Now she was in the air again, but everything about her world had changed. She was in a transport plane, flying home with six other wounded soldiers, as well as some medical staff and a few civilians. The patients were in the front of the plane, in beds bolted to the aircraft’s interior walls. A pale, flimsy curtain separated them from the other passengers. In the old days, Jolene would have found a way to smile through the pain and loss; she would have worked to make sure than everyone else was comfortable. Those days were gone. She lay in the bed, gritting her teeth against a phantom pain that made her missing foot throb.
When the plane landed in Seattle, the nurse seated beside her said, “You’re almost home, Chief. That must feel good.”
She turned her head away and said nothing. The nurse was right; it should have felt good, coming home. For months she had dreamed of this moment, of seeing her daughters again. Of course, she’d imagined herself walking through her own front door, dropping to her knees, and opening her arms for an endless hug.
What was wrong with her?
She should be glad she was coming home at all. What would Smitty give to trade places with her? Or Tami? The thought made her feel guilty and small. But what could she do about her feelings? They were inside of her, uncontrollable now, festering.
She simply couldn’t look the other way this time or pretend everything was fine. She had a numbness inside of her that was new and frightening. Maybe she was afraid to feel too much, afraid that if she let her emotions go, she would start screaming and never be able to stop.
The plane touched down, taxied. The nurse said, “Welcome to Boeing Field, Chief. We’ll be transporting you to an ambulance, which will take you to the rehab center.”
Jolene wanted to say thank you but her heart was beating so fast she felt dizzy. She wasn’t ready for this. She was actually afraid to see her children. What in the hell was wrong with her?
A major appeared beside her, in full uniform, and pinned a medal to her tee shirt. He talked down at her, said words she barely heard. Medals shouldn’t be given to a woman who’d gotten her aircraft shot down and a young man killed.
Still, she didn’t bother saying anything, not even, “Thank you, sir.”
They rolled her on the gurney from the belly of the plane, down a bumpy ramp and onto Boeing Field, where a row of ambulances waited to take the patients to different hospitals and rehab facilities. Rain fell on her face, the first real reminder that she was back in the Northwest. She stared up at the swollen gray sky, and then she was in an ambulance, lying next to an earnest young paramedic, who thanked her for her service to the country.
On the way north, she must have fallen asleep, because when she awakened again, they were stopped. This time, the paramedics lifted her as if she were a child and carried her over to a waiting wheelchair. They positioned her carefully in the chair, draped her lap and legs in a blanket.
Her family stood clustered in front of the rehab center’s entrance. Michael and Mila were holding flowers. Even from here, she could see how Lulu was bouncing on her feet, grinning. The girls were holding up a WE MISSED YOU sign painted in drippy blue acrylic, with glitter sprayed in rainbow colors above.
She loved her daughters with every ounce of her soul; she knew that, knew it, but somehow she couldn’t feel it, and that inability scared her more than anything ever had.
“MOMMY!” Lulu screamed, running toward her, leading the charge. Betsy was right behind her.
Betsy rammed into Jolene’s residual leg.
Pain sliced through the limb. Jolene said, “Damn it, Betsy, be careful!” before she could help herself.
Betsy stepped back, her eyes glittering with tears.
Jolene gritted her teeth, breathed shallowly until the pain subsided. “Sorry, Betsy,” she said, trying unsuccessfully to smile.
“Sorry,” Betsy mumbled, looking hurt and angry.
Lulu was on the verge of tears. “Mommy?”
Jolene felt a wave of exhaustion. She didn’t know how to rewind the past minutes and start over, how to be her old smiling self, and her leg throbbed in pain now.
Michael moved in beside her, taking control of the wheelchair. “Ma, take the girls into Jolene’s room. We’ll check in and be there in a second.”
Mila herded the confused-looking girls into the building.
“Thanks,” Jolene said.
“They’ve been really excited to see you.”
She nodded.
Michael wheeled her into a brightly lit lobby and up to a receptionist desk. There, he introduced Jolene, who smiled woodenly, and he signed a few papers. Then he wheeled her down a hallway and into a small room with a giant WELCOME HOME, MOMMY banner strung across one wall. There were enough bouquets to stock a flower shop, and family photographs covered every surface. Again, her daughters and Mila stood by the window, but this time their smiles were hesitant, uncertain.