Surrender (19 page)

Then I took a deep breath and dove in.

The first letter mainly talked about work, explaining his job and what he did during his many hours of downtime, and sounded detached, as if he were writing to a stranger.

This morning I woke up and I swear, I could smell you,
he wrote in the second letter.
I knew it was my memory playing tricks on me, but I breathed you in anyway and pretended I was nuzzling into the back of your neck, holding you against my chest.

I wrote that first letter after my first day here and then I put it away, never intending to write another. I'd made you a promise and I intended to keep it. But after this morning, after remembering what it was like to wake up with you, I knew I had to do something. Even if I never send these to you, I'm going to keep writing because it gives me some semblance of hope. It tricks my brain into thinking that you're back there, waiting for me.

So wait for me, Julie. I can't wait to come home to you.

With tears prickling at the corners of my eyes, I set the letter aside and got out of bed to turn on my computer, trying to organize my thoughts while it booted up. I wasn't sure how I would put into words what I was feeling, what I'd been feeling since he left, but I knew how I'd close the e-mail:

I'm waiting for you.

I was about to log into my e-mail when a news story caught my eye on the main page.

Convoy attacked on the way to base in Afghanistan.

I closed the window without thinking, my heart skipping a beat. My body broke out into cold chills as I sat staring at the desktop wallpaper, unable to shake the dread that was currently gnawing at my insides.

“It's not about Neal. Neal works on base. He would never be in a convoy,” I told myself, feeling slightly better after hearing the words out loud.

It took a few minutes but after I regained my composure, I went back to the website to read the article, to confirm that Neal's unit was not involved.

A U.S. military convoy leaving Bagram Airfield came under enemy fire yesterday on the way to an undisclosed location. An IED took out one Humvee before members of both the Air Force and the Marines were ambushed by the militia with rocket grenades and AK-47s. There were three fatalities and seven injured. Names cannot be released at press time, though we can confirm that members of the 482nd Fighter Wing unit, based out of Homestead, Florida, were among those killed in the attack.

I didn't know anything about Neal's reserve unit, but I did know where he flew off to for one weekend every month: Homestead, Florida.

I stood up, pacing the room, fighting back the overwhelming feeling of déjà vu that was rising up in my throat with the nausea. I sat back down and performed searches on the Internet, checking website after website for more information, but no names were reported, no clues as to who had been in that convoy. I didn't even have any idea who to call on base for information, or if that was even allowed.

Then I remembered the business card Neal had given me a while back, from his dad's part-time flying school in San Diego. I ran downstairs, slipping on a few steps in my haste, and rummaged through my purse until I found the card at the very bottom.

I didn't know how I managed to dial through my blurry eyes, but it took three rings before someone picked up. “Hello?” said a deep, rumbly voice.

“Hi. I'm sorry to be calling so late. Is this Patrick Harding?”

“Yes.” He paused then said, “Is this Julie?”

I dropped to my knees right there on the cold kitchen floor, the sobs bubbling up in my chest. Patrick had been expecting my call. “Is he . . . Is Neal . . .” I couldn't bring myself to finish the question.

“What have you heard?”

“I only know what they're reporting on the news. I don't know anything about Neal, if that's even his unit, if he's okay . . .” I said, finding myself talking too fast.

He sighed. “That's about all I know, too. I've been calling people all day, but they're not releasing any information right now.”

“But was that his unit?”

“Yes.”

I choked back a sob. “Okay.”

“Julie, if it's any comfort to you, two servicemen in uniform haven't knocked on my door yet to tell me my son's dead.” His voice cracked on the last word, revealing his concern and amplifying mine.

I sucked in deep breaths, trying to remember that nothing had been confirmed. As far as we knew, we were freaking out over nothing.

“I know this can't be easy for you,” he said. “Try to take it easy. There's no use worrying until we know more.”

“You're right,” I said, nodding vigorously. “You're right.”

“I'm glad you called, Julie. For a while there I thought my son had fallen for someone who didn't love him back,” he said.

I breathed hard, feeling as if a knife were embedded in my chest. “I just hope it's not too late.”

Despite knowing better, I spent the rest of the night checking for more news on the attack. It was as if I'd been thrust back several years in time, the circumstances seemed so heartbreakingly similar I'd already begun preparing myself for the worst.

“Mom, what's wrong?” Will asked the next morning as we were starting our rushed morning routine.

“Will, just eat your breakfast,” I snapped. “We're going to be late again.”

“Okay, okay,” he said in a huff, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “I just wanted to know why you were so sad.”

