Don't Go (3 page)

“Wait’ll you see the new house. We moved in last month. Finally.”

Mike swallowed hard, remembering that Chloe had been so happy to have them closer, after they found out he was being deployed. But even that hadn’t helped her, in the end. She had died alone. Mike felt a wave of guilt so powerful it almost felled him.

“I told the contractor, I’m not paying the last installment until you’re done.” Bob stalked through the parking lot, with Mike following. “The only good thing about a lousy economy is that it gives people like me leverage. Cash is king, baby.”

Mike hung his head. The Army didn’t know any details of Chloe’s accident, except that she cut herself by accident. He couldn’t listen to another minute of small talk. “Bob, what happened to her?”

“Huh?” Bob turned, his blondish eyebrows lifting.

“Chloe. What happened to her?” Mike heard his voice break. He stopped walking. He didn’t want to take another step until he knew everything. The chattering crowd flowed around them, their rollerbags rumbling on the frozen asphalt.

Bob faced Mike, his forehead creased. “Let’s talk about it at home, okay?”

“Can’t we talk about it here?”

“Mike.” Bob looked crestfallen. “Mike, please. Can’t it wait? Danielle knows more than I do. She can explain.”

Mike understood. They both felt a little lost without their wives, who knew how to make this easier. They were just two guys in a parking lot, trying not to embarrass themselves in front of strangers. “Okay.”

Bob turned away, raised his key fob, and chirped his black Mercedes to life.

Mike knew that Bob heaved a sigh because a cloud of steamy breath wreathed his head, rose into the air, and floated off.

Vanishing like a ghost.

Chapter Four

Mike entered the house behind Bob. It was warm and lovely, like something out of a magazine. Crystal lamps shone from mahogany tables, and a navy blue patterned sofa and matching chairs sat around a gas fireplace, flickering behind smoked glass. Holiday cards lined up on the mantel, and a Christmas tree decorated with tiny white lights blinked like electrified stars. Wrapped presents were spread on a carpet of fake snow, and the air smelled of pine, from a scented candle.

“Danielle, we’re home.” Bob walked ahead, taking off his topcoat.

Mike hung back and tugged down his ACU shirt, trying to make sense of his situation. One day he was covered in blood and he had a wife, and the next he had no wife and he was
here
. He set the backpack on the Oriental rug, worried it would leave moondust.

“Mike, oh, Mike.” Danielle came toward him from the back of the house, throwing open her arms, reminding Mike so powerfully of Chloe that he almost lost it. He met Danielle and hugged her close, knowing if he started crying, he’d never stop. Danielle looked a lot like Chloe but wasn’t exactly Chloe, in the way sisters echo each other but aren’t exact replicas, and as Mike held Danielle, he felt the agony of losing Chloe and the joy at having her again, even if an echo was as insubstantial as thin air.

“I’m so sorry.” Danielle clung to him, sniffling in his arms, slim and vaguely stiff in a white blouse and pressed jeans. “I know you loved her, so much.”

“You, too.” Mike breathed in her floral perfume and peach-scented hair conditioner, the scents that were almost-but-not-quite Chloe. “I’m so sorry you lost her, too.”

“She was my best friend. She was a great sister, and a great mother.” Danielle’s tone strengthened, recovering. She patted his back. “We’ll get through this together, as a family. We’ll pull together, and I’ll be there for you and Emily, and so will Bob.”

“Thank you.” Mike released her, managing to keep it together, and Danielle smiled up at him with glistening eyes, her lower lip trembling.

“Everybody sends their love and sympathy. All the old teachers at the middle school, and even some of her old students. Your partners have been calling and they sent a card.” Danielle sniffled and managed a shaky smile. “I was so touched by that, because Chloe liked them all, so much. People are posting on Facebook, too, on Chloe’s wall, sending you and the baby love and sympathy, which is nice.”

“Is she awake?” Mike felt an overwhelming urge to see Emily.

“No, she’s not, I’m sorry.” Danielle wiped her tears with her index finger turned on its side. “I tried, but she fell asleep.”

“I want to see her anyway. Is she upstairs?” Mike went to the staircase and looked up to the second floor, his hand on the banister.

“Yes, she is.”

Bob came up, his topcoat off. “Mike, why don’t you eat, then go see her. She’s not going anywhere.” He loosened his tie, making deep wrinkles in his neck skin. “How about it, huh? Come in the kitchen. Danielle made turkey chili.”

