me a Recruit Petty Officer, which means I get to tell the other recruits what to do!

         It’s 2150 right now and I’m totally tired but I feel really good too. They’ve thrown a lot of crap at us in the last couple days but I’ve taken it and I’m ready for more!! We started physical training this week and it’s pretty easy. It helps to be in shape. The swimming is totally easy – thanks for all those hours you made me practice, Dad! – but some of the guys had to go to the Kiddy Pool to pass the 3rd Class Swim Qualifications. There’s a lot of calisthenics and the running’s easy. We’re learning drills and there’s more classroom time but the hardest parts all the inspections and the details they make you go over. And over. And over. Again. Mom you wouldn’t believe how neat I’m being! It’s a lot of work but I’m digging it. I so want to do this. And I want to make you all proud of me. I love you very much.

         Love, Chris.

         PS – It’s super cold here! Minus 14 degrees with the wind chill factor!! Why did I enlist in February??

         Chapter Eleven

         “Hope I don’t roast you out. I’m freezing,” Greer explained as she chucked a log onto the coals in the stove.

         Kate watched, perched on the footstool. She felt suddenly shy and wondered why she’d followed Greer to the cottage.

         “Do you remember what this place looked like, before Dad fixed it up?”

         “It was falling down. It was an old shop or something wasn’t it?”

         “Something.” Kate smiled at the memory. “Chris and I used to love playing in it. It was like a haunted house, all full of spider webs and bird crap. There used to be a woodrat that lived in the corner, in a big old pile of sticks. We didn’t know what it was and every now and then it would start scratching and thumping in the woodpile and we’d run out screaming like something was trying to kill us.”

         She giggled, “Mom hated us playing in there. She was sure rattlesnakes or black widows were going to kill us. She’d chase us out and we’d sneak back in. It just added to the excitement of the whole thing. Once we stopped spooking ourselves we’d arrange all the old tools and paint cans and pretend we were doctor’s. We’d operate on my dolls and saw their arms and legs off and nail them back on. Mom and Dad were so shocked that Chris wanted to be a corpsman but he was always rescuing lost dogs, sick birds. We got pretty good at taking care of orphaned babies. He always had some animal in his room that he was taking care. Drove Mom crazy.”

         The log caught and Greer closed the glass door. She settled into the rocker.

         “Tell me about dinner. Was it a little tense or am I making that up?”

         “Just a normal dinner,” Kate hedged. “Everyone pretending everything’s fine.”

         “But it’s not?”

         Greer’s question was a nail to Kate’s bald tire. All the rotten air she’d been holding, all the things she wanted to tell Jason and her friends, her mother or her father, all blew out.

         “Not even close. We can’t talk about the war. We can’t talk about Chris. We can’t even say his name or Mom’ll leave the room. She locks herself in his bedroom all the time and pretends everything’s fine, but it’s like living in a madhouse. We have to watch everything we say. Like when Jason asked about the war? Oh, my God!”

         She slapped her forehead with the heel of her palm.

         “Did you see how Mom was all like ‘Greer, honey, eat some spaghetti’? If you hadn’t been there she’d have gotten up without a word and disappeared. It’s crazy. I hate it. I can’t talk to anyone about Chris. No one wants to hear about him anymore. Jason thinks I should be over him, says I’m morbid. And my friends try to listen, but I can tell by the way they change the subject that they think the same thing. So I keep him all to myself. It’s like he’s barbwired onto my heart and no one can get in to him and I can’t get him out. I just wish it would go away, that something in my life could be normal, like it used to. You know?”

         Greer nodded. “I do.”

         “Maybe everyone’s right. Maybe I should be over him. I mean I’m just his sister. I can’t imagine how Mom and Dad feel. Especially Mom. I mean, she carried him in her belly for God’s sake. She breast fed him. And if I miss him this much I can’t even begin to imagine what she feels.”

         Kate studied her cuticles. She was afraid she was talking too much but couldn’t stop.

         “I miss him. I never realized until he was gone that he was my best friend. I mean, he knew things about me, things I did, that no one else does. Like the first boy I slept with or all the times I’d be out partying and he’d cover for me. Or like when Tyler McCloskey dumped me and I was so upset. He came into my room and gave me a big hug and told me not to worry. That Tyler’s dick was so small you needed a magnifying glass to see it and that girls would be dumping him the rest of his life. It was dumb but it cheered me up. The next day I passed Tyler in the hall and wagged my little finger at him. He didn’t get it at first then he blushed and looked like he was going to puke. Chris was always trying to cheer everyone up. He hated it when someone felt bad.”

         She glanced at Greer, remembering whose friend she was.

         “Promise you won’t tell Mom any of this?”

         “I promise.”

         Kate believed her. She twirled her engagement ring.

         “I feel like I’m going crazy sometimes. Like he never existed. Like I made him up but at the same time it’s like he’s sucking all the oxygen out of the room. I mean, I still think about him all the time. I’ll be doing something and wonder where he is or who he’s with and hope he’s not getting into trouble. Then for like a fraction of a second I think he’s in Iraq and then I remember he’s dead. But there’s part of me that still worries automatically about him. It’s a reflex, like when the doctor taps your knee. I hate it. I wish I could turn it off. But it was such a habit. I was always bailing him out of scrapes. Never anything serious.”

         She smiled at the fire.

         “I’d hold it over his head for a while but he was always so sorry I couldn’t stay mad. It was funny, really. He was so sweet. That’s what I miss most. He was so mellow, so easygoing. He never let anything get to him. Not like me. And now we’re all basket cases without him. It’s like he took the best part of our family with him. If Dad said ‘swim’, he swam. If Mom said ‘I don’t want you hanging out with Matt Jones’, he’d stop hanging out with him. He always did whatever they wanted. And I was always the bad kid that talked back and had to question everything. Now it’s like I have to be perfect. I mean, this is hard enough on them so the least I can do is try not make it worse.”

         Kate felt tears pushing behind her eyes. She blinked fast and swallowed the knot in her throat.

         “Everyone says I should be over him, you know, moving on and all that. And I am. I’m getting married, I work. I’m doing what I should be doing, but I still miss him. And no one wants to hear it. They tell me not to dwell on him. But if I stop thinking about him then he really will be dead. It’s like if I keep thinking about him then he’s still alive. A part of him still lives inside me. And to forget about him would be like deserting him. Like I was abandoning him.”

         Watching sap flare, she confided, “Then I feel like a traitor for thinking about him, like I’m betraying Mom. And it pisses me off. I mean this whole fucking war pisses me off. And Chris pisses me off for going over there. To die for what? Oil? Strategic interests? Freedom? That’s what Mom always says. ‘To bring freedom and protect our way of life. ‘What about their way of life? I mean I can’t believe she thinks we should be there. She still believes her son did his duty for his country. It’s crazy. He did his duty so dad can drive an Excursion. He bought all that crap about freedom and patriotism and the war on terror. I mean he was such a jerk. If he wasn’t dead already I’d kill him before I let him go over there again.”

         Greer stared into the fire. Kate thought she wasn’t listening, that she probably wished Kate would shut up, like everybody else did.

         “Sorry,” she offered.

         “For what?”

         “Going off on you, getting all morbid.”

         Greer said, “I’ve seen my share of grief, Kate. Probably more than my share, and I’ve never seen two people grieve the same way. I’ve met men, women, and children who’ve lost entire families. Everyone. All wiped out. And they carry on as if nothing happened. I’ve seen other people mourning ten, thirty, fifty years later as brokenheartedly as if it had happened yesterday. So no. I don’t think you’re being morbid. I think you’re just fine. Tell me more.”

         “Really?” She stole a quick glance at Greer’s profile. “Are you sure?”

         “I’m sure.”

         “It doesn’t bother you?”

         “Not at all. I like hearing about Chris. He was a great guy.”

         “He was.”

         She bit at a nail, wondering where to continue.

         “Sometimes I feel like I never even had a brother. Like I just dreamed him. I wake up in the morning and remember he’s dead and it’s like what the hell? I mean if a boy can live twenty-two years and then be erased just like that,” she snapped her fingers, “then what’s the point? It’s like someone put an ice cream scoop inside me and scooped out all the best parts of him. I mean so much of my history has vanished and if it can all disappear so easily, then what’s real? What’s the point? Why even bother?”

         Greer was shuffling coals with the poker. She stopped to look at Kate.

         “Tell me that’s a rhetorical question.”

         “No, I’m serious. I mean how many people have you seen die and how many wars have you written about? There has to be a reason for all this, right?”

         “Jesus.” Greer prodded a log. “Damned if I know.”

         “Then who does? I mean I can’t believe Mom’s beloved priests know, or that the idiots who started this war know. But shouldn’t somebody? Somewhere? Or else why bother? I mean, really, there has to be a point. Doesn’t there?”

         “Give me your hand.”

         “What?”

         Greer repeated, “Give me your hand.”

         Kate did. Greer held the poker over her palm. She could feel the heat from it. Greer brought the bar closer. It was uncomfortably warm yet still she lowered it. The metal almost touched her before Kate yanked away.

         “What are you doing?”

         Greer replaced the poker in the rack.

         “Maybe that’s your point. That spark in you that was afraid I’d hurt you. Maybe we bother just to preserve the beast in us that wants to live. Maybe there’s no other reason than we’re alive and want to stay that way. But if that’s true, then how to explain that old man in Sarajevo who ran into the street in the middle of a bombardment and grabbed four little kids. He ran with them until a piece of shrapnel got him. He fell next to this rock wall and managed to shove each kid over before he died. Come to find he wasn’t even related to the kids. I saw a woman in Tehran do the same thing. In the middle of a mortar attack she ran into the street to drag her neighbor’s kids out of the way

         “And women at Omarska and Dretelj. Prison camps,” she clarified.

         “They kept their children and mothers and sisters alive, by giving them their daily ration of bread. I suppose that’s natural when it’s your family, but still, that seems pretty heroic when all that’s standing between you and starvation is a thin slice of bread. I see it all the time. Soldiers running through bullets to rescue a downed buddy. A teacher falling on a grenade thrown into her classroom. How do you explain actions that defy every instinct for self-preservation? It’s like we have the bones of animals and the hearts of angels.”

         Kate was trying to absorb the images when Greer added, “Just like Chris.”

         “How so? That he was a corpsman?”

         Greer pierced Kate with a gaze that made her feel like a bug on a collection board.

         “How did he die?”

         “What do you mean?”

         “I mean what happened to him? How did he die?”

         “I thought you knew. He was shot, crossing the Tigris. He was trying to secure the bank on the other side.”

         Greer sat back.

         “Your mother told you that.”

         “Yeah. God, it was horrible. I got home from work and she asked me to please stay for dinner. Said she’d made a nice roast and it had been so long since we had a meal together and could I please stay? I should have known something was wrong by the way she asked me. Real nice, almost begging.

         “So when Dad got home we sat down to a full-on meal. I mean, roast, potatoes, vegetables, the whole nine yards. And she was acting really weird, like she was stoned or something, and she said, ‘I have some news.’ Like the plumbing ruptured or the O’Brian’s put their house up for sale. She said, ‘Some men came by today. Officers, really.’ I thought she meant police officers, so I joked, “I didn’t do it.” Dad looked at her kind of strange and she just sat all stiff. There was food on her plate but her hands were in her lap and she just stared at Dad.

         “‘What kind of officers?’ he asked real slow and then I got it. I couldn’t breathe. They sat there, staring at each other and he said ‘Darlene’, real low and spooky. The hair went up on my arms and I got totally cold, like the temperature had dropped thirty degrees. Mom stared at him. She nodded, real faintly, and he said, ‘Chris?’ and she nodded again. Dad asked what was wrong, what had happened, and like she was telling him Chris got bit by a mosquito she said, ‘He’s dead.’ Just like that. ‘He’s dead.’”

         She rubbed her arms despite the heat.

         “It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room. It was too impossible for her to be sitting there in front of a whole meal announcing that her son was dead. It was impossible and I wanted to kid, haha, like not funny. But she wasn’t laughing. I looked at Dad and he looked horrible. Oh my God. I’ve never seen him look like that. It was just awful and then he like woke up and looked around at all the food and said, ‘This doesn’t make sense.’ And that was the only thing I could understand. And Mom said, ‘No. It doesn’t. I don’t suspect it ever will.’ And then, here’s the really crazy part, she said, ‘But we have to eat. We have to keep eating.’”

         She looked at Greer. Her head was tilted against the rocker, eyes closed. Kate thought she’d fallen asleep.

         “Are you awake?” she whispered.

         “Yes. Then what happened?”

         “Dad and I just looked at her. Then we looked at each other, like oh my god we’ve lost Chris and Mom. I mean she was insane. Like a zombie. A Stepford wife. I started crying and Dad came over and put his arms around me. Mom got up and said, ‘Well. I guess nobody’s going to eat’ and started clearing the table. It was fucking crazy. I felt like I was having this very bad, very vivid, very weird dream. A lot of the time it still feels that way.”

         Greer dropped her head into her hand, massaging her eyes.

         “God,” Kate realized. “Your head must be killing you. You came here to relax and I’m going off on you like a lunatic. I mean, God, you’ve probably seen hundreds of dead boys.”

         “Thousands,” Greer corrected.

         “How do you stand it?”

         “I don’t know. Death’s not the worst thing.”

         “Then what is?”

         Greer opened her eyes. She watched the fire for a moment and Kate wondered if she’d heard. Taking the poker in hand, she fiddled with the coals, answering, “Watching those who’ve survived and are left to cope. Usually women and children. They bear the brunt of war. But even that’s not so bad. “Hope,” Greer said to the flames. “Hope is the worst casualty. Tell me more about Chris.”

         Kate searched the aquiline profile, the cheekbones sharp enough to draw blood, and she thought Greer looked positively raptorial. Like a very tired bird of prey.

         “What do you want to know?”

         “Anything. What was his favorite food?”

         She smiled. “Anything edible. He was a bottomless pit. Mom used to get so frustrated because no matter how much food she cooked there was never any left over. She’d make two of those smoked turkey casseroles, you know, the one with the chilies and cheddar soup? It’s like ten thousand calories per serving? He’d eat a whole one by himself and finish anything leftover before he went to bed.”

         “I remember,” Greer nodded.

         Kate watched her mash the heel of her hand against an eye.

         “Are you sure you don’t want me to go? You look beat.”

         Greer gave a little snort. “I am beat. But no. I don’t want to go to bed. Go on,” she insisted. “Tell me more.”

         She wondered how far she could go before Greer would start to think she was a nutcase.

         “I talk to him,” she ventured.

         When Greer didn’t react she added. “I’ve never told anyone. But it’s like I feel he’s okay wherever he is. That he’s peaceful and that he wishes we could be peaceful, too. Do you think I’m nutty?”

         “No.” Greer smiled. “I lost the best cameraman I ever worked with to something as prosaic as a heart attack. I loved Philip. We could read each other’s minds. There was no story we couldn’t get together. Then he died on me. He was only thirty-eight. Turned out he had a severe heart murmur and that it was remarkable he lived as long as he did. I was furious he’d never told me and after he died I used to cry and curse him and hope he was burning in hell.

         “Then a couple weeks after his funeral I was in East Timor. In a hotel room. Alone, for a change. I was half drunk and crying, talking and swearing at him like I’d gotten in the habit of doing, when all of a sudden I got this feeling that he was in the room with me. It was so strong I looked behind the door and under the bed, and I swear it felt like he was laughing at me. Not at me but with me. Just doubled over and busting a gut. Loving me more than he ever had. I laughed too and then I cried. All night long. Cried myself to sleep.”

         She reached for another log. Kate watched the firelight play across Greer’s face, alternately softening and sharpening the gaunt features.

         “I used to talk to him all the time. Especially in sticky situations. And I swear he heard me. I’d have an idea or inspiration that I never would have come up with on my own. A thought that was pure Philip. So no, I don’t think that’s crazy. If it is, then we’re crazy together.”

         Chin resting on a raised knee, Kate murmured, “That wouldn’t be so bad. To be crazy with you.”

         Greer smiled but it didn’t take the edge off her weariness. Kate wondered again, “Shouldn’t you be sleeping? I mean, it’s late, and with your concussion and all…”

         “You sound like your mother.”

         “Oh, great. That does it.” She stood and stretched. “I’m going.”

         Greer stood too, walking with her to the door. Kate opened it but turned.

         “Would you have really put the poker on me?”

         “Would you have really let me?”

         They shared a grin.

         Kate said, “Thanks for letting me talk. I totally appreciate it.”

         “No. Thank you. I was looking down the barrel of a long night. I know I’m not the best company right now, so promise you’ll come back when I’m a little sharper.”

         Flattered, Kate assured, “You’re plenty sharp. And I promise I’ll come back whenever you ask.”

         “Don’t wait for an invitation, Miss Kate. Come any time.”

         “Really?”

         She searched Greer’s face, trying to spot the casual lie.

         “Really.”

         “Okay.”

         She looked away, embarrassed she’d doubted Greer’s sincerity.

         “Goodnight,” she said and let herself out.

         Stepping from the firelit cottage felt like being suddenly woken from a marvelous dream. Standing in the yellow circle of light under the door, hugging herself hard, Kate wondered how soon she could come back.

         Chapter Twelve

         The wind blew hard and gray through the pass. Greer heard it but couldn’t see it. Or feel it. Thin, naked trees pointed unbending into a sunless sky. She looked at the shrubs clinging from rootholds in the cliff walls. All still, as motionless as if painted onto the granite. Yet the wind howled and keened. How could that be she wondered, turning.

         Behind her, in the snow filled draw, dead soldiers began to move. Of a sudden the sky blackened. Greer lifted her head. Plank winged vultures soared from the edge of the cliffs, enjambing the narrow defile, inking the flinty winter light. They fell among the corpses as steadily as the snow. Leaping and flapping upon the rigored men, the black winged birds wormed beaks into eyes and mouths and holes that shouldn’t have been. Soldiers rose without legs. They ran without heads and fought without arms. Greer watched, hunched into a dead Russian’s bushlat, hands jammed deep into the pockets. The birds turned into jackals and the snow reddened as auric dogs ripped frozen chunks from the fallen soldiers, tearing limbs and splintering bones.

         She thought she should do something. At least take her hands from the warm pockets and throw a rock. But the dogs were hungry. And the soldiers were dead. They’d never make it to the border. Even if they had all their limbs and innards the cold and deep snow would see to that. Not to mention the wolves and snipers on the other side of the pass. Greer tugged a notebook from her pocket. She wrote in it until a smiling, eviscerated soldier stepped up to her. He held out the bridle to a saddled vulture. She took it. The reins were freeze-burned loops of intestine. She thanked him in Russian.

         “Pozhalujsta.” He bowed from what was left of his waist.

         She asked if it hurt.

         “Nyet!” He laughed. He was beautiful, a yellow-haired poster boy for Russian youth. A gold band winked on his finger.

         “You have a wife at home.”

         “Nyet!” He laughed again. “Dead. All dead. Every one at home dead.”

         “Then why do you fight?” she asked.

         The soldier laughed. He kept laughing. Louder than the wind. Louder than jackals breaking bone and louder than the flapping vulture trying to lift off with Greer upon its back. She spurred it like a horse and the bird staggered into the frozen air. It lurched and Greer clung to its gut-slick back. Clutching at feathers that came away in her hands she fell into the night coming sky. Below her, the butchered soldiers stopped moving. They looked up and laughed. Greer clawed at air so dark and heavy she thought she might be able to catch hold of it but her fingers slashed at nothing.

         She woke pinwheeling her arms. The cottage swirled amid the dream’s black ebb and suck. She cracked her wrist on the nightstand and it occurred to her she’d landed on a rock yet was somehow still alive. She wondered where the soldiers had gone and the vultures, and why there were clean sheets and a fire in a stove.

         The room stilled. She recognized the cottage and the potbellied stove, the lamp and the bed, the familiar old quilt. Yet the falling had been so real she glanced over the side of the bed to check that the floor was there. It was gleaming and solid. She tested it with her feet and rose without clothes. Her burnished face and arms blended with the fading firelight. The rest of her body was a pale anomaly. Greer cloaked herself in the quilt and rekindled the fire. When the logs spurted flame she stood from her crouch and paced. The motion ironed the wrinkles from her nerves. After she’d paced a comfortable distance between the cottage and the dream she made the bed and dressed. Her scarred Timex said it wasn’t quite six. She parted the curtains onto not-yet dawn and decided to slip across the yard to make coffee. She let herself quietly into the house, surprised to see Dar at the kitchen table, a cup before her.

         “Good morning.” Dar stood. “Coffee?”

         “I’ll get it.”

         Dar had already reached for a mug and was pouring.

         “Thanks.” She took the cup. “You’re up early.”

         “I’ve got a lot to do.”

         “Anything I can help with?”

         “I wish. It’s all things for the wedding. Honestly, Kate should be doing most of it but she doesn’t seem to have much interest. It’s easier if I do it.”

         Greer sipped, murmuring, “Planning the wedding you always wanted?”

         A brief smile crossed Dar’s face. “It was the happiest day of my life.”

         Greer returned the smile. She carried the picture in her head of Dar huddled in down and wool as they raced to Tahoe in Doug’s gasping Corvair. Buried in the backseat under a pile of blankets Greer cursed Doug for never having fixed the heater. Dar agreed but she wasn’t complaining. She was too happy.

         Dar’s parents, especially her mother, had never liked Doug. They claimed he didn’t have any prospects, that he was too immature. They were certain the demands of marriage and parenthood would overwhelm him, sending him off into the night never to be heard from again. After a particularly ugly dinner with her parents he had called Greer around midnight. She could hear his grin as he announced, “We’re driving to Tahoe first thing in the morning. We’re getting married. We want you to be our best man and our best woman. Whaddaya say?”

         “I’m in,” she’d laughed. “Congratulations.”

         The memory glowed with innocence and faith, an absolute trust in a perfect future.

         “It was fun,” Greer agreed. “What I remember of it.”

         “I’ll say. You and the groom were drunk for three days.”

         “You drank your fair share.”

         “I could never keep up with you two.”

         Dar looked into her cup. “How’d you sleep? Were you were warm enough?”

         “Plenty. I kept the fire going all night.”

         “Do you need more wood? I could have Doug order more.”

         “Christ, no,” Greer laughed. “There’s at least half a cord stacked outside.”

         “How about an electric blanket? I’m sure I have one stashed –”

         She covered Dar’s hand with her own.

         “I’m fine. You don’t know how much I appreciate being here. I know you’ve got lots of things on your mind and I don’t want to be one of them, okay? Let me help with some of the wedding stuff.”

         “Hmph. You’d be the first person I’d call in an insurgency but what could you possibly know about weddings?”

         “Nothing. But I’m a quick study.”

         “What would help was if you just relaxed and took care of your head. You poor thing. I’m worried about you.”

         “As I am about you.”

         “Me? For heaven’s sake, why?”

         Cupping Dar’s hand to keep her from wriggling away, Greer started, “How long have we known each other?”

         “Oh come on,” Dar scolded. “Your head’s not that bad.”

         “You’re right. Thirty years. That’s a long time.”

         “Yes, it is.”

         “Apart from my family I’ve never known anyone that long. Hell. You are my family.”

         Dar nodded. Greer could feel her turning cagey and plunged in.

         “Kate says you never talk about him.”

         Dar pulled her hand loose and got up. “Kate should mind her own business.”

         “You’re her mother. You are her business.”

         “What I talk about, or don’t talk about, is no one’s business.”

         “Is that why you haven’t told her about Chris yet?”

         Dar spun so fast the cup flew out of her hand. It shattered on the immaculate floor.

         “Greer. That’s enough.”

         She pressed, “When are you going to tell them?”

         Dar grabbed a handful of paper towels and knelt to sop up the stain. Greer hunched next to her.

         “They have a right to know.”

         “Why? What possible good can come of it?”

         “It’s her brother, for Christ’s sake. Your husband’s son. They need to know.”

         “Why? Why hurt them even more. I wish I’d never been told. I think about him, about that,” she spat, “every waking moment. It’s the last thing I see before I go to sleep at night and the first thing I see in the morning. Why do you want me to share that? Tell me. Why should I make it even harder for them?”

         “Because it’s the truth. Because as bad as it is they need to know. And how long am I supposed to keep lying for you?”

         “It’s not lying. Not telling is a far cry from lying.”

         “A half truth is a whole lie,” Greer maintained. “Semantics, Dar. It’s wrong –”

         “How dare you?” Dar hurled the wad of toweling. It splatted on the floor.

         “How dare you tell me what’s wrong? I’m doing everything I can to keep this family together and until you have one of your own don’t you dare tell me how to run mine.”

         “Dar,” Greer pleaded. “You are my family. And this lie is tearing you all apart. It’s pushing you away, not holding you together. Can’t you see that?”

         Braced against the counter Dar insisted, “It’s better this way. You have to trust me.”

         “How is a lie ever better? Just tell me that.”

         Gripping the counter with white knuckles, Dar repeated, “You have to trust me. Please. I’m begging you. Just let it go. Look the other way.”

         “Do you know what you’re asking me to do?”

         “Do you know what you’re asking me?”

         Greer didn’t. She could never know.

         Dar snatched a bag off the counter and ran into the yard. Greer stared at the brown stain spattered across the gleaming tiles.

         Chapter Thirteen

         Two jays screeched. A crow coughed. Finches and sparrows squabbled at the feeder. When a wren sang Kate threw off the covers. She grabbed binoculars on the windowsill and found the little bird. It was perched on a pyracantha bush. Head tossed back, a song rippled from the bird’s throat like it was ecstatic just to be alive. She watched the wren sing until a mockingbird chased it off.

         The alarm shrilled and she laid a hand to it. Slumped on the edge of the bed Kate considered her day. She had to get the Bug in for an oil change. It was 200 miles past due. Since her parents gave it to her three years ago it hadn’t required any major repairs and she wanted to keep it that way. She knocked on the wooden bed frame, aware how lucky she was. Pulling slacks off a hangar she calculated how cheap her room and board were compared to what living on her own would cost. She paid rent every month but suspected her parents stashed the nominal amount into a savings account for her. If they didn’t, she was still ahead of the game, diligently saving twenty percent of each paycheck and socking ten percent into a 401K. She was already an assistant branch manager and her boss had hinted that after the honeymoon she might be in line for promotion. Probably to entice her from getting pregnant and quitting.

         Kate stepped into the stinging shower spray. It was all so practical. She wished she could take the day off and go to Pirate’s Cove and lay naked in the sand all day. That Jason would bring a picnic lunch and after they ate she would take him into one of the shallow caves hollowed at the base of the bluff and go down on him. The thought of his excitement aroused her. Kate bent her head to the shower, fingering between her legs. The water sluiced off her back. Kate curled two fingers inside, moving them harder and faster. Forehead pressed to the tile, she brought herself to a gasping, rubbery-legged climax. Bent against the cool tile, the water running off her, Kate imagined she was in a steamy jungle beneath a tropical waterfall.

         Greer wandered into her thoughts and she wondered why she always worked in such desolate places, curious what had prompted her to a life in the sand and snow. She couldn’t wait to talk to her again and Kate smiled as she dried off. Finding Greer in the kitchen had been an unexpected delight. Hanging out with her in the cottage even more so. It had been amazing to talk to about Chris and not be censured. Greer had even encouraged talking about him. And made her promise to come back.

         Kate hung the towel up, suddenly as pleased with her day as the little wren. She dressed and skipped downstairs. Greer was swabbing the kitchen floor with a roll of paper towels.

         “Uh-oh. What’d you spill?”

         “Dropped my coffee cup.”

         Seeing shards on the floor she picked her way to the pantry and came out with the broom.

         “Don’t cut yourself,” she warned as her mother entered the room. “Did you ever get back to sleep last night?”

         “Afraid so.”

         Her mother snapped, “Did Kate’s nocturnal comings and goings wake you?”

         “Not at all. In fact I think Miss Kate helped me get back to sleep.”

         “Yeah,” she smirked. “I bored you to sleep.”

         “Kate,” her mother demanded, “What about the table flowers, for the wedding?”

         Eyes lighting on the pink dustpan she answered, “Pink.”

         “Pink? I was thinking more of white, with violet accents to pick up the blue theme.”

         “I was thinking about white, too,” she lied and wished for the millionth time she could elope. But as Jason constantly reminded, they were only doing this once so they were going to do it right.

         “That’d be sweet – white tea roses. I’ll call and see if we can order some violets, too. Wouldn’t that be adorable? Tucked in with the roses?”

         “Adorable,” she mumbled with a sarcastic glance for Greer, but Greer was oblivious, intent on her task. Kate wondered if that was what she looked like when she watched a story unfold, an awful story like the ones she had described last night. She couldn’t begin to imagine all the things Greer must have seen but picking up shards of porcelain Kate was pierced with a sharp, nameless longing.

         “Do you want breakfast?” her mother asked. “I could make eggs?”

         “No, thanks. I’ve got to go.”

         “What are you going to eat?”

         Kate poured coffee and grabbed a handful of brownies from the fridge.

         “Oh, Kate, you’re not.”

         “I know. I know. I’m never going to get into my wedding dress.”

         She stuffed a brownie in her mouth.

         Her mother sighed and turned away.

         “Let me know if you’re going to be home for dinner.”

         Kate mumbled, “I think we’re going out.”

         “Fine. Just let me know one way or the other.”

         Contrite, she pecked her mother’s cheek. “I will. See you later. Bye, Greer.”

         “Bye.”

         “Don’t forget to call,” Kate heard.

         “God.” She rolled her eyes and gunned the engine. “As if I could.”

         Chapter Fourteen

         Darlene washed Greer’s cup. She listened to Kate start the Volkswagen and screech away. She drove like her uncle. But Darlene didn’t want to think about that. John had been dead long before Kate was even a dream. She dried the cup and aligned it with the matching cups in the cabinet.

         “I’ve got to get ready for work,” she told Greer. “Do you need anything while I’m out?”

         “I’m fine. I saw those brownies. Plenty of coffee. What more do I need? Look, Dar –”

         “Well, you really ought to eat better than that. Your health, you know. Your head. There’s cold cuts, bread, chips. Fruit and yogurt.” She opened a cupboard to point out the cereals and soups. Greer stepped in front of her.

         “Dar. I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s not my business.”

         Darlene sidestepped.

         “I hope you won’t be too bored. There’s satellite TV. A thousand channels. Books everywhere. You know that. What would you like for dinner? Anything in particular?”

         Greer stared without answering.

         “Well. Call me at work if you get a yen for something. I can stop on the way home. For anything you’d like.”

         She left the kitchen, taking the stairs as fast as quickly as she could without looking like she was running. Inside Chris’ room she put her back to the door. Without a sound she sobbed into her robe.

         How could she tell them? It wasn’t in her language to tell them. There were no words for it. Not from her lips. The bereavement officers had said it, they knew how. It was their job to speak those words, to string them into sentences, to make cohesive strands. Darlene’s job was to receive the chained words, to take them as if they were the devil’s rosary and hide them so they could never be heard again.

         But Greer had heard.

         She had called from Basra.

         “I, uh.” She stalled, clearing her throat. “Dar, I’ve got to ask you something. About Chris. I tracked down his unit. I made a video for you. About him. It was going to be a surprise. But...here’s the thing. What the guys in his unit told me, it’s different from what you told me.”

         Darlene’s blood turned cold.

         “How so?”

         “Dar. How did he die?”

         She had started the long slide to the floor.

         “What do you mean?”

         “What you told me at the funeral is different from what the guys here told me.”

         Darlene curled against the wall.

         “What did they tell you?”

         “What? I can’t hear you.”

         “What – ” she tried to find enough air – “What did they tell you?”

         “That he didn’t get shot.”

         She closed her eyes.

         “Dar? Are you there?”

         “Yes.”

         “Dar, honey. Talk to me.”

         “Greer.”

         “I’m here.”

         “You can’t…”

         “Can’t what?”

         “You can’t tell anyone.”

         “Tell them what?”

         “About Chris.”

         After a shrieking silence Greer said, “You know.”

         “Yes.”

         “How long?”

         “It doesn’t matter. The important thing is Doug and Kate never find out.”

         “Dar, what are you talking about? They have to know.”

         “No, they don’t!” Darlene scrabbled to her feet. “At least not now. Not yet. It’s too much. For God’s sake, Greer, you have to do this for me. Please.”

         “Honey, you have to tell them.”

         “I will. I promise.”

         And she’d meant it. She would.

         Darlene dried her face and squared her shoulders. She would tell them everything. In the note.

         Chapter Fifteen

         Aaron was already at Starbucks, draped over an outdoor chair. He maintained his pose as Kate pulled out her seat.

         “But aren’t you the handsome one.”

         Peering over Serengeti shades, he agreed, “Aren’t I though?” then laughed at himself. When Kate joined in he marveled, “Girlfriend, that’s the first time in weeks I’ve heard you laugh.”

         “There hasn’t been much to laugh about lately.”

         He pushed a scone and a frappuccino toward her. “I went ahead and ordered for you.”

         “Thanks. I love you. Why can’t you be straight?”

         “I know, it’s awful, isn’t it? I’m breaking women’s hearts all over the world.” He sipped from his drink and asked, “So is your mom still freaking about the wedding?”

         “Are you kidding? Every sentence out of her mouth is the wedding this or the wedding that. I’m going to scream if I hear that fucking word one more time. Or how if I keep eating I’ll never fit into my dress. Like I’m supposed to give up food for the next six weeks. But at least her friend’s here. She’s totally cool. You’d love her. I’m hoping she can keep me out of the spotlight a while.”

         Watching a handsome, ponytailed man pass by, Aaron smirked, “Wait’ll you tell her I’m going to be your maid of honor.”

         “God.” Kate rolled her eyes. “She keeps asking who it’s going to be.”

         “What do you tell her?”

         “That I haven’t made up my mind yet. Thanks so much for taking care of the tux.”

         He waved a hand. “No problem. I took in the swatch you gave me and they’re going to match a cummerbund and tie to it.”

         “You’re sweet. Mom’ll faint when you walk up there but at least you’ll match.”

         “Speaking of swooning, how’s your gorgeous fiancée?”

         “He’s fine. Busy making a name for himself in the world of investment banking.”

         “Talk about breaking hearts.” Aaron clutched his breast. “That man should be in jail for murder.”

         Kate frowned. She wished she could see Jason through everyone else’s eyes.

         Two tattooed punks slouched by and Aaron shuddered. “Horrors. How was the Monday Night Special?”

         Kate shrugged. “Fine. Nice.”

         “Nice? That’s all? Details, girlfriend, I need details. What position?”

         Taking a second to recall, she answered. “Missionary. But with me on top.”

         “Oo. He’s a bottom. I love it. Tell me more.”

         Kate sucked her drink dry. “There isn’t much more. We rolled around. I came, he came, end of story.”

         “What’d he say? Does he talk when he’s coming?”

         “You’re such a pervert,” Kate protested.

         “I know.” He leaned forward. “What did he say?”

         “Nothing exciting. The usual. I’m beautiful. He loves me. Yada-yada.”

         “That’s all?”

         “That’s it. He’s not narrating porn when he comes. If anything, he’s having a religious experience.”

         “The ‘Oh, God, Oh God’ type?”

         “Yeah.” Kate changed the subject. “Are we going shopping at lunch?”

         “Depends.” He arched a brow. “Are you and Mr. Divine having your noon quickie?”

         Kate grinned. “Not today. Let’s go to Macy’s and try on clothes we can’t afford.”

         It used to be one of their favorite pastimes and though Kate would have preferred to lunch alone in the park she knew Aaron would love the mindless hour.

         “Oo,” he gushed. “Cashmere sweaters.”

         While Aaron talked colors she found herself thinking of Greer and how easy she was to talk to. Greer didn’t expect anything from her and didn’t want anything. With Greer she wasn’t anyone’s daughter, sister, fiancée or best friend. She was just Kate. Plain Kate Richardson. While Aaron veered off into a discourse about bed linens she recalled how good it had felt just to be Kate. Even if it had only been for a little while.

         Chapter Sixteen

         Darlene walked past the living room and stopped. She backed up. Something in the room was out of place. It was Greer, standing motionless at the tall windows overlooking the driveway. She turned when she heard Darlene.

         “Hey.”

         “Hey, yourself. What are you looking at?”

         “Nothing. On you’re way out?”

         “Yes.”

         Greer nodded. Darlene started on but Greer called her name. She hesitated, praying it wouldn’t be her undoing.

         “Don’t be mad.”

         “I’m not,” she answered honestly. “I know you want what’s best for all of us.”

         “I do. And I don’t know what that is. Hell,” Greer gave a snort, “I don’t even know what’s best for me.”

         Darlene had thought a good night’s sleep would revive Greer but she still looked harrowed. She couldn’t help suggesting, “Staying out of war zones might be a good start.”

         “Yeah. Maybe. Think when you get home we could go for a walk or something?”

         “Sure,” Darlene fibbed. “I’ll try and get off early.”

         “Don’t go to any trouble. It’d just be nice to talk.”

         Darlene nodded. “Take it easy. I’ll see you when I get home.”

         Greer gave a smile and turned back to the window. If Darlene wanted to get to the beach before work she had to get going, yet she clung to the doorjamb. She recognized the old sweater Greer had on. The dense wool had worn through in spots and the bottom was unraveling. She imagined resting her cheek on the scratchy wool knowing exactly what it would smell like – dust, smoke, and the sheep it came from. Suddenly she wanted to run to Greer and tell her everything, to linger with her over cups of tea in the sunny kitchen and have everything be the way it used to be. She didn’t want to miss her son, or have to worry about Kate and Doug, or plan her long walk into the water. She just wanted to laugh and feel happy with Greer, the way they used to. She closed her eyes for a dizzy second and pressed her head to the doorframe.

         “What’s wrong?”

         Greer was staring at her.

         “I’m fine. Give me your sweater tonight,” she pointed at the hem. “I’ll fix it for you.”

         Greer frowned at the loose threads. “You’ve got better things to do than mend my clothes.”

         “It’ll just take me a sec,” she insisted. “Remind me. I’ll see you later.”

         In the kitchen she checked that the stove was off and shouldered her purse. She walked out to the Camry assuming Greer was still watching from the living room. She wanted to turn and look, to wave goodbye, but was afraid her resolve would fail and send her careering back to the house. Darlene drove away without even a glance into the rearview mirror.

         She thought about the beach. The beckoning water. She drove, remembering a long ago line from Eliot.

         Fear death by water.

         She knew the poet well from English Lit in her sophomore year. He had been Darlene and Greer’s favorite, though Doug thought him nothing but a cunning plagiarist. Parking in an almost vacant lot, she slipped off her work shoes and into Tevas. But for a half dozen people the beach was deserted. It would be a splendid day to wade unnoticed into the water. But the sun had to be out. She had to go exactly like Chris had.

         She walked the edge of the surf. Lines of half-remembered poetry washed up in her head like strands of kelp.

         The drowned Phoenician sailor.

         Once tall and handsome as you.

         Darlene looked out to sea. The water gray and sluggish. It heaved its way to land like a whale tumbling in to die, yet for all its oily repugnance the water mesmerized her. She envisioned wading into it, the first cold steps flooding her shoes, the surf splashing around her ankles, up to her shins. The resistance as it rose to her knees, her skirt blooming in the water. The shock as it slapped her belly, lifting her breasts, then tickling her chin. Salty drops on her lips, stinging her nose, then eyes, her hair floating for an instant, like Ophelia’s. Then finally underwater treading as many steps as she could with the fire flaring in her lungs until she fell back onto the pack and looked up, searching for the silent sun.

         A current under sea picked his bones in whispers.

         It would be quiet beneath the waves. Until her heart began to beat in her head. She wasn’t looking forward to that. It saddened her to think of her heart banging valiantly, trying to keep her alive. But Chris’ heart had beat just as faithfully so it had to be done. Strapped into the pack (...something he carries on his back…) there would be nothing to do but surrender to the weight.

         Darlene turned and started for the car.

         Chapter Seventeen

         Greer watched Dar drive away, back set, shoulders square. Dar was rigid and stubborn, but under a kinder light those qualities would be called determination and persistence, and though her world had been rocked Dar was at least sure of her place in it. That was more than Greer could say and for a moment she envied Dar’s life. But only for a moment.

         She rubbed where her head hurt then dropped her hand and looked around the room. Except for the television, which grew larger with every visit, nothing had changed. Old, high quality leather furniture still stood on the huge Kazakh carpet Greer sent from Armenia as a housewarming present. Portraits of the kids, both she was relieved to see, decorated the room. Behind the television books filled the shelves Doug had built. She traced the book spines, smiling that Dar kept the books organized by subject and author. Greer lingered over a garishly illustrated Inferno then meandered to the kitchen.

         She poured another cup of coffee and sipped it against the counter. Wandering back to the living room she stood at the bookshelves again. Pulling out a leather-bound volume of Eliot, she settled on the couch but didn’t open the book. She’d left her glasses in the cottage and didn’t want to strain her eyes. Besides, she didn’t need glasses to remember.

         Massaging the ache behind her brows Greer retrieved half-buried stanzas and whispered them to the room. When she faltered, she found the poem and whispered on. The phone rang. Listening to Kate’s dressmaker leave a message, Greer mused how Kate had changed from a funny, impulsive kid into a mature and responsible young woman. Goth was gone and Giorgio was in, and instead of lip rings Kate sported a single pair of earrings. She wondered if Kate still wore her bellybutton ring. She smiled at the ceiling, remembering how Dar had called in tears when she’d found out.

         “What else has she pierced that I don’t know about?”

         Greer had laughed, “That really ought to stay between Kate and her boyfriend.”

         “Boyfriends,” Dar corrected. “She has three. That I know of.”

         “Aren’t you happy your daughter’s so popular?”

         “Oh, honestly,” she had cried. “You’re no help.”

         Greer put the book down and rolled off the couch. Outside the fog was peeling off in gray shreds, exposing a wall of painfully bright blue sky. Steam lifted from the pool, disappearing with the fog. Greer walked out and looked around. When Dar and Doug bought the house it had been little more than a teardown. For the next four years Doug spent every free moment building the first floor of the current house. After Chris was born they added the second story and when both kids were in school Doug converted the old tool shed into the cottage. They had wisely invested in land rather than a house and their sweat equity had paid off brilliantly, for now they owned a gorgeous 3,400 square foot house, with a granny unit, on a double lot in one of the world’s most expensive zip codes.

         Greer considered the manicured yard. Surrounded by whitewashed fence behind towering oaks no one could see into the yard unless they peeped through a knothole or spied from up in a tree. Not that Greer really cared. She tugged her clothes off and stood shivering at the edge of the pool. She saw Sig running toward her, hunched, hands out, coming to help Gran’mama. Greer squeezed her eyes shut and dove.

         Chapter Eighteen

         Her mother had handed her a stack of towels and asked her to take them to the cottage. Kate knocked, surprised when Greer answered that it was dark inside.

         “I’m sorry. Were you taking a nap?”

         “No, I was just sitting by the fire. Come in.”

         “Are you sure you weren’t sleeping? You don’t have any lights on.”

         Greer flipped a switch. “It’s hard on my eyes. I see well enough by the fire.”

         “Oh. Then keep it off.” Kate palmed the wall plate. “It’s prettier this way.”

         “Yeah, it is.”

         “So-o,” Kate lingered in front of the open door, as if about to enter an animal’s lair. “You’re just sitting here in the dark?”

         “I’m reading, but for God’s sake, don’t tell your mother. She’d march over and snap on every light. And sit with me to make sure I kept them on. Besides. It’s only poetry. I read a couple lines and put the book down. I doubt I’ll go blind.”

         “Poetry, huh?”

         Greer waved her in. “You’re letting all the warm air out.”

         “Oh-h, like it’s so cold,” Kate teased, but she stepped inside. “God, it must be a hundred degrees in here!”

         “I know. I hate being cold. You wouldn’t believe how cold a desert can be. Not to mention the mountains. Day after day, night after night, you’re never warm. Not for a second. Most of the time you’re freezing to death, literally, and moving is the only way to stay alive.

         “Sit,” she told Kate, sweeping a book from the footstool. “Stay a minute, if you can stand it.”

         Hugging the pile of towels, Kate perched on the offered seat. “I won’t stay long. Mom said to tell you dinner’s almost ready.”

         “Good. And stay as long as you like.”

         “Can I –”

         “Did you –”

         They spoke at the same time and grinned.

         “After you,” Greer bowed her head.

         “I was wondering, how long you’d been working with the photographer that got killed.”

         Greer flinched and faced the fire. “We weren’t working together. I just helped her get a visa and a ride into Baghdad.”

         “So you didn’t know her very well.”

         “No.”

         “What was her name?”

         “Sigbrith. Sigbrith Vandergaard. She was Danish.”

         “Well,” she faltered. “I’m sorry anyway.”

         Trying to lighten the mood, she said, “I was telling my friend Aaron about you and I got to wondering why you only work in the Middle East. I mean it drives Mom crazy that you don’t work someplace,” she hooked the air with her fingers, “civilized. Someplace safe. You could go anywhere, right?”

         “Probably.”

