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