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  As he left Jay’s office building that afternoon, he thought of the one burdensome detail in his past that he had not shared with his lawyer-friend. If he should not return from Iraq, what would happen to the girl? Where was she, anyway?

  As he walked to his car in the parking lot adjacent to the office building, he remembered walking out of the hospital after his daughter’s birth. He had just signed the papers that the social worker of the adoption agency had given him, relinquishing all rights and responsibilities to said child. What else could he have done? At the time he had only been eighteen, a college freshman, and had neither the money nor the inclination to support a wife and child. Both he and the girl (what was her name . . . Tiomara something) had agreed to put the child up for adoption. Who knew that the consequences of one sexual experience would be a child, another human being? He hoped Elyse would never find out about this child.

  And only last week, again, Elyse had broached the subject of starting a family.

  “I’m cutting it close, you know, Barry. My biological clock is ticking. On my next birthday I’ll be thirty-one.”

  “Oh, honey, don’t worry, we’ve got plenty of time,” had been his reply, hoping he was right. “We’ve got the land to build our dream house on, and we’re right on track for our future.”

  He had tried to sound convincing, but now the news he would share with her tonight would blow everything to hell. He had gambled on their future and he had lost.

  * * *

  Elyse loved to cook. She was good at it, and Barry was appreciative of her culinary skills. He had told her so many times.

  “Girl, you sure know how to work those pots and pans. Julia Child better watch out. Here comes Leesy!”

  She had left The Kwanzaa Book and Gift Shop at five that day. Emerald Stokes, her partner-friend, would close the store at nine that evening. It would be Elyse’s responsibility to open the next morning at ten. They had agreed as co-owners to alternate days of openings and closings. So far the system had worked well for each of them.

  Because she had the time and because it was an unusually warm day, she had decided to prepare a lobster salad for dinner. She shopped at a local fish market on her way home to buy fresh lobster meat, then ran into a nearby fresh fruit and vegetable store to get a head of lettuce and some tomatoes. From the deli counter of the store she plucked a fresh loaf of the French bread her husband loved.

  She hummed to herself as she worked in her small but adequate kitchen. She was happy with her life. That happiness could only be increased when she and Barry had a child. He was a wonderful husband. He loved her, and she loved him. He was truly the other half that made her whole. So far, life was good and she was grateful. Maybe tonight her dream of a child . . . who knew?

  She heard the key turn in the door lock. Barry was home. She called out, “You’re right on time. Garlic bread’s about to go into the oven.”

  She put the prepared bread into the microwave oven and set the timer, then turned to greet her husband.

  It was his drawn and downcast face, his eyes dark with despair, that alerted her. Something was terribly wrong. She gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. She had never seen him look so awful.

  “Barry! What is it? What’s wrong?”

  She moved toward him. He stopped her forward momentum with an extended hand, as if he could not bear to have her come close.

  Stunned and horrified by her husband’s obvious distress, Elyse backed away from him as if he had become a stranger.

  Straining, reluctant to release the words, he struggled to speak.

  “My, my . . . my unit’s been called up.”

  “Called up? Called up?”

  “To Iraq. Medical unit needed.”

  The words dropped from his trembling lips. Then they rushed into each other’s arms. Their eyes flooded with mingling tears that streamed down their stricken faces as they clung together. The microwave timer rang, indicating that the bread was ready to be removed. It signaled the end of everything else as well.

  It was a night neither would ever forget.

  Trembling, shaken, bewildered, by her husband’s news, Elyse clung to Barry as he tried to reassure her. He held her close, his voice husky with emotion.

  “Leese, honey, it’s . . . it’s going to be all right. Remember . . . I’ll be stationed at the base hospital . . . won’t be close to enemy fire. And my deployment is only for eighteen months. I’ll be home before you know it.”

  “Barry, I can’t make it without you,” she sobbed into his chest. “I know I can’t. Oh, Barry . . .”

  “Yes, you can. I know you can. You’re a strong woman . . .”

  “Not without you,” she whispered, clinging to him as if she were drowning in despair.

  Somehow they made their way into their bedroom, the evening meal forgotten.

  “When . . . when . . . do you have to leave?” she asked him.

  “In a month.”

  “That soon?”

  “Just enough time to get my paperwork in order, important stuff, legal documents, you know. But every person in the military has to do that, Leese.”

  “I can’t stand it! It’s awful!”

  “I signed up, honey, and I have to go. But I promise I’ll be back. I’ll be safe, not in harm’s way. Trust me.”

  He threw his jacket on the bench at the foot of their bed, loosened his tie and took off his shirt. He lay down next to his wife, whose tear-stained face nearly broke his heart. What could he say? How could he comfort her? The life he had envisioned with the love of his life was spinning out of his control.

  Elyse’s sobs had turned into breathless hiccups and Barry went to the kitchen for a glass of water for her. When he returned, she was undressed and in bed, the staccato breaths racking her whole body.

  “Here, hon, drink this.”

  “Thanks.”

  With a trembling hand she accepted the drink, sipping the water slowly as the spasms continued to shake her. “Better?” he said as she finished.

  “Yes, I . . . I think so.”

