"We sit around waiting for them to come home, hoping every day they are okay and that they know how much we love them...our heroes." Cierra Powell
Moonlight found its way into the bedroom, its glow more pronounced by the reflection of the three feet of snow that covered the ground outside. The furnace hummed as warm air was forced from the vents into room. From beneath the rumpled comforter, Rachel turned over onto her side and reached out to the clock on the bedside table. 3:23. Exactly ten minutes from the last time she checked.
With a groan she released the clock then reached up to switch on the lamp. Light flooded the room as she sat up, pushing her long hair out of her face, the diamond ring on her left hand catching briefly in the soft tangles. Her eyes fell to the framed photo beside the clock and she sighed as she lifted it. It was her favorite picture of Jared. Taken the year before during their honeymoon cruise, he was laughing, his warm brown eyes sparkling with love for her as he leaned one armed on the ship's railing. The warm Pacific water behind him stretched to the island they would be visiting that day, Molokai. They had already paid their compliments to Oahu and the Big Island, and would anchor in Kaui in two days. But of them all it was Molokai she had most wanted to see.
When she'd married him, she had thought she understood the demands that would be made on her as a military wife. After all, she'd been independent since high school and was, at thirty-two, well able to take care of herself. His frequent deployments would mean they would have to spend long periods of time apart but that would only mean their reunions would be sweet, and passionate. In the meanwhile, she would live her life and wait patiently for his return.
What she hadn't understood was the intensity of her loneliness or the depth of her worry. He was a submariner so any communication was infrequent at best. As war played out in the middle east she tried not to think about where he might be. She refused to allow her fear to play the “what if” game.
Rising from the bed, she pulled her chenille robe on and padded across the carpeted floor in her matching scuffs. They had been a gift from her sister the Christmas after their wedding, to keep her warm during his absences, she said. She had then given him a silky red chemise, so Rachel could keep him warm when he was home. They had laughed over the gifts but already the chenille was showing signs of wear while the chemise still looked new.
The condo was silent as she made her way downstairs, the furnace having shut off. Flipping on the florescent light in the small kitchen, she lifted the tea kettle from the stove and carried it to the sink. As water filled it she yawned, holding the back of her free hand to her mouth, and looked out the window. Snow sparkled in the moonlight as it fell like tiny diamonds from the bare oak at the side of the yard. In the spill of light from the window she could see the tracks of some small animal in the snow. Probably a rabbit, she thought, before turning away to put the kettle back on the stove.
While she waited for the water to heat she wondered into the living room where the Christmas tree stood in one corner, lights extinguished. She had yet to plug them in. He has said he “should” be home in time for Christmas and, so, she had decided to leave the lights off until he was back. Now Christmas was less than a week away and there had been no word from him since the beginning of the month. Surely she would hear something soon?
She stared at the tree with its bounty of ornaments and the mountain of gifts below it. Knowing they wouldn't be coming home to visit this year, their families had shipped their gifts and now they joined those she had bought for him on the plush tree skirt. On the coffee table was the basket of cards they had been receiving all month. If they received many more she would have to go in search of a larger basket.
The kettle began to whistle and she returned to the kitchen. Removing the kettle from the eye she set it on a trivet then opened a packet of cocoa to pour into the large mug he had bought her two Christmases ago. It read, “There's nothing that God and chocolate can't handle.” Inside she had found a small jeweler's box and inside that, her chocolate diamond engagement ring. Truthfully, his proposal hadn't come as a huge surprise to her as they had discussed marriage several times as their relationship evolved. But leave it to Jared to find a uniquely personal way of asking anyway.
After mixing the cocoa with hot water, she turned out the light and returned to her bedroom. There she sat on the side of the bed and sipped before setting the mug on the table, removing her robe and scuffs, and swinging her legs up and beneath the sheet and comforter. Pulling the pillows up behind her she punched them down enough to make them comfortable then sat back and reached once again for the mug.
Where was he? She asked inwardly. Was he okay?
She immediately quashed the questions, refusing to allow her worry to take hold. He was okay. She'd have heard if he wasn't. It wouldn't be the first time he arrived home without notice. He still had five days before Christmas. She had no reason to believe he wouldn't make it.
She sipped absentmindedly for a few minutes before the silence in the room began to get to her. Not for the first time she wondered if she might get herself a cat. She'd had one while she was growing up but when it had died she'd sworn she wouldn't have another. No cat could replace Tiffy, and she wasn't certain she could take another heartbreak like that one anyway.
So, of course, she had married a Navy man, and a submariner to boot!
Impatiently she reached for the remote and clicked on the TV. After several channels she found an old Audrey Hepburn movie and settled in, prepared to spend an hour engrossed in the story. But her mind refused to obey and her thoughts kept turning back.
She was lonely. Her body ached for the fulfillment that only he could give her while her heart longed to hear him whisper his love in her ear. She understood now why some women couldn't handle being a military wife. It was hard. Oh, the need for independence and greater responsibility were no problem for her but she had long since learned not to be too judgmental when a woman called it quits to her marriage. Many women couldn't handle being alone so much. What she would never understand was how some women were willing to remain married but also equally willing to break their vows when the loneliness grew too pronounced.
The mug was soon empty and she set it aside, switched off the light and settled down into the bed. Staring into the dark she wasn't really surprised when she felt a tear escape. He'd said he'd be home for Christmas and she knew without doubt that he would do everything he could to keep that promise. That was the kind of man he was. The Navy might have to be his first priority, but he wouldn't allow it to be his only priority. He loved her, and she loved him. He would be home in time. He would.
Burying her face into her pillow, she let the tears come.
Perhaps I am just another rotten male, but I did 27 months of unaccompanied time overseas. I let each day go by without asking if it was Monday or Saturday. Time became a blur, as I wanted it to be, as I immersed myself in the tasks at hand. It was my way of coping. Knowing when I was on the backside of the hump was enough.
I believe your experience helped a lot in writing this. Like the others have stated, the narrative is very realistic and shares with us the concerns that military wives have when their husbands are on duty and unable to contact them. I was looking for a surprise ending and didn't get one, but that's okay. You have conveyed the emotions very well with that ending.
I'm not sure what you meant when you said that she remove the teakettle "from the eye."
There is power and intimacy in the understated narrative that I quite like. Nothing exaggerated. Everything is very well described and interesting, and you feel as if you know (or are getting to know) the narrator, and liking her. Very sensible and down to earth; yet there are undercurrents there that make her all the more human. A fine piece of writing, Rebecca. John
I enjoyed your well-written, descriptive story filled with realism. It serves to refresh our thoughts to all the military families who sacrifice so much too.
Moonlight found its way into the bedroom, its glow more pronounced by the reflection of the three feet of snow that covered the ground outside. The furnace hummed as warm air was forced from the vents into room. From beneath the rumpled comforter, Rachel turned over onto her side and reached out to the clock on the bedside table. 3:23. Exactly ten minutes from the last time she checked.