         “So why there?”

         Greer shrugged. “Fate, I guess. I got the Stan beat by accident.”

         “How?”

         “In college I worked for a local newspaper, writing articles for the entertainment section – which clubs were hot, which bands. The editor liked the way I wrote and asked if I wanted to tag along with a reporter to see how real stories were written. I said sure and next thing I knew I was writing features. I loved it but the subject matter was pretty thin so I submitted my resume to bigger papers. The L.A. Times picked me up as a stringer right when the Soviets decided to pull out of Afghanistan. Their primary Moscow correspondent had gone home with an intestinal ailment and their other guy had quit to go work for the AP. My major was history but I had a minor in Russian language so they handed me the Moscow beat.

         Now there’s a story,” she smiled.

         “Tell me,” Kate begged.

         “It was the most fascinating, magical time of my life. Everything was new. Unknown. I made so many mistakes.”

         She chuckled, “I had a flat in Moscow and my first morning there I’m whistling in the kitchen. The landlady comes in and has a fit, starts screaming and chasing me with a broom. I have no idea what she’s made about. The daughter comes in, listens to her mother, then looks at me gravely.”

         Greer shook her head and wagged a finger. In a heavy Russian accent, she said, “‘Must never whistle in house. Mean you are robber calling comrade. Very bad.’

         “Naturally, I feel terrible. I’ve been there less than twenty-four hours and already pissed off the landlady. So the next day I buy her a dozen roses. I hand them over, feeling very pleased with myself, and the old lady starts counting them.”

         Poking a finger into an imaginary bunch of flowers Greer counted, “‘Odin, dva, tri…’ I was thinking that was kind of rude and when the old lady counts the last rose she screams and throws the bouquet on the floor, stomps it to a pulp. This time when I see she’s going for the broom I run upstairs. Who comes knocking a minute later?”

         “The daughter?”

         “The daughter.” Greer nodded. She wagged her finger again. “‘Must never give even number of flowers. Even number for dead people!’”

         Kate laughed and Greer smiled.

         “Very superstitious, the Russians. Every morning when I came downstairs the daughter would be sitting in the kitchen laying out her tarot cards.”

         “Did she read them for you?”

         “Oh, yeah.” Greer stretched for the poker to stir the coals. “That was a marvelous time.”

         “I’m so jealous.”

         “Me, too.”

         “Why are you jealous? You had it.”

         “Had. Past tense.”

         “But you’re still out there doing all that. You’re going to new places and meeting new people, living all kinds of life.”

         Greer prodded the fire and Kate watched the tendons flex in her forearm. Greer was lean, all muscle and bone. Next to her Kate felt like an overfed puppy.

         “It’s been a hell of a ride, Miss Kate. I’ve fallen in love so many times, over and over, with translators, drivers, people I covered. You can’t help but fall in love. Stan means place, or land, and all the Stans are beautiful, in their own way. Like a woman is beautiful who knows she isn’t conventionally pretty and has made her peace with that.

         And the history of the place is epic. It’s the cradle of civilization. Christ walked the Middle East, Abraham, Moses. The greatest stories in the world were told against the backdrop of the Middle East. Jericho, Babylon, Egypt, Mesopotamia. There are places where the same mud houses have stood for three thousand years. Mohammed might have sat in the shade of one, and if you dropped him down from heaven he’d know right where he was, it’s changed that little. It’s a magical land, Kate, and for a long time there wasn’t any other place I wanted to be.”

         Greer turned her thoughts to the fire.

         Kate prodded, “But not anymore?”

         “It’s complicated. All right,” Greer smiled at her. “My turn. Why are you carrying a bunch of towels around?”

         “Oh my God. I totally forgot.” She thrust the stack at Greer. “Mom said to bring these over in case you ran out.”

         “How long does she think I’m staying?”

         “I don’t know,” Kate laughed, “but she totally wigs out if you use the same one twice.”

         Greer put the towels down and shook her head. “Your mom.” She picked up the walkie-talkie on the floor by the rocker. “She got me this in case I have a seizure or something. She’s a riot.”

         “Yeah. A regular KKK rally in Watts. God.” Kate fanned her face. “Is being cold all the time like part of the concussion or something?”

         “No, it’s just me. The cold gets into my bones and settles there. And in the summer I can’t stand the heat. I didn’t use to think twice about hiking in a hundred-fifteen, a hundred-twenty degrees but think I busted my internal thermostat a couple years ago. It’s never been right since.”

         “How’d you do that?”

         “It was outside Kandahar, right before the air strikes started. We got ambushed at a checkpoint. The Taliban opened fire on our car but we managed to get out. Fortunately, the idiots weren’t good shots, so we managed to crawl behind a burned out truck.”

         Greer winked. “Should have been our first clue, huh? We crawled south through a series of abandoned ditches. They shot in our direction but couldn’t see us. We crawled about a mile or so then waited for dark and walked all night. It couldn’t have been less than eighty-five, eighty-six degrees.

         “Next day, Christ, it was ugly. We found out later it had been a hundred and twelve degrees and we didn’t have a drop of water. No hats, no shade. Just sun and sand and more sun. We tried to follow the road – not too closely because we didn’t know when the nuts from the checkpoint might drive by and try to finish the job – and sometime that afternoon we ran into a U.S. military convoy. I don’t remember much after that. I came to in a medical tent and ever since I can barely function if it’s over eighty degrees.”

         “God. You must have been terrified.”

         “Not really.”

         “What do you mean not really? How could you not be?”

         “You don’t have time to be scared. You’re too busy trying to stay alive.”

         Despite the stuffy room, Kate wrapped her arms around herself.

         “That’s amazing. I mean, living through all that stuff. Bombs and mortar attacks, those camps you saw. The people. I mean, I’m all freaking about flowers and bridesmaid’s dresses and you’re worried about getting blown up or dying of heat stroke. It’s so unreal.”

         “Unreal, indeed.”

         “Is it weird for you too or do you just get used to it?”

         Greer searched the flames.

         “You get terribly used to it. You develop a tolerance, just like you would for heroin. You develop remarkable detachment skills, and that’s probably the most dangerous part of the whole job, when you think you’re used to it. That you can handle it, and nothing can get to you.”

         “How do you fight that?”

         Greer shrugged. “I don’t know. You have to go through whatever your subject goes through – bombing, shooting, fire – the difference is I can leave. The people I’m interviewing are stuck there. But you have to go through the pain with them. A good reporter’s a good actor. You have to listen like you care. For them it’s a tragedy they can’t escape. For me, it’s a dilemma about how to package that tragedy into forty-five seconds of airtime. I’m like a word surgeon, slicing away what’s not needed while keeping the guts of the story. If I let the fear or horror get to me I couldn’t do my job. When you’re in a refugee camp interviewing a starving twelve-year old who’s baby is dying in her arms because she can’t make milk for it you can’t let it get to you. You can’t let her eyes get to you.”

         “Is that what you were talking about last night? The worst casualty?”

         “Yeah.”

         Greer fell silent, hand to her head.

         Kate ventured, “It gets to you anyway though, doesn’t it?”

         “Yes. It does.”

         “Then what do you do?”

         Greer sighed.

         “You hustle up another story, chop-chop. Go somewhere safe and lovely and get blind drunk. Get laid as much as possible. Try to forget the eyes. And the whole time you’re trying to forget, you’re thinking about where you’re going next, who you’re going to talk to, what lead you can break.”

         Greer grabbed at a book. “Do you like poetry?”

         “What?” Kate laughed, surprised.

         “Poetry. Dickinson. Frost. Whitman.” Greer opened the thin volume. “What do you remember after sixteen years of American education?”

         “Geez, I don’t know. Let me thi –”

         A knock interrupted her.

         “Come in,” Greer called.

         Her mother pressed her head through the door. “Dinner’s ready. Good God, it’s like a cave in here. Why are you two sitting in the dark?”

         When she reached in and flipped on the light, Kate and Greer shared a smile.

         Chapter Nineteen

         Dinner was another feast– roast beef, mashed potatoes, peas, gravy, salad, rolls. Greer frowned at the spread while Dar said grace.

         “Amen.”

         Doug cut into the roast. Blood pooled around the meat.

         “I tried to keep it rare for you,” Dar told her.

         “I told you not to go to any trouble.”

         “It’s no trouble,” she insisted. “We have to eat. Jason likes it rare too.”

         Doug asked for her plate and laid three dripping slabs on it. Food was passed and Doug asked what Greer had done all day.

         “I’m afraid to say. You’ll think I’m terribly lazy.”

         “That’s what you’re here for, to be lazy.”

         “Yeah,” Kate chimed. “You’re supposed to be chilling.”

         “I did exactly that. I read, napped, swam a little,” – three heads turned her way – “ and ate a lot.”

         “That’s lovely. Katherine,” Dar said, surgically slicing her meat into bits. “You’ll never guess what I just heard.”

         “If I’ll never guess then you’d better tell me.”

         “Well.” Dar clanked her knife and fork down. “It’s about your maid of honor.”

         Kate stared up from her plate. The diamond on her finger winked.

         “Jason mentioned that Aaron’s going to be your maid of honor but I’m sure he just misspoke.”

         Greer expected Jason to immolate under the look Kate flashed him. She reached for her water.

         “Interesting,” Doug murmured.

         “Interesting? That’s all you have to say?”

         “What would you like me to say?”

         Dar stiffened.

         “Honestly, Doug? I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t bother you that your daughter’s going to be standing at the altar beside a flaming homosexual.”

         Turning to Jason, Doug said, “I had no idea. When did you come out of the closet?”

         Jason grinned bleakly.

         Doug said to Kate, “Honey, I don’t care if there’s an orangutan up there, as long as you’re happy.”

         “Thank you,” she murmured.

         Dar shook her head. No one said anything.

         “So. This Aaron.” Greer breached the silence. “He’s a pretty good friend?”

         “My best.”

         Dar cried, “Why can’t he be the best man?”

         “Because he’s my friend, not Jason’s. Mike’s going to be Jason’s best man. He’s Jason’s best friend. God! I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d have a breakdown.”

         “I’m not having a breakdown, Kate, I just thought it would be nice to know. When were you planning on telling me?”

         Kate sulked. “I don’t know.”

         “Well. I don’t think it’s asking too much to tell the mother of the bride, the one who’s arranging the entire wedding, that your maid of honor is going to be a man of honor. And not just any man, but Aaron of all people – ”

         “Oh, for God’s sake, Mom. He’s not going to be up there sucking off the minister!”

         “Katherine!”

         “Well, that’s what you make it sound like. He’s not going to be in drag doing a pole dance. He’s going to have a tux, just like Jason, and he’ll probably cry–”

         “Just like me,” Jason grinned at Dar.

         “He’s not a freak. He’s not going to be more outrageous than any other man up there. God! Why is every thing I do a sign of the end times for you?”

         Kate jumped from her chair. Jason followed her out the room.

         Doug dropped his napkin on the table. “There you have it. Another peaceful evening with Ward and June.”

         He picked up his drink and ambled to the living room. Greer heard the TV come on. She pushed her plate away watching Dar cut her meat into even smaller bites.

         “Is there anything I can do?”

         Banging her utensils, Dar wailed, “I just want everyone to be happy. Is that so unreasonable? I’m doing everything I can to make this wedding perfect and I feel like Kate’s fighting me at every turn.”

         “It will be perfect,” Greer assured. “With or without you.”

         “What’s that supposed to mean?”

         “It means no matter what happens, no matter what you do or don’t do, it’s all going to be perfect. They love each other. That’s all that matters.”

         Choosing words she hoped would appeal to Dar’s love of order and convention, she continued, “Despite the details of the ceremony, they’re making a commitment to each other. They’re respecting that commitment by swearing to it in front of friends and family. In a time-honored tradition that’ll bond them through thick and thin. Right? Better or worse, richer or poorer? It doesn’t matter what color the flowers are or if someone in the wedding party’s a little different. The important thing is the promise they’re making to each other, and the tradition of honoring that promise.”

         She reached for Dar’s hand.

         “Right? Isn’t that what it’s all about?”

         Dar nodded, letting her hand be held.

         “I just wish for once something would go the way it’s supposed to, without surprises.”

         Greer squeezed Dar’s hand. She wanted to say that surprises were what gave life its spice but knowing Dar liked her fare bland, she simply repeated, “It’s going to be perfect.”

         Dar pulled away from Greer and started to gather the dishes.

         Greer stopped her. “Leave these. It’s still light out. Let’s go for a walk.”

         “A walk?”

         “Yeah. Down the street. You still take Candy for walks don’t you?”

         Dar nodded.

         “Get her leash. I’ll do these when we get back.”

         “Not tonight. I’m exhausted. I’d just like to do the dishes and go to bed.”

         Greer relented. She sat back and teased, “How come your lazy husband never does the dishes?”

         “He does but it’s easier for me. And to be fair, Kate and Jason usually do them.”

         “He seems like a sweetheart.”

         “He is. He’s crazy about Kate. I just…”

         “Just what?”

         “I don’t know. I hope she knows how much he loves her. I worry that she doesn’t. That she takes him for granted. I just...”

         Dar shook her head.

         Greer prompted again, “You just what?”

         “I’m sure Kate knows what she’s doing. She’s a big girl.”

         “Yes, she is. She’s changed.”

         “For the better, no?”

         “I guess.” She stacked dirty plates. “She seems so serious. So sober. I don’t remember her being that way. I always thought of her as a party-girl.”

         “I think she’s finally growing up.

         “Maybe. Do you think she’s happy?”

         “I don’t know. I don’t know what makes Kate happy anymore.”

         Following Dar into the kitchen, Greer wondered if Kate even knew what made her happy.

         Chapter Twenty

         In the kitchen Darlene reached for Greer’s untouched plate.

         “Let me at least make you a sandwich.”

         “No.” Greer stopped her. “I’m fine. I ate all day. I’m stuffed.”

         “Well,’ she said, wrapping the roast. “This will make excellent sandwiches tomorrow.”

         “Dar, I hate you going to all this trouble.”

         “I told you, it isn’t.”

         “It seems like it is. Don’t tell me you eat like this every night.”

         “Well, we have to eat something and one more mouth is certainly no trouble.”

         “But no more feasts, okay?”

         “It’s hardly a feast.” Adding soap to the sink water she asked, “How’s your head?”

         “It’s okay.”

         Greer started to rinse the dishes but Darlene laid a hand on her arm. “Go sit with Doug. He misses you.”

         “And you don’t?”

         “Of course I do.” She gave Greer a gentle shove. “Go get drunk with him.”

         “I’m not drinking,” she answered, knocking her knuckles on her skull. “The concussion.”

         “Of course. Go anyway. Go talk to him.”

         She groped in the soapy water, braced for Greer to stay, but she left without another word. Darlene slumped against the sink trying to imagine how she could leave her family to care for themselves. Kate was just like her father – impulsive, out-going, kind to the lowliest strays. When Kate was ten she had found out that a girl in her class was living on the street with her family and promptly invited them to dinner. The girl’s parents had tried to decline but Kate had literally dragged her friend home.

         Darlene had been furious but forced to feed them. The family was polite and grateful and after dinner offered to wash the dishes. Darlene wouldn’t hear of it. It was a cold night with a storm expected and while the parents helped the two girls into their coats, Doug pulled Darlene aside.

         “Honey, if those were your little girls would you want them sleeping on the street in this kind of weather?”

         She’d given him her best look of indignation but couldn’t argue. They offered the cottage for the night. The wife and girls clearly wanted to stay but the man herded them to the door, thanking Doug and Dar profusely. They’d be fine, he assured. The youngest girl started to cry as they stepped out into blowing rain. Darlene watched them walk down the driveway bent under a single umbrella. When they melted into the night she had closed the door and burst into tears.

         Darlene wondered who Kate would drag home when she was gone. Or what sort of trouble she’d get into. Doug would be no help. Because he was so much like her he never considered that his daughter’s escapades might have consequences. Like the wedding. Her boss was going to be there, and what would he think about Kate’s judgment, her moral values when he saw her maid of honor was a man? And a gay man at that?

         She felt guilty for abandoning Kate. Rinsing the carving knife, she wondered if she would have felt as responsible if Kate had died instead of Chris. She shuddered, picturing the assorted ways Kate might die – AIDS, a drunken car wreck, murdered by a wacko boyfriend – and knew she would feel just as bad. Probably worse, for she would have failed to set a clear enough example. Unlike Chris, for whom her lessons had been too clear. It wasn’t that she regretted raising him to respect responsibility and duty. She had an obligation as a parent to instill such values. She just wished he hadn’t taken the lessons so gravely to heart.

         Darlene loaded the dishwasher, remembering the night Chris sat them down at the kitchen table.

         “Don’t freak,” he’d warned his parents. “I’ve enlisted.”

         Chris explained he’d thought a lot about it. That by enlisting in the Navy he could become a corpsman.

         Darlene started crying.

         “Don’t worry,” he laughed. “I’ll be in a hospital. That’s the safest place to be in a war. You’re gonna think I’m nuts,” he went on, “but I’ve been thinking about going to med school –”

         “Since when?” she demanded.

         “For a while. But it’s expensive and we don’t have that kind of money so I’ve never really thought I could do it. But if I enlist,” he bent back his little finger, “I could probably do it with the help of the GI bill.” He bent a second finger. “I get to find out what it’s like being a doctor without having to invest all that time and money only to find out maybe I don’t like it after all.” Tapping a third finger, he added, “And I get to serve my country,” – he bent a fourth finger – “by saving lives. Not taking them.”

         Making a fist, he stuck his thumb up. “And really, ultimately, I get to see what I’m made of. I get to go places and see things. I want to go to Iraq. I want to serve over there. I want to help. I want to really participate in the world instead of just reading about it in the paper or watching it on the news.”

         “Honey,” she protested. “Your world’s right here. And we’ll help you go to school if that’s what you really want. You don’t have to join the Army to –”

         “It’s the Navy.”

         “Whatever,” she flapped a hand. “We’ll help you. You don’t have to risk your life to go to school. Does he, honey?” She beseeched Doug but he was silent, until Chris looked to him.

         “This,” he answered slowly, “is a hell of a shock. But your Mom’s right. If you want to go to med school we’ll make it happen.”

         “It’s not just that. I really want to do this. I want to test myself. To see what I’m made of. How do I do that if I’m working in a Best Buy and living at home? How’s that serving my country? How does it help guys my age dying in Iraq? I want to be able to look back someday and say I did my share for my country. That I was there when it needed me. And at the same time I get a lot out of it.”

         “Where’s all this coming from?” Doug quizzed. “Yesterday you were paint-balling with Gary and Kyle. Today you not only want to be a soldier but a doctor. What the hell? This is all coming out of left field.”

         “It’s not. Mom’s right. I have an obligation to serve my country.”

         “I never said that.”

         “Never in so many words but you support the war. You support fighting for freedom and what you believe in. So why should I leave it to other guys to do that for me? I should be doing my fair share. And like I said, in the end, I benefit too. It’s a win-win deal.”

         She scoured the roasting pan, scrubbing the black off.

         A win-win deal, he had assured.

         Chapter Twenty-One

         Candy whapped her tail as Greer approached Doug’s Lazyboy. She bent to rub the old dog’s ear, forgetting that the sudden descent would make her queasy.

         “Hey,” Doug said.

         “Hey, yourself.”

         She straightened slowly. He raised his arm and she slid under to sit on the edge of the chair and rest against his bulk. He’d always been solid, a couple pounds overweight, but since she last saw him he seemed to have gained two or three stone.

         He waggled his drink. “Sure I can’t tempt you?”

         She took the glass and downed a gulp in a burning frisson.

         “Here.” He started to get up. “Let me get you one.”

         She pulled him back. “That was plenty.”

         He shook his head, eyes on the television.

         “What are we watching?”

         “I don’t know. History Channel, I think.”

         She kissed his temple. “How you doing, buddy?”

         “Oh, I’ve been better. But it sure is good to see you.”

         “It’s good to be seen.”

         He gave her a jiggle. “Now that Dar’s not around, give me the skinny on your head.”

         “It’s bad,” she admitted. “Doctor says another concussion will probably kill me.”

         “Greer, quit that shit over there and come home.”

         “That’s what your wife said.”

         She wanted to reach for his drink again.

         “And she’s right. Dar’s always right. You know that.”

         “Sure. And what would I do? Cover politicos in D.C.? Serial killers? Kittens in trees? I’d be nuts in a week, begging to get sent back.”

         “There’s got to be something you can do that doesn’t involve bullets or explosives.”

         Watching the television, she asked, “Are you pleased about the wedding?”

         “Very. He’s a great kid. He’ll make Kate happy. And I’m not drunk enough that I didn’t notice you changed the subject.”

         “Do you think Chris would have liked him?”

         He followed her gaze to the TV.

         “I’ve wondered. I think so. He’s stuffier than Chris, a little prissy if you ask me, but Chris got along with everybody.”

         “Yeah. Kate says Dar won’t talk about him.”

         “Not a peep,” he corroborated. “Not a fucking word. She won’t even listen to the news. She leaves the room if it comes on. Won’t talk about war, politics, none of it. It’s like the world doesn’t exist outside this house.”

         He drank like a thirsty man and got up to make another.

         “Sure?” he asked, holding up a bottle of bourbon.

         “Yeah.”

         He slouched back, dropping hard into the chair.

         “We had a terrible fight one night. I’d had a few, started yelling his name. I stood in the doorway so she couldn’t get out of the room and kept yelling his name. She covered her ears and chanted, ‘I don’t hear you, I don’t hear you.’ It was sick. Like something out of an Edward Albee play. I tried to pull her hands down, but she ran out and locked herself in his room. That’s where she spends all her time. I don’t know what she does in there but she changed the lock after he died. She has the only key.”

         He swallowed half his drink.

         “I was furious at first. He’s my son, too. I should be able to get in there any time I want. But then I thought what the hell, she deserves it. I mean, he was her son, too, and all Dar. Through and through. The pride, the integrity. The firmness of his convictions. You should have seen him the night he told us he was enlisting. He was on fire. I’d never seen him so excited about anything. And as much as I didn’t want him to go, as much as I hate this insane war, I had to support him. You could tell it was what he was meant to do. No matter the outcome.”

         “The will of Allah, my old interpreter would have said. Kismet.”

         “Yeah, it was like fate. Dar begged me to talk to him but I couldn’t have stopped him. She probably could have. He’d have listened to her. But me? I doubt it.”

         Waving his glass, he said, “All I ever gave him was the stuff. The car. Surf boards. Mini-camps. Ski trips. But Dar,” he thumped his chest, “she gave him what was inside him. She gave him his mettle. His guts and conviction. And you know what?”

         Twisting to peer at her he whispered, “I hate her for it.”

         Doug looked back at the television. He drained his glass. The ice cubes rattled and Greer shivered. They sounded like bones.

         “I failed him.”

         “What?”

         He repeated, “I failed him. I sold my only son down the river.”

         “Don’t say that.”

         She wished his glass wasn’t empty.

         “It’s true. I want to blame Dar – he wouldn’t have gone if she hadn’t filled his head with all that rah-rah, gung-ho, Semper Fi bullshit. See, I thought I was making a difference by not agreeing with her. I countered and argued the other side but I didn’t live it. I just gave it lip service. I didn’t march in peace rallies or protest rigged elections. I didn’t chain myself to trees or go on hunger strikes. I didn’t do any of that. I just asked what was for dinner and argued at the table. Ridiculing someone else’s belief isn’t the same as standing up for your own. And I never did that. I didn’t set a strong enough example for Chris. Darlene set the greater one. She volunteered. She protested. She made calls for things she believed in. She was passionate. And I laughed at her. I made fun of her. And when it mattered, her values were stronger than mine.”

         “No.” She pushed back to look at him. “You’re wrong.”

         “Wait. It gets even better. I was furious when he told us he’d enlisted. Not because I was afraid for him – hell no, nothing that selfless. You know why I was mad?”

         He squinted at her through a booze haze.

         “I was mad because I thought he was judging me. That I came up short in his eyes for never having served my country. And I was jealous, because my son was more of a man than I was. What kind of father is that, Greer?”

         “The way he died ought to tell you that.”

         “Oh, don’t give me that horseshit. You sound like Dar.”

         “I mean that he died try –” Greer cut herself off.

         “Yeah, right.” He pulled himself up. “Semper Fi. It’s nobody’s fault. He made his own decision. I should be proud. And I am. But I’d rather be less proud and still have my son.”

         He pushed out of the chair. Swaying, he held his glass out.

         “Last call,” he warned.

         Greer wanted him to pour a glass for her and keep pouring. Sig ran at her. Then crouched and froze, beautiful blue eyes wide and staring.

         She shook her head.

         “Suit yourself. I’m going to bed.”

         He shuffled from the room like a wounded bear. Greer slid into his seat. She found the remote and turned the TV off. The room was dark except for a lamp on the bar. A bottle of bourbon stood next to the lamp. Greer stared at it until her neck cramped. She got up and walked to the bar. The bourbon gleamed.

         Sig sashayed toward her table at the bar in the Intercontinental.

         Greer reached and turned off the lamp. She went out the back door to the cottage.

         Chapter Twenty-Two

         Kate had sent Jason home. She didn’t want to cry with his nervous attempts at consolation. Now she debated whether to join him. She didn’t want to go but neither did she want to stay. Her phone rang. It showed Jason’s number.

         “Hi,” she sighed into the phone.

         “Hi. Are you okay?”

         “Yeah.”

         “You still coming?”

         “Yeah.”

         She chewed the edge of her finger.

         “Did you say anything else to your mom?”

         “No. I hate her. I’m never talking to her again.”

         Jason ignored her exaggeration. “Man, I’m sorry I said anything.”

         “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. She’d have found out sooner or later.”

         “I guess.”

         They were silent. She could hear him tapping on his laptop. Probably playing fantasy football. Chris would have loved to join a league with him.

         “I’ll be over in a little bit, okay?”

         “All right. See ya then. Love you.”

         “Love you, too.”

         Kate slung her bag over her shoulder and headed downstairs. She met her father halfway up, drink in hand. He leaned against the banister.

         “Y’okay?”

         “Yeah.”

         “Don’t worry about Aaron. You know your mother.”

         “Yeah, I know she’s a myopic bigot.”

         “Go to Jason’s.”

         She noticed his “s”s run together.

         “You’ll feel better tomorrow. I’ll talk to her.”

         “Don’t worry about it. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to change my mind. She can live with it or not. It’s her choice.”

         “Tha’s my girl.” He kissed the top of her head. “I love you, Princess.”

         “Love you too.”

         She fled the house, tripping the sensor lights. A bird twittered and flushed from the bougainvillea.

         “Goddammit,” she shouted at the lights. She tossed her bag in the back seat and slammed the door. Sliding in behind the wheel she glanced at the cottage. Greer stood framed in the doorway.

         “Shit.”

         Kate got out and walked across the lawn.

         “Hey. Sorry about all the drama.”

         “Are you kidding?” Greer grinned. “I’m a foreign correspondent. Drama’s what pays my salary.”

         She stepped aside to let Kate in.

         “I can’t stay. I’m sorry about Mom. She can be such a righteous pain in the ass.”

         Greer moved a book from the stool, motioning her to sit. “Not to worry. She’s always been uptight about us faggots, you know that.”

         Kate perched on the footstool.

         “That was beyond uptight,” she argued. “It was rude.”

         “Surely you knew she was going to be upset.”

         “Yeah, and that’s why I hadn’t told her yet.”

         “When were you going to tell her?”

         She lost steam under Greer’s questioning. “I don’t know. It was going to have to be soon so it’s just as well Jase spilled the beans.”

         Greer nodded. “Off to his place?”

         “Yeah. I just wanted to apologize. You shouldn’t have to put up with drama you’re not getting paid for.”

         “Forget about it.” Greer chuckled. “You look just like her, right now. You both get that stubborn set to your chin.”

         “Oh, great.”

         “That is great. Your mom’s a beauty.”

         “Right.” She deflected the compliment. “Who do you look like? Your mother or your father?”

         Greer thought. “Both I guess. I have my father’s eyes and my mother’s nose.”

         “Which one had the gorgeous cheekbones?”

         “That would be my father. He was very handsome. Quite the lady killer.”

         “Is he dead?”

         She nodded. “Cancer. I’m as old as he was when he died.”

         The stove ticked off heat and Greer stretched toward it like a cat.

         “What are you reading?”

         She lifted the book on her lap. “Eliot.”

         “Like T.S.? The poet?”

         “Like T.S. the poet,” Greer affirmed. “Do you know him?”

         “I know of him. The Waste Land. The Love Song of J.S. Prufrock.”

         “Close enough.” Greer smiled. “Your father and I used to argue over Eliot for hours, usually over a couple pitchers of beer. And to be honest I still don’t understand half of what he’s saying.”

         Kate laughed, “Why read something you don’t understand?”

         “Because what I do understand I love. I love the mood he sets. It doesn’t matter that he’s practically incomprehensible without Cliff Notes.”

         “So what sort of mood is it?”

         “Dark, reflective. He wrote it after World War I, and it reflects his despair, his uncertainty.”

         “And you like that?”

         She shrugged. “Have you never felt despairing?”

         “Sure I have, but I don’t like wallowing in it.”

         “Ah, wallowing implies you are in a puddle shallow enough to rise from. What if you found yourself drowning in despair? Wouldn’t you want someone to throw you a lifeline?”

         “But if he’s drowning too, how can he save you?”

         Greer laughed. “Good point. Let’s just say you’re swimming in despair. Wouldn’t you want to share how you were feeling?”

         “I suppose.”

         “That’s what good poetry does. It imparts a feeling the reader can share.”

         “Like being a good journalist.”

         “Exactly. Art, music, comics, literature, Internet, the morning paper – whatever the medium, we pick it up because we want to feel connected, a part of something outside ourselves. But,” she admitted, “he’s not for everyone.”

         Kate demanded, “Read me some.”

         “Yeah?”

         “Yeah.”

         Greer squinted in the bad light and read from The Waste Land, pausing often to clarify. When she finished Kate asked her to read it again.

         “But don’t stop this time.”

         She rocked with a knee tucked to her chest, listening. Greer closed the book. A photograph fell from the pages. Kate picked it up.

         A russet sunset, or maybe sunrise, glowed beyond a shattered minaret bracketed between a curving jet fighter and the crescent of a new moon. In the foreground a boy faced the ruined tower, both fists raised in a V.

         She handed the picture to Greer. “Did you take this?”

         Greer stared at it.

         “No.”

         “Where is it?”

         “Al Asad. Iraq.” Slipping the picture into the book, she said, “Here’s one you’ll know. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.”

         “Oh, come on, that’s grade-school stuff.”

         “Is it?”

         “Sure. Some guy stopping in the woods to watch the snow fall. It’s like a metaphor for death or something.”

         “Something like that.”

         Kate rolled her eyes. Greer read, pointing out how the sibilants and rounded vowels of the opening gave way to harder, more jarring consonants at the end.

         “Like life,” she explained. “We start the journey soft and innocent but as we go along life becomes progressively harder and filled with difficult choices. Though we long for the simpler time we have to keep moving forward to the end. There’s no stopping. No going back.”

         Kate was impressed. “Read it again.”

         But she leapt up before Greer could start.

         “Oh, shit. I’m supposed to be at Jason’s. I’ve got to go. Will you read me some more later?”

         “Sure. Go have fun.”

         “I am having fun.”

         Before Greer could see her blush, Kate dashed out. She jogged to the Bug thinking of all the questions she wanted to ask Greer, like what was the worst thing she’d ever seen? Where was the worst place she’d ever been? What was the scariest thing that had happened to her? How many times had she been shot at? How could she be a lesbian in the Middle East and not get stoned to death? When did she know she was a lesbian? High school? College? When did her mom know?

         Hours later, lolling naked on Jason’s bed, Greer still haunted the borders of her attention; her phone rang and she hoped for half a second it was Greer. She felt ridiculous as she picked up the phone, trying to imagine why Greer could possibly want to call even if she did have her number.

         “Hi, Aaron.”

         “Hiya, girlfriend. Whatcha doing?”

         “Nothing. Looking at You Tubes. Watching Jason play fantasy football.”

         “I am not,” he defended. “I’m working.”

         “Oh, sorry. He says he’s working.”

         “Hmph. If he was in my bed there wouldn’t be any work going on.”

         “If he was in your bed it would be a miracle.”

         Typing away, Jason grinned, “You got that right.”

         In that moment Kate loved her fiancé. She loved him for his easy acceptance of Aaron, for making room in his life for her best friend, for being a truly kind and good man.

         Aaron asked, “What did you guys do tonight? Did you make torrid, passionate love all over his apartment?”

         “Yeah, after my mother totally wigged out because someone told her you were going to be my maid of honor.”

         “Oh no” he gasped. “And you’re still alive!”

         “Almost. I had to leave the table. I mean she’s like totally ragging on gays and Greer’s sitting right next to her. It was gross but Greer was totally cool about it. I went over to apologize for Mom’s behavior and she was all like ‘whatever. That’s just your mom.’ She’s so cool. I can’t wait for you to meet her. She’s totally interesting. I can’t believe she’s my parents’ friend.”

         “Why, because she’s so interesting?”

         “Well, yeah. She’s way broad-minded and they’re so conservative. I mean even my dad. He totally likes Obama but he voted for McCain because of his fiscal policies. Like, please.”

         “I think you should vote with your heart, not your wallet.”

         Kate rolled onto her back. “Me, too. And when I tell Mom that she says I’m young and idealistic. That I’ll change.”

         “She’s so like my dad. He says, if you’re not a liberal when you’re young you don’t have a heart, and if you’re not a conservative when you’re old you don’t have a brain. So honey, I’m never going to be a conservative because I’m never getting old.”

         “God,” Kate moaned. “I feel like I already am.”

         “Girlfriend, you need day at Sea Spa. Let’s go and get masks.”

         “I can’t afford it.”

         “Afford what?” Jason asked.

         “To go to Sea Spa.”

         “Oh yes you can,” Aaron coaxed in her other ear. “Come on.”

         “I can’t.”

         “Go,” Jason told her. “I’ll pay for it.”

         “Get out of here,” she answered

         “No, really.” He broke away from his computer to nuzzle her belly. “It’s my treat. For snitching about Aaron.”

         “I’d have had to tell her sooner or later.”

         “Whatever. I’ll pay for your spa thing anyway.”

         “Really?”

         “Really what?” Aaron squealed.

         “Why?”

         “Because I love you,” he said simply, the fact clear in his eyes.

         Kate stroked his back as he mouthed her nipple.

         “Okay,” she told Aaron. “I’ll go. But now I’ve got to hang up and pay for it.”

         “Oh, leave the phone on,” he begged.

         Jason heard. He grinned and took the phone. “Goodnight, Aaron.”

         He pressed “end” and tossed the phone to the floor. Kate let him scoop her beneath him, anxious as always for the sweet, easy oblivion of sex.

         Chapter Twenty-Three

         Before it happened she’d dreamt it every night and imagined it all day. At stoplights, totaling receipts, doing dishes, brushing her teeth – her mind winged to the possibility like a pigeon to its roost. For all the frightful imagining, she was completely unprepared when the men arrived.

         She had left work early that day. It had been weeks since she made a decent meal and she was looking forward to cooking Doug a solid meat-and-potatoes dinner. Kate too, if she bothered coming home. Selecting a pork loin from the butcher case she fretted over Kate’s latest beau.

         Tyreese.

         Checking the underside of the meat for hidden fat she wondered why black kids always had to be burdened with such difficult names. Like that gal at the post office. Sweet as a bug but Darlene had to call her “honey” or “dear” because she couldn’t ever remember if her name was Shanina, or Shanita. Or was it Shanika?

         She hefted a ten pound bag of potatoes on sale for $1.99. It was a good deal but she wondered if they’d rot before she could use them all. If Chris were home the bag wouldn’t last a week. Her throat tightened. Darlene warned herself not to cry. Monday she’d burst in to tears at the gas station and last week she’d broken down in the break room.

         She focused on Tyreese and his baggy clothes, the fat diamonds in his ears. She’d met him once. He seemed outgoing, even charming, but Darlene could hardly understand a word he’d said. Later, she asked Kate where they’d met. She’d said at a party. Darlene had asked what sort of party and Kate dismissed her with grunts and monosyllables until Darlene gave up.

         Darlene shook her head, adding a jar of applesauce to the cart.

         There wasn’t much she could do about Kate. She had graduated magna cum laude with a bachelor’s degree in business and immediately landed a job at Wells Fargo. From what Darlene could tell she could go as far as she wanted with the company but she’d been there four years and was still only an assistant manager. If Kate would only apply herself she could have been a branch manager or even an area manager by now. Darlene was still stewing about Kate when she pulled into the driveway.

         Standing on her porch, two uniformed men turned in unison at the sound of her car. Darlene mashed the brakes. The car rocked. She thought to jerk into reverse and squeal off in a spray of gravel. But she was paralyzed, unable to advance or flee, and wondered if that was how boys felt under fire.

         If, dear God, that was how Chris had felt.

         The men looked at each other. The one on the left started down the steps. His partner followed.

         “No,” she whispered.

         Still they came, crunching along, the taller in front. She noticed how long his legs were yet how slowly he seemed to move. As if he didn’t want to reach her either.

         Maybe if she didn’t roll the window down. Just ignored him. Pretended he wasn’t there. Gathered her groceries and marched blithely into the house. La-la-la. I don’t see you. What would they do? Tackle her? Grab her? Shake her? What could they do?

         Then they were next to the Camry. The taller bent, asking through the window, “Mrs. Richardson? Darlene Richardson?”

         Yes.

         Darlene Richardson.

         Mother of Christopher John Richardson. Named after Christopher Robin. Saint Christopher. It was a good name. A safe name. How many serial killers were named Christopher? And after her brother John, in memoria, and with the irrational hope that he might be able to look down and protect his vulnerable namesake.

         He tapped on the glass.

         As if she really couldn’t see him.

         “Ma’am,” came the muted voice. “Please roll your window down.”

         She wondered if he’d ever delivered the news through a window. What had been the worst circumstances for him? How many times had he done this? She put her finger to the button and pressed. The window dropped. She tried to look him in the eye. They were kind eyes, appropriately sad, and she felt terribly sorry for him.

         “Ma’am.”

         He tucked his hat under his arm. His partner did the same. She wondered if they took turns breaking the news.

         “Are you Darlene Richardson?”

         “I am.”

         “Mrs. Richardson, could I ask you to come inside?”

         She nodded, easing away to park behind their ugly gray sedan.

         Well.

         There it was.

         Now there was nothing to do but get it over with. Darlene stepped out of the car. Her legs shook badly. She was horrified they might fail her. But they held. Silently she led the men inside her home.

         She considered what to do under the circumstances, offer coffee? Tea? Ask how they were this sunny afternoon? Was she their only notification of the day or were there others? Would they go out for a beer after they left, loosening their ties and laughing about the crazy broad that wouldn’t get out of the car?

         She sank onto the sofa, gesturing for them to take nearby seats. The tall one made introductions Darlene didn’t hear. She would recall that his voice, when he said her son was dead, was soft and patient, with just a hint of an accent.

         So there it was.

         Just like that.

         Because this tall man in a uniform told her so.

         Well.

         She listened to the few details they gave and when they asked if there was someone they could call she insisted there was no one. Asked where Doug was she instinctively lied that he was out of town. Out of the country. Unreachable by phone.

         “Really,” she repeated, “I’ll be fine.”

         The tall one said it was protocol to stay until someone could be with her.

         “Then I’ll have to make up beds for you,” she quipped, horrified at her nonchalant wit.

         The men exchanged “what can we do?” looks.

         “Really,” she said standing. “Please. I’m fine.”

         They rose awkwardly. The one who’d been silent the whole time asked, “Is there anything we can do for you?”

         “My groceries,” she replied. “I just bought them. They’re in the car. Could you possibly bring them in?”

         Again the men exchanged glances.

         “I’d hate for them to go bad,” she explained.

         The taller one nodded and the other left the room.

         “Mrs. Richardson. Are you positive there’s no one we can call?”

         “My daughter will be home. In a few hours,” she lied, hoping they wouldn’t want to stay that long. “I’ll be fine until then. I promise.”

         It upset her to see him so pained and helpless.

         She patted his arm. “Really. You’ve done you’re job. You can go.”

         Shuffling his hat from hand to hand he relented. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll just bring in the groceries. But,” he produced a card from a pocket, “if there’s anything you need between now and the time your daughter gets home, or later, if you have questions, please call.”

         “You’ve been very kind.”

         She took the card and moved toward the door as the other officer walked past with her bags.

         She did have questions, actually. How many times had he done this? Was he trained or had the job been thrust upon him by a superior who didn’t want to do it? Surely they must have classes about this sort of thing, the right and the wrong way to tell a mother her child is dead.

         Darlene tiptoed on the edge of hysteria. She struggled for calm, afraid if she said or did anything too glib they wouldn’t leave and if they didn’t leave she wouldn’t be able to lose her mind. It felt like that was already happening. Like the top of her skull had been sliced off in a neat circle letting all sense and sanity fly out in a great whoosh – like the bats they’d seen at Carlsbad rushing from their cave to disappear into a salmon colored sky. She had to get rid of theses nice men for if they saw how truly she had lost her mind they would take her someplace where she couldn’t hurt herself and then she wouldn’t be able to make the dinner she’d planned or tell Doug and Kate what she had to tell them.

         No, she decided. Not that. Anything but that. The details they had given were brief but cruel, too brutally, coldly cruel. She couldn’t tell Doug or Kate that he had… she couldn’t even think the word. It was too much. She would tell them he had died. She was obligated to tell that much. They deserved that. But not the rest. Not the entire truth. There was no need for them to hear that.

         “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

         In a flash that branded the gut and bone and marrow that had borne her only son, Darlene vowed that she alone would carry the stillborn penance of his death just as she had borne the rich promise of his life.

         “Yes,” she addressed the officer’s concern. “I’ll be fine.”

         After ushering the men out Darlene stood at the closed door. Her hand rested on the beveled, glass knob. She stared at the frosted pane. After a while she turned away. She smoothed her hair and skirt.

         Well.

         People still had to eat.

         She walked steadily to the kitchen. The man had left her groceries on the table. One at a time she took each item from the bag and put it in its proper place. The roast went into a baking dish, with seasoning. She peeled potatoes and arranged them next to the meat. Then she put the pan in the oven, set the timer and walked to the secretary in the living room. She opened the top drawer and took out a bundle of letters. Up the far, stretching steps she carried them to Chris’ room. She sat on his bed and held the letters to her nose. They smelled papery, dusty, and faintly of oil. They were organized by date, and loosely tied together with red, white and blue ribbon. She untied the bundle and spread the letters like playing cards. Eyes closed, she reached out. Her fingers touched an envelope and she picked it up.

         She opened her eyes.

         Of course.

         The letter Doug had read, swearing, “Christ, Dar. If anything happens to him…”

         Chapter Twenty-Four

         Dear Mom and Dad and Kate –

         I’m not sure how to tell you this other than to say it’s totally what I want and I hope you’ll be happy for me - I’ve been assigned to the FMSS!! HOORAH!!

         Oh yeah, that stands for “Field Medical Service School”. That’s where we get trained to serve with the Marine Corps! They don’t have their own medical personnel so the Navy trains corpsmen to serve with Marine units. Basically it involves passing a physical and learning Marine Corps customs and ops which will make me more useful to them in the field and less of a liability.

         Mom, I know you’re totally wigging out but I’m so stoked about this. I didn’t tell you earlier because I didn’t know if I’d get in or not but I so want to do this!! I am so totally happy! This is what I signed up to do. To be there when it really counts. When someone’s shot and bleeding to death or when someone’s taken a round and needs to get Medevaced pronto I want to be the one out there helping him. I want to be where soldiers are going to need me most or why bother? Going greenside increases my usefulness and that’s what I enlisted for so I’ll leave the aspirin dispensing to someone else. Me, I get to save lives!

         Whats even cooler is that I’ll be training at Camp Pendleton for seven weeks! I’ll be practically home! I’m not sure yet when I leave. I’ll check with my RDC and let you know but I can’t wait to see you! Assuming you’ll come down to see me!!

         All is well here – the usual – I’m so ready to graduate! I just want to get out of here and get to Pendleton. I’m totally psyched about FMSS! And seeing you! Almost lights out…

         I love all of you, Love Chris!

         Chapter Twenty-Five

         Greer’s chin fell to her chest, jerking her from sleep. Her mouth was parched. She licked her lips, unable to remember dreaming, only falling from sleep. The book of poems slid from her lap. With it the picture. She picked it up. Scowled at the nail-paring moon and glinting jet, the boy’s raised fists in front of the shattered minaret. She slid the photograph back into the book.

         After a while she stretched. The coals in the stove were hooded. She added a small log and when it caught she added another. Reaching around she rummaged through her duffle bag, feeling an old box held together with duct tape and rubber bands. She took off what was left of the lid off and dumped a deck of cards into her hand. She shuffled distractedly.

