pressed against my chest, the weight of it nearly unbearable.
“Like you said, he could have been attempting to write while traveling,” Emily said, seeming to sense my anxiety. “Or it could be one of the other people you mentioned. Didn’t you say he would be traveling with an Iraqi man and his family?”
“No, it’s Mark who’s injured,” I said with certainty. “It has to be Mark.” I pressed my fingertips to my mouth. In that instant I knew beyond a doubt it was him. He’d been gravely hurt and…this was his way of telling me he was in bad shape. He’d mailed the card in order to make sure I’d follow through on my promise.
Emily reached across the space between our two chairs and gave my arm a gentle squeeze. “Tell me about him.”
It took me a few moments to pull myself out of the dread that weighed down my heart. I couldn’t think of Mark injured and in terrible pain, otherwise I’d quietly go insane.
“What do you want to know?” I asked, still struggling within myself.
“What would you like to tell me?”
I had to think how best to describe our relationship, and I briefly closed my eyes. “Do you remember the first day you arrived and I told you the inn was a place of healing?”
“Yes.”
I heard the hesitation in her voice, as if she expected me to pry into her personal life. That wasn’t my intention.
“I know this from personal experience. I believe I told you I purchased the inn only a few months after my husband was killed in Afghanistan.”
“It must have been a terrible time for you.”
“It was. I know it sounds theatrical to say Paul spoke to me that first night. Shortly after I’d hired Mark to build me the sign for the inn. I don’t mind telling you he was a real pain, cantankerous and unfriendly. As time progressed, he became important to me for more than all the projects I’d hired him to do. Little by little, we found ourselves spending time together, becoming friends, although we often butted heads.”
Emily nodded, as if she understood the route our awkward relationship had taken.
“I believe Paul sent him to me in the same way he did Rover.”
My rescue dog was never far from my side. On hearing his name, Rover raised his head. I leaned over and scratched his ears.
“What happened?” Emily asked. “What made Mark decide to return to Iraq?”
I explained as best I could, and when I finished I added, “When Mark left me without giving me any details, I decided to consider him dead. For my own sanity, I had to.” I explained that I’d been left in limbo for a year before Paul’s remains were found and identified. I refused to put myself through the hell of not knowing again.
Emily continued to study me. “There’s got to be more to Mark getting into Iraq than you’re telling me.”
Amazingly, I’d never asked myself that question. “How do you mean?”
“Well, for one thing, Mark can’t simply bring Ibrahim and his family into the States without some sort of visa. That would need to have been arranged long before he left.”
“You’re right.” It shocked me that I hadn’t considered this earlier. I don’t know where my head was. What Emily said only made sense; I’d been trapped in fear and hadn’t allowed myself to think beyond the consequences of Mark risking his life.
“One or more government agencies must have been involved, whether he went rogue or not,” Emily continued.
I sat there stunned, wanting to slap myself for not considering this sooner. Clearly my emotions had clouded my thinking.
“Mark left the country of his own volition,” I explained. That was my understanding, although now that I thought about it, no one had specifically told me that. “As far as I know, the army didn’t sanction any part of this.”
“They must know about it,” Emily insisted. “Come on, Jo Marie, think this through. Someone knows something. The army? The CIA? Your guess is as good as mine.”
Was that really possible? This was one of those epiphany moments. Of course, Mark had help. While he might have gone into Iraq completely alone, surely he’d gotten some form of government assistance.
Emily set her mug aside and leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees. “I can almost see your mind churning. What are you thinking?”
“I…I don’t know what to think.”
“Isn’t there someone you can ask? Some connection with the military. Your husband was army, right?”
“Airborne Ranger.” The first