Carly (23 page)

Carly closed her eyes again.
I am weak, Lord. I don’t have much strength. But how do I find my all in all in you? What does that mean? I need to know
.

Arlington, Virginia, January 10, 1991

In the lavender nightgown and matching velour robe she’d worn all day, Bette glanced at the blackness outside her kitchen
window. She looked around imagining that Ted was just in the other room and that she was brewing tea for both of them—an exquisite
torture. But she was glad that Ted wasn’t there. He wouldn’t have to deal with her problem.

Dan’s face came to mind. He’d phoned repeatedly this week, but she hadn’t returned his calls. She and Dan had just been getting
to know each other. If she told him, he would only back off, so why make him feel guilty for nothing?
I’m going to die anyway
. She’d tried to rid herself of that thought but had failed.

The stainless steel kettle whistled and Bette took it off the burner, wondering why she’d wanted tea in the first place.

A knock came at the back door. And then before she could move, a key was turned in the lock and the door opened. Leigh stepped
inside.

Bette stared at her. “What’s wrong?” She moved to the counter for support. “It’s not Mother. She’s not—”

“Grandma is sound asleep and is doing better.” Leigh took off her blue down jacket and hung it on the peg by the back door,
the way she had as a girl. Walking through that door had always comforted Leigh, brought memories of her stepfather and her
little sister, Dory, and the untroubled days of childhood. But one look at her mother swept that illusion aside. “What I want
to know is”—Leigh stopped directly in front of Bette—“what’s wrong with you?”

Her mother looked away. “You’ve got enough on your plate right now, Leigh. Don’t ask for problems. Did you get your visa?”

“Yes. Nate’s going to take leave for the days I’m away, and Minnie will drive down with him to keep Grandma’s spirits up.
But you are the one who’s got me worried. Now what is it?”

Bette turned away. “I’m making tea. Would you like some?”

Leigh put her hands on her mother’s shoulders and turned her so they were face-to-face again. “I’ll be glad to drink a cup
with you
after
you tell me what’s got you so upset.”

Bette’s composure crumbled before Leigh’s eyes. Tears flowed down her cheeks.

“Mother, I love you. I need to know.” Leigh squeezed Bette’s shoulders. “Tell me.”

Bette leaned her head onto Leigh’s shoulder. “I’ve been diagnosed. . . .” Sobs shook her.

Leigh’s breath caught in her throat. “What? Diagnosed with what?”

“Cancer.”

The grim word wrapped around Leigh like a suffocating shroud. “Where?”

“My left breast.”

Leigh experienced a moment of pure shock, then tightened her hold on her mother. “Oh, Mom.” Leigh kissed her cheek and hugged
her close. “Why didn’t you tell us—me?”

Bette wept on her daughter’s shoulder and just shook her head.

“How bad is it? Has it spread?” Leigh lifted her mother’s chin.

Bette nodded miserably and wept more silent tears. “I didn’t want to tell you. You’re already worried enough about Carly and
Mother.”

“How far has it spread?”

Bette didn’t reply.

“How far?” Leigh almost shook her.

“They think it may be in my lungs. I’m scheduled for a mastectomy on the seventeenth, then radiation and chemotherapy.”

Leigh closed her eyes against this onslaught of disaster. “Mom,” she whispered. “Mom.”

Leigh clung to Bette and pushed down the hysteria that threatened. No wonder her mother had been distant and unnatural. Cancer.
Once again the “deaths come in threes” mantra repeated in her mind.
No, I’m not superstitious, and I’m not losing anyone this year. Not without a good fight
.

“Mom, I wish you’d told me.”

“I didn’t want—”

“I know you didn’t want to worry me. But you have worried us all anyway.”

“I don’t want you to tell Mother. She’s just recuperating—”

“I will be telling everyone,” Leigh said flatly and led her mother to a kitchen chair. “This isn’t the Dark Ages. You’re going
to need a lot of support to fight this, and your family and your friends will be hurt if you don’t trust them.”

“No, Leigh, I won’t have my mother told. Do you understand me?”

Leigh turned as she heard another car pull into the drive. Who would be visiting at this hour? Swift footsteps sounded, and
then a brisk knock.

I
don’t want to see anyone,” Bette said listlessly, resting her head in one hand.

