“And I wasn’t.”
“Did Coyote know the truth? Did all of your men? Were they laughing at me?”
“No. I never wore a wedding ring, never talked about a wife. I wasn’t long in-country before I realized that I’d made a mistake getting married. I figured we’d get divorced when I got home. I never felt married … and then I saw you at the O Club, remember?”
“I remember.”
“It hit me like a ton of bricks, the way I fell for you. It wasn’t like anything I’d felt before. Maybe you can’t understand how a baby can turn your head, make you do the wrong thing for the right reason. I told myself I’d learn to love Missy, and then I met you.”
Frankie knew what he meant. She’d said the same thing about Henry, but it hadn’t happened, had it? Intention couldn’t force the heart.
“I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t tell you the truth and I couldn’t let you go. I thought … after I got home, we’d work it all out and I’d find a way to leave Missy and be with you. Then I got shot down. For years, everyone thought I was dead. They held a funeral and buried an empty casket next to my mom. And then finally, Commander Stockdale got word out. After that, Missy was my lifeline. She wrote me religiously.”
She believed him. Was it because she wanted to or because she was lonely or because she felt the truth in him? She didn’t know, but it was dangerous, this loosening of anger. Without it, all she had was love.
“I can see that you suffered,” she said quietly. “Your leg.”
“Broke it jumping out of the Huey.”
“What happened?”
“I hardly remember it, really.” He didn’t look at her. His voice went dead, became rote. She imagined she was being told the story he’d recited a dozen times in debrief.
“I came to when I hit the ground. I saw the Huey above me burst into flames and go down.”
He drew in a ragged breath. “I landed hard … saw the bone sticking out of my pants leg. Next thing I knew, I was being hauled to my feet. Charlie cut my clothes off me, dragged me, naked … left me in the middle of some muddy road. I could hear them yelling at each other in their language. They kicked me, rolled me over, kicked me some more.
“I tried to crawl away, but my leg hurt like hell by then. And I kept bleeding from the bullet in my shoulder. They tell me it shattered the joint.”
Frankie imagined him lying in mud, naked, his body broken and bruised.
Rye was quiet for a moment. “And then. The Hanoi Hilton,” he finally said. “Four years and three months in a cell. Leg irons.” Another deep breath, released slowly. “They had this … rope they used to force my body to bend over. Kept me that way for hours of interrogation. Weeks of it. And then … one day, when they were dragging me back to my cell, I heard other prisoners. American voices. That was my first moment of hope, you know?
“They finally moved me to another cell, one close to Commander Stockdale’s. The other POWs had figured out a way to communicate.” His voice broke. “I wasn’t alone.” He paused, collected himself. “We talked, sent messages. I learned about McCain and the others. I got my first letter from Missy, telling me she’d never given up on me, and I … needed her. Needed that. So, I tried to forget you, told myself it was for the best, thought you’d be married by the time I got home.”
“If I’d known, I would have written. Your dad told me you’d been killed in action.”
“You went to see the old man? What a treat.” He looked at her. “I tried to let you go, Frankie. Told myself I’d been a cad and done you wrong and you deserved better. Told myself I could learn to love Missy. Again. Or maybe for the first time. But I saw you in San Diego, on the tarmac. One look at you, and it all came crashing down. I want you, Frankie. You.”
He moved painfully to a standing position.
She rose at the same time, as if she were a planet in the orbit of his sun, drawn by an elemental force to follow him.
“Do you want me, Frankie?” The sadness in his voice ruined her resolve. She took his hand, felt the familiarity of his grasp.
“What you’re asking … what you want,” she said, wanting it, too. “It would destroy me. Us. Your family.”
“I’ll leave Missy. I can’t even touch her without thinking of you. She knows something’s wrong. I can’t bear to kiss her.”
“Don’t ask this of me, Rye. I can’t…”