A Soldier Comes Home
Cindi Myers
Table of Contents
Cindi Myers, having discovered at the age of eight that making up stories was more fun than doing homework or chores, worked harder at realising her dream of becoming a professional writer than she ever had at anything else. Fortunately, some dreams do come true, though she is still hoping technology catches up with her fantasies of a self-cleaning house. She lives with her husband and spoiled dogs in the mountains of Colorado.
This book is dedicated to soldiers and their families.
CHAPTER ONE
HOMECOMING OUGHT TO BE as sweet as candied cherries, so the bitter regret that filled Chrissie Evans caught her by surprise. She’d expected to be past those feelings by now, to be able to join in the general jubilation over the return of another group of soldiers to Colorado Springs. She forced a smile to her lips, and a cheerfulness into her voice when she faced Allison O’Reilly, the petite blond receptionist at the dentist’s office she managed.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “You should be home getting ready to welcome that soldier of yours.” Members of the Sixth Cavalry, who’d been stationed in Iraq for the past year, were coming home today.
“I’ve been ready for days.” Allison grinned, the dimples on either side of her mouth deepening, her blue eyes shining. “The house is as clean as it can get. Once I’d put on my new dress and done my makeup, there was nothing to do but sit. I figured if I came in to work I could at least be with people until it was time to drive to the base.”
“Then sit down and get to work.” Rita Red Horse, the dental hygienist, patted Allison’s shoulder. “You might as well take it easy while you can. That man of yours isn’t likely to let you sleep for at least a week.”
Allison blushed, but sat. “I’m so nervous,” she said. “I can’t wait to see him. And then, part of me is nervous about that, too. A year is a long time. What if he’s different?”
“He’ll be different,” Rita said. “Paul says you can’t go to war and not come back different.” Her husband was a sergeant with the 10th Special Forces, on his second tour in Iraq. “But he’s still your Daniel. The man you love who loves you.”
“Yes,” Allison said, looking reassured. “He is. And he sounds the same in his e-mails, so that’s good.” She shuffled folders on the desk. “Oh God, I’m so nervous!”
Smile fixed in place, Chrissie turned away and walked back into the procedure room. Only when she was alone did she allow the mask to slip, and give in to the sadness that dragged at her. She would have thought by now the grief would not be so sharp, the pain not so fresh. She’d had three years of homecomings to practice hiding her feelings, which made the intensity of her emotions now that much worse. When everyone around her was rejoicing, why was it so hard to pretend she wasn’t missing out?
Trying to shake off the feelings, she began prepping for a crown Dr. Foley would install that afternoon. Keeping busy was the only way to get through this. Tomorrow would be a little better, and the day after, better still.
The door opened and Rita stuck her head into the room. “You okay?” she asked.
Chrissie nodded. “I’m okay.”
“Memories are a bitch sometimes,” Rita said.
Chrissie let out a shaky sigh and nodded. “Not memories, exactly. I mean, Matt never had a chance to come home.”
Rita walked over and patted her shoulder. Paul had served with Chrissie’s husband, Matt, and the two women had shared a bond ever since those early days when the men had shipped out for their first tour of duty together. “You want to go out later?” Rita asked. “Maybe get drunk?”
The invitation surprised a laugh from Chrissie. That had to be a good sign, that she could still laugh. “You don’t drink,” she said.
Rita shrugged. “I can be the driver.”
Chrissie shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m okay. Just a little…melancholy, I guess.”
“If you change your mind, let me know. I promise not to take pictures and use them for blackmail or anything.”
Chrissie laughed again, and waved Rita out of the room. All mirth left with her friend, buffeted by memories of the only homecoming Matt Evans had had. He’d arrived in a flag-draped coffin, accompanied by an honor guard of solemn young soldiers who had avoided meeting her eyes. Twenty-five and married only eleven months—only two of those before Matt had shipped out—Chrissie had worn a black dress that was too big for her to the funeral and mutely accepted the folded flag and the medal, a Purple Heart awarded posthumously. She had been too numb and scared to feel anything.
The numbness had been a way of coping that she could appreciate