“The people in Coop’s convoy were unarmed, Mom. Their vehicle was plastered with IRC stickers.”
“I am so, so sorry.” Exhausted by my trip to Lumberton, and wary of my own emotions should I unleash them, the response, though lame, was the best I could muster.
“Coop was no spy. He went to Afghanistan because he wanted to help people. It’s totally wrong that he should die.”
“War takes many blameless victims,” I said.
“Coop volunteered.” Fresh tears now flooded Katy’s cheeks. “He didn’t even have to be there.”
“I know.”
“Why him?”
I had no answer.
“Is Lija at home?” I asked gently, when several seconds had passed.
“She’s in the mountains.” Katy swiped a wadded tissue under each eye. “Banner Elk, I think.”
“Does she know?”
“I left a message on her mobile.”
“Stay with me tonight?”
Katy’s shoulder shrug zinged straight to my heart. Since babyhood she’d used the gesture when deeply sad.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I said.
For sixty ticks of Gran’s clock we both sat lost in our separate thoughts.
When Katy spoke again her voice was jagged with anger.
“The fucking Taliban stinks.” A bunched tissue ricocheted off the desk and landed on the rug.
The bitterness in my daughter’s voice sent a chill up my spine. Encircling her shoulders, I drew her to me and rested my head against hers.
Together, we cried softly. She for her lost friend. I for my child whose pain I could not erase.
We opened and made up the sofa bed. While Katy showered, I took supermarket cookie dough from the freezer, placed it on a tray, and shoved it into the oven.
When Katy reappeared, the condo was rich with the sweet smell of baking. With exaggerated Martha Stewart grace, I offered milk and warm chocolate chips.
Reaching for a cookie, my daughter cocked a skeptical, and now spotless, brow. I admitted to using prepared frozen dough, but demanded credit for making the purchase. Katy almost smiled.
I was placing our glasses in the sink when the landline rang.
My eyes darted to the wall clock. Twelve fifteen a.m.
Annoyed, I snatched up the handset.
“First prize! An all-expense-paid trip to Hawaii!” Danny Tandler imitated a game show host.
“Do you know what time it is here?”
Wiggling good-bye fingers, Katy exited the kitchen.
“Travel time!”
“What?”
“Our lucky winner receives a coach-class seat by the loo and a low-budget room a zillion miles from the ocean.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You charmed the shorts off Plato Lowery.”
“He’s a very nice gentleman.”
“The very nice gentleman wants you and only you. And his congressman is turning the screws to make sure he gets it.”
Based on our shared photo album moment, I was afraid something like this might unfold.
“O’Hare called again,” I guessed.
“Yep. I don’t know if Lowery phoned the good congressman or vice versa. O’Hare phoned Notter. Notter phoned Merkel. Ain’t modern communication grand?”
“I can’t come to Hawaii right now.”
“Notter thinks otherwise.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“What if we billet you on a really nice beach?”
“Danny.”
