Chapter 19 - The First Voice, The Second Chance
I opened my mouth and no sound came out.
"Claire?"
"I'm here," I finally managed. "I'm right here."
His laugh was hoarse and weak. "Good. I was worried you'd have to find another husband to finish the electrical work."
"You owe me seven months of dishes."
"That's cruel. I can barely hold a spoon."
We cried and laughed and spoke over each other. He asked about the baby first. I told him the heartbeat was strong, the kicks relentless, and I was developing an unreasonable hatred of pickles despite craving them every day.
Then I told him about the garage.
Silence filled the line. I could hear him breathing slowly, working to control his anger.
"They did what?" he asked.
"They told me Raymond needed our room."
"In our house?"
"Yes. I moved one box. Then the Army came."
"Are you safe?"
"I am now."
He was quiet a long time. "Claire, you don't have to let them back in. Not because I'm angry. Because you get to choose who comes close to our child."
I had spent so long protecting the reputations of people who embarrassed me that his simple permission felt like warmth returning to numb fingers.
"I changed the locks," I said.
"Then you're ahead of me. I'd still be looking for the toolbox."
Before the call ended, he asked for one favor. "Don't bring reporters to the airport. I don't want the world watching me learn how to walk beside you again."
"No cameras," I promised. "Just us."
The flight landed several days later. I stood in a quiet medical reception area with Ortiz nearby. Two military medics came through the doors, guiding a wheelchair. Marcus sat between them, thinner than memory, his face marked by months I couldn't begin to imagine.
His eyes found mine. The rest of the room vanished.
He tried to stand too quickly. A medic caught his elbow. I hurried over, careful of my belly, and wrapped my arms around his shoulders.
"You left the light on," he whispered.
"I always will."
Then he drew back, looked down at my stomach, and put one shaking hand against it.
The baby kicked hard beneath his palm.
May you like
Marcus closed his eyes. "I think somebody's mad at me," he said.
