Before school on Monday I saw Nicole leafing through her books in her locker. I felt no “wussness” this time. “Nicole?”
“Hey, Tim.”
“How often do you hear from your cousin in Afghanistan?”
“Uhh, I get an email from him occasionally, but that’s about it. I think my aunt talks to him quite a bit though—maybe weekly.”
“Has she ever gone a long time without hearing from him?”
“Not that I know of. I think she keeps pretty close tabs on him.” She suddenly realized why I was asking. “Haven’t you heard from your Mom yet?”
I shook my head and stared at the floor.
“Geez. That must be tough. I’m sure she’s fine though. She’s probably just real busy and wasn’t able to get to a phone or something.”
“For over a week?”
Nicole realized the flaw in her argument, but didn’t try to correct herself.
There was a pause for a moment. Nicole was trying to look into my eyes, but I was still staring at the floor.
“Hey,” she said. “It’ll be okay.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “You ready to go to Social Studies?”
“Sure,” I mumbled. We walked to Mrs. Donaldson’s room, Nicole’s hand still on my shoulder. I could feel her thumb rubbing back and forth gently.
At lunch, Seth and Chris Caulfield couldn’t stop talking about the party. The whole school knew about it by the end of the week. It was the last thing on my mind, so when it came up, I left to put my tray away. I thought about telling Seth that my mom still hadn’t called, but I didn’t think anything could have taken his mind off the upcoming weekend, so I left it alone.
When I got home that day, Dad’s car was already in the driveway. Dad didn’t usually get home until 5:00 or 6:00 and it was only 3:30. I nervously stepped in the back door. “Dad?” I called. No answer. I swept through the house looking for him. I decided to check upstairs. His office door was closed tightly. He usually kept it open in case we needed anything. I could hear mumbling on the other side of the door, but I couldn’t make out any real words. I put my ear up to the door for a second to hear better, but I still couldn’t hear anything clearly.
I shuffled into my room, closed the door, and sat down on the bed. Something wasn’t right. The tree and the Oreo house were talking in the breeze. I stared at them for an hour.
I heard Jenna come home after a while. I went out to the hallway, passed the closed office door and went downstairs to find Jenna eating a bagel in the kitchen. “Is Dad home already?” she asked.
“Yeah. He’s in his office talking to someone, but I can’t hear what he’s saying.”
Jenna stopped chewing for a second. “About Mom?” she mumbled, her mouth full of bagel.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
At that moment we could hear Dad’s unmistakable steps pounding down the creaky, wood stairs. “Jenna? Tim? You guys down here?” he called from the bottom of the stairs.
“Yeah. We’re in the kitchen,” I called back. Jenna still hadn’t taken another bite of her bagel.
“Would you two come into the living room?”
The living room. The site of so many “news breaks.” I looked at Jenna, but she was staring off into space. I slowly headed toward the living room. Dad was sitting at the end of the couch, his head down and hands folded. He looked like that statue of “The Thinker.” I plopped myself down on the rug in the middle of the room. Jenna came in a couple of minutes later and sat on the other end of the couch.
Dad’s head came up. “So, I know you two have been wondering about Mom, about why she hasn’t called.” We both nodded. “Well, I got a call at work today from the Army.”
My thoughts quickly turned to the letter he was reading the day before. Was it really related to his work? Jenna scooted toward the front edge of the couch, her eyes wide open. I had been lying on my stomach, but when I saw Jenna scoot forward, I changed to ‘Indian style.’
“It’s not very good news.”
“What happened to Mom?” Jenna demanded.
“There was a mortar attack in Baghdad a week and a half ago.” I had no idea what a mortar was, but it didn’t sound good. “Your mother was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“What happened to her!?!” Jenna was getting impatient.
“She was hurt pretty badly.” Dad was doing his best to keep it together, but his voice was starting to quiver. “Some bones—a couple of ribs, her left arm, and her right leg. She also has some minor burns on her face, but they sounded pretty confident they would heal with a little treatment.”
He paused for a minute to wipe his eyes. Tears were rolling down Jenna’s face also. I was in total disbelief. I felt my right hand squeeze my left so tightly it was beginning to turn blue.
“It sounds like she may have to have surgery to fix her leg.” Dad straightened his shoulders. “You know,” he continued. “We should all feel pretty lucky. Another nurse was killed in the attack.”
I remembered Mom telling me no nurse had died in a war since Vietnam.
Nobody said anything. The silence was painful. Jenna started huffing, just short of sobbing. “I don’t understand! She’s a nurse. She’s supposed to be helping the wounded, not getting hurt herself!” cried Jenna.
“I know, honey. I know.” Dad scooted to the other side of the couch. He put his hand on Jenna’s head and stroked her hair.
“Is … is she going to be okay?” I finally asked.
Dad turned to me. “Yeah, they think so, buddy. She’s been in a medical facility in Baghdad for the last few days. As soon as she’s stable enough, they’re sending her to the army base in Germany. Then she’ll make the trip to Walter Reed Medical Center in Washington. She will probably arrive there in the next four to five days.”
Jenna’s head shot up. “Washington, D.C.?” she asked. “Can we go see her then?” My eyes widened.
“Well, eventually,” Dad explained. “Normally, we’d be invited out the day after she arrived, but I think because of the length of her trip, they want us to hold off a few days. She’s going to need some time to heal, time to get her strength back. The doctors at Walter Reed are going to evaluate her when she gets there and let us know when it’d be a good time to come out and visit.”
“Good time?” Jenna suddenly became angry. “She’s our mother. A good time is right now.”
“I know honey, but we have to do what’s best for your mom, and the doctors think it’s best to wait a few days before she has visitors.”
Jenna burned through my father’s eyes with her stare. Then she shot up from the couch and stormed out the back. The whole neighborhood probably heard the slamming of the door.
I wasn’t crying and I didn’t know why. I told myself I should be happy that Mom was alive, that we knew what had happened, why she hadn’t called. But I was far from happy. She wasn’t okay. Mom was laid up in some second-rate medical facility in the middle of Iraq, and I couldn’t even shed a tear. I looked down at my hands. The left one had turned blue.