The Top Gun's Return

Chapter 4

Sammi June set the computer on Hibernate, shut it down, stretched, then shoved back her chair and bent over to slip on her running shoes. She tied the laces and grabbed up her fanny pack as she stood, shaking the cramps out of her legs. She was halfway out the door, buckling on the fanny pack as she went, when the phone rang. She said a bad word and thought about ignoring it; she was starving, and on Sundays the cafeteria's hot food line closed early. And frankly, after working on that stupid psych paper all day, she was not in the mood for yogurt.

But then a little shiver ran through her, and before she could stop it came the thought: What if it's my dad?

She went back into the room, closed the door carefully behind her and picked up the cordless handset from its nest in the pile of comforter and discarded clothing on her bed. She punched the button and said, "Samantha June's Funeral and Pizza Parlor, how may I help you?"

"Hey," said her mother's voice.

"Hey," said Sammi June. Her knees gave out unexpectedly and she sat down on the bed. "So, where are you?" Her hand, the one holding the phone, had started to shake, so she lay back in the jumble, pillowing her head on one arm.

"I'm in Landstuhl. Right now I'm in my room in the guest house. Hon', I'm sorry I didn't call earlier-"

"'S'okay, I've been working on this stupid paper all day, anyway. I was just going out to get something to eat." And she rushed on without pausing for breath, "So, is Dad with you?"

She heard her mom take a breath. "Not right now, no. He was, but he left about half an hour ago. He had to go back to the hospital. Hon', I'm so sorry-"

"The hospital! What's wrong? Gramma said he was okay."

"No, no-it's nothing-there's nothing wrong, he just has to stay in the hospital so they can monitor him for a little while longer, that's all."

"But you've seen him." Sammi June pressed the phone hard against her ear.

"Yeah…" Her mom's voice sounded very gentle, the way it did sometimes when she was totally exhausted after a gut-wrenching day in the NICU where she worked. Then she added in a brighter tone, "Hey, we had dinner together-fried chicken and peach cobbler," and Sammi June could almost see her mom trying to straighten up and put on a happy face for her. Which really bugged her. I'm not a child, she thought. Jeez, Mom, like I need for you to sugarcoat everything for me.

"So," she said, putting it right out there, "how is he?"

"He's okay. He's…pretty good, considering," her mother said, too carefully. Sammi June wanted to yell at her.

"Well, what does he look like?" She felt like she was suffocating. Even after she realized she was holding her breath, she couldn't seem to let it go. "I mean, you know. Does he look…" Like my dad? Like the dad I remember? Like, of course he doesn't, stupid. Duh, he's been in a prison camp for eight years. Finally she settled for, "Has he changed a lot?" And then, eyes closed, she waited, pleading silently. Don't lie to me, Momma. I'll never forgive you if you lie to me. Don't treat me like a child.

After what seemed like forever, she heard her mother take another careful breath. "Well, he's…thin."

"He always was," said Sammi June, struggling to breathe.

"No-" there was a little rush of laughter "-really thin."

"You mean like…concentration-camp thin?"

"Oh-Lord. Well…" Her mother was laughing still, but in a way that made Sammi June wonder if she was crying at the same time. She felt a sob pushing against her own throat, but was determined to keep it there. "No, not that bad. Just…way too thin, is all. And his hair's got a lot of gray in it, especially at the temples. It looks kind of good, actually. You know-"

"Distinguished," said Sammi June, and cleared her throat. "Does he have any-you know…scars? I mean, did they-" But she couldn't bring herself to ask.

"I don't know," her mother said quietly. "He…doesn't like to talk about…what happened to him. He has a knee injury-he'll probably have to have surgery for that, eventually. Right now he's using a cane, but he says that's just temporary. Honey, we have to give him time, that's all. We have to be patient."

"I know…that's okay, I was just wondering. So-what happens now? Are you gonna see him tomorrow?"

"In the evening, yes, I think so." There was another little laugh. "Tomorrow I'm going shopping, actually. I have to buy him something to wear. He hasn't got any civilian clothes at all."

"No way." Sammi June pushed herself upright. "Okay, this is cool. This is your big chance, Mom. Europe's way ahead of us. Promise you'll get him some really stylin' stuff, okay?"

Her mom laughed. "I'm gonna try. Listen, you better go on and get something to eat, now, okay? I just wanted to let you know what's going on. Everything's okay. We'll call you tomorrow when he's here, I promise."

"Sure, that's fine." Sammi June hugged herself and the phone and wished she could stop shivering. "Uh, Momma? Is there…do you think there's any chance he might still call tonight?"

There was a little pause before her mother said gently, "I don't know, honey, he was pretty tired when he left. Late as it is here, I think you should just go on and get yourself something to eat. We'll call tomorrow, for sure. Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay. Sure."

