“You said a bad word,” Lulu said.
“Thank you, Miss Word Police.”
“What if she never gets better?” Betsy asked.
“She will,” he promised. Then he kissed each daughter’s cheek. “Now, go order a pizza, Betsy.”
“She might as well still be gone,” Betsy mumbled, walking away.
Michael went over to the office. Knocking softly, he waited for an answer. Not getting one, he opened the door just a crack.
The room was dark. Pale gold light from the eaves outside provided an ambient glow, illuminating the sharpness of her cheekbone. Beside the bed, the silver handles of the wheelchair glinted like strands of mercury. On the nightstand was an opened bottle of wine and an empty glass.
Frowning, he went to her bedside, stood beside her. In all their years together, he’d never seen her take more than a sip of wine. He picked up the bottle—it was half empty, at least.
He wanted to wake her up, talk to her about what had happened today—why she was drinking wine—but he knew how precious sleep was to her.
And would she talk to him about it, anyway? Even before the deployment, back when their marriage had been intact, Jolene wasn’t one to talk about bad days or failures or disappointments. With the exception of love, which she showed exuberantly, she kept her emotions to herself.
It was part of why they’d gone so wrong. She’d never needed him.
He closed the door and left her alone.
He spent the evening with his daughters, eating dinner with them, playing a game, watching a Discovery Channel special on dolphins. They were still hurt and angry and confused when he put them to bed.
When the house was quiet again, he put on some sweats and went back to work on the Keller opening. The trial was set to start soon, and he still hadn’t figured out how to make the jurors really understand PTSD, how to put them in Keith’s shoes. He was making a note about that when a bloodcurdling scream echoed through the house.
He threw the papers aside and ran out of his room. Another scream rose up from downstairs, swelling, spiking.
He ran down the stairs and pushed open the office door.
Jolene was screaming in her sleep, writhing so much the sheets and blankets had come free of their moorings and were twisted around her. Pillows lay scattered on the floor.
She screamed, “Mayday! Tami—I can’t lift you. Damn it—”
“Jolene!”
“We need a perimeter,” she yelled, crawling across the bed toward the nightstand.
“Jo!” He grabbed her by the hand and she elbowed him hard in the gut. His breath rushed out and he let go for a second. She kept moving, toward the edge of the bed.
He lunged at her so she wouldn’t fall off, put his arms around her. She punched him in the eye so hard he lost his balance, and they fell to the floor together, landing with a thud.
She came awake with a gasp, frowned in confusion. “Michael?”
Betsy and Lulu stood in the doorway, looking terrified.
“WHAT’S WRONG WITH HER?” Betsy shrieked.
Jolene was shaking; he could feel her trembling.
“Your mom had a nightmare, girls. That’s all.”
“A nightmare?” Betsy shook her head. “Do we look stupid?”
“Go upstairs,” Michael said, helping Jolene stand. She was breathing like a freight train beside him. “I’ll take care of your mom.”
“Can I sleep with you?” Lulu asked her sister. There was a tremble in her voice.
“Sure.” Betsy took Lulu’s hand and led her away.
Jolene climbed into bed and leaned back against the headboard so hard it banged against the wall. “Sorry about that,” she said shakily.
He sat down beside her.
“I’m having … trouble, Michael,” she said, swallowing hard.
It was the closest Jolene could come to asking for help. “I know, Jo. We’ll get you some help.”
“Are they safe with me?”
He wanted to say yes, sure, of course they are, but he was sitting here, his eye throbbing from a punch she probably didn’t remember throwing, feeling his wife tremble beside him. And the truth was, he didn’t know.
Twenty-Four
The next morning, Jolene was up before Michael.
He found her in the family room. She had a mirror set up at one end, and she was walking in front of it, studying her gait, trying to walk as naturally as she had before.
As he watched from the doorway, she tripped, fell hard, and cursed.
He went to her side, reaching out. “Jo—”
“I have to do this myself,” she said through gritted teeth, shoving his hand aside. “I have to be me again.”