Sherryl Woods - Seaview Inn

He’d lost patience with her then. “Plenty of other military families are forced to do exactly that,” he’d told her. “Fortunately, we have a significant amount of money in savings and I’ll work it out with Brad that a percentage of the money from the practice will continue to provide for you and the kids while I’m gone. Come on, Lisa. You’re hardly going to starve and you know it. This is something I have to do. I have medical skill that’s badly needed over there.”

“And that’s more important than your family?” she’d demanded angrily.

“Not more important,” he’d said. “But sometimes you just have to do what you know in your heart is the right thing. If I can help to save just one kid’s leg so he’ll be able to walk again, then I have to do this.”

He’d seen in her eyes that she just didn’t get it. Maybe no wife would, especially when he was volunteering to put himself in harm’s way. He’d only known that it was where he needed to be, what he had to do.

Though she’d eventually resigned herself to his decision, she’d been no happier about it by the time he left. She’d pulled out every stop, heaped on every bit of guilt she could think of, and when the day of departure had come, she’d refused to see him off. He’d said goodbye to her and his kids at home. There’d been no one waving a flag or blowing him kisses when he’d finally taken off. He’d tried not to let it hurt, but it had.

Once he was in Iraq, though, he hadn’t had time for regret. He’d barely had time to sleep. The days flew by in a haze of misery and pain, too many soldiers, too many hours standing over an operating table, his back aching, his eyes blurring from exhaustion.

It was the successes that kept him going, and the e-mails from home. Lisa was good about that, at least, and so were the kids. As young as they were—Nate barely in kindergarten, Gracie only in second grade—they still managed to write, “I miss you, Daddy.” And every so often a package would arrive with home-baked cookies, photos of the birthday party he’d missed and drawings in crayon. The drawings went on the wall by the calendar on which he was marking off the days until he saw them all again.

“Doc, there’s another chopper setting down,” Kenny Franklin told him. “The OR’s set up. You ready?”

Luke tore his gaze away from the latest picture of his kids. “I’m on my way,” he told the young medic, already on his feet. He cast one last look at the snapshot, grinning at Nate’s gap-toothed smile. He’d gotten a whole dollar from the tooth fairy, he’d told Luke in an e-mail.

He thought about that a few minutes later when he was examining the soldier whose face had been sliced to ribbons by the same mine that had ripped off part of his leg. Nate’s smile would be whole in no time at all, the missing tooth replaced by another one. The boy on the table in front of him, not yet nineteen, according to his records, wouldn’t be that lucky. He’d be lucky to live. Only a decade or so older than Luke’s little girl, and this boy had put his life on the line for his country.

Luke had to steel himself against the tide of dismay washing over him as he snapped out orders and made his first incision. An hour later, it was over. The kid was dead. He’d lost too much blood and they hadn’t been able to seal off all the bleeders fast enough.

“Sometimes there’s nothing you can do, Doc,” Kenny said.

“Yeah, I know,” Luke responded. “That doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck.”

On days like this it was hard to remember that he’d come here to save lives. It was hard, in fact, to remember why he’d left his home, his family, his life for this. If he thought about the devastation waiting for some family back home, if he thought about any of it, he wouldn’t be able to function. All he could do was head back to his quarters and try to snatch a couple of hours of sleep before the next transport came in.

* * *

“Luke!”

The sound of Grandma Jenny’s voice snapped him back to the present.

“Luke, are you okay? You’re pale as a ghost. Sit down for a minute and I’ll get you something to drink.”

“I’m fine,” he said, then realized he was standing over a chicken with a knife in his hand. “I’ll just finish cutting this chicken up for you.”

“I can do that,” she said, nudging him aside. “Sit.”

Suddenly too exhausted to argue, he sat.

“You want to tell me where you went just then?” she asked.

“Not really.”

“Something tells me you ought to be talking to somebody about it. Bottling up the things that upset you isn’t good.”

“No, it’s not,” Luke agreed. But he’d talked this particular subject to death while he was in rehab and it hadn’t made the memories fade. If anything, they were clearer and more deeply embedded in his mind than ever.

“So, talk. You said you’re a surgeon. Where?”

“In Atlanta. At least, that’s where my practice is.”

“You have a family there?”

He got to his feet. “No offense, Grandma Jenny, but I can’t talk about any of this right now. I’m going for a walk, if you don’t mind.”

She gave him a hard look. “You’re not going to keel over the second you walk out the door, are you?”

He managed a faint smile. “I hope not.”

“Then go.” She shook a finger under his nose. “But don’t think I won’t still have the same questions tomorrow or the day after.”

“I never doubted it,” he said. “Right now, though, I need some fresh air.”

“You’ll be back for dinner, though, right?”

“I’ll be back,” he assured her.

He felt her concerned gaze on him as he left. There was something sweet about that. He couldn’t recall the last time anyone had cared about his comings and goings. His ex-wife had stopped caring months ago, by his calculations. His kids, well, right now they were mostly confused. Very soon, when he felt more centered and sure of himself, he needed to fix that. They needed to know that he still loved them, that he was going to be there for them. To do that, though, to make that commitment, he had to figure out who the hell he was now...or who he wanted to be.

“So, have yourself a damn pity party, why don’t you?” he muttered in disgust as he walked the few blocks into downtown, taking note of the many changes that had taken place since he’d left. Storefronts had been spruced up. There was more variety in the merchandise for sale. The tourists walking the streets tended to be families, rather than fishermen traveling solo. And a whole lot of people were riding around in golf carts, despite the fact that the nearest golf course was over on the mainland.

By the time he’d reached the small grocery store on the island, which was thankfully unchanged, he was in pain, but his mood had improved. He bought a half gallon of rocky road ice cream, which he vaguely recalled had once been Hannah’s favorite. Or was it Abby’s? At any rate, they’d eaten a lot of it way back when. Maybe it would be just the thing to put everyone in a good frame of mind tonight.

Then, again, that was asking a lot of a bowl of ice cream, no matter how big and decadent it was. Of course, at the pace he was walking these days, there was a good chance it would be soup by the time he got it back to the inn.

* * *

Kelsey took one look at the plate piled high with fried chicken and the huge bowl of creamy yellow mac and cheese and went running for the nearest bathroom. Morning sickness, which was a misnomer if ever she’d heard one, basically sucked. She hated heaving her guts out several times a day.

The doctor she’d seen assured her it would pass soon, but she wasn’t counting on it. She had a feeling this baby was going to punish her from now through eternity for not wanting it. If it wasn’t morning sickness, it would be something else...colic, or teething accompanied by cries of pain or, down the road, a teenage rebellion of monumental proportions. She figured she’d deserve every miserable minute.