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“Back at the base. Where it was safe. She could have taken care of the wounded back there. But she wanted to follow us outside the wire.”
“Couldn’t you have ordered her to stay inside?”
“She wasn’t in my command, not directly. Medics go on patrol with whatever team needs them. But she was with my team a lot—enough that she was one of us. And she was good. Calm under fire. Everyone respected her. She did whatever she had to do, took whatever risk was necessary to save others.”
Karmen sounded like the kind of woman Rosie strove to be for Jorge, even if she often fell short. “She sounds amazing.”
“She was.” He swallowed hard. “She gave me the painting a couple of days before she died. Like she thought I’d need its magic.” He ran a hand over his face. “There was an IED.”
He was so silent, so still, she didn’t know whether it was better to be quiet, or to try to draw him out with a question. Especially when she was almost positive this was the first time he’d opened up to anyone about it.
Yet he continued on his own. “My guys. They got taken out.” He held his breath a long moment, as if absorbing the blows all over again. “And Karmen, she rushed in like she always did. Because that’s what she did, she helped whoever needed her. Regardless of the risk to her own life.” Regret was etched into the lines of his face. “A sniper shot her.”
“I’m so sorry, Gideon.” Rosie wanted to gather him close, hold him the way she would hold Jorge, soothe his pain. “You must have loved her very much.” A woman as brave, as fierce, as fearless as he.
“She was a close friend.”
Though she didn’t believe that was all there’d been to their relationship, she didn’t push. Instead, she said, “I’m so sorry about your friends, your team.”
He stared at the boys splashing their way across the pool, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, his features immobile. Until he finally spoke again. “It’s almost like she had a premonition, and that’s why she gave me the painting. She said I was supposed to pass it on when the time was right. All this time, I’ve been waiting for some sort of sign.” Frustration rose in his voice as he said, “I just wish I knew what the magic is that she was talking about.”
Rosie didn’t want to utter some meaningless platitude like, You’ll know it when it happens. Instead, she said, “If it’s truly magical, then wouldn’t it be the painting’s job to tell you when the time is right?”
He thought about that for a long moment. “I’d have to believe in magic,” he said. “But I suppose if I did, that would make sense.”
Surprised, and pleased, that he didn’t fight the idea of magic for too long—even if he wasn’t completely sure he believed in it—she said, “Whatever happens with the painting, I have faith in you, Gideon. Just as Karmen did.”
He sat in silence as if absorbing her words. After long seconds, maybe even minutes, he turned to her. “I don’t know what I could have done to earn your faith in me. But I’m not going to lie and say I don’t appreciate it. Because I do.”
“Thank you for having faith in me too, and for sharing your story.” She flashed him a smile, trying not to make a big deal of the massively big deal of a conversation they’d just had. “What do you say we join the boys in the pool?”
They jumped into the pool, where they spent the rest of the afternoon playing Marco Polo and doing cannonballs off the diving board. And though neither of them said another thing about the painting, or Karmen, for the rest of the day, Rosie knew in her heart that they’d chipped away great big pieces of the wall that Gideon had built around himself. What he’d experienced had been the worst life could throw at him. But today, during their hike, he’d acknowledged that some good things had happened over there.
It meant so much that he’d been able to share both the worst and the best with her. It meant so much that he’d unburdened himself. It meant so much that he’d let her in. She could already feel the healing begin for him. And she was glad his walls were dropping.
So damned glad.
Because Gideon deserved every good thing life could bring him.
Even magic.
Chapter Fifteen
Gideon had admitted to Rosie that he’d failed both his team and Karmen. Yet Rosie hadn’t hated him for it. He’d been right: Sharing his story with her had been a release, easing more of the tension twisting his insides. The ache would never go
away—but his body felt looser now. For the first time in a very long while, he didn’t feel like a coiled snake ready to strike.
After the boys finally agreed to get out of the pool and dry off, Gideon made spaghetti for dinner, with homemade sauce, not bottled. Rosie prepared the salad, while the boys slathered garlic butter on the bread and watched it toast under the broiler.
After the four of them ate, they played Monopoly. For just a little while, he thought about nothing but games and the boys. And about Rosie, of course, which was a given since he couldn’t get her out of his head, no matter how hard he tried.
At eight o’clock, Rosie told Jorge, “Time to go. Let’s clean up the board, guys.”
“Can Jorge sleep over?” Noah had perfected that please-please-please pout, his hands together in pleading. Jorge imitated him.
Gideon was sure she’d give in, but she shook her head.
“No, honey, you need to come home with me.”
