By the time they’d had lunch at the Red Robin and piled back into the car, the trunk full of their purchases, Lulu was skating on the narrow edge of an adrenaline high. She was talking so much and so fast it was impossible to keep up. Michael had stopped even trying to answer her questions. Each one started with, “When Mommy comes home—”
“—We’ll sing her favorite song. What’s her favorite song, Betsy?”
“—We’ll yell SURPRISE!”
“—We’ll dance. She loves dancing. Oh, she losted her leg. What can we do instead of dancing?”
“—We’ll give her ice cream.”
Even Betsy couldn’t keep up.
Back in Poulsbo, they picked up his mother from the Green Thumb. She brought dozens of flowering plants with her—roses and orchids and bright yellow mums. She wanted to fill Jolene’s room with flowers.
“We got everything, Yia Yia!” Lulu squealed as Mila slid into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. “Mommy is going to be SO happy.”
His mother smiled. “She’s going to be so happy just to see her girls again.”
Lulu started talking again—something about painting this time—and they were off. Michael drove through town, quiet again in the off-season, and turned onto the bay road. It was late afternoon, and sunlight gilded the Sound.
Once at home, they dove into preparations. Betsy unfurled the butcher paper on the kitchen floor and knelt in front of it. Carefully organizing her acrylic paints, she began work on the WELCOME HOME, MOMMY sign that had required so much discussion. Lulu had demanded that there be suns all over the paper, and pink hearts; Betsy wanted rainbows and American flags. By the time they were done, there was barely a square inch of paper left to be seen.
“What do you think, Dad?” Betsy said at last, frowning, sitting on her knees and studying the banner. “Will she like it?”
It was a burst of images and color and love. Best of all was the painting in the corner—a man and woman holding hands, with two frizzy-haired stick-daughters beside them. The four figures were inside of a huge pink heart.
Is that who’ll we’ll be again, Jo? he thought, trying to hold on to his smile. “It’s perfect.”
“Now we need to make the cake,” Betsy said. “Lemon is her favorite.”
“I get to help!” Lulu said.
Betsy gave Michael an irritated look. “All she does is lick the spoon, Dad. And she sticks her fingers in the frosting.”
“You two can work together,” he said. “This is a big day. The biggest day. Your mom is coming home from war, and we need to let her know that she’s the most important person in the world to us.”
Betsy got to her feet and walked over to Michael. “Is she excited to come back to us, Dad?”
It surprised Michael to hear his own worry voiced aloud by his daughter. “Why would you ask that, honey?”
“I wasn’t very nice to her sometimes.”
I know the feeling. “She understands that. She knows how hard it was for you.”
“She hasn’t been writing us many letters lately.”
“She’s been so busy. The war really heated up in September.”
“Is that why?”
“What do you mean?”
Betsy looked up at him, her gaze sharp and assessing. “Maybe it’s because of that fight you had. When you said you didn’t love her anymore.”
He flinched. So, Betsy remembered that; maybe she would remember it her whole life, no matter what happened from here on. Had she been worried about it all this time? And what should he say? “Grown-ups fight; I told you that.”
“You never wrote to her. And she didn’t write to you. I’m not stupid, Dad.”
“Of course you’re not. But—”
“What if she’s changed?”
Michael had worried about that, too. He smiled down at his daughter, hoping it looked more genuine than it felt. “Your mom is excited to come home, Betsy. Don’t you worry about anything. We just have to show her how much we missed her.”
“I did miss her, too. I can’t wait to give her a huge hug. And to hear her tell me she loves me to the moon and back.”
He pulled her into a hug. “We’re going to be happy again, Betsy,” he said, his voice as strong as he could make it. “You’ll see. Starting tomorrow.”
*
Nine days ago Jolene had walked across the base with her best friend, complaining about the weather, saying, It’s hard as hell to walk in this mud. She’d grabbed the rim of the Black Hawk cockpit door and climbed easily aboard, putting her feet to the pedals. She had known irrevocably and completely who she was.