When A Warrior Comes Home Read online

  When Brian raised his hand it appeared to travel in slow motion, but when Adam Barnes clasped it, Brian squeezed and shook and smiled and said, “When do we start?”

  Chapter 10

  On her way to the grocery store, Sarah called Rosa. “Hi, guess what?”

  “Go on.”

  “Mike’s home!”

  “Wow, that’s terrific. You didn’t tell me he was coming so soon.”

  “Didn’t know. He surprised us.”

  “Men! I’m happy for you. Say hi from me, okay?”

  “Sure. Hang on a sec.” Sarah turned in to a parking space at the front of the store and switched off the engine. “How’s Butch?”

  “I dropped him off at the base. He has an appointment with the doctor to talk about, you know. The temper and forgetting stuff.”

  “That’s good, right?”

  “I hope so. Butch is nervous about going, but last night scared him. He’d blacked the whole thing out.”

  “They’ll know what to do. He’s not the only one suffering. At the seminar they encouraged us to come forward, right?”

  “Uh huh.” Rosa didn’t sound confident.

  “He’ll feel better getting it out in the open; you’ll see.”

  Inside the store, now, Sarah grabbed a shopping cart. “Look, Rosa. I’ve gotta go. Tell me what happens, okay?”

  “Sure. And, Sarah.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thanks again. You know, for being there.”

  “Of course.” She hung up and scooted along the aisle, swerving the cart for fun and singing along with the piped music. After gathering the ingredients, she splurged on a bottle of Chianti to complement the Bolognese. They’d have a family dinner, and then tonight, in bed, she and Mike would take it slower. Excitement tingled her thighs and made her shiver.

  On her way home, she called her mom. “Mike’s back.”

  “That’s wonderful news, honey. When?”

  “This morning. Do you mind bringing Christopher back this afternoon? He’ll be excited to see his dad. Better yet, why don’t you and Pops both come, stay for dinner. I’m making spaghetti. There’ll be plenty to go around.”

  “That’s sweet, but you need family time.”

  “Don’t be silly. You are family. Mike’ll be delighted to see you.”

  “Well if you’re sure. Can I bring anything?”

  “Just your appetite.”

 

  When Sarah arrived home, Mike and Daniel were sitting on the sofa, their backs to her, playing Halo. She stopped in the hallway and watched through the door as their blond heads moved in sync with the game. Funny how such a simple thing as two people playing a video game could be so special. For a couple minutes she remained in the doorway silently absorbing the fact that their family was finally back together.

  Although she worked hard to fill the void while Mike was deployed, there were certain things only a dad could do for a son. With a smile on her face, she headed for the kitchen and started to clean up the mess from Mike’s impromptu spring-cleaning.

  “Left! Look out on your left!” Mike’s voice boomed through the house.

  The place was so quiet when Mike was away.

  “No. No! God damn it, Daniel. Too slow. You’re dead, boy. Dead!”

  Sarah’s mouth dried up, and she turned to stone in the middle of the kitchen with a pack of ground beef in her hand. She held her breath, listening, waiting. The harshness in Mike’s tone was beyond game play. Daniel’s sneakers slapped against the wood flooring in the hall. He flashed past the doorway and stormed up the stairs. She rushed into the hallway. “Daniel?”

  On the landing, Daniel stopped and glanced down. His face was crimson, eyes filled with tears. He turned away. The bedroom door slammed behind him.

  She marched into the living room. Mike sat alone on the couch, still working the controller. “Mike, what’s wrong? Why’d you shout at him?”

  He paused the game and turned to face her, arm on the back of the sofa, eyes narrowed. “Daniel has to learn. Slow reactions get people killed!”

  “Mike, it’s just a game. You’ve upset him. He’s missed you so much.”

  “Daniel’s got to stop being a mommy’s boy. And when did he last get a haircut? I’ve seen neater hippies.” He spun away, grabbed a can of Bud off the coffee table, and took a slug before picking up the game controller. An alien exploded and showered the screen with virtual blood and guts.

