Homefront Holiday (12 page)

“I only like it with short noodles.” Ali grinned.

Short noodles? He arched his brow, looking over the top of the boy’s head to where Sarah stood, quiet and serene with more emotion than he wanted to analyze as soft as light on her lovely face.

“I break up the noodles before I cook them,” she explained in her gentle way.

She ought to be angry with him, the way he had ambushed her. He hadn’t meant to, but he could see that now, too. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. This wasn’t like him. He swiped a hand over his face, trying to pull it together.

“You two take it easy in the living room. I’ll get cooking. How’s that?” The least he could do was fix her a meal.

“Sorry, that’s unacceptable.” She waltzed toward him, impossibly kind, and his world brightened. It was as if she brought the light with her. “You look exhausted, Mike, but I can tell you aren’t going to let me do the cooking.”

“You got that right.” The corner of his mouth twitched. He wasn’t trying to smile. Really. “But if you accept my apology, I’ll let you help.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Dr. Montgomery.” When Sarah smiled, the world seemed a little more beautiful.

S
o much had changed, Sarah reflected, as she found a deep-sided pan in a lower cabinet. She and Mike used to cook together all the time, but it had never been as quiet between them as this. Mike had changed. She wanted to talk to him about that more, but he looked closed off and remote again. Unreachable as he peeled an onion and began slicing with accurate, swift strokes of the blade.

She measured out olive oil, grappling with what to say. He had his back solidly to her. Did she ask him about his work? How he was adjusting to being back on U.S. soil? Or was it better to leave the uncomfortable silence between them?

“Did Alice head home?”

“Yes.” She capped the bottle and set it in the top cabinet. “We went Christmas shopping for a certain little boy, and she left around four. She wanted to be home in time to fix supper for Dad.”

“She looks happy to finally have a grandchild.”

“She and Dad adore Ali.” She pulled measuring spoons from the nearby drawer. It was better to concentrate on measuring the fresh herbs Mike had just chopped than to let herself think about the man. “Oh, I have more family news. You know my little sister was married last year.”

“Yes.” The one word was cold and clipped.

She knew very well that he knew. It had been during the reception at Claire’s wedding that Mike had decided to tell her he was thinking about staying in the army. That discussion had led to their breakup. “She’s expecting in June.”

“Well, give her my congratulations.”

“I will.”

It felt wrong, this small talk when there was so much between them. She couldn’t pretend they were strangers. She couldn’t pretend not to care. Did he feel that way, too? She measured the sweet smelling basil and oregano into a small bowl.

“I didn’t ask about the charity fund-raiser. I suppose it will be the same time same place as always?”

“Yes, on New Year’s Eve at the skating rink. It’s the perfect family event.” She was a cochair on the fund-raising committee. “I’m in charge of the invitations and press announcements.”

“Good. It’s a good cause.”

“It is.” She thought of children all over the world the charity had helped, just like Ali. “Mike, it’s none of my business, but I have to ask. Are you all right?”

“Sure, why?” He carried the loaded cutting board to the stove and swept the minced onion into the pan. “I’m a little tired, but I worked all night.”

“I know you did.” She measured parsley, watching as Mike retreated to the counter where he attacked a few cloves of garlic. His shoulders were tensed again and seemed as wide as the Texas sky. He was such a good man, noble of heart and dedicated in all the ways that counted. She could see that more than ever. “I’m sure the soldier’s family is grateful to you, Mike.”

“You don’t know the particulars of the case.” He sounded defensive.

She hadn’t meant to put him there. “I know that he was fortunate to have a gifted surgeon like you.”

“I’m a doctor, Sarah. Helping people is what I do.” His knife worked with fast, short strokes.

“Yes it is, and I admire that about you.” Her voice was quiet, but the meaning behind them was not. “It matters what you do. You make a difference in this world, Mike. That’s why I decided to be a foster parent. I wanted to make a difference. I believe that’s one reason why God put us on this earth.”

“So, you’ve turned real religious, huh?” He carried the cutting board with him and emptied it into the pan.

“Yes. I’m a believer now. I was tiptoeing around for a while, you remember.”

He didn’t answer. He put the board in the sink, trying to figure her out. So much had changed about her, and yet, from what he could tell those changes had only made her more
Sarah
than ever. More sweetness and goodness and caring. She was everything good in the world—and, once, in his world.

Part of him wished she could be again.

“After I saw you board that plane, I had never felt so alone.” She had turned the stove on and was digging a wooden spoon out of the drawer.

