Page 57 of Issued

Jim clears his throat. “Don’t get long to talk, but I want to apologize. You were right, and I’m sorry. You should have been the first person I told about being cleared to return to active duty.”

I grip the phone tightly in my hand and curl up in the window seat and close my eyes. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have flown off the handle like that, or run away. We can hash it out when you get home? Come up with a plan to do better next time?”

“Yeah. I’d like that. And I miss you too.”

My heart warms and hope unfurls inside me. Right up until I hear Tony’s voice in the background.

“Oh baby, I miss you too,” he yells, in a high falsetto. “Why don’t you tell her the little souvenir you’ve got planned for her... that’ll really make her—”

He’s cut off by some loud crashing sound. “Jim?” No response. “Jim?”

“I’m here.”

My eyes narrow as my husband returns to the line, sounding a little out of breath. “What’s going on over there?”

“The usual. Trying to beat some sense into Martinez.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Tony yells in the background.

I roll my eyes and smile at their antics. “So, what’s this about a souvenir?”

There’s a deeper muffled voice in the background now. “Uh, hang on a sec.” About five seconds pass before Jim returns to the line. “Sorry, but gotta go now.”

Disappointment dulls my smile, but I swallow it, knowing better than to burden Jim with the negative emotion. He’d called. That’s what matters. I’m grateful for what I can get. “See you when you get back.”

“Bye, Taya.”

The line goes dead, so I set my phone down and stare out the window. I don’t move again until the doorbell rings. I spring up and head to the front door, sighing with relief at the sight of Marge. She gives me a quick hug before following me into the kitchen.

I plop down into the chair next to Marge and let out a heartfelt sigh. Marge rests her hand on top of mine. “I understand how you feel. Nothing is worse for me than when Papa Bear is out of the house, and it doesn’t get any easier.”

“You call him Papa Bear?” The moniker fits, but it’s jarring to hear someone as imposing as Bear being referred to like a character from a children’s book.

Marge grins. “Only behind his back.”

I laugh, and it is much needed. Jim’s schedule is crazy. He can be gone at base for hours or days at a time with no consistency. But I wasn’t prepared for him to be gone in the blink of an eye without warning, and not know where he was going. Between the ride home from the park to Jim walking into the house, he’d gotten orders to leave for training. He barely had time to get ready. He couldn’t tell me exactly when he’d be back, only that it would be roughly two weeks, but could be extended.

And we had no time to discuss what happened. No processing what it all meant.

Marge takes a sip of her tea, then places it back down on the counter of the island. “I must say the house looks more homey than the last time I was in it. Jim has always asked me to stop by and check on things when the team is deployed.”

My toes curl and uncurl in my sneakers as if rubbing them against the inner soles would provide me with comfort. “Is it always going to be like this? Them taking off without warning?”

Marge sighs, her silence speaking volumes.

At least I’m not alone in this. While I have Inara, she doesn’t really understand what I’m going through. Thank God for Marge. Having someone who’s gone through this and is still going through it makes the scenario a bit more bearable. But I can’t even imagine how it must be for her daughter. “How’s Leslie?”

Marge leans back in her chair. “She’s with Lucas’s ex-wife. Leslie and their son are friends. Plus, she got bored at home without her usual targets to play with. Thank God, Lucas remained friendly with his ex-wife; otherwise, I have no idea what I’d do with Leslie sometimes.”

I chuckle. “No piggybacks from Mommy?”

Marge sips her tea. “Are you kidding? My piggybacks are the preschooler’s equivalent of a declaration of war. I’m too slow, too short, and too out of shape. Last time I offered, she fell to the ground and played dead until I went away.”

I have to cover my mouth to stifle my bark of laughter. “That’s one way of getting out of social obligations. Maybe I’ll give it a try.”

“It figures you’d approve. After all, your husband is the one who taught her how to play possum.”

Imagining Jim, large and expressionless, teaching four-year-old Leslie to drop dead to avoid confrontation has me doubling over. He was so good with her that day at Bear and Marge’s barbecue. He’d probably make an amazing father one day. My cheeks heat at the thought.

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