*
“Well?” Sloan asked, coming into her guest bedroom after the orderlies had gotten Dan situated in the hospital bed. “What do you think of your new digs?” She smiled. Dan looked exhausted from the transfer from the hospital to her home. He lay propped up at an angle in the center of the large, airy bedroom. The sun was shining brightly. The bedroom had two large windows, allowing plenty of light in. Before he arrived, she had pulled the sheer white curtains and the dark green drapes aside so he could see outside. The fall weather had cleared last night, and a bright blue sky had emerged. It was chilly and breezy, but Dan had been well wrapped in blankets for the trip.
“It’s a helluva lot better than being in that hospital,” he said gruffly.
“The worst is over, Dan. You look tired. Do you want to take a nap?” She saw the murkiness in his eyes. “You’re only seven days out of surgery, and your body needs a lot of sleep.”
“Just being here is helping. Thanks for opening up your heart and home to me. You have no idea how glad I am to be here.” Sloan’s eyes became sympathetic as her fingers curled into his.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Dan.”
He was exhausted, and the pain in his side made him feel weak. “I’m going to sleep,” he muttered. “I don’t want to, but I’m whipped.”
Gently easing her hand from his, she leaned over the bed and lightly kissed his wrinkled brow. “Go to sleep,” she whispered. “I’m going to leave your door open, and I’ll check in on you from time to time. I won’t be far away. Either in the kitchen or the living room. Call me if you need me?”
“Okay,” he rasped, giving her a grateful look. He’d lapped up her touch like the starving mongrel that he was, her lips warm against his damp brow. It all served to calm his anxiety. She looked genuinely happy to have him here and never had Dan wanted that kind of reaction from her as much as right now.
*
Sloan puttered in the kitchen, trying to keep noise to a minimum. Outside the L-shaped row of windows, the sky was turning a deep blue as the sun rose. The trees in the surrounding woods were now bare. All of the colorful leaves had fallen, leaving them naked to the coming winter. Her mind and heart centered squarely on Dan. Inwardly, she was relieved he was with her. It felt like the rightest thing in the world to her.
Needing Dan, she wiped her hands on a towel and padded to the opened door of his room. Her heart wrenched as she watched him sleeping. His face looked relaxed, lips parted slightly, his hands across his belly. She was glad that she could replace that blue hospital bedspread with a colorful afghan her mother had knitted for her years ago. Her favorite thing to do was sit out on the couch wrapped up in it, watching a TV program, and eating a bowl of almond marshmallow ice cream. That afghan reminded Sloan of her mother’s arms around her, holding her as she had when she was a child. She smiled faintly seeing that Dan had gathered up some of the afghan into his hands as if wanting the energy and love that her mother had knitted into that yarn for himself.
To Sloan, he looked like a lost little boy. Her heart tore apart as she remembered. That kind of blow at such a young age wasn’t something that anyone got over easily. She forced herself to leave and quietly walked back to the kitchen.
*
It was nearly three p.m. when Dan awakened. He heard music playing softly somewhere in the house. It was instrumental, reminding him of elevator music, but it was soothing. This was part of getting to know who Sloan was. Not the torrid, ongoing sexual affair he had with her at Bagram, but to know her as a human being. He moved his hand across the soft afghan, feeling warm and at peace. The sun had shifted to the south and rays were coming into the large room. He lay there appreciating the sense of calm and quiet that pervaded him. This was Sloan’s home. This was where she lived. The house reflected her.
His gaze moved across the lavender walls to the open drapes. One wall had tiny violets with green leaves. He wondered if the purple flowers were her favorite color. He didn’t even know that about her, and he’d spent a year and a half with her in his arms. What the hell? Dan was beginning to see how damned selfish he had been.
“Hey,” Sloan called softly from the door, “how are you feeling?”
He moved his head, seeing her standing with her hands on the jamb, studying him. The sunlight bathed her, and he saw strands of her hair glinting, a frame around her soft features. “Better,” he rasped thickly. “Thirsty.”
“What do you feel like drinking?”
“Water’s fine.”
“Sure? Coffee? I just made a fresh pot.”
Rallying beneath her tender look, he said gruffly, “I don’t want to put you out.”
She chuckled and said, “You’re not putting me out. Coffee sounds good? I’ll join you.”
That made his decision easy because he craved her closeness. “Sounds good…thank you…”
He watched her disappear and instantly felt as if the light surrounding him had left. Sloan meant that much to him. When she returned, she had two bright orange ceramic mugs on a small wooden tray. There was also a saucer piled high with cookies. She came over and set it on his rolling tray, bringing it up to his bed so that he could easily reach the coffee and cookies.
“Something smelled good,” he said, giving her a nod of thanks.
“I made some peanut butter cookies. Do you like peanut butter?” She sat down on a nearby stool, hooking the heels of her shoes on a lower rung and picking up her mug from the tray.
“Yeah,” he grunted. “My mom used to make them.” That memory brought back a wave of grief to Dan as he picked up his coffee and sipped it. He saw how relaxed Sloan was, the mug resting between her hands. The tender light in her eyes opened his heart even more.
“It sounds as if your mom tried to do some nice things for you.” Sloan knew the story. She wasn’t sure Dan remembered it yet.
He picked up a cookie, biting into it, a look of pleasure coming to his face. “You’re as good as she was at making them,” he said.
“What else did your mom do for you?”
He laid back, the coffee in one hand, a cookie in the other. “She had moments where she was between her up-and-down moods. When she was level, she made my father and me great meals and desserts.”
Nodding, Sloan asked, “Was that often?”
“No. Maybe once a month she’d come into what I called a quiet period, and she seemed connected to me and my father.”
“That had to be so hard on all of you. Even her because she had no way to control those ups and downs.” Sloan saw the sadness come to his face.
“As a kid, I never knew that my mother wasn’t normal. When you grow up in it, you think it’s normal, and every kid has a mother like yours.”
“Makes sense,” Sloan agreed quietly, sipping her coffee.
“I never blamed her for how she was,” he told her, frowning. “When she abruptly left us and divorced my father, I couldn’t understand it at all.”
“You were only nine, Dan. How could you?”
Shrugging, he muttered, “I wonder how she is today. Where she’s at.” His voice lowered. “I had a lot of years of anger toward her. And it has only been in the last couple of years that I’ve gotten over it. And then, I needed to know where she’d gone. I called my father to ask him, but he’d lost track of her, too.”
“Have you found her yet?”