Читать книгу Navy Rescue - Geri Krotow - Страница 11
ОглавлениеCHAPTER TWO
THE FIRST THING Gwen noticed when she arrived in Washington State was how clean and fresh the air felt.
The second impression was that she’d developed claustrophobia. The military hospital she’d been “requested” to stay in for a complete post-trauma physical was pristine and comfortable, even spacious. But it was still a building. With solid walls. After six months on the run, most of it spent with little more than a thin barrier between her and the jungle, she felt hemmed in.
At least that was what she told the medical staff. In reality her chest hurt as if a three-ton gorilla sat on it, keeping her from freedom.
Whidbey called to her. She wanted to go home.
She needed to be back on the island.
The doctor who sat across from her didn’t agree. Not yet.
“I’m ready to go.” She shifted in the soft-cushioned chair.
Gwen still couldn’t get over the relative plushness of her psychiatrist’s office compared to the way she’d been living for the past half of a year. She’d only met with him for the past few days but it felt as if he’d peeled back every layer of emotional skin she had left. She knew it was his job to determine how emotionally healthy she was after her time in the Philippines, but that didn’t make it any easier.
“You will go home, Gwen. Soon, I promise. We can’t send you back without some basic reentry tools. I can’t underestimate the mental stress you’ve been under.” He peered at her as if she were a biological specimen. Dr. Lucas “just call me Luke” Derringer had told her he lived out on San Juan Island but commuted into Madigan Army Hospital as needed to support returning warriors “such as yourself.” He explained that he was permanently working on San Juan at the Beyond the Stars Resort, which was a counseling center for Gold Star families—families who’d lost a loved one to war.
She liked how Luke, a former SEAL, seemed to truly appreciate what she’d been through. A quick look at the walls of his office told her he’d served at Walter Reed National Medical Center, so he knew his way around the effects of PTSD.
Still, he was a psychiatrist. Gwen knew she needed help but the only assistance she craved at the moment, besides getting Pax back in her arms, was climbing into her own bed, under clean sheets, wearing soft, freshly laundered pajamas.
Dear, sweet Pax. No one would believe her when she said she was going to be a mother, was already a mother to the little boy. She hardly believed it herself.
Luke droned on about how she needed to watch for any signs of severe PTSD, including suicidal thoughts. It was a given that she’d suffer some symptoms, but it could get a lot worse before it got better.
She didn’t care. She was back home.
Almost.
“If you want to go back sooner, you’ll have to move in with your ex-husband for the time being.”
Shock forced her head back, her spine straight.
No.
Lucas stared at her, unblinking. Gwen shook her head in an attempt to make sure she wasn’t hearing things.
“What?”
“As I’ve just explained, you can’t be alone for the first several weeks that you’re back. This is nonnegotiable, if you want to be released to go to Whidbey.” He paused. “If you’re serious about adopting the baby, Gwen, this will give you the best chance to prove you’ve made every effort to heal and provide the child with a stable environment.”
“But we’re divorced. I’m divorced. I have my own apartment. Drew rents his half of the house from me—we kept it undivided in our settlement as an investment. We’re divorced.” How many times did she have to remind him?
The counselor looked at his file.
“The apartment you rented has been sublet to someone else. All of your finances had been put on a hold. Your ex-husband is the only one who had access to them. You’d left him as next of kin on your Page Two, and he had power of attorney when you went missing.”
God, what didn’t the navy have on file about her?
“I gave him the power of attorney for the house, for my finances, in the event of my...” She swallowed. “Oh.”
“Right. Even though everyone hoped you’d made it to land and were still alive, all indications pointed to your death.” Lucas leaned toward her. “This is where it’s going to take some time, Gwen. You’re coming back to a world that thought you were dead. Add that to the usual adjustments after six months at sea on any deployment. You’ve got your work cut out for you.”
“I can’t go back to that house.”
To Drew.
Lucas looked up. “Were you abused there? Was your breakup acrimonious?”