"Okay then. Bye-bye, honey. Love you."

"Love you, too, Momma. Bye."

For a long time after she pressed the disconnect button, Sammi June sat on the bed, holding the phone cradled to her chest and rocking herself. She no longer felt the least little bit like eating.

And in her room in the guest house in Landstuhl, Germany, Jessie set the phone back on its cradle and picked up the Teddy bear. After gazing at it for a moment, she wrapped her arms around it and cradled it against her heart.

Does he have any scars?

She didn't know how to tell Sammi June that the worst of her daddy's scars were most likely deep down inside him, where nobody could see them.

At eleven o'clock next morning, Lieutenant Commander Rees arrived in a European model Ford to take Jessie shopping. He took her to a larger town near the air base where, he said, most of the families of base personnel did their shopping. Before turning her loose in the shops, however, he took her to lunch at a small bistro that served mostly Italian food, including pizza. Normally Jessie was very fond of pizza, but it was going to be a while before she stopped associating the smell of Italian food with the heartstopping terror of that phone call from her mother, telling her that her husband had come back from the dead after eight years.

She ordered a small antipasto and a diet soda, and since the weather was unusually sunny and warm for April, they chose one of the small tables outdoors on the sidewalk.

Lieutenant Commander Rees didn't mess around. He stabbed a fork into his baked ziti, then asked Jessie straight-out how things were going with her and Tristan.

Jessie, being a true Southern woman, was all set to smile brightly and assure him that everything was Fine, just fine, but for some reason, didn't. Maybe it was something to do with the lieutenant commander's air of authority and self-assurance, which all military officers seemed to have, in her experience, and the fact that Jessie had barely known her own father growing up and was wanting to confide in somebody strong and wise, but all at once she found herself blurting out the truth.

"I don't know," she said. Her throat closed and she stared bleakly at her salad. "I don't know how it's going." She took a breath and belatedly fought for control. "I'm a nurse, I feel like I ought to have a better handle on this than I do. Hey, I'm used to taking care of tiny little babies. What do I know about how to deal with…with-"

"I'm not gonna lie to you," the lieutenant commander said in his brisk military way, matter-of-factly munching a bite of ziti. "Lieutenant Bauer's got a rough road ahead of him, and so do you. It's not gonna be easy." Jessie nodded miserably, and after a moment he wiped his mouth with his napkin and went on. "The fact is, some POWs have an easier time adjusting than others. And sometimes their marriages don't survive the strain. Now, Mrs. Bauer, your husband is a man with a good, strong character to begin with-if he wasn't, he'd never have survived what he did as long as he did. If I were a betting man I'd have to put my money on him to make it back all the way. But that doesn't mean it's gonna be a cakewalk. He's gonna need you to be strong. And, he's gonna have to reach down inside himself and find some strength maybe he doesn't know he has."

She took a breath and tried to smile. "He always was strong. His parents were-well, his dad still is, I guess-strong people. If that helps. They're German, you know. His dad grew up not far from here."

Rees nodded as he chewed. "I did know that, yes."

"He wants to go and visit the places where his mom and dad grew up. Do you think-"

"I think it's a good idea," Rees said, still nodding.

"Do you? I mean, are you sure he's…I don't know…"

"Okay, let me think how to say this." Rees put down his fork and pushed the plate aside, then leaned forward to command her eyes. "Mrs. Bauer, what it sounds to me like, is that your husband might be looking for that strength I was talking about."

"Do you think so?"

He nodded. "I think what he's maybe doing is going to the source, trying to find out what it is that made him strong to begin with. Looking to find the extra stuff that's gonna get him through this."

"The right stuff." Jessie tried her best to smile though her face felt as if it might crack under the strain.

Rees beamed back. "Exactly."

When the lieutenant commander took her back to the guest house several hours later, a second car and driver were there waiting for them. Rees helped Jessie unload her shopping bags, then handed her the keys to the Ford.

"You're on your own," he said, and laughed at her look of dismay. "Hey, don't look like that, it's no different from driving in the states-it's not like they drive on the wrong side of the road. Just remember to convert miles to kilometers. It's a fairly straight shot back to the shopping center, in case you think of anything else you need. It'll be good practice for that trip you two are planning. You're gonna be the one driving, you know. In case you've forgotten, Lieutenant Bauer doesn't have a valid driver's license."

"Oh Lord," Jessie whispered.

Al Sharpe drove Tristan back to the guest house that evening, around the same time as before, after doing a drive-by of the parking area to check for signs of news media invasion. But it appeared the Defense Department's stalling and diversionary press releases were having the desired effect.

It does feel easier this time, Tris thought as he made his way to the door. But still awkward, like the second time out with someone he'd met on a blind date. Like now things might start to get complicated.

