Amie sat with me the entire afternoon, dipping in and out of sleep, crying sporadically in quiet, heartbroken jags that made me ache inside for her. Connor remained in his room, rainbow hat jammed onto his head, not moving, not saying a word. He’d lashed out and tried to kick me when I tried to pick him up and take him into my arms, growling fiercely, and so I’d left him alone in the silence of his room, hoping I was doing the right thing.
The rain arrived around four, hammering at the windows, rattling them in their frames, and wind tore at the house, howling through the brickwork in the old pantry, the only part of the house that didn’t look like it had been renovated, causing the kitchen door to slam closed behind me every time I went in there to get juice or cookies for Amie.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Magda’s journal. I couldn’t stop thinking about Sully’s appearance earlier, either, or the harsh way that he’d spoken. He’d been stark and unwelcoming, but he’d also been afraid, too—when he heard Amie calling out for her father, he’d looked so lost that the transformation had startled me. I needed to know why he’d taken the time to come to the house not once but twice in order to tell me I’d be wasting my time if I tried to fulfill Ronan’s wishes. The mystery of it all was killing me.
I flicked through the journal, letting it fall open midway through—a page full of photos. I only knew the images were of Sully because Magda had written underneath each one with a title, time and date.
Sully, Fort Benning, April 2003.
Sully, Times Square, December 2003. Four days until deployment.
Sully, Kabul, May 2004.
Sully, with Daniels and Rogers, Kabul, January 2005.
Underneath this entry, a faded, small photograph was taped to the paper: Sully, in full military uniform, sun blazing, a white hot blister in the background, two tall black guys also in uniform with their arms slung over his shoulders. All three of the men were smiling, teeth showing, sweat on their brows, but there was something a little off about the picture. The smiles seemed edgy, like they’d been painted on. The men stood tall and stiff, as though ready to drop the pretense of happiness at the first sign of trouble in order to pick up the rifles at their feet and start fighting.
None of them looked like they wanted to be there at all.
******
I didn’t see Sully again for a month. Four weeks passed by, and not a peep. Perhaps this wouldn’t have been so strange if the island weren’t so small, and if everyone didn’t keep saying, oh how funny. You just missed Sully, to me. It was like he’d tagged me with a GPS tracker somehow, knew my exact location at all times, and was determined to avoid me no matter the cost.
CPS checked in with me, sent Sheryl back to the island to make sure I wasn’t neglecting the children (which I wasn’t), and they signed off on them staying with me until next spring. Rose’s presence was an immeasurable help. I was using some of the allowance Ronan had set aside for me to pay Dr. Fielding for Skype sessions with Connor and Amie. His time with Amie appeared to be helping her a lot, but Connor was proving harder to reach. He often sat in front of the computer screen and refused to speak at all when Fielding asked him questions. If he did speak, then he shouted, screamed and swore until Fielding declared the session counter productive and shut things down. Still, I hoped for a breakthrough. And soon. Really, really soon. My last nerve was frayed down to the quick, but more importantly I felt like I was failing Connor and Ronan at the same time, and that didn’t sit well with me at all.
November was frigid and awful. The sky was the color of war—gray and black and grim—and the rain rarely broke. Rose was at home with the children when I finally saw Sully Fletcher again.
“There we go, sweetie. Whew, that’s a heavy one. Must have some good stuff in there.” Sam, the woman who ran the post office, slid the package I’d come to collect toward me across the counter, smiling. The package was from Mom—probably more winter clothing. She was terrified I was going to freeze to death. Sam glanced over my shoulder, lifting a hand in greeting. “Hi, Sully. You can leave that there if you like? I’ll swing by on my way home to pay you.”
I spun around so quick I almost lost my balance. Sure enough, Sully was standing in the open doorway of the post office, and in his hands he was holding a huge, beautiful rocking chair. When he saw me, his expression changed from flat disinterest to open horror. “Sure thing, Sam.” He put the rocking chair down next to the door, bending at the waist, and I couldn’t help but notice how close he’d cropped his hair, or the curls of wood shavings that were stuck to the thick plaid material of his shirt. There was a black smudge on the back of his neck, as if he’d rubbed greasy fingers there and no one had told him about the stain marking his skin. He didn’t turn around again or say another word to Sam. He just walked through the door and left.
“I wouldn’t do it to myself if I were you.”