“No, not at all.” She bit her lip, still severely chapped from months of sun and primitive living. “Drew and I—we’re friends, we’ve remained friends. He’s never hurt me.” No, she’d done a good job of hurting herself, thank you very much.
“Then you can manage this. You don’t have a choice, Gwen, not if you want to go back to Oak Harbor. You’re not ready to live alone—you need someone there to help you reenter.”
He made sense, but...
“My ex won’t be expecting me.”
Lucas watched her with compassionate eyes. “You’re not the first GI to come back to this type of situation. Your time away has certainly been unique, but coming home to an ex—it happens. Especially when there are children involved. You haven’t had kids together, but you told me you had pets, right? And now you want to adopt baby Pax. Your friend—” he glanced back at his records “—Roanna, she suggested moving back in with your ex. In fact, I know she’s spoken with him.” Lucas shrugged. “It’s just until you’re on your feet again. Nothing permanent.”
“Doesn’t look like I have much of a choice, does it?” She sure as hell didn’t want to spend one more day in the hospital.
“Not really.”
She clutched the sofa’s throw pillow to her belly. He wasn’t going to give her any more wiggle room.
“You told me all along that you and your ex have maintained a friendship. Since he’s amenable to the arrangement, I recommend that you accept it. It’ll be easier to room with someone who knows you, and having your pets with you will be helpful as you adjust.”
Gwen tried to slow the thoughts that whirled like pinwheels. “What if the adoption comes through quicker than we expect? I want to bring Pax to my home, the place I’m going to raise him. Plus, isn’t having a man around who isn’t permanent, too confusing for an orphaned child?”
Luke leaned back in his chair. “Gwen, I do hope your adoption goes through. I’ve got no doubt that you’ll make an excellent mother. But you need to learn the first lesson all mothers have to master—you give yourself the oxygen first. Adoption, overseas adoption especially, can be emotionally grueling. You have to allow yourself some mental space before you go through everything required to bring Pax home. And you need time to heal.”
She refused to consider that the adoption wouldn’t clear; the fact that she’d saved Pax from his burned-out village when he was two months old, and had cared for him until she’d walked out of the jungle last week, put the odds in her favor.
But living with Drew again? Didn’t Doc Lucas know that it could present its own kind of torment?
You’re friends.
True, her ex-husband didn’t have any idea of the thoughts she’d had as she’d faced her own mortality over the past six months. No one did. She and Drew were friends, had been since their split. But her feelings for him had been magnified by her adrenaline, by the threat of imminent death.
She’d made it through shark-infested waters, a terrorist camp, unbearable living conditions.
Compared to that, living with Drew, for a few nights or even a few weeks, would be a cakewalk.
For Pax, she could do anything.
“Okay, fine.”
She wasn’t going to argue with a medical dude. She’d made it this far—she’d agree to whatever she had to, to get back. Drew was obviously being nice enough to go along with this, and she owed him. When she got there, she’d explain that she wasn’t going to stay at the house any longer than absolutely necessary. They’d lived under the same roof without communicating for the last year of their marriage. She could manage a matter of days.
* * *
GWEN OPENED HER eyes to the small hospital room she’d lived in for the past three days, and let the thrill of being free wash over her. Her hospital bed was far more comfortable than the commercial plane seat she’d endured for the twenty-two hour flight back from the Philippines, and much cleaner than any of the night camps she’d made for herself during her six months on the run. Today was go-home day.
Drew.
The phone on her nightstand rang. The clamor startled her, and her muscles tensed painfully in her back, her legs.
“Hello?”
“Gwen, honey, it’s Ro.” Gwen felt a sense of warmth wash over her, and she couldn’t stop tears of relief from spilling down her cheeks. Her best friend from way back when they’d been midshipmen at the Naval Academy, Ro knew her as well as Drew once had.
“I’d know your voice anywhere, sister. How are you?”
Ro laughed. “How am I? More like how the hell did you do what you did? First, I’m jealous as hell that you’re getting all this attention for ditching and saving your crew. Now you come back alive, from conditions a lot of SEALs haven’t survived. You’re a hero, sweetie.”
