Page 102 of A Hero Comes Home

“Me? I didn’t do anything. We didn’t even do the deed, not totally,” he said.

“Oh? Then why did she go to some voodoo woman at the mall to put a curse on you? Have you noticed an itch in an uncomfortable place lately?”

“Whaaat?”

She hung up on him, laughing. Probably hysterically, considering this was not a time for mirth.

Or maybe it was.

She had plans to make.

First off, she called Joe. “Can you come stay with the boys for a few days? I hate to ask you when the king mackerel are hitting heavy.”

“What’s up, girl?”

When she explained, he said, “Screw king mackerel! About time we did something, instead of sitting on our asses waiting.”

Next she called the Outer Banks Airlines to see if she could get on one of the early morning shuttles to Norfolk International. From there, she could book a seat on a plane to Baltimore. It was surprisingly easy.

She called José and then Mary Lou to ask for their help with the bakery. She was not surprised that they readily agreed and asked if there was anything else she needed.

She went upstairs to pack but first went into Matt’s room where the video game system was now housed. The boys were halfway through their two-hour weekend daily limit.

Her announcement that she had to go out of town for a day or two met with some whining and protest, even when she mentioned that PopPop would be babysitting for them. Ever since Jake had left, they were much more needy. Maybe they thought she would skip out on them, too. But then they soon conceded, realizing that PopPop was much more lenient than she was. Her trip could work to their benefit, the wily little devils concluded, probably already coming up with a strategy to convince their grandfather that they really needed more game time. No big deal in the scheme of things.

“Don’t you guys want to know why I have to go?” she asked them.

They immediately became alert.

“I’m going to bring Daddy home.”

Was this a near-death experience, or just God giving him a second chance? . . .

Jake felt himself coming out of the anesthetic at the vision care hospital. As he drifted in and out, he opened his good eye and guessed that he must be in the post-op room, having just gone under the knife an hour or two ago. That’s how long the surgeon had said the eye muscle procedure would take.

One of those times when he was more wakeful, he thought he smelled cinnamon. And smiled. I could get used to this happy juice.

But wait. I must have died, he thought, and this is heaven. For some reason, he wasn’t alarmed at that prospect. Just sort of sad that he wouldn’t see Sally or his sons again.

“Sweetheart, you are only going to wish you were dead when I’m through with you,” he heard Sally say.

He must have spoken aloud, or else he was talking to Sally from “the other side.” He chuckled and said, “Do they have cinnamon sex in heaven?”

“Shhh. The nurse will hear you.”

It sure did sound like his wife, and the cinnamon scent was enveloping him, taking away that medicinal smell that pervaded hospitals. And who was that holding his hand? Was it a nurse? No, he didn’t think a nurse would kiss his hand.

Yep, it must be heaven.

Still later, when the opiates had mostly left his system, he came fully awake and realized that he was back in his regular hospital room. Man, he was sick of hospitals. When this was over, he swore he would never voluntarily enter another one again.

That’s when he noticed that the cinnamon scent was still with him. Moving his head, he saw Sally sitting in a recliner in the corner, fast asleep.

How long has she been there?

Why is she here?

How did she find me?