When She Came Home (11 page)

It was too easy to imagine.

“Whatever happened in Baghdad, you were hurt by it. I know that and if I could undo it, I would. But isn’t that enough? Do you want to spread the hurt around? Believe me, Jesus, I’m thinking of you and your family.”

She imagined herself standing at attention before the congressional committee, in uniform of course, her hand on her heart. The perfume and aftershave body smell of the overheated hearing room. The reporters in the well between the witness table and the senators’ podium, the microphones, the light reflecting off eyeglasses, wristwatches, camera lenses. She would not have to turn around to feel the eyes of the crowd in the room watching her. By a small stretch of her imagination she saw her father at home in his den, his attention riveted to the television screen as she swore to tell the truth.

Bunny was right. The risk was too great and the chance of doing good by testifying was almost infinitesimally small. Iraq teetered on the edge of a flat world. Blood was blood and dead was dead. Forever. She would not humiliate the corps or herself, and she would never, under any circumstances, do anything that would hurt her father.

T
hat night it was after eight when Frankie left the MCRD and walked to her car. The early dark was oddly quiet but she heard the rustle of hidden life in the huge palm trees. She didn’t want to know what kind of life, but there was no way to pretend it wasn’t up there skittering around. In the half quiet darkness, she heard the scrape of tiny claws from nest to nest, up and down the shingled trunk. From a power line a crow as black as ink watched her and she was tempted to call up to it, tell it to go away, leave her alone. Carrion crows were everywhere in Iraq.

She called Rick and told him she was going to the support group at Veterans’ Villa. He knew this was a big step for her and he said twice how proud he was. She wished he would not praise her. She wasn’t doing anything worthy and she did not intend to participate in the group. If Domino wasn’t there, she wouldn’t even hang around.

She parked in front of a hiring agency whose blue neon sign outlined a coyly posed nude and crossed the street. At
the entrance to Veterans’ Villa a notice directed her to a “closed” support group at the end of an arcade open on one side to a center patio. At the round tables the umbrellas had been drawn down and strapped and the chairs were tipped forward, balanced on two legs. In a corner two women sat on a bench talking quietly. As she passed near them they looked up briefly, took in her boots and cammies, and resumed their conversation. At the door Frankie put her hand on the knob and paused. She knew the women were watching, making up stories in their minds as to why she was there, fitting them into the lines and spaces of their own histories.

The long, narrow room was floored in vinyl, a gray marble design that could not conceal the wear of hundreds of pairs of boots. The walls were a similar nondescript color, but she smelled fresh paint. At one corner there was a bulletin board with nothing posted on it. Opposite a line of windows faced the street where Frankie’s car was parked. Off-white plastic vertical blinds laid stripes of blue neon across a dozen metal folding chairs arranged in the approximation of a circle. Faces turned and a dozen pairs of eyes stared at her.

She didn’t see Domino. One man, tall and very thin, raised his hand and beckoned her to join the group.

“Sorry. I must have the wrong room.”

She ducked back and closed the door. For a moment she stood, leaning against the building while she waited for her pulse to stop racing. She hurried along the covered
walkway, out, and across the street. Fumbling for her keys, she looked up the street and saw Domino’s van parked just inside an alley, almost out of sight. It hadn’t been there when Frankie went inside.

Domino had a pillow rolled between her neck and the car’s door. Frankie knocked on the window, startling her. Domino pressed a finger against her lips for quiet and carefully opened the van door and stepped out into the street. The door clicked softly as she closed it.

“Candy’s asleep,” she said. “We spent the whole day at the beach. She’s beat.”

“I’ve been looking all over for you.” Frankie hugged her. “And Glory’s been driving me bat-shit asking when she’ll see Candace again. Are you guys okay?”

“Been better.” Domino rubbed her upper arms.

“Let’s sit in my car. It’s chilly out here. We’ll be able to see the van.” They walked back to the Nissan and got in. Frankie turned on the heat. Domino faced her directly. Her right temple was bruised and swollen up into her hairline.

“Son of a bitch.”