He hated to think of her alone. He knew just what she meant. She had been his center. His life. She had accused him of being more committed to the army, but she was his anchor. She was his shoulder to lean on and his soft place to fall. Without her to reach out to, the first month away had been hard to weather.

“I was alone, too,” he admitted. “I hadn’t been there a full day when we were hammered. The roadside bombings, convoy attacks and an offensive surge brought in more casualties. I don’t think I slept through a single night for a month.”

The pan was sizzling and Sarah turned her attention to stirring the onion and garlic, but he could feel her listening. He just needed to talk about it; maybe that was why he kept going. “There were so many civilians this time. Old and young. Women and babies. And the soldiers, they keep getting younger every year. It took a toll.”

“I can see that, Mike.”

He figured everyone could. He sure could every time he looked in the mirror. He rinsed the cutting board and knife and stuck them in the dishwasher. It gave him enough time to gather up his words and debate if he wanted to say more or not.

Sarah kept stirring, her back to him, but it was as if her spirit was leaning toward him, listening in her compassionate way. He knew for a fact there were places on this earth and people in it who did not care who they hurt or how. He felt damaged by being exposed to so much of that world. He wanted to put his arms around Sarah and draw her close and breathe in her goodness and her innocence. To once again dwell in her life of sunshine and children’s picture books and kindness.

“A month after Ali left we found ourselves under attack.”

“I hadn’t heard.” Sarah dropped the spoon. It clattered to a rest against the steel side of the pan. When she covered her face, her hands were shaking. “You never said anything?”

“No. It was a small skirmish. We had some Rangers staying with us, good protection and within minutes air support. It happens.”

She looked so upset. Her hands dropped away to reveal tears in her eyes. “You weren’t hurt?”

“No.” He blotted out the images of the mortar hitting the edge of the camp. He fought down the sound of the explosion and the strike of flying shrapnel and debris. A nurse’s scream of terror. The shouts of agony. How he had jumped off his cot and headed into the action with his rifle and his medical kit.

“Mike?” Her hand was on his chest. He didn’t know how it had gotten there or when she had crossed over to him. He could still hear the rat-tat-tat of machine gun fire and see the blood all around him.

“Mike? Have you talked to someone about this?”

“No.” How did he tell her that it had always only been her. Just her. He had no one else. Embarrassed, hating the weakness that was taking him over, he tried to step away.

He wasn’t strong enough. He needed her sympathy and her comfort just for a few moments. Just long enough to get past this. Maybe then he could stand on his own two feet. Maybe then he could go back to not needing anyone.

“Ben, one of the Rangers who protected us, was hit and hit bad. I did everything I could for him. Everything—” He stopped short, knowing she couldn’t understand. Sometimes his best was enough. Sometimes it wasn’t. “Ben had a wife and two small boys. I failed him—”

“You don’t control life and death, Mike.” Her hand on his chest felt like comfort. Her words tempted him with peace.

That was the easy way out. He stepped back, gathering up the pieces of himself. He glanced over the counter to see Ali busily coloring, blissfully unaware of the serious discussion.

“You had better get that pan back on the heat,” he said, trying not to be terse, trying not to be cold and distant. “I’ll get the diced tomatoes from the pantry.”

“Okay.”

Sarah’s sympathy was a temptation he had to turn away from. It wasn’t until he had the pantry open and was sorting through the few cans on the shelves that it hit him. “You saw my transport plane take off?”

“I was there, Mike.” She didn’t look up from her stirring, her turn to be distant. “I came to say goodbye.”

“I never saw you. I thought you didn’t care.”

“I couldn’t face you. I couldn’t let you know how much I still loved you.” She said nothing more, stirring away.

He knew her well enough to recognize the tense line of her jaw and the way her soft lips had clamped together. There were things she didn’t want him to know, emotions she didn’t want to show him.

He put the cans on the counter, moving slow, feeling the cracks in his armor. He thought she hadn’t cared at all. It mattered that she did. Sure, it was too late for them, but it helped to know that he wasn’t wrong in how deeply he had once loved her.

Mike’s story stuck with her as she set the table. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He stood peeling carrots at the counter next to the bowl of mixed greens. Her soul brightened with a quiet, impossible hope. It was like old times between them, working together to get the meal on the table.

“That’s my pager.” He pulled it out of his pocket and studied the screen. “It’s work. Would you mind finishing up?”