 

  A vehicle pulled into the driveway. She raced to open the front door. Christopher sprang from the rear of his grandpa’s car and tore along the path toward her. Eyes wide and cheeks flushed, he shouted, “Is Daddy home?”

  She signaled with her thumb, and he ran past her into the living room. She heard him scream, “Daddy, it’s you!”

  Sarah stiffened, teeth clenched, waiting, unsure.

  “Come here, you monster. Holy moly, you’ve grown three inches. Mom’s feeding you too much.”

  When she heard Mike’s rumbling laugh mixed with Christopher’s giggles, she rotated her jaw and took a deep breath. Her mom stood on the doorstep, staring at her, reading her face. “You okay, honey?”

  Sarah smiled. “Yes, of course.” Her dad came up the path and gave her a hug. “Glad to have the man of the house back?”

  “You can’t imagine.”

  He smiled and handed her a bottle in a brown bag. “A little something for the homecoming.”

  “Thanks. Go on in. I’ll put this in the kitchen.”

  Christopher shouted, “Grandma, Grandpa, Daddy’s home!”

  “So I see,” Grandpa said. “Hi, Mike. Welcome home, son.”

  Sarah strained to hear an answer that didn’t come. Instead, the TV volume increased until the game’s explosions and gunshots filled the kitchen. Her mom joined her, carrying a bunch of cut flowers. “These’ll need to go in water. They won’t last, but I thought they’d look nice on the table.”

  Pops came in and stood with his arm around her mom’s waist. “Is Mike all right?” he asked.

  “Why?”

  “He didn’t even say hello. Just turned up the TV.”

  Sarah said, “I’ll talk to him. He’s wrought up. I think the journey—”

  Her mom laid a hand on Sarah’s arm. “We’ll just go, dear.”

  “No, Mom. It’ll be fine.”

  Tightening her grip, her mom shook her head. “Really. Let the poor man settle in. There’s plenty of time to get together later.” She took a step back. “Come on, Pops. I’ve got a list for the grocery store.”

  He pecked Sarah on the cheek. “Call if you need anything,” he said. “Anyway, where’s Daniel?”

  “In his room.” Heat rushed to Sarah’s face.

  Pops patted her shoulder. “We’ll catch him later in the week. Enjoy your family. You’ve waited long enough to get them together again.” He stroked her cheek and whispered, “Love you, kid.”

  “Love you too, Dad.” Tears misted her eyes as her parents walked away. They shouted a goodbye to Mike through the living room door, but he didn’t answer. The front door clicked shut, and all that remained was the noise of the video game, and a band of anxiety squeezing Sarah’s stomach. For a fleeting moment, she wished the home could be back the way it was.

  Before Mike had returned.

 

  In the waiting room of the base medical center, Butch scanned a magazine. After reading the same paragraph three times and not following a word, he tossed the book back on the table. Hanging on the opposite wall, a life-sized schematic of the human body depicted the nervous system as a mass of snaking green and red lines. Hard to believe that stuff was all inside of him. A nurse appeared from the rear office. “Sergeant Cassidy?”

  He sprang to his feet. “Yes, ma’am.” His voice came out sharper than he intended.

  She smiled, didn’t seem to notice how jumpy he was. “Come on through.”

  Butch followed her into a small examination room, and she po
inted to a chair. He sat while she took his vitals. As she coiled up the blood pressure cuff, she said, “The doctor will be in directly. Just wait here, please, Sergeant.” She closed the door behind her.

  The same chart of the nervous system hung on the wall to his left.

  A squat man with a balding head and salt-and-pepper beard came in and introduced himself as Dr. Wainwright. Butch stood and they shook hands.

  The doctor dragged a second chair across the room and positioned it so they sat four feet apart, facing each other. “You wanted to talk about some unusual behavior.”

  Butch took a deep breath. Was he doing the right thing? The doctor had a laptop open on his knee. Whatever they discussed would go on Butch’s record. But he’d hurt Rosa. He winced, shook his head.

  “Sergeant?” The doctor was staring, head tilted, face open, questioning.

  He had to decide.