Domino half smiled. “Easy, girl, don’t get your panties in a bind.”

“Did Jason do that? Have you seen a doctor?”

“What you don’t know about real life would fill an encyclopedia.” Domino laughed darkly. “There’s nothing I can do about this except live with it.”

Frankie had been bruised and battered playing soccer,
but there was always a doctor or EMT on the sidelines to check out any injury. She felt embarrassed and ridiculously pampered.

“How’d he find you?”

“I don’t know. Luck. Perseverance. Whatever. He showed up at Jack in the Box the other night and started in, making a scene, threatening me.”

“Tell me you called the police. A restraining order—”

“Frankie, a piece of paper from a judge won’t stop him if he wants to see me.”

“How did you ever hook up with a guy like that?”

“You don’t know him. You don’t know what he was like back in the day. In high school he was so incredibly gorgeous and sexy. And such a gentleman. There was a kind of elegance in him.” She shook her head as if she did not quite believe her own memory. “All the other guys were always trying to see how far they could get but he got me by just being sweet and mannerly. You know how it is.”

Actually Frankie didn’t know. Tall and big boned, with hands that could grab a soccer ball out of the air and heave it halfway down the field, she just wasn’t the kind of woman men hit on. Even on FOB Redline, where men vastly outnumbered women, the men of the Marine Corps had been generally respectful, soldiers a bit less so. There had been plenty of innuendo from both sides, of course. All the women got that and to survive life in the service they learned to ignore most of it. Some of the officers
knew she was the General’s daughter and challenged her to prove she was worthy of respect. This was how the game was played, being male or female made little difference. She earned respect by following orders, working hard, and by not asking or expecting favors on account of being a woman or a Byrne. It helped that leadership came naturally to her. Ironically her biggest problem had been other women. Many distrusted her at first, but she had played sports all her life and this was an advantage. She knew how to lead, but she was essentially a team player and when called upon to do so, she could follow. In time most of the women she’d met in the service came around to liking her well enough.

Unlike Frankie, Domino had been a sexual target all her life, starting at age ten with the older brother of her best friend. When it happened she hit him in the shin with a Rollerblade and he never troubled her again. But he paid her back by telling tales, giving her a rep she did not deserve but never entirely lived down. It was not surprising that she attracted attention, for she was beautiful in a dark-eyed, tangle-haired way. A very unlikely Lutheran from Kansas, Frankie always thought.

“If I call the police, they’ll find out Jason has a record and almost for sure, he’ll go to jail. Jail’s bad for him. It messes with his head. He’s always worse after they lock him up.”

Until she met Domino Frankie had thought that
divorce meant the end of love. Now she understood that sometimes it just meant survival.

“I wish you’d let me give you some money so you and Candace could get a place.”

“I told you, I don’t want to be indebted. Not to you or anyone.”

“It’d be a loan. And if you don’t pay me back, I promise I’ll send Guido after you. Think what a difference a couple of thousand dollars would make in your life. You could move somewhere Jason wouldn’t find you, where the cost of living isn’t so ridiculously high.”

“I’m not giving away what I want. Candace is going to grow up living near the beach.”

Frankie could not comprehend Domino’s resistance to help, the need she had to stand alone and go her own way, never mind how hard.

“Friends help each other.”

“If you don’t shut up, I’m outa here.” She sounded like she meant it.

The moment was briefly awkward but it passed.

“I went into the meeting,” Frankie said. “For about two seconds. I thought you’d be there.”

“Usually, yeah, but with Jason around, I didn’t want to leave Candy asleep in the van. There’s a guy inside, though, a friend of mine. I’m waiting for him.”

“What kind of friend?”

Domino laughed. “What’re you, my mother? He’s as old as my dad. He knows a woman who rents out rooms. She’s
picky though, wants to check me out. We’re going over to meet her.”

“So late? You really trust this guy? Does he have a phone you can borrow? Use it to call me.”

“I know men, Frankie. Dekker’s cool. Jason’s the one I have to worry about.”

G
lory said, “But what if I don’t want to play soccer?”

“It’s just an idea, honey.”