“Can you hear that flutter? It’s my BS flag. I’m waving it in your face.”
They both laughed.
“I’m glad to see you’re not letting any of it go to your head.”
“Oh, I will, trust me. You owe me at least a month’s worth of almond lattes.”
“Done.” Ro paused, the silence scaring Gwen as much as the ringing phone had.
“What?”
“Have you talked to Drew?”
“Of course not. Why would I?” Gwen deliberately sounded obtuse. Ro had always held out hope that she and Drew would work things out. Especially since she herself was—
“Wait, Ro. You’re married! I’m so sorry I missed it.”
“You had other things to worry about, sweetie.” Ro paused again. “I missed you so much that day. It was so beautiful. I wish you could’ve seen it.”
“Me, too.” It was hard to imagine Ro married; she’d been so gung-ho about her career and hadn’t wanted any distractions.
Gwen heard sniffles. “Are you crying?” she asked. “Don’t cry, Ro. I’m fine. You’ll see me soon and I’ll prove it to you.”
“I’ve missed you, Gwen. I can cry if I want.” Rustling tissue and a cough or two echoed over the phone. “Listen, honey, you know you were assumed— I mean, people thought you weren’t coming back?”
“I’m aware I was presumed dead—or at least as close as you can get to it, yes.”
“It was horrible. We were all sick about it. I can’t tell you how good it is to hear your voice, to know you made it back.”
“I promise you I’m really here, Ro.”
“You’re okay with staying at Drew’s?”
“Hmm. I hear you had something to do with it.”
“Sweetie, don’t be mad. I knew you wouldn’t want to go to your mom’s right away. You love Whidbey.”
“True, but honestly, Ro, suggesting I live with Drew again?”
“Miles and I were with him when he found out you’d ditched, and again when we found out you got out. It’s true, I suggested it to him.”
“So I do have you to blame. I’ll bet he’s thrilled about me moving back in.”
“He’s okay with it, Gwen. He still cares for you.”
“And I care for him. We’ll always be friends.”
She wasn’t going to rehash her divorce history with her best friend. Not today.
Besides, she was so tired, exhausted, from talking.
“I have to hang up, Ro. When will I see you?”
“Later today. I’m sending a suitcase of clothes for you with the commodore’s group. They’ll be there soon. I’ll see you when you land, okay?”
“I can’t wait. Thanks for getting me some real clothes, Ro.”
“Sure thing. See you. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Gwen hung up the phone and fought the urge to throw herself on the bed and have a long cry. But if she let one tear fall, there’d be so many more behind it she’d never get out of here, never get home. Ro’s voice, so full of unabashed love, threatened to burst her thin layer of composure.
She wanted to get home, to sleep in her own bed.
Shivers of reality jumped on her skin. She didn’t have a home to go to. Who knew where her bed was if the apartment had been sublet?
How had going through hell led to more torment? Being in close quarters with Drew would be nothing less than emotional torture. They hadn’t lived together in too long. Awkward didn’t begin to describe it.
Why did Drew have to be such a good guy, Mr. Do The Right Thing? For once, having him say “no” would have been a blessing for both of them.
She felt unease and even guilt at her lack of appreciation. Blaming Drew for being a good person wasn’t going to get her very far.
He’d been the last person she’d talked to before she left on deployment.
She’d gone on a mission that had been moved up by a few weeks. The terrorist strongholds in the southern Philippine Islands had to be destroyed before they reached a point of serious threat to the nearby nations, as well as U.S. interests in the area.
Drew had come to the base, walked into the hangar and said goodbye to her. Wished her the best. They’d exchanged a friendly hug—they were friends, after all. She willed her mind not to go back to the beginning of her department-head tour, nearly six years ago. To the reason she and Drew had decided to end their nine-year marriage—the discovery that the spark, the romantic love, had died.
