The prosecution called its first witness, and for the next hour, Jolene forgot about herself and Michael and listened to the testimony on the stand.
At noon, the judge released them, and Jolene stood, remembering a second too late that she was on her prosthesis. The marine beside her steadied her.
Their gazes caught. He looked down.
“Al Anbar,” she said.
He nodded and reached for her crutches, handing them to her.
“Thanks,” she said. Positioning her crutches, she stood in the row, letting people sidle past her. She needed something to steady her in this crowd.
The courtroom was practically empty when Michael touched her arm. She looked up at him. In that instant, all the love and passion she’d once felt for him came rushing back; she could no more hold it back than she could stem the tide. “When did you learn all that?”
“My wife went off to war,” he said. “And while she was gone, I remembered her. I’m sorry I let you go on … those words. There are so many things I should have said. I understand why you didn’t answer my letter, but I want another chance.”
“Your letter? What—”
“Can you give me another chance, Jo?”
She swallowed hard. She couldn’t have found her voice even if she had known what to say.
An associate came up to Michael, whispered something in his ear.
Michael nodded. To Jolene, he said, “Keith would like to talk to you.”
“To me? Why?”
“I’ve mentioned you to him. I guess he has something he’d like to say.” He led her through the courthouse to a room in the back, where Keith sat in front of a scarred wooden desk, his ankles and wrists shackled. At her entrance, he stood up; the chains rattled.
He was so damned young, and the pain in his eyes drew Jolene forward. She set her crutches against the wall and walked the last ten feet to the desk, where she sat down across from him. When she took the weight off her prosthesis, she felt instant relief.
“Chief,” he said.
“Call me Jolene.” She reached across the desk to shake his hand. He hesitated, then brought his manacled hand forward, shook hers.
“Ramadi,” he said. “Mostly.”
That was all he had to say. She knew what it had been like for him, how he’d served his country. He’d patrolled streets lined with IEDs, day after day, watching people—friends—blow up. He’d been on bag duty. How many hero missions had she flown for his buddies?
“Is there something I can do to help you?” she asked gently, leaning forward.
“Help yourself, Chief. That’s what I wanted to tell you. We both know what’s in our heads, how hard it is to think sometimes, how bad the nights can be. I should have told Emily everything and held on to her. Instead, I pretended I was okay. I could handle it. I’m a marine. And here I am … and there she is.” He leaned forward. “You have kids, right?”
She nodded, sitting back.
“Don’t be who you needed to be over there. Come home to the people who love you. I wish to hell I’d figured out a way to do that.” He leaned forward, lowered his voice. “Talk to Michael. He’s a good man. He wants to understand.”
There was so much she could say to this wounded young man, but in a way, he’d said it all in those few sad words. He understood her: her pain, her fear, her reluctance to show weakness. He’d been there, and because of that, he was here.
A soldier’s heart.
No wonder they’d called PTSD that in days gone by. It was true. We can come home broken, she thought. No matter how strong we are … The military should have prepared her for it. There was so much training before one goes to war, and so little for one’s return.
Keith rose. Staring down at her, he bent his arm in a salute. To her horror, she felt the sting of tears. She shook her head. “I’m not a soldier anymore.”
Keith’s smile was heartbreaking. “We’ll always be soldiers, Jolene.”
*
When they got home, the house was empty. Mila had taken the girls out for dinner and left a back by 8 note on the kitchen table.
Jolene limped into her bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed. Although she was in considerable pain, she felt jittery, edgy. Michael’s opening statement had been seductive, romantic, and it scared the hell out of her to believe—even a little—that he’d changed. On the long ride home from court, she and Michael had made small talk. She listened to his questions and formulated answers, but both of them heard the echo of all their unspoken words.