I set my hands on the sink and hung my head, feeling the air leave my lungs. “I'm sorry.” I walked over and sank down at the table across from him. “I've just been worried about . . .” I hesitated, not sure if telling Will about Neal was the right thing. “Just worried about Neal, I guess.”

His little eyebrows drew together. “Why? What happened?”

I shook my head. “I don't know. I'm not sure.” I didn't tell him about the bad feeling in the pit of my stomach that had lain there, heavy and poisonous, since the night before. I didn't want to breathe my fears out loud, didn't want to give them any more control over me.

Will stood up and walked over to the freezer, rummaging inside for a few seconds. When he came back, he had a fudge Popsicle in his hand. “Here, Mom. I think you need one of these.”

I let out a strangled laugh and accepted the Popsicle, taking a large bite off the top. “Thanks,” I said, the cold liquid soothing my raw throat.

My head swung around when my cell phone buzzed on the counter. I stared at it for a few moments before Will said, “I'll get it,” and handed me the phone.

Without looking at the screen, I answered the call. “Hello?”

“He's alive.”

I hung my head and let it out, tears of relief leaking down my face. I set the Popsicle down on a plate and ushered Will in, squeezing him to my side.

“He's hurt pretty bad but he's alive,” Patrick said.

“Where is he?”

“He's currently at Landstuhl Medical Center in Germany undergoing surgery. He sustained shrapnel wounds, from a grenade blast, at the back of his neck and on his leg,” he said. “He's out of the woods, but they're not sure they were able to save his spine.”

I covered my mouth. “You mean he could be paralyzed?”

“I was told it was a possibility,” he said.

“But he's alive.” I needed to say it again to make sure it was real.

“Yes.”

I sucked in deep breaths, refusing to think about the possibility of Neal losing use of his legs or worse. “Thank you for calling to let me know, Patrick. I really appreciate it.”

“You're welcome. I know you're worried about him, too.”

After I hung up, I took my first deep breath. “Neal is hurt,” I told Will.

“What happened?” he asked, his eyes round.

I told him a sanitized version of the situation, emphasizing that Neal was okay but leaving out the part where his spine might be compromised.

“He's not going to die, is he?” he asked.

I pulled him in for a hug, not knowing what else to do. “No, he's in the hospital but he's stable.”

“I don't want him to die like Dad,” Will said, his voice muffled by my scrub top.

“I don't want that, either.” I pulled away, wishing I could bear all the pain so that he would never have to wear that look of misery ever again. “Hey, let's just focus on what's happening right now, okay? Right now he's okay and getting the best care from the best military hospital.”

He sniffed. “Okay.”

I picked up the Popsicle and handed it to him. “Here, you can have the rest. I hear they're magic.”

—

Neal was on my mind all day, the image of him lying on a hospital bed stuck in my mind, so much so that it was starting to affect my performance at work. I couldn't concentrate on the task at hand, finding myself staring off into space for a few seconds before remembering what needed to be done.

On my lunch break, I went online to look up information on Landstuhl Regional Medical Center, searching for protocols on visitation. Just as I was about to search for a plane ticket to Germany, my phone rang with Patrick's number.

“He's out of surgery,” the older man said with a little more life in his voice. “They are transferring him stateside at the end of the week.”

I sat up, my heart thumping wildly. “And his spine?”

“He woke up and was able to move his toes and fingers, so for the time being they are calling the operation a success. They won't know until later if there's any long-term damage.”

I closed my eyes and leaned back into the chair, the tightness in my chest beginning to ease.

“But, Julie,” Patrick said, breaking through my short-lived relief, “I have to warn you that Neal could be different. Most people who go over there . . . sometimes they're not the same people who come back.”

I flew up to Walter Reed Medical Center in Maryland early that Sunday morning. I reread Neal's letters on the plane, savoring each word and imagining where he was when he was writing them, so that by the time the plane landed at Reagan National, I was about to burst with anticipation.

Since the medical facility was inside a base, I had to fill out forms at the gate, after which I was escorted inside.

“I'll leave you here, ma'am,” said the young soldier with an affable smile. “Please observe visiting hours.”

“Thank you.” I turned back to the door, feeling light-headed when I put my hand on the handle. I took a few deep breaths then pushed it open.

The room was typical hospital, gray and sterile, with the blinds drawn. But before they even had a chance to adjust to the dimness, my eyes found Neal. As quietly as I could, I closed the door behind me and walked around the curtain, never looking away from the sleeping figure on the bed.

I stopped, overwhelmed by an onslaught of memory. It wasn't so long ago that I'd come to the hospital for someone I loved, had watched him sleep with various machines beeping all around, needles stuck in his little arms. I'd felt helpless then, as I did now, knowing there was nothing I could do to take away the pain.

