One Was a Soldier

year-old dragging along in her grip. “There you are,” she said. “You would not believe how far we had to go to reach a bathroom.” She handed the little one over to the balloon man. “Go to Grandpa, now.”

“Grandpa! Grandpa!” The seven-year-old pirouetted and leaped. “I think I saw the buses!”

The balloon guy-the grandpa -nodded toward Russ. “Turns out I played basketball against this fella in high school. He’s meeting his daughter, too.”

His wife smiled at Russ, amused. “You’d better stop whacking those flowers against your leg or there won’t be anything left for your girl.”

He could feel the tips of his ears turning pink. “It’s not-I’m-” He was saved by the rumble of the buses, bumping over the slow strip into the cavernous building, a sound immediately drowned out by the roar of the waiting crowd.

Russ didn’t join in. He watched the buses maneuvering into place, watched the exhaust rising to the fluorescent lights above, felt the sound and the light rising in him, lifting him off his feet, until he wouldn’t have been surprised to find himself floating through the air like one of those helium balloons.

The buses parked. The doors slid open. Guardsmen started shuffling down the steps, anonymous in urban camo. Was that her? No. Not that one, either.

He suddenly couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand one more minute of not seeing her; after counting off the seasons, and then the months, and then the days, and the hours, he realized all the waiting had accumulated, and he was going to be crushed beneath it.

Clare, he mouthed without speaking. A stab of pain made him look at his palm. He had driven one of the roses’ thorns through the paper and into his flesh.

The dancing girl had stilled and was looking at his hand. Then she looked up at him. She had hazel eyes and a pointed nose.

“It’s really hard to wait,” he said.

She nodded. “My mommy says count to ten, ten times. She’s a helicopter pilot.”

“So’s my… friend.”

The little girl reached into her pocket and pulled out a grubby tissue. She handed it to him. “Thanks,” he said, wiping up the blood.

“Pumpkin, I think I see Mommy,” her grandmother said. The girl whirled and danced away. That’s what their daughter would look like, he realized. His and Clare’s.

Then she stepped off the bus. He almost didn’t recognize her. Beneath her black beret, her hair was short, bleached lighter than he had ever seen it, and her face, all points and angles, was deeply tanned. She was looking around, scanning the crowd, her eyes alight with hope and anxiety.

The band struck up a tune, combining with squeals from children and the howls of babies to create an echoing cacophony that guaranteed she wouldn’t hear him call her name if he was standing five feet away instead of fifty. Instead, he willed her to find him. Clare. Clare. Clare .

She paused for a second, closing her eyes, breathing in as if she could taste the far-off Adirondack air above the fog of bus exhaust and machine oil and human sweat. Then she opened her eyes and met his over the heads of the crowd.

Her mouth formed a perfect O, then curved into a heartbreaking smile. She blinked hard and raised one hand, and then she was bumped from behind by the next man in line and stumbled forward.

He watched as she lined up with the rest of the brigade and came to attention. When the last guardsman was off the bus and in formation, the band wheezed to a stop. There was a shuffle of dignitaries and brass at the front, and then the families were welcomed, and a minister gave an invocation, and the CO read a letter from the governor, and the XO gave a speech about the brigade’s accomplishments in Iraq, and Russ thwacked and thwacked and thwacked the roses against his leg, until he looked down to see his well-worn service boot decorated with crimson petals.

Come on already! Come on! What jackass had decided it was a good idea to separate family members from soldiers they hadn’t seen for eighteen months? When he’d come home from Vietnam, he’d just stumbled off a Pan Am flight from Hawaii. Yeah, it wasn’t a hero’s welcome, but at least he got to hug his mom and his sister, not stand at parade rest in front of an officer who sounded like he was running for Congress.

Finally, finally, the official orders terminating the brigade’s deployment were read, and the CO dismissed his command, his words drowned out at the end by a howl of glee from the waiting crowd as they surged forward, mothers and fathers and wives and children, arms outstretched, too eager to wait any longer.

Russ stayed where he was as civilians swept past him. She had seen him. She had marked him. He had no doubt she would find him. Sure enough, there she was, wrestling her way through the crowd, beret stowed in her epaulet, rucksack over her shoulder, the reverse image of the woman he had last seen walking away from him beneath a gray January sky eighteen months ago. Major Clare Fergusson. She kept her eyes on him the whole while, an undeveloped smile on her face. She halted in front of him. Dropped the rucksack to the concrete floor. Looked up at him.

“Promised you I’d come back.” Her faint Virginia drawl sounded out of place against the North Country Yankee burrs and flat Finger Lakes twangs all around them.

She didn’t leap into his arms. They had been circumspect for so long, always standing apart, controlling their eyes and hands like nuns in a medieval abbey. They had no easy familiarity with each other’s body. The two weeks they had been lovers-a year and a half ago, before she shipped out-seemed like a fever dream to him now. The small velvet box he had stuffed in his pants pocket suddenly felt like a five-pound brick.

He thrust the roses toward her. Two more ragged petals fell to the concrete floor. The bouquet looked as if a goat had been chewing on it. She bit her lip, just barely keeping a smile from breaking out. “Why, thank you, Chief Van Alstyne.” She took the flowers in both hands and buried her face in what remained of them. She had tiny lines etched along the outsides of her eyes that hadn’t been there when she left.

“They don’t have much of a scent.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, brushed the velvet box, jerked them out again. “But wait till you get to St. Alban’s. You missed the lilacs, but the roses are amazing. You can smell ’em halfway across the park.”

She looked up at him over the fraying flowers, her smile changing to something wistful. “I can’t wait.”

He stepped toward her just as she bent to reshoulder her rucksack. She let go, opening her arms in time for him to nearly knock her over as he ducked to grab the duffel for her.

“Screw this.” He kicked the canvas sack to one side and took her by the shoulders. “C’mere.” She folded inside his embrace as if she had always been there, and he kept his arms hard around her, his cheek resting on her too light, too short hair. Letting the reality of her, the warmth and weight and solidity of her, sink into his bones.

“Holding on,” she said against his chest.

“Not letting go.”

“I want to go home.” She tipped her face up. “Take me home.”

He smiled. “Petersburg, Virginia?”

She shook her head. “No. Millers Kill, New York.”

The parking lot was throwing off heat like a griddle in the late June sun. He tossed her rucksack into his truck bed and popped the doors. He thought for a second, then slipped the velvet box from his pants to the driver’s seat pocket. He jumped in, ratcheting the AC to full as soon as the engine caught. “Sorry,” he said as she climbed into the ovenlike cab. “I would’ve kept it on for you, but I didn’t want to risk running out of gas. The army doesn’t seem to have changed its hurry-up-and-wait policy since I was in.”

She laughed. “Don’t worry. It’s been so long since I’ve been in an air-conditioned vehicle, I’ve forgotten what it’s like.” She unbuttoned her bulky uniform blouse and stripped it off, revealing a gray T-shirt that stretched across her breasts when she twisted to drop the heavy shirt and the roses onto the narrow backseat. His throat went hot and tight. He shifted into gear and rolled out of the lot.

“Do you-” He coughed to get his voice under control. “Do you want to stop for a bite to eat? I went by the rectory yesterday with the fixings for a couple meals, but I didn’t know what you’d feel like doing. What you’d want