And then he saw Jess coming toward him through the lobby, and he felt a bubble of forgotten pleasure burst somewhere inside him and pour warmth all through his chest that felt like a gulp of brandy on a cold day.

"Hey," she said, in that eager way he remembered so well.

"Hey," he said back to her, and she walked into his arms, and for a few aching moments it felt completely right again. She was the wife he remembered, and her body fit his in familiar ways, soft where it needed to be in spite of that long-boned angularity that had always particularly excited him. She was Jess, and against all odds, the same.

But then something, the fresh clean sunshiney smell of her hair, maybe, reminded him of where he'd been, and how much he was not the same Tristan she remembered, and he felt a coldness come over him and the darkness that was never far away creep back around his heart.

After too brief a time he put her away from him, and catching one of her hands, he brought it to his lips in mute apology. He held on to it while they walked through the guest house public rooms and out the back door, exchanging "How are you?"s and "How was your day?"s, hoping that would be enough to make up for his stiffness. He was so conscious of the feel of her hand, its shape and texture, warmth and moisture, every minute flaw and roughness in her skin, the fragile strength of bones and supple strength of muscles, that he could barely keep his mind on what she was saying to him.

They walked outdoors again, dodging bicyclists and joggers and dog walkers in the cool April evening while she told him about the shopping she'd done for him, and what Sammi June had said when she'd heard about that. When he started to tell her how bad he felt for not having called his daughter yet, Jess brushed his apology aside.

"Sammi June understands," she said, lifting her head with a little shake so her hair ruffled, then sort of resettled just behind her shoulders. "She's not a child. In fact, she's pretty well grown-up for eighteen-kind of like her momma was," she added with a sideways look and a tentative smile.

Tristan gave a dry snort of laughter. "I think that's what worries me-that I'm not gonna know what to say to her. I don't think I know how to be the father of a grown-up woman."

She threw him another look and said quietly, "It's not any easier for her, you know. As a grown-up woman, she doesn't know how to have a daddy, either." She walked on beside him for several more steps, head down. "But," she said, then paused and took a deep breath before finishing in a brave rush, "you are, and she does, and…well, dammit, the two of you are just gonna have to work it out between you…somehow."

I shouldn't have said that, Jessie thought, when he didn't answer but just walked on, with his head slightly tilted as if he were listening to something only he could hear. Definitely not as patient and understanding as I ought to have been.

She was about to apologize when Tris's hand tightened around hers and he pulled her off the path. With newly sprouting grass underfoot and big old trees looming like protective uncles beside them, he turned and drew her around to face him. "You're right," he said, his voice husky. "I'm behaving like a damn coward. I'll call her tonight. As soon as we get back to the room. I promise." He brought her hand to his lips-something he'd been doing a lot, she noticed. But…never more than that. He still hadn't kissed her. "Okay?"

Her throat tightened as she nodded. She tried, but couldn't stop herself from saying, "She's changed, Tris. From what you remember. Of course she has. We all have. I have. Even though you say I haven't, that's just not true." Her voice broke just a little. "There's nothing we can do about that. It just…is."

"I know that." He studied her intently, and with her heart pounding so it was a moment or two before she realized his thumb was rubbing back and forth over her fingers-specifically, the third finger. He'd been holding her left hand, and the place he kept rubbing was the place where she'd once worn a wedding ring.

She turned her hand so she could see it, remembering clearly the day she'd taken off her wedding ring and put it away in her jewelry box. Remembering how she'd ached inside, and how for a long time she stared dry-eyed at the little blue velvet box and willed the tears to come, hoping they'd give her some kind of relief. "It's at home," she said, aching the same way now. "I put it away. I was in New York when I found out you were alive. I flew straight here-I didn't have a chance-"

She halted then, because he was making a soft shushing sound. He'd enfolded her hand in both of his and was still holding it close to his lips. Above their hands, his eyes were closed, and she could see little knots of tension in his forehead and across his cheekbones. His face seemed tight and dark and closed, and she thought how different it was from the face she remembered…all warmth and charm, with an easygoing grin and laughing eyes.

Jolted, she shifted her gaze away from his face and found herself staring at his hands instead. But there was nothing familiar about them, either. They were a stranger's hands-bony and big-knuckled, striped with ropy tendons and irregular scars. Unbidden, the memories from the night before came rushing into her mind and collided with the image before her eyes, and suddenly she was imagining-no, feeling-those hard, alien hands touching her in the most intimate ways. Forgotten yearnings flooded her body with heat and she shuddered in spite of it, the way coming to a roaring fire when she was chilled clear through could sometimes make her shiver.

"That's okay. I think I'd like to be the one to put it back on you, anyway." He cleared his throat. "Maybe I ought to buy you a new one. Something better."