“I made it the way you like it,” Danielle added gently. “I have shredded cheddar. Eat first, then go see her. You don’t want to upset her.”

“Okay.” Mike didn’t want Emily to see him such a mess. He was supposed to be a father, not a bowl of Jell-O.

“Here, come with me.” Danielle took his elbow. “People have been dropping off casseroles and pies, too. When was the last time you had a good meal?”

“I don’t know.” Mike let her steer him into the kitchen, which smelled of spicy chili, but he had no appetite.

“Go, sit down, please.” Danielle gestured at a pine table with long benches instead of chairs, which reminded him of the mess hall at Bagram. It was set for dinner and stood against a wall of windows. He checked outside reflexively, but they were safe. Snow shimmered in an encrusted carpet, and frosted evergreens were illuminated by spotlights. In Afghanistan, they would say the house needed light security, making itself a target from the air.

“The house is really nice,” Mike said, trying to get normal.

“Thanks.” Danielle crossed to the stove, which was huge and shiny, of black enamel. Walnut cabinets and glossy black granite countertops ringed the huge kitchen. “It was a labor of love.”

“Ha.” Bob pulled out the bench and sat down opposite Mike. “By love she means money.”

“Bob, ahem, I earn money, too, remember?” Danielle shook her head, without rancor. She was a graduate of Penn Law School, but had never practiced and worked as the office administrator at Bob’s law firm, The Ridgeway Group.

“Are those Emily’s toys?” Mike gestured at the family room, which had a custom entertainment center, tan sectional furniture, and a beige carpet covered with toys, a playpen, and a baby swing.

“Yes.” Bob grunted. “The girls have taken over my man cave.”

“Bob, really?” Danielle came over with a cup of coffee and set it down in front of Mike. “Here we go, with Half & Half.”

“Thanks.” Mike didn’t take his coffee that way anymore, but didn’t say so. He kept looking at the toys, which he didn’t recognize, though he’d gone with Chloe to Toys R Us before he was deployed. It was their big shopping trip with a newborn Emily, who slept through the whole store. Still they’d had a blast, going through the aisles.

We need diapers,
Chloe had said, pulling him away from the Barbie cars.

But this is automotive excellence. When can we get her one of these?

“You okay, Mike?” Danielle asked, from the stove.

“Fine.” Mike turned from the toys, his heart aching. “Danielle, what happened to Chloe? Do you have the details?”

“Oh, honey.” Danielle waved him off with a wooden spoon. “Let’s talk after. Dinner’s ready now.”

“No, tell me. Please.” Mike braced himself. “I want to know everything. Who found her? Did you?”

“Now, you want to talk?”

“Yes. Please?”

“Okay.” Danielle set the spoon on a ceramic rest, lowered the heat, and came over, sitting next to Bob. Her lower lip puckered, and she laced her fingers together in front of her, a smallish bony fist on the table. “I found her. I was out with the baby for the day, to give Chloe a break. I thought it would be nice if you and Chloe got a present from Emily. We got Chloe an ornament, and you a book.”

Mike tried to listen without emotion. He didn’t want to think about the ornament Chloe would never get, picked out by their baby. He felt broken and woozy. He sipped his coffee, which didn’t taste like anything but heat. His hand was shaking.

“The police think that Chloe cut herself on a knife, then hit her head on the counter when she fell.” Danielle bit her lip. “You know she fainted when she saw blood.”

“So it was an accident, with a knife.” Mike knew that much. He wanted to know more, everything.

“Yes. It was on her forearm. I didn’t look. She was in the entrance hall, face down. They think she was trying to get to the door.” Danielle’s eyes glistened, and Bob put his arm around her. “They think she knocked herself unconscious, and when I came home that night with the baby, I found her.”

Mike squeezed the mug. He wanted to crush it. He wanted to drive shards into his palms.

“I called 911, and while I was waiting for them I called Bob.” Danielle looked down at her knotted fingers. “They came quickly, in fifteen minutes, but she … wasn’t alive when I found her.”

Mike didn’t understand. He had so many questions, all of them coming at once. “Why didn’t she call 911 when she woke up?”

“She was unconscious for a long time.”

“How long?”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” Mike shook his head. “Why didn’t she call 911? She wouldn’t have let herself bleed out.” A thought occurred to him, for the first time. “It wasn’t
intentional,
was it?”

