Brenden was not the only person losing sleep that night. Marine Corps Corporal Antwone Jamal Carver was wide awake, and he had been that way all night. Over the last hours, he had been taking inventory of his life—the good and the bad; the highs and the lows; love, hate, longing, and loss. He figured that if this was going to be his last night on earth, it was important for him to think about what it had all been worth.
His shaving kit rested on the bedside table, and the pills that he’d been storing rested in the bottom of the case. Three pills a day for twenty-four days; seventy-two slightly soggy little pills that would transport him to—where?
That’s interesting, he thought. Where will I go? Heaven or hell? Or just to nothing?
He didn’t much care. As far as he was concerned, God had let him down anyway. His mother’s Jesus had never been interested in him. And besides, he’d just lost his legs in a war in which both nations claimed that God was on their side.
And his neighborhood—where gangs ruled the streets and pimps and drug lords ran the nights—what was God doing about all that? Oh, sure, he had heard the Bible-thumping preachers on Sunday mornings with his mother and had seen the rapture of a choir in full voice, but for him God had never really stepped up, and Antwone Carver had never experienced the power of prayer.
For the thousandth time, the screams of his buddies had surfaced in his mind last night, the intensity so great he felt as though it was happening all over again. He could still hear their dying prayers, asking for God’s help to pull them out of the fire after the IED had blown up their vehicle. He could smell their singeing flesh. That memory overshadowed any thought that God would make a difference in his life. So about heaven or hell? It just didn’t matter.
He remembered the last time he had talked to his mother. Darla had arranged for her to fly up to see him when he first arrived in Seattle. She had cried and told him that everything would be all right. She said it would be hard for her to cope with the loss of the money that he had been sending her from his combat pay. But she insisted it would all work out and that God would take care of everything. Antwone had hugged her, said good-bye, and believed that she was wrong.
He hoped that she would be okay—that some of his brothers and sisters would fill in the space—but he doubted that. They had enough problems of their own, or they just didn’t care.
He speculated on whether Darla would ever get the payoff from his insurance policies. What had that doctor said? He was suffering from PTSD. Maybe that was considered enough of an illness that the insurance companies would pay, and if that happened, Darla could help his mother. They had agreed on that before he went to Iraq, deciding that if anything ever happened to him, Darla would do what she could for his mother.
Things weren’t so bad. There were some loose ends he couldn’t do much about, but it seemed to Antwone that except for Darla, life would go on pretty well without him.
But then there was Darla—his Darla—the only person he truly loved. Involuntarily he started to cry, and for a while he was overcome by sadness. He didn’t want to leave Darla, but he was sure that it was the best thing for him to do. All of Dr. McCarthy’s talk about a good future just wasn’t real. What did the doc know about not being able to feel anything below the waist? Nothing. Nothing at all.
Anyway, Darla was young. She would find someone else. The brothers would line up for her. He had no doubt that was the way it would be. All at once he was overwhelmed by the desire to hear her voice one more time, to hold on to the sound of it, to have just one more memory of his beautiful wife before crossing over.
He didn’t want to alarm her, but he decided that even at this hour he had to make the call.
“Hello,” she said in that husky-sleepy way he loved when he used to wake up at night and talk to her. “Hello,” she said again.
“I love you, Darla,” he said.
“Antwone,” she said, instantly awake. “Antwone, I love you. Are you okay? Is something wrong?”
“No,” he said. “No, everything’s fine, girl. I just couldn’t sleep, and, you know, I just needed to hear your voice.”
“I’m glad,” she said. “I’m so glad. I love you, Antwone. Are you calling to tell me you want me to come back up there?”
Now the words were tumbling out of her.
“I can leave school, get on a plane, be there tomorrow. Is that what you want, Antwone? Because that’s what I want. I miss you. I love you. I want to be with you.”
Carver choked back tears as he heard his wife’s pleading, offering herself, offering her love.
“I’m not ready for that, Darla,” he managed to say. “I’m just not ready yet.”
“But you’re calling me,” she said. “That tells me you miss me and love me.”
Now he couldn’t stop the tears.
“You’re my whole world,” he said. “You’re everything, Darla. You know that. You know how much I love you.”
