Hours later, the back pages of my notebook held a wide array of suggestions and resources. Pencil in hand, I studied my gathered information.
Group therapy was recommended.
Hmm.
Talking to a counselor would be bad enough, but a bunch of strangers? Still, I didn’t want to rule out ideas too quickly. I drew a star next to that one.
Talking about the event and even visualizing it to work through emotions was mentioned from many sources.
Ugh.
I drew a line through that idea. Much better to forget.
Medication? I drew a few question marks. Maybe the base doctor could help, if I could get over my embarrassment. Good grief, he dealt with military folk who’d seen much worse. He’d probably laugh me out of his office if I told him my problems with one little traumatic event.
Then there was the spiritual component: prayer, Scripture, fellowship. I drew an arrow to them, but my hand faltered and the line wobbled.
I swallowed hard.
Those used to be rich and cherished aspects of my life. In the past weeks I’d mouthed the right words and tried not to think about how lost and alone I felt in my battle. But to really involve God in this process, I first had to confront my big question. Where had He been that afternoon? I was afraid to ask Him, because if there was no answer, I wasn’t sure I could forgive Him, and losing Him right now was more than I could bear. I’d rather maintain a nodding acquaintanceship than dig too deep and lose it all.
I rubbed my forehead and continued studying my notes. Too much advice. Too many ideas.
A clinking sound near the front door signaled the mail had arrived. Moving with the underwater resistance that had weighted me lately, I closed my notebook and rolled my shoulders. I waited until the mail carrier walked a few houses down the street before cracking open my front door and lifting the lid on the metal box bolted to the brick next to the front door. Reaching in, I grabbed whatever my hand found. After I bolted the door again, I shuffled through the junk mail and saw two red envelopes. My first Netflix movies. Perfect timing. I’d given a few hours to my research and was exhausted. I needed a distraction before I started organizing specific steps to my Penny’s Project.
Befriended by a tray of crackers and cheese, and a pot of hot tea—Irish Breakfast, not that weedy stuff Laura-Beth had suggested—I drew the living room curtains closed and opened the DVD tray. An unlabeled disc rested in the compartment, so I set it aside, dropped in the movie, and curled up on the couch with the remote. Images flowed across the television, but even the rollicking adventure movie couldn’t hold my attention. After I’d polished off most of my snack, my eyelids grew heavy, and I drifted to sleep.
My naps had become heavy things, smothering weights that held me under until something intervened to pull me up from the depths. Today a sound woke me: a chubby fist banged the front door about three feet up from the threshold—Bryan height.
“Mom? It’s me. I’m home. Mom? Mom!” A worried edge tinted his bellowing call.
I hurried to the door, kicking myself for another lost day and for another day of not meeting Bryan’s bus after school. I tried to dredge energy up from my toenails as I yanked open the door and managed a bright smile. “How’s my favorite second-grader?”
His relieved laugh burst into our quiet living room. I knelt for a hug and smelled sunshine and dust in the sweet-salty sweat of his neck.
“Know what? Mrs. Pimple said one of the moms could be the head Pilgrim in our play, and I told her you’d be good at it, since you used to be a Pilgrim.”
Huh? “Honey, I’m not old enough to be a Pilgrim. And her name is Mrs. Pimblott.”
He scratched his head. “But you were a Pilgrim. Back at our old house. Remember, Mom?”
“Our old—?” Light dawned. “You mean Pilgrim Cleaners? That wasn’t . . . I mean, I only worked for their office.” I’d loved my three-day a week job as office manager. One of the many things I hated to give up when we moved.
He wrinkled his forehead and waited.
I coughed to hide a chuckle. “Those were different Pilgrims.”
“Oh. Well, now you can be this kind.”
Perform in the Thanksgiving play? Not a chance. But few people can give a direct no to earnest seven-year-old eyes. “We’ll see.” Every mom’s magic phrase when cornered. Sometimes when my son’s attention span was particularly short, it was all I needed. Hopefully he’d forget all about volunteering me.
“So can we go to the ocean so I can find a new pet? You said it was a good idea.”
“No,
you
said it was a good idea. I said we’d talk about it.”
“Know what? Daddy would like us to find a pet. He doesn’t want us to be lonely while he’s gone.”
I tousled his hair and ignored his coy eye-batting. “Sorry, buddy. Not today. I’m still not feeling too good.”
