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After four months in hell, our replacements arrived and we briefed them the best we could, knowing nothing could really prepare them for the things they’d see every day.
We made the transport trip home in silence, and when we gathered around the table in Scott’s office to debrief, all three of us had a hard time putting into words the things we’d seen and the intel we’d gathered.
McEvoy had taken the whole thing really hard, though Aaron and I talked about it on the drive back to Watertown and he told me he thought it had more to do with McEvoy’s divorce than anything else. The guy hadn’t been able to process it and being thrown into such a high-stress situation had amplified the emotional mess he was trying to sort out.
Aaron had shuddered when I told him about the baby girl for whom I’d filled out aid paperwork, sending her to the Sacred Heart in Watertown. Her parents died within hours of one another, neither of them able to receive the care they desperately needed in what was little more than a holding tank. They should have been routed to one of the many clinics we had in camp, but instead they were sent to processing.
Disorganization bothered me. After years in the Air Force it was inevitable that routine, organization and ruthless adherence to protocol were ingrained in my very DNA.
My sense of humor was dark, maybe a little sick, but even that hadn’t been enough to shield me from the atrocities I saw.
I’d made HALO jumps wearing 150 pounds of gear into dense forest to retrieve soldiers who were missing limbs.
I’d intubated terrified, combative, fully conscious men and started blood transfusions on the edge of mine fields.
I’d watched men die horrible deaths, knowing there was nothing more I could do to save them…and yet I’d always been able to sleep at night, my conscience clear, because I’d done everything humanly possible to save a life.
I wasn’t sleeping at night anymore. I was having nightmares for the first time since childhood, and sometimes I woke some of the others in my tent.
Aaron dropped me off halfway up the driveway, since it was full of cars I recognized, and I’d walked into what felt like an empty house and dumped my bag on the floor. Then Adam had materialized from the back of the house and I’d thrown myself at him, able to breathe for the first time in months, realizing very inconveniently just how safe he made me feel.
I hated that, because I didn’t needanyoneto make me feel safe. That was my story and I was sticking to it.
I’d intentionally tortured him with some authentic hot sauce and he’d given me a dog. A dog he’d trainedfor me. Because he was worried aboutme.
That didn’t mean he cared about methat way, he’d never said as much. But part of me wanted to hope so, because I wanted Adam Beckman to care about me in a way that meant I was more than his best friend’s little sister.
The puppy followed me around the house for the rest of the day. He was adorable, big and clumsy with giant feet he kept tripping over. I hadn’t asked Adam how old he was, but my guess was that Adam picked him up at eight weeks old and had him ever since.
I learned quickly that when the puppy needed to go outside, he would sit at the front door and bark just once. If I didn’t listen to that bark, he left a puddle on the tile landing, though he looked contrite.
That afternoon I had groceries delivered and I wandered through the house, amazed by the progress a team of devoted friends and family had made in just a few months. This was obviously what Mr. Beckman meant by “family discount.”
I’d learned some basic cooking in the camp and I made a simple dinner, realizing I had nothing to feed the dog, so I made him chicken and rice.
It was late afternoon before I finally picked up the duffel from where I’d dropped it and carried it back to the master bedroom.
No words. I stood in the middle of the room, amazed by the miracles I knew Kennedy had worked with a few simple pieces and some paint, and I whipped my phone out to text her:Holy shit.
Her response was quick.Bed’s sturdy, fireplace works, Mr. Beckman wired the house for sound. Put on some sexy music, light a fire and invite that man over for a bed frame stress test.
Uh, no. That would not be happening. The only man in my bed tonight was a redhead I hadn’t yet named, and the only thing we’d be doing was snuggling, thank you very much.
I took a quick shower, admiring the beautiful bathtub Kennedy had clearly refinished, and when I patted the edge of the bed the puppy looked at me in confusion. He was a quick study though, because when I did it again he took a wild jump and sprawled across half the bed.
“You and me, buddy,” I said a little sadly as I switched off the lamp and, not for the first time that day, I wished I’d said something to make Adam stay.
Adam didn’t call or text. He didn’t even come over to see the dog, and I couldn’t help but think we’d had our first fight without really fighting at all.
A week went by, then two. It was a beautiful spring, the trees finally in full leaf, the grass lush and green and reminding me I needed to buy a lawnmower–and a car, unless I wanted to drive a rental for the rest of my life, or rely upon the fraying patience of friends.
Steve and Kennedy came over a few times with Teagan, and once they brought Grams to view the final fruits of their labor.
I hadn’t decided how to repay them just yet, since it was obvious they’d spent a great deal of time and effort on my house. And though Steve claimed the house was renovated with scraps and favors, I knew better. Someone had dumped a significant amount of money into it. There was no way Kennedy called in favors and full furniture sets and marble tile showed up.
In those two weeks, I’d been to the facility run by Sacred Heart five times to ask after Daniela, the infant I’d shunted to the organization after her young parents died. For some reason I felt a personal responsibility to the child who’d been left alone in the world.
Initially they’d been hesitant to let me see her, though one of the sisters recognized me. “You are a VanBuren,” she’d said with a smile, and I knew Kennedy’s generous Sunday offering plate donations were buying me grace.