The back door swung open and in walked Dan Greenfield. He looked questioningly at Bette and then Leigh. “Okay, I’m through
trying to get to you by phone, Bette. Once and for all, what’s wrong?”

Bette stood and turned to leave the room. In two strides, Dan was beside her and jerked her into his arms. “I’m not going
to leave until you tell me.”

“Dan, she’s been diagnosed with breast cancer and has surgery scheduled on the seventeenth,” Leigh informed him. “I just wormed
it out of her.”

“My poor girl.” Dan leaned down and kissed Bette, pulling her closer and holding her.

Leigh observed this, her heart tightening and then lifting a bit. She found that most of the antagonism she’d felt for Dan
at Christmas suddenly evaporated.

After Dan had kissed Bette, he tugged her back to her chair and urged her to sit. He turned to Leigh. “What’s the plan?”

Leigh looked to him and then her mother. Both of them were looking at her for guidance. Her responsibilities seemed to have
multiplied in a moment. “Grandma Chloe is recovering slowly, steadily, but she still needs TLC,” Leigh said. “And Dan, I think
it would be best to take my mother back to Ivy Manor until her surgery.”

“But you won’t be here for my surgery. You have to go to Saudi,” her mother protested in a worn-out tone.

Grandma Chloe, Michael, Carly, my job, and now my mother has cancer. I was supposed to go to Saudi. I can’t go
. Hot regret came and went in an instant. Leigh knew she had no choice. “The U.S. forces will have to take care of themselves,”
Leigh said. One last lightning strike of disappointment flashed through her and vanished.
Mother, you’re more important than any story. And so are Michael, Nate, and Grandma Chloe
.

“Leigh,” Bette said insistently, “I forbid you to tell your grandmother about my cancer until after the surgery.” Bette stood
up. “And I’m not going to Ivy Manor. I’m perfectly capable of staying here alone. Chloe is not well and is still heartsick
over losing Kitty. I won’t add to her burdens.”

“Let’s not discuss that right now,” Dan said, easing Bette back into a kitchen chair. “We have time to decide all these things
later.”

Leigh drew in a deep breath, grateful for Dan’s help. The words
breast cancer
, however, still sent shivers of ice through her. Though she began to go through the motions of making tea, her hands shook
and she had to fight tears. Her mother’s plea on that morning after Christmas came back to her, something like: “Can’t there
ever be peace between us?” And should Leigh tell Grandma Chloe or not? Leigh suddenly felt weak and inadequate. How would
she juggle everything? But with her younger sister out of the country—who else was there?

Saudi Arabia, January 15, 1991

Carly stared up at the night sky, feeling oddly empty and on the verge of tears. Saddam Hussein had ignored the UN deadline.
War could detonate at any moment. What would that mean? Would Iraqi planes soon be dropping bombs or worse, poisonous chemicals,
onto their tents? They’d been repeatedly reminded of the order to carry their NBC warfare pouches with them everywhere.

Bowie stood beside her. “It feels funny, knowing we’re here and a war is about to start. I don’t know how I’m supposed to
feel.”

She turned to him, needing him, but not wanting to give in to this weakness. “I know. We’ve been working, preparing, and maintaining
our vehicles to supply troops, but when, where, how?”

Bowie just shook his head.

“Something funny’s going on at home, too,” Carly confided. Maybe this was the reason behind her empty feeling. “When I read
the last few letters from my family, I don’t know . . . I can’t really put my finger on it, but they’re not telling me something.”

“Wasn’t your mom supposed to come over here?”

Carly nodded. Only something really important, something devastating, could have caused Leigh’s absence. “Yeah, my mom isn’t
the type to up and change her mind.” Carly swallowed to moisten her dry mouth. “I just wish I knew what was going on.”

“Maybe you should ask.”

Carly gazed into Bowie’s clear, honest eyes and realized that she couldn’t handle any bad news from home. “Maybe.”
I can’t think about that right now
.

Ivy Manor, January 15, 1991

Leigh paced the floor in her bedroom. The UN deadline had come and gone. She pressed both hands to her face as if holding
back her raucous fears and doubts.
I was supposed to be in Saudi now. And should I tell Grandma Chloe about my mother or not?

Nate walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. “I got Michael to bed. How are you doing?” He came up behind
and wrapped his strong arms around her.