  Chapter 1

  Elyse’s morning shower revived her somewhat. She had suffered through another one of the sleepless nights that had tormented her since her husband had been deployed in Iraq for over a year now as a member of the National Guard’s Fifth Medical Unit.

  “Elyse, honey, don’t worry,” he had tried to reassure her, “I’ll be safe. Well behind any military action, no enemy fire. As a pharmacist, I’ll be safe. Be home before you know it.”

  But oh, how she missed him. After three years of marriage, living alone without Barry was taking its toll on her. As she toweled her body she could see how much weight she had lost. Her ribs were more starkly outlined than ever before, and her cheeks seemed to have deeper hollows. Even her skin coloring had changed from its naturally soft brown blush to a sallow, washed-out appearance. Barry Marshall had always said that it was her delicate, rosy-brown smooth skin that had attracted him to Elyse in the first place.

  “When I saw you walk into the dining room at college, I said to myself, ‘Bro, you’ve got to meet that one and quick, too!’ ”

  Later he told her that it was not only her stunning looks but the way she walked. “Tall and self-assured, like an African queen,” he’d said.

  As she applied her favorite lotion to her skin, she wondered what Barry would say if he could see her now. Probably fuss at her for letting herself get into such a sorry state. Thank God for the e-mail he’d sent her last week with the welcome news that in two more months he would be home. She marked off the days on her kitchen calendar each morning.

  She draped the damp towel over the shower rod, then went into her bedroom closet to decide what to wear. Still thinking of her husband, she selected her blue velour pantsuit because Barry always had said he loved her in blue.

  As she dressed she prayed silently, God, keep my husband safe and bring him home to me.

  She went into the kitchen, made a quick breakfast for herself o
f coffee, dry toast and orange juice. After she finished eating, she rinsed out her coffee mug and juice glass and turned them over to dry on the kitchen counter. She picked up a black marker from the “catch-all” tray on the counter and marked an X on the date. It was Monday, August eighth, the anniversary of the atom bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. She shivered as she remembered.

  She was glad that her store, her pride and joy, was doing so well that she didn’t have to worry about it. Thank God for Emerald Stokes, her friend and partner, who always kept things in order. Elyse’s concerns were few, especially when it came to the day-to-day routine of running the store. Ever since she was a small child she had dreamed of owning her own business, and with her inheritance from her paternal grandmother, Margaret Joyce, she had opened The Kwanzaa Book and Gift Shop. In her dreams she imagined owning stores in other major cities if her enterprise in Boston proved successful. It didn’t hurt a bit, either, that her MBA degree was from the Harvard Business School. If only Barry would get home safely.

  Before leaving her condominium townhouse, she checked her e-mail. There was the usual overabundance of silly, inane jokes and messages that she had neither the time nor the inclination to bother reading. There was nothing from her husband. Well, she thought, no news is good news. At least she hoped so.

  She thought of how glad she was that Barry and she had already decided to live in a small town south of Boston. The plot of land they had acquired was located on the Atlantic Coast. The area provided summer getaways for the Irish families from South Boston. Many folks called it the Irish Riviera. It would take her only forty minutes to reach her store. She was glad of that.

  When she arrived at the store Emerald Stokes was already at her desk in the back room. The smell of freshly brewed coffee greeted her, along with Emerald’s cheery voice.

  “Just in time!” She waved her hand in a welcoming gesture. “The blueberry muffins are to die for. And don’t you dare tell me, with your skinny self, that you can’t eat at least one!”

  “Well, maybe one. Only had juice, coffee and dry toast this morning,” Elyse admitted.

  “See that!” Emerald scrambled out of her chair, went to the rear of the small office, popped a muffin into the microwave and returned two minutes later with a steaming cup of coffee and a fragrant warm muffin on a paper plate.

  “There you go. Have at it, kiddo!”

  She placed the items on Elyse’s desk and returned to her own desk.

  Emerald’s short stature contrasted with Elyse’s tall, slender figure, but with her feisty attitude she could hold her own with anyone. Her I may be short, but oh my, don’t mess with me approach was apparent in her dealings with people.

  Elyse always jokingly told folks, “Whenever Emerald starts a phrase with ‘Now let me tell you one thing,’ the listener had better be aware because the girl means business.”

  However, she was honest, fair and hardworking, qualities that a budding entrepreneur appreciated. Elyse knew how much she needed Emerald’s support. She was more than a business partner. She was a valued friend and confidant.

  Silently, Elyse munched on her muffin. Her sad face was not lost on her companion.

  “No news from Barry this morning, right?”

  “Right. No news.”

  Elyse picked up her coffee dup, took a tentative sip of the hot brew and sighed deeply. Emerald became more aware of her friend’s pain and responded briskly.

  “Girl, pull yourself together. The only thing your husband wants is to find you safe and healthy when he gets back home. Sittin’ around worryin’, getting thin as a rail isn’t goin’ to cut it! And besides, you’ve got this business to run!”

  “I know you’re right, Em. I’ve got plenty to do, check inventory, and I have a new list of books to order . . .”