         It was true what she’d told Kate; she had loved the Stan beat. As brightly as if it had happened yesterday she remembered waking on her first assignment, 7,000 meters up in the Hindu Kush. In January. Crawling dressed from her sleeping bag she figured her editor had sent her because the older correspondents were too smart to go. Night was splitting between earth and sky into a ruddy dawn. She made out the dark spine of the mountain they’d pitched their tents on, glad she hadn’t seen in the night how the pass fell away on both sides. In the tent next to hers Hassan spit and cursed. She hastened to piss behind a rock. The yellow water steamed between her legs.

         Christ, but she had never been this cold. She stood and zipped. Blowing on her aching fingers only made them colder and she jammed them under her armpits.

         “Hassan,” she called in a hoarse whisper. “Tea?”

         “Nam,” her guide grumbled. “Yes.”

         When he appeared from his tent she ducked into hers, allowing privacy for his ablutions. Their modesty would soon disintegrate into a euphemistic, “I’ll catch up,” or “Be right back,” but this was only their first week together.

         Hearing him fumble with the kettle she reemerged from her tent and was blinded by the wild, rising eye of the sun. The snow at her feet and the peaks of the Kush were red in its glare. Miles below, the dirt road curled in shadow through a narrow stone valley. She stared back into the sun’s fierce, bloodshot eye. Alexander the Great would have seen the same sun from this summit. Ghengis Kahn and Tamerlane, too. Now here she was, a girl from Cheyenne, Wyoming, USA. Under the hemorrhaging eye of the Persian Empire, Greer Madison’s fate was sealed; for the next thirty years she would be a slavish mistress to the Stan beat.

         Kismet, she thought, laying three cards on the footstool. Greer sat back, scrying the fire as if it could explain how she had strayed so far from where she’d started. She studied the darting flames as if they held the secret to how her passion for place and people had been buried under an egomaniacal thrill for the scoop. And the scoop after that and the next. A frenetic treadmill of leads and two A.M. filings and frightening downtime filled with boozy, half-remembered sex.

         Greer flipped the cards over.

         The Fool, Death and the Eight of Wands.

         She sat back again. Certainly she was a fool, death her handmaid, and she had definitely undergone the swift and unexpected change augured by the eight wands. She saw Dolly – God love her, the best editor Greer had ever had – grinning over her as she came to in a hospital bed in Landstuhl.

         “Well, kiddo, you’re gonna hate what I have to tell you.”

         Greer had croaked, “Tell me anyway.”

         “You’re beholden to the United States Marines for saving your life. They got you out of Ramadi, stabilized your sorry ass and shipped you here. You owe ‘em.”

         “What about…?” Greer searched for spit. “The girl.”

         Dolly’s grin faded. Her lips tightened. She held Greer’s gaze.

         “The driver too?”

         “No, he was all right. But the girl – ”

         “Sigbrith.” Greer rasped. “Her name was Sigbrith.”

         “Sigbrith.” Dolly nodded. “She was too exposed. The shock wave…”

         “She was trying...I fell…”

         “That was probably what saved you. That you were already down.”

         “She was trying to get me,” Greer continued. “My leg. I got shot.”

         “You weren’t shot,” Dolly soothed. “But you have a bad concussion. You’ve been sedated a while. They wanted to keep you under until the swelling went down. I bet you feel crappy, but you’re fine. You’re just fine.”

         Greer remembered thinking, sure, I’m just fine. I killed a twenty-six year old woman, but I’m fine. Just fine. In the hospital, waiting for the swelling to go down, she’d had lots of time to think how fine she was.

         She jumped up. Trading her clothes for Dar’s bunny-soft robe she walked out of the cottage. The night’s damp chill made her pull the robe close. Kate’s Bug was in the drive. She laid a hand on the hood. It was cool. She studied the dark windows above her head. Like Dar, she thought it odd Kate didn’t spend the night at Jason’s. Doug’s Excursion was parked behind Dar’s car. She looked up at the windows again. Everyone was home, hopefully asleep and without dreams.

         She limped off the gravel onto the clammy grass. Mist lifted from the pool. She took the robe off and eased into the warm water. She swam a few lengths, her head high like an otter, but no windows lit up, no doors opened, and she relaxed.

         Sig followed her into the pool.

         Greer believed even as she had tripped in the devastated Ramadi street, that she was a hero. She believed because once it had been true. Once upon a time she had believed that writing about the Sarajevos and Afghanistans, the Chechnyas and Kurdistans, Somalias and Bosnias would make a difference. Once upon a time she had believed her stories would make people care and that her words could alter outcomes.

         She couldn’t remember when she had stopped believing. It probably wasn’t a single moment but rather a slow dimming, like the dawn moon over the Kush, fading from a glowing gold ball to a tissue-thin disc until one looked up into the startling blue sky and saw it was gone.

         Surely it had started with all the minor compromises. When the Times trimmed a 6,000-word feature about Chechnyan genocide into a twelve line paragraph and ran it in the middle of the second to last page she had shrugged and found a bottle of vodka. Found another bottle and an Armenian pretty when an editor told her he couldn’t run her exposé on Dretsl because it wouldn’t sell papers. Too depressing. No one would read it.

         The dirt she’d wheedled from ex-CIA agents and diplomats was mind blowing Intel about nasty little games the U.S. played in other countries. None of it attributable, of course, nothing you could ever prove, but the same report from different credible sources. Her editor had run from the story with his tail tucked between his nattily creased trousers, and home on leave she seduced his wife over a countless-martini lunch.

         Another editor refused to run her expose on Sadam Hussein’s murderous gassing of Halabja because it wasn’t “helpful to our interests in Iraq, and besides, everyone thinks the Iranians did it.” Following that rebuff she and Philip had gotten massively drunk at a famous correspondent’s hotel in Peshawar. They woke up next morning behind the bar with two young things sleeping naked beside them.

         Greer swam in the lightless water.

         In collusion with what had been acceptable to her employers she had lost her outrage.

         If only it had stopped there.

         She squeezed her eyes but still saw herself shoving her way through the crowd in Mostar, past relatives keening beneath twelve young men hanging from the Stari Most bridge. Realizing as she got closer to the slowly twisting feet that she and her crew were the only reporters on the scene she had turned to her photographer and high-fived him, whooping with delight.

         Equally vivid was the little girl in Gaza. She couldn’t have been more than six, all miserable shining eyes and dusty hair. She sat crumpled in the road after an Israeli air strike, cradling her grandmother’s head in her lap. Every few seconds she’d reach out to try and poke her grandmother’s intestines back into the rent in her stomach. The camera was already rolling on the little girl and Hassan had knelt, talking gently. Her grandmother was dead, he told her. She knew that didn’t she? The little girl shook her head and patted the dirt-smeared organs into place.

         “Jesus,” Greer had grinned. “There won’t be a dry eye in the States after we air this.”

         She skimmed the bottom of the pool.

         There were so many moments, in blasted forests and incinerated villages, on bloodied plains and mortared passes, so many times she had misplaced her soul and instead of stopping to look for it she had raced to the next story, the next triumph, forgetting beneath skirts and inside bottles that the woman called to herald the truth couldn’t even look at herself in a broken window anymore, had to turn from the vulture reflected there.

         Greer circled to the shallow end. Her lungs complained. Dark blots floated before her. She reached the stairs and turned again, still beneath the water. Her brain racketed time with her pulse. Her lungs spasmed and her vision grew red. Reaching the far wall she arrowed to the surface. Her heat pounded viciously. She clung to the side of the pool.

         A vulture at least knew it was a vulture. It didn’t try to be a lark. Greer had known long before that ill-destined night in the Intercontinental that she was a carrion eater pretending she could sing.

         Chapter Twenty-Six

         A door slammed.

         Darlene flinched, smearing mascara on her brow. She grabbed a tissue and cursed her daughter. Kate had always been the loud one, the rebel. The exact opposite of Chris, yet how they’d gotten along! Kate took to her baby brother the instant Darlene walked in the door from the hospital. She begged to hold, change and feed him. She even wanted to sleep in his crib with him. When he began to crawl she spent hours crawling beside him. When he started to walk, she held his hand and patiently baby-stepped him around the house.

         Darlene batted her lashes to keep back tears. She checked the mirror just long enough to determine she was tidily made up, then tiptoed out the bedroom down to the kitchen. Concentrating on what to make for breakfast, she was startled to see Greer at the kitchen table. She folded the newspaper and smiled.

         “Morning.”

         “Good morning.” Darlene avoided Greer’s eyes. She picked up the half-full coffee pot. “Is this all caffeinated?”

         “Hm-hm. I made it about twenty minutes ago.”

         “It’s all yours.” She groped in a drawer for the single-cup brewer. “I make mine half-decaf.”

         “Oh. Sorry.”

         “No problem.”

         “How about we brew some decaf in with it? That’d make it half and half.”

         “It’s fine.”

         She set the kettle on the stove and snapped the burner on.

         “No, no.” Greer moved to the cupboard. “I’ll get a fresh pot going for you.”

         “Don’t be silly. This is fine. And I can’t dawdle. I have to be at work early.” The ease with which the lie popped from her mouth surprised Darlene. It satisfied, too.

         “How come you’re up already?” she asked.

         “Woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. You?”

         “I told you. I have to be at work early.”

         “Right. Remind me not to visit again in September.”

         “Well, honestly,” Darlene wheeled. “I’m sorry I can’t be here to entertain you all day!”

         “Jesus, Dar. That’s not what I meant. I meant the last thing you need in September is one more distraction. Work. The wedding. Everything else.”

         The compass in Darlene’s head searched for true north, for normal.“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m just so damned busy.”

         “I know.”

         Greer came up beside her and Darlene sidestepped.

         “Let me help,” Greer pleaded. “Give me something to do. To help with. Mow the lawn. Order flowers. There has to be something I can do.”

         The needle in Darlene’s compass quivered then settled.

         “I wish it were that easy. I know I’m distracted. Forgive me, okay? I just need a little slack right now.”

         “Sure. I understand. Just one question.”

         Darlene hung her head over the sink, expecting an interrogation.

         Greer stared at her. “You always have the windows open. Even when it’s cold, but now they’re shut all the time. How come?”

         “Well. I hadn’t noticed. I don’t know.”

         It was amazing what a facile liar she’d become. She’d always been quick with the occasional white lie for the kids, but her spontaneous ease at outright deception was shocking. Not only shocking, but so convincing she’d almost forgotten she kept the windows closed because she couldn’t bear to hear the birds singing.

         Fishing for neutral conversation, she asked, “What are you going to do today?”

         “Same thing I did yesterday. Sleep, read, swim. Try not to think too much.”

         “About what?”

         Greer shrugged. “Lots of stuff. What you said yesterday. The accident…”

         “It must have been terrible.”

         Lost in her coffee cup, Greer didn’t seem to hear.

         “I’ve got to go. I’m sorry I can’t be around more.”

         “Shush.” Greer waved off the apology, but Darlene continued, fascinated afresh by the lie streaming from her mouth. “It’s the end of the quarter and we’re so backed up. I’d love to be here but its just terrible timing.”

         “Don’t worry about it. I understand about deadlines, right?”

         Greer squeezed her shoulder. Darlene nodded.

         “What would you like for dinner?”

         “I thought we decided something simple. A pizza, hamburgers. I’ll buy.”

         “Don’t be ridiculous.”

         Darlene stepped out from under Greer’s hand. She started to leave but Greer was gathering the paper into a neat pile.

         “Do you mind if I take this?” she asked.

         “No. Not at all.”

         Greer pecked her cheek and went out the backdoor. Darlene stood at the window and watched her crossing the lawn. She walked with a slight limp, the paper under one arm, shoulders hunched, hands crammed in her pockets. Hot tears blurred Greer and Darlene turned from the window. She wanted to run after Greer, to plead absolution for her treachery. She wanted to kneel in the foggy dawn, tender grass anointing her knees, while she begged forgiveness for all she had done.

         And was yet to do.

         Darlene grabbed a paper towel and blotted the tears. She ran water and rinsed Greer’s cup. Wiping it dry, she replaced it in the cupboard, lining it just so with the other cups, wondering if Greer would still come after she was gone. With just Doug in the house. Maybe Kate and Jason would move in. Maybe Doug would sell it. She couldn’t imagine leaving the home she’d raised her children in but she could see Doug moving out. Moving on.

         In the pantry she exchanged laundry from dryer to basket.

         Maybe he would move in with his mistress. She was sure he was seeing someone. He was a creature of comfort. He liked soft chairs and hot meals, a warm body next to him in bed and sex. Which he hadn’t had with her since Chris died. She’d tried a couple of times but it was no good. She couldn’t allow herself that bliss while her son lay cold and lonely in the ground. It wasn’t fair to allow herself what he couldn’t have and eventually Doug had stopped asking.

         She folded his socks into pairs.

         She wondered sometimes who she was, what type of woman Doug would choose for a mistress. She wondered if he told her how awful his wife was, how she didn’t understand him.

         Darlene smiled grimly; her marriage had become a fifties cliché.

         She loaded the folded clothes into the basket and carted it upstairs on her hip. Doug was still asleep. She quietly left a neat pile on their dresser and tiptoed to Kate’s room. She knocked but hearing Kate in the bathroom she let herself in.

         “Honestly.”

         She shook her head at the clothes heaped and scattered on the floor. Setting the basket on Kate’s rumpled sheets she kicked a book and knelt to retrieve it.

         “What in Heaven’s name?”

         Flipping through the library book, she was still on her knees when Kate came in.

         “Oh.”Darlene pointed at the laundry as if Kate were blind. “I have your clothes.”

         “Thanks.”

         Darlene stood up. She put the book on the bed. “It was on the floor. I didn’t know you liked Eliot.”

         Kate flushed and pulled her towel tighter. “Greer was reading him to me. He’s interesting.”

         “I see. You two really seem to be hitting it off.”

         “Yeah.”

         Kate grew vague, like she was hiding something, and Darlene longed to be in on the secret.

          “Well. I'm glad.” She nodded at the book. “Have you read much?”

         “Just a little. It's hard. It’s easier when Greer reads it.”

         Darlene nodded. She started to pick up the clothes on the floor but Kate said, “Mom, don’t. I’ll get those.”

         “It’s no trouble.”

         “No, really.” Kate grabbed the underwear from her hand. “You shouldn’t have to be picking up after me.”

         Kate smiled ruefully and Darlene wanted to kiss her, to hug her close with her nose buried in Kate’s tangled wet, hair. Instead she returned the smile and left. In the pantry she began another load of laundry but a fuss at the kitchen window stopped her.

         Two little birds – Kate would know what they were – flapped and shrieked in the bougainvillea. Thinking the neighbor’s cat might be after them, Darlene tossed the window up, shouting, “Get out! Go on!”

         But no cat leapt out and the birds continued screeching.

         “Oh!”

         Darlene’s hands flew to her mouth.

         Deep in the bush, struggling to avoid the smaller birds, a jay clutched a chick in its beak. Darlene grabbed the broom. She ran outside and jabbed at the bougainvillea. The jay struggled to escape without dropping the chick.

         “You little bastard,” she hissed.

         She grabbed for the bird and snagged it by a wing. Gripping the flapping bird she forced its beak apart. The freed chick fell to the ground. Darlene dropped the jay and scooped it up. It panted in her hand.

         “What are you doing?” Kate called from her window.

         “Oh, Kate!” She thrust the chick up. “Do something!”

         She dandled the chick and stroked its drooping head. “Shh. There, there. You’re going to be okay. Sh-sh-sh. You’ll be okay. Katie’s going to make you all better. Sh, sh, sh.”

         “What happened?” Kate asked, running up to take the chick from her hands.

         Darlene pointed to the jay flapping at her feet.

         “He stole it. The parents were trying to fight him off. Can you fix it? Is it all right?”

         “I don’t know. Let’s see.” Kate peeked between her hands. “It looks pretty shocky. And it’s so tiny. Let’s put it in a quiet place for a while and see if it comes around.”

         Kate moved toward the house. Darlene started to follow but stopped. The jay was hopping away, dragging its broken wing. She looked around. When Kate stepped inside Darlene snatched the broom up. She brought it down on the jay, over and over until she had mashed it into a feathery pulp. Scraping the dirt under the bougainvillea, Darlene pinched a wing and dropped the bird into the hole. She covered it, brushed the dirt from her hands, and strode calmly to the kitchen.

         In the pantry Kate had nestled the chick into a wad of paper towels in a plastic bowl.

         “It’s one of the disposable ones,” she defended, seeing Darlene’s glance. “I’ll buy a new one.”

         “It doesn’t matter. It’s okay.”

         “I don’t think it’s going to make it. It’s breathing too fast. But we’ll see.”

         Kate covered the bowl with a dishtowel. Turning off the light she squeezed past Darlene and asked about the jay.

         “Oh. It flew off.”

         Kate frowned. “It looked like it had broken wing.”

         “It must have been bent funny. The parents were going crazy trying to get their baby back.”

         “I bet. I wonder how many are left. If this one’s still alive by the time I go to work I’ll put it back in the nest.”

         Darlene nodded. “What type of bird is it?”

         “It’s a titmouse. It’s late in the season for babies but I saw the parents going in and out of the bush last week and when I looked there were four little hatchlings in the nest.”

         Again Darlene battled the instinct to enfold her daughter.

         “Thanks, honey. I better get going. Don’t want to be late.”

         “Sure.”

         Darlene pulled herself up the stairs. She slowed at Chris’ door but Kate was still home and Doug would be up soon. She slipped into their bathroom and locked the door. Braced against the sink, she bowed her head and cried.

         In the bedroom, Doug’s alarm went off.

         Darlene lifted her head. She looked in the mirror and fixed her mascara. Taking a long breath she unlocked the door. She still hadn’t made breakfast.

         Chapter Twenty-Seven

         Kate slid a heating pad under the Tupperware and lifted the towel. The fledgling breathed heavily, its eyes shut.

         “What are you doing?”

         “Damn it, Greer!” Kate put her hand to her heart. “Why are you always running around scaring the crap out of me!”

         Greer laughed, “Because you’re always doing such fascinating things – creeping in at midnight, skulking about in dark pantries…”

         Kate couldn’t help but laugh, amazed how good it felt. She held the towel up.

         “Want to see?”

         Greer stepped next to her. Her sweater smelled like wood smoke and Kate inhaled, reminded of good times camping in the Sierras with the whole family, then later, partying in the mountains behind Santa Barbara with Chris and their friends.

         “Why do you have a bird in a bowl?”

         Kate lowered the towel and squeezed past Greer. “A jay was trying to steal it.”

         “And you saved it?”

         “Mom did. But it’s not going to live. It’s too traumatized.” She held a finger to her lips. “Don’t tell her. I’m going to take it to work with me and when she asks how it is I’ll say it’s okay, that I put it back in the nest.”

         Greer smiled. “You’re sweet.”

         Kate turned her face to the floor, trying to hide the blush riding her cheeks.

         “I felt bad for her. It freaked her out.”

         Realizing what a sight she was Kate bunched her hair into a ponytail and dashed for the stairs.

         “I’ve gotta get dressed.”

         “Okay, Doctor Doolittle. Have a good day.”

         She stopped to stare at Greer. “That’s what we used to call Chris.”

         She ran up the stairs wishing he were around to help the nestling, but even Chris probably couldn’t have saved this one.

         At the top of the stairs, she paused in front of his room. Glancing down the empty hall Kate tried the knob. It was locked, of course. She wondered what her mother did in there. Closing her eyes, she summoned his bed with the dark blue spread, the entertainment system on one wall, swimming trophies on another between posters of J Lo and Halle Berry. She wanted to go in. She had every right to. It wasn’t fair that her mother kept him all to herself.

         Or maybe it was.

         Kate hurried to her room. She dressed quickly and ran downstairs. Trotting out to the Bug she saw Greer by the pool. Her back was to Kate. She tiptoed to her, singing, “I saw some–”

         Greer threw the newspaper and rolled off the lawn chair into a crouch. When she saw Kate she stood.

         “Payback,” she joked weakly.

         Greer gathered the paper. Her hands shook so hard they rattled the sheets.

         “Here.” Kate knelt. “Let me get it. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

         “I know. Don’t worry about it.”

         Together they piled the paper into order.

         “Are you okay?”

         “Yeah. I’m fine. What were you saying?”

         “What?”

         “You said you saw something…?”

         “Oh. Last night. I saw you in the pool.”

         “Did you now?” Greer squared the paper. “I figured everyone was asleep.”

         “I got up to pee and heard you. I always sleep with the windows open. It makes Mom crazy because I’m either letting the air conditioning or the heat out, but I close the vents in my room. I love fresh air.”

         She babbled. Greer’s tumble from the chaise had frightened her and if it had scared her that badly she wondered what it must have felt like for Greer.

         “And if the window’s are closed I can’t hear the birds in the morning. I love hearing them sing. We have so many that hang out in our yard. There are resident birds that hang out all year, like the titmice, then there are visitors that only come in the spring or fall. Say’s phoebes, grosbeaks, kingbirds. All the neo-tropical migrants. But anyway, it was nice to see someone using the pool.”

         “Yeah, I noticed how everyone stared at me the other night when I said I’d been swimming. Nobody swims anymore?”

         “Not since Chris died. He was a swimming champ, you know. He won all sorts of trophies. He didn’t even like to swim that much but Dad pushed him into it. And it was easier for Chris to swim than argue. And he was good at it. He was really good.”

         A bird called from the edge of the patio.

         “Hear that?”

         She pointed.

         “See that little bird over there, going down the oak, headfirst?”

         Greer squinted in the right direction.

         “Uh-huh.”

         “That’s a nuthatch. They’re so cute. I love ‘em. They get a nut or a seed and anchor it into a crack then hammer it open with their beaks, hence” – she raked the air with her first and second fingers – “hatching the nut.”

         “How do you know all this stuff about birds?”

         Afraid she sounded like an idiot again, Kate explained, “The neighbors were always giving me and Chris birds that had flown into their windows or that their cats had caught. We had to look them up to figure out what they were and how to feed them, and then in college I took an ornithology elective and totally aced it.”

         “Have you ever thought about being a vet?”

         “Ick! No way. Horrible hours, being stuck inside all day.”

         “Doesn’t sound that much different than a bank.”

         “Oh, come on. I work great hours.

         “But it’s not what you love.”

         “I don’t mind it. It’s all right. The people are nice.”

         Greer warned, “Life is short.”

         “Duh. I’m the one with the dead brother,” she snapped. She turned and walked off before Greer could say anything else. Jumping into the Bug she drove by without looking. Safely down the driveway, Kate burst into tears she thought were for Chris.

         Chapter Twenty-Eight

         Greer watched Kate speed down the driveway. She folded the paper and carried it into the kitchen. The house was quiet. Dar was still upstairs, doing God knew what and Doug was probably still asleep. She filled her coffee cup and grabbed a book from the living room. She carried it out to the pool and settled in the lounge chair. The book lay closed in her lap.

         She could have told Dar about Sig. There’d been an opening that morning, a window in which she could have explained the accident, the awful reason for it. She’d yet to tell anyone the whole story but there were rumors. Rounding the corner to Dolly’s office she had interrupted two stringers, one laughing, “Yeah, the little Dutch girl bought it before old Greer could stick her finger in –”

         The reporter saw her and was suddenly interested in the carpet pattern.

         That night she’d called Sig’s parents. She told them all the things a parent would want to hear about their daughter but certainly not the whole truth about why she’d taken Sig into Iraq.

         Greer opened the book at random. Her eyes fell on a red wheelbarrow in the rain but what she saw was a foot in a blue shoe.

         It was an ankle really, in the market at Katyr-Yurt. A delicate ankle above a shiny blue Mary Jane. Russian jets had strafed the market and amid the carnage, beets and rubble, the foot sat pertly alone in the center of the street. There was no blood, no jagged bone or dangling skin, just a perfectly sheared foot. The shrapnel severing the foot had been so hot it cauterized the wound.

         Greer had wondered for a long time about that foot. She’d meant to follow up on it but there were always bigger stories. At odd moments or sometimes while falling asleep she’d think about the blue shoe and who it might have belonged to. Given its size and the luxury of such a purchase, she’d assumed a pretty young woman had been wearing the shoe. Had she seen it in the middle of the street, neatly holding her ankle out of the rubble? Or did the woman die instantly like so many others in the market that day? Maybe she lived and wondered where her foot had gone, if pigs ate it or maybe a dog. And what about that perfect blue shoe? It was brand new – an unthinkable extravagance. Was the woman limping around on one leg, bitter about the money she’d wasted, or was she glad to have lost only a foot, joking when she explained about the missing limb that had she known what was going to happen she’d have only paid for one shoe?

         Greer looked at the poem.

         If only Sig had lost a foot. Hell, even a leg, like Vassily Karmarov. He was still out engineering sound. And that guy in Lebanon, the UPI reporter. He’d lost an arm, an eye, and part of his hearing but he was still filing stories. Good ones, too.

         But that was another what-if. Sig was dead and she wasn’t. Somehow she was still alive, still filing stories, still raising hell. Greer made furrows through her hair. She remembered her first trip into Afghanistan. Or maybe it was the second.

         She had been crying in a rain that fell like lead shot. Their jeep was stuck in the mud, the slick spawn of the endless rain. The mud crept and oozed and kept everything it touched. They had harnessed donkeys to the jeep to pull it free but the animals sank to their bellies. They’d managed to free two of the wretched beasts but the third was stuck. They pulled and hauled with ropes but the mud wouldn’t give. Night was coming down like doom. Freezing and tired, the men gave up.

         “Inshallah,” they cited.

         The exhausted donkey shivered, trying to keep its head up, but its muzzle dipped into the mud and each time the donkey jerked back bleating, eyes rolling. Occasionally it mustered its pitiful reserves for a last, spasmodic bolt but the mud held it like a lover. Under a sodden canvas tarp Greer had begged them to shoot the donkey but no one would waste the bullet.

         She sipped her coffee, unaware it was cold. When the screen door slammed she jumped again but realized it was only Dar.

         “Oh, honey, did I scare you?”

         Greer waved away her concern.

         Approaching as if she were a wild animal, Dar suggested, “Maybe you should take more time off. It’s not like you haven’t done your duty. Give yourself a chance to really unwind. Get back to normal.”

         “Normal,” she snorted. “This is the new normal.”

         “Well...it’s not healthy.”

         She winced at the understatement.

         Dar took her into a short hug, asking, “Can I do anything?”

         Her concern was as touching as it was surprising.

         “Play hooky with me,” Greer begged. “Just for the morning. An hour or so.”

         “Oh, honey, I’d love to. I can’t. We’re so swamped.”

         “Yeah, I know. Go on.”

         She sat down and reached for the book. Dar stopped and looked back. Greer thought she was going to stay, but she only forced a smile before leaving.

         Greer opened the book, searching for her lost spot.

         Chapter Twenty-Nine

         That evening Kate ran home through the kitchen door and into Greer lounging against the counter, long legs crossed at the ankle, munching an apple. All the morning’s frustration had vanished and she laughed, “You look like a giraffe.”

         Greer cocked a pleased brow. “I’ve been called worse.”

         Kate didn’t bother to hide her pleasure at seeing Greer. She sat and asked how her day had been.

         “Quiet,” Greer answered.

         “Nice. I’m jealous.” She sniffed the spicy air. “Wow. Something smells good.”

         “Your mom’s making chicken cacciatore. I asked her to do something simple for dinner…” Greer hefted a shoulder.

         “Oh, it is. She makes it all the time. Jason loves it. Where is she?”

         “Upstairs. Taking a nap.”

         “Um. Sounds heavenly. What are you doing?”

         “Nothing. Just hanging out hoping I could catch your mom before we ate but she seems to have given me the brush off.”

         Kate got up for a Pepsi, smirking, “You’ll get used to it.”

         “I don’t want to get used to it.”

         “Who does? It’s just the way it is. Maybe after the wedding…”

         “Do you believe that?”

         “I don’t know.” Kate drank and lowered the can. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

         “Ditto,” Greer said, stuffing the core down the disposal.

         Kate teased, “I thought you knew everything.”

         “I wish. As my translator used to say, I’m just the wolf that hires out cheaply to the shepherd.”

         She was trying to figure what that meant when her mother came in.

         “Hi, honey. How’s our little bird doing?”

         Kate studied the nutrition data on her can.

         “It’s fine. I put it back in the nest but we shouldn’t bother it. It’s stressful if we keep looking in. And the then jays see us and get curious about what we’re looking at.”

         “You’re kidding,” Greer said.

         “Nope. They’re super smart. All the corvids are – jays, crows, ravens. They’ll follow you to a nest and steal the eggs. Or the babies.”

         “That’s awful,” her mother said.

         Kate shrugged. “Everybody’s got to eat. Speaking of which. I told Jason dinner would be ready at six. Is that all right?”

         “Fine,” her mother said, reaching for the telephone. “Hello?”

         Kate told Greer, “I’m going to change,” but stopped short when her mother said, “Oh. Hello, Al.”

         Her mother waved for her to take the phone. Kate shook her head.

         “Oh, you didn’t? That’s funny. They went out a while ago. I’m sure she sent you one.”

         “Mom!” she hissed.

         Her mother made an exaggerated shrug. “Well, she’s right here. Why don’t you ask her?”

         She held the phone out, with an “I told you so” scowl.

         Kate snatched the phone. “Hi, Uncle Al.”

         She listened, chewing on a nail.

         “Well, no actually, I didn’t send you an invitation. The truth is…no…”

         “Katherine,” her mother warned.

         Their eyes fought.

         “Yeah, I’m here…no. I didn’t.”

         “Katherine…”

         “Um, yeah. October. The twenty-second. Yeah, here at the house. Okay. Yeah. See you then.”

         She hung up and her mother started, “Didn’t I tell you that would happen? Honestly, Kate, would it have been so hard to invite him in the first place? Couldn’t you have just done it for me?”

         “Oh, God,” Kate groaned, “Add it to the list.”

         “I just don’t see why you felt the need to exclude him. He is your uncle.”

         “I know and I don’t like him. I haven’t spent more than twenty-four hours with him in my entire life and every time I did he gave me the creeps. I know he’s your brother but he’s weird, Mom. I don’t want him weirding out my guests. I mean, God, whose wedding is it anyway?”

         “Well, I’d like to remind you who’s paying for this wedding and I think the least you can do is invite the bank’s brother.”

         “Oh, don’t even start. You’re the one that wants the big wedding. Not me. And it’s not too late to elope, believe me!”

         Snatching her purse she ran to the stairs, taking them two at a time. She wondered if she could beg Jason to run away with her. Just run and run and keep on running. To Afghanistan maybe, or Chechnya. Moscow. Anywhere. But she knew he wanted the drama and ceremony as much as her mother did.

         “God!” Kate hurled herself on the bed. Face buried in her pillow she screamed, “Why don’t you two marry each other?”

         Chapter Thirty

         “Katherine!” Darlene yelled. “Katherine, come back here!”

         Greer put a hand on her shoulder. “Let her go. Let her calm down. You too.” Guiding her into a chair, she added, “You’ve got to admit, your brother’s...unusual.”

         “He has a few idiosyncrasies, who doesn’t? But the man still has feelings.”

         “So does your daughter.”

         “You’re just like Doug. You always take her side.”

         Greer chuckled, “I’m hardly taking sides, but it is her day. She should be surrounded by people that love her. Not strangers and people she doesn’t know.”

         Darlene stood and dropped a pot under the faucet.

         “He’s not a stranger, Greer, he’s her uncle. He’s family.”

         “He may be her family, but she barely knows him. How many times has she actually seen him?”

         “I don’t know. I never kept track. I didn’t know I’d need a tally someday.”

         “Come on, Dar. You barely have a relationship with him. How’s she supposed to?”

         “It doesn’t matter,” she insisted. “He’s my brother. He’s family and family should be here at times like this. Weddings, funerals. It’s not an unreasonable expectation.”

         “You’re right.” Greer grinned. “How many uncles were at your wedding?”

         Darlene slapped a lid on the pot. “That was different.”

         “Can I ask you something?”

         “You will anyway.”

         “Doesn’t Kate want a quiet wedding?”

         “Kate doesn’t know what she wants. If we left it to her she’d get married under a redwood somewhere. I don’t want her to look back on the most significant day of her life and regret how she did it. Jason wants a big wedding. He realizes the importance of the ceremony. He wants it done right. It’s the start of the rest of their lives. Is it wrong to want to celebrate it, to want everything to be perfect for just one day?”

         “Of course not.” Greer twirled the salt shaker. “But maybe it’s more perfect for you and Jason than it is for her. Maybe she’s doing the best she can with something she doesn’t really want.”

         “Why? What did she say to you?”

         “Nothing. It’s just pretty obvious she’s not into the whole wedding thing.”

         Darlene couldn’t argue. Nor could she stay in the kitchen a minute longer. Turning the heat on under the pot she asked, “Could you lower this when it boils? I have to run upstairs.”

         She pushed past before Greer could answer. Upstairs she checked that Kate’s door was closed before letting herself into Chris’ dusk-dark room.

         Two, she told herself. She could have two.

         Chapter Thirty-One

         Dear Mom, Dad and Katie –

         Hello from Hajji Hell! Well, we’ve got lots and lots of sand. And more sand. A rock or two, a little ridge then more sand. Oh, but we saw camels today! This whole family riding by on them. The Chevy’s of the desert! The camels were like totally oblivious of us. Totally unafraid though you could tell the family was a little suspicious. Welcome to Iraq! It’s hot. It’s dusty. It’s freaking weird. It’s like 300 Boyscouts out camping together. We’re quartered in these big tents. No water. No hot food. Just wind and sand and dust and not much to do at the BAS (Battalion Aid Station) except record checking. The guys come in with minor complaints like colds (yeah even though it’s 100 degrees here!) and ingrown toenails. There’s a lot of weird bacteria here so a lot of gastrointestinal complaints but other than that pretty quiet. Pretty dull, really, though I did treat a scorpion sting today – who’d have ever thought I’d get to say that!?!

         I have to admit it freaks me out sometimes, being here, knowing that someone out there wants to kill me. Not me personally but anyone in my uniform or from America. Very strange. Its one thing to know in boot camp that someone wants to kill you and it’s a whole other thing to be in that guys back yard. There’s some hajji out there, planning his day right now, thinking how best to kill me and my buddies and the more of us the better. He could even be looking at me right now through a scope or targeting a round directly at my coordinates. It’s weird. I can totally trip myself out if I think about it too long. Very strange. But don’t worry. I’m surrounded by Marines and there’s no one deadlier in the world than a Marine and his rifle! At least that’s what they keep telling me! Hope they’re right! Semper Fi!

         Love, Chris

         P.S. – If you think of it I’d totally love some Baby Wipes or towelettes (we don’t have any showers scheduled for the near future so you can imagine how grungy we get – I hope you didn’t just faint, Mom!) and some chapstick too if you have time. No biggie.)

         Hi Mom and Dad and Kate –

         Dude! My first sand storm! Holy crap! You know what its like walking on the beach when the winds really blowing and kicking the sand around? Today made that feel like getting rubbed down with warm baby oil! One minute I was sitting there playing poker and the next there’s this wall of sand bearing down on us. We went to the BAS thinking it would be better there but it was still everywhere – in our goggles, down our shorts, our throats, in the computer. Everywhere!! I’m still coughing it up. Its like eating talcum powder mixed with glass and it sucks every drop of moisture out of you. My lips were chapped already now they’re just split. Every time I open my mouth they bleed. I look like Dracula. My fingers are all cracked too.

         Other than that bit of excitement nothing but the usual heat and sand and dirt. And flies. The guys come in to the BAS with respiratory infections and eye irritations. Lots of diarrhea and GI complaints. I’ve got a lot of time on my hands so I’ve decided to get FMF (Fleet Marine Force) qualified. That basically involves passing a physical and learning Marine Corps history, customs and ops, like land navigation and how to call in Medevacs on my own. It’s a lot of studying from the PQS book (Personnel Qualification Standards) and I have to pass a three-mile run in full battle rattle (SAPI plates, flak jacket, ammo, weapon, etc) so I’ve started jogging around the perimeter everyday in triple-digit heat. I spend all my off-hours with my nose in the PQS book and talking to a couple corpsman that already have their FMF pin.

         That’s life in the Sandbox. (I’m sure you noticed all the souvenir sand when you opened the envelope! Enjoy!) Hope everyone’s well. Katie are you still dating Ty or have you broken his heart yet! Mom, I can’t wait to get home and eat some real food and Dad I wouldn’t even mind swimming a thousand meters at four AM!

         Love to all, Chris

         Chapter Thirty-Two

         Greer gave up waiting for Dar to come back. She turned off the stove and withdrew to the cottage. The fog was pouring in like cavalry and she collected an armload, dropping it in front of the stove. Piling tinder on the old coals she blew it into flame, adding kindling when someone knocked on the door.

         “Come in.”

         She hoped it would be Dar but Kate stuck her head in.

         “Hi,” she chirped. “Are you busy?”

         “Besieged.”

         Greer waved her in. She moved the book on the footstool and Kate asked what she was reading. She showed her the battered Cyrillic cover.

         “Tsvetaeva. A difficult Russian poet.”

         “Oh God.” Kate grimaced. “A Russian Eliot?”

         Greer laughed. “Worse.”

         “What’s the attraction with this one?”

         “Ah. Now there’s a story.”

         Greer added a log to the kindling and sat back in the rocker.

         “I was in Moscow one night, at a tea house, and there was this gorgeous creature on stage reading Tsvetaeva. When she finished I introduced myself and begat an agonizing flirtation – me in and out of the country, she professing torrid ardor but taunting me at every turn, begging off to run back to her husband.” Greer held up the slim volume. “To woo her I memorized almost every poem Tsvetaeva ever wrote. Tsvetaeva. Akmatova. Blok. I read all the Russian poets.”

         “Did it work?”

         “Eventually.”

         “Was it worth it?”

         “She lasted a month,” Greer grinned. “But Tsvetaeva’s lasted a lifetime.”

         “Read me something.”

         “All right. Let’s see.”

         When she started reading in Russian, Kate laughed, “In English!”

         “Just let me finish. You don’t even have to know the words to appreciate the tone.”

         After the last line, she asked, “How was that?”

         “Sexy. I want to learn Russian. Now read one in English.”

         “Let’s see if I can find an easy one.” Greer flipped through pages. “They lose so much in translation. At least my translation. Ah. Here we go.”

         Searching for the perfect nuance, Greer intoned, “‘In the sweet, Atlantic/Breathing of spring/My curtain’s like a butterfly/Huge, fluttering/Like a Hindu widow/To a pyre’s golden blaze/Like a drowsy Naiad/To past-window seas.’.

         “Now,” she told Kate. “Listen again with your eyes closed.”

         She repeated the poem, asking what Kate saw.

         Kate described a room, a bedroom with blue walls and simple furniture. A woman was on the bed, stretched on her side, looking at the curtain billowing from a square window. The only window in the room. She could hear surf and the crying of a gull.

         “What’s she wearing?” Greer prompted.

         “A skirt and a blouse and sensible shoes. She has short dark hair.”

         “What time is it?”

         “It’s afternoon. Late afternoon. On a lazy day. She’s going to take a nap.”

         “How old is she?”

         Kate cocked her head. “My age?”

         “What else?”

         “She’s thinking about her boyfriend, her lover. She’d like his body near, but not necessarily him. She’s happy to be alone. The house is quiet. Like everyone’s taking a nap.”

         “Who’s everyone?”

         “A mother and father. They’re very Old World. Like the house is on a treeless headland and they’re a simple, old-fashioned family. All napping. On a Sunday after church and before supper and there’s nothing to do but dream.”

         Greer smiled. “All that from eight little lines?”

         “Can I see it?” Kate reached for the book.

         Greer passed it, content to watch the fire sketch shadows over Kate’s face.

         “Wow,” she murmured. “You can really read this?”

         “Enough to get the gist of it. And you have to remember,” she accepted the book back, “I had a very good tutor.”

         “I’m so jealous.” Kate mourned. “You’ve had such an incredible life.”

         “Hm. But the jackal only feasts when the lion kills.”

         Kate scowled. “Help me out here. I’m still trying to figure out what the wolf that hires out to the shepherd means.”

         Greer chuckled.

         “There are jackals in the Middle East. They look a lot like coyotes. Smaller I think, with golden coats. Very handsome animals. I watched a pack of them one night outside Dura. Earlier in the day a crowd had beaten a collaborator to death and left him to rot by the side of the road. People came by throughout the day to kick the body and spit on it, but when it got dark they drifted home. One by one the jackals crept into town. Hugging houses and shops they darted in, tore off a bite, then raced back to cover. They did that all night, until they’d had their fill, then they melted back into the desert.”

         She turned to Kate.

         “That’s me. I sniff out disaster, run in from nowhere to get my fill, then disappear into the night. A jackal feasting on the lion’s spoils.”

         “You make it sound like jackals are bad. Someone has to clean up dead bodies else there’d be disease everywhere. Even jackals have a function.”

         “Oh, Kate.” Greer laughed as someone else knocked on the door. “You make me feel like there might be hope for me yet.”

         “I bet there is,” Kate grinned.

         “Come in,” Greer called, but she didn’t turn from Kate’s shining admiration.

         Chapter Thirty-Three

         Jason poked his head in.

         “Dinner’s ready.”

         “I’ll be right over,” Greer said.

         Kate left with him. He tried to swing her hand but she snatched it away and crossed her arms.

         “What’s the matter?”

         “Nothing.”

         She couldn’t tell him that her life fit like a pair of shoes that were too small and that when she was in the cottage she stepped from the too-tight shoes into a magical fairy tale, a tale full of heroes and derring-do in fantastical settings with the possibility – and this was the most important part of the tale – for a happy-ever-after ending.

         How could she tell this good man that she’d rather stay in the fire-glowing cottage, rocking on the footstool while Greer told another story about Dura or Baluchistan or Grozny? She marveled that names she’d barely heard of a few days ago had become such an easy part of her vocabulary and wondered if she’d ever get to see any of the places Greer described.

         At the table they clinked and chewed in the hard silence left after the easy questions of the day had been answered.

         Clearing his throat, Jason asked, “How did the three of you meet?”

         “Now there’s a story.”

         Kate smiled at Greer’s standard preface.

         Her father told him, “Greer was the love of my life until I met your future mother-in-law.”

         “Whom I introduced you to,” Greer interrupted.

         “A debt I’ve yet to repay.” He lifted his drink to her and leaned away from his plate. “I met Greer in college. We were both on the swim team and the first time I saw her in a bathing suit – that was it.”

         Greer picked up, “He asked me out for a drink after practice. I said, ‘Sure, I’d love a drink. But I’m not into guys.’ To which he said, ‘Perfect. I’m not either.’”

         Her mother smiled slightly into her plate and her father raised his glass. “Thus was born a pure and noble love.”

         “Pure and noble, my ass,” Greer growled.

         “Yeah,” he grinned, “I was hoping I could get in on a threesome.”

         “Douglas!”

         “What?” he defended. “It’s true.”

         “Just because something’s true doesn’t mean you have to broadcast it at the dinner table.”

         “Sorry.” He made a contrite face. “I forgot it was the Hour of Power.”

         “You don’t have to be so vulgar.”

         “Anyway, kiddies,” he continued, “to rest your innocent minds, I never got the threesome, but she did take me up on the drink.”

         “And then some.”

         “She drank me under the table, and that was truly the start of a pure and noble love.”

         “For the bottle,” her mother cracked.

         “Hey,” he protested. “You’ve knocked back your fair share.”

         “Mother!” Kate feigned shock.

         “Yeah,” Greer chuckled. “But she never threw up during swim practice.”

         “Oh, gross,” Kate cried. “You didn’t?”

         “He did,” Greer insisted. “We had to close the pool. I told the coach he had the flu but that he’d insisted on practicing anyway. That bought him a little mercy.”

         He nodded. “And I learned from that lesson.”

         “Ah, did you now?” Greer beamed. “And what did you learn, Grasshopper?”

         “To never go out drinking with you when we had practice next morning.”

         Jason asked Greer, “How did you meet Darlene?”

         “Chem Lab,” she answered with an endearing smile. “Best lab partner I ever had. Kept me from blowing the whole school up.”

         Her father added, “And pretty to boot.”

         Greer nodded. “That didn’t hurt either. I invited her out to hoist a few with myself and Mr. Fairbanks, here.” She confided in Jason, “He used to be quite good looking.”

         “Still am,” he protested.

         Kate puzzled, “I thought you and Mom were roommates.”

         Her mother answered quickly, “We were. We met in lab and I hated my roommate.”

         “Not neat enough,” Doug said.

         “She was a slob even by your father’s standards. Greer had just lost her roommate and invited me to move in with her, so I did.”

         “Did you know she was a lesbian?”

         “Good God, Katherine, what is it with you and your father’s prurient obsessions?”

         “It’s hardly an obsession,” she laughed. “I just can’t see you rooming with a lesbian.”

         “Why not?” her mother asked in all sincerity. “I’m not prejudiced.”

         “Oh, no,” she mocked. “Not you.”

         “I’m not.”

         “Your mother’s right,” Greer backed. “She was very cool about it.”