The timing had been bad. She was to assume command when she returned from deployment and the squadron spouses were all acquainted with Drew—he’d played the perfect navy spouse. He brought the right mix of concern for each person, the squadron’s mission and the Oak Harbor community at large. His renowned sense of humor combined with his clean-cut good looks in a charming package. Gwen had been grateful to him, until that charm proved irresistible to one of her officers. An officer she’d pulled out of her ditched P-3.
Lizzie.
Don’t. Go. There.
It could’ve been any other woman who’d turned out to be too interested in her husband. Their marriage had been a mess all on its own by then. She and Drew hadn’t had a regular sex life in months, and when they did it’d become cursory, a matter of doing the familiar, getting the known-and-needed release. She slowly stood up from the hospital bed and let her legs bear her weight. Thinking about Drew made everything hurt all over again.
Gwen didn’t fight the shame. No marriage fell apart due to one person. It always took two, and theirs had been no exception.
Her hands were still shaky. Lucas had told her it would take time for her system to settle back into a routine of regular meals, a safe place to rest, no constant need for vigilance.
Her body didn’t realize that the threat she perceived today wasn’t from the jungle or a terrorist insurgent. It was from her fear of not getting her baby back, the child she’d saved in the jungle. It was from the fear of having to finally face her grief over her failed marriage. She had to go and live with her ex-husband. What wasn’t there to be afraid of?
Their marriage had been good once. Drew had been her safe harbor, giving her the chance to grow—as a woman, a naval officer, pilot and wife. But the hours of study his Physical Therapy education required, combined with Drew’s need to live in Seattle for school during the week, meant they were hardly ever together. Her operational job as a department head, the last chance she had to prove she was worthy of the plum command tour billet, hadn’t helped.
When Drew graduated and moved back to Whidbey they’d thrown themselves into setting up his new practice. With the onslaught of injured vets returning from Iraq and Afghanistan, his business had nearly tripled the first year.
She was happy for him, but they never had enough time alone for her to really express her pride in him. Weeknights were filled with social obligations for her and long hours in the clinic for him. Even a few words before sleep became rare.
Her record-breaking performance as the squadron operations officer made her a shoe-in for squadron command. Before she’d finished her department head tour, their marriage was over. She’d taken shore duty orders away from Whidbey, away from the emotional fallout of the divorce. It had been a tough time in Washington, D.C. She blamed it on missing Whidbey and their pets.
As expected, she was awarded her own squadron. She asked for a billet in Jacksonville, Florida, but her detailer sent her back to Whidbey as the executive officer. The promise of commanding officer in one short year took her career to a new level.
She and Drew had picked up where they’d left off—as the good friends they’d become since their divorce. Contact only when needed to facilitate her visiting the pets. A text here and there to check in, but no more than a couple of times a month, if that.
It still bothered her that she’d failed at marriage. She’d run from the vulnerability needed to maintain intimacy in the middle of everything life threw at her—her job, Drew’s job, the long deployments.
Couples drifted apart all the time.
But the drift wasn’t what had brought the final blow to her marriage.
The death knell to theirs hadn’t been finding Lizzie with Drew that awful night. Gwen believed Drew—nothing had happened between him and Lizzie. Not then, anyhow. What had cut deep was the realization that they didn’t have a relationship anymore. She didn’t have a husband, she had a housemate.
“All ancient history,” she grumbled to her empty room.
Just great. She’d been back only a few days and she was already talking to herself. Maybe the months in survival mode had forever changed her.
* * *
“WHICH VILLAGE WAS it, Gwen?” Navy Captain and Wing Commodore Buzz Perry, her boss on Whidbey, sat in front of her. He was the last one to question her. Yet because he was her boss, the closest in her chain of command, he thought he’d be able to ferret out what the past five days of interrogation hadn’t.
“I don’t know the name. I don’t speak Tagalog, Commodore. I told you what I’ve told everyone else. Pax was the only survivor.” Tears scalded her eyes at the mere mention of the baby she’d saved. The child she now considered her own. “No offense, sir, but I’m talked out. The sooner I get back to Whidbey, the sooner I can report to the squadron.”
