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Specialist Michael Saint. Specialist of what? he wondered.
Mobilization Alert
Dear Spc. Saint,
Report to Camp Pendleton on Saturday, October 15, 0900, for pre-deployment instruction during a regular training weekend. Further instructions will be given at that time.
Major General Henry Deportolo—another Italian.
United States Army, Reserves
Department of Defense
In five days, he’d find out what would happen with the rest of his life. The first person he thought of after reading the letter was Devon. Devon would tell him what to do next. The clock on the satellite box said it was only one. He reached for his phone and sent a text.
Buddy, you up? I need to talk.His phone rang in thirty seconds.
“What’s going on?” Devon asked, concerned. “Why are you awake?”
“I got a pre-deployment letter. I’m getting shipped out.”
“To where?” Devon asked, stunned.
“Don’t know. They’ll tell us on Saturday. I go to Camp Pendleton on Saturday. I have no idea how long they’ll give me before I have to leave.”
“Is this your usual weekend away?”
“No, it’s early by a week,” he said. “We’re having a Halloween party this weekend. Aisling is going to freak.”
“Yeah, me too,” Devon said. “Let’s not get hysterical yet, okay? You might go to Germany for six months. I can think of worse things.”
“Reservists don’t go to Europe anymore,” Mike said. “Shit, I feel sick.”
“Go back to sleep,” Devon instructed. “Aisling will be home at four, and you can tell her and plan for the next step. I’ll think about it and we can talk tonight.”
“Bye, bro. Thanks,” Mike said, and hung up, not waiting for a reply.
Leaving Aisling for war was the worst thing that could happen to him. Clicking the remote, the TV blasted on the sports channel, background noise helping drown out his worst fears. If he died there, wherever it was he was going, what would become of Aisling? He just knew that whatever happened to him, it wasn’t going to be good. He’d get Devon’s word that he’d look out for her.
With his anxiety mounting, he thought the depth of passion he felt for his wife couldn’t be sustained for a lifetime. It wasn’t possible to love someone like he loved her for fifty more years, was it? It would burn a man out. He didn’t believe his father had loved his mother the way he loved Aisling; he was at that deluded honeymoon stage of a new marriage where love is so wildly passionate that it’s impossible to imagine anyone else feeling the same way.
Ralph looked up at him with a compassionate look and then got up from the floor and went over to the end of the couch where Aisling sat on the rare occasion that she visited the den. An afghan that Granny Murphy had crocheted for a wedding gift was folded neatly over the arm. Ralph grabbed it between his teeth and dragged it over to Mike.
“What the heck are you doing?” Mike asked, watching the dog yanking on the afghan to pull it over. “That afghan is your momma’s pride and joy.”
Something clicked then—the afghan and the effort it had taken Granny Murphy to make it for their wedding gift and, because of it, the importance Aisling placed upon it. It had the special place in his den. Ralph was trying to give him a hint.
Looking at his watch, he saw that it was almost one thirty. He had exactly two and a half hours to get something special ready for Aisling, something he had never done for her in the years they’d lived together. Quickly showering, he dressed, grabbed his wallet and car keys, and ran out the door. But where to?
Passing by the barber, he made a quick stop for a haircut. The barber was known for his nonstop talking, so Mike told him he wanted to do something nice for his wife but was at a loss.
“Cook her dinner,” the man said. “Women eat that up. The nice grocery store in town has everything you’ll need for a special dinner, including wine, dessert and flowers.”
Pushing the basket around the store, he settled on steak for the grill; twice-baked potatoes that were already assembled in the deli department, all he had to do was bake them; salad; and pie and ice cream for dessert. He decided against wine because he had to go to work at eleven that night and then changed his mind and got a bottle for Aisling. On the way out, he grabbed a dozen pink roses and a balloon that had I Love You printed on the side.
Back at home, he took Ralph for a quick walk and then got busy preparing for Aisling’s homecoming. He set the table on the patio with their wedding china. If he got killed wherever he was going, they’d regret not using it at least once. He made a can of frozen orange juice that he’d doctor with Sprite like his mother used to do when they were kids, adding a maraschino cherry and a little red dyed juice to make it orange. He got the pie ready to heat up and put the salad together.
Everything was ready for dinner when Aisling walked through the door. She knew immediately something was wrong.
