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K—
Sorry its been so long since the last letter. The team is out so much on assignment that I cant get five seconds to myself. But Im good. Tired. Hell, more than that. Exhausted. The first US female POW was captured last night and I have to say that it hit us all hard. I hope that someday I can tell you how it feels to see all this, but I cant think that way now, not if I want to sleep. Anyway, theres talk that the Iraqis are going to ignite oil wells in Kuwait and were off to cover it. Kisses to Marah and more to you.
Kate stared down at the last fax shed received. It was dated February 21, 1991, almost one week ago.
She sat in her living room, watching the war coverage on television. The last six weeks had been the longest, hardest days of her life. She was waiting, always waiting, for a phone call that said he was coming home, for a special report that heralded the end of the war. Now they were saying that the final allied assault should begin any day. A ground assault. That scared her as much as or more than anything else because she knew her Johnny. Somehow, hed end up on a tank, directing a story that no one else could tell.
The waiting had worn her down to nothing. Shed lost fifteen pounds and hadnt had a good nights sleep since their night at the hotel.
She folded the latest fax in half and placed it on the small pile of others. Every day she told herself she wouldnt unfold them and reread his words; every day she returned to them.
Today shed begun several chores and left all of them unfinished. Instead, she sat on the couch, watching television. Shed been here for more than two hours.
Marah stood by the coffee table, clutching its wooden edge in her pink, pudgy hands, swaying like a break-dancer and babbling in baby talk. Finally, she plopped down on her diaper-padded butt and immediately began to crawl away from the couch.
"Stay by Mommy," Kate said automatically. On TV, the oil wells were burning; the air above them was a thick cloud of black smoke.
Across the room, Marah found something. Kate could tell by the sudden quiet. She jumped up and went over to the chair by the fireplace.
Johnnys chair.
Dont think about that, she told herself. Hed be back any day to sit there again and read the paper after work.
She bent down and picked up her curious daughter, who looked up at her through huge, bright brown eyes and started to babble. Kate couldnt help smiling at how earnestly Marah was trying to communicate, and as always, her daughters obvious joy lifted her spirits. "Hey, Munchkin what have you got there?" She carried her back toward the sofa, turning off the TV as she passed it. Enough was enough. She turned on the radio instead. It was tuned to an oldies channel, which always made her shake her head. To her mind the seventies werent that distant. The Eagles were singing "Desperado. "
Kate let the music take her back to an easier time. Holding her daughter close, she danced in the living room, singing along. Marah giggled and bounced in her arms, which made Kate laugh for the first time in days. She kissed her daughters plump cheek, nuzzled her velvety neck, and tickled her until she screamed happily.
They were having so much fun Kate didnt register instantly that the phone was ringing. When she did hear it, she ran for the radio, turned it down, and answered.
"Mrs. John Ryan?" The connection was scratchy. Clearly long-distance. Only in dire need.
She froze, tightened her hold on Marah, who squirmed in her arms. "This is she. "
"This is Lenny Golliher. Im a friend of your husbands. Im over here in Baghdad with him. Im sorry to have to tell you this, Mrs. Ryan, there was a bombing yesterday . . . "
The maître d showed Edna to her regular table, and Tully followed along behind, trying not to gape at all the power brokers and celebrities who were here today for lunch. Clearly 21 was one of the places to be seen in Manhattan. Edna stopped at nearly every table to say hi to someone and she introduced them all to Tully, saying, "Heres a girl you should keep your eye on. "
By the time they took their seats, Tully felt as if she were floating. She couldnt wait to call Kate and tell her shed met John Kennedy, Jr.
She knew the value of what had just happened. Edna had just given her the gift of recognition. "Why me?" she asked when their waiter left.
Edna lit up her cigarette and leaned back. Nodding at someone across the room, she seemed not to have heard the question. Tully was about to ask it again when Edna said quietly, "You remind me of me. That surprises you, I see. "
"Flatters me. "
"Im from a little town in Oklahoma. When I got to New York—with a degree in journalism and a job in the secretarial pool—I discovered the ugly truth about this career. Practically everyone is Someone or related to Someone. A nobody has to work damn hard. I dont think I slept more than five hours at a time, had a family holiday, or had sex that meant something for almost a decade. "
The waiter brought their food, set it down with an obsequious nod, and disappeared again. Smoking cigarette in hand, Edna began cutting her steak. "When I saw you, I thought, Theres the girl Ill help. I dont know why except, like I said, you reminded me of me. "
"My lucky day. "
Edna nodded and went back to her food.
"Ms. Guber?" It was the maître d again, carrying a phone. "Theres an urgent call for you. "
She took the phone, said, "Talk. " Then she listened for a long time. "Whatre their names? How? Bomb?" She began taking notes. "Seattle reporter killed, producer wounded. "
Tully didnt hear anything after producer. Ednas voice turned into white noise. She leaned forward. "Who is it?"