Gwen refused to tell the commodore that she was afraid she’d never feel strong enough to go back to her job. She hoped it was her weakness from lack of decent nutrition and the overwhelming stress she’d dealt with for too long.
A vulnerability that would heal with time.
She’d survived the debriefings she’d been through with the State Department, Department of Defense, Department of the Navy, and now her boss, the wing commodore. He’d been flown down from Oak Harbor on the base C-2 airplane to meet with her before he escorted her back to Whidbey Island.
“We’re here to help you, Gwen. We’ll help you adopt the baby you rescued, if that’s what you want. But you have to see the difficult position you’ve put the government in. We want to reward you for all you’ve sacrificed but you seem to feel that nothing less than this baby will be enough. It’s not so simple, Gwen. The needs of the navy and the country, not to mention diplomatic relations, have to come before any personal issues.”
The commodore’s eyes were steady but she knew the deal. His chain of command had put him up to this. The highest levels of government wanted to get as much information from her as possible.
Fresh intel was always a hot commodity.
She fought to keep still.
“The difficulty I’ve caused? What about the difficulty of flying a forty-year-old aircraft that wasn’t fit for fair weather, let alone outmaneuvering a surface-to-air-missile during monsoon season? What about how I escaped from a terrorist training camp? What about the difficulty that serving my country has caused me?”
The commodore stretched his arms across the worktable in the psychiatrist’s office and placed his hands over Gwen’s.
“I’m not the enemy, Gwen. Neither are any of the doctors or officials who’ve questioned you this past week.”
She sighed. Her body ached to lie down; she wanted to sleep for hours, days. Pax hadn’t been the only weight she’d carried through mile after mile of jungle. She needed a safe place to shelve her emotions before they got the better of her.
“Then stop acting like one.” She clasped her hands and stared at the floor.
Buzz shifted in his seat. This wasn’t easy on him, either, but she didn’t have the energy to muster any compassion.
“Gwen, if I could’ve changed anything, I would have. That airframe would’ve been recalled before you left on deployment, and you would have had one of the new P-8s. Our funding’s been shortchanged by my predecessor’s actions.”
Commodore Perry referred to the criminal deeds of the previous commodore, who’d falsfied the aircraft maintenance books. He was now doing jail time in Fort Leavenworth military prison. As a result, it was taking longer for the newer airframes to come on line in the wing and her squadrons. The plane Gwen had ditched in the Pacific Ocean hadn’t been up to the rigors of a deployment, much less being shot at by a modern missile. The crew would’ve had much more of a chance in one of the new P-8s. The former commodore’s crimes also included murder, but his punishment hadn’t helped the crews flying the aging planes.
He’d indirectly put aircrews like Gwen’s in danger.
“The old frame was part of the problem, but we both know a surface-to-air missile brought her down, the same as it would have a brand-new P-8.” Not to mention the fact that the plane had checked out okay before deployment.
Fatigue blew out her anger.
“Face it, Commodore, it goes back to pilot error, doesn’t it? I should have abandoned the mission earlier.” Five minutes would have saved the navy an old plane, protected her crew from trauma and avoided her jungle adventure.
“Gwen, you brought her down safely. You saved every life on that bird. The intel your mission captured prevented what would’ve been a massacre of tens of thousands of people in a sports stadium two weeks later. To top it off, you rescued a newborn from a burned-out village. You’re a hero to me, to the whole damned country, Gwen. But it would help everyone if you could remember more details about your captors. We want to prevent future terrorist attacks.”
“Don’t you think it would help me to remember, too? Then our interview would be over. I’m lucky I made it ashore, Commodore. I was so afraid of the sharks in that warm water. The prison camp wasn’t fun, either.” She leaned her head back. The soft leather of the office chair was like cashmere compared to the old material that covered the P-3’s she was used to.
Would her arms always feel this empty without Pax in them?