         “So what happened?”

         Her mother sat up straight. “What do you mean?”

         “I mean where’d you go from being cool about it to preaching against it like it’s a mortal sin?”

         “Well,” Greer winked at her mother. “She wasn’t that cool. She let me know she disapproved but I was so charming she couldn’t help but love me anyway. Then I introduced her to your father and that’s a debt she’s yet to repay.”

         Another smile creased her mother’s face and Kate glanced at Greer, grateful for her steady presence.

         “So if it wasn’t for Greer I wouldn’t have this lovely fiancée.”

         Jason leaned in for a kiss and Kate presented her cheek.

         “That’s right,” Greer answered, eyes on Kate. “I’ll add you to the dun list.”

         Uncomfortable under Greer’s hawkish gaze she hoisted her glass.

         “To Greer,” she cheered.

         Glasses rose around the table.

         “To my hosts,” Greer responded and they cheered again.

         “Nastrovia,” she said to Doug, clinking his glass in their old toast.

         “Nastrovia,” he replied.

         Kate watched him drain his glass and reach for the bottle. She glanced at Greer but she was busy cutting her food. Her eyes remained on Greer’s hands. Bronzed and richly textured against the flashing cutlery, they reminded Kate of buried treasure maps worn soft from folding and smoothing, their secrets x’d in dark blood and India ink. She would have liked to trail her fingers over them, divining the legends of scar and crook and callous.

         “Kate?”

         “What?”

         “The chicken?” Jason pointed. “Pass it to your mom,”

         “Oh. Sorry.”

         She blushed, passing the platter, and though she tried to concentrate on dinner she couldn’t stop thinking about the spaces and places Greer’s hands had been.

         Chapter Thirty-Four

         She could still hear them talking. Their voices a murmur as steady as the faucet she ran, trying to drown them out.

         Drown them out. Wasn’t that funny?

         Darlene scraped at a plate, jumping when a hand touched her shoulder.

         “Hey,” Greer calmed. “I thought I was the nervy one.”

         “I didn’t hear you come in.”

         Taking the sponge from her she proposed, “Leave these. I’ll do them later. Let’s take Candy for a walk while it’s still light out.”

         Darlene’s compass whirled. She wanted to say no but knew the response was way off the mark. Correcting slightly, she argued, “It’s too dark. We’ll get mugged.”

         Greer laughed, “When was the last time anyone got mugged in this neighborhood?”

         “Well, still. It’s not a good idea.”

         “Doesn’t Candy need a walk?”

         “She does.” Darlene almost smiled as the lie came to her. “But I have a terrible headache. I’d really just like to finish these up and call it a day.”

         Greer nodded, reading her as easily, Darlene feared, as the morning paper.

         “Go on,” Greer encouraged, positioning herself at the sink. “Go take care of your head.”

         Darlene hesitated. It was Greer’s head that needed taking care of, not hers. Watching her sponge a plate she took note of the pallor beneath Greer’s tan, the bruised eyes, and that dreadful gash. She wondered if it hurt.

         Other than Doug, this was her dearest friend. Greer knew Darlene better than anyone in the world. And she knew Greer smelled her lies. Knew she had the grace not to call her on them even as she forced her to share their terrible, secret burden.

         She considered relenting but her compass held firm.

         “Good night,” she whispered, with a fleeting touch to Greer’s arm. She took the stairs as quickly as she could without drawing attention. She bypassed Chris’s room for her own. In the bathroom she filled the tub. Stripping her clothes, she stepped in to the warm water. It rose around her as she settled in and slid under.

         ...into the heart of light, the silence.

         Darlene held her breath, practicing for the real thing.

         Chapter Thirty-Five

         The replay of Sig’s death rolled in Greer’s mind on an endless loop, a movie reel gone bad. Sometimes it started at the beginning, Sig sauntering to their table in the Intercontinental. Other times it picked up in the middle, the night before they went into Baghdad. She could have had Sig by then, could have ended it right there, but it was more satisfying to snub Sig, dismissing her casually as Sig had done to her.

         Greer rolled over on the bed. The loop began where it usually did, at the end, with Sig running at her. Hunched. Almost crawling. After Sig had blown her off in the bar, that was how Greer had wanted her. Crawling. The gods must have heard Greer’s wish and granted it. She heard her mother warning her, standing in the kitchen, washing dishes, “Be careful what you ask for. You might get it.”

         Shadows from the fire tangoed on the wall. The loop ran backward a few frames. Greer paused it at the moment before she saw Sig, when she’d had the gutless notion to play dead. Rejecting the idea had been a visceral decision, a reaction to the euphoria born in the thrilling caesura between life and death, which created an invincible certainty in the perfection of the moment, no matter the outcome. Three other times she had experienced this white-light, burning bush sensation – coupling with Philip in a cellar, certain they wouldn’t survive the shelling and if they did it would be only to get chopped up by rampaging Croats on blodmord highs; running the hot desert outside Jalalabad, in full and delirious flight, prepared for the searing impact of bullets from strafing Soviet choppers; playing cat and mouse with a sniper on a bitter winter night in Sarajevo.

         Greer sat and hugged her knees. She rocked.

         Those ecstatic intervals where neither life nor death were guaranteed created the juice, the addictive rapture of war reporting. It was the better-than-heroin fix that had kept her shooting up from the spoon of war for close to three decades. Even now she craved the intoxication of that exquisite suspension between life and death, and with it the certitude that either outcome was perfect. She wanted a hit of that beatific knowing, to be reminded that it really was inshallah, kismet, God’s will.

         Greer stopped rocking.

         If her fate was perfect, if it really was in the hands of the Big Guys Upstairs, if she truly believed that, than Sig’s fate would have to be as perfect and immutable as her own.

         Greer stood and paced.

         It sounded like an easy out, a lovely way to justify her innocence. Sig was dead. That was inarguable. That she had Sig’s blood on her hands, that was undeniable as well. There was no absolution from that. But what Greer couldn’t argue was the possibility that it was meant to be, that her fate was linked to Sig’s as inextricably as Sig’s was to hers.

         She studied the fire without seeing it.

         Since waking in Landstuhl, everything she thought she knew was gone. As the swelling in her brain had ebbed, so had the arrogance of her convictions. Before Sig came running through the rubble, she had believed in the legend of Greer Madison, sure she could write sharper, drink harder, and fuck finer than any correspondent currently out in the field. But after Dolly told her Sig was dead and the doctors explained how bad her head was, Greer wasn’t sure of anything.

         Except one thing.

         Recalling Philip, Jalalabad, Sarajevo, and now Ramadi, Greer smiled, hearing Hassan scold, “The will of Allah is not a lamp to be lit and blown out.”

         “Inshallah,” she whispered.

         A knock made her jump. She collected her nerves and opened the door.

         Kate stood beaming in the small circle of light. Greer leaned against the jamb.

         “Hi.”

         “Hi. Am I interrupting?”

         “Yes. Mercifully.”

         She opened the door wide. Kate passed through, under her arm and Greer caught the musky, floral scent of her hair.

         Kate asked, “What are you doing?”

         “Trying to figure out what I’m going to be when I grow up.”

         “Better hurry,” she laughed.

         “Ow. Cold. Did you come over just to make fun of an old lady?”

         “Hey, you’re the one always telling me life is short.”

         “Touché.”

         “I actually came over to see if you’d read me another poem.”

         “It would be my great pleasure. Anything in particular?”

         “Anything in English.”

         “I can do that.”

         They settled in their usual places and Kate mentioned, “I went to the library yesterday after work. I checked out some Eliot.”

         “Did you now?” Greer was impressed. “What do you think?”

         Kate laughed again, and Greer delighted in the sound.

         “I think it makes better sense when you explain it.”

         “Yeah, he’s a tough go alone.”

         Pawing through books sprawled around the rocker she asked, “How’s the wedding going?”

         “Oh, God. Did Mom put you up to that?”

         “No. I just imagine there’s a lot to do.”

         “Not really Mom and Jill – Jason’s mom – they’re doing most of it. I feel like all I have to do is show up and say ‘I do’.”

         Kate slid from the stool and crossed her legs in front of the fire. “I love being here with you. It’s like being in a fairy tale. You’re the witch that lives in a little cabin in the woods and casts magic spells.”

         “Do I eat small children?”

         “No!” Kate laughed. “You’re a good witch. You can see the future and you offer sage counsel.”

         “What do I see for you?”

         “A long and happy life.”

         “With Jason and many children?”

         Kate tilted her head as if trying to pick up a faint sound.

         “You’re the witch. You tell me.”

         Greer found the book she was looking for but left it unopened.

         “Doesn’t take a witch to see you’re not wild about this marriage.”

         “Yeah, I am.” Kate spoke without heat. “I just can’t wait for all the fuss to be over.” Wrapping her arms around her knees Kate said to the fire, “Have you ever been in love?”

         “Love,” Greer mused. “Maybe once upon a long, long time ago.”

         “He or she?”

         “She.”

         “And?”

         “It didn’t turn out well.”

         “How come?”

         “You’re relentless. Maybe you should be the reporter.”

         Kate held an imaginary microphone to Greer’s mouth. “Well?”

         “Long and short of it, she was Palestinian. Her parents were killed in the Suez War. She was basically raised by a country. An ideology. I didn’t agree that all Jews should be wiped off the map and she couldn’t love someone who didn’t share her passion for reclaiming the homeland.”

         “How’d you get together in the first place?”

         “We didn’t talk much. I was stationed in Jordan, covering the Gulf War. We didn’t see each other often, and when we did…well, like I said. It wasn’t to talk.”

         “What was her name?”

         “Rasha.”

         “How’d you meet her?”

         “In a restaurant. We kept staring at each other. I went outside for a cigarette. She followed.”

         Greer could still feel the warm pine shade, the hot wind that stirred the needles, and the drowsy smell of dust and resin; later, the breeze cool with dusk, sighing a veil of curtain over glistening skin.

         “Was there anyone else?”

         “What?”

         “Were you ever in love with anyone else?”

         “No. I don’t think so. Not like that. I’ve loved a lot of people since but I was never in love.”

         “That’s sad.”

         “Why?”

         “Don’t you think it is?”

         “No. Rasha was…” Greer smiled. “A miracle. She was all-consuming. It was more of an obsession than love. It was wild and crazy and for a while I’d thought I’d die without her. But I didn’t. I wouldn’t trade that time for anything but it was just pure passion. Love’s a different beast.”

         “So you weren’t in love with her.”

         “No, probably not. I thought I was, but in retrospect I think love’s a kinder animal. We were like tigers mating. It was fast and loud and furious but it couldn’t have lasted. There was no foundation other than heat. From what I’ve seen of love it’s more enduring. It has a base that holds people together. I think your parents have it. I know they’ve hit a rough patch but I think they’ll get through it.”

         Watching Kate stare at the flames she asked, “Do you think you and Jason have it?”

         “I guess. Who else were you in love with?”

         After decades spent interviewing people Greer had learned a few things. One was that people loved talking about themselves. Unless they didn’t. Then they were often hiding something.

         “Let’s see. There’s Philip. I already told you about him.”

         “Did you sleep with him?”

         Greer hesitated, trying to think how to explain that panicky night in Mostar.

         “Kind of. It was desperation sex. We were caught in a bombardment, fairly sure we were going to die and it just happened.”

         Philip would be dead in six months but they had ridden out that night on a pass from the gods.

         Inshallah.

         “Then what?”

         “We got out okay and never talked about it. He was married. It was just one of those things.”

         Kate teased, “You seem to have a thing for married lovers.”

         “Would that it were just the married ones.”

         “Who else?”

         “Silvia. She’s a producer in Rome. I’ve known her for years. Wonderful woman. She always puts me up when I’m in town.”

         “Hmm,” Kate flashed a brow. “One of the accommodating friends you mentioned at dinner the other night. Who else?”

         “Let’s see. There was my cameraman when I worked at CNN.”

         “Cameraman or a camerawoman?”

         “Man,” Greer chuckled. “Adrio was Portuguese. Fabulous guy.”

         “So you’re bi.”

         “Hell, I don’t know.” Greer jabbed the poker into the fire. “If I had to slap a label on myself I’d say I was an opportunist. But there was something about Adrio…he was a lot like Philip…we didn’t even speak half the time. There was a connection. Maybe from living and working together so closely. He was a wonderful man. Funny. Kind. One of the best eyes in the business.”

         “What happened to him?”

         “He took a round in Somalia. They said he was dead before he hit the ground. He always wanted to go out fast. We all do.”

         “That’s so sad.”

         Greer countered, “He died doing what he loved. Probably never even knew he was hit.”

         “Do you miss him?”

         She considered. “Not like Philip.”

         Kate was quiet a moment. “Was there anybody after him?”

         Greer leaned closer. “Why such avaricious interest in my love life, Miss Kate?”

         “Because it’s a lot more exciting than mine.”

         “Tell me about yours.”

         “What about it? My one big affair with Jason?” She twirled a finger. “Who-who.”

         “That’s it? There’s never been anybody else?”

         “There was Tyler in high school. Then Justin. We dated for about a year until he went to Ohio State. Then there was Cliff. He was okay but he wanted to party all the time. He wasn’t serious about anything. Then Tyreese. He was nice, but he moved. He wanted me to go with him. There were some other guys, little flings. They didn’t mean anything. And the guys before Justin don’t count.”

         “Sure they do. I had my first broken heart in ninth grade.”

         Kate grinned. “Who was it?”

         “Dinah Roderick. A junior. I was sick-crushed over her. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t tell anybody about her. My mother thought I had a wasting disease. I was a mess. I spent every waking minute figuring out how I could run into her and what I’d say when I did. I was crazy.”

         “What happened?”

         “Nothing,” Greer chuckled. “She graduated. I nursed my broken heart and dated a series of boys I couldn’t have cared less about.”

         “Did you sleep with any of them?”

         “Oh, yeah. I dated boys until my freshman year in college. Then I met this girl in a stats class. The rest is history. We got back to me again. Damn, you’re good. Sure I can’t recruit you for the Times?”

         Kate answered with a Cheshire grin. “I’m jealous. You’ve slept with a Palestinian, a Portuguese – what was Philip?”

         With a precise accent Greer replied, “Frightfully British.”

         “A Brit, and the Italian woman in Rome.”

         “Sylvia’s actually French.”

         “My bad. Who am I missing?”

         Greer shrugged. “Too many to count.”

         “See? You’ve probably slept with half the world and I’ve slept with a couple guys from Santa Barbara.”

         “It’s quality, not quantity,” she replied lamely.

         “Well, let me tell you, the quality wasn’t all that great.”

         “Including Jason?”

         “No, he’s fine. He’s wonderful.”

         “He seems like a good guy.”

         “He is,” Kate answered with all the passion of a rock.

         “But...” Greer coaxed.

         “No but.” Kate tilted her head coyly toward Greer. “Did you and my dad ever do it?”

         “God, no,” Greer laughed. “Jesus. He was my best friend. Back then I was definitely a lesbian. There was no question I preferred women. Truth is, I had a terrible crush on your mother.”

         “No way!” Kate cried.

         “Way.” She grinned. “When we ended up rooming together I fell hard for her.”

         “You’re kidding? Oh my God! She never told me.”

         “There’s nothing to tell. It was stretch enough for her to be rooming with me. So the three of us – me and your mom and dad – we’d hang out at the watering holes, listen to bands, trash our teachers, get liquored up, and eventually they ended up together. End of story.”

         “Wow. Were you jealous?”

         Greer thought about it.

         “No, but I was lonely. By the time they got together I was over your mom and on to more willing conquests. But they started spending a lot of time alone. I understood, but I missed them. We were pretty tight.”

         “You still are.”

         Greer nodded.

         “So Mom was a groupie?”

         “Absolutely. Your dad and I were more into drinking than music so we just went wherever she took us, but she always found the best bands. It was fun. Probably the purest fun I ever had.”

         Kate opened her mouth but Greer interrupted, “What about you? What’s fun for Kate?”

         “God,” she rolled her eyes, “I don’t know.”

         “There has to be at least one thing.”

         “There are. There’s lots.”

         “Tell me one.”

         Kate ducked her head. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”

         “Will not.”

         “Will too.”

         “Try me.”

         Picking at a nail, Kate ventured, “There’s a park near the bank. I love to go there on my lunch hour. Sometimes I even go after work and if there’s no one around I’ll just sit for a minute, or if it’s crowded I’ll go for a walk. There’s a little path that winds around the trees and on a sunny day it’s all sunny and shady at the same time. I like it in the rain, too. I love the sound of drops splashing on the leaves. It’s peaceful. There’s always lots birds and gray squirrels. I’m trying to train the jays to eat out of my hand. I take peanuts and feed them. I love it. It’s so quiet. I fantasize about winning the lottery and buying the park. Building a little house and living in the middle of town like an eccentric old coot.”

         Kate made a face. “Is that totally lame?”

         “It’s delightful, albeit a tad…”

         “Boring?”

         “No. Not boring. Just tame for someone so young.”

         Kate sighed. “I took Aaron there once. He was bored out of his mind. Kept trying to pick up every guy that walked by. Jason, too. Not trying to pick up every guy.”

         She giggled then quickly sobered.

         “He was bored, too. Kept looking at his watch and playing with his Blackberry. But it’s like I need to be there. Ever since Chris died, I feel like I’m never…like I never get to be me. Aaron thinks I’m too morbid. Jason means well but he’s so damned patronizing. I’ve got to walk on eggshells around Mom. And Dad – well, you see how he is. All my friends want to talk about is their boyfriends or the wedding. It’s like the only place I can think is the park. It’s the only place I can be me. The jays don’t care who I am.”

         “Who are you?”

         “I don’t know,” Kate admitted. “I really don’t. It’s like ever since Chris died nothing’s the same. I’m not the same. I mean I am, but I’m not. It’s like my outside’s the same but my insides are someone else’s. I wake up and I don’t know what I want. So I do what everybody tells me to. I go to work. Go shopping. Go to the movies. Get married. That’s what people do, right? But I just feel like I’m going through the motions. I don’t feel like I’m me.”

         “Is that why you’re getting married? Because everyone wants you to?”

         Kate looked as miserable as a refugee. “I love Jason. I really do. He’s a great guy. He really is.”

         “There are a lot of great guys out there. You don’t have to marry them.”

         “What would you know? You’ve never been married.”

         “No. I’ve never had a dog, either. Never owned a house. Hell, I’ve never even owned a car. They’re great things and someday I might want them all. But not today. Nice as they are, they don’t work for me right now.”

         Kate checked her watch. “I should go.”

         She stood but before she could move to the door, Greer caught her wrist.

         “Sleep on this, but if a genie popped down the chimney right now and told you that you could be anything you wanted to be, what would you be?”

         “That’s easy. I don’t have to sleep on it. I’d be a paramedic.”

         “A paramedic?”

         “Yeah.” Kate broke into a wide grin. “I’ve got to go. G‘night.”

         Chapter Thirty-Six

         “Sorry I’m late,” Kate told Jason. “I started talking to Greer and the next thing I knew…”

         Her fingers fluttered through the air.

         “That’s okay,’ he said, not looking up from the computer screen. “I’m trying to get Mark to trade Peyton Manning for Tom Brady and he’s making all these ridiculous counteroffers.”

         She kissed the top of his head, glad he was engrossed in his games and hadn’t noticed she was well over an hour late. He snaked an arm around her, typing with his free hand.

         “I didn’t know you two were so tight.”

         “We never used to be. I mean she’s always been a friend of the family, kind of like an aunt, but she always used to hang out with Mom and Dad.”

         She yanked her sweatshirt over her head.

         “Last time she was here she came for Chris’ funeral and didn’t stay long. This time…everything’s different this time.”

         Jason’s hand found her skin. He abandoned the computer and turned to lift her shirt, kissing her belly. His fingers climbed her ribs, pausing at her breasts. Through the bra his thumbs circled her nipples and raised them in a ring of gooseflesh. He stretched to bring his mouth to them, sucking through the sheer fabric. She bent her mouth hungrily to his and he cupped her ass. He pulled her into the chair and she straddled him, feeling him hardening against her but not fast enough for she instantly, greedily ached for him.

         Kate dropped to her knees, sliding his zipper as she went, freeing him, hardening him faster because she couldn’t wait. Couldn’t wait to forget weddings and dead brothers and parents sadder than lost dogs. All she wanted was the pounding promise of release. The fast road winding up and up to it’s pinnacle, to sway and teeter there suspended in mindless oblivion before hurtling over the edge and down into the hard, shuddering, wrack of orgasm.

         Suddenly Kate was queasy with the horrible understanding that it didn’t matter who she was kneeling in front of. She realized anyone would do. They didn’t have to love her as much as Jason did. They didn’t have to be as kind. None of that mattered as long as they could take her to oblivion. She stopped, looking up at him. His mouth was loose and his eyes slack.

         “I love you,” she claimed, standing and pulling him to the bed. Pushing him down she eased herself onto him, riding and teasing them both to orgasm until she slewed off onto her belly suffused in the narcotic afterglow.

         Jason rested his hand on her leg and her mind wandered to Greer’s hands, the rough, brown contrast of them against the pale velvet of her thighs. She wondered how they would feel trailing over her skin and if in them she could divine all the trails and miles and years they had traveled. Drifting down into sleep, she imagined taking Greer’s hard hand and tracing the journeys there, the lines that told of desert and crag, of moonlit ridges and silently mounded snow, of time and a time before time when the world slept deeply, awaiting its birth.

         Chapter Thirty-Seven

         Across town in the night shade of oak and starlight, among ghosts and shadows of the dead, Darlene and Greer hungered for what they could not have. Rocking in the gloom of their separate rooms, cradling memory like a failing child, Greer wondered what Darlene was doing.

         Darlene had no such curiosity. She sat before Chris’ Navy portrait. He had tried to look stern for the sitting but his kindness bled through. Her fingers burned to touch his hair.

         There was so much she’d never asked. What had planted the poison seed? Something he heard on the radio or read on-line? Something he saw on TV? Did one of his friends enlist? If so, who, which one, and was he still alive? Darlene hoped not and was immediately ashamed. No mother should have to suffer like she did for surely they didn’t deserve it like she did. Surely they hadn’t encouraged their sons like she had.

         Darlene sat straighter and taller. Scrutinizing the portrait, she asked, “Did it grow inside you, like a little shoot? Did it burst out in the middle of the night or did it blossom in sunlight, in the middle of the day? Was it green and strong already or did you have to nurse it along?”

         She held her fingertips to the cold glass.

         The idea to join up must have bloomed bright and alive in his heart. He was so sure. She knew it the minute he started explaining. She could have stopped him. If she had argued or pleaded enough he’d have relented. He was tender that way. Like his father. Her tears always hurt them both. That’s why she couldn’t show them. And she couldn’t make him stay.

         She whispered, “You know that, don’t you? It would have mocked everything I raised you to believe in. And I did a great job at that, didn’t I? I may as well have held you under myself.”

         Darlene stared at her hands as if they were a species of beast she had never seen before. These were the same hands that had soothed his fevers and daubed his cheeks. Powdered his baby skin and scrubbed mud from the crook of his elbows and knees. Patted band-aids in place and smoothed his cowlick. Wiped his tears and buttoned his shirts.

         Her hands floated in the air. Disembodied. Dead in the canescent light. Covered with blood only she could see. And God.

         She laid them on the letter spread before her, whispering, “Hello to all.”

         Chapter Thirty-Eight

         Hello to all –

         Man, its so weird. Everybody’s so poor here. Even some of the people you’d expect to have money. Like we have this hajji working for us as a translator and it turns out he was a History Professor at Baghdad University for twenty-five years until Saddam threw him in prison. He was there for four years and when he got out his brother was dead, killed by Saddam. His wife and children were living with an uncle on like a piece of nan a day and he was like this totally educated guy. He’s 62 years old – went to Boston College when he was my age and came home to teach. Now he’s living on the equivalent of twenty dollars a day and glad to have it. And this is a guy with an education! It’s so depressing.

         And the really sad thing is how everyone’s so generous anyway. I mean even the poorest bastard (sorry Mom) will drag you into his house and make you sit down to tea. Sometimes they don’t even have sugar or honey and they apologize like crazy. It’s totally embarrassing. It makes me feel like such a slacker. I mean can you imagine being that generous to strangers? Samuels told me its cultural. That living out in BF Egypt like they used to they kind of have to be hospitable because their life could depend on someone taking them in for shelter. Anyway, it’s totally trippy. I have so much and am so tight with it and they have so little and are so generous.

         I’m studying with a guy at the BAS who went FMF – he’s coaching me through the PSQ (the textbook) and it really helps. I can’t wait to get out in the field!! Handing out salt tabs and aspirin sucks!

         Man, the heat’s incredible – only 112 today! I’m learning to live with a constant headache and cracked lips. It totally sucks. I can’t wait to come home and hit the beach. Lots of sand here but no surf! No girls in bikinis either!! I miss you guys, but all is well – Love, Chris

         Chapter Thirty-Nine

         “You’re still up,” Kate said. “Don’t you ever sleep?”

         Greer smiled and raised her cup. “I’d offer you some tea but I’m sure you’re heading to bed.”

         “I’d love some.”

         She started to get up but Kate tapped her shoulder. “I’ll get it.”

         “What about you? When do you sleep”

         “I napped at Jason’s and I make up for it on weekends. You asked what I did for fun. I sleep.” Kate pulled out a chair, yawning, “Why are you up?”

         Greer didn’t want to tell Kate about the dream that had forced her from bed. Of Sig exploding in air, into bloody parts and pieces that fell wet and heavy on Greer and how she couldn’t dodge the unending hail of them.

         She couldn’t tell Kate that.

         A car came up the driveway and they looked at each other.

         “Dad.” Kate stood. “I’d rather not see the midnight end of his Happy Hour.” She leaned down and for an instant touched her lips to Greer’s cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

         Greer almost reached for her, wanting Kate to stay. She didn’t want to be alone with Doug’s pain. Or her own.

         “Good night.”

         Listening to Doug’s muffled entry she twirled her cup. As he shuffled past the kitchen she called, “Hey, buddy.”

         He turned. A tired grin cut his face.

         “Hey. What are you doing up?”

         “Having some tea. What are you doing?”

         “Tea?” He made a face. “What’s that about?”

         His ‘s’ blurred.

         “Helps me sleep.”

         “Couple shots of bourbon would help you sleep. Join me?”

         She shook her head. Doug copied the movement. He produced a bottle of bourbon from the pantry and poured two fingers. Raising the glass, he toasted, “To sleep. Our dear, departed friend.”

         “Requiescat in pace.” She made the sign of the cross over the table. “You first.”

         “Me first what?”

         “Why can’t you sleep?”

         “Aw, you know. Got a lot on my mind.”

         “Like what?”

         “You know. Stuff.”

         “Spill it. Get it off your mind. Get a good night’s sleep.”

         Doug snorted. Rubbing the crystal rim with his thumb, he said, “I don’t know if I’ll ever have a good night’s sleep again.”

         “Tell me. What’s going on? What have you got to lose but more sleep?”

         It was easier for people to talk, especially men, if you made physical contact with them. She smiled and patted his cheek.

         “Aw, Greer, I don’t know. Everything’s so fucked up.”

         “How so?”

         “This.” He waved the glass. “It’s like we’re all in the same zoo but we rattle around in separate cages. Kate’s off with Jason all the time and Dar’d rather be locked in Chris’ room. It’s easier to stay away, work late, have some drinks with friends.”

         “Friends?”

         Doug squirmed. He glanced at Greer then into his glass. He sat back, then returned his elbows to the table. He dropped his elbows and wiped the back of his mouth.

         “What is it, buddy? Talk to me.”

         “Christ.

         He looked around the room then grabbed his glass and emptied it in a long swallow. He wiped his mouth again. Glancing at her, he blurted, “I’m seeing someone. She’s in the department. I’ve known her forever. She’s a great gal. She’s there for me. Know what I mean? She’s been there the whole time. I’ve tried to make it work with Dar. I’ve tried to get her to talk, to get help, for both of us, but she insists she’s fine. I can go talk to someone if I want but she’s handling it her way and she’s just fine, thank you very much. So I said, okay, I’ll talk to someone and I did. And she listened. She’s just…she’s a great gal.”

         He dropped his hands on the table. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. It just did. We were out drinking one night with a couple other people from the department. They went home and then there was just the two of us. I walked her to her car…I didn’t intend anything. It just happened. And I’ve got to tell you, it felt good. I felt like a man again. I felt alive. It doesn’t bring Chris back, I know that, but at least I’m going on with my life. I don’t know what Dar’s doing and at this point I don’t really care. She’s not Dar anymore. I don’t know who she is.”

         He rubbed his glass against the immaculate tabletop. “I’ll stay through the wedding, but after that,” he spread his hands, “we’ll see.”

         Greer sat back, too hurt to speak.

         “Go ahead. Ream me.”

         “How can I? I’m in no position to judge.”

         “But you are anyway.”

         “No. Believe me. I’m not.”

         He swore and she thought he looked disappointed.

         “I don’t to want hurt anybody. I just want a little relief. Is that so awful?”

         Greer saw Sigbrith laughing in the bar, tossing down drinks, all of them laughing too loud and too bright.

         “No.”

         “Do you think Kate knows?”

         “She worries about you and she’s not dumb.”

         “Aw, shit.” He slumped back in his chair. “This is just between you and me.”

         “Duh.”

         “I mean it.”

         “So do I. Who am I gonna tell?” She patted his cheek again, the stubble rough under her hand. “That’s the whiskey talking.”

         “Yeah, you’re right.” He rose. “I better get to bed.”

         She nodded. He bent and kissed her head, holding his chin there a moment before leaving. She watched him shuffle out, unable to imagine the house without Doug and Dar in it.

         She glanced at the pantry and thought of the bottle there. Bottles. One wouldn’t be enough if she started. She stood and pushed her chair under the table. She paused at the beckoning dark promise of the pantry then walked to the sink and filled her mug with water. She drank and filled it again. Splashing her cup clean she laid it on the drainboard, leaving a lone light burning in the restless home.

         Chapter Forty

         The next morning Kate spent extra time on her clothes and hair. She walked into the kitchen just as Greer was coming in from the back.

         “Well,” her mother noticed. “Don’t you look nice.”

         “Thank you.” She blushed. “Good morning, Greer.”

         “Morning.”

         They reached for the coffee at the same time. Greer poured for them both. Her mother asked if she’d be home for dinner.

         “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to Jason yet so I don’t know what we’re doing. I’ll let you know.”

         “Well, if you’re going to be here could you pick something up?”

         “Sure. Anything in particular?”

         Her mother waved a hand. “Greer, honey, what do you feel like?”

         “Anything.”

         “Pizza?” Kate ventured.

         “That’d be great.”

         “What do you want on it?”

         “Anything but masgouf.”

         “What’s that?”

         “This awful carp they grill in Iraq. Tastes like wet cardboard.”

         “Got it. Hold the masgouf.”

         She looked in the cupboard for peanuts. “Mom, have you fed the birds?”

         “Not yet. There’s a new bag in the pantry.”

         She found the nuts and was tickled when Greer followed her to the feeder.

         “You kept running out on me last night. I never got to ask why you want to be a paramedic.”

         She grinned. “I love all those Emergency Room shows. Dad faints and Jason gags but I can’t think of anything more exciting than saving someone’s life. I mean, what a rush, to make such a difference.”

         “Then why don’t you?”

         “Why don’t I what?”

         “Be a paramedic.”

         A jay landed near the feeder. Kate held a peanut to it.

         “Come on,” she coaxed. To Greer she said, “And waste a perfectly good business degree? Come on.” She extended the peanut farther. “Besides, I probably couldn’t pass the physical. You have to be in pretty good shape.”

         The jay cocked its head. It hopped a few steps closer.

         “Where’s your friend?” she asked the bird.

         “You’re in great shape. You’d be fine with a little training.”

         Kate shrugged. “The bank’s a good job. The people are super nice and I love my customers. I have a future there.”

         The words were cold in her mouth and she had the uneasy sensation of being two people.

         “Is it a future you want?”

         “Why do we always talk about me? What about you, Miss One-More-Concussion-And-I’ll-Die? What about your future?”

         “Touché.” Greer grinned. “But I’ve done a lot of things. Have you?”

         “I’m young,” she answered with more bravado then she felt. “I have plenty of time.”

         “Really? I bet Chris thought he had plenty of time, too.”

         “Yeah, well, I don’t plan on joining the Marine Corps anytime soon so I think that buys me a little time.”

         The jay jumped back a few feet.

         “Says who? You’d think after watching all those ER shows you’d know that kids your age die all the time.”

         “I’m not a kid, thank you.”

         “No, you’re not. But time’s a luxury, Kate, not an entitlement. I wish you could see all the people your age who die with surprised looks on their faces.”

         “Gee, thanks Greer. If I need another lecture I’ll go talk to Mom.”

         “All right.” Greer raised her palms.

         “Why does everybody treat me like a kid? Like I can’t think for myself? What’d I ever do that was so irresponsible?”

         “Nothing. That’s just it. You’re too responsible.”

         “Oh, great. Mom says I’m not responsible enough and you say I’m too responsible.”

         Greer leaned back on her elbows.

         “My parents thought it was irresponsible of me to run off to Russia. They tried to talk me out of it. It wasn’t safe. I didn’t know the people or the language or customs. I was going to get raped or murdered. Or both, and like I told you, it was the most wonderful thing I ever did.”

         The jay dashed in to swoop off with the peanut.

         “That’s great for you, Greer, but our lives are totally different.” She tilted her head. “Do you hear that?”

         “What?”

         “That bird.” She imitated a doleful melody. “It’s a white-crowned sparrow. They go north every spring and return in the fall. I love their song. It totally says fall to me.”

         “Close your eyes.”

         Greer brushed her hand over Kate’s lids, her touch so light Kate almost believed she’d imagined it.

         “Quick. Give me a two-line poem about white-crowned sparrows.”

         “Fly away, spring, home again, fall, I wish that I could fly away all.”

         “Very good!”

         Kate opened her eyes, proud and shy but most of all happy under Greer’s praise.

         “Now you,” she insisted.

         Greer contemplated the blue morning sky and Kate palmed her eyes shut. Greer smiled but kept them closed. Kate was tempted to reach out and trace the tangle of crows feet in the corners, to read the sun and wind and moods that had etched the intaglio.

         “White crown, gold crown, all crowns fall.”

         Kate clapped her hands. Seeing her watch she realized how late she was and leapt up.

         “I’ve got to go. Here.” She thrust the peanuts into Greer’s hand. “Feed the jays. There should be another one around somewhere.”

         She walked away. The immense boredom of the day ahead took her breath away. She stopped and looked back. Greer was watching her.

         “Will you read me a poem tonight?”

         Greer’s gaze fell and Kate was afraid she was going to refuse, but then Greer looked up, the sun warm in her eyes.

         “I’d love to.”

         It was Kate’s turn to look away, quickly, before Greer could see her relief.

         Chapter Forty-One

         Darlene took ready-made cinnamon buns from the fridge. She peeled the paper from the cardboard can and cracked it on the counter. Pale dough oozed from the rupture and she thought she was going to be sick.

         “Stupid woman,” she whispered. “They’re just buns.”

         She knew he’d been recovered right away. That they hadn’t let him stay tangled in the muddy water.

         “Has Candy had her walk yet?”

         Darlene jumped. The interruption angered her but the compass in her head steadied. She smiled brightly.

         “Not yet. I was going to pop these in the oven and take her while they baked.”

         “Can I go?”

         “If you’d like. Just let me get these in.”

         Greer scratched Candy’s ears and asked Darlene how she’d slept.

         “Fine. And you?”

         “Okay.”

         “Just okay?” She collected the leash from the pantry. “Is the bed too soft? Were you warm enough?”

         Greer smiled. “I was fine.”

         “How about your head? Is it bothering you?”

         “Only when I think. How about yours? Is it better?”

         “Much. Thanks. I needed some sleep.”

         She snapped the lead onto Candy’s collar and the old dog wagged her tail.

         “What would you like to do while you’re here? Anything special?”

         “Exactly what I’m doing right now.”

         “Don’t be silly,” she tsked.

         “I’m not. I’m serious.”

         Greer linked her arm through Darlene’s. She pretended not to notice.

         “Such heavy fog this morning. Are you warm enough?”

         “Yep.”

         Greer leaned into her. In the old days, Dar would have leaned back and they would have walked together like two crooked drunks.

         “Look.”

         Greer pointed from the gray, root-cracked sidewalk to a paste-colored sky crazed with tree limbs.

         “As above, so below.”

         “Hm,” was all she could muster.

         A young woman jogged by. She looked vibrant and healthy. Like Kate. Darlene smiled mechanically. The woman smiled back.

         She often imagined the kind of girl Chris might have married. He always seemed to fall for troubled ones that needed rescuing. From a bird with a broken wing to girls with broken spirits, he was always trying to fix what was hurt. It shouldn’t have surprised her he wanted to be a doctor. Of course she’d been proud of him. So damnably proud.

         They stopped to let Candy sniff. Greer squeezed her arm and said, “You’re too skinny.”

         “I believe the polite word is slender.”

         “You’re too slender.”

         “Look who’s talking.”

         “Let me take you to lunch. We’ll go to Citronelle. Gorge on foie gras and crème brulee.”

         “I think foie gras is banned in Santa Barbara. It’s too cruel. The way they force feed the geese.”

         “Let’s go anyway. I’m sure we can find something that’ll be the envy of every size ten woman there.”

         “It’d be a waste of money.”

         “Why?”

         “Because I wouldn’t eat.”

         “How come?”

         “I’m not hungry.”

         “Why?”

         “For Pete’s sake, Greer. You sound like a five-year old.”

         “Are you sick?”

         “No, I’m not sick.”

         “Then how come you’re not eating?”

         “I eat.”

         “Doesn’t look like it.”

         “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Hoping she didn’t sound as irritated as she felt, she tempered, “I’m fine.”

         “You don’t seem fine.”

         “Well, what would fine look like to you?”

         “Not so calm, for one thing. You’ve never been calm a day in your life. There’s always been something to fuss or stew or fret over.”

         “That’s not true.”

         Greer tilted her head to study her.

         “You know it is. But since I’ve been here, since the last time, too, you’ve had this preternatural calm. You still talk a good game but there’s no heat to your words. No fire. You can’t fake that. Not even you.”

         “Not even me,” she flapped a hand at her. “You make it sound like I’m Myrna Loy.”

         The actress was a favorite of theirs from late nights watching “The Thin Man” and swilling martinis when they should have been cramming. She hoped the reference would distract Greer.

         “Loy-itude,” she dredged a smile. “Remember?”

         “Our Lady of the Cocktail Hour.” Greer nodded. “May she rest in peace.”

         “With a dry martini shaken to waltz time in either hand.”

         “Second thing.” Greer was undeterred. “You’re avoiding me.”

         “The second thing is the concussion’s made you paranoid.”

         Greer stopped. She held Darlene above her elbows.

         “Tell me I’m lying. Tell me it’s not true. Christ, Dar.” She gave her a small shake. “You’ve always been on me like a wet shirt. Now I have to beg you to spend ten minutes with me.”

         “Let go.”

         Greer opened her hands.

         “Candy, come.” Darlene tugged the leash. The good-natured dog plodded behind.

         “Dar,” Greer called.

         Her compass gyrated for true north but it was all Darlene could do to keep walking. She heard Greer trot to catch up. She prayed she’d walk as obediently as Candy. God must have heard her because they were almost at the house before Greer spoke.

         “I’m worried about you.”

         “You needn’t be. I mean, honestly Greer, worry about yourself. I’m not the one with the concussion.”

         “No,” she said. “You’re the one with the dead son.”

         Darlene’s breath caught halfway out her throat. She managed to bend over Candy to hide her face. Her hands shook as she tried to unhook the leash. Greer reached to help but Darlene blocked her.

         “Chris was a wonderful kid. It’s a shame pretending he never existed.”

         The needle in Darlene’s compass whirled in ungoverned circles.

         “How dare you?” she hissed. “How dare you? As if I had the luxury of pretending for even one second that he didn’t exist. You have no idea, Greer. You’ve been all around the world and seen all manner of pain but until you’ve lost your own child keep your goddamn opinions to yourself, because that’s all you have. You don’t have a damn clue about living day in and day out with this kind of –”

         There wasn’t even a word for the pain. There was no language for it.

         “Your husband has that kind of clue. Why won’t you talk to him?”

         Darlene ground her teeth. “Stay out of this, Greer. I’m warning you.”

         “Or what? You’ll stop talking to me? You already have. You never answer my emails. You don’t call and you haven’t spent more than five minutes with me since I’ve been here. You’ve cut me off just like you have your husband and your daughter. So what else are you going to do, Dar?”

         She walked inside.

         “Darlene, goddamnit! You can’t keep running away from this.”

         She did exactly that, taking the stairs two at a time.

         Oh my God! Thanks for all the chapstick!

         She’d always had a good memory. In college she’d recited sonnets to help pass her English Lit tests. Later she helped the kids memorize soliloquies and history dates. Now, she could pull up each of Chris’ letters word for word.

         Who knew there were so many cool flavors?

         She bent to the lock on Chris’s door needing both hands to guide the key. She listened for Greer behind her. The clock in the hall ticked time and Doug’s snoring came down the hall. Downstairs a door slammed. Her knees jellied in relief.

         And the baby lotion, too.

         Chapter Forty-Two

         Hi Mom and Dad and Kate –

         Oh my God! Thanks for all the chapstick! Who knew there were so many cool flavors? And the baby lotion, too. The guys are laughing at me but they keep asking to borrow it. Our hooch smells like a nursery! There’s still not much going on. We mobed to support First Division in Ramadi then got told to stand down. Total bummer. I can’t wait to start doing something besides dispense ointments and cross check records. I’ve been studying like a maniac and am almost through the PSQ! I couldn’t read anymore last night because my eyes were so sore and scratchy so I played poker and won $72.00 dollars! I’m putting $50 of that in with this letter and would totally appreciate as many socks and underwear as you can buy with that. There’s no way to wash anything – no water – so we wear them for a week, flip them inside out, and then wear them until they wear out or we can’t stand them anymore. Mom, I hope you didn’t just faint! Dad you’re probably saying, Isn’t that how your supposed to wear underwear? And Kate you’re disgusted but you won’t admit it! I sure do miss you guys. I can’t wait to come home. I love you and thanks again for all the stuff.

         Love, Chris

         PS – We just got the news we’re going in tonight. Finally! The word so far is that we’re supporting an Army unit that’s going to be doing house to house searches. We’re to be there in case the shit hits the fan and they need the Marines to get them out! It’s really exciting after having waited all this time to DO SOMETHING!! Okay, okay, it’s a little scary too. My stomach feels like there is a flock of butterflies in it but it’s totally exciting too. We’re finally going to get to do something around here! Yeah! So that’s the big news from the Sand Box. I’ll write later and tell you how it went. Mom, DON’T WORRY! Dad, don’t let her worry. Kate, you can worry. Ha-ha. Love, Chris

         .

         Chapter Forty-Three

         “God,” Aaron drawled over a caramel macchiato. “I feel like I never see you anymore. You’re always holed up with Lady Brokaw.” His eyes slitted. “Is there something going on between you two?”

         “Don’t be stupid. She’s my mother’s age.”

         “So? Sometimes older is sexy.”

         “Yeah, well, just because you’ve got Daddy issues doesn’t mean I have Mommy issues.”

         “Then what do you two do all the time?”

         “God, Aaron. There’s more to life than fucking.”

         “Oh, please, girlfriend. Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?”

         “People talk, you know. We do.”

         “Yes, but I’m interesting. What could possibly be interesting about living in bombed out hotels in countries with no food or alcohol where no one hablas ingles?”

         “Don’t be so shallow. It doesn’t look good on you.”

         He pouted, “You’re mistaking shallowness for bafflement. Come on, really, how could living in squalor be interesting?”

         Kate took a patient breath.

         “For one thing, she listens. And she makes me feel like…I don’t know. Like I’m not stupid. I mean, I’ve always wanted to like poetry but I’ve never understood it. I thought I was an idiot but she says it takes years to understand poetry and there’s still stuff she doesn’t understand. It’s neat the way she’ll read a poem and then explain it so that it’s like duh, why didn’t I see that? Each one’s like a novel or a movie and it takes you away the same way, into a whole other world. Into somebody elses world.”

         “Hmph. Sounds to me like she’s putting the make on you. She is a dyke, isn’t she?”

         “She’s probably bi, if you must know, but not everyone thinks with their genitals like you do.”

         “Whatever.” He tossed his head. “Still sounds like she’s making you. Everyone’s interesting when they want to get laid.”

         “Oh, for God’s sake, it’s not like that. Can’t you get your head out of the gutter for ten seconds?”

         “Maybe ten. But not much more. And besides. I know you. That’s all we talk about is sex.”

         “Did it ever occur to you that I talk about different things with different people? Why are you being such a dick?”

         “Me? You’re the one being a dick. Ever since Lady Brokaw got –”

         “Quit calling her that.”