“What’s for supper? Know what? I think we should have pizza.”
“We’ll see.”
He crossed chunky arms and met my eyes. “I know what that means, Mom.” Then with a very adult sigh, he marched off to his room with his backpack.
The long nap must have deadened my brain cells. I couldn’t even match wits with a seven-year-old. But I did take a moment to grab my notebook. I penciled in a star by the goal of finding a pet for Bryan. Then by the entry of
Attend Thanksgiving play
, I added,
Be a Pilgrim mom?
My stomach twisted and the notebook suddenly felt heavy.
These are just ideas. Gather ideas. Sort them later and make your
action steps. Not all of these will work. That’s okay.
After two cups of coffee, I assembled a quick rice and beef casserole and popped it into the oven. No green peppers. Tom hated green peppers—so I left them out on principle. He was thousands of miles away, but I believed he’d somehow feel more loved if I served supper without green peppers. Then I sat on the back steps while Bryan set up a golf course in the backyard.
“Come and try it, Mom.” He brandished the broken umbrella he was using as a nine-iron.
“That’s okay. I’m having fun watching you.” If I came out of the shadow near the door, Laura-Beth would notice me when she watered her tomatoes. She’d flood me with opinions and suggestions. A good neighbor should enjoy chatting over the fence. I used to be the first to strike up a conversation with anyone nearby, but today I wasn’t up for it.
The phone rang, and I stepped inside to grab it.
“Penny? Hi! This is Mary Jo Collins, your ombudsman. We met when you first moved here?” Her bright voice held way too much energy.
“Um, sure.” We needed to get caller ID. I didn’t want to miss a call from Tom, but until I shook off this virus, I really didn’t feel like talking to anyone else.
“Whee! Look, Mom!” Bryan’s shout brought me back to the steps, phone cord stretched to the limit. “I hit it onto the shed. Don’t worry. I can climb up and get it.”
“Bryan, no! Don’t climb up there. I’ll come help you in a minute.”
Laughter carried through the phone. “I won’t keep you. I know how it is when the kids are little. I just thought we should go out for coffee and get acquainted. After all, with your husband being the chaplain, you and I need to coordinate our support of the wives. And since this is his first deployment, I figured you’d enjoy chatting with someone who’s been through it. Nothing else is quite as helpful. So how about tomorrow?” Mary Jo’s voice rang strong and competent.
Exactly the qualities I’d lost lately. I coughed a few times. “Let me get back to you. I’m fighting a cold or something.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Gotta keep yourself in fighting form, so your spouse can focus on his work and not be distracted by worry. That’s what I tell all the families. Anyway, the base doctors are good, but if you need any names, let me know.”
“Thanks. I’ll do that. Bye.”
I replaced the phone and wiped my sweating hand on my shorts.
Tom wasn’t going to be distracted by my struggles. He was facing enough challenges—even dangers—and it was vital for him to be able to fully focus on his work. As long as he couldn’t see me, he’d believe my upbeat e-mails. But what if I still wasn’t myself when he got home at Thanksgiving? Would it affect his ability to do his job? This was his dream. Would my problems force him to request shore duty? Or try to resign? I shuddered. I didn’t know if he could even do that, but an image suddenly spun into my mind of Tom with hunched shoulders, sitting behind a desk and talking to our old senior pastor. “Yes, it was the work God called me to. But Penny couldn’t cope. We had to come back.”
“Hey, Mom! I think I can reach it!”
I hurried outside to rescue Bryan from his wobbly perch halfway up a stepladder.
“Yoo-hoo.” Laura-Beth strolled toward the fence with one of her twins wedged on her hip. “How ya been?”
I measured the distance to the back door. This compulsion to escape wasn’t like me. I mustered a warm smile. “Just getting supper ready.”
She nodded. “Never ends, does it? Jim-Bob’s havin’ another growth spurt, and I don’t know where he puts it, but he never stops eating.” She squinted at Bryan. “Your boy looks a mite scrawny. Grits for breakfast will fill him out nice. Hope you don’t mind a piece of advice.”
“Not at all. Thank you.” Scrawny? So what if my son looked more like a running back than a tackle? He was healthy and full of energy.
Still, when I went back inside, I added two goals to my notebook. “Coffee with Mary Jo,” and, “Try cooking grits.”
