A Broken Christmas (9 page)

When he wasn’t home, she put up the fake one. She left the star off and didn’t light the tree until he came back and they could complete the tradition together. Had he noticed the spindly pine still lacked its topper? For that matter, had he noticed the layer of dust that had accumulated since last December?

Probably not. He was too busy wallowing to observe little things like that. Even if he had noticed, he wouldn’t say anything—mentioning the missing star would open the door to discussing why he filed for divorce a month later. It would mean explaining why he told everyone but her and Conner that when he deployed three months earlier, he didn’t intend on returning. Maybe he’d legitimately changed his mind, but when he left, he was every bit as in love with her as she was him.

She let herself into Kyle’s four-wheel drive Jeep, backed out of their driveway, and headed down the narrow road that wound through the woods. As she drove, she took in the tall pines and trekked through memories of the first Christmas they’d spent in this secluded house. Newly wed, they’d been snowed in with her mother, forcing them to entertain for a week when all they really wanted to do was break in every corner of their new home. At times, the disaster became almost comical—her mother trying to ignore the fact they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, the way they disappeared a little too long to do some chore easily accomplished solo. No three people had ever been more glad to part ways when the road crews finally made it down the back roads, giving her mother the opportunity to return home.

With an amused shake of her head, Aimee chuckled. That had seemed like a tedious holiday. This one, however, put their first year to shame. If only she could solve things with a snowplow this Christmas.

She nosed out onto the main route and turned toward the mall. No plow would uncover the man she had married six years ago, and all the salt in the county sheds wouldn’t de-ice Kyle either. She couldn’t repair her failed marriage with sex alone. The key to unlocking Kyle was to get him talking, and to accomplish that, she needed answers. Catch-22.

Unless…

Aimee flipped a u-turn at the wide intersection. She’d seen the photos, knew where to start. State secrets be damned, she didn’t need to know details. A general idea would help, and there was one person she hadn’t tried to pry information out of.

She glided into Major Renfield’s driveway and shut off the engine. Friday morning—the Major would be in his office. Betty, his wife, however, was at home.

Aimee jumped out of the Jeep. Squaring her shoulders, she approached the door. If luck was in her favor, all the times she’d volunteered to help Betty with this function and that event still carried weight, despite Aimee’s divorced status. Her hand shook as she pushed the doorbell.

Betty answered through the intercom, “Who is it?”

Clearing her voice, Aimee thumbed the white button. “Betty? It’s me, Aimee Garland. Do you have a moment?”

Either Betty had been standing on the other side, or she’d moved from her usual pre-lunch place in the kitchen in record time—the door swung open in seconds. “Aimee! My goodness, it’s good to see you. Come in.” Gold hoop earrings bobbed as she stepped aside and beckoned Aimee inside. “What brings you over here?”

Aimee stamped her feet on the entryway rug. Her smile wobbled. “It’s about Kyle, Betty. I’m…worried about him.”

Ushering Aimee to the white couch in the wide front room, Betty nodded in understanding. “Wilson is, too. Is he bad off?”

“He’s not good.”

Betty sat on the edge of the chair across from Aimee and folded her hands delicately in her lap. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I didn’t realize you were still in contact with Kyle.”

So she
did
know Kyle had cut her off completely. Which meant Major Renfield had probably told her about Aimee’s numerous trips to his office as well. Nothing that particularly surprised Aimee—but a subtle reveal that warned her this wouldn’t be easy. She forced more strength into her smile. “I’m trying to help him get back on his feet.”

“Oh, good then. You’ve got so much more strength than me. I don’t think I could bring myself to help Wilson given the same…circumstances. But then, you two have been through some tough times together, haven’t you? I mean…with your…loss and all. I don’t know how you do it, Aimee.”

Good grief, why couldn’t people leave the miscarriage alone? Yes, she’d spent two months grieving to the point she lost her own sanity. Yes, she’d needed another month with some counseling. But she had moved on. It was time everyone else did.

She changed the subject. “I need to know what Wilson’s told you, Betty. I found pictures of a man, an Afghani man, that Kyle tore up. I can’t help him unless I understand.”

Betty’s mouth pursed into a hard line. “I…can’t. I’m sorry, but the little I know—” She shook her head. “You understand these things. You’ve been through six years of it. Before that, you served six years of your own. Things went wrong. That’s all I can say.”

Standard freaking party line. Aimee resisted the urge to scream. She tempered frustration by standing up and crossing to the stone mantel to inspect Betty’s elaborate nativity scene. Fingering a delicate miniature sheep that stood amidst slivers of sliced straw, she said quietly, “Kyle’s crippled, Betty. Who knows if he’ll ever heal fully. I’m a nurse, and I can’t fix what’s damaged on the outside. But I might be able to fix what’s broken on the inside, if someone will give me something to work with.”

“Aimee, I’m sorry. If you two were still married… You aren’t even enlisted any more. You can’t expect me to—”

She dropped the sheep and spun around to face Betty once more. “Don’t give me the rank and file lecture! Right now, he’s facing the loss of his career—for Kyle that’s devastating. There’s something else though. Whatever that is, it’s more destructive than his injuries. He needs help.”

Betty’s face flushed with chagrin, and she looked down at her stylish heels. “I could speak to the chaplain. He would know what to say to convince Kyle speak to a therapist.”