“So let me come up there, Antwone. Let me come right now.”
“Not now, Darla. Like I said, I can’t handle it yet.”
“Listen to me, Antwone,” she said. “I’ve been reading about couples who live with your kind of spinal injury. I’ve been read ing that they can love each other, but listen to me. It doesn’t even matter about the sex. Our relationship is not just about sex, Antwone; we’re about love—our love. I just want to be with you, don’t you see? I need to be with you. I need you. Why can’t you see that, Antwone? Why do you keep pushing me away?”
Antwone didn’t answer because he didn’t know the answer. All he felt at the moment was utter, total sadness. He was—what? He thought about it. He was empty, without the capacity to love, even though his wife was offering him so much.
“Darla,” he said, struggling to get the words out, “you know how much I love you. You’re the only good thing that ever happened to me, Darla; you and the Corps. I hope I’ve made you happy sometimes. I hope you don’t feel like you’ve wasted your life loving me.”
“Antwone, you’re my husband. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. When we’re together I’m a whole person, and when we’re apart I’m just Darla. I learned that when you were over there. Oh, sure, I’m a teacher. I love the children I teach. I love my family. But when you’re not here, I’m not complete. Do you understand that, Antwone?”
“I just hope you’ve been happy, Darla,” he said. “I always want you to be happy.”
“I’ll get a plane ticket tomorrow,” she pressed. “I’ll be there with you.”
He could feel himself choking again on his tears. All he could say was, “We’ll see, Darla. We’ll see.”
“Oh, Antwone,” she said. “I’m so glad you called. I love you so much.”
“You, too, Darla. I’ll love you forever.”
He pushed the button, ending the call, and reached for the case on his bedside table.
SURPRISINGLY, BRENDEN WAS AWAKE. As far as the black dog was concerned, he and his master had just gone back to sleep, but here they were already, heading downstairs to start the morning coffee. In the kitchen, on impulse—or was it something more?—he picked up the phone and dialed veterans hospital, asking the operator for the nurses’ station on five.
“Nurses’ station. Jamee Edwards speaking.”
Brenden knew the voice.
“Oh, Jamee,” he said, “it’s Dr. McCarthy. Good morning.”
“Good morning, Doctor. You’re up early.”
“I know. I couldn’t sleep. Hey, Jamee, would you do me a favor?”
“Sure. What’s that?”
“Would you go down and check on Antwone Carver, please? We had a rough session yesterday, and I just want to know he’s okay.”
“I understand, Dr. McCarthy. Would you like me to call you back?”
“No, that’s not necessary, Jamee. Just be sure that everything’s all right with him, would you? Thanks a lot.”
Brenden hung up just as Kat came into the kitchen.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “I heard you talking to another woman.”
Brenden could tell she was smiling.
“Caught again,” he said. “Can’t a guy get away with having an affair in this day and age?”
“Not you,” Kat teased. “You can’t get away with anything. So what was the call about?”
“Oh, I’ve been worried about Antwone Carver. You remember, the Marine with major spinal cord injury and PTSD that I’ve been treating? I just haven’t been able to reach him, Kat, and, well, I’m worried.”
“The little voice?” she said. “The one you’ve always trusted?”
“The very same one that told me I should marry you, dear.”
“Ah,” she said, putting her arms around him. “The best decision you ever made.”
NURSE JAMEE EDWARDS WAS married to a career officer in the Navy, and the military had been part of her life for generations. Her father and brothers were all military, and she cared for every one of these guys with a passion built on love and respect.
As always, she knocked on the closed door and waited for a response.
Not unusual, she thought. It’s still pretty early.
Following protocol, she opened the door and announced herself.
“Good morning, Corporal Carver. It’s Jamee Edwards.”
Entering the room, she saw Antwone lying on his back, his face peaceful in . . . Oh no! Before she could think “sleep,” she heard his shallow breathing and rushed to the side of the bed. Grabbing his limp wrist, she took his pulse—faint and rapid. Reaching across the bed, she pulled the alarm for code blue and then raced for the door. Within a few seconds, feet came pounding down the hall as professionals gathered, working to save the life of Marine Corporal Antwone Carver.