But the room remains quiet, empty. We split into two teams. Collins acts as my six, and we take steady but silent steps throughout the small house, clearing one room after the other. We don’t lower our weapons until we push open the door that leads to the rooftop, and even though it’s only been a fewminutes, I pull my bandana down, breathing in the stale, humid air.
“Fuck,” I curse, spitting on the floor next to me.
“Was hoping for some action,” Brutus says, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette.
A few of the other guys mutter the same, and a large part of me knows that they’re right. That we aren’t going after just anyone—we’re going after evil. And the longer it takes for us to find him, the more innocent people that will suffer.
But the other part of me, the small town part of me, wants to go on pretending that such horrible people don’t exist. Funny how I wanted so badly to get away from the farm, to do something other than spend peaceful days with the animals, and now I realize that was a gift. To be so far detached from everything that’s bad in the world. To get to see my family every day while making a living. I guess perspective was all I truly needed.
Staff Sergeant Winters slaps me on the shoulder. “How did it feel to kick ass for the first time, Iowa?”
I force a chuckle at that. “The only ass I kicked was a door, sir.”
A few of the guys snicker, and Staff Sergeant Winters reaches for the binoculars from his flak jacket, using them to search the horizon. “We’ll camp out here for a few days, see if we can stir up anything in town before moving on.” He pockets his binoculars, swapping them for a cigarette and bumming a light off one of the other guys. “Alright,” he says, blowing a puff of smoke that catches in the wind, wafting right into my face. “Who’s making dinner?”
CHAPTER 19
Magnolia
FIVE MONTHS INTO DEPLOYMENT
Dear Lukas,
You’ve been heavy on my mind lately. I think of you all the time, as you’ve probably, hopefully, realized by now, but last night I woke up around midnight and sat up straight in bed, thinking of you.
I don’t think I was dreaming, at least if I was I don’t remember it. Maybe it was that connection our moms always talked about, how one of us could seem to sense when something wasn’t right with the other.
I wish I could have grabbed my phone and texted or called you right then to make sure you’re okay, but a letter will have to do.
Nana’s birthday is coming up. Can you believe she’s going to be eighty? My dad joked that he’dbuy her anything she could possibly want for a milestone like that, take her on a vacation across the world. He offered to fly her to France to see me perform in person, and you know what she asked for? A family dinner with all of us around.
Funny how what we want changes as we get older. Remember being kids and being so excited for each birthday, holiday, Christmas, whatever it was, because it meant we got presents or money? How fun it was to go to the mall and buy new clothes? If you ask the average teenager, or even someone our age what they want the most out of anything, I think the majority of us would say a big house, a new car, unlimited spending money. But ask someone who has lived a full life and all they want is more time with the people they love the most.
Nana’s always been the brains of the family, and right now, if someone could grant me one wish, give me anything in the world—I’d ask for more time with you.
Atear rolls down my face, dropping on the sheet of paper in front of me with a soft splatter.
I slump back in the chair, crossing my arms over my chest as I take in my surroundings.
A brisk wind picks up, and I wrap the loose panels of my sweater around my core. Fall in France is gorgeous.Temperatures hover in the seventies, and besides the occasional chilly breeze, the sun still shines, warming the apples of my cheeks as I sit in the outdoor cafe.
It almost seems unfair that I get a day like this. That a day off means I can sit and sip café au lait and eat a croissant before I meet my friends for lunch, while Lukas is doing only God knows what.
I swipe at the next tear that falls, catching it against my chin. A young mom strolls by, protectively holding her baby against her chest in a cloth wrap. Her significant other reaches for her free hand, lacing their fingers together. They look so in love, so happy, socontent. And I want that.
I turn my head away so she doesn’t see the tears. Almost laughing to myself at how foolish I must look.
What is wrong with me?
I’m living the very dream I wrote about in my diary when I was kid. The same dream I spent nights praying I’d reach. I love what I do, but there’s this pinch in my chest, a painful, Lukas-sized splinter, one that catches every time I take a deep breath.
I was foolish enough to think that his deployment wouldn’t be much different for me than our already long-distance relationship. The time change made it so hard to find time to talk, but at least we could have brief phone calls and video chats. A quick weekend here or there with each other. But months of near silence, besides one call to tell me he made it safely and that I won’t hear from him for a while, wasn’t something I was prepared for.
I push out a breath, picking up the notebook in front of me to reread the letter. Gosh, that’s depressing. Too depressing. Lukas is already struggling with what he’s going through, he doesn’t want to get a letter from me whining about how sad I am.
I flip to the next page and pick up my pen, bringing it to the paper to start again.
Hey, baby,