  For Rosa and Noe. Butch clenched his gut and committed. “I’ve been getting dizzy. Sometimes I have to sit or I’d I fall over. And I’ve been forgetting stuff. Not like my keys. I mean big things I shouldn’t forget. And—” He lost his train of thought. His chest tightened and his throat closed. For a few heartbeats, he forgot how to breathe.

  The doctor nodded. His face stayed expressionless, but open, not judgmental; at least Butch didn’t think so. His voice stayed low and calm. “How about if I ask questions and you answer?”

  “That would be easier. Thanks. Shoot.”

  “When did you get back from Iraq?”

  “December fourteenth.”

  Wainwright typed in the date. “How long was your deployment?”

  “Eleven months, this time.”

  “And the time before?”

  Butch looked at the ceiling while he tried to remember. “About the same, I think. It’ll be on my record.”

  “Last time you returned, did you have any of these symptoms: dizziness, memory loss?”

  Butch shook his head. “Not that I recall, and Rosa, that’s my wife, would have said.”

  “Good. So let’s focus on this deployment. While you were in Iraq, did you experience a powerful force or blow to your upper body or head? You may not have been physically injured. Does any event fit that description?”

  “There was a rocket attack.”

  “When did that occur?”

  “Few days before I came home.”

  “Tell me what happened?”

  Butch frowned, squeezed his eyes shut for a second. Fear flooded in and made his stomach pucker. He sucked in deep breaths and rubbed at his cheeks. He needed another shave. Had he remembered to shave? He wasn’t sure.

  Wainwright smiled. “Take your time. Why not step me through it. What were you doing five minutes before the attack?”

  That was easier. “It was evening, just getting dark. Me and Yaz, that’s Sergeant Yazinski, we were playing Xbox in my trailer—Need For Speed. Yaz had just wiped out, again. We were laughing about it when this huge explosion happened. The noise was deafening—so loud it hurt. It came from all around. The TV was against the back wall, and the trailer’s paneling just blew in.” Butch pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. His face was hot. He mopped a slick of sweat from his brow. Except on Christmas Day at Sarah’s, this was the only time he’d spoken of the incident. He tried not to think about it. Although he woke up in that trailer nearly every night.

  The doctor cleared his throat. “So there was a loud noise, and the panels collapsed. What happened next?”

  “The back wall slammed into the TV and the TV hit Yaz in the chest and he flew across the room. How you’d see it in a movie, you know, as though a magic force tossed him aside like he was made of paper.”

  The doctor was typing up a storm. He stopped when Butch fell quiet, and asked, “What happened to you?”

  Butch strained, squeezed his eyes shut, tried to remember. But came up blank. He shook his head. “Sorry, Doc. I got nothing.”

  “That’s okay. Try to picture yourself as Yaz flew across the room. Were you still seated?”

  “Yes. Oh, that’s it, I flipped backward in the chair. It felt as though someone slammed a sandbag into my chest and dropped me. I remember watching the ceiling fan. A rock fragment smashed into the fixture, ripped the whole fan, blades and all, from the roof.” Butch’s voice cracked.

  “Would you like a drink of water?”

  He nodded, and the doctor got up and filled two plastic cups at the sink. They sipped. “Thanks,” Butch said.

  “Okay, so you saw the fan. You were on your back, then? On the floor?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s the next thing you remember?”

  “When I woke. In the field hospital.”

  “How could you tell you were in the hospital?”

  “I was lying down. I sat up. You know, fast. The room spun, and I flopped back and realized my legs and belly were strapped to a gurney. When the dizzy spell passed, I looked around. The guy beside me was sitting on his bed, knees dangling over the edge, staring. I asked where we were and he told me Camp Liberation Field Hospital.”

  “How did you feel?”

  Butch held out his arm. “This stung like hell. I got a burn.” Butch ran a hand along his forearm.

  The doctor pointed to the still-pink skin. “How is that, now?”

  “Fine, thanks, Doc. No problems there.”

  “Did you talk with the soldier in the next bed?”

  “Yeah, I asked him three or four times what happened to Yaz and Mike, and he didn’t answer. I wondered if he was a hajji.”