“I feel weighed down, Nate.”
Nearly flattened
. Would the news of Bette’s cancer crush Chloe’s spirits? “First Kitty’s death, then my grandmother’s pneumonia, now Mom’s
cancer. And Carly is in a real war.” Each beloved name and worry dropped and slid down her spine, pellets of cold lead.

“It’s hard, I know.” He kissed the side of her neck and rocked her within his arms as if she were a child. “I have the luxury
of three brothers, so the care of our parents and grandparents, and worries about children, have fallen onto more shoulders.
But I’m here with you.”

Leigh turned in his arms, desperate to be closer. “Nate, I’m so grateful that you were able to take off a few days.” She pressed
her face against his neck. “Thank you.”

“Are you going to tell Chloe about your mom’s surgery?”

Pulling away, Leigh rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “Mom insists I not tell Grandma until the surgery is over and the
doctors know more about her condition. But should I do as she says?”

“Well, I think we should trust honesty.”

The door behind them opened. “So do I, Nate. It’s terrible when I have to resort to listening at keyholes in my own home to
hear about my own daughter’s health. Now what surgery is Bette having? Is it cancer?”

Saudi Arabia, January 17, 1991

Carly woke in the night, a siren blaring. She sat up. The other women in her tent did the same, some yawning and rubbing their
eyes. “What is it?”

“War,” one replied. “Could be an incoming.”

“Incoming?” Carly parroted, fear ripping through her. “Has the war started?”

“Maybe. An incoming missile,” the woman clarified. “A Scud.”

“Then why are we just sitting here? It might be a chemical attack.” Another woman nearer her jumped up. At this, they were
all up and grabbing their NBC outfits and jerking them on over the sweats they wore to bed.

Carly fought the panic that sent her pulse through the roof. She couldn’t show her fear and perhaps stoke the qualms of others.
She owed courage to her fellow soldiers. When they were all garbed, they hurried outside, joining the other soldiers in the
walkways between tents. Everyone was looking up at the night sky. Huge, dirty-white clouds billowed on the far southeast horizon.
Saddam Hussein had set the Kuwaiti oil fields alight and even at that distance the soldiers could see and smell the burning.

Then there were flashes of light above the far eastern horizon. “What was that?” Carly asked, her voice muffled by the choking
mask. The NBC suit was heavy and hot and strangling her as usual.

“The war’s started,” Joe replied, appearing next to her, “Schwarzkopf is unleashing our air force. Bombing missions.”

Everyone watched the intermittent lights that must be explosions—of what? What was blowing up in the skies over Iraq?
Their planes and missiles, or ours?

Then, high above them, a brilliant burst of light shone and a blast shuddered through them all. In a spontaneous reflex, Carly
ducked. “What was that?”

“Probably a Scud intercepted,” Joe said, trying to sound unconcerned. “I read about the new Patriot missiles. They intercept
and destroy incoming missiles.”

Carly stared upward along with everyone else. Had one of theirs really taken out an incoming Iraqi Scud? Carly had never even
heard of a Patriot missile. She tried to breathe normally through the confining mask, breathing in the smell of its rubber
and the burning Kuwaiti oil.

A siren, the all-clear, sounded and everyone dragged off his or her suffocating gas mask. Carly was the first to free herself.
Breathing deeply, she led the women as they trooped back into their tent and shed the cumbersome gear. Then, as if they were
all programmed, Carly and the others went back outside, sleep forgotten. An eerie quiet hovered over them—and again a dazzling
flash to the east.

“This is like going to a major league game,” a soldier groused nearby. “We’d be better off watching it at home on TV.”

This garnered modest laughter. Carly wondered if she was the only one who felt as if she were in some other reality.
War. This is war
. She thought about the stories she’d heard from Kitty and Chloe about the two world wars, about doughboys and ration books.
War happened in history, in movies, not in real life.
Not in my real life
.

“Carly.” Bowie came alongside her.

She smiled up at him, but her lower lip trembled. Gooseflesh was crawling up the back of her neck.

“It’s started,” he said simply, and in the deep shadows, he took her hand.

She nodded and gripped his large hand. They had no choice but to face whatever came.
God, please protect me, Bowie, and our platoon. I don’t know what may happen here or at home
.