         “Well, ever since she got here you’ve been Miss Politically Correct. Nothing’s funny anymore. Everything’s become terribly serious, terribly important.”

         Aaron reached for his drink with exaggerated casualness. Kate wanted to slap him and see how casual he’d be with a split lip. She pushed away from the table.

         “I’m sorry I’m not funny enough for you lately. I’m going through probably the most important time of my life and it’s not always funny. It’s not even fun. So excuse me if I’m too serious for you.”

         She walked away but Aaron bolted after her.

         “Girlfriend,” he tried to make light. “That sounded totally like your mother. I think you’re letting her get to you. Hey! When are we going to Sea Spa? You said Jason was paying for it.”

         She allowed him to hook an arm around her neck but she kept walking. “Maybe.”

         “What maybe! Girlfriend, let’s go! You need it. It’ll be fun. We’ll have a blast!”

         “I said maybe.”

         “Maybe, nada. We’re going!”

         It was easier to give in than fight and while Aaron planned their date she imagined she was home with Greer, telling stories in front of the fire, or sitting by the pool making up poems, sharing tea in the kitchen. It didn’t matter what they were doing. Everything was fun with Greer.

         Chapter Forty-Four

         Unable to face going home without at least a couple minutes on the beach. She waded through the gentle surf. The irony of being drawn to the water didn’t escape her but oddly enough it was where she felt closest to him. The water linked them. It was the conduit through which she felt his last minutes.

         Your card, the drowned Phoenician sailor.

         She agonized over how long he had fought for the surface, wondering if he knew in a split-second realization that he wasn’t going to make it or if he thought even as the river rushed into lungs that he might still rise, that his sergeant or a buddy would surely grab him and yank him up into the pure hot sunshine. She wished she knew if he could see the surface of the water, and if so how close it was, if it was tantalizing inches, a foot, or terrifyingly out of reach. She wanted to know if it was gray and sightless under the water or if the sunlight teased and hovered just beyond reach.

         Looking into the heart of light, the silence.

         Her questions scrolled as relentlessly as the tide; was he scared or at peace? Did the last breath hurt or did he not feel it? Could he have been in shock? How much time was there, how many seconds between his last breath and unconsciousness? How long did he suffer? And despite her certainty that she had lost God’s ear, Darlene inevitably followed this last thought with a fervent prayer that He please hadn’t let Chris suffer.

         Overhead a half dozen gulls wheeled.

         ...the Phoenician a fortnight dead, forgot the cry of gulls.

         She shaded her eyes to watch them, remembering the one Chris and Kate had found dying on the beach. They had begged her to take it to the vet. She had refused and both kids burst into racking sobs. She tried to lead them away but Kate sat near the bird and wouldn’t leave. She’d finally given in, wrapping the damn thing in her old windbreaker and letting Chris carry it to the car. She drove slowly, hoping it would die, while the kids urged her to speed up. It was still breathing when they got to the vet but the receptionist refused to take it. She told Darlene to take it back to the beach, to let the poor thing die in peace and be a meal for something. The kids were disconsolate. Before they could get back to the beach the bird died in Chris’ lap. He insisted on burying it in the backyard. He and Kate dug a hole and before dinner they solemnly invited their parents to the funeral. Chris asked her to recite a litany of prayers. She had felt sacrilegious praying for a bird but was sure God would understand.

         She lowered her gaze to the horizon. It sprawled sparkling west, forever west, merging thousands of miles later with the Indian Ocean and the Arabian Sea. On the edge of Asia it narrowed into the Gulf of Oman. After eddying through the Straights of Hormuz it ended in the Persian Gulf. In the Gulf it absorbed the Tigris after its twelve hundred mile drop from the Anatolian Plateau. There it blended and swirled on the West Wind Drift to the top of the world and was carried down the California Current to sweep past Santa Barbara and wash over Darlene’s feet.

         She could well be looking at drops of water he drowned in.

         Darlene scanned the wrack line, ever watchful for the miracle, the spent object that may have washed loose and managed the hegira to this precise spot along the North American continent.

         What might it be, she wondered? Would she recognize the encrusted watch band, the rusty name tag nestled in seaweed? She imagined what he might have carried.

         …something he carries on his back which I am forbidden to see…

         Darlene almost laughed at how absurd she was, yet continued to trudge head down, searching.

         Chapter Forty-Five

         Greer followed the sound of the television into the living room. Kate was sprawled on the sofa, intent on a doctor intubating a bloody man on a gurney. She spared Greer a quick glance.

         “Watch this. This is so cool. That guy’s bleeding into his lungs so they’re probably going to put a shunt in to divert the blood – oh yeah, see?”

         She pointed as the doctor slit the right side of the patient’s chest. Blood spilled neatly into a pan.

         “Is that the coolest thing?”

         Greer squinted. Television was so tidy. When the show went to a commercial she asked, “Is your Mom home?”

         “Yeah, she’s upstairs. She bitched me out about thirty times for not getting back to the caterer – like he has to know three months ahead of time what type of salad dressing we want? He can’t just buy a couple bottles the week before? God! She’s so anal.”

         Greer smiled. “You should have tried studying with her.”

         “I can’t imagine. How was your day? What did you do?”

         “Oh, let’s see. Your mom and I had a big fight.”

         Kate sat up and hugged a pillow. “About what?”

         “Chris.”

         “You talked about Chris?”

         “Tried to.”

         “What happened?”

         “Just like you said. She ran off.” She rubbed her forehead. “Your mother’s as uncompromising as a suicide bomber.”

         “Tell me about it.”

         “Yeah. I just assumed I’d be able to talk her down like I always do.”

         “Like that time she was so mad at Dad for buying that piece of shit Corvette, remember?”

         They shared a laugh, Kate giggling, “She had his suitcase packed and waiting on the porch. What did you do to get her to change her mind?”

         “I don’t know. But I remember we were pretty lit by the time he got home.”

         “Yeah, and by the time Chris and I went to bed the three of you were out dancing by the pool. You were always dancing. Now she won’t even turn the radio on. I miss that. There’s nothing sadder than a house without music.”

         “Do you and Jason dance?”

         “Please.” Kate made a face. “He’s a straight white male. I dance with Aaron.”

         “What does Jason think of him?”

         “He likes him. Aaron practically salivates every time he sees him and Jason pretends to be grossed out but I think he’s secretly flattered. He’s so vain.”

         “He has a right to be. He’s quite handsome.”

         Kate scraped at a hangnail. “Yeah.”

         “How’d you meet him?”

         “At a work party.”

         “After Chris died?”

         “Uh-hum.”

         Kate turned her attention back to the television. Greer watched her chew the skin around her nail until it bled.

         “What made you want to date him?”

         Kate tossed her an irritated glance. “Well, look at him. You just said it. He’s gorgeous.”

         “So, a physical attraction.”

         “You say that like it’s a crime.”

         “Hardly. That’s the best kind. I’m just curious why you spend so little time with him.”

         “What do you mean? We had dinner together last night and I stayed at his place for a while. We’re going to a movie tonight and I’ll probably stay the night. We see plenty of each other.”

         “What’s your favorite thing to do together? Besides sex.”

         “Well, that is our favorite.” Kate grinned. She stretched against the sofa. “I don’t know. We like to eat out. Go to movies. Go clubbing now and then. Go to the gym.”

         “You sound like an old married couple already.”

         She shrugged. “That’s what we’re going to be. Two-point-four kids. House in the burbs. SUV in the garage. All that good stuff.”

         They watched the doctor assure a mother that her kids were all right even though one was in critical condition. During the next break Greer asked, “Did I ever tell you about my mother’s red shoes?”

         “Uh-uh.”

         “My mom used to have this gorgeous pair of stiletto heels. They were candy apple red. Patent leather with skinny rhinestone straps. I loved those shoes. I’d put them on and prance around pretending I was a princess and or a fairy godmother. One day I tripped down the stairs in them. Landed on my chin and had to get twelve stitches.”

         She lifted her head so Kate could see the scar on her chin bone. She didn’t say anything more. After a moment Kate bit, as Greer knew she would.

         “And your point?”

         “You may have a beautiful pair of shoes but if they don’t fit, you’re going to get hurt.”

         Kate pulled a bloody strip of skin from her finger and returned to the television.

         “Why do you do that?”

         “Do what?”

         “Make yourself bleed.”

         “I don’t know.” She sucked at the wound. “Jason hates it.”

         “Does it hurt?”

         “Kind of.” She studied her nail. “But in a way it feels good too.”

         Greer nodded.

         “I have to call Jason,” Kate said, springing up. “I’ll see you later.”

         She rushed past. Greer watched the man with the gunshot wound. He wasn’t doing so well.

         Chapter Forty-Six

         Dinner was quick and quiet, just the three ladies, and after, Kate paid her nightly visit to the cottage.

         “Pull up a chair,” Greer welcomed, nudging the footrest toward her.

         She had a deck of cards in her hand and Kate took the little seat, asking, “Playing solitaire?”

         “Kind of.”

         She fanned the cards face up.

         “Cool! Tell me my fortune!”

         Greer laughed. “I can’t do that.”

         “Then what do you do with them?’

         “Catholics have the rosary. Muslims have prayer beads. I’ve got tarot cards. I just like to shuffle them.”

         “Do you know what they mean?”

         “A little.”

         “Who taught you?”

         “Ah, now there’s a story.”

         “Tell me,” Kate begged.

         Greer arranged a log on the coals.

         “I told you about my first assignment in Russia, right? Mrs. Alexandrova and her daughter?”

         Kate wagged a finger and said, “Must never whistle in house.”

         “That’s right.”

         She settled back.

         “They say Hell is fire and brimstone but they’re wrong. Hell is Moscow in winter in a concrete room with a radiator that bangs and wheezes but never gets warm. I had to piss in a bucket at night because there was only one bathroom and it was downstairs, and in the morning the piss in the bucket was frozen solid. The kitchen was the only warm room in the house. We’d defrost over coffee and black bread with the daughter at the table, shrouded in cigarette smoke laying out her tarot cards. She’d sweep them up when I came in, shuffle a couple times and slap three down. One came up more often than not. She’d look at it and wag her finger.

         “‘Korolyeba meuyei.’ She’d say. ‘Nyet vargum. Queen of swords. No good.’ When I asked what it meant she scowled, ‘Vdova. Is card for widow. Is card for betrayal.’ I laughed. Told her I wasn’t married and didn’t plan to be.’ She shrugged and said, ‘Card never lie.’”

         Greer stretched her legs toward the stove.

         “Anything can be a coincidence, right? Could have been the card was sticky or scratched, kept coming up for physical reasons. So I didn’t think much about it. Years later I’m sitting at a café in Belaruse with a couple guys from Reuters. One of them points to this woman by the door. Says she tells a mean fortune. We didn’t have anything else to do so I call her over and she pulls a ratty pack of cards out from inside her bra. She hands them to me and indicates I should shuffle. I do and hand them back. She lays them out and what’s the first card she flips over?”

         Kate grinned. “The queen of swords.”

         “Not only the queen of swords but a bunch of other creepy-looking cards. She shakes her head and mumbles something I can’t make out. My friends laugh and order more Kryshtall, say it looks like I’m going to need it. Finally she eyes me up and down and starts speaking in a vernacular I can’t understand. I slow her down and get her to speak Russian. She’s telling me I have the mark of the widow upon me. That the other cards indicate I am surrounded by disaster and tragedy but that regardless of the circumstances, my greatest betrayal will come from within.

         “She stares me dead in the eye. ‘You,’ she says, ‘have a terrible pride.’ One of the guys laughed, ‘She didn’t have any at the West World last night.’ I’d had a bit much and was pole-dancing with the strippers, so I laughed but her eyes shut me up. She bent and patted my cheek. ‘The tongue speaks,’ she said, ‘but the head doesn’t know.’ Then off she went with her cards packed in her bra and I drank more vodka. Thing of it is, I’d come from Kabul two days earlier. You know what they call Kabul?”

         Kate shook her head.

         “The widow’s city. The place is full of them.”

         “So you believed her.”

         “Not really. Not at the time.”

         “But you do now?”

         Greer waved a hand. “This is silly. Forget I even brought it up.”

         “No,” Kate insisted. “Tell me.”

         “Nothing to tell.” She stabbed at the fire and changed the subject. “What sort of pizza did you get?”

         “One without masgouf. A combo with sausage and extra cheese. Mom’s making a salad.”

         The fire ticked and in the easy silence Greer stewed over the fortune teller’s warning. She hadn’t thought about the widow’s card in years.

         “Greer?”

         “Hmm.”

         “What’s it like to make love to a woman?”

         The question amused her. She looked at Kate, expecting a flirty coyness but the green eyes were clear and guileless. Piqued, she stabbed at a log.

         “Where’d that come from?”

         “I don’t know. Just wondering.”

         “I guess it all depends on the woman you’re with.”

         “Well, I mean as opposed to a man.”

         “You mean the mechanics of it?”

         “No.” Kate gave her a twisted smile. “I was born at night but not last night. I mean…emotionally. Guys are so different that way. What’s it like?”

         “Depends,” she repeated. “There was a woman in Chicago I ended up with. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was drunk. Anyway, your manliest man had nothing on this girl. She was wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. We were done in ten minutes and off she went into the night.”

         “Is that typical?”

         “No, not in my experience.”

         “Then what is?”

         “Hell, I don’t know. Everybody’s different. The same with guys, right?”

         Kate sighed and turned back to the fire.

         Greer wanted to press her, to turn the tables. Exactly, she realized, as she had done with Sig. The thought made her stomach flip. She cursed herself; Sig was barely a month in her grave, and here she sat pathetically hoping her best friend’s kid daughter might find her attractive.

         “How about this?” Kate posed. “How do you know if you’re in love or not? I mean, how do you know if you’re supposed to marry someone?”

         Greer kept her eyes closed. Through clenched teeth she answered, “Hardly my area of expertise, Kate.”

         She was mad at Kate and that wasn’t fair. She was just a kid, a confused kid looking for answers. The only problem was, Greer was just as confused. The stove ticked. Finally, more frustrated with herself than Kate, Greer scooted to the edge of the rocker, forcing Kate’s attention.

         “What’s the real question?” she demanded. “What’s that one thing you want to know but are too afraid to ask?”

         Kate bravely tried to match her gaze but couldn’t. She broke for the haven of the fire.

         “Look,” Greer relented. “I may not know the answer, but I promise its okay to ask.”

         A tear rolled down Kate’s cheek. Greer wanted to catch it. She laced her hands safely between her knees.

         Kate whispered, “I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. I feel like there’s so much I haven’t done yet and that I’m never going to do if I get married and have kids.”

         A second tear followed the first and Kate wiped her nose on her wrist. Greer got up to get tissues from the bathroom.

         “Does Jason know this?”

         Kate nodded. She grabbed a tissue and blew.

         “He tells me not to worry. That we don’t have to have kids right away. We can take vacations and travel. But I don’t want my life to be about two-week vacations. I want to do so much more than you can in two weeks a year.”

         “Like what? What do you want to do?”

         “Everything! I want to see things. Go places. I mean, I’ve barely been out of California. I want to see the world before I get tied down. You talk about people and places and things you’ve done and it makes my heart hurt. I’ve never done anything, and at this rate I never will. I’m just going to be a baby machine. I hate my job. I know it’s a good one, with a future,” she emphasized, “but it’s a future inside four walls. I don’t want to live inside four walls. Life’s out there, not in a bank or changing diapers. And then I think I’m just being a brat – that I have a great job and that I’m lucky to have a man as wonderful as Jason and that I’m just a big spoiled rotten brat. That it’ll all work out, like Jason says, and that we’ll be totally happy together and I’ll love being a mom. Everybody says there’s nothing more wonderful than having children. And I just don’t know that yet because I’ve never done it. I don’t know anything. I feel so messed up…”

         “Kate.”

         Greer fiddled with a stick of kindling, searching for the right words, the perfect way to tell the story.

         “My editors want me back in the Middle East. They tell me I’m the best person for the job. Which is true. I have connections. I know the ropes. I’ve been doing this a long time. But the thing is...”

         She hunched closer to Kate, confiding, “Maybe I’ve been doing this too long. I’ve been lucky my entire career but how much longer is that going to last? How long do I keep bucking the odds? One by one I’ve watched my colleagues die, get maimed or retire. But I’m still ripping and running.”

         She tossed the stick into the box and sat back.

         “The truth is, I’m a fifty-year old lesbian carrying on like a twenty-year old boy. I’ve always been one of the boys. I’ve played by their rules and I’ve succeeded brilliantly. Maybe too brilliantly. Because now I’m too old to play by those rules but I don’t know any others.

         “I loved this when I was younger. The violence, the quick, hot terror and the adrenaline. I chased it all over the world and justified that I was doing important work but the truth is I needed that high. What started as a noble career has devolved into a chronic need for that next shot of adrenaline, the next thing that might get me killed. Or worse, someone else.

         “Kate,” she confessed. “I don’t know what else to do. This is what I’ve always done. And I don’t know if I can give it up anymore than a junkie can give up the needle. So here I am, twice your age, between a rock and a Tomahawk. At least you’re young, Miss Kate. You have so many choices.”

         “Do I?” Kate turned tearfully.

         Greer was tempted to smooth the tracks of her tears but she focused on the fire. Through the rosy flames she recalled a snowfall near Terri Mangal.

         “Couple years after I’d been covering the Stan beat I was riding with a medical convoy from Pakistan into Afghanistan. It was winter and the snow was falling so hard we kept losing the road. We eventually had to stop and wait it out. Hassan, my guide, he said, ‘What can one do? One can’t overcome the wind.

         “To which I responded like the young smart-ass I was, ‘But one can certainly stay warm in it.’ See, by then I’d chatted up a perky young nurse and wasn’t bunking alone. We disappeared into my tent and Hassan muttered his usual prayer that Allah might forgive my youthful indiscretions. After lots of getting warm and making promises I didn’t intend to keep, the young lady had to pee. She stepped outside and I dozed off. Hassan’s shouting woke me. I looked out the tent. My chatty little nurse was forty meters away in the middle of a minefield.

         “Hassan was telling her to stay calm, that all she had to do was find her footsteps and follow them back to the tent. She started crying but raised a foot. She set it down real slow. ‘Good,’ Hassan called. ‘Where’s your next print?’ She spotted it. Stepped into it. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Keep coming.’ She lifted a foot, set it down. ‘Good,’ he encouraged. ‘Just keep doing that. Nice and slow.’

         “She looked up and smiled at him. She lifted her arm to wipe the sweat out of her eyes and stepped. Then boom. She was gone. Just vanished. And all around us, the snow turned pink.”

         Greer jabbed a log. It crumpled into coals.

         “There are mines all over Afghanistan. The Russians left them after the war. You can’t walk anywhere that’s not hard-packed or paved. To be safe, you stay on the roads, right in the middle. If you blaze your own trail, you risk your life. Do you see?”

         Kate turned from the fire. Her eyes still held its heat.

         “How long can we stay on the same road?”

         Greer searched the fevered eyes. She saw herself reflected there and looked away.

         “That all depends.”

         “On?”

         “How badly we want to stay safe.”

         Chapter Forty-Seven

         Because she’d stayed so late talking to Greer Kate ended up sleeping at home. Now she opened her eyes to the morning slanting across her floor. Beyond the window finches and sparrows where in their usual quarrel at the feeder. She stretched under the spread, guilt at bailing on Jason the price of her content. She filtered other sounds through the birds at the feeder– jay chatter, a rumbling truck, the squeak of the back door. Then her mother’s voice.

         She got up to peep out the window. Greer was sitting by the pool in a lotus pose.

         Kate smiled. Of course she did yoga. She could probably walk on water. Her mother was trying to talk to her but Greer seemed to be ignoring her. Giving up, her mother walked back into the kitchen. Kate grinned. She wished she could make her go away like that.

         Opening the closet she studied her clothes, picking and rejecting until settling on a short green dress. In the shower she shaved and plucked and moisturized. Drying off in front of the steamy mirror she frowned. Her mother was right. She was getting fat. Not fat exactly, but if she kept chowing down the way she was fat would soon be the right word. For now she was comfortable, perfectly padded

         Stepping into her best black underwear she marveled how good she felt despite so little sleep. Talking to Greer had left her with more questions than answers and after leaving the cottage she’d watched TV, hoping it would make her sleepy. But she couldn’t concentrate. Thinking a brownie might help, she had been standing at the refrigerator when Greer came in and caught her scavenging crumbs from the Tupperware.

         Greer made tea for both of them. Watching Greer stir sugar into hers, lots of it, Kate had teased, “Maybe that’s why you can’t sleep.”

         “So practical.” Greer frowned. “You can’t be Doug’s kid.”

         “I think I was adopted.” She fluffed her hair. “I’m the only redhead in the family, you know. I could be adopted.”

         “Trust me. You’re not.”

         “Greer?”

         “Yeah?”

         She was dunking her tea bag and stopped long enough to humor Kate with what seemed like an indulgent expression.

         “Was Mom happy when she was pregnant with me?”

         “Christ, yes.” She resumed dunking. “I was in Murmansk, working on a story about the Soviet navy. She called me at four in the morning to tell me. She was ecstatic. She loved being pregnant. Except when she was obsessing about all the ways she could lose you. I’ve never seen a woman so simultaneously terrified and blissful.”

         Kate was relieved. “Was she happy with Chris?”

         Greer nodded. “Still neurotic, but a little calmer, having safely delivered you.”

         “Ironic she was so worried about losing me.”

         “Hm. Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask. There have to be at least a dozen health food stores in this town, right?”

         “At least. Why?”

         “I want to get some herbs.”

         “What kind of herbs?”

         “Scullcap and lobelia.”

         “Listen to you.” Kate grinned. “Scullcap and lobelia. You sound like one of Macbeth’s witches.”

         Instead of being impressed with her Shakespearean reference, Greer complained, “Why are you always comparing me to a witch?”

         “I told you. You’re a good witch. You know spells and potions and make magical things happen.”

         “Hm. Better be nice or I’ll turn you into a toad.”

         “Then you’d have to kiss me to turn me back into a princess.”

         To her surprise, and deep pleasure, Greer’s cheeks pinked.

         Kate grinned and decided to let Greer off the hook.

         “So what do you do with these witchy sounding herbs?”

         “Just make a tea. They help me sleep.”

         “I have some Excedrin PM if you want something.”

         “No, that’s okay. I don’t want that big a kick. Just something to take the edge off.”

         She’d offered, “You could come to the dressmaker with me tomorrow. It shouldn’t take long and we can stop on the way home. Or if you want I could pick up it up for you.”

         “I’d love to go. Be good for me to quit moping around the cottage. Are you getting fitted?”

         “No, I already did that. I just have to try it on to make adjustments.” She rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t believe how much this is costing.”

         “I don’t want to know.”

         “Trust me,” she had assured. “You don’t.”

         Now, blowing her hair dry, Kate marveled at the breadth of Greer’s knowledge; it spanned tarot cards and witchy remedies, mortars and Tomahawk missiles, T.S. Eliot and obscure Russian poets. Not to mention having the brains and guts to survive heatstroke, frostbite, and global conflict all while writing prize-winning journalism.

         Twisting her hair into the chignon Jason called sexy, she thought about what Greer had said. That she was fifty and didn’t know what she was doing with her life consoled Kate. She drew on lipstick. If Greer was that old and still had doubts then maybe it wasn’t so awful that she did. Liking what she saw, she posed in the mirror. She was young, she was hot, and every minute she spent with Greer made her smarter. Kate grabbed her purse and hurried out the door. She didn’t want to lose another minute.

         Chapter Forty-Eight

         Greer sat cross-legged by the pool, willing her attention to her breath. Her concentration bumbled around like a bee in a clover field and she kept nudging it back.

         Inhalation, exhalation.

         Her heart beat dutifully. Sig’s did not.

         Inspiration, expiration.

         Sig was definitely expired. She was not. Not yet. But how much longer before her luck ran out. It was all a matter of time.

         She refocused.

         In. Out. In. Out.

         Beyond the yard a car door shut and a radio thumped by. Closer, an acorn smacked onto dead leaves. The back door slammed. She flinched. Dar called her. She held up a finger.

         Dar’s heels staccatoed the concrete.

         “Greer? Are you okay?”

         Without moving or opening her eyes she said, “Give me a minute. I’ll be right in.”

         “Do want breakfast? Doug’s making pancakes.”

         “Sure.”

         She kept her eyes closed.

         “How many?”

         Greer checked a sigh.

         “Two.”

         “That’s all?”

         She nodded once.

         “Okay.”

         Dar moved off. The screen door creaked. Greer willed herself deeper into the quiet beneath her heart, the quiet beneath the slapping surface of her mind. When the alarm on her watch sounded she opened her eyes and stretched. Entering the kitchen she asked, “Too late for those pancakes?”

         She hadn’t seen Doug since his midnight confession and he took her into a big hug.

         “Coming right up,” he answered cheerily, without guile.

         Greer poured a cup of coffee, wondering if he’d been too drunk to remember confessing his affair. She turned in time to see Kate flounce into the kitchen.

         “Good morning,” she chirped, giving Doug a passing hug and pecking the top of Dar’s head.

         Roving a critical eye over her daughter Dar asked Greer, “What were you doing out there?”

         “Morning, Greer.”

         “Morning, Miss Kate. Meditating.”

         “I see. Are we a Buddhist now?”

         “I wish,” Greer laughed. She pulled a chair out and gave Kate a wink.

         Kate chided her mother, “It wouldn’t hurt you to do some.”

         “You don’t say? And since when have you become –”

         “Ladies,” Doug interrupted. He slid a platter of bacon onto the table. “Less squabbling. More gobbling.”

         Kate grabbed two pancakes from the oven and folded each around a strip of bacon. Drizzling syrup inside she said, “I can’t stay. I’m late for the dressmaker.”

         “Tell you what,” Greer said. “Let me drive. That way you can eat and not mess up your dress.”

         Dar asked, “Why are you so dressed up?”

         “I’m hardly dressed up,” Kate dismissed. “Okay. You drive. Are you ready?”

         “Kate. Let Greer stay and enjoy her breakfast.”

         “Can’t,” Greer said. She followed Kate’s example, making a bacon taco. “Kate’s going to take me to the store after her appointment.”

         “What store?”

         “Health food store.”

         “What do you need from the health food store?”

         “Tea.”

         “We have all kinds of tea. Earl Gray, Darjeeling, Lipton’s…”

         “Not what I want.” She kissed Dar on the check. “Want us to get dinner while we’re out?”

         Dar protested, “We haven’t even had breakfast yet.”

         “Right,” Doug smirked. “No one will be hungry at six o’clock.”

         “Fine,” Dar said. “Get whatever you want. Oh, and Kate, could you possibly go by the Hallmark store on your way home? We need wrapping paper for the attendant’s gifts.”

         “Don’t we have some in the garage?”

         “That’s all Christmas paper.”

         “I’m sure there’s something in there that’ll –”

         “We’ll get it,” Greer interrupted, steering Kate to the door. “See you later.”

         As they walked to the car she pointed out, “You know you fight her at every turn.”

         “Who?”

         “Your mother.”

         “Well, half the time she doesn’t make any sense.”

         “I’m just saying...” she raised her palms in peace. “Why are you all dressed up?”

         Kate laughed, “I’m hardly dressed up. You’re just used to seeing me after work in jeans or PJs.”

         Greer didn’t mention the perfume or seductive knot of thick red hair. The sun caught the fiery hairs curling from her nape.

         “Do you mind if I drive? It’s been a while.”

         Kate tossed the keys. “Crash her and I’ll kill you. You know, you never RSVP’d for the wedding. Are you coming?”

         “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

         “Good. I’m putting you in charge of Mom.”

         “Thanks. Why not just put me in charge of a tornado?”

         Clenching the sandwich between her teeth Greer backed out of the driveway. It felt good to be driving, to be moving, and it struck her how she craved motion, and all its inherent possibilities. Just like a junkie, she thought, scuttling down the street to make her connection, hustling to get that cushion between who she was and what she’d become. A panel of freeze frames scrolled through her mind– Sig hunched and reaching, Dollie in Landstuhl, drunk against Sig’s door at two in the morning, Kate’s clear and guileless eyes.

         Straightening, Greer shifted into first. She forced a smile.

         “Where to?”

         Chapter Forty-Nine

         Kate was at the dressmaker’s. Greer was with her. Doug was euphemistically at the office. Grading papers, he said. Still, to be sure, Darlene slid the deadbolt into place. Six weeks after the visit from the Navy officers, she’d installed the heavy lock on Chris’s door. She had called in sick to give herself plenty of time for the task. Drilling the holes and screwing the plates on had thrilled her. Guilt waved and tried to catch her eye, but she refused to look at it, concentrating instead on the first flicker of hope she’d felt since seeing those men on her porch. Feeling like the sly murderer in the Cask of Amontillado, Darlene had pushed the brass bar home. With an oily, satisfying snick, she sealed herself in with the corpse.

         Head pressed to the door, she had cried her first tears. They slicked the measurements on the doorjamb, hatch marks in felt pen and crayon, of Chris at two feet. Chris at two feet, six inches. A thick black line and an exclamation point when he reached a whole yard! More lines for more heights, the last at five-five when he’d argued he wasn’t a kid anymore and refused to stand with the ruler on his head. Huddled against the marks, she hadn’t seen how her animal cries set the birds outside the window into flight.

         Her fingers rested now on the cool brass.

         That day was distant, as if she’d dreamt it or seen it in a movie. She had cried since then, but never with such a feral lack of inhibition. Nor would she again, for now she had the dream of the water to console her. It was relief enough to cling to. That, and his letters.

         She turned to the musty room. The air was stagnant. She should open a window, she knew, but that would let the air out. His air. Darlene took in a deep breath of it. She sat by the window in the rocking chair. The sun cut across her lap. She reached for the bundle and held it in the yellow rays. She hoped he could feel the heat and her love.

         She sat a while longer, holding his letter to the sun. They were consolation, of course, but she was at the point in their order where they were also difficult. While she craved their comfort the latter letters were distressing, each as painful to read she imagined as they had been for Chris to write.

         She whispered, “Hi everyone.”

         No longer Mom Dad and Katie, they were blurring to him, his family becoming a nameless abstract.

         The wind crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed.

         Darlene eased a letter from its envelope.

         “Wow,” she breathed. “Last night…”

         Chapter Fifty

         Hi everyone.

         Wow. Last night was totally not what I expected. God. I’m still not even sure how to write about it other than to say the shit sure hit the fan. Those Army guys totally messed up. Our squad had to go in and get them out of this house. They lost two of their guys. One of them was Forget it. I can’t even write about it. Too weird. One of our guys got hit too. Tony Cappoletto. But he’s going to be okay. He got shot in the shoulder but I got to him and bandaged him up. He was joking and telling me not to shake so bad, he wasn’t going to kiss me even though I was holding his hand. I was nervous as hell but I did alright for my first time out. His wound bled a lot and he couldn’t move his arm but we got him back to the BAS and went back out.

         Night patrol is totally freaky. Its dark out, totally dark, no electricity, no lights and we’re wearing our night vision goggles so everything’s green. Gray and green, real spooky looking. It’s like being stuck underwater. Then when we got into that firefight and all hell was breaking loose there were shots coming from everywhere and people were screaming and I was trying to stay calm and do my job, which I guess I did okay. There were bullets everywhere and women screaming and kids running around crying. It was too weird. Totally weird. It sounds like we’re going in tonight too, to a different part of the city. Same ops though. I hope it’s smoother tonight. More of them dead and none of us. I guess that’s a terrible thing to say.

         Don’t worry Mom. I’m taking care of myself. It’s really not that bad. Just something to get used to I guess.

         You wouldn’t believe the heat. It cooled down all the way to 93 last night. We’re only about 2 clicks from the Tigris River and yesterday we took a detachment of guys over to swim. The water was filthy and there was garbage floating in it but I had to get in anyway and it felt so damn good I don’t care what I got. It was worth it just to be cool for ten minutes and clean. Well, relatively. We haven’t had a shower in eighteen days so we probably polluted the Tigris instead of the other way around.

         There’s a kid in A Company named Houston. He’s a nice guy but dumber than a stack of bricks and all the way to the river he kept calling it the Tigers. When we got there he ran in and started jumping up and down, splashing water on everyone screaming, I’m swimming in Tigers! I’m swimming in Tigers! All day long he was grinning from ear to ear and telling everyone how he couldn’t wait to tell his mom that he’d been swimming in Tigers. We were cracking up and making fun of him but he didn’t mind. He’s just a dumb kid that makes this place not so bad.

         I better go try and catch some Zs before tonight. I love you all.

         Love, Chris

         Chapter Fifty-One

         The morning with Kate had been fun, distracting, and as Greer suspected each of her worries waited for her at the cottage like faithful hounds. Throughout the afternoon she’d given them their due, yet now, past midnight in the Richardson’s pool, they still whined for her attention.

         Greer swam back and forth. From one end of the pool to the other. Back again. Her head thumped but she didn’t stop. The water dark, she navigated by feel, counting strokes to each end. The counting was a mantra, the motion a fix. Her bare flesh offered little resistance as she sluiced the inky water. She felt like a great long fish, a fish that Hemingway’s Santiago might have wished for. But she was probably too bony for the old fisherman, too lean. He’d have hooked her and thrown her back, disappointed she wasn’t the good eating type of fish. Still, he would have thrown her back gently and with a prayer that she grow fat and take his line another day.

         She thought how magnificent it would be to be the good eating type of fish. To give of one’s flesh that others could live.

         Like Sig.

         The light in the pool flared on. It blinded Greer, startling her. She kicked for the shallow end. When she got there, so was Kate.

         “Sorry,” she whispered, kneeling. “I thought you were a raccoon. They get stuck in here sometimes.”

         “No problem. I should get out anyway.”

         “Aren’t you freezing?”

         “Are you kidding?” She tilted her chin at the thermometer dangling in the water. “It’s eighty-two degrees in here. Besides,” she grinned, “getting into hot water’s easy. Getting out’s the hard part.”

         Kate giggled. “Can I join you?”

         Greer was startled again. She pushed off, treading water on her back, showing her nakedness, almost as a warning.

         “It’s your pool.”

         “Yeah, but you were all private and peaceful. I don’t want to interrupt.”

         “You’re not. Come on in.”

         Even as she said it she knew it was the wrong answer. She should have gotten out, put on her robe, and offered to make tea. Instead she remained treading the shadowy middle, watching by the star’s dull luster as Kate lifted her sweater over her head, watching as she reached around to unsnap her bra, watching her breasts swing free. She didn’t look away as Kate stepped from her jeans and underwear, glowing against the sable night like a moon descended to earth in the guise of an alabaster maiden.

         Finally she did look away.

         Greer dove. She skimmed the bottom of the pool wishing she could dive deeper, to depths from which she could never surface. She stayed down, circling like a shark in a tank. Depleted air seared her lungs. She kicked off the wall in the shallows. Pain sliced her brain. Her vision throbbed red. Still she stayed down, Kate, Sig, then Kate again, scorched against her lids.

         Chapter Fifty-Two

         They drank tea in the kitchen. It was a habit Kate was beginning to enjoy.

         “You’re a beautiful swimmer,” she told Greer. “Did you ever win anything when you competed?”

         “Nah. I wasn’t that good. I had fun though.”

         “Well, that’s what counts, right?”

         “I guess. Maybe. That’s what I used to think.”

         “Now you don’t?”

         Greer stared into her cup. She looked troubled, like she had when she got out of the pool. Kate had just gotten in and then Greer got out. She asked where she was going and Greer had tapped her head. She said it hurt, she’d enough and that Kate should stay while she made tea.

         Now she turned the cup in her hands. “There’s fun and there’s escape, and somewhere along the way I got the two horribly mixed up.”

         She stared into her teacup, as if trying to divine the leaves. Kate smiled; Greer probably could. Kate looked into her own cup. There were no clues swirling in the dregs, no solid answers, just clear, amber liquid. She remembered a field trip to the Mojave, bouncing in the hot, dusty bus, while the professor lectured about the desert. He talked about prospectors and miners who had died after drinking from clean, clear pools of water.

         “They look safe and oh-so tempting,” he’d warned, “but never drink from a pool with no life in it. There’s nothing swimming around in them because they’re full of leachates like strychnine and arsenic. They’re poisoned. Better to get a little gastrointestinal upset from dirty water than die from clean water.”

         Kate shivered. Nothing swam in her cup.

         “Hey.”

         Greer was looking at her.

         “You should go to bed. Get warm.”

         “Can we go to the cottage?” she blurted. “Would that be okay?”

         Greer hesitated, long enough for Kate to feel she was intruding, then she pushed away from the table.

         “Sure.”

         Before they went out Kate slapped the motion sensor lights off.

         “I hate them. They go on like interrogation lights and scare some poor bird from its perch then it has to find a new place in the middle of the night. They can’t see at night. It’s hard for them to fly.”

         Greer didn’t respond and as they walked across the lawn Kate worried she was boring her. She followed Greer into the cottage. It was lit only by the banked fire. Greer cleared the footstool, mounding books atop others already piled on the table by the rocker.

         “What about reading?” she asked. “Is that fun or escape?”

         “Little of both I suppose. But at least no one gets hurt when I’m reading.”

         “Why? Who got hurt? You said you horribly confused fun and escape. What did you mean?”

         Greer set her cup on the table then bent to pull a book from under the rocker leg.

         “How about something from the ladies? Maybe a little Mary Oliver? Elizabeth Bishop?”

         “I don’t know,” she stammered, confused by the change of subject. “Like I’d even know the difference.”

         Greer winked. “Oh, you’ll be a regular scholar by the time I’m done with you.”

         Kate sat and chewed on a nail, stewing that Greer had so rudely dissed her question. Yet despite herself, she gave in as Greer read. She was able to hear the creak of the old fishing skiff and the lap of sparkling water on wood. In her hands she felt the wet, hanging weight of the fish, and her mouth ached with the pull of a half dozen rusting hooks.

         Greer shut the book and Kate opened her eyes.

         “That was beautiful.”

         Greer nodded. She tilted the rocker back and something cracked beneath it.

         “Oops.” Kate pulled the walkie-talkie from under the rocker leg. “Hope you don’t have a stroke in the middle of the night.”

         She handed Greer the radio. Greer looked at it and tossed it under the table.

         “Have you ever been fishing?” she asked.

         “A couple times. Off the pier and on charter tours.”

         “No, no.” Greer shook her head. “That’s not fishing. I’m talking about river fishing. Standing in a stream with the water rushing by in cold, rainbowed bubbles and the sun low and coppery in your eyes and rising all around you are mountains like brothers and the noise of the water laughing, and the only thing louder now and then is the cry of a jay or a raven. Christ, Kate, I think you’d love it.”

         “Take me!”

         Kate wanted to go anywhere with Greer but she only smiled, sphinx-like into the fire.

         “Where’d you learn to fish?”

         “My dad taught me. We’d pack sandwiches and get up early, driving in the dark. We’d get to the river just as the sun was pinking over the mountains. He’d set my hook, until I learned to do it myself, and we’d spend the whole day fishing. He’d set me up at a likely spot and then find his own. Never too far away. Never out of sight. We didn’t talk. Didn’t want to scare the fish. Not that we had much to say. I wanted to ask things about my mom, and me, but I knew not to. I felt like if I was quiet I could make it up to him that I wasn’t a boy. See, my mom couldn’t have anymore kids after me and I think he really wanted a son.”

         “Do you miss him?”

         “Sometimes.”

         “Do you talk to him?”

         Greer smiled.

         “We didn’t talk much when he was alive so it would be queer to do it now. He was quiet. Always tinkering in the garage, fixing something. Always had a Lucky Strike dangling from his lip. I used to love sitting next to him, watching him clean a spark plug or change a lamp cord. He always explained very patiently what he was doing then let me try. It’s funny. He never said he loved me like dads do nowadays but I heard loudest what remained unspoken.”

         “And your mom? What was she like?”

         “Kind of like him, but fussier. She was always bustling around cleaning or cooking, working on some kind of charity project.”

         “Were you close?”

         “Yeah, but in a different way. We talked more. Laughed about things. But it was easier to please my dad. I liked doing the things he did. I’m sure I disappointed my mother. I was never interested in baking cookies or sewing quilts. I always wanted to be in the garage with my dad or mowing the lawn or fishing or camping. Anything outdoors. So in the end I probably disappointed them both.”

         “How so?”

         She curved a shoulder. “Couldn’t be the son he wanted or the daughter she had.”

         “Did they know you were gay?”

         “I don’t think so. I never told them. I was gone so much and never in a relationship long enough that it mattered. I didn’t see the need to hurt them with that. My mom wanted grandkids – another disappointment – and I let her think it was my career keeping me from that.”

         “So you lied?”

         “By omission, yes.”

         “Sometimes that’s not so bad.”

         Greer gave her the hot, steely stare that made Kate feel like a bug pinned to a board.

         “No,” she agreed. “Sometimes it’s not.”

         Kate found relief from Greer’s gaze in the heat of the fire. She blushed into the flames, not knowing why. She felt she was on the edge of grasping something significant, something important. But whatever it was kept wiggling through her fingers, as slippery and illusive as a rainbowed fish.

         She shook her head. “This is nuts.”

         “What?”

         “This. Hanging out. Reading poetry. You should be getting hammered with Dad and I should be out…”

         With Jason she supposed, or at least out with friends. Friends her own age. Acting “normal” as her mother would say.

         “Where should you be, Kate?”

         Greer had asked softly, gently, but because she had dismissed Kate earlier Kate felt justified returning the snub.

         “Are you really not drinking because of your concussion?”

         Greer sat back.

         “In theory. Truth is, I drink too much.”

         She accused, “Are you an alcoholic?”

         “I don’t know. Maybe. It can’t hurt to lay off a while.”

         Kate relented. “Well, whatever. I like it better this way.”

         “Sure makes it easier to get up in the morning. But your dad’s disappointed.”

         “It doesn’t seem to be slowing him down. I mean, he’s always had a few but since Chris died he has a glass glued to his hand from the minute he gets home at night until he passes out.”

         “Are you worried about him?”

         “Kinda.”

         “Maybe you should tell him.”

         She shook her head and sank her teeth into a cuticle. “He has enough on his mind without me bugging him. Besides, Mom does enough for both of us.”

         “Maybe it would mean more coming from you. A fresh perspective.”

         “I doubt it.”

         Greer stretched her endless legs toward the fire. Kate wished hers were as long and slim.

         “I guess they’re both hurting,” Greer said.

         “Well, who isn’t? I mean, how much longer are they going to keep acting like this?”

         “I don’t think there’s an expiration date on grief. Especially for a child.”

         “I didn’t mean it like that. They have another one, you know. I didn’t die. I feel like I’m just a shadow on the wall around here.”

         Greer pointed out, “Your mother’s spending an awful lot of time trying to give you the perfect wedding an –”

         “Oh, please. That’s not about me. If we were doing what I wanted I’d be getting married under a redwood in Yosemite. This is her wedding. The big bash she never had. It’s got nothing to do with me.”

         “So elope.”

         “Are you kidding? Jason’s as into this as Mom is. Besides, it doesn’t matter. It’s almost over.”

         “Jesus, Kate.” Greer was suddenly hunched beside her. “Do you ever hear yourself talk? Why are you doing this?”

         “Doing what?”

         “Getting married.”

         “Because it’s what everybody wants. It makes everybody happy.”

         “Is it making you happy?”

         “That doesn’t matter. I’m just along for the ride.”

         Greer made a clucking sound and shook her head.

         “What?” Kate protested

         “You.”

         “What about me?”

         “I never would have believed it.”

         “Believed what?”

         “That you’re such a gutless wonder.”

         Kate felt like Greer had slapped her

         “What?”

         “You heard me.”

         “Why would you say that?”

         “Why wouldn’t I? Look at you, moping around about the wedding. Giving in to your mom and Jason about everything. Never putting your foot down. I’m surprised. I thought you had more spine.”

         “Fuck you. I have plenty of spine.”

         She made for the door but Greer snagged her wrist.

         “Then show me.”

         “There’s nothing to show.”

         “Then what are you so pissed off about?”

         She spluttered, “Other than you just called me a gutless wonder? I’m pissed off because everyone thinks they know me. They think they know what I should want and shouldn’t want, what I should do and shouldn’t, and the truth is nobody knows. Nobody has a fucking clue who I am!”

         “Do you?”

         Kate wrenched her arm free.

         “Do you?” she shot back. “Why didn’t you answer my question when we walked in?”

         Greer’s gaze dropped like a shot bird.

         “What question?”

         “Oh, bullshit. You’re still doing it. You heard me and you totally shined me on. What was that about?”

         Greer sat like she were deaf but Kate pursued, “I have to answer the hard questions and you get to ignore them. How gutless is that?”

         “All right.” Greer nodded. “Fair enough.”

         “Fucking A it’s fair enough.”

         Kate crossed her arms, waiting smugly for an explanation. Greer fingered the gouge on her cheek.

         “You asked who got hurt.”

         “Yeah.” She couldn’t resist adding, “Like an hour ago.”