  “Why? Did he look like a local?”

  “No. ’Cause he looked blank, couldn’t understand what I was saying. Then I figured it was me. The words got stuck somehow, you know, as if I had cotton in my mouth or something.”

  The doctor nodded and smiled. “What time was this?”

  “Huh? Not sure. I lay back down because the room started spinning. Later, when a medic came in the door, I saw it was light outside. Sunrise was around seven, so it was after that. I reckoned I’d been out all night. But when they released me I found out it was two full days.”

  “What caused the explosion?”

  “A rocket slammed into the T-wall behind my trailer. If the barrier hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now.”

  The doctor nodded. “What time did the attack happen?”

  “Hmm, okay, Brian arrived at the trailer about eighteen hundred hours, and the Phalanx fired up soon after. He went outside to see what was up, and then the rocket hit.”

  “What did the medic do?”

  “Who?”

  “You said a medic came in to the field hospital.”

  Butch noticed a low buzz in the quiet room. The chart behind the doctor’s head pictured a male subject. He wondered if the nerves were different on women? He squinted and traced a red line that began below the man’s left ear but he lost track as the lines bunched at the neck. Although he traced it again, and again, Butch couldn’t keep it in focus.

  “Sergeant?” An urgency in the doctor’s voice caught Butch’s attention.

  “Yes?” The doctor’s left eyebrow lifted, waiting. He must have asked something. “Can you repeat the question, please?”

  “I asked what treatment the medics gave you in the field hospital.”

  “Ah, sorry. He checked my vitals. Asked me how I felt.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That my arm hurt like hell.” Butch grinned and raised his arm to show the doctor his scar.

  “But that’s okay now, right?”

  “Fine, thanks, Doc. No problems there.”

  “Hmm. What about the dizziness?”

  “Yeah, I was still dizzy. Not dizzy. Lightheaded maybe. Like after a couple beers.”

  “Had you been drinking?”

  “No. Never was much of a drinker.” Heat rose in his cheeks. When had he changed, then? Because he sure was a drinker now.

  “Did the medics ask questions
as I’m doing now?”

  When the room fell silent, Butch realized the doctor had asked another question.

  “Sorry, what?”

  “The medics, did they question you like I’m doing now?”

  Butch shook his head. “I asked them about Yaz and Mike, they were both in the trailer with me when we were hit.”

  “And did the medics understand what you were saying?”

  “Not at first. I had to speak real slow. Yaz and Mike were hurt bad. They were airlifted to Landstuhl, Germany. I was lucky, the medic said.”

  The doctor glanced at his screen. “So, Sergeant, correct me if I’ve got any of this wrong. You were relaxing in the evening, playing a video game when an enemy rocket exploded close enough to your trailer to blow in the rear wall and throw you and Sergeant Yazinski across the room. You received burns on your arm and lost consciousness for two days. Does that sound accurate?”

  Butch nodded.

  “Okay, now we know what happened. Tell me why you asked to see me.”

  Compared with this question, the other stuff had been easy. Butch’s mouth dried up. He swallowed. “Rosa, that’s my wife—” The words got stuck. He coughed. Tried again. “Rosa went to a seminar on base, and the presenter talked about personality changes and such.”

  “And have you noticed changes?”

  “I guess. I keep forgetting things. And I get angry a lot. I’ve been going out to The Blue Note.”

  “Let’s take this a piece at a time.” The doctor looked up from the laptop and softened his voice. “Sergeant.” He smiled. “Look. I know this is difficult. Remember I’m not here to judge, just to help. Okay?”

  Butch nodded and rubbed his sticky palms against his jeans. A sweat droplet trickled down the side of his face. He pulled out the hanky to mop his forehead again and squirmed lower into his chair. His heart slammed and bumped and thrumming in his ears as though he were jazzed and ready to go into battle.

  “Let’s talk about your memory first.”

  Butch breathed out. That was easier. He rolled his neck and heard a click. Maybe the memory loss was more important than the other stuff.

  Wainwright cleared his throat. “Can we, Sergeant?”