Frankie watched as her daughter clomped noisily to the top of the aluminum tip-and-roll bleachers set up at the edge of the soccer field. At the far end a pair of well-dressed women turned to see who was making so much noise. Frankie supposed they were mothers come to watch their daughters practice. She smiled and lifted her hand in greeting.

“Just because you were some kind of superstar—”

“That’s not the point. This isn’t about me.”

Glory made an
oh yeah
kind of sound and leaned against the bleacher back, her arms folded across her chest. Down on the field Gina Calvello was putting the senior school team, twenty or so girls in white tees and blue shorts, through speed drills. Gina had been in her last year at Arcadia when Frankie, only a sixth grader, had begun practicing with the senior school team. Gina and
her friends had resented her and for weeks made her life miserable until even they had to admit that she was just as good at the game as most of them despite her youth. Earlier in the week while Frankie was waiting for Glory after school, she’d seen Gina. They had reminisced a bit and Gina invited her to watch the team practice.

“She’s mean,” Glory said.

“Gina?”

“She’s a lesbian.”

“Glory! Where do you get that stuff?”

She shrugged.

“Maybe she is, maybe she isn’t. But it’s none of your business.” When had every conversation with Glory become a challenge? “Is that what you and your friends talk about? Sex?”

“I don’t have any friends. I just heard someone say it.”

“Do you even know what it means?”

“No. Sorta.”

Frankie took a deep breath. “Do you want me to explain?”

Glory made a face, squinting her eyes and wrinkling her nose. “Gross, Mom.”

She was, after all, only eight.

On the far end of the bleachers the two mothers were joined by another and a moment later two more. Each new arrival glanced up at Frankie and Glory. One of them could come up and introduced herself. Would it happen if she were not wearing camouflage fatigues?

“Can we go now?”

“We just got here.”

“They’re looking at you,” Glory said.

“They see the uniform, not me.”

“You’re wearing cammies! You look like you just got out of bed.”

“You know I work in these, we all do.”

“They can tell you’re a Marine.”

“So? What’s wrong with that?”

Glory sighed and rolled her eyes.

If this was what raising an eight-year-old was like, how would Frankie manage a teenager? Life was going too fast for her. She was like one of the girls on the field, sprinting as though her life depended on it.

“I’m bored.”

“Watch what’s going on. You might enjoy it.”

“They’re not playing a game.”

“Not yet, but they will.”

“I told you—”

“If you don’t want to play soccer, is there another sport that interests you? Basketball, maybe?”

“I’m not a giant like you, Mom.”

“What about volleyball then? Gina says they’ve got a good team here.”

“I don’t want to play on a team.”

“It’s fun. You learn to cooperate—”

“I already know how.”

“—and it’s a great way to make friends.”

“Is this about Colette? Is this about that?”

“Dad and I want you to have a good time in school, Glory. That’s all it’s about.”

“I wanna surf. Isn’t that a sport?”

“What about softball? I used to love—What’s the matter?”

Glory had dropped her head to her knees and appeared to be making herself as small as possible.

“It’s her.”

Three girls Glory’s age paraded in front of the bleachers, walking in the direction of the gathered mothers. The dark-haired girl in the middle was talking and the other two were listening. Frankie knew immediately that this was Colette.

“
Now
can we go?”

“It’s your right to sit up here and watch the practice. Just act like you don’t see them.”

“Colette’s sister’s one of the forwards. Her name’s Solange, but they call her Solli.”

“Is that why you don’t want to play?”

The three girls sat several seats higher than the mothers. The two on the outside leaned toward Colette, two fair heads and the dark one in the middle. Frankie heard them laughing.

“Ignore them.” Saying this, making it sound easy, Frankie knew it was anything but. The gossipy girls and their well-dressed mothers made her feel oversized and plain, just as she had felt when she was Glory’s age, before
she found her place in sports and music and study. She wanted to leave the soccer field almost as much as Glory, but it would look like a retreat, as if they’d been intimidated into leaving. Frankie wouldn’t give the girls and their mothers that satisfaction. So they were stuck.