Still shaking his head, Gerry buried his face against his knees. His shoulders shook with silent grief.
“Is that when your father hit you?” Megan asked. She hated having to push the boy, but she needed as many details as she could get.
Gerry hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
“How many times?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was it once?” Megan asked. “Twice? More than that?”
He looked up at her, his eyes still pooling with tears of helplessness, hurt, and shame. “I don’t know, Mrs. Gander. He hit me and hit me. Mom had to get him to stop. She threatened to call the MPs. She told him she would tell the base commander.”
Horrible images of the violence that had taken place in the home filled Megan’s mind till she felt she wasn’t going to be able to handle them. Why, God? Why put a child through this? And at the same time she wondered why she had to be the one to deal with the child. Guilt ripped through her an instant after that thought.
“Did your dad stop then?” Megan asked.
“Yeah. But the house was wrecked. There were broken dishes everywhere. That’s how come my arms and legs are scratched up.”
“What happened to your shoulder?”
Gerry shook his head. “I don’t know. He grabbed me or something. I know he didn’t mean to hurt me. He said he was sorry.”
Megan felt like screaming. After beating up his family, Boyd Fletcher simply handed out an apology.
“He doesn’t mean to be that way, Mrs. Gander,” Gerry said. “He really doesn’t. But if my mom did something wrong—” his voice broke and he sucked air noisily for a moment—“if I’m really not his kid, then he shouldn’t have to pay for me or take care of me. Should he?”
No answer came to Megan. In all her years of counseling, no child had ever asked her a question like that.
“You see,” Gerry said desperately. “This might not be his fault at all.”
“Listen to me, Gerry,” Megan said as calmly as she could. “After tonight, some things are going to have to change.”
The boy shook his head. “I don’t want them to change. I just want them to go back to the way they were. I never should have come here.”
“Yes, you should have.” Megan paused, gathering her thoughts, hoping she was making herself convincing. “Gerry, this thing that happened with you and your mother tonight might have gotten worse if you hadn’t said anything. You and your mom might have gotten hurt. You still might get hurt—the next time it happens. Staying quiet when things are this.wrong.in the household isn’t good. People who can help you have to know what’s going on.”
“No one can help me. No one cares.”
Megan took a breath, listening to the commentary of the basketball game coming from the television, not believing how ordinary the sound was when there was so much pain in the room. It seemed like a reminder that no matter how bad Gerry Fletcher’s life got, the world didn’t care.
No one cares, Megan thought. Or I could have stopped this long ago. Tears leaked down her cheeks, triggered by sadness and anger and confusion. Do You care, God? Do You see what You’ve let happen in this poor child’s life? She felt bitter and angry then, and she knew her tone toward God was accusing. Guilt stung her, but in a way she forgave herself. She felt that tone was deserved even if God wasn’t ultimately to blame.
“I can help you,” Megan said in a husky voice. “I’m going to help you. First, though, we’re going to have to get you and your mom someplace safe.”
Panic filled Gerry’s face. “I don’t want to leave my dad.”
“Just for tonight.” For starters, Megan thought. She was certain she could get the base commander’s office to push Boyd Fletcher into getting more and deeper counseling after this episode.
“How much trouble is my dad in?”
“Some.”
“It’s all my fault, isn’t it?”
“No,” Megan said. “It’s not your fault, Gerry. Please believe that.”
Gerry shook his head. “I shouldn’t have told.” He rocked back and forth against the bed’s headboard, unable to stay still. “I knew I shouldn’t have told.”
“You needed medical care.”
“My arm isn’t broke. I thought it was broke. I got scared. I should have just stayed in bed instead of sneaking out. I should have known my dad would never break my arm. This is all my fault.”
Before Megan could say anything, a familiar bass voice reverberated in the hallway outside the door.
“Where’s my son?” Gerry knew that voice and trembled. Megan knew it, too, and braced herself. A string of curses exploded after the nurse answered the question. Loud footsteps, the result of heavy combat boots worn by someone big enough to make them really crash into the government-issue linoleum floor, rang out in the hallway, coming closer with every footfall.
11
Turkey
30 Klicks South of Sanliurfa
Local Time 0743 Hours
Goose jogged as he talked over the headset, running tandem to Bill on the other side of the road. They secured the perimeter the unit had established around what was left of Glitter City during the evac op, taking their turn as the others had in two-man groups. The other eight men kept working with the wounded when they weren’t walking patrol. Goose was also certain Hardin was busy squirreling away salvaged goods every chance he got.
Thick yellow dust still hung in the air. Sunlight slashed through the haze. Perspiration caked dust, smoke, and debris to Goose’s exposed skin. His lungs ached for clean air and labored hard to suck what he got through the wet dust filming the kerchief he had wrapped around his face. They avoided craters left by the SCUD explosions and the clouds of thick smoke streaming from buildings that continued to burn.
“How bad is it?” Goose asked Cal Remington. After their initial radio contact, the captain had stated that he would have to get back to him. Cal had only—at first—wanted to ascertain that Goose was still alive and that
