The nightmare was about Vietnam. Again and again he relived the day he’d held David Williams in a blood-filled rice paddy and watched him die. He’d been helpless to do anything but scream in anguish.
He wrote Ginny about David, but words were inadequate to describe his loss. More than a friend had died that day. Part of Thomas Dancy had died, too. The young man he was, the innocent twenty-one-year-old who believed in the power of love and goodness, also bled to death in that rice field. From then on, he was able to kill without conscience.
He’d gone to war a kid, trying to provide for his family, and returned a killer. It’d taken Ginny’s love to wipe away the ugliness of those long months in Vietnam. Halfway through his tour he’d flown to Hawaii on leave and never returned to the war. He despised what he’d become.
The army referred to him as a deserter, but Thomas knew that walking away then had saved his life. He would have lost his mind if he’d gone back. He’d hidden in San Francisco for a while and Ginny had come to him there, loved him, given him back his sanity. The bitterness and hatred inside him had slowly melted away until he was almost whole again, almost able to put all the horrors he’d seen out of his mind. But he felt a moral obligation to save others from what he’d experienced. Instead of fleeing to Canada as so many before and after him had done, he made it his mission to work toward ending the war. He joined an extremist group and made friends with its leader, José Delgado, who had family in Mexico. Because Thomas had some fluency in Spanish after four years of study, José insisted they speak the language when talking about their plans. It had started out as a safety measure and then later become a necessity.
“Thomas?”
Reluctantly he turned at the sound of his name.
“The dream again?” Azucena asked in a low whisper.
He nodded, not wanting to explain that his thoughts had been of Ginny and the daughter he no longer knew.
She slipped out of bed and walked to his side, her bare feet silent against the stone floor. “Come back to bed,” she urged in Spanish as she wrapped her arms around his waist.
“Soon,” he promised, unwilling just yet to let go of the memories.
“Come,” she enticed once more, splaying her fingers across his chest. “I will help you forget the bad dreams you have.”
“Azucena…”
Her response was wordless. She kissed his neck and pressed her heavy breasts against him.
He needed her then as he’d needed her so many times before. Despite the advanced state of her pregnancy, he kissed her with little gentleness and she responded with a hunger that quickly ignited his own. When he would have stopped, she pulled him to the bed and drew him close.
Azucena deserved a much better man than he would ever be. She deserved someone who would love her completely for herself. A man who could give his name to the child who grew inside her. It shamed him that she was only two years older than his daughter, but that didn’t stop him from burying himself between her thighs. In the moment of his release he cried out Ginny’s name. It wasn’t the first time, and he suspected it wouldn’t be the last.
Lorraine had read the letter so many times she’d memorized it. She’d given up sleeping at her own place and spent the nights at her mother’s house instead. While she stayed there, she slept very little. Exhausted and angry, she sat in the dark living room night after night and tried to make sense of what she’d learned.
She was vaguely aware that two weeks or so had passed since that afternoon in Dennis Goodwin’s office. Morning dawned and bright light spilled into the room and still Lorraine hadn’t slept. She wasn’t capable of dozing for more than an hour or two. The deep satisfying sleep of those at peace with life seemed forever lost to her.
The mother she’d known and loved was someone whose existence had virtually disappeared. Virginia—or the person she’d pretended to be—was completely out of reach now. Her actions were beyond Lorraine’s understanding—or forgiveness. Lorraine felt as if the foundation of her entire world had crumbled beneath her.
Although she knew each word of the letter by heart, she removed it from the envelope and read it once again.
Dearest Ginny,
Today is our daughter’s twenty-first birthday. Where did all those years go? It seems only yesterday that I bounced Raine on my knee and sang her to sleep. It hurts to realize how much of her life I’ve missed.
I know you don’t want to hear this, but I never stopped loving you or needing you. I wish things could have been different for us. All I ask of you now is that you tell Raine the truth about me.
The decision to tell her I was dead is one we made together. At the time it seemed the right thing to do, but I’ve regretted it every day since. You know that. You also know I’m a man of my word. I’ve done as you wanted and stayed out of your lives, but I’m pleading with you now to tell Raine the truth. All of it. She’s legally an adult and old enough to make her own judgments.
I’m teaching at a small school in a coastal town called El Mirador on the Yucatán Peninsula. You can reach me by phone at the number on the bottom of the page. The school will make sure I get the message.
Are you well, Ginny? Do you lie awake at nights and think of me the way I do of you? Are you happy? This is my prayer for you, that you’ve found peace within yourself.
I’ll always love you.
Thomas
Three truths hit Lorraine full force each and every time she went over the letter. First and foremost, despite what she’d been told, her father was alive and well. Second, he loved her. Last—and what had the most profound impact on her—her mother had lied to her all these years.
There was a loud knock at the front door, yanking Lorraine from her thoughts.
She wasn’t surprised to find Gary standing on the other side of the screen door. “I thought you’d be here.” He glanced into the living room and eyed the disarray.
“What time is it?” she asked, although it was obviously morning.
“You were due at work an hour ago.”
“Is it that late already?” she asked. She drifted around the room, picking up books and papers and videotapes, piling them neatly on a shelf. Anything to avoid looking at him. Anything to delay telling him what she’d done.
“I don’t know what to do to help you anymore,” he said, lifting his palms in a gesture of helplessness. When she didn’t answer, he walked into the kitchen and opened the cupboard, then pulled out a tin of coffee.
Lorraine followed him.
“It might be a good idea if you dressed for work,” he suggested pointedly.
Rather than argue with him, she did as he asked, taking a quick shower and putting on her uniform, although she had no intention of showing up at the clinic. The scent of freshly brewed coffee greeted her when she returned. Gary handed her a mug and poured himself one.
“Let’s talk,” he said, motioning for her to sit at the table.
Once more she complied, because fighting him demanded too much energy.
He took the chair across from her. “Sweetheart, I know this is difficult, but you’ve got to get on with your life.”
She didn’t pretend not to know what he was talking about. “I realize that and I will.”
“That’s a good start.” He sipped his coffee, then sighed heavily, as if he’d dreaded this confrontation. “You haven’t been yourself ever since that meeting with your mother’s attorney.”
“I know.”
He hesitated, as if unsure how far to press her. “I realize the letter upset you.