From his first conscious hour at the hospital in Landstuhl, Germany, he’d accepted that he wasn’t returning to the field with special operations, not missing both legs. Some amps stayed in the army at desk jobs, even double amps, and he’d begun a mental list of how to continue his career. No more action, but once he achieved independent movement, he’d anticipated terrorizing fresh meat at Q-Course or evaluating candidates at Special Forces Assessment School.
All the jobs on his career list had one mission-critical common denominator: speech.
Like a true fiancée,Grace had nodded and laughed with Rey’s friends so late that the April evening had chilled and the parking lot lights had illuminated. Walking to her rental car, she returned her sister’s calls.
Jenni didn’t pause for hello. “Grace!”
“Are you at Mom and Dad’s?”
“Outside walking Po-Po. They have one fat dog.”
Grace had phoned because if she didn’t, it would be weeks before her family forgot, and her mother might be worried enough to call her boss in the morning. That didn’t mean she actually had anything to say to Jenni.
“On the drive home, I had time to think.” Jenni’s voice slowed until she sounded almost apologetic. “I’m sorry I wasn’t paying better attention to what you said at the airport. Do you or do you not know Rey Cruz?”
“I’ve never spoken to him until today.” As she slid into the car’s cocoon of air-freshener and normalcy, relief that she hadone person with whom she could talk openly about her problem filled her. “Not ever.”
“You mean he had a picture of you in his wallet, but you don’t even know him?”
“Yes.”
“Whoa. Creepy.”
“He’s not creepy.” He was frustrated and frustrating, complex and difficult, but she hadn’t received one creep vibe.
“Did he tell you why he had your picture?”
“He has a brain injury and can’t talk.”
“Isn’t that convenient.”
“It’s like a stroke.”
“Are you sure? You’re not a good judge of men.”
“You have so much experience? There’s three hundredish men where you live, maybe fifty in the key cohort between the ages of twenty-five and forty.” She projected fish populations for a living; counting bachelors in Salito wasn’t challenging.
“Bottom line, you delivered the box, so you’ve done what you have to do.”
Reminded of the responsibility sitting in the trunk, she squeezed the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know if I have.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? Last night you didn’t want to go. He lied—”
“It’s more complicated.” Propped on the headrest, she tried to marshal words for her instincts. “His friends are going back to New York. I don’t feel right leaving him alone, and I have the week off.”
“His mother’s on her way.”
“When?” Hope flared that someone would share the burden.
“Luisa—remember his sister?—took their mother to the bus in Wenatchee Friday, and she caught the train in Spokane. She should arrive Monday.”
Imagining Rey’s mother worrying alone for days broke her heart. “Why didn’t she fly?”
“Youhavebeen in the big city. Why do you think she doesn’t want to fly? Doesn’t matter that her son’s a hero, does it, if they ask the wrong questions at security?”
“Oh. Right.” His mother was probably undocumented. “His dad?”
“He died a long time ago.” Her sister’s voice went quiet. “Forklift accident when we were kids. We were too young to know, but people are talking about it again. He was off the books so they didn’t even get insurance or worker’s comp. Burns me up.”