As long as her baby remained eleven thousand miles away in the Philippines, yes. There was a possibility she might never see him again—slight but a possibility nonetheless. Still, her heart would never let go of him, of his smile, the way he clung to her through their struggles. If that happened, she’d have to accept it, as she’d had to accept her failed marriage.
Drew.
Friends. We’re friends with a unique history together.
* * *
GWEN DRESSED WITH care in the outfit Ro had sent her—dressy black jeans and a soft flowing grey cardigan. Her cream-colored Italian wool coat set off the ensemble. Leave it to Ro to understand that she needed to feel pretty again, more like the woman she’d been when she left Whidbey.
This wasn’t a usual homecoming. No navy band would play upon her arrival; she wouldn’t be dressed in her uniform or flight suit. The squadron, at her request, wouldn’t be there. She wasn’t up to it yet.
As she shakily applied the makeup Ro had included with the clothes, she ignored how pale her reflection in the mirror was, how chapped her skin, her lips. Whidbey was the best place for a sailor to do reentry. She wouldn’t be alone in her struggles, if and when they came. Other survivors were doing just fine, whether they were still on active duty like her or had transitioned to civilian life.
A lot of the vets weren’t fine—they continued to suffer immeasurably. Would she be one of them?
It felt odd to put on makeup again. What would Drew think when he saw her?
“Nothing,” she muttered. “He’s going to think the same thing he did when Miles, Ro or any of our other friends came back.” Anger at her uncontrollable emotions sucked away the last of her energy, and she leaned against the hospital room’s sink.
Where was the tough streak she’d always been able to rely on?
She had no control over what she’d been through, or the fact that she’d returned from the dead, virtually homeless. Gwen slapped some blush on her cheeks. She didn’t have to look as if she’d been through hell, at any rate.
They’d all thought she’d died, out on that ocean. So had she.
Miracles still happened.
* * *
THE FLIGHT HOME TO Naval Air Station Oak Harbor was thirty minutes, tops, but Gwen felt as though she was on another endless journey.
After a quick drive from Madigan Army Hospital, they’d taken off from McCord Air Force Base in a C-12, the twin-engine turboprop owned by NAS Whidbey. She hadn’t been so keen to get on another plane after the long trip back from Manila, but at heart she remained a pilot, and a practical one at that. Twenty-five minutes in the air versus more than two hours in a car, longer if there was typical Seattle traffic, was worth any anxiety.
Once her feet hit the tarmac on Whidbey, her healing could start.
She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the feel of Pax’s little body as she’d held him, carried him through miles of jungle and through the crowded streets of Manila. His baby scent... These memories sustained Gwen in her hope that she’d be his legal mother soon. She’d gotten through the jungle, the journey to the American embassy and all she had left was this flight home to Oak Harbor.
The experience of having the medical team poke, prod and question her to determine the extent of her injuries was over.
The only hurt she continued to suffer was remembering the excruciating goodbye to Pax as she’d turned him over to the Philippine social service workers. He had to live in an orphanage pending his adoption.
She squeezed her eyes shut against the vision of row upon row of tiny cribs, Pax one of dozens of babies.
“Mama’s getting you out, baby.”
The drone of the engines kept her words inaudible to the others. She opened her eyes and looked around. The commodore and his few staff members were reading, napping or staring out the windows. They’d be exchanging knowing glances if any of them had noticed her talking to herself.
Heck, did Drew realize what he’d signed up for when he’d agreed to help her transition?
He’d never believe she’d had a change of heart about her priorities, even when he found out she wanted to adopt a baby. He’d assume the worst of her as he always had those last fractured months of their life together. He’d assume she was in it for herself.
You survived a ditch, war-torn terrorist country, turning over the baby you love. You can do this.
When her life was threatened, it’d been clear that, of all her accomplishments, the one that mattered most was her marriage. A marriage that had failed. Gwen didn’t kid herself—she knew she was far from perfect.
So she’d thought of her marriage during those long, traumatic days and nights. As she ditched her P-3C, as she floated at the whim of the ocean’s harsh currents, her thoughts had gone back to Drew and to the love they’d once shared. She was only human.
