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I follow Tavares to headquarters and the short walk is awkwardly quiet. He leads me inside to Captain Kendricks’s small office. Tapping on the door, he’s met with a deep grunt from the other side. Then he opens the door, motions for me step into the office and closes the door behind me. I take a seat, having absolutely no idea what’s going on, but my mind runs through a hundred different scenarios. Not one of them is good.
Kendricks continues to shuffle through papers without acknowledging my presence. He finds what he’s looking for and finally looks up. He has the same look of pity Tavares had, only his seemed forced, most likely out of habit. His conversations with the men below him are business, and only business.
“Well, Clay, I have some bad news.” He pauses, crossing his arms over his chest. I’m immediately grateful that he tells it like it is; I respect a man that can do that. “We got a Red Cross message tonight, and … well”—he clears his throat but keeps his eyes on mine—“your mother died two days ago.” He stops, presumably to let me process what he’s just said. My mind is numb as I fight to comprehend his words. “There’s not a lot of information there,” he says, handing me a stack of papers, “but there’s a number to call, and of course, we will have to get you on a plane out of here as soon as possible.” I grab the paper from his hand and notice that mine is trembling. My hand never fucking trembles.
My mother is … dead. Gone. A rush of breath pushes through my lips and I close my eyes, only instead of thinking of Josephine, my thoughts travel to Katie.
Will I get to see her? Will she come to Pennsylvania to see me?
I should feel bad that this is where my thoughts are going, but I don’t. Not after the hell my mother put me through.
“A plane, Sir?” I know what he’s saying, but in this moment, my mind isn’t here.
“Yes, we gotta get you out for the funeral. It says in the message—I mean, you can read it yourself—but the funeral is in three days. We will have to get you on a chopper and to the Green Zone in the morning, and our operations men have set up a flight for you out of the country tomorrow evening. You’ll be home by Friday,” he says, handing me another piece of paper. I glance at it and see my itinerary. He stops for a moment, and for the first time during this meeting, he has a genuine look of pity on his face. “I’m sorry for your loss, Sergeant Clay.”
“Thank you, Sir,” I mumble, my eyes drifting to his marble-topped desk as I mentally make plans to call Katie. I have to call her. I have to see her.
“Clay?” Captain Kendricks’s deep voice catches my attention, and I look up. He wants to say something else but stops himself and simply nods.
“Do you know when the chopper will be here, Sir?” I ask to fill the awkward silence that’s taken up the room.
“0600 the bird will be here, so get your stuff together tonight and be prepared at 0530.”
Nodding, I stand, the Red Cross message clenched in my hand. Without a word, I walk to the door before realizing how rude I must’ve come off. I spin back around.
“Sorry, Sir. I’ll be at the helipad at 0530.”
He nods, accepting my explanation. “I’m sorry again, Sergeant Clay.”
The walk back to the tent is almost like a dream. My senses have dulled and my mind struggles to understand. I wait for the urge to cry or feel an overwhelming sense of loss, but it never comes. I’m only numb.
The line rings several times and I wonder what they’re going to tell me, if anything. My desire to call Katie is growing by the second, but I have to find out what happened to my mom first. As foul as that woman could be, she was still my mother, and I hope at the very least she died peacefully, though at her age I know that’s impossible.
The line clicks and a woman’s voice comes through.
“Red Cross Emergency Communications Services. This is Sharon. How can I help you?”
“Yes, ma’am, my name is Sergeant Devin Clay. I’m a U.S. Army soldier deployed to Iraq, and I just received a Red Cross message about my mother’s death.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that, Sergeant Clay, and I must say, thank you so much for the sacrifices you and your family are making.” Her words are saccharine sweet, but I have a feeling she does these sorts of calls entirely too often and her words are merely a script that runs through her head. I hear her typing away on the keyboard.
“Thank you very much, ma’am. Do you have any information for me?” I ask as she continues to type.
“Just … one … second … yep, here we go. Josephine Clay, myocardial infarction, died April 18, 2006. The funeral is on April 23rd.” She types again before continuing, “Now, Sergeant Clay, did your Command give you all of the funeral and travel information?”
“Yes, ma’am. Is there anything else I should know?”
“That should be it. Please give us a call if you have any problems with your travel arrangements. We are here to serve you, and again, if you don’t have any further questions, thank you so much for what you’re doing over there.” Her words barely register because my mind is on one thing and one thing only.
It’s been ten long years, and I’m ready to get my girl.
“No, I think I’m okay. Thank you, ma’am.” I quickly hang up the phone and snatch it back up again, dialing Katie’s number as fast as I can. With each ring, my heart pulses rapidly through my veins, a warm buzz sitting just under my skin. The excitement over seeing her is almost too much to comprehend, the thought of my mother no longer being on this earth, at least for the moment, being pushed beneath the surface.
“Devin?” Katie’s voice crackles over the line and I can’t help but smile. And then, without warning, an image of my mother and father holding each of my hands and swinging me in the air flashes in my head, bringing reality crashing down on me. Katie says my name again, but before I can answer, another memory comes barreling in. This time we’re walking through Cedar Point, looking for rides suitable for an eight-year-old. I’ve got a snowcone in one hand and a stuffed bear in the other.
My legs go weak and I yank out a chair before dropping onto it.
“Devin? Are you there?”