         Greer drew in a long breath and blew it out. She squeezed her brows together.

         “Let’s just say…let’s just say I’ve hurt lots of people. I’ve done mean things, Kate. Things that were hurtful and selfish, to feed my pride. That terrible pride.”

         “Hah,” she gloated. “So the fortune tellers were right.”

         “It would appear that way.”

         Greer continued to work the pain in her head, and Kate wondered how bad it hurt. Thawing, she laid a hand on Greer’s shoulder.

         “We all do stupid things sometimes. Like me, giving in to the wedding stuff. You’re right, I do. But it makes everybody happy and I like that they’re happy so it’s okay.”

         Greer didn’t answer.

         “It really is.”

         Kate shuffled. Her eyes shuffled from Greer to the fire, to the books scattered around the rocker and back to Greer. She still held her head in one hand. The other dangled from the rocker. Kate wanted to hold it and press it between her breasts. She wanted Greer’s strong brown fingers to search and explore the soft flesh there.

         She looked away. Greer remained motionless. Suddenly, alarmed, thinking maybe she’d had a stroke or something, Kate asked, “Are you all right?”

         Greer lifted her head to the stove. “Yes.”

         “You sure?”

         “Yes.”

         She waited for her to say more but Greer seemed caught in the depths of the fire.

         “I guess I should go.”

         She expected Greer to protest but to Kate’s dismay she murmured, “Good night.”

         “Okay. ‘Night.”

         She willed Greer to move, to look at her but she sat as if carved from the wood of the rocker. Kate opened the door. She looked back but Greer hadn’t turned. Kate let herself out. She stood in the yellow light of the lamp hanging from the lintel. She lifted her face to the damp night. Droplets of fog cooled her, chilled her, yet she stood in the comfort of the yellow fog, afraid that if she flushed from her roost she would be forced to fly in the dark not knowing where to land.

         Chapter Fifty-Three

         Catapulted from sleep, Darlene was snared in the caesura between waking and dreaming. She sat up trying to fathom what clamored for her attention, wondering with sick panic where the children were. She strained for the sounds of distress but all she heard was Doug snoring and the gentle hum of air rushing peacefully through the house.

         Reality bled through the verge of her sleep. Kate was grown. She was a lovely young woman. Chris was grown too, uniformed. She saw him bob in the current and stopped the hot gush of bile in her throat. She held it, gagging as she ran to the bathroom. Falling onto her knees she let her stomach empty in great bitter draughts.

         Once tall and handsome….

         She clung to the toilet, resting her head on the cold porcelain. The pain with no name tried to tear her away. It ripped and grabbed with fang and claw. It slashed and shredded, snatching her breath. She heard a wild animal sound and realized it came form her throat. Darlene slapped her hand to her mouth. She crawled from the toilet. Curling into a corner, she cried in silent, heaving shudders.

         Gradually they subsided. Her heart slowed and her breath returned. Darlene was cold. She uncurled slowly, easing her cramped muscles. She stood, belting her robe. At the sink she rinsed her mouth and splashed water on her face. She patted dry with a hand towel, refusing to catch her eye in the mirror. Opening the door, she listened for Doug. He snored softly and she tiptoed from the room, making the blind, familiar trek down the hall.

         From the chain around her neck she produced the key. It was warm and solid in her palm, a comforting talisman. The catch of the lock was almost as soothing as if Chris had called her name. She gathered herself into the rocker. Wrapped in a thick shawl, she rocked, pretending the water had her. Pretending she was dark and safe and warm. That she was dreamless. Beyond hurt.

         Beyond letters that adjured from the dresser.

         Darlene rocked, ignoring them.

         They called louder.

         She rocked faster, until unable to tell punishment from relief, she threw off the shawl and gathered the waiting letters.

         Chapter Fifty-Four

         Hi guys–

         Let me start by saying I’m totally fine. There’s nothing to worry about. Everythings fine. But I don’t even know where to start. We were sitting around shooting the shit, playing cards, and one of our guys, Woodall, he was making this boot we got in yesterday do sit-ups then pow! There was this huge boom and I got knocked into the sand face down. The left side of my face was all hot like it was on fire and I couldn’t hear real good but enough that I could hear the boot screaming ‘Oh my God! He’s hit! Woodall’s hit! He’s fucking hit!’ He kept screaming it over and over and I looked around for Woodall and he was laying in the sand, like a big doll some kid had thrown away, his arms and legs all bent at weird angles and he wasn’t moving and guys were screaming gas! and rushing for their masks and I couldn’t even think. I was just trying to take it all in. I started crawling toward Woodall and I felt this clamp on my ankle and then I was getting dragged backward. I must have passed out because I came to in the BAS. I don’t remember it but they tell me I was screaming for Woodall. They told me he got hit pretty bad – we took a mortar and they medevaced him to Al-Said with a critical head wound. So that was pretty weird. One minute your sitting there goofing around and the next minute your buddy’s gone. I’m just praying he makes it. I hear they’re having trouble getting the swelling down in his brain and that’s not good.

         Mom your probably freaking out but don’t worry. I’m fine. My face is swollen and I look kind of like a pumpkin but I’m okay. I just took some superficial shrapnel but I’ll be good as new once the swelling goes down. Even better than new, Doc says. So don’t worry. Its no big deal. I’m not Woodall. Everything’s going along as usual here, SNAFU, but other than that little excitement its still pretty quiet.

         I love you all – Chris

         Chapter Fifty-Five

         Greer still hadn’t moved. The coals in the fire were covered in ash. She was cold but couldn’t summon the effort to drag the quilt from the bed or stoke the fire.

         She was glad she had been sitting when Kate called her out, relieved she had the rocker to steady her hands on. Having to fess up was bad enough but what really scared (and surprised her) was how badly she’d wanted to. She’d even started to, then changed her mind, rationalizing that such self-absorbed confession wouldn’t have been fair to Kate. It was a noble sentiment, maybe even partially true, but Greer knew the real reason; she hadn’t told because she couldn’t bear to have Kate look at her the way those reporters in New York had. Or the way Sig had on that too late, too gin-soaked night in Jordan.

         She squeezed the bone where her nose flared into eye sockets. She squeezed harder, the pain momentarily brighter than her shame for once again trying to exonerate her murderous pride. And something that went far beyond pride.

         Greer felt chilled to her bones.

         Pride was just varnish on the bulwark of her ego, the gloss that protected Greer Madison, War Correspondent. Pride was merely the veneer covering a journalistic legend in the ranks of Ernie Pyle, David Halberstam, Martha Gellhorn. She’d actually read that in the New York Times, sipping orange juice in the Baghdad Sheraton after getting the Peabody for her coverage of the Gulf War.

         “In the ranks, hell,” she had cracked to Philip. “I’ve bloody well skipped to the top over their bones.”

         Her flesh crept and as if to reinforce her disgust, Sig came at her, crouched and reaching. She leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling. Shadows wavered over the beams. Doug had salvaged them from an old barn. He’d loaded the timbers on a flatbed, brought them home, and dumped them in the yard where he and Darlene (and with a week’s worth of her skin and blood) had lovingly restored them. That had been a good visit. Chris had helped with the sanding and Kate had made tuna sandwiches and fresh lemonade for lunch. Kate had been just a kid then.

         Studying the beams, trying to remember which assignment she’d been on, it came to Greer that she was done. She didn’t want to go back to the ‘Stan beat. She couldn’t.

         Greer scooted to the edge of the rocker. Without thinking she opened the stove and poked the coals to life.

         She’d seen it a couple times – that soldier in Vukovar with a child’s body and old man eyes. He dropped his rifle and walked away through a cornfield. The woman in Grozny who left home in the midst of a frenzied shelling determined to get to the bakery. That CBC reporter, what was her name? She quit halfway through a live broadcast and caught the next flight to Canada.

         They’d had it. They were done. Finished.

         Greer tasted the word. She rolled it around in her mouth like a fine wine.

         The word smacked of defeat but felt good. She added a log to the stove. The dying coals snatched at it. She sat back. It was a crazy notion and already she was doubting she could follow through with it because who the hell would she be if she wasn’t covering some tragedy halfway around the world? There wasn’t anything else she knew how or wanted to do.

         She ran her fingers through her hair.

         It wasn’t much but knowing what she didn’t want to do was at least a start. Maybe if all she knew was the one thing, maybe that would be enough. Maybe as she stumbled along the rest would appear upon her tabula rasa, showing her how to go from Greer Madison, Foreign Correspondent, back to Greer Madison, human being.

         She smiled. She wanted to believe she could do it because it felt like the bravest thing she’d done in a very long time.

         Chapter Fifty-Six

         On her way to work Kate banged out of the house catching sight of Greer huddled in the lawn chair. She darted inside, grabbed a throw off the couch, and took it to Greer. Holding it out she said, “You look cold.”

         “Thanks. I am.”

         “Why don’t you go inside?”

         “Can’t read as well. It’s easier to see the print out here.”

         “What are you reading?”

         She twisted her head to see the title and Greer lifted the book for her.

         “More Tsvetaeva.”

         Kate made a face.

         “I know.” Greer smiled. “Not your favorite.”

         Swinging her long legs off the lounge she patted the space she’d made. “Do you have a sec?”

         “Sure.”

         Kate glanced at her watch. If she left right now she’d get to work just on time.

         She took the offered spot and was immediately self-conscious under Greer’s gaze.

         “I’m sorry about last night. I was pushing you to talk about things that are none of my business. I’ve been treating you like a scoop and you’re not one.”

         With a sheepish smile she added, “You sniff out scoops for thirty years you get to be like a shark when it smells blood in the water.”

         “It’s okay. I mean, I guess we all have things we don’t want to talk about. I’m sorry I pushed you, too.”

         “No. You were right to. I need to be pushed. I need to be accountable, Kate. I haven’t been for a long time. You were right to hold my feet to the fire.”

         “Is that what you were doing to me?”

         “Yeah.”

         “Do you really think I’m chicken-shit?”

         “No.” Greer took her hand.

         Her fingers were warm and strong and dry. They reminded Kate of lands that Greer lived in and knew intimately and of all the places that she had never been and would never see. She hungered to trace the veins like underground streams and mount the callused promontories, then cross the open expanse of her palm cut and crisscrossed by riverbeds dreaming of rain and the tracks of relic game, pausing at scars scattered along the trail like bones after a kill.

         “I was just goading you. I shouldn’t have.”

         Greer took her hand away and Kate wanted to cry, “I’m not done,” and snatch it back. Overcome with a loss and longing she couldn’t explain, she looked down at her own hands. They were as blank as a clean sheet of paper.

         “You better get going. I don’t want to make you late.”

         “Yeah,” she agreed, but made no move to go.

         “You all right?”

         She nodded. “I wish I didn’t have to go. I love talking to you.”

         “Me, too.”

         “Really?”

         “Really. You help me sort out the things flapping around in my head.”

         “Like what?”

         They heard a sharp rap from the kitchen window. Her mother stood there with arm held high, tapping her watch.

         “You better get going.”

         “I know. Can I come over tonight?”

         “You should know better than to even ask.”

         “I just...I don’t want to be a pest.”

         “Believe me,” Greer chuckled. “You walk out that door at night and I’m left alone inside my own head. It’s not a nice place to be alone.”

         “How come?”

         “How come?” she repeated.

         Head hung low, her hands dangling in a fist between her legs, Greer picked her words slowly.

         “I feel like each horrible thing I’ve seen and done in the last thirty years was painted on a shard of glass. For thirty years I’ve kept the shards wrapped and stored in a closet in the back of my head. But when the mortar blew up next to me it blew the closet apart. It tossed all the shards into the air and they came down into a gruesome, bloody mosaic that I can’t stop looking at.”

         Kate didn’t know what to say.

         Greer looked up with a soft smile. “After you left last night I had an epiphany.”

         “About what?”

         “My life. What I’m doing. What I’m not doing. I don’t think I can go back to the ‘Stan beat.”

         “Really? I thought you loved it.”

         “I do. I did. I don’t know. It’s still confusing. But I do know one thing. And you helped me see this, Kate. If I do go back, I’ve got to back differently. I can’t be the same person I’ve been.”

         The back door swung open and her mother called, “Kate! You’re going to be late.”

         Kate rolled her eyes and stood. “She’s right. I’ve got to go.”

         She glanced back at her mother retreating into the house. With a wicked grin she said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

         “Shoot.”

         She dropped into a squat to be level with the steady gray eyes.

         “Chris and I always wondered,” she giggled. “Did you and Mom….did you two ever do it?”

         Greer laughed, “Your mother? The homophobe? How can you even ask that?”

         “She totally adores you.”

         “And I her but you can adore someone without sleeping with them.”

         “Well, you two were always so flirty and we always wondered. Besides,” she stood, swinging her skirt coyly, “you said you had a massive crush on her.”

         “Which was never reciprocated,” Greer reminded. “She knew she could flirt with me until the sky fell and nothing would come of it. Come on,” she coaxed. “Think about it. This is your mother we’re talking about. The devout Catholic.”

         “Catholic by convenience. She slept with Dad before they were married.”

         “And she felt terrible about that. She ran off to confession every morning while I was still trying to get my hangover out of bed.”

         “So you’ve just quietly pined all these years.”

         “Well, to be honest I only pined for about six weeks.”

         “Some crush.”

         Greer picked up her book. “I thought you were going to work.”

         Kate laughed. She waggled her fingers, delighted to feel Greer’s eyes following as she sashayed away.

         Chapter Fifty-Seven

         Darlene was irked Kate was going to be late, yet pleased she and Greer were getting on so well. They always had but she didn’t remember them being such pals. It was comforting to watch them. It would be important when she was gone for Kate to have an older woman to turn to. Not that Greer was the greatest role model, but she was wise in her own way and her heart was good. Plus, she was the repository for much of Darlene’s history.

         Kate laughed at something Greer said and Darlene felt her heart catch. Rinsing the coffee filter she couldn’t help but stare at them with their heads together. It reminded her of Chem Lab, how with typical disregard Greer had dumped random chemicals into a beaker and held them over a Bunsen burner.

         “Let’s see what happens,” she had grinned. “Could be fun.”

         And it always had been, Greer’s quick humor and easy affection the perfect foil to Darlene’s fears and anxieties.

         Greer tossed her head back, laughing at something Kate had said, and again her heart tugged. She wanted to run and join them. To laugh and feel easy. Be soft instead of hard. She wanted spring in her blood instead of stolid, unyielding winter.

         That was the danger of Greer, always tempting Darlene to feel more than she should. Frowning, she opened the back door and warned Kate she was going to be late. She went back to the sink. Darlene scrubbed the coffee pot as if she could scrub away the memory of that impulsive night so many years, so many lifetimes ago. The harder she scrubbed, the brighter the memory grew.

         She and Doug had been dating for about two months. The three of them had been out listening to a band with the young and unknown Lyle Lovett. They’d been drinking hard all night, laughing and dancing. It was a typical start to their weekend, though the night would end anything but typically.

         Through a series of slow numbers Doug held and kissed her, whispering heated desire in her ear. Weak-kneed, she was afraid she would fall to the floor without his hands on her. They nuzzled through another song, Doug excited and pressed hard against her. Darlene had pressed back. When the song ended he let go for a moment and she bolted to Greer. Grabbing her hand she had dragged her from the bar.

         “Where are we going?”

         “To the dorm.”

         “Why?”

         Darlene had explained she couldn’t be near Doug another minute, that she was terrified she’d cave to her desire.

         Greer had laughed, “What’s the big deal?”

         “I can’t do that!”

         “Sure you can.” Greer sang, “‘Bird’s do it. Bees do it. Even educated fleas do it.’”

         “We don’t have protection!”

         “Get some.”

         “It’s not that easy.”

         “Sure it is. You go into a drugstore. Plunk down twenty dollars. Get a box of condoms and a tube of spermicide. Simple as a dimple.”

         “How would you know?” Darlene cried.

         “Trust me. I know. Even better. Get on the Pill.”

         “I can’t do that.”

         “Sure you can – oh.”

         Greer hit her forehead with the heel of her palm.

         “The good Catholic girl conundrum. That is a problem.”

         “It is,” Darlene wailed. “Oh, Greer, I feel like I’m on fire. I’m afraid I’m going to do something stupid. Something I’ll regret.”

         In their room Greer had pulled a forbidden bottle of scotch from under her bed and poured them each a couple fingers.

         “To lust.”

         They drained their glasses and refilled them. When Darlene started to cry Greer put an arm around her.

         “Now, see,” she joked. “If you slept with me protection wouldn’t be an issue.”

         Darlene blindly wiped the sparkling countertops.

         With the heat that summer, the unbearable heat inside and out, all that booze…it had made sense when Greer gently kissed her. It was just a kiss between friends. So was the second one. They were friends, Darlene told herself. It didn’t mean anything. Friends kissed all the time. Besides, it felt wonderful.

         From there it was easy to let Greer’s cool fingers soothe her overheated skin, to caress beneath buttons and bands. She didn’t argue when Greer eased her blouse off or brushed her nipples between her lips. She didn’t protest when Greer’s hand slid up her thigh to the fiery locus between her legs and by the time Greer slipped a finger inside her Darlene couldn’t have stopped if she’d wanted to. Sated and ashamed, she‘d rolled over feigning sleep.

         In the morning she dressed in the dark and crept off to the library. She stayed until it closed, hoping Greer would be asleep when she got back to their room. But she was sitting in bed reading and nursing a beer.

         “There you are. Where’ve you been all day?”

         “The library. I’m so behind. My Calc midterm’s coming up so I crammed all day.”

         She fussed about the room, Greer’s eyes branding her.

         “About last night.”

         “Oh, God.” Darlene started the lie she’d rehearsed all day. “I was so drunk! All I remember was walking back here and you pouring scotch. I must have passed out. I hope my snoring didn’t keep you awake.”

         “You didn’t snore,” Greer replied with measured, almost unbearable scrutiny.

         She giggled through her nerves. “See? I was too drunk. I’m so glad I didn’t keep you up. I’m going to take a shower. Goodnight.”

         In the bathroom down the hall she washed and lathered until she’d used all the hot water. When she snuck back into the room she was dismayed to find Greer still awake, the gray eyes still watchful.

         “I’m beat,” she announced. She got into bed and pulled the covers over her head. “Sleep well.”

         After a long while Greer had answered, “You, too,” and turned out the light.

         Darlene glanced out the window.

         Greer was alone, under a blanket in the fog.

         In all the years between them she had never mentioned that night. Not once and for that alone she cherished Greer.

         Blinking hard, Darlene turned away, trying to think what to make for dinner.

         Chapter Fifty-Eight

         Kate was inputting a new business account but her mind was on lunch. She wasn’t as hungry as much as she was excited about leaving the bank for an hour. When her cell phone vibrated against her desk she glanced at the number and answered, “Hi, Jase.”

         “Hi. Got any lunch plans?”

         “Not really. I should do some wedding chores but they can wait. I was going to take a burrito over to the park. Why? Do you have a better idea?”

         “Kind of,” he said slyly.

         “Like?” she answered, knowing well what he had in mind.

         “What are you wearing?”

         She grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

         “I would.”

         “Pick me up in twenty minutes and find out.”

         “How about nineteen?”

         She laughed and hung up. Returning to the computer her thoughts wandered to Greer. She wondered if she was still by the pool or if she’d gone inside; if she was eating a sandwich at the kitchen sink or curled under the quilt in the cottage taking a nap. Maybe she was swimming, long and lean in the cool blue water. She loved how relaxed Greer was with her body, how she didn’t try to hide her nakedness. Joining her last night, stripping and slipping into the water had felt like defiance. Of what, she didn’t know.

         A tingle shivered through her and she glanced at the clock. Jason would be here in ten minutes. She finished the account and hurried to the bathroom to brush her teeth and pin her hair the way he liked. For the final touch she undid the top button of her blouse.

         He was idling at the curb when she stepped outside into the sun. She got in and before he could say anything she kissed him, drawing his tongue into her mouth and sucking hard.

         Behind them a car honked. She sat back and put on her seat belt. While he drove she unbuttoned her blouse and rolled a nipple through her bra. He pushed her hand away.

         “Let me do that.”

         “Then hurry up and park, mister.”

         He did, at their usual spot in a shaded alley behind a bar that didn’t open until two. He came across the seat for her, pushing her bra up and descending on her breasts, sucking and flicking the nipples. Kate moaned at the warm, welcome heat in her crotch, the itch that diverted her from everything else, although she did keep an eye out for roving patrol cars. But the thought of being seen was half the thrill of their lunchtime quickies. Finding how ready she was, Jason pulled her panties down and unzipped himself. She slid up to meet him and as they pounded against the passenger door she reached out to lock it.

         Being seen was one thing. Spilling out into the street would be another.

         He held himself over her, arms quivering with the strain, and she knew he was ready.

         “Yes,” she hissed, thrusting up to him, wanting him to come when she did. “Yes.”

         He groaned her name and she quickly followed him to climax. They straightened their clothes, grinning at each other. Her phone hummed in her purse.

         “Hungry?” he asked.

         “Nah.” She saw it was Aaron calling. “You can just drop me off at the park. I’ll walk back and eat at work.”

         “Sure?”

         “Yeah,” then to Aaron, “Hi. What’s up?”

         “Have you had lunch yet?”

         “I don’t know,” she grinned at her fiancé. “Depends on whether you consider Jason lunch or not.”

         “Oh, stop! You didn’t.”

         “Umm, we did.”

         “Oh, behave. You’re killing me.”

         “Where are you?”

         “Jamba Juice. You?”

         “An undisclosed location, watching Jason tuck his shirt back in. Want me to meet you?”

         “You are such a tease,” he pouted. “No one likes a tease.”

         “Yeah, but if he drops me off at least you get to see him.”

         He sighed. “Fine.”

         She hung up and told Jason, “He’s only deigning to meet me because he gets to see you too.”

         Jason laughed and dropped her off. Aaron leaned through the window, purring, “Smells like sex in here.”

         “Jealous?” Jason grinned and Aaron sulked, “You know I am.”

         “Come on.” She pushed the door open. “I’ve only got a couple minutes.”

         Aaron maintained his mood, complaining, “Between Mr. Right and Lady Brokaw I’m surprised you could squeeze me into your schedule.”

         “Oh, come on. When have I ever not had time for you?”

         “Since Lady B. appeared on the scene. You hardly ever answer your phone anymore. I was truly shocked when you picked up.”

         It was true she’d ignored a couple of his calls when she’d been with Greer.

         “Don’t pout. She’ll be gone soon. I’m just enjoying her while she’s here.”

         “What do you two do all the time?”

         “We talk.”

         “Oh, please. What can you possibly have in common with each other? She’s old enough to be the Queen.”

         “What don’t we have to talk about? She’s been everywhere and done everything. I feel like a total loser next to her but at the same time she makes me feel like anything’s possible. Like I could be more than just a flunky in a bank. I feel like my future’s limitless when I’m with her.”

         “You are so-o crushed out on her.”

         She punched his arm.

         “Ow!”

         “You are such a puto. Do you ever think with your big head?”

         “Not when it’s so much fun thinking with my little one. But seriously. Are you attracted to her?”

         “Aaron, she’s old enough to be my mother.”

         “So? Brad Pitt’s old enough to be my father and I’d pay to go down on him. Older’s better.”

         “How would you know?”

         He shrugged and sipped his smoothie. She stared at him. Aaron told her everything but he hadn’t told her this.

         “Who?” she demanded.

         He flicked a wrist. “You wouldn’t know him.”

         “When?”

         “Last summer. One of my professors.”

         “No way!”

         “Yes, way. And he was scrumptious.”

         “Why didn’t you tell me?”

         “I couldn’t. He swore me to secrecy. He could lose his job if anyone found out.”

         “So what happened?”

         “He was married. It was just a fling. I knew it wouldn’t last but it was awfully nice while it did. He gave me this.”

         Aaron shot his Rolex from under his sleeve.

         “You said you bought that. That you charged it and it would take forever to pay off.”

         “I lied,” he said unapologetically. “What was I supposed to do?”

         “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Like who would I tell?”

         “Oh, I know you wouldn’t deliberately tell anyone but what if it slipped? By accident. It would have been horrible for him. Besides, it’s no big deal. It’s not like he was the love of my life or anything. He was just a fling. Two ships passing in the night. Well, a couple nights.”

         “Still.”

         Now it was her turn to brood. Aaron sucked at his straw, ogling a man that could have been a GQ model.

         “So anyway, age is nothing. Do you like her?”

         “Of course I do. Duh-uh. But it doesn’t mean I want to sleep with her. Is that a concept you can possibly wrap your mind around?”

         “It’s giving me a little trouble,” he admitted.

         “Work on it. Give me a sip.”

         She grabbed his cup.

         “Hey! Get your own!”

         “Besides,” she ignored him. “She’s not even interested in me.”

         “How do you know?”

         “Because.”

         “Because why?”

         Kate didn’t have an answer. She sipped from his drink again, remembering Greer’s eyes on her as she’d walked away. The thought made her warm and she blushed, hoping Greer had liked what she’d seen.

         Chapter Fifty-Nine

         That evening Kate called at her usual time – after dinner but before leaving for Jason’s. They talked about their days, briefly, and Greer offered to read a poem. When she finished, they sat comfortably in the ensuing stillness.

         “You met Dad on the swim team?”

         “Hm-hm.”

         “How long between the time you knew him and the time you met Mom?”

         “Hell, I don’t know.” She pursed her lips and sucked in a breath as if that might sharpen her memory. “About a year. Couple semesters. Why?”

         “And you never did it with him either?”

         “Strange child,” she chuckled. “Why do you keep insisting I’ve slept with your parents?”

         “I don’t know.” Kate picked at a nail. “He’s crazy about you. And you him, right? I just can’t imagine being friends with someone so long without …I don’t know…a deeper connection.”

         “Do you sleep with all your friends?”

         “No. But I can’t imagine who my friends will be in twenty years. I mean, Aaron and I are close, we’re like best friends, but, I don’t know, I just can’t imagine him being around twenty years from now. He’s as loyal as he is single. When he’s chasing pant, forget it, I never see him.”

         “You have girlfriends.”

         “Yeah. Some. I love hanging out with Cindy and Lea.” Kate seemed to struggle before adding, “Well, I used to. I don’t really confide in them. I mean, I do. I did. We used to cry over guys and bad exams but since Chris died it’s like if I tell them what I’m really feeling they don’t get it.”

         “What about Jason?”

         “He’s sweet,” Kate scowled, “but he expects me to be a certain way. It just seems like with you and Mom and Dad you all get to be who you are and nobody questions it. I know Mom gives you a hard time about being a lesbian and all that but that’s just her old-school Catholic self. She adores you and when you guys argue it’s like you’re all allowed to be who you are without having to convince each other who’s right or wrong. I always feel like I have to back down and give in. You’re lucky you have such good friends.”

         “I am,” she agreed. “Part of that comes with longevity. Friendships get built over time.”

         Kate hugged her knees and asked, “Will you still be my friend in twenty years?”

         “It’s an honor to be your friend now and if I live another twenty years I certainly plan on it.”

         “Why wouldn’t you?”

         “Why wouldn’t I what?”

         “Live another twenty years?”

         “Who knows?” she shrugged. “Mortar. IED. Plane crash. Bullet. Stroke. There are as many ways to die as there are to live. I don’t plan on going anywhere but who does?”

         They stared at the fire until Greer shook her head. “There I go again.”

         “There you go what?”

         “Wanting to ask you something that’s none of my business.”

         Kate laughed. “That’s your job.”

         “Yeah, but I’m not working.”

         Facing her, Kate affirmed, “Yes, my hair is red, and no, I’m not going to prove it.”

         Greer felt her cheeks go hot and was glad for the poor lighting.

         “I know you’re a redhead, silly. I saw you stark naked in the pool last night.”

         They both smiled and turned back to the fire. After a brief lull, Kate ventured, “What did you want to ask?”

         “You don’t mind?”

         “As long as you don’t call me chicken-shit again.”

         “No. What I’d really like to know is,” she paused to make sure she had Kate’s attention. “Do you love Jason?”

         “Of course I do.”

         Kate shifted toward the fire but the move didn’t hide her annoyance and with a sudden clap she again changed the subject.

         “Hey! I’ve been meaning to ask you to read my fortune. Would you?”

         Greer offered an amiable smile. “I told you. I can’t.”

         “But you know what the cards mean, right? Come on,” Kate begged. “Please?”

         “No.” She wagged her head.

         “Please? Pretty please?”

         “I’ve never read them for anybody. I just play with them.”

         “So play with them with me. Come on, just one time?”

         “I don’t –”

         “Come on-n, Greer. Please.”

         “All right,” she conceded, unable to resist Kate’s enthusiasm. “If you insist.”

         “I do!”

         Rummaging in her pack she looked around and instructed, “Let’s sit on the bed. We’ll use the footrest for a table.”

         Kate moved the stool and sat at the end of the bed. Greer passed her the worn deck.

         “Shuffle however you want, as long as you want.”

         “Should I think of a question?”

         “Depends. Do you want a general reading or do you want a specific answer to something?”

         Kate’s eyes widened. “Listen to you, Madame I-Don’t-Know-What-I’m-Doing.”

         Greer grinned. “Shuffle.”

         “I want an answer.”

         “Then think of the question while you’re shuffling.”

         Kate closed her eyes and Greer took advantage, admiring her openly and without shame. It pleased her that despite an insipid wedding, warring parents, a dead brother and boring career, Kate’s spirit still glowed like stars in a desert sky.

         She opened her eyes. The fire danced in them, as innocent and wondrous as lightning bugs on a summer night, on evenings so warm and magical that Greer had believed it when her father told her that fireflies were fairies that nibbled the moon and flew back with its crumbs in their bellies, on evenings so simple and pure she had believed in the promise and possibility of everything.

         “Okay. Now what?”

         Greer blinked. She held her hand out for the cards.

         “Now we see what they say.”

         She laid six in a cross and lined four to the right, turning each face up.

         “Hm.”

         Kate squirmed against her shoulder.

         “Hm what?”

         “It’s interesting.”

         “Tell me!”

         “Remember,” she warned. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

         “Right. You keep saying that. Go on.”

         “All right, let’s see.”

         She bent over the makeshift table and pointed to the first card.

         “Here’s the situation. Where you are in life right now. The Six of Wands. It looks like you’ve got it all together. That you’re riding high. You’re a success. You’ve got it all. But the card lying on top of it, the Hanged Man, is the cross card. It signifies what’s opposing or blocking the Six of Wands.”

         Twisting her neck to get a better view of the man suspended from a tree, Kate grimaced. “That can’t be good.”

         Greer shrugged.

         “The Hanged Man is self-imposed trials. See?” She pointed to the character. “He’s only hanging by one foot. The other’s free. He’s not trapped. And he looks serene. He’s in a waiting phase, like a butterfly in a cocoon, and during this maturation process, while he’s upside down, his outlook is changed. He’s looking at the world in a different way. He’s taking it in from this new perspective.”

         “What about that one?” Kate touched a finger to the card showing a skeleton.

         “Hold on, we’ll get there. Below these two is the Three of Coins, what’s happening in your subconscious. Coins are about material stability, physical comfort. The Three Coins suggest pride in your work. Integrity. Stick-to-it-ness and teamwork. Up here,” she moved to the top of the spread, “in the recent past, is the High Priestess. Or Popess.”

         She studied the card until Kate dug an elbow into her side. “Well?”

         “Secrets, Kate. She’s all about secrets. Forbidden knowledge.”

         Greer moved on to the card just right of the cross.

         “Here’s what’s concerning you right now, occupying your thoughts and motivating your actions. This is Temperance. It suggests moderation, evenhandedness, keeping everything flowing smoothly. And over here,” she crossed to the card on the left, “is the near future. The Lovers. Self-explanatory.”

         “Why are those ones lined up on the side?”

         “I don’t know. Tradition.”

         She tapped the bottom card.

         “Number Seven signifies a role you’ve taken on, your persona. Here it’s the King of Wands. A fiery go-getter with a take-charge personality. He gets things done. Makes things happen. Above him are the outside influences, the circumstances that are acting on you now. Six Coins, meaning benevolence. A benefactor. Aid from above. Generosity. A kind friend.”

         “That’d be you,” Kate grinned.

         She returned the smile, touched by the easy compliment.

         “Number Nine,” she continued. “What you hope and fear. Five Coins. Grief. Darkness. Spiritual isolation. Poverty of the soul. Reliance on exterior rather than interior strength.”

         She’d expected her to protest but Kate surprised Greer by nodding.

         “This,” she picked up the dancing skeleton, “is the eventual outcome.

         “Death?” Kate whispered.

         Greer nodded. “One of my favorite cards. It doesn’t mean literal death. It means transformation. Rebirth. The passing of one phase and the start of another. Natural cycles like the changing of the seasons. Like a chrysalis emerging from its cocoon to become a butterfly.”

         She drew attention to the five most important cards.

         “Death, the High Priestess, the Lovers, Temperance and the Hanged Man are all Major Arcana cards and the Major Arcana supposedly have a more powerful influence then the Minor Arcana or the pips, the rest of your cards. So you have five powerful forces acting on you right now. The number five suggests that you’re undergoing a major conflict, some type of struggle or dilemma.”

         She turned to Kate. “True?”

         Kate bit at the skin around her finger. It bled.

         “Tell me more about the Hanged Man. Wasn’t that the card that the clairvoyant in The Waste Land couldn’t find?”

         “That’s right.”

         Greer hunched over the card.

         “Let’s see. It means a hundred and eighty degree turnaround. A shift in perspective. A willing sacrifice. Endurance and patience leading to new awareness. Maybe the clairvoyant can’t find the card because when you’re in the midst of transformation it’s hard to see it as such.

         “Some of the greatest gods were willingly hung prior to resurrection – Jesus from the cross; Odin from the Tree of Life; Artemis from a sacred cypress. The punishment of hanging someone upside down used to be called baffling.”

         She picked up the card.

         “See how the position baffles the ego. It forces helplessness. All you can do is wait and be patient. With nothing to rely on but inner strength. It’s an initiation, a crucifixion of self. What will come of the trial and sacrifice? What will emerge from the cocoon?”

         “Not all butterflies make it out alive,” Kate brooded. “Some die in the cocoon.”

         Greer studied her. “The weak ones, Kate. The ill. But not the strong. Not the ones like you.”

         She tapped the Hanged Man.

         “You’re becoming a magnificent butterfly. You’re going to make it out just fine.”

         Tears stood in Kate’s eyes. Greer ached to touch her proud chin, to tilt it toward her, to dry whatever tears might fall.

         Kate whipped her hair back, batting her eyes. “Wow. You’re good. That was more than I expected.”

         “I just read ‘em. You picked ‘em.”

         She started to gather the cards but Kate stopped her.

         “Do you really think they work?”

         Kate reclined on the bed, flushed and radiant.

         Greer looked away into the fire, at the flames that wouldn’t burn her. She stood, putting distance between her and the woman on her bed.

         “You tell me, Kate. You tell me.”

         Chapter Sixty

         There were so many nights she had cradled him in this very chair, a breathing extension of her arms and breasts and belly, his weight a warm blanket giving off the sweet, sweaty smell of little boy. Rocking him to sleep when his teeth came in, when he was colicky, after his tonsillectomy, the night he fell down the stairs. The last time must have been when he had that awful fever. He’d twisted and moaned in her lap, alternately freezing and burning. When he spiked to 103º she woke Doug and they raced him to the emergency room. Or was it when he ran into the sliding glass door and she had rocked him the entire night to keep him from dozing into concussive sleep?

         Katie had been such an easy child in comparison – never ill from anything but the normal run of ailments. But Chris was forever cut or scraped or bruised. He was a mini-tornado. Spinning through the house, out the door, into the yard. Always into something, always curious, eager to do whatever the older boys next door were doing or willing to accept a friend’s dare.

         So much like John, she thought, puzzled at what offense she must have given God to have lost a brother so young and then her son. Maybe that was her punishment for surely He must have foreseen how she would turn her back on Him.

         Darlene smoothed the letter in her lap.

         His rhythm was present in the nursery bedroom.

         Until Chris died she refused to think of John but they were so much alike it was hard to remember one without thinking of the other. Like her son, her brother had been up for any adventure and ready to take on all challenges. Like Chris, he’d been a good boy, sweet to his sister and baby brother Al. The moodiness came later, similar to the edgy tone in Chris’ last letters. She wondered if he would have turned to drink like John had, if her love would have failed him too, leaving only the solace of bottles and fast cars.

         She could still see in the tree John had crashed into, its bark flayed and shredded to the raw heartwood. Every day on their way to school she had walked Al past that tree and imagined the scream of twisting metal. She’d pass quickly, eyes down, clutching Al’s hand, and when she chanced the occasional glance it made her feel like she was falling and falling, falling forever with her mother’s screams in her ears…

         She straightened in the rocker. It reassured that despite her many faults she’d at least never broken down like her mother. What Chris had endured because of her obligated her to bear as much and more. She knew Doug mistook her silence for denial, and she bore that too, unable to explain that the muteness he detested was a gift that spared him an excoriating truth.

         She looked at the letter and her heart cramped.

         Just when she thought it could never get harder, that she’d endured the worst of it, the pain came like an axe, a blunt axe heated glowing red and driven into her heart up to the shaft. It continually amazed her that she could breathe through the pain. That her lungs continued to pump, and that despite the excruciation in each cell, from the tips of her toenails to the ends of her hair, there was room enough around the pain for oxygen. Each time she wondered if the pain would be too much. If her body would just quit, the cells winking out one by one, like stars at the end of time.

         But her lungs pumped steadily, as they always did. Her heart beat smoothly, like it always had. Eventually her hands stopped shaking and she opened her eyes. She stared at the letter in her lap.

         “Hi,” she whispered. “I probably shouldn’t even be writing this...”

         Chapter Sixty-One

         Hi – I probably shouldn’t even be writing this but I have to tell someone.

         Crazy day. We were out on recon and all of a sudden hell broke loose. Incoming overhead and one of our Humvees goes up in smoke and dirt and its like I’m looking at a slow-mo shot. I see an arm in a camo sleeve hanging in the air like a perfectly kicked football and I’m thinking ‘man that’s an incredible hangtime. How can that stay up so long? Probably the updraft from the explosion.’ And I think that in like half a second then I’m ducking and running and somebody’s screaming “Corpsman! Corpsman!” just like in a fucking movie. But it’s real faint because I’m practically deaf and I’m trying to figure out who’s screaming and where the rounds are coming from. They sound like 60mms and just then our Humvee jumps, bounces in the air and Rodriguez was still inside but then he wasn’t. There was nothing left of him and I got some cover behind a building and I’m trying like fuck to figure where the rounds are coming from and I’m heading to Paschowski. He’s down and his guts are spilled on the street like a bucket of sausage and I’m on automatic piling his guts onto his stomach and securing them for transport, and another guy comes up to me screaming “Doc! Over here!” He starts pulling me toward two grunts dragging a big guy with half a leg gone and he’s leaving this river of blood and I’m thinking oh my god I can’t do this but I get Ski as prepped as I can and I’m calling for a medevac at the same time as I’m running to the guy without the leg. We get him behind a building and I’m dicking around with a tourniquet before I even I think to check and see if the poor bastard is still alive. So I look and his pupils are blown. He’s got no pulse, nothing. And I can’t believe I’m trying to bandage a dead guy and I almost start laughing at how stupid I am and I can hardly hear anything but Heller grabs my arm and I can hear him shouting only I can’t make out what he’s saying and he drags me over to two other guys behind the wreck of our Humvee. They look bad but they’re all superficial wounds and I’m still trying to figure out where the enemy is, where the fire’s coming from but there isn’t anymore and my ears are ringing but from far away like we’re underwater and I hear Nick screaming into the radio “your shelling our own fucking guys” over and over he’s screaming into the radio “your shelling us” and he was right. We got shelled by a 2/7 Task Force that couldn’t even tell we were their own guys. And then the official word is that we only took one casualty and I feel like killing a higher up because I saw Ski with my own eyes and that kid was dead before I even got to him and Rodriguez just evaporated but the official word is we only lost one man and that’s such an appalling lie and I don’t know how it can’t be found out. Sarge says just to shut the fuck up and quit worrying about it that it’ll get straightened out, but when? By who? I think if you die in battle you should get counted. I don’t think it’s asking too much to have your death counted and recorded and respected. It seems like little enough to ask given the sacrifice the poor dead bastard makes. God! I’m so frustrated. I don’t know what to think anymore. I don’t know who to believe when my own army is the enemy. But like Sarge says, I guess there’s mix-ups in every war. I should go. Chow time. Oh man. I don’t know that I can ever say that again without thinking of Pachowski. I’m not hungry. But I got to go for the guys that can’t eat tonight. The guys that don’t have that luxury. And the guys that look to me to keep them together. Sorry to dump all this on you but I have to tell someone. The guys look to the corpsman to keep them together. I have to try and keep it all together for them. It’s really not so bad. It’ll be okay. I just need to blow some steam. Thanks for letting me. Mom don’t get freaked out. It’s really not as bad as it sounds. Thank you guys so much. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I love you. I can’t wait to come home and see you all. Chris

         Chapter Sixty-Two

         “Thanks for telling my fortune.”

         “You’re welcome. Did it answer your question?”

         Kate shrugged. “They’re pretty accurate.”

         “How so?”

         “I don’t know,” she hedged. “Most of them anyway.”

         All of them, she thought, disturbed that the cards knew her better than she knew herself. Secrets and struggles. Holding it all together. And waiting. That was the worst because she didn’t even know what she was waiting for. She was in limbo, just like the Hanged Man.

         She chewed on a nail.

         “You know what?”

         “Uh-uh.”

         “You’re the only one that’s ever asked me if I love Jason.”

         Pretending not to notice Greer’s eyes all over her, she stared into the fire, relieved when Greer began, “A long time ago I was on assignment in New Delhi. To get to the office every day I had to ride down an awful road that ran through the red light district. Extreme poverty on all sides. Sewage in the streets, kids picking through looking for food You can’t imagine such mean poverty.

         “There was a beautiful little girl that lived along the way. Six years old and just stunning. She had the most incredible eyes I’ve ever seen on a human being. Gold, like a wolf’s or a cat’s. She came from a long line of prostitutes – her mother, grandmother, sisters – they’d all been whores and soon she would be too. That’s just the way it was.

         “But when I met her she was still a kid. Every time she saw me she’d laugh and run up to my bicycle. She knew I was good for a candy or two. I never left the hotel without something in my pocket for the kids. One day she came running up as usual, and I noticed she was wiping something off her lips. It looked like lipstick and I tried to warn her not to grow up too quickly.

         “Of course she didn’t understand what I was saying but she took the candy anyway and laughed at my awful Hindi. Beyond her, her mother was talking to a man. He gave the woman some rupees and she waved the girl over. She ran up to them and the mother combed her fingers through the girl’s hair and dabbed some lipstick on her from a pot. Then she put her daughter’s hand into the man’s and they went inside together. The daughter led the way. I asked around and they told me she was already whoring and was very popular.”

         Kate hugged herself, braced for the beguiling horror.

         “She didn’t know anything different. It was her life and she didn’t think anything of it. She begged candy like the other kids, laughed at the funny American lady, and did what her mother told her to. She’d adapted to her circumstances. In that same neighborhood there was a toddler who’d lost his right leg and half his left from simple infection. He’d crab up to my bike, pulling himself on his hands and pushing with his stump. He and the little girl had adapted so seamlessly they didn’t even know they’d adapted. They just thought it was normal.”

         Greer went mute. They watched the coals gleam and again Kate felt the beautiful fish slipping from her hands.

         Miserably, she admitted, “I know there’s a point to that but I don’t get it.”

         Greer leaned on the edge of the rocker and opened the damper.

         “Some places its normal for girls to be hooking at six. Other places it’s normal for girls to abstain until they’re a certain age then get married and have children. So normal one might not even stop to think they had options. It’s a pressure as subtle as air. One wouldn’t notice it until there was too much or too little pressure.”

         “That all sounds lovely in theory,” she countered, “but did that little girl really have options?”

         Their eyes met. Greer’s moved away first.

         “I just fell in love with her. I don’t know why. She was so excited about life. So joyous despite everything. I couldn’t stand the thought of her wasted in that ghetto, so I enrolled her in boarding school. I had to get permission from her mother and grandmother. They were vehemently opposed. After all, they’d lose money if she went away. But they consented when I agreed to compensate them for her lost income.”

         Greer smiled.

         “She was ecstatic, golden eyes shining, her smile as high and wide as the sky. She was sad to leave her family but thrilled about school. She was bright and curious, smart as a slap across the face.”

         The smile on Greer’s face faded.

         “She was there for two months. Went home one day for a visit and her mom wouldn’t let her go back. That was it. They wouldn’t let her talk to me. Wouldn’t take more money. They wanted her home and working. Period. In her place.”

         She opened the stove to stir coals that didn’t need stirring.

         “I still send money to the school. It helps someone.”

         “But not the golden-eyed girl.”

         “No. Not her.”

         They stared at the flames until Kate couldn’t bear it anymore.

