Bring Me Home for Christmas - By Robyn Carr Page 0,30
belonged, I felt like I was in jail.”
“You could’ve answered my emails. You could’ve written. You could’ve—”
“Should have,” he corrected. “You can say it. I knew right away I should have been in touch, but I didn’t have the guts. After I’d been out of touch for months, I just wanted to finish my commitment, get out of the Corps and go home so I could look you in the eye and try to explain. I didn’t want to write a letter and ask you to forgive me and then wait for me. Becca, what made perfect sense to me when I was signing up for the second time made no sense at all when I got to Afghanistan. Seriously, it was a bad idea. It cost me. When I got back to you, I was too late.”
“What would you have explained?” she tossed out into the darkness. After all, when he did finally show up, she hadn’t given him a second of her attention. She had been so angry, it had been hard not to throw things!
But he didn’t answer. They both just lay in their respective beds. Then there was a little movement from his side of the room and she saw his shadow, then his silhouette as he leaned over her. He gently sat on the edge of her bed. He brushed away the strands of hair that had escaped her braid. “When I decided to go back in the Corps, I’d just learned something that left me really confused.”
“What, Denny?”
He took a breath. “Right before my mom died, she told me my dad wasn’t really my dad. My real father was some other guy she hadn’t seen or heard from in over twenty years. Then she died. For some reason, that news messed me up, made me feel more orphaned than ever. I couldn’t believe how confused I felt. How alone I was.”
She could see him shrug in the darkness.
“Because of the way I felt when I was in the Corps with Big Richie and the boys, I just went back to the recruiter and signed up and took the oath.”
“But what about me?” she asked in a whisper. “Did you feel alone even though you had me?”
“You were all I had—I didn’t have anyone but you. But you were stretched kinda thin, babe. You had a family, a sorority, a college, a surfing team, a lot of friends…and you lived and went to school in another city. I had to have something I could attach to, something bigger than me, something that felt important. I really needed to be needed. That’s one thing about the Marine Corps—they can make you feel like you’re doing something important.” He laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “Talk about feeling needed…”
“You know, if you’d just told me that before…”
“I had a real hard time making any sense to myself, much less someone else. Then when I got orders for Afghanistan, I couldn’t let you go through what I just went through burying my mom. I couldn’t think about you missing me or being lonely or, worst case, being grief stricken. So I talked myself into the idea that we’d break up for a year. I didn’t like the idea but I figured if you had your freedom, even went out with a few guys, I could live with that if it kept you safe from being all ripped up about me. What I didn’t figure on was you being so furious at the whole idea you’d never want to see me again.”
“I didn’t say that,” she said. “I never said that!”
“Not before I left. But after I got back.”
“Well, by then I was that furious. I’d just spent the whole year you were in Afghanistan staying up all night, every night, watching news reports on the war. I’d written you and emailed you and…”
“I didn’t have internet access very often, but I still have the letters. By the time I was back in the States, I had to work through a couple of injuries before I could get away so I could talk to you face-to-face, to try to explain.”
“You waited too long,” she said, shaking her head.
“I know, Becca. I never said you had any fault in it. I was completely screwed up. I made so many mistakes. I’m really sorry I hurt you. It’s no excuse, but I was twenty-two. And I’d barely gotten back from Iraq when my mom took a turn for the worse.