I moved toward Neal, my body pulled to his as if by gravity, until I was standing beside the bed. He looked like hell warmed over, with scabbed lacerations on the side of his neck and his cheeks, a large bandage covering most of the back of his neck and head.

I reached out and touched his arm, my fingers caressing the soft hair there, finally daring to believe that he was actually back here and that he was alive.

I sucked in a breath when he opened his eyes, blinking slowly, his pupils dilated.

“Water,” he said almost inaudibly.

I looked around and found the cup with a straw and held it up to his lips. He took in a few sips with a pained expression on his face. “More?” I asked.

“No,” he said, sounding a little less raspy. It was clear from the glazed look in his eyes that he was still heavily sedated. He grabbed my hand, taking me by surprise. “Nurse, I have to tell you, you bear a striking resemblance to a friend of mine.”

“Oh?” I asked, deciding to play along. “Tell me about her.”

He gave a sleepy smile then closed his eyes. “She's amazing,” he whispered. “She's a bird.”

I waited for him to say more but his face relaxed and then his breathing came slower, deeper. I grabbed a chair and set it by his side, once again taking his hand in mine, not planning on going anywhere in the foreseeable future.

I sat up with a start when the door opened, realizing I'd fallen asleep with my head on the mattress. I rubbed my eyes and twisted around to find a man in civilian clothes entering the room, his right arm cradled in a wide sling.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” he said upon seeing me. “I didn't know you were sleeping. Sorry, I'll come back.”

Neal stirred at the noise, letting out a long breath as he opened his eyes. “Julie?” he croaked, his eyebrows drawing together. He glanced up at the visitor then back to me. “Is this real? Is this another trippy dream?”

“No, I'm real,” I said, trying a smile. “And he's real, too, as far as I can tell.”

Neal's eyes flicked up to the man with the sling. “Horton,” he said with a tired smile. “Good to see you up and about, man.”

“You, too.” The man named Horton shuffled inside as if his entire body ached, and even though it looked like it hurt, he held out his free hand to me. “I'm Chase Horton.”

“Nice to meet you. I'm Julie.”

“
The
Julie?” Horton asked, his dark eyes growing wide. “Harding was always sneaking away, writing on his pad of paper. Come to find out, he was writing letters and they were all addressed to you.”

“Where the hell are we? Are we still in Germany?” Neal asked, pointedly trying to steer the subject.

“Maryland. We're back in country,” Horton said.

Neal turned to me. “What are
you
doing here?”

“To visit Horton, of course,” I teased, eliciting a tiny lift in the corner of Neal's mouth.

“Is Will with you?” he asked, his eyes flicking around the room.

“No, I left him with Stacy. I wasn't sure what to expect. I didn't want him to freak out in case . . .”

“In case my face looked like raw hamburger?”

I ignored his words and dug around in my purse, taking out the card Will had made. “He asked me to give you this.”

Neal reached out and lifted it above his face, reading the note that Will had written the previous night along with the drawings of satellite dishes and their counterparts in space.

“He wanted to know what you did in Afghanistan, so we did a little bit of research based on what you'd written me and that's the best we could come up with.”

“It's actually not that far off,” Neal said. “We'd make sure the dishes were all pointed in the right direction, make sure the Internet and phone lines worked, set up e-mail accounts, all sorts of boring computer stuff. Occasionally, we'd also go to a new base to set up their communications, which is what we were doing when we hit an IED and were ambushed.”

Horton held up the arm in the sling and it was only then I realized there was only a stump covered in gauze where his hand should have been. “I'm lucky to have only lost one limb. The other guys with us were not so lucky.”

I turned to Neal. “Were you all in the same unit?”

“No,” Neal said. “Some were Marines.”

Horton shook his head, sighing. “I haven't had a chance to thank you yet, man.”

“Forget about it,” Neal said, looking up at the metal grid of the ceiling.

Horton shut his mouth and just nodded.

“What did you do?” I asked. When Neal didn't speak, I turned to Horton for answers. “What did he do?”

“He hasn't told you?” he asked incredulously.

“No.”

“It was nothing,” Neal said, continuing to glare holes in the ceiling.

“It wasn't fucking nothing,” Horton said, clearly agitated. “He saw the rocket coming and shoved me out of the way. Basically, this humble motherfucker saved my life.”

My head swiveled around to Neal, but the feeling of awe quickly dissipated as it dawned on me that he, who had confessed he was not afraid to die, had purposefully thrown himself in the way of a rocket grenade.

“You or any of the other guys would have done the same,” Neal said.

“No. I think any normal person's reaction would have been to duck.” Horton smacked Neal's foot under the sheet, then apologized when Neal grimaced. “Sorry. I forgot it was that leg.”