         “So she didn’t have options.”

         .Greer sighed, “There are always options, Kate.”

         “But you just said she went back to being a hooker.”

         Greer hunched near the stove again, like she wanted to slip into it. Like it would have been easier than opening her mouth and with swift foreboding Kate didn’t want her to. But it was too late.

         “Being a reporter, I had to follow up on her. I couldn’t let her go. I even talked my boss into doing a feature about her. Where she came from, where she was inevitably headed. Which was a long, lonely decline into even worse poverty after her looks faded.

         “A couple years had passed since I’d seen her and the family had moved into an even more squalid tenement down the road, but she wasn’t hard to find. Everyone on G.B. Road knew those eyes, and how she’d grown into a stunning, colt-legged young woman. They said men came from all over to be with her. And of course they all remembered how she’d stabbed one of those men. Over and over until he staggered into the street, all the neighborhood dogs following, lapping up his blood. And everyone remembered how they’d found her. Lying on a filthy cot, soaked in blood, her hand still wrapped around the knife she’d rammed into her throat.”

         “Oh my God.”

         “They said the blade went all the way through. Came out her neck.”

         Kate bit hard on her lip. She didn’t want to cry in front of Greer but the tears came anyway.

         “I’ve got to go. Jason’s waiting.”

         “Katie. I’m sorry.”

         “It’s okay.” She got to the door before Greer could stop her. “See you tomorrow.”

         Running across the lawn, she tripped the motion lights and lifted her arm to hide the glare from her tears. She ran to the house and stopped. She was supposed to be on her way to Jason’s. Kate crumpled on the back steps, unsure if she was crying for herself or a girl who had no better option than a knife to her neck.

         Chapter Sixty-Three

         The September sun surprised Darlene. It fell pale gold through the car window but she’d thought it was still summer. The poison oak on the hills had gone scarlet and sycamore leaves drooped drab and dusty, finished but for the final push of falling to the ground.

         And the limp leaves waited for rain...

         Behind her, a car honked.

         Darlene jolted, accelerating under the green light. The car sped up to pass then slowed beside her. Darlene refused to look though she could see the driver gesticulating at her. She braked and he shot past.

         Her throat tightened and she blinked back tears. She wanted to pull over and burst into tears. For the spent leaves and fading light, for a stranger’s calculated meanness, for the dumb effort of the day ahead when all she could bear was the thought of walking into the ocean to join her son.

         Darlene gripped the wheel. Breath by breath she pulled herself together. She focused on the immediate things she must do.

         Drive. Carefully. Defensively. Get to work alive.

         That made her choke back a laugh, but until Kate was married, she had responsibilities. She envisioned getting to the office and parking. Walking into the building. Pouring coffee she didn’t want. Exchanging “Good mornings”. The stack of folders on her desk, the Sanders return with its chaos of undocumented expenses; the Bueller account, waiting for copies of property tax checks. There was the IRS training she had to complete by Wednesday; back-to-back appointments with clients until three-thirty; after all that, if she got the paperwork from the morning’s appointments organized she might have time for a quick walk on the beach. After that she had to get groceries. Between Greer and Kate it was hard to keep food in the house. She would not allow herself to remember how hard it had been when Chris was alive and rampaging through everything edible.

         Maybe she would Shake ‘n Bake some chops for dinner. Greer didn’t get much pork on her assignments and always looked forward to it when she was home. Pork chops with frozen spinach, baked potatoes, and quick bagged salad. She’d buy ice cream if she thought Greer would get to it before Kate.

         The planning calmed her. With the details of the day accounted for, her thoughts wandered to the rewards of the day, the beach and a letter.

         She closed her eyes at the stoplight, reciting, “Hi guys. Not much going on.”

         Chapter Sixty-Four

         Hi guys –

         Not much going on. I just heard that Houston from Alpha Company bought it. They were on patrol outside of Fallujah and got fired on. They lost three guys. Houston was one of them. I’m so glad he got to swim in the Tigris. I’ll never forget him jumping up and down and laughing how he was swimming in Tigers. I have a picture of him in my head with the sun shining on him, splashing and the water around him suspended like diamonds. He was just a dumb kid from Massachusetts but in that moment he was a prince. We were all princes that day. For about half an hour we were happy. I’m so glad he had those minutes. It makes me think how sweet life is and for some of us, how short. Hope all is well with you. We’re just sitting around cheating at poker before we go out on patrol. More and more I have to wonder why we’re doing this, what good it’s doing.

         Yesterday we went into an apartment complex and evacuated fifty-three women and children. Then we blew it up. When I asked the Captain why we’d done that he told me that we had to destroy the building in order to help the people living inside it. No kidding. I’m not making this shit up.

         We’re supposed to be public relations, “winning the hearts and minds of the people” but then we blow up their homes or roust them at gunpoint in the middle of the night and let me tell you this isn’t winning them over. They come up to us when we’re out on patrol and they’re frustrated. Over and over they tell us at least with Saddam we had water and electricity. We had jobs. Now? We have nothing. No food, no work, no water, no electricity. Why are you doing this to us? You said you were coming to help, to make things better. Now all we have is soldiers in our houses, scaring our women and children. How are you helping? It’s no wonder our young men want to fight you. You invaded our country and now you’ve made it worse. Is it any surprise they want to kill you, to make you Americans go away? – This goes on every night. I understand they’re frustrated but we never know what to tell them. We’re just dumb grunts doing what we’re told to do. Maybe it’s all fucked up. Maybe they’re right. Or maybe someone has a bigger plan that I just can’t see. I hope it’ll all work it out. It has to because if it doesn’t, man, we’ve pissed off a lot of people.

         I don’t like to think about that too much. I’ve just got to keep my head down and do my job until I can come home. I miss you and love you so much. – Chris

         Chapter Sixty-Five

         The cottage was hot and stuffy. Hauling her shirt over her head Kate caught Greer’s admiring glance. Suddenly shy, she fussed with a camisole strap, babbling, “Mom hates the way I dress. She says it’s tawdry.”

         Greer’s laugh was satisfying. “That sounds like something your mother would say.”

         “What do you think?” she fished.

         “I wouldn’t say tawdry, but I think clothes should be used subtly, to create mystery. Modern fashion doesn’t leave much to the imagination. It’s like spreading a meal out on the table leaving no curiosity as to what the next course is.”

         “Hmph. You must be in heaven in Burqha-land.”

         “A Muslim woman can say more with her eyes than a western woman can with a pen and a pad of paper.”

         Kate had no comeback. Gnawing on a cuticle she stewed in the rebuff. Greer lifted a book from the pile on the floor.

         “Poem?”

         “Whatever.”

         “Any requests?”

         “No.”

         While Greer’s head was bent in search of a poem Kate took in the silver hair and laugh lines. Watching her squint, she asked, “Why don’t you wear glasses if you can’t see?”

         “That dreadful pride,” Greer admitted. “They make me feel old. Besides I always lose them or break them.”

         Getting even for the snub about her clothes, she shot back, “If you’re worried about looking old you ought to dye your hair.”

         “No point in that either. My face gives me away. Truth is, I’m just plain old. Short of extensive cosmetic surgery, there’s no hiding it.”

         Kate relented. “You’re not that old.”

         Greer grinned. “What’s that old mean?”

         “Like…I don’t know,” she giggled. “Like somebody’s grandmother or something. You’re cool. Most of the time. You don’t act old.”

         “Well, I am. Believe me. My aching bones remind me everyday.”

         “Do they really ache?”

         “A lot. In places I’ve bruised or broken or battered.”

         “God.” Kate shook her head.

         “What?”

         “You’ve just lived so much. Next to you I’m about as experienced as a newborn.”

         “You’ll get there,” Greer assured. “Don’t forget. I’ve got thirty years on you.”

         “Not quite.”

         “Close enough.”

         She was still rummaging through poems and Kate pleaded, “Would you mind reading Eliot again or are you sick of him?”

         “I’m never sick of Eliot.”

         Holding a bent knee, Kate leaned back and listened, envisioning sepia tea and cakes and lonely men in shirt-sleeves.

         Greer finished. She put the book down and rubbed her eyes.

         “I think I’m Prufrock,” Kate confessed.

         She expected Greer to laugh but she opened the stove and prodded the coals, asking, “How so?”

         “I don’t know. I’m being melodramatic.”

         She watched Greer tend the fire.

         “Chris wrote a letter one time about this kid they took swimming in the Tigris. One of the guys in his squad thought the river was called the Tigers and the whole time they were swimming he kept yelling, ‘I’m swimming in Tigers! I’m swimming in Tigers!’ Chris thought it was totally funny. That’s what it feels like sometimes. Like I’m swimming in tigers. Like they’re all around me and I can’t get to shore.”

         She waited for the prying question or story with a moral but Greer left them stranded in the silence.

         “It’s silly, compared to the golden-eyed girl. Or what you must go through. Bombs and mortars and all that.”

         “Bombs and mortars are the tigers you can see. Those are easy to deal with. The dangerous tigers are the one hiding inside you waiting to pounce.”

         “Do you have tigers?”

         “Everyone does.”

         “What are yours?”

         Greer hung the poker in the rack.

         “What are my tigers?” she repeated.

         She sat back and smiled at Kate, but it was a sad smile.

         “Now there’s a story.”

         Chapter Sixty-Six

         “Not too long after I started working the ‘Stan beat my crew and I got word of a massacre about ten clicks south of Masar-al-Sharif. In Afghanistan, just south of the Tajikstan border. It was the dead of winter, miserable weather. Cold. God Almighty it was cold. Two feet of snow on the ground with more on the way, blowing in from Siberia on a ferocious wind that you couldn’t keep from biting through your coat or your blankets. Hans – my photographer – he had to keep his cameras inside his shirt so the mechanisms wouldn’t freeze. It was vile weather. Just miserable.

         “But off we went to check out the story. On skinny little donkeys that we had to beat for every step. Took us four hours to get there and by then it was almost dark.”

         Despite the years Greer easily recalled passing single file through the narrow gorge, the loud silence of the wind broken by a donkey stamping its hoof, and another snorting white air. But louder even then the silence of the bone-aching wind was the feeding of jackals.

         “They weren’t big dogs – medium-sized. About thirty or so, scattered around the draw. They were all lying in the snow gorging on a face or a hand or leg. Even over the wind you could hear them ripping flesh and crunching bones. One would growl occasionally at a vulture getting too close, but the warning was half-hearted.

         See,” she twisted in the rocker to pin Kate with a wan smile, “there was plenty to eat. The jackals were feasting on a hundred and fifty-three Soviet soldiers.”

         She turned back to the fire.

         “It was near the end of the war. They were defeated and starving and frozen. They just wanted to go home. If they could make it across the border into Tajikstan, they’d be safe. So they decided to take a shortcut through a pass that was heavily guarded, gambling that with the weather being so bad the mujhahideen would be riding it out someplace warm. And a lot of them were. But not all of them. They left a handful of snipers scattered up in the rocks with an RPG and a box of mines.”

         Greer considered the fire, its yellow flames the same color as the jackals.

         “They were beautiful dogs. Their coats fist-deep coats, thick with winter, all gold and caramel. Except their noses and their paws, which were solid red. They looked up when we rode into the draw but not one of them ran. I’d seen enough of them by now to know that they usually ran off at the first sign of danger then darted back for a bite here, a mouthful there. I don’t know if these dogs were too full or too hungry. Either way, they were too slow.

         “The guides opened fire. Then they ran. One was dragging its hind legs across the snow, its guts following like purple snakes. Another was howling and twisting around in the snow. It couldn’t get up. One got to its feet only to fall down again. It kept getting up and falling. Getting up and falling. I couldn’t stop watching and even though I was a little deaf from the rifles I wasn’t deaf enough that I couldn’t hear them whimpering and howling.

         “I thought that was what it must have been like for the soldiers. Howling and crying, dragging themselves through the snow.”

         She glanced at Kate. Her face was white.

         “I’m sorry. Should I stop?”

         “No.” Kate shook her head. “Go on.”

         Greer bent closer to the warmth of the fire.

         “It was a relief when the guides started bashing their heads in. I watched them kill each one. I felt like it was the least I could do. They’d just been jackals doing their jackal thing, scavenging a windfall, tending to business, trying to survive.

         “In minutes the guides skinned the pelts, stacked them on their donkeys, and mounted up. They were nervous and ready to go. The small light left was getting murkier and murkier and new snow was falling. Hans got his pictures, I got my notes and we started out of the draw, but as I swung onto my donkey I saw a flash across the meadow. It was one of the jackals, sitting behind a patch of scrub. It was holding one of its forepaws in the air. Or what was left of it. It dangled by a couple tendons.

         “Hans and the guides had already started through the pass. Then he stopped and yelled what was I looking at? I could hear the guides grumbling and the donkeys stamping their feet. None of us, not even the donkeys, wanted to get caught there after dark. Hans asked me again what I was looking at but I couldn’t turn around.”

         She looked at Kate.

         “You know how a dog will nibble at a burr or something stuck in its foot? Well, that’s what this jackal was doing. For maybe half a minute, half a lifetime it felt like, it very calmly, very quietly sat there and chewed its foot off. Then just as calmly it got up, looked at me and limped out the draw.

         “I beat that donkey, Kate. I dug my heels in and kicked it hard. I’d never wanted out of anyplace so badly. All of a sudden I was afraid I was going to end up like one of those poor bastards in the snow who had just wanted to go home and be warm and fed and safe.”

         She rubbed her head.

         “I think about those jackals all the time and how much like them I am. Which isn’t fair to jackals. At least they have puppies, raise families. I don’t even do that. I just wait for a kill, then dart in, get my story, and dart out.”

         “And chew your foot off when you have to?”

         She expected ridicule when she looked up at Kate but was pained to see only sincerity. She regretted telling such a brutal story and wanted very much to pull Kate close, to kiss her, to feel nothing but skin on skin, and colliding breath and wetness.

         “Yes.” She nodded. “And chew my foot off when I have to. Because the tigers, the things I’m afraid of…”

         She tapped a finger on the rocker arm.

         “...my tigers are yellow evenings and smoky fires and rolled up sleeves and empty tea cups. What I am afraid of...”

         Greer made herself say it. “Is of not mattering.”

         Pitch snapped in the fireplace. She looked to Kate, lovely and desirable in the fire glow. She could have her if she wanted. It would be so easy, so familiar.

         So wrong.

         She forced her eyes back to the fire.

         “And you?”

         Kate didn’t hesitate. “Of mattering too much.”

         Chapter Sixty-Seven

         “Greer?”

         “Yeah?”

         “Would you read some Tsvetaeva?”

         Greer rummaged in the books scattered around the rocker.

         “I thought you didn’t like her.”

         “I never said that.”

         “Okay. Let’s see. Anything in particular?”

         “It doesn’t matter, I won’t understand it.”

         After a searching look that forced Kate’s eyes to the floor, Greer opened the book. Even though she was hot Kate held herself tight. She closed her eyes, listening to Greer croon in Russian. It didn’t matter she didn’t understand. With her eyes closed and the foreign words in her ears, she was somewhere far away.

         After a few minutes Greer asked, “Do you want me to stop?”

         “No.” She kept her eyes closed. “It sounds sad.”

         “It is. But wonderfully determined too.”

         “Can you translate it?”

         “It’s a long poem. I couldn’t do it justice.”

         “What’s it about?”

         “Two lovers. Meeting for the last time.”

         Greer trailed her finger over the page, looking for the line where she’d left off.

         Kate blurted, “I love your hands.”

         “My hands?”

         Greer held them out, studying them.

         “Yeah. They’re so honest. Like your hair. And the lines in your face. They tell your story.”

         “And what story is that?”

         “It’s a story of…sun and dust and deserts. Of pens and microphones held in small dark hours. Of sand and bullets and broken people.”

         “Jesus, Katie.”

         Greer stared at her. She felt silly until Greer added, “That was lovely. It was poetry.”

         “Hardly,” she laughed. Unable to meet her gaze, Kate touched the tip of her finger to a scar running from Greer’s pinkie to her wrist.

         “How’d you get that?”

         “Concertina wire.”

         “Where?”

         “Um,” Greer looked where she had touched her. “That would have been Kuwait. How’d you know all that about me?”

         She shrugged. “Just from listening to you.”

         “You amaze me.”

         Kate’s cheeks warmed.

         “Jason’s an awfully lucky man.”

         “Do you think so?”

         “Why wouldn’t he be?”

         She dropped her head but Greer caught her chin. She let go as their eyes met. Kate’s filled and the room blurred. She looked into her lap and let the tears fall.

         “I don’t love him.”

         “I know.”

         “How?”

         “It’s obvious.”

         “Oh God,” she sobbed. “I didn’t mean it to be. I don’t know how I got into this. It just seemed like the right thing to do. It made everyone so happy. I thought it would make me happy too, but I feel like I’m drowning. Like this is my punishment for still being alive when Chris is dead, like I deserve this because at least I’m alive so the least I can do is make everyone happy and if it’s not perfect so what? At least I’m alive, and he’s not, right? I have no right to complain.

         “I just didn’t think it would be this hard. I thought the more time I spent with him the more I’d come to love him. And I do. I mean, you’ve met him. He’s a fantastic guy. I just don’t want to marry him. I don’t want to settle down and have kids. It sounds like a jail sentence. I want to live but then I think what right do I have to live when Chris can’t? So I shut up and put on my game face and try to be happy, to make it work. But it’s not. It’s just getting worse.”

         She stared at the fire. Her admission was as frightening as it was shameful.

         “What are you going to do?” Greer asked.

         “Well, duh. Marry him. What else can I do?”

         “Not marry him.”

         “It’s too late. Everything’s set in motion. Everyone’s expecting it. Everyone’s happy.”

         “Except you.”

         “I’m hardly the only one involved. What about Jason? And Mom? All the guests we’ve invited. The money we’ve spent. It’s not like changing your mind about going to a matinee.”

         “You’re right. A matinee’s an afternoon. Marriage is the rest of your life.”

         “I can’t hurt everyone. I can’t disappoint them like that. Especially Mom. She’s already been through so much. This would kill her.”

         “Doubtful. I don’t think you’re giving her enough credit. What would kill her is you marrying a man you don’t love just to make her happy.”

         “It’s not just her. There’s Jason’s, too. He’s happy. He loves me.” She choked on a cry. “I don’t know why. But he deserves a chance. I just need to give it more time. It’s not like I don’t care for him.”

         “Katie.” Greer took her hands. “There are worlds of difference between caring for someone and wanting to spend the rest of your life with them. Vast worlds. Universes. It’s a chasm time can’t bridge.”

         “How do you know? You’ve never been married. You’ve never had to do it. What do you know about it?”

         “I’m not saying you might not grow to love him, but why take that chance? You say you care for him but if you do, wouldn’t you want him to have a woman that truly loves him? Not one that’s pulling the wool over his eyes and just pretending?”

         “That’s not fair.”

         “Why not?”

         “Because I do love him.”

         “You just said you didn’t.”

         “It’s enough. I love him enough.”

         “Do you? As much as he deserves?”

         “I make him happy.” Kate stood. “It’s gonna be fine. You’ll see.”

         “What if it’s not? What if nothing changes from the way you feel right now?”

         “Stop it. You don’t understand. You think you do, but you don’t. Nobody does!”

         Kate threw the door open and again she was running in the dark.

         Chapter Sixty-Eight

         Greer got up and shut the door. Kate had thrown it open so hard it made a dent in the wall. She smoothed the plaster, wondering where Kate’s temper came from. The Bug screeched down the driveway and she thought of Philip.

         Glancing up, she said, “Keep her safe.”

         She stretched on the bed with her hands laced behind her head. She wouldn’t have been surprised if Darlene ran over to ask why Kate had peeled out like that. But that was the old Dar. The spooky new Dar was oblivious. Probably holed up in Chris’ room. She tried to imagine what Darlene did in there.

         Greer stood and went to the window. Fog shrouded the house, hiding its secrets. She let the curtain fall and put another log on the fire. Starting where she’d left off, Greer tried to finish the Tsvetaeva poem but doomed lovers couldn’t hold her interest. She dropped the book and rocked. She hoped Kate had sense enough to cancel the wedding but was afraid her stubbornness would make her to go through with it.

         She was mulish, like her mother. Missing Dar, she considered knocking on Chris’ door to coax her friend out but decided the attempt would be as fruitless as all her others. Doug was gone, too. He hadn’t been home for dinner. She wondered how long the girlfriend would last and if he was serious about leaving Dar or if that had just been whiskey talk.

         She sighed and pushed out of the rocker. She studied the fire for a moment then slid out of her clothes and into the bathrobe. Not bothering to tie it she padded across the cold lawn. The chill made the promise of the steamy pool that much more inviting. She dropped the robe on a chair and dove. After breast-stroking a couple laps she floated. It felt good to be weightless. Boneless. She backstroked a dozen laps then turned and crawled. Her head began to beat. She ignored it then stopped and floated again, letting the throbbing ease.

         Tomorrow, maybe the day after, she would go back to New York. She was doing nothing here but irritating Dar, disappointing Doug, and confusing Kate. It would be best to move on. She told herself she’d decide what to do about Baghdad when she saw Dolly. But already the dream of walking away from her career had dimmed and Greer knew even while pretending she didn’t, that she would probably take the assignment. She swam, feeling heavier than when she got in.

         Headlights pearled the fog. She stopped swimming long enough to make out the Bug in the driveway then dove and swam the length of the pool. It wasn’t a surprise when she surfaced to see Kate coming through the fog. Greer swam to the steps and met her. Kate knelt. She trailed a hand in the water.

         “The last time you were in here you said it was easier to get into hot water than out.”

         Greer hovered over the steps like a barracuda.

         “Are you mad?” Kate asked.

         “No. Why would I be?”

         “For telling you to shut up. Slamming out on you. Again.”

         “My pissing you off seems to have become a habit.”

         Kate’s sweater slipped from her shoulder, exposing the strap of her camisole. Greer wanted to ease her finger beneath the strap and tease it down. She shook her head, flinging water from her eyes. She stood to get out but Kate said, “Wait. Don’t go.”

         She began to undress. Greer turned her gaze to the undulating water. Kate waded in beside her and dove. Her hair swirled like blood in the rain. Greer sat on the steps and waited. Kate swam to the opposite end and returned. She joined Greer on the steps, hugging her legs to her chest like a waif. Cheek to her knees Kate casually traced a fingertip over a scar on Greer’s thigh.

         Greer shivered.

         “How’d you get that?”

         “Piece of rebar.”

         “It looks fresh.”

         “It is. I got it when I got the concussion.”

         “Does it hurt?”

         “No.”

         The water lapped against them.

         “Where’d you go, when you left the cottage?”

         “I just drove around. I called Aaron but he’s partying. He’s high.”

         She folded her head like Kate’s, putting them eye to eye.

         “Where’d you get that temper?” she teased.

         Kate offered the ghost of a smile. “I don’t know. The red hair, I guess.”

         “You flare up but you cool pretty quickly.”

         “Yeah. You were right. You always are.”

         Greer wanted to correct her but Kate rushed on.

         “I don’t love him. I mean, I do, but I can’t marry him. It wouldn’t be fair, just like you said. I don’t love him enough to give up all my dreams. And I don’t want to just drift whichever way the wind blows. I want to make the wind. Like you do.”

         Greer interrupted, “I don’t make the wind. At best I tie my hand to the saddle and stay on until I get bucked off.”

         “But you’ve gone places. You’ve done things. You didn’t just settle. You grabbed your life and made it happen. Like going to Russia even though everyone told you not to.” Kate slapped her head. “I’ve been such an idiot. I was chicken-shit, just like you said. I never should have let it get this far.”

         “Better to know now than at the altar. Or worse, after the altar.”

         “Mom’s going to be so mad. All that time and money. And she loves him. She’s going to be so pissed at me.”

         “At first,” she agreed. “But believe it or not she wants what’s best for you. And right now she thinks that’s Jason. You’ve let her believe that and she’s wanted to. But you can’t keep doing that.”

         “No. I guess not.”

         A strand of hair fell over Kate’s eyes, tempting Greer to stroke it away.

         “Hassan once told me that all heroes have wounds, but not all wounds have heroes.”

         “What?”

         “Everyone gets wounded but only the brave learn from their wounds. You’re being a hero.”

         “Oh, yeah,” she snorted. “That’s me. A regular Superwoman.”

         Greer smiled. She planted her chin between her knees, watching the ripples settle.

         “I’m going to go in a couple days.”

         “Go where?”

         “New York.”

         “Already? What about your head?”

         “My head’ll be just as fine in New York as it is here.”

         “And then what?”

         “I don’t know,” she sighed. “Probably back to the ‘Stan beat.”

         “I thought you didn’t want to go back.”

         “I don’t. But…I think I have to.”

         “Why? Who’s making you?”

         She dropped her cheek to her knee again, finding the clear green light of Kate’s eyes.

         “No one but it’s all I know right now. I don’t know what else to do and if I don’t do at least that then I’m afraid of what I might do. If a tree falls, but no one sees it, did it really fall? If a bomb falls on a bunker filled with women and kids but no one sees it, did it really kill a hundred women and kids? I used to think I could make a difference if I told those stories. Now I don’t think I can. But I have to try. It’s all I know.”

         And now she did reach out to loop the strand of hair behind Kate’s ear.

         “I hurt someone. I hurt them because I stopped telling stories from my heart. I told them to impress people with what a hero I was. But the truth is I stopped being a hero a long time ago. So I have to go back and try and make that right. I have to go back and tell the stories because they’re important. But I have to tell them differently. And I don’t know if I can do that. I could when I was younger and believed I could change things. But now I have to tell the stories even though I know no one’s listening.”

         A tear dropped down Kate’s cheek.

         “Don’t,” Greer pleaded. “Please don’t do that.”

         She stroked the track of the tear. “If you start I might too.”

         “How can you not?”

         “How can I? I’m afraid if I started I’d flood the deserts.”

         Kate buried her face in her hands. Greer touched her back, the skin beneath her palm silky cool and warm. She saw Sigbrith running and removed her hand.

         “I’m cold, Katie. I’m getting out.”

         “Okay. Me, too.”

         Kate swiped her tears and followed. Greer dragged the robe off the chair and draped it around Kate’s shoulders. Gathering the edges of the robe together, she joked, “I seem to be always pissing you off or making you cry.”

         “Because I’m such a big baby,” Kate laughed, wiping her nose on the sleeve. “Can we make tea?”

         “It’s late.”

         “It’s always late. Can we go to the cottage?”

         Beneath the robe, Kate stood cool and naked. Defenseless, and Greer remembered an Assyrian statue she had chanced upon under a midnight moon. Camped with Philip near a deserted ruin, she had been unable to sleep and crept from the tent clutching his Nikon. Under a full moon she had skirted the ruins, a lone sentry eyeing her. When she approached the entrance he shouted and and brandished a rifle leftover from the Second World War. Doubting he had bullets for it, she persisted, and after much pointing between the amber moon, shadowed ruins, press pass and camera, he allowed her reluctant entry. The air was tender after the day’s heat and shadows fell long upon the sands of Nineveh. The turbaned sentry followed her, his footsteps mute in the relic dust. Winding beneath arches of Babylonian stone, past ghostly friezes of blind kings and wounded lions, she rounded a fallen column and almost bumped into the statue. Rising intact from the rubble, the ancient goddess was warm and welcoming in the moonlight. With a longing she couldn’t understand, Greer reached for the sculpted woman. The guard cocked his rifle and her arm fell but she stood a long time before the abandoned idol.

         She pulled the edges of the robe closer together.

         “Not tonight, Katie.”

         Shifting so their thighs brushed, Kate tilted her face to Greer’s.

         “Why?”

         Greer took a small step back, instantly missing the warmth of Kate’s press.

         “Katie. This isn’t a good idea. I’m not who you think I am.”

         “Who do I think you are?”

         “Someone nice. Someone smart. I’ve let you believe that. I wanted you to. But I’m not any of those things. Not nice, or kind, or smart.”

         “I don’t believe that.”

         “I know.”

         Finding the belt around Kate’s waist, she tied it, explaining, “I’ve hurt a lot of people, Katie. I don’t want you to be one of them.”

         Kate crooked a wrist around Greer’s neck. “I won’t be.”

         Gently unhooking Kate’s arm, she shook her head.

         “Why?” Kate settled her fingers along Greer’s collarbone. “It’d be fun.”

         To keep the hand from traveling farther, Greer covered it with her own. She bent her forehead to Kate’s. Burning through to her bones, she wanted nothing more than to quench herself in the cool, saving grace of Kate.

         Snaking her free arm around Greer’s waist, Kate urged, “Let’s go to the cottage.”

         “Katie,” she whispered, in a final effort to save herself, to save both of them. “I can’t. You’re my best friend’s daughter.”

         “I thought...”

         Kate stepped back. Her mouth dropped open. “I thought you liked me for me. For who I am.”

         “I do.”

         “I thought you understood me. That you wanted me to be me. That it was okay to be me and that I didn’t have to be anybody’s anything. God!” She smacked her head. “What an idiot I am? All this time I thought you actually liked me but I guess you’ve just been putting up with the best friend’s stupid kid daughter.”

         “Katie, it’s not like that. You don’t understand.”

         “Fuck you, Greer. Fuck you. You’re the one that doesn’t understand!”

         She jerked the robe off and threw it at Greer.

         “Katie, look. I didn’t mean –”

         “No, you look! This is me walking away while you go fuck yourself all the way back to Baghdad!”

         Kate spun and stomped to the house in naked fury.

         “Katie, come back! Let me explain!”

         But Kate had disappeared into the fog. Clutching the robe, Greer heard the echo of Hassan’s warning that even she couldn’t overcome the wind.

         Chapter Sixty-Nine

         The knock was soft. Kate knew it was Greer because if it was her mother she’d have knocked then opened the door. She ignored the tap. It came again, louder. Kate jumped off the bed.

         “Go away,” she hissed.

         “I need to talk to you.”

         “I don’t give a shit. Go away.”

         “Katie. Open the door.”

         “No.”

         There was no reply. She thought maybe Greer left, then heard a rustle.

         “Please,” Greer whispered.

         “I don’t want to talk to you.”

         “I know. But I have to tell you something.”

         “What?”

         “Come downstairs. To the cottage.”

         “Why should I?”

         “Because you deserve the truth.”

         “I don’t want it,” she said, but the creak on the stairs told her Greer had gone.

         “Shit.”

         She gnawed the edge of her nail, sure Greer just wanted to tell her another stupid story. But she was done listening to Greer. She was done listening to everybody. Making a big show of going to bed, Kate threw back the covers and plumped her pillow. She’d be damned if she was going to traipse after Greer like a well-trained puppy. Switching off the light she rolled over and shut her eyes with purpose.

         She had said Kate deserved the truth. But the truth was she’d been an idiot. A dumb, goofy kid. And the truth was that Greer was just like everybody else, telling her what she should and shouldn’t do.

         Kate tossed.

         Fool me once, she thought, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. She pulled the blankets up and fluffed her pillow again. She rolled to the other side of the bed. She refused to think of Greer or the pool, what an ass she’d been. She concentrated on the park and the jays that came to her. She tried to picture the wren signing in the yard. She saw Greer bending her head to hers, making a fool of her, and she wondered what truth she deserved.

         Swearing, she snapped the light on. Jamming her feet into her Uggs she tiptoed downstairs as quietly as she could, slapping off the motion sensor lights before crossing the lawn. She knocked hard on the cottage door and when Greer opened, she snarled, “This better be good.”

         “Sit,” Greer sighed. “Please.”

         “I’m not staying.”

         “Just hear me out.”

         Kate perched. Greer took the rocker. She massaged her temples without bothering to acknowledge Kate.

         “I don’t have all night,” she warned.

         Greer dropped her hands. She stared at them like they had a stain only she could see.

         “I’ve never told anybody this.”

         The pause after her admission was so long Kate almost growled, “And you still haven’t,” but Greer drew a breath and began.

         “I told you how I spend time between assignments – getting drunk, trying to get laid, trying to forget. The week before I got the concussion I was at the Intercontinental in Amman. In Jordan.”

         “I know where Amman is.”

         “Of course. Sorry. So there we are, about a dozen of us, sitting at a couple tables bullshitting and telling stories, getting shit-faced, when this gorgeous woman walks up to us. Young thing. She introduces herself. Sigbrith Vandergaard. She’s Danish, an independent photographer trying to get into Iraq. She can’t get a visa and she’s missing everything. We laugh and boohoo her – half of us couldn’t get a visa, so she wasn’t getting any sympathy. But she took the razzing well and razzed us back. She was stunning. Willowy, dark blonde.”

         She rolled her eyes though Greer didn’t see.

         “We were drooling like wolves over a lamb. The night went on. We were knocking back shots and Sig kept up. At some point someone said something about when she got to be as good as me, and she corrected, ‘God willing, I should be lucky enough to live as long as Gran’mama.’

         “I cringed and we laughed it off. Kept on doing what we were doing. But I…”

         Greer jabbed a hand through her hair.

         “She’d thrown the gauntlet and I took it up. I was drunk. Not that that’s an excuse. I’d have done it anyway. I’d been flirting but now I was on a mission. She’d laughed me off all night but I was persistent and when she got up to leave I offered to walk her to her room. She laughed and said she’d probably be fine without me but I followed anyway, like a moony teenager. When she unlocked her door I asked if I could come in. She laughed at me again and asked ‘What on earth for?’ I gave her my winningest smile and said something indescribably embarrassing like ‘So I can make love to you like no man ever has.’”

         “Oh, God,” Kate groaned.

         “Yeah, I know.” Greer nodded. “That was her reaction, too. Then she needlessly pointed out I was old enough to be her mother but before I could elucidate the benefits of all that experience she slipped inside and locked the door on me.”

         Greer squinted at the fire.

         “I remember for an instant, just for a second, seeing myself like she must have seen me – old and pathetic. An absolute travesty of everything I’d wanted her to see. Then the moment passed. I gathered what shreds of pride I had left and staggered to my room. I called Ahmed, my fixer, and told him he absolutely had to get me a second visa, no matter the cost.”

         Kate interrupted, “What’s a fixer?”

         “Someone in-country that has connections. A good fixer can get you anything – visas, interviews, food. I couldn’t do my job without fixers – I told him no wasn’t an option. I didn’t care what he had to do, how much it cost, just get it. Three days later he delivered. I tracked Sig down by the pool and told her to pack her bags. I was taking her in.”

         Greer finally looked at her.

         “I could have stopped there. Right there it was enough. The way she looked at me, it was clear I wasn’t her Gran’mama. I wasn’t anybody’s Grannie. But I had to push it. So we went in. We got turned back. Had an incident at the border. And I could have quit there. When we got back to Amman she wanted to share a room with me and I turned her down. I had her on the hook now, instead of the other way around. I’d made my point. But she wanted to go back in and I couldn’t refuse. If I did I’d look like Gran’mama all over again, and I couldn’t stand the thought of that. So we went back in. Through Ramadi.”

         Greer fished around the books on the floor. She passed Kate the picture of the shattered minaret.

         “She took that. She was very good.”

         Greer fell back into the rocker.

         “I’d heard the Mahdi militia and the police were going at it but didn’t realize that American soldiers were chasing a pocket of insurgents all over the city. First rule of reporting on conflicts is never get between enemies. Take one side or the other but don’t get caught in the middle. We were trying to avoid that when an RPG landed about thirty feet ahead of us in the road. The driver panicked and ran us up onto a pile of bricks. Hung the axle up. I heard mortars coming in so I got out to get a bead on where they were while Sig and the driver dug us out. I went around a corner, just about half way down the street, and a sniper opened up. I started running back to the car. I tripped. Fell on my knee.”

         Kate held her breath.

         “I thought I’d been shot because I tried to get up but my leg wouldn’t hold me. So I started crawling. There were shells landing behind me like the Army was walking them in from the base outside town.”

         Greer stopped, staring at her hands again.

         “And then?” Kate prompted.

         “And then…Sig was running toward me. Hunched down. Her hands out. Reaching for me. She was coming to help me. To help Gran’mama. I yelled at her to get back. Another round landed, closer than the last, and I was scrabbling through the rubble, waving and screaming for her to get down. She was about fifteen feet away. I started to get up, to try and hurl myself on top of her. To pack us both into the rubble for some cover…”

         This time when she stopped Kate was afraid to urge her on.

         “I was in the rubble, low enough that the next round knocked me out. But Sig…Sig was standing. I couldn’t get to her. The blast, the shockwave...it was too much. She was too exposed.”

         Greer blinked.

         “She was twenty-six, Kate. I dragged her into that country and I killed her. Out of pride. That terrible pride. So, out at the pool...with you and me, I never should have let it get that far. But I did. Again. I wanted you to look at me like I mattered.”

         “Greer.” She leaned forward. “You do matter. You took Sig where she wanted to go. You didn’t drag her anywhere. She died doing what she wanted to do. She wanted to be there.”

         Greer shook her head.

         “She didn’t have to be there. Not with me. She’d have gotten in eventually and probably lived to be a gran’mama herself. I killed her. It’s really that simple.”

         “It’s not.”

         Kate stood. Straddling the long legs stretching toward the fire she sat defiantly on Greer’s lap.

         “I’m not her. Don’t you get it? I’m not Sigbrith. I’m not Jason Merriman’s fiancée. I’m not that dead guy’s sister. I’m not Doug and Darlene’s baby girl. I’m just me. Just Kate. Warm, living, breathing, Kate Richardson, and you haven’t dragged me anywhere.”

         Expecting to be pushed away, she touched her lips to Greer’s. To her surprise, Greer took her like a starving dog taking a bone.

         Chapter Seventy

         Darlene was awake in her empty bed. Doug had called around eleven to say he wouldn’t be home, that he’d had too much to drink and would sleep on the couch in his office. She was tempted some nights to drive to the university and see if he was there, just to satisfy her faint curiosity. It hurt to think he had replaced her so handily but it was a relief to know he’d have someone in the months to come. She hoped whoever she was she was very good to Doug.

         She recognized Kate’s footsteps sprinting up the stairs and wondered at the reason for such speed at one in the morning. Maybe she had fought with Jason. It wouldn’t have been the first time. He was a doll and from what she could tell he bent over backwards to please Kate. Which seemed an increasingly daunting task.

         Darlene sprawled in the bed. She stared at the shadowy ceiling. She should go have a motherly chat with Kate but this was hardly the time to reinsert herself into her daughter’s life. Whatever problems Kate had she’d have to start solving on her own. Darlene refused to let her mind wander to the questions Kate might have after she got married. And had children.

         Darlene tucked into a ball.

         She wouldn’t think about the grandchildren she’d never see.

         The stairs creaked once more and she thought she heard a knock. She wondered if Jason had followed Kate home. But a muffled voice sounded like Greer’s. The stairs creaked again and then silence.

         She wondered what in Heaven’s name those two could be doing at this hour and immediately feared someone was ill. She thought to get up and see what was wrong but didn’t stir. If it was anything serious, she reasoned, they would let her know.

         It was probably just a raccoon in the pool. They fell in sometimes and couldn’t get out. Usually Doug or one of the kids would herd them to the steps with a broom or the pool sweep.

         That was it. Kate had come home in her pajamas and Greer had told her about the raccoon. She’d run up to put some shoes on and gone back down. But why had Greer come up a few minutes later?

         “Oh, honestly,” she muttered.

         She’d always been vigilant – Doug called it hyper-alert – but even Darlene realized she’d gotten worse since Chris died. Every branch scraping the house, every shifting board, passing car, gusting wind – all made her heart race until she identified and catalogued the action or sound or motion. Not that it mattered. There was little she had to concern herself with other than seeing Kate’s marriage through and then her walk into the ocean.

         The final walk.

         Darlene tossed. She tried to get comfortable. To help get to sleep she often imagined the walk from beginning to end. She envisioned the morning. She would wake to a sparkling sun. It would rise patiently while she waited for Doug and Kate to leave the house, then she would make the bed and shower. After the shower she would dry her hair (though no need to, she thought) and put on her favorite perfume. Chanel or Paloma. She wasn’t sure. She’d have to see how she felt that day. Next, she would double-check the note. It would have been written already, by hand, nothing as impersonal –

         The walkie-talkie screeched.

         Darlene shot upright. Heart scrabbling in her chest she switched on the light and grabbed the radio from the nightstand.

         “Greer? Honey, is that you? Are you all right? Greer?”

         The radio was silent. She pressed different buttons and tried again, but nothing.

         “Oh dear God.”

         She dropped the radio and hurried into her robe. Head spinning with worst-case scenarios, Darlene ran to the cottage.

         Chapter Seventy-One

         Greer pulled away. She cupped Kate’s face between her palms.

         “I can’t, Katie. I can’t do this.”

         As if asked to recite a distasteful line Kate intoned, “Because I’m your best friend’s daughter.”

         “No. It’s not even that. I don’t know how to explain it. A year ago, six months, Christ, six weeks ago, this would have been different. I’m sure I’d have found a way to justify it. But I can’t now. It’s like a veil has been lifted from my eyes and I see how I’ve been living my life.”

         “The mosaic you can’t look away from?”

         “Exactly. It makes a picture that’s not pretty nor kind, or useful, or helpful. To you or anybody. I’ve been running so long, Katie. Straight into bottles and the arms of beautiful women like you. And Sig. To get away from who I am. What I’ve become. And I can’t do it anymore. I just can’t.”

         Kate’s green eyes reflected her bafflement.

         “I know this doesn’t make sense. It barely makes sense to me.”

         “Would any woman sitting on your lap right now get the brush-off?”

         “Yes.”

         She stroked Kate’s head.

         “I used you. I let you fill me up. That first night in the kitchen? You needed someone to talk to and I needed someone to make me feel important. Like I mattered. And then you got a crush on me.”

         Kate blushed. “Was it that obvious?”

         “Yes. And that made me feel even more important. I didn’t discourage it. I could have, and should have, but I didn’t. I wanted you to want me. I encouraged you. And for that I am so sorry. I was wrong, Kate. I can’t keep letting other people fill me up. I’ve got to figure out how to do that myself.”

         She gave a half smile.

         “You’ll appreciate this. The ancient Persians believed in a mythical bird called the huma. It was half male, half female, and the huma preferred to live off carrion rather than kill anything. Sufi lore had it that if a huma landed on someone's head that person would become a king. Legend also had it that every so often the huma consumed itself in fire, only to rise again from its ashes.”

         “Like a phoenix.”

         “Very much so.”

         “And the Hanged Man.”

         Greer nodded.

         “For the last thirty years I’ve been the huma bird. And when Sig died I immolated. I went up in flames and now I’m trying to rebuild myself from the ashes.”

         Stroking her nails through Greer’s hair, Kate told her, “You are a huma. You landed on my head and made me a king. The king of my own life.”

         Greer shook her head. “You did that.”

         She bent Kate toward her and as she placed a kiss on Kate’s forehead the door crashed in.

         Chapter Seventy-Two

         Darlene couldn’t understand what she was seeing.

         “Mom.”

         Kate rose from the rocker. Greer followed. No one noticed the crushed radio beneath the chair.

         “Dar,” Greer started. “This isn’t what – ”

         “What are you doing? What have you done to my daughter?”

         “Nothing.”

         “Mom, she didn’t – ”

         “Shut up!” She advanced on Greer. “What have you done to my girl?”

         “Dar.” Greer spread her hands, coming toward her. “It’s okay. It’s not –”

         “It’s okay? I walk in and my daughter’s in your lap and you tell me it’s okay? Are you out of your mind?”

         “Mom, cut it out. She didn’t do anything. What are you doing barging in here?”

         “What am I doing?” Darlene choked. “What am I doing? You’re engaged to be married and you’re asking what – “

         “I’m not engaged,” Kate yelled. “I’m not getting married. It’s over. I don’t love him.”

         “What? What are you talking about?” She turned on Greer. “What have you done to her? How long has this been going on?”

         “Dar, nothing’s going on. Nothing’s happened. Look, I can ex – ”

         “No, you look! I don’t know what you’ve said or done to Kate – ”

         “Mom!” Kate cried. “I don’t love him. I never have. I was marrying him for you. I knew how happy it would make you. But I can’t. I can’t go through with it.”

         “Katherine, what are you talking about? I don’t know what she’s been telling you or what she’s done to you but whatever’s going on it’s stopping right now.”

         “What’s going on, Mom, is the truth but you wouldn’t know anything about that! We’ve been talking about Chris, Mom. About my dead brother. That’s what we’ve been doing.”

         Darlene turned to Greer. “You told her.”

         “No.”

         “Told me what?”

         Her eyes locked with Greer’s.

         As if from far away, from another room, Kate repeated, “Told me what?”

         “Go on.” Greer tilted her head toward Kate. “Now’s your chance.”

         “Stay out of this.”

         “Christ, Dar, in case you haven’t noticed I’m already in.”

         “Oh, I’ve noticed, and don’t try to wiggle off the hook for this…”

         She looked around the room for a way to speak the unspeakable.

         “Tell me what?” Kate demanded. She jerked Darlene’s arm. “What the fuck is going on?”