"The old one's just fine," Jessie said, giving her hand an indignant tug. Tristan laughed as he reclaimed it and they started back toward the guest house, their clasped hands swinging gently between them.

"Oh-we have a car," Jessie said as they were weaving their way through the clutter of tables on the patio, Tris maneuvering awkwardly with his cane. She told him about the Ford, and what Lieutenant Commander Rees had said about her being the one who'd be doing the driving.

"Oh Lord," he said, and Jessie burst out laughing.

"That's what I said." He was holding the door for her, and she arched her eyebrows teasingly as she passed him. "You gonna be able to handle that?"

Her driving style always had just about driven Tris crazy, which was why he'd always done the driving whenever they'd gone anywhere together. Driving herself had been one of the things she'd had to get used to doing every time her husband was sent away-and cheerfully given up again when he came home. It was just one of the realities of being a military wife, of course, learning to be completely self-sufficient during her husband's deployments, then cheerfully handing the reins back over to him when he came home. Something they all learned to deal with.

Only, she thought, I doubt very many wives ever had to adjust to a husband's return after a deployment of eight years.

"I guess that remains to be seen," Tristan said. "Has your driving improved any since I've been gone?"

"There's not a thing the matter with my driving, and never was," Jessie said indignantly, punching him smartly on the arm.

"Ow!" He feigned outrage, then grinned at her, a ghost of his old self. And she grinned back, irrationally, idiotically delighted with that small, bantering exchange.

They had dinner in the privacy of Jessie's room again, pork chops and applesauce and corn bread stuffing this time, with cherry pie for dessert. More of Tristan's favorites, and he tried his best to do them justice, he really did, even though his appetite was still a long way from what it should have been.

"You trying to fatten me up?" he said in the teasing tone that had made her smile, rolling a cherry around on his tongue and marveling at the tart-sweet miracle of it.

"You bet I am," she replied smugly, then paused to give the forkful of pie that had been on its way to her mouth a long, sad look. "Only, I think the wrong one of us is gonna end up puttin' on weight." She put the fork down on the plate with a sigh.

"You look great to me," Tristan said, and saw her cheeks warm with a quick flush of pink. He went on looking at her, unable to take his eyes from her, remembering the times he'd watched that same flush creep across her chest, her breasts…her belly…and her whole body lush and blooming in the aftermath of lovemaking like a sun-drenched rose. Remembering what it had felt like to hold her, his body entwined with hers and her warmth soaking into his very bones.

He saw her looking back at him, cheeks glowing like Georgia peaches-remembering how she'd hated it when he'd said that to her…about the peaches. Long ago. And he thought, This is now-not long ago. She's here and she's real, not a memory, not imagination. My wife. I could be lying with her now, making love to her in that big bed, enjoying her warmth and her softness…

Then came the thought, No, Tristan, you couldn't. Because she may be real, but you're sure as hell not.

The truth was, though the thoughts, the memories, the desires were all there, they were only in his head. From the neck down he was just a tangle of muscle, bone and sinew, without warmth or feeling. Once upon a time he'd learned to survive by separating his mind from his body, and both of those from his emotions, and he'd been that way for so long, he didn't know how to start putting himself back together again.

He swallowed the bite of cherry pie and said, "We should call Sammi June," forcing the bittersweetness past the tightness of his throat. "Think she'd be in about now?"

Jess put down her fork with a clatter, snatched up her napkin and dabbed at her lips with it as she twisted around to look at the clock on the nightstand. "Um…lemme see, it's Monday…if she doesn't have a class she could be in her room studying. We can give it a try."

He watched her make the call, standing beside her as she sat on the edge of the bed with her little pocket address book in one hand and the phone tucked between her jaw and shoulder. He watched her supple fingers punch in numbers, preparing himself, distancing himself from the remembered tug of a little girl's arms around his neck…the feel of a small grubby hand creeping into his. He listened to Jess's voice, speaking to someone in a thickening Southern accent, asking if Sammi June was there. He listened, preparing…arming himself with the images in the photo album Jess had given him, of a lovely young woman in a ball gown, smiling confidently, her tiara worn at a rakish tilt atop casually upswept blond hair.

"Hang on just a minute, hon'," Jess was saying, "there's somebody here wants to talk to you." With an abrupt, almost angry thrust, she handed the phone to Tris.

He took it calmly; his new crooked smile was fixed firmly to his lips as he put the receiver to his ear and said, "Hello…Sammi June?"

"Daddy?" A high, breaking voice. A little girl's voice.

Something burst, stinging, inside his head. He croaked, "Hey, baby girl…" Suddenly he was sitting on the edge of the bed with his elbows braced on his knees, head bowed, one hand shading his eyes. Dimly, thankfully, he heard Jess get up and go into the bathroom, as tears dropped from the end of his nose.