Amish Sweethearts (32 page)

Zane didn’t answer.

“Are you there?” Shani asked.

“Yeah. Did you ask her?”

“Uh-huh. She said to ask you.”

“Sounds as if she doesn’t want to.”

“No,” Shani said, watching Lila clear a table. “I don’t think so.”

“Yeah, well, I’d have to hear it from her.” His voice sounded flat.

“What’s the matter, sweetie?”

He didn’t answer.

“Zane?”

“Look, the doc is coming by any minute. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Now Lila was headed toward her again. “Bye,” Shani managed to say, but the call cut off before she could tell him that she loved him. Every time they talked he seemed more and more unsettled. It was to be expected, she was sure. He had to be in a lot of pain. Plus there was all the uncertainty of what was next for him. And the guilt of taking a life. Plus he was on heavy pain meds too.

“How is he?” Lila asked.

“All right,” Shani answered.

“Does he want me to come?”

“I’m not sure. He couldn’t talk.”

“Thank you for asking,” Lila said, “but I’m supposed to work tomorrow, and it would be really hard to find someone else to take my place at this point. Talk with him and see what he wants. Maybe I can go next time.”

Shani nodded. It had been foolish of her to interfere. She wanted more than anything for Zane to have all the support he could, and she suspected that out of everyone he’d prefer to see Lila the most. If he’d only admit it.

She reached for Lila’s hand. “I’m sorry,” Shani said.

“For what?” Lila asked.

“For meddling.”

Lila leaned toward her, tears filling her eyes. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t think any of us knows what to do—not really.”

“Did you get back together with Reuben?”

Lila shook her head.

Shani wanted to ask more, but Lila pulled away from her. “I’ve got to get back to work. Let me know how Zane is, once you get back.”

“I will,” Shani answered and told Lila good-bye.

She stopped by the store before she went home and bought everything she could think of that Zane might need—a toothbrush, toothpaste, shaving cream, aftershave, snacks, writing paper, and pens. She picked up a couple pairs of shorts and sweatpants, several T-shirts, and two zip sweatshirts. She’d asked him what he needed and he’d said nothing.

She’d also asked him how his pain was, and he’d just grunted. Honestly, she thought having Lila around might have encouraged him to be a little bit more communicative.

Shani was surprised at the turmoil she felt about going to see Zane. He’d been injured, but they had so much to be thankful for. Still there were so many uncertainties. Something more had happened between him and Lila. Would that make him less likely to come home after he was discharged from the hospital?

And would he have to go back to Afghanistan? The answer to that question was the one she feared the most.

They arrived at Walter Reed Medical Center in Maryland at noon, exactly when Zane said they should. The old Walter Reed had been closed down several years before and combined with the National Naval Medical Center. Joel had never gone to the old Walter Reed, not when he was injured or recovering. And they hadn’t been to the new one either—not until today.

A sign out front that read
Where the nation heals its heroes
stood sentry. Shani hoped it was true. The place was huge, but Zane had given them good directions. When they reached his
room he was waiting, sitting up in the bed, his right arm in a sling. Adam hung back a little until Zane said, “Come close, Bub, so I can hug you. Over to my left side.”

Adam followed Zane’s instructions and got the first half hug. Next Shani hugged him. Zane patted her back once, but that was all. Then Joel hugged him. Shani opened the bag she’d brought his things in and started pulling them out, placing them on the end of the bed.

“You didn’t need to do that,” he said. “They have toothbrushes and stuff here.”

“I know,” Shani said, “but it’s what moms do.”

“Thank you,” Zane said. Then he turned his attention to Adam and they talked about when school was starting and how Trudy was. Zane didn’t seem as flat as he had on the phone.

“Have you talked to Casey lately?” Shani finally asked.

Zane nodded. “She called this morning.”

“How are things over there?”

“Fine, I think,” he answered.

“How is Casey?”

“Good.” He shifted in the bed, appearing annoyed. “We’re still just friends,” Zane added. “That’s all it’s ever going to be.”

Shani nodded. She understood that now. “What did she say about Jaalal and his family? We’ve been praying, like you asked.”

Zane’s expression darkened. “As far as I know everything’s the same.” Clearly he didn’t want to talk about any of that either.

After a while Shani suggested that she and Adam go find a snack to bring back to the room. She hoped maybe Joel could get Zane to talk.

When they came back with a tray of individual milk cartons and cookies from the cafeteria, Zane’s eyes were closed and Joel was sitting in a chair staring at the wall.

“Is he asleep?” Shani whispered.

Joel shook his head.

“Just resting,” Zane replied.

Shani put the tray on the table. Zane opened his eyes and said he wasn’t hungry, but he patted the bed for Adam to sit beside him. After a while, Zane said they should probably all go. “I’m tired,” he said.

“Have you been up?” Shani asked. “Walking around?”

He nodded. “Lots, Mom.”

“What does the doctor say?”

“That I’m doing fine.”

“Can you come home? And do physical therapy as an outpatient?”

“No. I’ll stay here.”

She wanted to ask if he wished to come home at all. Instead she started to say, “Lila was—”

Joel cleared his throat. Zane sighed.

“—wondering . . .” Shani’s voice trailed off. It was best if she didn’t say anything at all.

After a long silence, she asked, “When can we come again?”