         Darlene whirled instinctively slapping her daughter.

         “How dare you? I come in and find you two doing God knows what and you have the nerve to ask me what’s going on? Do you really want to know, Katherine? Is that what you want? Do you really want to talk about your dead brother? Is that what you want?”

         “Yes, for once, yes!”

         “Fine. You want the truth? Fine. I’ll tell you the truth. The truth is your brother didn’t get shot. I lied to you. I lied to spare you but you want the truth, you and Greer, and the truth is...the truth is your brother drowned. He drowned in the Tigris River. He drowned because he was ordered to swim across the river and like the good man he was he obeyed. He crossed that river like a mule, Kate, and he drowned just like a mule. Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that the truth you wanted?”

         Oblivious of streaming tears, she faced Greer. “Satisfied? Is that what you wanted?”

         “He drowned?” Kate murmured.

         “Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Your brother! My son. Christopher John Richardson. He drowned! How does the truth feel now? Are you both so happy with it now?”

         “Dar.”

         Clapping her hands to her face, she backed away from Greer. Undammed, her sorrow flowed. It flowed like the Tigris, the current stronger than her son had imagined. Her son the strapping six-foot swimming champion. Surely he would have stepped into the quiet water thinking it would be an easy wade across. Surely he hadn’t expected the tide lurking below the sleepy surface. Surely, he’d thought as the muddy water caught and held him that he would escape, that he’d fight the water and win, as he always had, to emerge dripping and victorious, bedecked in medals and ribbons, and handed trophies to line his walls.

         Surely he had thought that.

         And just as surely she had led him there, to wander out far and in deep.

         Darlene fell onto her knees, moaning through her hands, “I killed him. I did it. I killed him…”

         She didn’t hear Greer call her name. Nor did feel strong arms around her or tears wetting her hair. She didn’t feel her daughter and her best friend rocking her, holding her, saving her from drowning. All she felt was the darkness coming, the panic of her son’s last breath, and her certain failure in drawing it with him.

         Chapter Seventy-Three

         Together, Greer and Kate managed to walk Dar to the house, upstairs, and into bed. They stayed while she cried herself to sleep. Now with dawn tinting the windows Greer slid her numb arm from under Dar. She stood without disturbing mother or daughter. Rubbing circulation back into her shoulder she contemplated the two women curled together like kittens, then tiptoed from the room down to the kitchen. She made coffee and halfway through her second cup Kate joined her on the kitchen steps.

         “Hey.”

         “Hi.”

         “She still asleep?”

         Kate nodded.

         Greer scooted over so she could sit. “How about you? How’re you doing?”

         “Okay. I guess. I need to talk to Jason. Tell him about the wedding.”

         There was so much Greer wanted to ask but she let Kate steer the conversation. They drank quietly under the watery sun until Kate accused, “You knew about Chris.”

         “Yeah.” She stood. “Stay here. I’m going to get you something.”

         She returned from the cottage and handed Kate a CD.

         “I made this. It’s a testimonial from the guys he served with. I tracked his unit down. They didn’t want to talk at first, thought I was just looking for a story, but one kid sought me out and told me everything.” She tipped her chin to the disc. “Do you want to watch it?”

         Kate studied the CD warily. “I don’t know.”

         “You don’t have to. Just keep it.”

         “Would you watch it with me?”

         “Sure.”

         They went in. Kate inserted the disc into the player and sat. The video opened on a somber group of young men. They stood in a semi-circle, some bare-chested, others in standard-issue tees. By turns each man testified his respect for Chris and how much he was missed. As they relaxed in front of the camera they added stories, some funny, some poignant. The video faded and a tall, spectacled soldier appeared.

         Greer paused the disc. “Do you want to keep going?”

         Kate wiped her nose on the sleeve of her sweatshirt but didn’t bother wiping her tears. She nodded.

         Greer pressed “play”. In the background, her voice prompted, “Let’s start with your name.”

         “Eric Elam, ma’am. Corporal Eric Elam.”

         “Good. What would you like to say, Corporal?”

         He cleared his throat and shifted his weight.

         “I’d like to start by sayin’ what a privilege it was to have known Chris. He was a fine human being and it was an honor to serve with him. My only regret is that, well, that he passed like he did. I just want you to know Mr. and Mrs. Richardson that your son was a good man. A brave man. That day we had to cross the river…”

         Elam shook his head. He poked his glasses up to the bridge of his nose.

         “It was the dumbest thing. The Major ordered us to cross carryin’ all our gear and our sergeant was fit to be tied. He tried talkin’ the Major down but the Old Man wasn’t havin’ none of it. He picked five of us. I was one of ‘em. Chris wasn’t one of the five picked but he stepped forward and said, ‘Sir, I’d like to volunteer.’ Just like that. Simple as you please. Like he was goin’ for a swim in a swimmin’ hole. And the Old Man answered, ‘Fine.’ Said he wished the outfit had more men like Chris instead of a bunch of puss –”

         He corrected, “Instead of a bunch of wimps. He said that to the sergeant. But Sarge was right. There weren’t no call for us to hump all our gear acrost that river. It was a boneheaded thing to do.”

         Elam paused to push his glasses up again.

         “We went on down to the edge of the river. Me and Chris, Jack Casey, Emmett Lamont, and Sonny Simms. The five of us. From there the river looked awful far acrost, and deep. I don’t mind tellin’ you I was scared. I didn’t think I was gonna make it over. Chris was standin’ next to me and I told him I wasn’t a good swimmer. He laughed and told me, ‘Hell, Elam. You’ll be fine. Even a dog knows how to swim.’ Then he said, ‘Here. Give me your pack.’ He took it from me and slung it up on his shoulder. I told him he couldn’t carry all that but he just laughed. Started walkin’ into the river. ‘You just worry about getting your sorry ass acrost,’ he said. That was the last thing I heard him say. ‘You just worry about getting’ your sorry ass acrost.’”

         The corporal cleared his throat.

         “I stepped into the river behind him. The current was faster than I thought and the minute my feet left the bottom it caught me up. I was scared and I ain’t afraid to say it. I struck out hard for the bank. I lost sight of Chris and Emmett but I knew we was all in the water by then and alls I could think of was keepin’ my head up like a damn dog and gettin’ to the other side. And finally I did. It musta swallowed a couple gallons of that stinkin’ river. I crawled up onto the bank coughin’ and chokin’ so’s that it took me a minute to hear ‘em on the other side. I looked up and there was guys screamin’ and pullin’’ their boots off and divin’ into the water.

         “I looked around and seen Emmett comin’ outta the water behind me and on down from him it looked Casey was wadin’ out, but I didn’t see Sonny or Chris neither. I looked out at the river and that’s when I seen a Kevlar helmet pop up. It come up once and went down. I still see it. All the time. Clear as my own hand in fronta my face. I don’t know to this day if it was Sonny or Chris but it was one of ‘em and I just felt myself go all cold. I dove on back into the river. There was a bunch of us in there by then but still… it didn’t do no good. We found ‘em both later, about a half a click downstream.”

         The corporal swallowed hard. “Chris saved my life that day. If it hadn’t of been for him carryin’ my pack then sure as I’m standin’ here that’d been me that drowned that day. When we found him…”

         Elam had to stop. He took his glasses off and knuckled his eyes. After a moment he put the glasses back on and looked into the camera.

         “When we found him he still had my pack on. He never let go of it. He was a Corpsman but he was braver than any Marine and he died like a Marine, helping a brother. I dream about him every night. I see him walkin’ up to me, like he’s comin’ out of the river with something on his back. I can’t see what it is but I feel like it’s me. Like he’s carryin’ me.”

         He tapped his glasses into place.

         “Like I said. Chris was a hero. It was a honor to serve with him and I owe him my life.”

         Elam looked at the ground and the tape faded.

         Kate wiped her cheeks. “Has Mom seen this?”

         “No. She didn’t want me to send it. She was afraid you or your dad might find it. And in all fairness – she knew he’d drowned, the bereavement officers told her that much – but she didn’t know that he’d been ordered across in full battle rattle or that he’d been carrying Elam’s pack. She took it hard when I told her.”

         Kate started fresh tears.

         “I wanted her to tell you, and your father, but she argued there was no sense to it. It wouldn’t change things and only make everyone feel worse. Especially your father. He was the one that pushed Chris into swimming and she didn’t want him to have to carry that burden. She was trying to spare both of you anymore hurt. She promised she’d tell you someday when it wouldn’t hurt so bad. When I pressed her she’d always ask how could the truth be better than a kind lie? What would it change? And I could never come up with a good answer.”

         “Oh, God. Dad doesn’t know.”

         Kate paced beside the couch.

         “So ‘the Old Man’, this Major, he killed Chris.”

         “Inadvertently,” Greer conceded.

         “But still. Isn’t that manslaughter, or something?”

         “Not really. He didn’t willfully send Chris out to die. He didn’t make him carry Elam’s pack.”

         “What about that other boy that drowned? What about him?”

         “The current was stronger than anyone knew. Deeper, too. They just picked a bad place to cross. It was an accident. I tried to track the Major down but he’d been transferred back to the States. No one high up would talk about it other than to say it was an unfortunate incident.”

         Kate gaped. “An unfortunate incident?”

         “I wish I could say Chris was unique. That this was an isolated incident. But this kind of thing happens everyday. It’s war, Kate. You can see why your mother didn’t want to tell you, why she wanted to spare you. You can’t blame her.”

         “Oh, yeah I can. She had no right to keep this to herself. To bear it alone. We’re either a family or we’re not. Which is it?”

         “She was just trying to protect you.”

         “She’s always trying to protect us. Can’t she give us some credit? Does she think she’s Super Woman? Like she’s the only one that can handle shit?”

         “Her intentions were the best.”

         “They always are. We all mean well and it just makes things worse. Look what I did. My good intentions fucked everything up.”

         She stalked into the kitchen.

         After a moment Greer followed. The kitchen was empty. She looked out the window. Kate sat on the steps. She poured the last cup of coffee and carried it outside. She stood beside Kate. A bird sang from the oak tree.

         “White-crowned sparrow?” she guessed.

         “Close. Golden-crowned.” Kate hugged her knees. “White-crowned, golden-crowned, all crowns fall.”

         They listened to the plaintive song.

         “She loves you and your dad so much.”

         “I know.”

         Kate studied the finger she’d been chewing then jumped up.

         “I want to get this over with. I’ve got to tell Jase. He’s going to work late tonight but if I can catch him on his lunch hour he won’t have to.” She lifted her palms and tried for a smile. “Bright side to everything, huh?”

         “Come back and tell me how it went.”

         Miserable, Kate nodded, disappearing into the house.

         Chapter Seventy-Four

         Sunshine fell from the window onto the bed. It stretched from a thin stripe into a wide ribbon. By the time Darlene woke, she was wrapped in sunlight. She turned to the clock and her back complained. Recalling the night, she was shocked anew by the force of her feelings, stunned that she still cared so much.

         Through the window she studied the clear sky, listening to the house. The tock of the clock and steady purr of air reassured her. She’d have liked to stay in bed and return to an amnesiac sleep so that maybe when she woke again the night wouldn’t have happened, she’d have only dreamed of walking in on Greer and Kate, of blurting the truth. But what had been said and seen were too much even for Darlene to deny.

         Sitting up, she pressed her palms against the ache in her sinuses and checked the clock, amazed she’d slept so late. She felt for her slippers and rose like an old woman. One hand on the wall, she worked her way down the hall. She stopped at Chris’s door. Forehead pressed to the cool wood, she saw with sudden shock what an insensitive cruelty it would be to walk into the ocean and disappear.

         Afraid she was going to be sick, Darlene sagged against the door. She whispered apologies to the clean, white wood. Apologies to God, to Chris. To Kate and Doug and John and Greer. Making the cross on her nightgown, she begged undeserved forgiveness. She wanted to cry again but there were no tears left. After a while she pushed from the door. It was the last time she wanted to see it shut. Lifting the chain from between her breasts, Darlene fit the key to the lock and left it dangling.

         Clutching the balustrade, she eased downstairs. From the kitchen window she saw Candy and Greer sitting by the pool. She made noises as she stepped out the back door so she wouldn’t startle Greer, who turned and watched her coming. Under Greer’s gaze she straightened her gown and smoothed her cheeks.

         Greer swung her legs off the chaise to make room for her. Darlene settled on the edge. Unable to face Greer she stared at the house.

         “Where is everyone?”

         “Kate’s with Jason. Doug hasn’t been home.”

         She nodded.

         “What’s going on between you and Kate?”

         “Nothing.”

         “It didn’t look like nothing. She’s not one of your playthings, Greer.”

         “I know. Believe me, I know. We’ve just been talking.”

         “It didn’t look like talking last night.”

         “It just spilled over. She was upset about hurting Jason. And you. She was just looking for some small comfort and believe it or not, when you came in, I was explaining to her that we couldn’t go there.”

         She gave Greer a skeptical look. “You’re saying Kate came on to you?”

         Greer shook her head.

         “It was my fault, Dar. I knew she had a crush on me and I encouraged it. I led her on.”

         She accused, “You put the idea in her head for the breakup.”

         “No. That was already there. I put the idea in her head that she didn’t have to go through with something that might be a terrible mistake.”

         “So she could be with you?”

         “No. So she could be happy. She doesn’t love him, Dar. She does, but she’s not ready to settle down. There’s too much life in her, too much she wants to do.”

         “Like what?”

         “Like travel, see places. Meet people. Did you know she wants to be a paramedic?”

         “Kate?”

         “She’s settling right now. For everything. Marrying a guy she doesn’t love, keeping a job she hates, trying not to rock the boat more than it’s already been rocked.”

         Darlene twisted a brow. “By having an affair with a woman twice her age?”

         “It’s a crush. Nothing more. It was over before it started, Dar.”

         Greer reached for a smile. “You know, Kate. Always willing to try something knew. Clyde. Tyreese. A woman.”

         “But nothing happened.”

         “What you saw last night was the extent of it.”

         “And that’s the end?”

         “Yes.”

         “You swear?”

         Greer made an X over her heart. “On your son’s grave.”

         Darlene turned her gaze back to the house.

         “Is she serious about canceling the wedding?”

         “Yeah. She thought Jason could make things right again. She knows how much you love him, how happy he made you.”

         “Me? I just wanted her to be happy. I wanted to see her settled. It was...it was important.”

         Darlene slumped.

         “I’ve made an awful mess.”

         “Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

         “Does she hate me? About Chris?”

         “No. She’s more hurt than mad. That you didn’t trust her enough to tell her.”

         Greer scratched Candy’s ear.

         “I showed her the video.”

         “Oh, dear God, you didn’t.”

         “I did. She’s tougher than you think. After all, look who raised her.”

         “An idiot. A proud, vain, arrogant idiot.”

         “A woman who cares deeply and passionately and who raised her kids to feel the same way.”

         “Oh, Greer. I love them. I love them so much. They’re wonderful, aren’t they? Both of them?”

         She smiled at the frail admission.

         “Yes.” Greer shared her smile. “You did an outstanding job.”

         “And Doug. Oh, God, I’ll have to tell him. Somehow.”

         The thought made her trembly and sick again. She should have done it earlier, like Greer said. But she never thought she’d have to. She’d thought a note could say it all.

         A butterfly tacked by.

         “Work called. I told them you were in bed with a migraine.”

         “Thank you. What do you think Doug will say?”

         “I don’t know. I think he’ll be pretty upset.”

         She nodded. “But it’ll be over. My God. For this all to be over.”

         Greer stood. She held out her hand.

         “Come on. Let me make you some tea.”

         Darlene stared.

         “Come on.”

         Greer waggled her hand. Darlene grabbed it before it was withdrawn, before the proffered grace could be rescinded. Arm in arm, they walked to the house.

         Chapter Seventy-Five

         It didn’t surprise Greer when Dar said over toast and tea that she was going to take a shower and go to church. What startled them both was Greer asking if she could go along.

         “Of course,” Dar answered immediately.

         Hoping they’d pass muster, Greer dressed in her cleanest khakis. She met Dar coming out the back door. There was fatigue in her carriage but also the vulnerable grace of surrender.

         “You look marvelous.”

         Dar tsked and waved her off.

         “Do I look all right for church?”

         With a bemused eye, Dar wondered, “Since when do you care?”

         “I don’t want to embarrass you.”

         “You look fine. Besides, with attendance what it is, the church is hardly picky about dress.”

         They got into the car and Dar asked, “Are you coming because you’re worried about me?”

         “No. Should I be?”

         “No, but you hate the church.”

         Greer shrugged. She clicked her seat belt. It was true that after a career spent covering its wars, she had no love for religion. Before Chris their conversation would have segued into a seamless argument about pedophiles and profit mongering. In the old days, she wouldn’t have wanted to go with Dar.

         “Maybe I need absolution.”

         “For what?”

         Curving west down dappled streets, Greer carefully repeated the story she’d told Kate, leaving nothing out.

         Dar’s only reaction when she finished was to shake her head, saying, “Our wicked hubris.”

         “Indeed.”

         “How do we get rid of it?”

         “I don’t know. I think we start by never forgetting. You know, it’s funny. When I was being shot at, before the blast…I don’t know that I’ve ever felt happier. I’m running flat out to save my life and there are bullets whizzing around me but I’m happy because I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that no matter what happens, no matter the outcome, it’s perfect. We’re all going to die. We all take our turn in the barrel. Mine might have been that day or forty years hence. It didn’t matter. The dying was as perfect as the living. And I was just as sure that Something Somewhere had it all figured out. That my fate was already writ. It was a script and all I had to do was walk into my part. Maybe Sig’s part was written too. Now the question is, what do I do next? And I think, I think what I do now is remember her every day.”

         Dar parked and Greer twisted to face her.

         “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’ve got to tell you, I wanted Kate. I wanted her to want me. It didn’t matter how wrong it was. I wanted her to patch all the holes in me. And the only thing that stopped me was Sig and remembering the damage I’d already done.”

         Dar gripped the wheel. She stared straight ahead.

         “I should have told them. You were right.”

         “It’s done. That’s the thing. We can’t change it. All we can do is learn from our mistakes. Try to make something of them and not slip back into the easy comfort of shame. Shame just paves the way for doing it again.”

         “I’ve done so much damage. I don’t know that I can.”

         “That’s the point. It’s a new start. The slate’s wiped clean. We’re getting a second chance.”

         “Do you really believe that?”

         “Yes. I didn’t sleep with Kate. I could have, but I didn’t. You wanted to keep lying about Chris but you finally told the truth. Kate finally admitted she doesn’t want to marry Jason. There’s nothing left but a fresh start. It’s like all three of us, you, me, Kate – we’ve each come to the crossing point. We have to cross over into a new life and none of us knows what that looks like. All we know is we can’t stay and we can’t go back.”

         Dar looked at her. “Like Chris. At the river. He couldn’t stay, He can’t come back. He crossed over. He went on”

         “Yes.”

         They sat a moment. Greer reached for the door handle but Dar stopped her.

         “There’s one more thing.”

         Her eyes were distant again, past the church.

         “After the wedding, after it was over...”

         Greer put a hand on her shoulder. “Go on.”

         “I was...I was going to walk into the ocean and drown, like Chris. You see, I had to know what he went through. I had to know what he felt. It was my responsibility he was in that Godforsaken country in the first place. I owed him at least that much. ”

         “Dar,” Greer whispered, horrified she hadn’t guessed.

         “I had it all planned out. Everything. To the last detail.”

         She looked up with tears in her eyes. They spilled over and Greer caught them with a fingertip.

         “Do you still think I have a second chance?”

         “Do you still want to do it?”

         Dar shook her head violently.

         “I can’t. I can’t do that to them. It was so selfish. I just…I wanted the pain to stop. I wanted to know what he knew at the last, to make the same sacrifice he made. I wanted him to know that I was sorry. I wanted God to know. I thought that would be the best way to show them.”

         “Don’t you think they know? You don’t need to kill yourself to prove it. This is your second chance, Dar. Use it. For good.”

         “Do you think it’s that simple?”

         “I do. Because the alternative’s worse.”

         Dar nodded. Greer kissed her temple and sat back. She thumbed the gash on her cheek.

         “You’d asked if this was going to scar. I hope it does. I want to see it everyday. I want to be reminded everyday.”

         Greer started to get out but again Dar stopped her.

         “The last secret.”

         Greer waited.

         “Did you two ever… did it ever come up… about us?”

         It took Greer a moment to realize what she was hearing. She stared at Dar, clutching the wheel, eyes set on her.

         “That stays between us. Forever.”

         Dar took a deep breath. The color returned to her knuckles.

         “Thank you.”

         Greer couldn’t help tease, “But she asked.”

         “What?”

         “Yeah. I danced around it. She was amazed we’ve been friends all these years and never done it. She asked about Doug too. At least I could be completely honest about that.”

         “What did you say? About us?”

         “That I had a mad crush on you, which was true, and nothing ever came of it. Which was also true. Except you’re still the love of my life.”

         “Am I? Even after all this?”

         “Especially after all this.”

         Opening her door to the sun, she tipped her head to the church.

         “Come on. Let’s go before I change my mind about going in there.”

         Chapter Seventy-Six

         In church Darlene had felt a faded peace but the nausea returned when she rolled into the driveway and saw Doug’s Excursion. She parked next to it.

         “Well.”

         She turned to Greer.

         “Time for the last confession. Dear God, I hope it’s the last. You know he’s having an affair.”

         “Yeah.”

         “Did he tell you?”

         “I wheedled it out of him.”

         “Who is she?”

         “That’s between you and Doug.”

         Darlene nodded. She gathered her purse, tucking her keys into one of the pockets.

         “Do you want me to come in?”

         “No. I have to do this alone.”

         “It’s going to be okay,” Greer assured. “No matter what happens.”

         She nodded and watched Greer cross the lawn. She was so thin, her bones a visible accusation of how Darlene had neglected her. Bending her head, she sained her breast, drew a breath and got out of the car.

         She walked steadily up the front steps and into her home. Doug was in his usual spot in front of the television, drink in hand. Plucking the remote off the chair arm, she turned the set off.

         “Hey. I was watching that.”

         “I know.” She perched on the broad arm. “Doug. I need to tell you something.”

         He sat back, leery as a feral cat. His wariness pained her but she’d created it. She closed her eyes and sent a quick prayer before starting.

         “I’ve lied to you. I did it for all the best reasons but it was still a lie. Greer warned me to tell you and for a year I’ve been putting it off. I just couldn’t see the sense in it because you’re going to hate what I tell you and it won’t change anything.”

         “For Christ’s sake.” He sipped his drink. “What is it?”

         “It’s about Chris.”

         He stiffened, spilling a little of his drink on the carpet. She barely noticed.

         “I haven’t been honest. About how he died.”

         She swallowed.

         “It was in the Tigris. That much was true. But he didn’t…he wasn’t…shot.”

         Darlene forced herself to say the word. “He drowned.”

         “He drowned?”

         She didn’t try to stop the tears as she told him all she had withheld.

         “I couldn’t tell you,” she pleaded. “It was too cruel.”

         He shoved out of the chair.

         “How could you not tell me? How could you lie?”

         He hit his chest so hard she flinched.

         “He’s my son.”

         “I didn’t want to hurt you. It was too much.”

         “Who are you to say what’s too much?”

         He started toward her and for a second she thought he would hit her but even that she could bear, would even welcome.

         “I don’t believe this. Some colonel made –”

         “A major.”

         “Whatever! Some asshole with a cluster on his sleeve ordered my son to cross the river in full gear for no good reason?”

         She nodded, mute.

         “Okay, I just want to get that straight – my son was murdered and you didn’t think I needed to know that one, tiny detail.”

         “I was going to tell you, someday, but there was never…it was never the right time.”

         “The right time would have been when it happened! Jesus Christ, Darlene. I can’t believe this. My son was murdered and you didn’t think to tell me!”

         He stared at her and Darlene bore his stare, crying without sound, until he spun for the stairs. She ran behind him to their room. He yanked a drawer from the dresser and dumped it on the floor. Scooping a handful of socks and underwear he dropped them back in. From the closet he added shirts and trousers.

         “Doug. Honey, please. I’m so sorry.”

         He hurried from closet to bed.

         “Can we talk? Just for a minute.”

         “How can we talk when I don’t even know if what’s coming out of your mouth is true?”

         “I was wrong not to have told you. I know that now, but I could barely stand it myself. I was just trying to save you from this last, horrible hurt.”

         “For Christ’s sake, Darlene. He’s my son. My only son. You had no right to keep that from me. To hoard him like that. How dare you play God?”

         “I know. You’re right. I was wrong.”

         They stared from across the bed. The bed they had made love in, wakened in grumpily, happily, indifferently. The bed they had fought and laughed in, tickled children in and nursed through fever and nightmare. She thought of all the nights she’d left their bed to go to Chris, all the nights she’d abandoned her living husband for the ghost of their son and knew with a great and powerful conviction how wrong she had been.

         Again.

         “Please don’t go.”

         “I have to. I can’t stay here. Somebody has to do something.”

         “About what?”

         “About what?”

         His face purpled like a bruise. She shivered and crossed her arms.

         “About our son, Darlene. Our son who was ordered to cross a river in full gear for no good reason. Our son who was murdered.”

         “Stop saying that! He wasn’t murdered. He was doing his duty.”

         “Bullshit! Doing your duty’s one thing. Being ordered to commit suicide is another.”

         “He did no such thing. He died a hero. Shouldering someone else’s load. He’d have been fine if he hadn’t…”

         “If he hadn’t been such a goddamned hero! And he wasn’t the only one, right? Or are you lying about that too? Didn’t you say there was another boy? How do you think his parents feel? Do you think they’re all as gung-ho Johnny Rah-rah as you are? Do they know the truth about their son? Jesus Christ, Dar. I can’t believe you don’t care about this. He’s your son, for Christ’s sake. He was massacred!”

         “He was following orders!”

         “Stupid, senseless, pointless orders that killed him!”

         Darlene straightened. She squared her shoulders. “He wasn’t murdered,” she insisted calmly. “He died serving his country.”

         “I can’t talk to you.”

         He jammed clothes into the drawer. As he hefted the load she told him, “Kate’s not getting married. She canceled the wedding.”

         He froze.

         “What?”

         “I just thought you should know, before you go.”

         He tucked the drawer under his arm. “Where is she?”

         “With Jason.”

         “What happened?”

         “She doesn’t love him.”

         “Since when?”

         “Since the beginning, I guess. I think she was just trying to make us happy. Like a family again.”

         “She was trying to make you happy. We’ve all been trying, Dar. But you know what? I’m done, too. I’m finished.”

         “I don’t blame you. I thought I was doing the right thing but I wasn’t.”

         “No, you weren’t. And you were so busy protecting all of us, which was mainly just protecting you, that you couldn’t even see how wrong you were.”

         “I know. I know was wrong. What more can I say?”

         “Nothing.” He walked past. “There’s nothing more to say. It’s too late. Unless of course you have any more surprises for me.”

         “No. Where are you going?”

         “I don’t know. Just out of here.”

         “What’s her name?”

         Doug stopped, but didn’t turn. “Leave her out of this. She has nothing to do with it. Tell Kate I’ll call her tonight. I’ll explain. You don’t have to.”

         He walked out. Darlene stared at the mess on the floor. She picked up his shorts and folded them into a neat pile. She gathered his socks and stacked them on the dresser. With a cry she swept them all to the floor again.

         Chapter Seventy-Seven

         “Hi.”

         Kate plunked a sack of burritos on the counter, glad to find Greer at the kitchen table.

         “How’d it go?”

         “Not good. He’s pissed. I made him cry. I’ve never seen him cry.”

         “I’m sorry.”

         She shrugged. “It’s over. Where’s Mom?”

         “Upstairs. Your dad came home. I don’t think it went well.”

         Kate wheeled. “She told him?”

         “Yeah.”

         “Is he still here?”

         “No. He left about twenty minutes ago.”

         Looking toward the hall, she asked, “And she hasn’t come down yet?”

         Greer shook her head.

         “I’m going to go see if she’s all right.”

         Kate climbed the steps feeling like a bag of birds was trying to get loose in her belly. On the landing she noticed the key hanging from the lock in Chris’s door. She stopped to listen and heard her mother down the hall. The door to her parent’s bedroom was open. Kate peeked in. Her mother was folding clothes. She knocked softly.

         “Oh, Katie. Honey.”

         Her mother held her arms out and Kate fell into them, crushed hard but not minding.

         “Honey, I’ve made such a mess. I’m so sorry.”

         “Me, too.”

         Kate clung just as tightly.

         “Can you forgive me? I know I was wrong. Greer begged me over and over to tell you and I couldn’t. I couldn’t add to what was already an unbearable load. I was just trying to protect you and you don’t need my protection. You’re a big girl.”

         “It’s okay. It really is. I mean, I understand why you did it. I just wish I could have helped you through it. That we could have gone through it like a family.”

         “I wanted to carry it for you. And for your father too. I wanted to spare you what I see every time I think of him crossing that river. I’d have given anything to keep you both from that. Anything.”

         “I know. I think I understand. Like I wanted to marry Jason for you. To try and make it easier.”

         Her mother smoothed her hair and Kate explained, “He seemed to make you happy and I thought maybe in time he could be like Chris –”

         “No one can ever be like your brother.”

         “I didn’t mean like a replacement, but you know, just the comfort of having someone his age around, someone…”

         “I know. And I thank you for trying. I thank you so.”

         She kissed Kate’s head.

         “Greer said you told Dad.”

         “He’s angry. He packed some clothes. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

         Kate sighed. “I suppose I should tell him about the wedding.”

         “I already did. He said he’d call you tonight.”

         She hugged her mother. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it work with Jason. I really tried.”

         “Oh, honey. All I want is for you to be happy.”

         “That’s what Greer said.”

         “Did she?”

         They shared a teary smile.

         “Have you eaten anything? I bought veggie burritos from Sanchos. Your favorite.”

         “Oh, Katydid.”

         Kate smiled. “You haven’t called me that in ages.”

         “There are a lot of things I haven’t done in ages.”

         “Let’s go eat.”

         “There’s one more thing.”

         She took Kate’s hand and led her down the hall. To Chris’ room. Her mother pushed the door open. Kate held her breath as she stepped in. The room looked exactly the way she remembered – the trophy case, his Navy portrait, the entertainment system. Even the same red, white and blue quilt on his bed. Nothing had changed. It was simultaneously weird and comforting. Her mother carried a metal box to the rocker, indicating Kate should sit.

         “You’ve never seen these.”

         She opened the box and handed Kate three envelopes.

         “They came after he died. You know how slow his mail was. They trickled in for weeks. It was awful. The cruelest thing. I hated checking the mail but I had to get there before you or your father did.”

         “Oh, Mom.”

         “I hid these from you. I know it was wrong,” she added in a rush, “but maybe when you read them you’ll see why.”

         Under her mother’s anxious eye, Kate slipped the first letter from its envelope.

         Chapter Seventy-Eight

         Hi Guys –

         Another bad day in the Sand Box. We went out on a recon last night. It wasn’t a big deal, just gathering some local intel and one of our humvees hit an IED. Roberts and Clayton were torn up pretty bad – I stabilized them and we flew them out but they lost a lot of blood and took a lot of trauma. I haven’t heard how they are. Part of me doesn’t even want to know. Once we fly a guy out I don’t check up on him. I like to assume the best unless I hear otherwise. They looked pretty bad though. Oh well. I just do my job and triage them then its up to God, I guess. He knows more than I do. I hope.

         It’s funny, I signed up to help but I have a gun with me all the time and I’m afraid I’m going to use it someday. On the wrong person. I don’t want to hurt a woman or a kid but I swear sometimes you don’t know who’s good and who’s bad. A squad in C Company had a couple little hajiis run up to them out on patrol. They were smiling and asking for chocolate then one them of tossed a grenade into the vehicle and they ran off cursing the US. The good news was the grenade was a dud but that was pure dumb-ass luck. What if it had detonated? What if that had been me out on patrol? I want to get home alive. I know that much. I don’t want to kill anybody but I’ll do whatever it takes to see you again. I just hope it doesn’t come to that. Please keep me in your prayers – especially you Mom – Dad, I don’t know how much your prayers would help. Just kidding. Katie, I love you. How’s the wedding planning going? No stress, right? Just kidding. I can’t wait to go home and go surfing. Just lay on my board in the middle of the ocean and forget about this place forever. Like it was just a bad dream. I love you guys. I miss you.

         Love – Chris

         Chapter Seventy-Nine

         Hi - Whew. Long couple of nights. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop clearing houses, humping a hundred pounds of gear. I’m fucking beat. Night after night of sweat and dust and wondering who’s going to be in the house your clearing and usually its nobody but then all of a sudden hell breaks loose and we’re swarming in insurgents and I’m hoping I don’t open fire on someone I shouldn’t fire on and at the same time I’m not even really giving a shit because what if they open fire on me or my Marines first? I don’t want to jinx it but at least no ones gotten hurt on the last couple ops.

         Samuels found a puppy in one of the houses. Poor damned thing was just big eyes and bones. He took it and we’ve been keeping it in our tent. If Sarge sees it he’ll make us get rid of it. His names Lucky (Samuels named him). I hope he is.

         Samuels just came in – says we’re moving out tomorrow. Not sure where, but it sounds like north. Don’t know what we’ll do with Lucky. Oh well. Whatever. I’ll write soon. Love – C

         PS – I never got a chance to send this. We hit the road at 0500 next morning. Rumor had it we were headed to Baqubah. Never got there. Hit a roadblock a couple clicks out. The whole fucking place went up in smoke and flames. I heard later 6 Guardsmen were killed. None of us thank God. It was an IED. Pretty fucking powerful. I had to go help but there was nothing left of these guys. An axle from their car was the biggest part left. I can still hear the kaboom and smell burnt hair and skin and oil. Its stuck in the back of my throat. I gag just thinking about it. So I don’t think about it.

         We’re back at base now. Hopefully we’re not going anywhere for a while. Lucky’s gone. We left him with one of the guys next door and he took off. He’s just a pup so he probably won’t make it. God, I wish I could just take off. I’m sick of this place. Later – C

         Chapter Eighty

         Hey – It’s 0230 hours. I’m supposed to be up at 0430 but I haven’t slept yet. I can’t. Between the heat and the thinking I can’t seem to fall asleep anymore and when I do I wake up after an hour or two. I can’t remember the last time I got like four solid hours of sleep. I just want to come home. But even if I did I’m afraid I wouldn’t be home. I don’t know that I can ever be home again after being here. I feel like I’m so changed and so different that I won’t fit in anymore. You won’t recognize me. I’m not the same son, the same brother. I’m not Chris Richardson anymore. I’m Corporal Richardson. I’ve turned into a lean, mean fighting machine and I don’t know that I can ever turn back. It’s like taking a nice dog and beating it and kicking it until you’ve broken it and turned it into a snarling, mangy mutt. That’s what I feel like. Its weird because I want to come home - we all do. That’s all we talk about over here is home, but the scary thing is none of us would fit in anymore. We’re not nice dogs anymore. We’ve gotten wild and mean and I don’t know that we can ever get that out of us.

         I’m sorry to whine. You’d expect better from an American soldier. But I’m afraid if I don’t tell it to someone that I’ll explode. That I’ll go crazy and just start whipping my M16 around and take us all out so we don’t have to live in this craziness another minute. So it would all be quiet after the smoke cleared.

         I’ve just got to get this off my chest. I can’t do it with the guys because they look to me to be strong. They look to me to be calm and keep it all together and I appreciate their trust in me. I don’t want to let them down. I hope you understand. It’s just a lot of stress sometimes. I really appreciate your listening (or reading). I love you all so much. I really do. That hasn’t changed. It never will. And don’t worry, I’m really okay. Guess I just think to much sometimes. Not a lot else to do here. Mom and Dad and Kate thank you so much for being there for me. You’re the greatest family a guy can have. I hope I can live up to your standards. I hope I can come home and be your son and brother again. I love you guys so much. – C

         P.S. Thanks for the I-Tunes, K. Totally dope. Bought Drowning Pool and Nile. Rock on!

         Chapter Eighty-One

         “God,” Kate said to Dar as they came into the kitchen. “Drowning Pool and Nile. That’s so creepy.”

         “I know. I had to Google them when I read that. I hate that he was listening to that kind of music.”

         Kate explained to Greer, “We were reading the last of his letters.”

         Greer nodded and got up to make tea.

         “He’d have been okay,” Kate said. “We’d have made him okay. We’d have loved him enough. Bad dogs don’t have to stay bad. They can be loved back to gentleness. I wish I could have told him that.”

         “I know, honey. I wanted to tell him too. To reassure him that in time he’d be his old self again. Well, not exactly his old self, I’m sure. Something like that changes you, but you take the experience and weave it into the root of who you are. In Chris’ case his essential goodness, his basic loving nature was his root. I wished I could have told him it wasn’t gone forever, that it was just buried under all the evilness he saw but that given a chance it would come back. I wanted to tell him that, but by the time I got the letter…”

         Dar shook her head. “It kills me that I couldn’t reassure my own child. That I wasn’t there when he needed me most.”

         “But you were,” Greer interrupted. “You were all there because he was able to write to you. He could get everything off his chest, like he said. It didn’t stay inside him. You gave him an outlet. You were there and his buddies were. They loved him. Wait’ll you see the video.”

         Dar bit the blood from her lips. “Not yet.”

         Greer set the tea on the table. They sat and drank and told stories into the night about Chris. They picked at the burritos Kate had bought until Dar pleaded, “Well, it’s silly. I didn’t get up until noon but I’m exhausted.”

         “Go to bed,” Greer encouraged.

         “I think I will.”

         Standing, she pressed her lips to her daughter’s head.

         “I love you, Katydid.”

         “I love you, too.”

         “Don’t stay up too late.”

         She turned to Greer. Cradling her head to her waist, she raked her fingers through Greer’s hair.

         “And you. I hear you up all night. What are you doing?”

         Eyes closed, resting in the softness of the old Dar, she answered, “Roaming, making tea. Reading our old friend Eliot.”

         She glanced up. “Do you remember? All those hours with The Waste Land?”

         With a quizzical look, Dar answered, “Of course. ‘April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land.’”

         “’Mixing memory and desire.’”

         “’Stirring dull roots with spring rain.’”

         Greer prompted, “’Winter kept us warm,’”.

         “’Covering earth in forgetful snow.’”

         “Feeding life with dried tubers.’”

         “A little life,” Dar corrected. “‘Feeding a little life with dried tubers.’”

         “Damn. You always knew him better than I did.”

         Dar continued, “’Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee with a shower of rain.’”

         “Okay, now you’re just showing off.”

         Kate was staring at her mother.

         “How do you know all that?”

         Dar winked. “Greer’s not the only one who knows Eliot. Good night, you two.” She planted a kiss on Greer’s head and walked from the room.

         “How’d she know all that?”

         “Are you kidding? Your mother’s the poet, not me. I never could have passed English Lit without her.”

         “No way. I’ve never even seen her read a poem.”

         “Probably too busy rearing a family. Working. Finishing her to-do list.”

         “That’s amazing.”

         “She is amazing.

         Anchoring the table with an elbow, Greer propped her chin in her palm and turned to Kate.

         “Speaking of amazing, how are you?”

         Frowning, Kate copied Greer’s pose.

         “Let’s see. My brother drowned and I hate that. My mother lied to me and I hate that too but I feel even worse for her. I can’t imagine what she’s been through. I broke up with my fiancé and I feel terrible that I hurt him.

         “But Greer,” she confided, “it’s like I’ve grown a new set of lungs. I feel like I’m finally able to get enough air. You don’t know what a relief it is not to have to go to over there tonight. And I’ve got my mother back. I thought she’d hate me, but it’s like she loves me even more.”

         Greer nodded.

         “And,” Kate continued coyly, “I kissed a woman.”

         “You certainly did.”

         “Are you sure there’s no chance for more?”

         Greer laced her fingers into Kate’s.

         “What I wouldn’t give to be twenty years younger.”

         “If you were twenty years younger I’d only be seven.”

         They grinned and Kate said, “So it is an age thing.”

         “No. A life thing. Timing. Circumstance. Like I said, if this had happened six weeks earlier…I wouldn’t have been able to resist you.”

         Kate rolled her eyes. “But now you can.”

         “Yes.”

         “Just my luck.”

         “Mine too.”

         Aware of Kate’s hand in hers, she was equally aware how unlikely it would be that she would ever again touch such young and willing flesh.

         “Are you still leaving?”

         “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

         “I wish you’d stay.”

         “I have to go. Let you guys get on with your lives. No more distractions.”

         “You’re not a distraction, you’re an inspiration. See, that’s another thing. I discovered Eliot.”

         “Indeed. Who will stand you in good stead far longer than I.”

         “Like Tsvetaeva and your Russian lover? Hey, that’s another thing. I got my fortune told.”

         Suddenly serious, Kate asked, “Do you remember what my near future card was?”

         “No.”

         “I do. I wrote them all down. It was the Lovers.”

         Kate leaned forward.

         “That was you and me. The cottage and Eliot, the yellow smoke, and mattering too much and not enough. The bloody jackals and swimming in tigers and the pool at night and tea. That was all a kind of making love, wasn’t it?”

         Greer’s breath caught.

         “Yes,” she managed. “It was.”

         “Do you remember what my last card was?”

         Greer stared hard at Kate. She wanted to catch her excitement in a bottle and chug it down, that her youth and hope and optimism might warm her like hot brandy.

         “Was it Death?”

         “That’s right. And you told me not to be afraid. That Death was just change. A transformation. And look at all that’s happened.”

         Kate slowly wagged a finger. “Your Russian landlady was right. ‘Card never lie.’”

         “I’ll be damned,” Greer laughed. “You’re right. Card never lie. The other day I pulled three cards. Past, present, and future. The Fool,” she raised her hand, “was the past, Death the present, and the Eight of Wands the future, and like you, I seemed to have undergone a transformation, a swift and sudden transformation.”

         Kate sat back, arms folded across her chest. “Card never lie.”

         Greer shook her head. “Apparently not.”

         She reached across the table, needing to feel Kate just once more. She pulled her close, their heads almost touching.

         “I couldn’t have done it without you. You made it happen.”

         “We made it happen. Together.”

         Greer nodded. She pressed her lips to the velvet of Kate’s cheek, lingering, then let go.

         “It’s been a long day. I’m going to turn in.”

         “Alone?” Kate teased.

         “Yes.” Greer smiled. “Alone.”

         Epilogue

         A knock sounded from the living room followed immediately by, “Hello?”

         “Grandma!” squealed the little girl. She scrambled off her stool to throw herself at Darlene’s knees.

         “Oh, my angel,” she cried, bending to swing the child into her arms.

         “Mom,” Kate warned. “Your back.”

         “Well, thank god you’re an EMT and can fix it for me if I go into spasm.”

         Kissing her granddaughter, she added, “Sorry I was late. The meeting ran over.”

         “Hm. If this is Tuesday you must have been at the Gold Star Mothers meeting.”

         “That’s tomorrow night,” she corrected. “Tuesday is Home of the Brave quilting night.”

         “Right,” Kate murmured. “Not to be confused with the Quilts of Valor meeting on Saturday.”

         “That’s Friday. And how many times do I have to tell you to keep the doors locked? I just walked in. I could have been any axe murderer off the street.”

         “Jeff’s here. He’s right outside.”

         “Well, still. Even with your husband around anyone can sneak in. It happens you know.”

         “I made coffee. Help yourself.”

         “And cookies!” cried her granddaughter.

         “Yum,” Darlene replied. She asked casually, “Have you talked to your father lately? It was his birthday yesterday.”

         “Yeah, I know. We called and sang him happy birthday. He and Gina are still in Mexico.”

         “Oh. Of course. The big fifth anniversary, right?”

         Kate nodded, worried that she was still keeping track. She watched her mother nuzzle the baby’s neck.

         “Grandma.” Her daughter squirmed in Darlene’s arms, patting her cheeks to get her grandmother’s full attention. “Do you know who Greer is?”

         “You’re Greer.”

         “No-o-o. The other Greer.

         Darlene glanced at Kate.

         “She asked why we called her Greer. I told her.”

         “Do you know her, Grandma?”

         “Yes,” she sighed. “I certainly do.”

         “Will I ever get to meet her?”

         The women shared another look. “No, angel, you won’t.”

         “Why not?”

         “Here,” Kate said, lifting Greer from Darlene. “Go get your coffee.”

         Settling into the old rocker, she asked, “Honey, remember how I told you Greer worked in faraway places?”

         Greer nodded.

         “Well, one day – not long after Mommy and Daddy met – Greer got hurt really bad in that same country where your uncle Christopher did.”

         “Did she die like him?”

         “Yes.”

         “Like when Snowy got hit by the car?”

         “Yeah. Like that.”

         “Did it hurt?”

         Fingering a silky red tendril from her daughter’s cheek, she answered, “No, honey. I don’t think it hurt at all.”

         “Grandma?” Greer twisted in Kate’s lap. “Do you want a cookie?”

         “Oh, angel.” She dabbed a tissue at her eyes and smiled. “I’d love a cookie.”