“No, no, not at all, nothing like that.” Danielle’s pained blue eyes shifted to Bob. “Honey, you tell him.”

Bob turned to Mike, his face falling into somber lines. “She’d been drinking. I saw a vodka bottle on the counter. She was probably passed out for hours. We figure that by the time she woke up, it was too late to call for help.”

“
What?
” Mike felt as if he’d been slapped in the face. He recoiled, astounded. “That’s not possible. Chloe had wine at dinner, one or two glasses, that was it.”

“Mike, she was drunk.”

“No,” Mike shot back, shocked. “That’s not true. She never gets drunk. I’ve
never
seen her drunk! She hardly even drinks hard liquor.”

“I know, not usually, but this time, she—”

“Stop it!
Stop!
” Mike found himself on his feet, jumping up, bumping the table with his thighs, jolting the dishes and glasses.

Danielle gasped, cowering. “Mike!”

Bob raised his hands, palms up. “Relax, Mike. I know, I didn’t believe it either.”

“I
don’t
believe it! I
don’t
! You’re wrong! She wasn’t
drunk
!”

Bob shook his head. “We’d suspected it for a while. Danielle smelled it on her breath once—”

“Stop it!” Mike kicked the bench savagely, a display of violence he’d never shown. “Shut up!”

Bob rose, his hands up, as if he were fending off a wild animal. “Mike, you need to calm down.”

“Don’t tell me what I need!” Mike exploded. He didn’t recognize himself. It was his soul, screaming. “I know what I need! I need my
wife
!”

Bob looked terrified and Danielle recoiled, as if Mike had detonated a grenade in their kitchen, but he still couldn’t stop himself, anguished.

“What happened to Chloe? I love her! I
love her
!”

“I loved her, too.” Danielle’s lower lip quivered. “She was my little sister, my only sister. I looked out for her since day one.”

“Aw, sweetheart.” Bob sat down and put his arm around her again, and Danielle burst into tears.

“I’m sorry,” Mike said, agonized. They didn’t deserve this, they were mourning, too. Suddenly he knew what he wanted to do.

He turned away, left the kitchen, and lumbered down the hallway.

Chapter Five

Mike opened the door and knew he’d picked the right bedroom by the slight humidity of the air and the faint scent of baby lotion. He closed the door and walked to the crib, adjusting to the darkness. He wasn’t going to wake Emily up. He just wanted to see her with his own eyes, to know she was alive. To prove to himself that not everything he loved could be taken from him, while his back was turned.

He hung over the rail and looked inside the crib, feeling a sort of awe at the sight. Emily lay on her back, wearing a fuzzy blue sleeper, and her head was to the side. Her arms were flung backwards, bent at the elbows, with her hands up, her fingers curled. She was so still he wasn’t even sure she was breathing, so he held his hand near her mouth and felt the soft warmth of her respiration, gentle beyond belief.

He flashed on the day they’d brought her home from the hospital. He’d been so nervous, fumbling to buckle her into the brand-new car seat, essentially a plastic bucket. She’d sagged forward, her head flopped so far onto her chest it alarmed even him, who should have known better. He’d driven home as carefully as he could, with one eye on the rearview.

Honey, this is amazing,
he’d said.
We have a baby!

There’s four of us now.
Chloe had grinned at him from the backseat.
The cat still counts. Jakey was our first child.

Mike let his gaze travel to Emily’s face, which was beautiful. She looked so much like Chloe, with her slim nose and slightly downturned lips, and her eyes were wide-set, too, like her mother’s. Faint blondish curls covered her head, the same color as Chloe’s hair, at least in the darkness, and there was a sweet curve to her forehead. Chloe’s forehead had been prominent, too.

I hate my forehead,
she always said.
It’s too big.

Mike had said,
It’s all those brains.

What are you angling for? Because you’re still going to the dry cleaners.

Mike smiled at the memory, so real it felt as if it were happening, right here. It was Emily, bringing Chloe back to him. The baby’s eyelids fluttered, and he could tell by the shape that her eyes were big, like Chloe’s. Chloe’s eyes were a light blue, but he couldn’t recall the blue of Emily’s. He tried to remember from the emailed photos, but the color on them was never exact. He knew the stark blue of the Afghan sky, the dark blue of venous blood, and the green-blue of a soldier’s tattoo, but he didn’t know the blue of his own child’s eyes. Chloe would know, but Chloe wasn’t here.