“In Afghanistan, though, it’s clearer. A lot of people just want us to go away. But a lot want us to put an end to the Taliban. I don’t think they care much one way or another about al Qaeda, but the Taliban...there’s still a lot of anger against them. And every time they raid a village and destroy a girls’ school, it’s amazing to watch the village elders get together to rebuild it.”
“Do they ask you for help?”
“Sometimes. We’re still occupiers.”
“It’s sad.”
“What?”
She tried to see his face in the dark but couldn’t. “It’s sad that trying to help has hurt so many.”
“I know. And I don’t blame the locals for having mixed feelings about us. How could I? Most of us understand how we’d feel if a firebase run by some other country was up the road from us.”
She sighed and moved closer. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I volunteered. And I learned a lot.”
“But now you’re cut off from your mission and your buddies.”
“That hits the nail on the head.”
“Basically, you have to start all over.”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “You did it, though, didn’t you?”
“Yes. But it wasn’t exactly the same.”
“Emotionally it’s exactly the same. You gave up all your buddies in the Denver police, all your friends, and vanished into a different world to protect your daughter. The only differences between us are in degree and the idea of choice. I didn’t choose to leave.”
“I’m not sure I did, either.” She shook her head and pressed her face into his chest. “I had no choice, not once I felt my baby was threatened.”
He squeezed her. “We’ll take care of her, Connie, I swear. Nothing’s going to happen to her.”
All of sudden she couldn’t hold still. She pulled away and left the bed, throwing on her robe against the deepening chill and pacing.
“What could he want with her, Ethan? What could he possibly want with her after all this time?”
The words emerged as a cry from the abyss of fear inside her.
“I don’t know,” he said heavily. “I wish to God I did.”
They picked up Sophie from Jody’s house around eight. Connie had the day off, because Gage always gave her weekends off to be with her daughter. It was one of the perks of being on a small force; personal needs could be taken into account.
Sophie looked at them sleepily from puffy eyes. Enid said the girls hadn’t fallen asleep until nearly six. But when Ethan suggested they go to Maude’s for breakfast, Sophie perked up. She liked steak and eggs, and didn’t get them often, usually because Connie needed to watch her budget.
A crowd filled Maude’s, as it usually did on Saturday mornings. Lots of folks came in from surrounding ranches to take care of business in town, and the City Diner usually topped the list of places to go. Still, they found a booth near the back, and Sophie surprised Connie by squeezing onto the bench beside Ethan, instead of sitting next to her.
One of those unexpected pangs hit Connie as she wondered how much Sophie missed having a father figure in her life. Probably a whole lot. And while Leo could never have been a decent one, not given his violent nature, that didn’t mean Sophie didn’t need a dad.
But dads didn’t grow on trees. She couldn’t just go out and pluck one from a branch somewhere and bring him home. Nor could she risk bringing home the wrong man.
There it was again, her fear of making another bad character judgment.
Somewhere in the midst of steak, eggs and English muffins with jam, the bomb dropped.
Sophie looked at her mother and asked, “Where’s my daddy?”
All of sudden Connie felt light-headed and faint. Her mind seemed to have flung itself somewhere far away, divorcing itself from her body, leaving her with tunnel vision. Distantly, she knew that Sophie was still staring at her, waiting.
Now she understood why Sophie had chosen to sit beside Ethan and not her. Her heart slammed, dragging her back to the table and out of complete shock.
“I’m not sure where your father is,” she said finally, hoping her voice sounded steadier to Sophie than it did to her.
“Why not?”
“Because I haven’t seen him in a long time.”
“Why?”
So that was the way it was going to be. Connie drew a long breath. “This isn’t a good place to discuss this, Sophie. Can you wait until we go home after breakfast?”
Sophie’s lower lip began to tighten, then relaxed. She looked down at her plate and shrugged. “Sure.”
Connie looked from her daughter to Ethan, feeling helpless, and saw sympathy in his gaze. He probably understood Sophie’s side of this better than hers. God!
Her appetite gone, Connie had to force herself to eat as if nothing was wrong. Maude’s ordinarily wonderful cooking tasted like sawdust and stuck in her throat.
When they got home, Sophie took Ethan’s hand as they walked into the house. A message if ever there was one. Then she sat at the kitchen table and simply looked at her mother.
Ethan started the coffeepot. “Should I go to another room?”
“No,” said Sophie and Connie simultaneously.
Ethan looked from one of them to the other, then shrugged and turned back to the coffeepot.
“Maybe you can help,” Connie said. “You’ve been in Sophie’s shoes.”
“Only if she wants my help.”
Sophie, meanwhile, had returned her attention to her mother. “Where’s my daddy?”
“I told you I don’t know. Why are you asking all of a sudden? You never wondered about it before.”
Sophie’s lower lip trembled. “Because last night at Jody’s we were playing a game with her mom and dad. All my friends have dads. All of them. But not me. Why not?”
“Some of your friends’ moms and dads are divorced,” Connie pointed out.
“But they know them! They visit them. Is my dad dead?”
Connie, her stomach knotting until it hurt, wished she could answer with a lie. For the very first time in her life, she wanted to out-and-out lie to Sophie. “No,” she said finally. “We’re divorced.”
“So why don’t I ever get to visit him? Other kids do.”
She’d already said she didn’t know where Leo was. Apparently that wasn’t going to suffice. She barely nodded when Ethan put a cup of coffee in front of her. His hand touched her shoulder, offering silent comfort.
“Mommy?”
Connie sighed, looking down at the table, seeking words that would satisfy without causing harm. She couldn’t seem to find any.
“Your father,” she said finally, “was bad to me.”
“Bad how?”
“Sophie...” But the girl’s stubborn expression said she wasn’t going to settle for that. When and how did a seven-year-old become so mature? “Okay,” Connie said carefully. “He hit me. A lot.