Peachtree has a group of “funeral fairies.” When someone dies, they are the women who swoop in, hold hands, wipe noses, make casseroles, organize visitations and postfuneral food. They are the ones who slip the spouses a Valium, tip the priest to forget that old Harry was a drunk who hadn’t set foot in a church in decades, and organize a crowd for the graveside if it was someone who was less than well liked around town.
When I saw my three girls sitting on the front lawn, those men in uniform standing in front of them, I turned for a moment to look out over the water. It was as though I was outside myself, watching what was happening. We knew that this was a possibility. When you are in a military family, you were trained to dread this day. But why Sloane? After all the nightmares, the terror, the trauma that she experienced when her father died, why would those funeral fairies have to visit her?
We all went through it when Carter died. But Sloane’s experience had been the worst of all. So bad, in fact, that it was one of the greatest shocks of my life that she decided to date someone in the military. Knowing how scared she was and how much unknown was involved in that life, I was surprised that she would take the risk.
But, as I well knew, we don’t get to choose whom we love.
Caroline finally saw me, and she ran out through the gate to the sidewalk, where I was standing. I was frozen there, as if what was happening on my front lawn was a picture. I was seeing it, but none of it was happening to me. It was outside of me, like a dream I couldn’t imagine was true but I also couldn’t wake up from.
I thought I was crying, so I was surprised at how strong my voice was when I said, “How did it happen?”
Caroline shook her head. “He’s MIA. It might be OK. He might still be alive.”
I felt a sense of dread in the pit of my stomach, knowing that this could potentially be worse for Sloane than if he were dead. The uncertainty, the fear that he was being tortured, that instead of going out with one, clean, painless shot, he was being killed slowly. It was more than I could bear. I remembered that feeling all too well.
I hadn’t known if Carter was dead. I wanted to believe that he had been killed instantly, but what if he hadn’t? What if he was buried under the rubble, still gasping for air, still holding on to hope that someone would find him? That, for me, was the very worst part.
I should have asked more, heard more, known more. I should have been begging for information and wanting to know every detail, but it didn’t really matter. There was nothing that any of us could do. I should have been feeling this unimaginable aching pain for Adam. But instead, as so often happens when you’re a mother, I was thinking about my child, about her hurt, about how her life had changed. Adam was in God’s hands. But Sloane was still in mine.
Emerson helped me scoop her up off the lawn and take her upstairs. She wasn’t sobbing anymore. She was eerily quiet. I wanted to take that quiet for calm, but I knew better. I remembered that quiet. It was a panic that defied anything your body was capable of doing, any sound it was capable of making. It was an otherworldly quiet, one that I had hoped none of my daughters would ever experience.
I tucked Sloane into bed, although I’m not sure why. She wasn’t sick. But it felt like the right thing to do. Your mother tucking you into bed is taking care of you. I sat beside Sloane and said, “Emmy, please make Sloane some tea.”
“I don’t want tea,” she whispered. “I just want Adam.” And that was when the sobbing began again.
I knew what I was up against now. I knew about the sleepless nights, the crying anywhere, anytime, the inability to eat or drink or even think. This was going to be a living nightmare. Again.
Mothers are supposed to know what to do, but there’s no handbook for this. There’s no appropriate response for something this horrible. So I sat and held Sloane’s hand. I sat there until the sun set and the moon rose across the water. I sat there, looking out the window, praying for good news but that even if it wasn’t good news, it would be news that arrived quickly. It was more out of habit than anything. Anyone could see that God had betrayed my family yet again. We were on our own.
Somewhere in there, Sloane fell asleep, though she wouldn’t be asleep for long, I knew. I got up, and Emerson met me in the hall. “I’ll sleep with her tonight,” she said, “in case she wakes up and is scared.”
I hugged her. “That would be so sweet.”
I wasn’t sure who had taken care of Grammy, Taylor, and Adam today, but there was no doubt that Emerson and Caroline had had their hands full. I tiptoed down the stairs to check on my mother, but before I got to the hallway to her bedroom, I noticed a man sitting on the front porch.
“Hi,” I whispered as I opened the door.
Jack stood up to hug me, and for the first time, I broke down and started to cry.
“How could this happen?”
He shook his head. “It’s so awful. Can I do anything?”
I shrugged. “I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do. I think this is going to be months on end of my taking care of Sloane and the children.” I sighed and felt the tears in my eyes when I said, “I’m not sure this is the right time for us.”
Jack pulled away from me, a genuinely shocked expression on his face. “What does any of this have to do with us?”
“Jack,” I said softly, “don’t you understand? My life has to be about them right now.”
He sat down on the porch couch and rubbed his face with his hands. “Ansley,” he said. “Don’t you know that I understand that? It’s not like I’m going to be suggesting we run off for a weekend in Paris or anything. Would I like to date? Sure. And we’ll have time for that someday. But right now, we’ll have this instead. I’m fine with this. I want this.” He paused. “I want this more than anything.”
Tears streamed down my face again. I thought of how good he had been with Adam and Taylor, how sweet he was with my mom, how patient he had been with this circus of a life I was leading. But my throat constricted with the fear that Jack was getting too close. I thought back to Jack calling Adam and Taylor his grandchildren, which, technically, they were. And my conviction returned.
I shook my head. “I can’t handle it right now, Jack. I just can’t.”
“Why would you do this, Ansley? This isn’t a good reason. It isn’t an excuse. You need me now more than ever. Let me be here for you and the kids. Why are you so damn intent on pushing me away?”
“Because I’ve done it alone for sixteen years!” I shouted. Then I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Because every time I’m with you, I remember that I cheated on my husband, that you are the father of my two eldest daughters, that my entire life is a lie!”
He looked as though I had stabbed him in the heart. “A lie that you created, Ansley. You. Not me.” I could see that he was biting the insides of his cheeks. “They’re mine too, Ansley.” He looked around before he added, “They are my children. And my grandchildren. I want you, Ansley. More than anything. But I want them, too.”