Somehow, I got through another evening of Bryan’s restless demands. After tucking him in and listening to his prayers, I avoided my overwide and lonely bed by camping out on the couch instead. The television could keep me company.
I popped the movie I’d started that morning out of our DVD player. I couldn’t muster interest in watching the part I’d slept through. I’d send this one back and watch a new one tomorrow.
The blank disc I tossed aside earlier in the day caught my eye. It didn’t look familiar. What had it been doing in the player?
I held it by the edges. Weird. Both sides were bare, with no imprinted title or clue to the contents. Was it a bonus feature included with one of Bryan’s VeggieTales movies? Tom and I were careful about what we let our son watch. Had my second-grader been watching something I hadn’t pre-approved?
I pushed it into the DVD player and pointed the remote. I’d mastered On and Off but little else. If there were special settings or a menu to navigate, I’d be in trouble.
Static crackled across the screen. Light flickered to life, then disappeared.
I leaned closer.
The sound of a chair scraping and a breath across a microphone came from the speakers. Then the picture appeared in full color.
I blinked.
What on earth?
It wasn’t a movie.
I
FUMBLED WITH THE
remote to raise the volume and accidentally hit Rewind. The machine hummed as I jabbed the Play button, then held my breath. The squiggly backward motion on the screen halted, and the DVD played again in vibrant clarity.
On the television, Tom grinned from his office on the base. I recognized the location because his Bible commentary filled the shelves behind him. He looked straight into the camera as if he could see me. My heart grabbed, stuttered, and then began the agitated pounding of my washer on spin cycle.
Oh, Tom.
He looked past the camera. “Thanks, Jim. I’ve got it from here.”
I heard a door close.
Tom focused on the lens. “Hey, Penny. I ship out tomorrow. I know you’re holding it together the only way you can right now. But there’s so much more that I wish we could have talked about.”
He looked down and twisted a paper clip absently, unbending and reshaping it. When his eyes lifted, raw pain darkened them.
“Penny, it kills me that I couldn’t protect you. That I wasn’t there. That you went through that alone. And now I’m leaving.” He swallowed hard, but kept drilling me with his stare through the screen. “But you’re not alone. We’re in this together. I had to tell you that.
“I’ve seen you shaking in the middle of your nightmares. I’ve heard you cry. I wanted to go back in time and be there to stop it. Instead, all I could do was hold you and try to help you feel safe again. Now I won’t even be able to do that for you.”
He tossed aside the paper clip and leaned forward, strong forearms on his desk. A half-smile eased the corner of his lips. I edged closer to the screen.
“I know this might seem a little cheesy, but I thought I’d leave you a few messages. Don’t listen to them all at once. But next time you miss me, go ahead and play the second one.”
Next time I miss him? Try every minute of every day.
“And Penny, even though I’m not there to hold you, I’m holding you in my heart. Don’t forget.” He shifted in his chair and drummed his fingers on the desk. “Okay. That’s it for message number one. Turn this off now.” A teasing light gave a gold glint to his hazel eyes. “I mean it. Save the rest for when you need them. No cheating.” He sat back and crossed his arms, waiting.
Through the wild ache in my chest, and the tears pricking my eyes, I giggled. “You know me too well.” Talking to him aloud added to the fantasy that he was in the room with me. “Okay. I’ll stick to your rules. But you won’t mind me watching this one again, will you?”
I watched Tom’s first message five times in a row. Each time I was more tempted to let the DVD keep playing, so I finally pulled the disc out.
This was so like him. On our anniversary last year, he’d hidden little notes for me in all kinds of unlikely places. I was still discovering them weeks later.
I’m glad I married you
on a Post-it under the ice-cube tray.
Penny from heaven
tucked in the toe of my favorite pumps.
I’ll always love you
hidden inside a bottle of vitamins.
Curled up on the couch, I imagined Tom’s arms around me. His surprise message was better bedtime comfort than hot cocoa. And I had more to look forward to. I smiled and closed my eyes.
But even with the mental image of Tom’s strong hold, sleep spun away from me, and the midnight ghosts arrived on schedule. A motor purred past in the street and headlights traced across the curtains like a prowler looking for entrance. Water dripped from the kitchen faucet, and the refrigerator compressor kicked in with a lurch. The sound could mask footsteps. Someone could be hiding around the wall only yards away and I’d never know it. A muffled clatter came from the backyard. Probably just Laura-Beth taking out the trash.