“Sure.” She put the final knife and fork in place, straightened the napkins and wove around him to the salad bowl. She took up the peeler, aware of every step he took to the living room, the way he stopped to comment on the finishing touches of Ali’s second masterpiece.

Mike would make a great dad one day. He and Ali shared grins as he picked up the cordless extension and hit speed dial.

“Sarah!” Ali dashed around the edge of the counters. “This one’s all for you.”

“For me? Should it go on our refrigerator, too?”

“Yep.” He held up the paper proudly. “It’s when we was skatin’. That’s you. That’s Mike. That’s me in the middle.”

The block figures with legs and arms and heads were side-by-side, a family. Wishes lost rose from the bottom of her soul. Those dreams moved through her heart sweetly and painfully, like melody and harmony, like dawn when there was both darkness and light, shadow and color.

If she had one Christmas wish, it would be this. That she and Mike could forgive each other for their mistakes and find their way back to one another. That love would save them.

“It’s Whitney.” Mike was at the counter, striding purposefully, as if he were holding himself up by sheer will. “She’s out of her coma. Not just responsive, but sitting up and talking.”

“That’s wonderful news. An answered prayer.” Sarah thought of the young couple and their kind letters to her morning kindergarten class months ago, before they had gone missing during their deployment. “Will she be able to go home in time for Christmas?”

“The chances sound pretty good.” Mike looked lighter, as if some of the shadows had abated. “I’m glad when things work out right.”

“You had a hand in that.” She went to him and laid her hand against his jawline, strong with a firm line of bone and rough with a day’s stubble. “You have made a lot of happy endings, Mike. I know the sad ones weigh on you, but look at all the good you have done. All the lives you have helped to save. The families who are whole again because of you.”

“That’s what I fight so hard for.”

She knew. She had always known. It had taken losing him to realize the depth of the goodness he gave to the world. She admired him. She respected him. She loved the man, heart and soul. “It’s a battle worth fighting for.”

His throat worked and it looked like he wanted to say something. Emotion clouded his eyes, and he looked vulnerable, as if her words had taken down his last defense. He no longer looked remote. “Anyway, you got another picture there, buddy?”

That was Mike, even when he wasn’t as closed off, that didn’t mean he wanted to talk feelings. But it had been enough, she realized. He had heard what she wanted to say to him. She had learned some hard lessons this past year and some good ones, too. The oven timer beeped.

“I’ll get that.” It would give Mike time to put his defenses back up—she knew how he was—and he and Ali could admire his drawing. She looked in the stack of drawers for a trivet—typical Mike. Everything was always organized and handy. And popped the pan of crisp, buttery garlic bread onto the stovetop to cool.

The rumble of Mike’s deep, kind baritone wrapped around her like a comfy blanket. He was complimenting Ali on his picture, then fell quiet, listening to Ali proudly explaining the details. The occasional “yep,” and “uh-huh” was a cozy sound. The dream of him lifted through her like a Christmas carol, gentle and timeless. It had always been this she had dreamed of: The two of them in the kitchen with dinner ready to go on the table. A child or two between them. Happiness in the air.

Like a sign from above, Mike reached into a cabinet and brought down a platter for her. “I’ll get the salad,” he said.

Did he know how he made her ache with dreams newly remembered? She set the plate of bread on the table, watching as he carried the bowl of salad to the table with Ali at his heels, listening intently to the little boy. He looked all the stronger for his gentleness, a greater man for his unyielding kindness.

Did he know his love was all she had ever wanted? And now, more than that, loving him was beyond all that she wanted for herself. She loved him selflessly, beyond her dreams and all the way to his.

“Mike? When are you gonna get a tree?” Ali put his picture on the edge of the counter. “Are you gonna get a real big one? With lots and lots of lights? Do I getta help? I’m real good at helpin’.”

“Hold on there, buddy.” Mike’s gentle chuckle sounded relaxed and whole, the way it used to. “One question at a time.”

“What about the tree? Did you get one yet?” Ali pulled out his chair at the table and climbed up.

“I’m not going to get a tree this year.”

Ali’s jaw dropped.

Mike headed toward the stove where the pot of spaghetti, sauce and all, was keeping warm on a back burner.

“But Mike, you gotta have a tree. It’s
Christmas.
”

“I know it’s Christmas.” Mike took the lid off the spaghetti pot and put it in the sink. He shook his head at Sarah, amused. He had a look on his handsome face that said, I’m having trouble here.