Page 43 of A Hero Comes Home

Next, she checked the second bedroom where Mark was on the top bunk and Luke on the bottom. Both fast asleep. She kissed them, too, and was about to leave the room when she heard a shout from downstairs, “No!”

It was Jake.

That must be what had awakened her.

Had someone entered the house? An intruder bent on theft? Or, more likely, a reporter? But, no, she was about to grab for Mark’s metal baseball bat when she heard Jake muttering, “Name: Jacob Lloyd Dawson. Rank: captain. Identification number . . . No! Oh, Jesus, please, not the knife again!”

She dropped the bat and ran down the stairs. In her bare feet, she approached the living room unnoticed. But maybe Jake wouldn’t have heard her anyway. The television was still on, some old war movie, and she could see by the lighted screen that he was flailing about on the floor, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs.

Because of all the weight he’d lost, she could see his ribs. And scars. Many, many scars. Not just on his leg.

She stopped and leaned against the door frame. Oh, my God! Look at him! Oh, my God!

He was moaning now, clutching frantically at his injured eye. The eye patch was on the floor beside him, along with the balled-up sheet and blanket and the pillow that she’d laid out for him earlier. He must have rolled off the couch in the midst of this nightmare, or whatever it was. Sometimes Mark suffered from night terrors. Was that what this was? Or something more?

“Jacob,” she said. “Are you all right?”

He jackknifed to a sitting position and then, in one fluid motion, up into a low crouch. The sound that came out of his mouth was almost feral.

“You’re just dreaming, Jacob. It’s not real,” she said softly, the same way the doctor had told her to approach Mark when he was still in that half-sleep state. She stepped forward, intending to help him up and onto the sofa. That position must be killing his leg muscles.

He was looking at her, but she could tell he wasn’t really seeing her. He was seeing something, though.

“You vicious bastard!” he yelled and tackled her to the floor. Instantly, he had her pinned down with his hands against her shoulders. “Tables are turned now, motherfucker.”

She was able to free her own hands, but, instead of attempting to shove him off, she framed his face with her palms and said, “Jacob, honey, it’s me. Sally. Your wife.”

He blinked at her, still not awake, but disconcerted. She noticed that though his injured eye didn’t appear to move, his eyelid did when he blinked, which seemed odd to her.

And then the town bells rang the hour. Bong, bong! Ding-dong! Clang, clang!

He blinked some more, staring down at her with shock as he realized what he must have done. “Jesus,” he whispered, and it sounded like a prayer.

“It’s all right, Jacob. Really. I’m all right. You’re all right.” She pulled his face down and took his full weight on top of her as he released a breathy exhale of relief.

When she felt a wetness on her neck, she knew that there was something else his bad eye could do, besides blink. It could weep.

There was hope in that, wasn’t there?

Back to square one . . .

Jake stuck close to home for the next few days, but he was as busy as if he had a full-time job. With Sally gone from four a.m. to one or two p.m., the empty house (except for three loud kids) became his office.

He spent as much time as he could getting to know his boys. Giving all their bikes a tune-up. Hitting balls and showing them how to pitch. (Luke was as bad as his coach had said, but he was improving.) Teaching them all how to tie knots, especially Mark, who was trying to earn the badge and was excited for his next meeting when he could show the scoutmaster what he could do.

This latter project called attention to his nailless fingers which fascinated his sons. Actually, the nails were one-quarter grown back by now. He didn’t want to lie; so, he just told them, “Sometimes bad things happen, but don’t worry. The good thing about fingernails is that they do grow back.”

Yeah, right. “Bad things happen.” What a hokey thing to say. And, man, what I could tell them about bad things in this world! Which he wouldn’t, of course.

“Just like your second teeth, which are growing in, short stuff,” he said, giving Luke a playful jab in the chin.

Luke flashed him his gap-toothed smile, and Jake’s heart about melted. The kid was adorable. They all were. And they were so accepting of his just bouncing back into their lives after all this time.

“Will your eye grow back . . . better?” Luke wanted to know.

“Probably not, but it might get better than it is now, if I decide to have more surgeries.”

“Are you afraid?” Matt asked.