“Should've used you as a shield instead,” Neal said with forced levity.

He lifted his stump. “Anyway, man, I'm getting discharged today, but I'll be back in a few weeks to get fitted with a prosthetic and then comes physical therapy and all that bullshit. How about you?”

Neal glanced at me. “I'll be here a while. Docs want to make sure there's no permanent damage to my spine, then I have to undergo physical therapy.”

Horton walked over to the other side of the bed and shook Neal's hand, a look of understanding passing between them. “I'll see you later,” he said then turned to me. “Nice to meet you, Julie.”

“You, too.” Once Horton had crossed the room and closed the door behind him, I turned back to Neal. “You threw yourself in front of the rocket?”

“No. Horton's exaggerating. I just pushed him aside.”

“Still, you risked your life for him.”

“Yes.”

I stared at him, trying to make sense of everything. “Neal, you might not care if you die, but I do.”

“I care.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You know what went through my mind when that rocket exploded behind me?” he asked, then added with a tiny grin, “Well, apart from hoping that my nuts didn't get blown off.”

My lips twitched but I remained, for the most part, angry. “What?”

“I thought, ‘Not today.'” He held out his palm and waited until I placed my hand on it. “I thought of you—and Will—and decided I wasn't ready to go. Before I blacked out and hit the ground, I told Death to go fuck himself.”

My vision blurred and I swiped at my eyes before he noticed that I was crying. It occurred to me then that it was valor that made him risk his life, not a death wish like I'd thought. “You told me you were ready to die at any given moment.”

“I've since changed my mind.” His gaze was warm when he lifted his hand up to my cheek.

We were quiet for long moments, just staring at each other, the girl who was afraid of death and the boy who willingly courted it. But despite it all, I loved him and needed him in my life.

I sat on the edge of the bed and leaned down, touching my lips to his. He responded, gently at first, then he brought his hand up to the back of my neck and deepened the kiss. When he tried to sit up, he grunted and made a pained noise.

“You okay? What happened?” I asked, pulling away.

He wrenched his eyes shut and settled back, taking in deep breaths. “I got a little too eager there,” he said between his teeth.

“I wanted to thank you for the birthday surprises,” I said, running the backs of my fingers against the short stubble on his cheeks.

“You're welcome. How did it go? Did the dress fit?”

I told him about the party, regaling him with a couple of stories—how Naomi had gotten so drunk she almost fell in the pool and how Will had stuck his finger in the cake before I'd even had a chance to blow the candles out.

“I wish I could have been there to see your reaction when you went out onto that balcony,” he said, his eyes blazing across my face. “I hope you enjoyed your party.”

“I did, but I spent the entire time waiting for you to show up,” I confessed. “And it made me realize something.”

“What's that?”

“That I was stupid for letting all those things come between us. I kept looking for reasons to push you away because I was afraid of how I felt about you,” I said. “I was scared to lose control of my emotions . . . because you do that to me. You have this hold on me, and even months of trying to pretend you don't exist didn't ease it. If anything, it made it worse. And then when I found out you were seriously hurt . . .”

He squeezed my hand. “Hey, I'm still here.”

“I'm just glad I'm not too late to tell you that I'll wait for you.” I placed a hand on his chest, over his beating heart. “I want to be with you.”

His eyes flew across my face, his features impassive.

My heart sank. I didn't know what to expect, but indifference was definitely not something I'd ever anticipated. His letters had made me believe he wanted the same; so why then was he acting like none of this mattered?

“What about Jason's letter?” he finally asked.

I swallowed hard. “I was so angry with you for withholding that letter from me. I'd convinced myself it was because I couldn't trust you, but I think it goes deeper than that.” I shook my head. “Just the thought of receiving a letter like that from you . . . it tore me up. I didn't think I could go through it again.”

“So . . . you're not afraid anymore?”

“Oh, I'm still scared as hell. I don't think I'll never
not
be afraid for you when you go to a war zone. And I'll always fear that Will will grow up and want to join the military. But I've come to accept that those are all things beyond my control.”

His eyes flew across my face, dark brown in the dim hospital room. “If you'd asked me a year ago how I'd feel if I were to die, I'd have told you that I'd go with a smile because I've lived a full life. But that was before I met you, before I realized that there was more to life than travel and money. I always thought my mom was shortchanged because she died so young, but now I know she died with a full heart.” He took hold of my hand and pressed it against his chest. “
I'm
the one who's been shortchanging myself all this time, traveling around, watching life happen from a distance.”

“So stop and stay,” I whispered.

The corners of his mouth tugged up and finally I was able to release the breath I'd been holding. “I think I will.”