He looked up at me and really smiled now, and it was as if the filter of those negative memories was washed away and he was seeing me with fresh eyes. I leaned down and kissed him, remembering how he used to sweep me up in his arms and carry me up the stairs. I considered that that was a thing of the past. But life is one big series of surprises, inconveniences, and things not working out like you thought they would. And so, we press on. We choose to fight into another day. That’s what Adam and I would do.
“I love you,” he said. “Have I said that? I love you so much. You kept me alive, Sloane. I fought through every day for you.”
I nodded. “I love you too. I can’t believe you’re here.” I paused, and I could feel the tears in my throat. “But you’re going to leave again. You’re going to be deployed again and leave me.”
He tucked my hair behind my ears and shook his head. “Babe, this leg healed enough on its own that I can hobble on it. But even after the surgery, I will never be able to be back out in the field.”
“I shouldn’t be happy about that,” I said, feeling terribly guilty. I didn’t want my husband to have a terrible injury that would never heal just to have him stay home with me. But, truthfully, I’d take it. “I’m really sorry.”
Then there was silence.
I was used to this; I remembered it well. After a deployment, it took a few weeks for Adam and me to get back in our groove. He didn’t want to talk about where he’d been or what had happened. I didn’t want to talk about anything else, because nothing would possibly compare to what he was dealing with. I understood he was trying to protect me, and in some ways, was grateful for what he didn’t say. I couldn’t imagine how I would feel if I knew what he had been through when he was gone. But there was no doubt that his other life I knew nothing about created a bit of distance between us.
Eventually, as the days wore on, we would fall back into our rhythm. He would wake up early and work out before the kids got up. We would all have breakfast together. These small moments would weave themselves together in the way of a beautiful yet simple tapestry.
Today I said, “Caroline and James bought a house in Peachtree while you were away. She said we can live there as long as we’d like.”
Adam smiled and shook his head. “Sloane, we can’t live in their house.”
I understood where he was coming from. But, in my eyes, it wasn’t even a question. Caroline was my sister. I had always thought of what was mine as ours. Emerson’s, Caroline’s, and mine. We were as good as the same person. Granted, Caroline had a lot more to give than I did. But that didn’t mean that, in her heart, she felt any differently.
“She’s going to move over with the kids and Emerson into Mom’s guesthouse. James has to go back to the city, but she wants to stay in Peachtree a little longer.”
Adam nodded. Then he wrapped his arms around me and held me there for a long time.
I finally got the nerve to whisper, “Tom?”
“He made it,” Adam whispered back. “I don’t know if they will be able to save his left arm, but he made it.”
I was dually sad and relieved. I couldn’t wait to call Maryanne.
Adam cleared his throat. “So fill me in,” he said. “What’s been happening since I’ve been gone?”
“Oh, nothing much,” I said, fluffing his pillow. “Just the usual. James had an affair and was on TV with his girlfriend, who Emmy then played in a movie. She is back together with her high school boyfriend and may have aplastic anemia or something equally as horrible, but Mom doesn’t know. Mom is back together with her first love. Grammy died . . .”
With a very straight face, Adam nodded and said, “You’re right. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
Then we both laughed with everything we had inside of us, with the happiness that Adam was home, the knowledge that our little world was coming back together, and the elation that we were us again.
I thought about all I had to catch Adam up on. It was time to come clean about the credit cards, brag a little about my paintings, and tell him about Mother’s Morning Out. But there would be time for that. Thankfully, joyfully, there would be time.
TEN DAYS LATER, WE were settling into a routine. Caroline and James’s house had been the perfect place to come home to. Adam was undergoing physical therapy and struggling, not just physically, but mentally. But I had been prepared for this.
Even so, it terrified me when Adam woke up in the middle of the night ranting that he had to go back there and get his men. He cried almost daily for the friend he’d lost, lamented that he was the leader, that he should have been the one that died. There were times when I noticed the dullness in his eyes, the pain behind them, the haunted look.
It scared me, but it made me strong, too. As they had always been, Adam’s problems were my problems. We were married. After what I had been through over the past few months, I could handle being in charge now. I could take care of Adam. And, amidst the pain and suffering, there were still moments of normalcy between us, and better yet, glimpses of the great love we had always shared.
As I served breakfast that morning, Adam already sitting at the head of the table, he scooped me into his lap and kissed me. “It’s strange,” he said, “how one minute I can feel like everything is completely meaningless, how all that matters is what’s over there, and