  “Well, there you go. Some of that I can do for you. ”

  “That would help me a lot because I really want to check into that shipment of African stuff from Benin. I’d like to get an ad together. Christmas is only a month away and,” she tapped her fingers on the desk, “I still would like to fit in one day for the book fair.”

  “You mean the one in Atlanta?”

  “Yes, that’s the one.”

  “It’s usually the first weekend in December, if I remember. Have you made reservations?”

  “I have, and I plan to visit my brother and his wife while I’m there.”

  “Sounds like a good idea to me. A change of scenery might do you good, Elyse.”

  “Maybe,” Elyse agreed.

  “Just let me know what you would like to have me do. Why not make a list? That way we can check off each task as completed.”

  “Good idea, Em. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Don’t worry. I aim to stick around.”

  “Good, because I sure would be lost without you, sister-girl.”

  She took one last sip of her coffee, pushed aside the half-eaten muffin and rose to her feet.

  Emerald noticed the abandoned muffin but decided not to badger Elyse about her weight loss. She already had plans for a nutritious lunch. She planned to do everything possible to help Elyse. Not only did she care a great deal about her partner, she had a sizeable investment in The Kwanzaa Book and Gift Shop.

  Emerald was proud of the shop, too. It was her idea to have a pair of rocking chairs plus a colorful rag rug in the corner of the store near the display of children’s books. Mothers, and fathers, too, were delighted to sit and read to their children. An easel with unlined art paper and a box of crayons were available for children who wished to display budding artistic talents. Emerald selected and framed exceptional ones and presented them to extremely delighted parents.

  “Good for business, don’t you know,” she told Elyse. “I know, more than one way . . .”

  “To skin a cat,” Emerald added with a knowing grin.

  Chapter 2

  Elyse went into a small neat and tidy room at the rear of the store that she used as her office.

  She looked at her husband’s picture on her desk, a small photo of him that she had taken when they went on vacation in Barbados.

  He was wearing an open-necked jersey, white with short sleeves that matched his white tennis shorts, and holding his tennis racket. The wide grin on his handsome brown face let the viewer know this man was ready for a good, hard game. His forehead was broad, his hair blocking eyes so dark that they seemed to see everything. His tall, well-proportioned body was that of a strong athlete. Barry had met, fallen in love with and married Elyse Joyce within three months of meeting her.

  “Couldn’t help myself,” he’d said many times to Elyse. “When I saw you, tall, stately and regal as a queen, there was never a doubt in my mind that I’d found the love of my life! Don’t you ever forget, my dearest one, life without you would have no meaning, and I mean that!”

  Elyse heard her husband’s voice in her mind echoing the phrase that meant so much to her, that comforted her in his absence. Their plans, now delayed, had been to build a house and start a family. So far, all they had was the land. Her hope for a baby had not materialized, despite their frantic coupling that fateful night.

  She placed her pocketbook in the lower right-hand drawer of her desk, booted up her computer and opened her e-mail. Just maybe she’d find a message from her husband. Just maybe.

  Quickly scanning the list of messages, she found none from Barry. She deleted most of the mail as it consisted of inanities. As she did so she thought of the thousands of miles that separated her from the man she loved and how much it meant to her to receive his messages, if only a few words . . . a tenuous lifeline at best, but it was all she had.

  Sighing deeply, she turned her attention to the advertisement she had been working on for the upcoming holiday season. Her small office was her sanctuary. It was here that she worked, explored and searched for creative ways to improve her shop.

  This year she thought she might offer to present the week-long festival of Kwanza
a at her store. That should bring in new customers, especially those parents anxious to impart African culture to their offspring.

  She decided the advertisement should appeal to their cultural pride. She would frame the ad in the popular colors of Kente cloth, sure to catch the reader’s eye.

  She took out a large sheet of white paper and began to work. After a few minutes she turned to her computer and began to design her advertisement. She worked diligently for over an hour, pleased with her efforts. She could hear her husband’s voice, almost as if he were standing over her shoulder.

  “Hey, hey, knew what I was doing when I married you! You’re one smart sister!”

  She could feel the warmth of his arms around her, but she shuddered with the knowledge that the man she loved, missed with almost unbearable pain, was thousands of miles away.

  It seemed to her that she could smell Barry’s aftershave lotion, the warm spicy fragrance that she loved. A friend of hers, Margaret Anderson, who’d been widowed a few months ago, told her that very often she noticed the scent of her husband’s aftershave around her, although she’d thrown away all of his shaving toiletries.

  “I think it’s in your memory somehow, and some stimulus brings it back. I really believe it means how close we were, how much we loved each other,” Margaret had admitted, adding in a sad voice, “It’s like a reminder our love will always be there.”

  As Elyse sat at her desk she began to massage the back of her neck, and as she did so the memory of their last night together rose up in her mind. It had been months ago, a night of pure magic, and she remembered it vividly.

  Just the week before Barry had gone over all the final paperwork.

  “My will, the paperwork for the property we bought, my birth certificate, our marriage license, all of my military papers are in this packet,” he told her, pointing to a large brown envelope. “Everything you would need. But I promise I will be back, not to worry.”

  But she did worry despite Barry’s reassurances.

  Their last night together had been bittersweet, with each of them trying to be brave and optimistic.