Zane shrugged. Joel cleared his throat again.

“We’ll talk later,” Shani said. “You can let us know what works best.” If only she knew what Lila had said in her letter. Obviously Zane had gotten it. He was much colder than he’d been when he was home on furlough.
Home.
He seemed to have no desire to come back.

Shani and Joel didn’t have a chance to speak in private until they’d returned home and walked out to look over the garden together. It needed to be weeded, and the tomatoes needed to be picked. So did the zucchini. She’d abandoned it as soon as Zane had been injured, when everything had shifted.

“Did he talk with you after we left the room?” she asked as she turned toward the field.

“Not really,” Joel said.

“What did he say about getting shot?”

“Nothing.”

“Did he say anything else?”

Joel exhaled and then said, “Just that he doesn’t think he could ever shoot another person again.”

“Then he can’t go back,” Shani said. “Right?”

Joel frowned. “I think a lot of soldiers probably feel that way after they kill someone.”

Shani knew Joel had never had to shoot anyone in Iraq. Neither had Charlie. Joel put his arm around Shani. “I know you mean well but you need to take it easy. Zane will talk when he’s ready.”

“What if he’s never ready?”

“Then we keep waiting.”

Shani turned back toward the house. Zane had shut them out for three years, pretty much, except when he was home on furlough. But she never would have expected that he’d shut them out even more after being wounded. Was it Lila? Or because of Jaalal and his family? What was bothering Zane the most? And why did he have to take it out on her and Joel?

No matter what his reasons, Shani knew Joel was right. They’d keep waiting. And trusting. God would comfort Zane in ways she never could.

19

T
he next Sunday Zane stared at the vase of mums on the coffee table in the lobby as he waited for Simon. He’d been seeing an occupational therapist and doing a few yoga moves, ones he could do with his arm in a sling, to learn to reduce stress. A chaplain had visited quite a few times, but Zane hadn’t really told him anything.

The chaplain stressed how important it was for Zane to talk to someone. “Look for a new buddy,” the guy had said. “Someone who’s been through something similar.” Zane doubted he would. He was growing weary of the banter between soldiers, sure the majority of their stories were exaggerated to match how they
felt
about what happened—not what actually
did
happen.

Except for the times when it really was bad—when someone had died or when the soldiers in question had been hurt enough to land them back stateside. No one talked about
those
times. Zane hadn’t said a word about killing Benham to the chaplain or anyone else here. And he wouldn’t.

He’d been having nightmares nearly every night. He’d wake up agitated and in a cold sweat, unable to remember his dreams. He didn’t plan to talk with anyone about those either.

Dustin, a guy he’d met on the ward, rolled along the sidewalk outside of the sliding doors with his mom. She’d come out from Arizona as soon as he’d arrived and had barely left his side. He was much worse off than Zane. He’d lost both legs in an explosion. Pretty much everyone in the hospital was worse off than Zane. He’d been incredibly lucky—except for having killed Benham.

He knew it could have been so much worse. The innocent boy that reminded him of Adam could have been killed too.

He couldn’t help but think of the John McCrae poem. The beginning two lines bounced through his head, over and over.
“In Flanders fields the poppies blow; Between the crosses, row on row . . .”
He thought of all the soldiers who never made it home through the last hundred years. And then the ones who did, like Dustin, whose lives would never be the same.

The true cost of war was beyond his comprehension. Soldiers and families and civilians all paid for it their entire lives.

Simon was late, which wasn’t surprising. He was stationed at Fort Belvoir in Virginia and said he was going to borrow a friend’s car to drive up. Last Zane knew, Simon didn’t have his license, but maybe that had changed.

Zane stood, stretched, and ran his good hand along his sling. No one would give him a straight answer about going back to Afghanistan, probably because no one knew for sure. Rehab would be three or four weeks. That would put him into mid-September. Would they send him back for three months?

As much as he wanted to see Jaalal, he didn’t think he could pull a trigger again to save himself or anyone else. But he wasn’t sure how to communicate that to Sarge. He wasn’t sure what he would do if given orders to return to Afghanistan. He thought
about the deserters he’d read about in Canada. Maybe he should get his truck from home and drive north.

He knew when he joined he’d have a hard time shooting someone, let alone killing another human being. But he didn’t fathom it would be this hard. The reality of it felt like a poison seeping through his body, through his soul.

The sliding doors opened before anyone appeared, but then Simon literally jumped through the door. “I’m here!” he shouted, spreading his arms wide. “Better late than never.”

Zane couldn’t help but laugh.

Simon wore a plain black T-shirt, jeans, and old tennis shoes. It still didn’t seem right to see him out of trousers, suspenders, and a shirt.

The two hugged, as best they could around the sling.

“Hungry?” Simon asked.

“Not really,” Zane answered.

“Well, I’m starving. What’s there to eat around here?”

“Are we driving or walking?”

“How do you think I got here?”

Zane shook his head. “I’m not sure how legal it was.”

Simon lit up like a Christmas tree. “I got my license.”

“When?”

“Two days ago.”

Zane groaned.

“So, seriously,” Simon said, “what’s to eat around here?”

“Well . . . ” Zane pointed to his sling. “I’m not going far in this thing.”

“And how exactly does a sling inhibit your ability to use your legs?” Simon laughed. “You’re just afraid to ride with me, right?”