Chapter 13: Civilian Depth
Work settled into a rhythm that did not demand I leave the state on short notice.
Claire’s part-time hours expanded when she was ready, not when a mother-in-law’s commentary allowed it. We argued about ordinary things—paint colors, whether to replace the water heater before winter—and the arguments ended without anyone being told where they “belonged.” I learned to leave the clipboard on the hook. She learned to wake me from the dreams in which the bouquet hit the ground again. We were not the people who had said goodbye at the start of deployment. We were the people who had met in a hospital room and chosen, again, to build forward.
Once, on a clear night, she asked if I regretted coming home early.
May you like
“No,” I said. “I regret that you were alone with them as long as you were. Not the timing of the flight.”
She nodded against my shoulder. The driveway beyond the porch was empty and dark. Empty was the correct state.