“A
therapist
? Come on, Betty! I spent
one month
in counseling. I lost a baby at 19 weeks. I gave birth on a stretcher in my driveway and buried my son the next day.” As anger fueled her response, Aimee’s voice rose. “I didn’t suffer a job-related tragedy and people still side step around me because I couldn’t handle it. You
know
what would happen to Kyle. Slap a PTSD label on him, and no soldier will look him in the eye again!”

Betty wrung her hands together. She lifted her gaze, her flush deep crimson. As she nervously glanced around the room, she opened her mouth to speak, then quickly snapped it shut with a shake of her head.

“Tell me. Tell me how to help Kyle.”

Her hard exhale stirred the blonde bangs framing her face, and Betty looked at Aimee, once more the cool, reserved, Major’s wife. “If you want to help him, get him to talk to Walsh. They were there together. Meanwhile, there is one thing I can tell you.”

Relief surged through Aimee, easing the building tension in her spine. She gave Betty a jerky nod. “Please.”

“His career is only over if he chooses to leave. Wilson offered him another position. He’d stay with
Sind Krait
, but in a strategic capacity. He would lead through intelligence analysis, source assessment, asset management, and essentially everything he’s doing now, but in a capacity that doesn’t depend on physical capabilities.” She smoothed her long wool skirt down her thighs. “He has until
Sind Krait
deploys again to make a decision. If he doesn’t respond, Wilson will assign someone else to the position, and Kyle will have to submit his resignation.”

Aimee blinked. Although the tidbit Betty imparted was nothing along the lines of what Aimee had hoped to achieve, it helped. Kyle wouldn’t forfeit his career. She knew the idea of a desk job gave him the heebie jeebies, but if she used the right angles, she could make him see the merit in Major Renfield’s offer. He still had a duty to do. Still had professional purpose. She just needed to make him realize it.

“Thank you, Betty,” she whispered.

A warm smile drifted over Betty’s mouth. “I’m sorry too, Aimee. For not being able to tell you more…and for
sidestepping
, as you call it.”

Nodding, Aimee went to the door. “Thank you for seeing me. I’ll let you get back to cooking.”

“You could stay for a cup of coffee, if you’d like.”

No way, no how. Aimee shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, but I have some Christmas shopping to do.”

Rising to her feet, Betty crossed to the door. “Then come and visit with me soon. It really is good to see you.”

“I will. Thank you.” Aimee flashed her another forced smile and let herself out.

****

Sitting on the couch, Kyle stared at the empty hole on the top of the Christmas tree where the star should have rested. That barren patch of dark evergreen only made him feel four times worse than he had before Aimee left. It symbolized the gaping hole inside him, the incompleteness of his life. Like the box resting on top of the television that held the gold tinsel topper, everything he needed was right in front of him. Waiting for him to put things back together the way they were supposed to be.

But supposed to be didn’t play a part in reality. What he needed from Aimee, he didn’t dare seek—he knew all too well just how fragile she really was. He couldn’t tolerate the idea of putting her through the kind of emotional turmoil she’d suffered last spring. His duty was to protect her, not bury her in a quagmire of pain like he was rapidly doing.

He didn’t want to hurt her, but no matter how he tried, he inflicted injuries each time he turned around.

Dropping his head into his hands, he let out a heavy sigh. Images of the way she’d held on to him in the hall, how she urged him to give in to the enormous tidal wave rolling through him, flashed behind his closed eyelids. He’d been almost brutal, and she had somehow found pleasure in that. How?

Why?

His head snapped up as the front door opened. Aimee burst in, the rustle of plastic shopping sacks a fierce reminder Christmas was right around the corner. Who was she shopping for? Walsh? Mom Walsh? Dear God, don’t let it be him. If he had his way, he’d spend the entire day in bed and let the holiday cruise by without participating.

One glance at her bright smile and the sparkling snowman in her hands warned him she wouldn’t let that happen. He eyed her warily as she bustled past and set the twelve-inch tall figurine on top of the television beside the unopened gold star.

Why the hell did she look happy after the way he’d treated her?

She picked up the packages once more and started for the stairs.

“Aimee.”

“Yes?” One foot on the bottom tread, she looked over her shoulder.

“We really need to talk about what happened earlier.”

Slowly she set the bags down. “What about it?”

Confusion pulled at Kyle’s mind. She wasn’t upset. In fact, she acted like nothing had happened at all. Like the encounter in the hall was just another one of the many times they’d spontaneously made love.

It wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

“I…” He faltered. He what—didn’t mean anything by it? Hell, even if that were true, he couldn’t tell her. Swallowing he tried again. “Are you okay?”

Brief surprised crossed her delicate face before she gave him a heart-stopping smile. “I’m good.” With a casual shrug, she bent to grab the sacks once more. “Things happen, right?”

The fist around his innards let loose at her casual remark. She wasn’t blowing it out of proportion—in typical Aimee fashion, she understood.

He nodded, and found a relieved smile. “Yeah. They do. I guess we don’t need to discuss anything like ramifications?”

Her dainty dark eyebrows bunched. “Ramifications?”

“I mean, we don’t have to have the ‘I didn’t use a condom’ talk. You had the IUD put in and all. No dark clouds looming over our heads.”