You’re imagining things, Megan told herself reproachfully. That’s just paranoia kicking in. But she didn’t fault herself. With the way things had turned out tonight and the long hours she’d been putting in every day since the disappearances, her own emotions over losing Chris, and dealing with Joey and Goose away from the home in dangerous circumstances, it was no wonder that she was paranoid. The miracle was that she didn’t need full sedation. And soft restraints. And a straitjacket.
Jenny peered around the nearly filled-to-capacity waiting room, holding the thermos and a brown paper bag.
Several of the young soldiers looked at Jenny, and Megan didn’t blame them. She knew why her son had been infatuated with the young woman; she was nothing short of beautiful.
Standing, Megan turned to face Jenny and called her name.
A relieved look flashed across Jenny’s face, but she didn’t let it find a home there. She was too composed to let something as vulnerable as relief show. Since Megan had known the young woman, she’d recognized that about her. Jenny always put on a strong front, showed a little attitude. Whatever her weaknesses were—and Megan was certain they were there—Jenny kept them quietly under wraps.
Jenny joined Megan, and they sat in the chairs between the two MPs assigned to keep Megan in the waiting room.
“Crowded,” Jenny observed in a whisper.
“Tonight … hasn’t been a good night. For a lot of people.”
The young woman glanced at the two MPs. “Fan club?”
“Not exactly.”
Understanding dawned in Jenny’s eyes. “Somebody figures it’s your fault Leslie Hollister is in here?”
Megan started to hedge, but she realized immediately that Jenny would see right through her best efforts, and she was hardly at her best. “If it’s not my fault, then maybe it’s partly my responsibility. I was in the room when Leslie shot herself.”
“You went in there because she was in trouble. Blaming yourself is wrong. And it’s stupid.” Jenny glared at the two MPs, who decided to find different parts of the room to look at.
It’s the military, Megan wanted to tell her. It has to be someone’s fault. But all she said was, “We’ll just take this one step at a time for now.”
Jenny nodded, then concentrated on opening the thermos.
Seeing the container immediately reminded Megan of Goose. When he was stationed at the post, he never went anywhere without it. He carried coffee in it fifty weeks out of the year, but during the last two weeks before Christmas, Megan always filled the thermos with homemade cocoa. It had been one of her private ways of making sure Goose remembered that Christmas was a special and blessed event.
Jenny looked awkward. “It was okay to use this, wasn’t it? I mean, I didn’t think to ask.”
“It’s fine,” Megan said. “Just caught me a little off guard.”
“It’s Goose’s, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“I wasn’t thinking. Brain-dead or something. Sorry.”
Megan touched Jenny’s shoulder. “Don’t be. If it hadn’t been the thermos that reminded me Goose isn’t here, the TV would. The news channel televises a recap on the attack in Sanliurfa every fifteen minutes.”
Carefully, Jenny poured the hot chicken noodle soup into two plastic cups she took from the paper bag. “Thought I would join you. If you don’t mind.”
“I appreciate the company. Miss dinner?”
Jenny smiled, but the effort was off, weaker than Megan had ever seen. “I’m thinking I missed lunch, too,” Jenny said, “but that might have been yesterday.”
“Lunch was yesterday. We’re already into a new day.”
Jenny shook her head. “Not until I’ve gone to sleep. Clock-watching just gets me confused. It’ll be tomorrow when I wake up. And not one moment before.”
Megan accepted the cup of hot soup and inhaled. Her stomach growled eagerly. “This smells wonderful.”
“Thank you. I found the recipe in a cookbook in the library when I was a kid. I always liked it.”
“It smells homey and substantive, like something your mother would have taught you to make.”
Jenny broke the eye contact and rummaged in the paper sack again. Megan watched the young woman’s feelings slide back behind protective shields that came up like a conditioned reflex. “My mother—”
Not Mother with a capital M, or even Mom, Megan noted. And there’s anger there too.
“—didn’t really stick around to teach me cooking or laundry.” Jenny took two sandwiches wrapped in wax paper from the paper sack. “Or how to fix my hair.”
“Ah. That would explain the purple tint,” Megan said automatically, then wondered immediately if she had gone too far.
Instead of taking offense, Jenny grinned.
“I was teasing,” Megan said.
“I know.” Jenny held out one of the sandwiches. “BLT?”
“Yes. Thank you. I was afraid for a moment it might be peanut butter and jelly.”
“That was a temptation. PB and J would have been quick and easy. Frying bacon with a houseful of teenagers banging around is about as much fun as juggling cats.”
“I didn’t mean to put so much on you.”
Jenny sighed and stared at the cup of soup in her hands. Her hands shook slightly. “That came out wrong. I didn’t mean that. I just … I just … have a lot on my mind right now.”
Megan waited. The rumble of voices sounded all around them as people whispered and talked.
“Can I help?” Megan asked.
Jenny slowly tore her BLT in half. “I wish you could, but you can’t.”
“Try me.”
With quiet focus, Jenny pulled a lettuce leaf from her sandwich and ate it.
“Something happened since you called me,” Megan said.
“Maybe.”
“The kids—”
“Are fine,” Jenny replied.
“Joey—”
Shaking her head, Jenny said, “Didn’t call.”
“Okay, I’m all out of guesses.”
After a brief hesitation, Jenny shook her head. “You have enough problems right now, and I’m … just not ready to talk about it.”
“All right. But when you are, I’m here.”
Jenny looked at Megan briefly. Glimmers of unshed tears showed in the young woman’s eyes. “I appreciate that. Really, I do. It’s just
