Consequences (9 page)

13

Nikki

I was shelving books in the romance section when I noticed Rae walking into the bookstore. I couldn't stand that chick. Her husband and Don were in the same unit, and both had been deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan. Rae was the head of the FRG, Family Readiness Group, and took her responsibilities way too seriously. Somehow she was always in someone else's business and knew who was sleeping with whom while her husband was deployed. I'm just glad she never found out about my brief affair while Don was in Iraq.

Usually I blew her ass off when she dropped into my store, because it was mostly to brag about something new her husband had bought. Today I was actually glad to see her.

She waved a hand merrily in the air. “Good afternoon, Nikki.” As she sauntered over to me, I took a moment to check her out. Rae was a full-figured sistah with the prettiest dark chocolate skin. She wore her natural hair in an Afro puff that actually made her look years younger. I used to think she was so pretty, that was, until she opened her loud mouth. She was wearing black slacks and tall pumps while her titties threatened to pop out of a tight purple blouse.

“Hey, Rae. It's good seeing you.” I got up from my knees and dusted off my jeans. I didn't miss the look of disapproval on her face. Ms. Prissy probably didn't even wash dishes at home.

“I came in to find a cookbook with sinful desserts. Carl and I are having a get-together this weekend with a few
friends
and I want to impress them with my cooking. Not that that isn't easy to do.” She smiled.

“Sure, let me show you where they're at.” I signaled for her to follow me to the back far left of the store. Trust me. I hadn't missed the way she had emphasized the word
friends.
I guess she was making it clear I wasn't one of them. Not that I cared. The last place I wanted to be was at one of her stupid get-togethers. I've been down that boring road one too many times.

“How's Carl doing?” I asked, making small talk.

Rae suddenly stopped, turned, and looked at me like I had a lot of nerve asking her about her man. “He's fine, why?”

“Let me ask you something.” I paused and took a moment to collect my thoughts. “Since he's been home, does he seem different to you at all?”

Her eyes drooped down to her hands before returning to me. “A little, but that's expected, considering . . .”

I shook my head because I totally disagreed with her assessment. “Yes, I understand that, but something just seems a little off about my husband.” I was lying when I used the word
little
. Ever since Netta came down and visited last month, we'd been attending church regularly and Donovan was making more of an effort to go into work, but the mood swings were still there, and if I was even ten minutes late he'd start the bullshit about me messing around again.

“Something seems off?” Her head jerked back like I had just punched her. “I can't believe you would even set your lips to say something like that.”

I shot her a sour look. “Why'd you say that?”

Rae shook her head, looking like she was disappointed at me. “Because we can't begin to understand what those men went through over there. Their camp was the subject of a mortar attack. Lives were lost right before their eyes.”

“I know all that, but it's been months since they came home and several of the other wives I have talked to seemed to be having similar problems.”

“What?” Her face crumbled and she looked upset. “I'm the FRG leader. Why hasn't anyone talked to me about this?”

“I'm talking to you now.” I couldn't help the attitude, but like I said, I really can't stand this chick. “I need you to talk to the unit about having a therapist come in next drill weekend. I'm serious. I think the unit should be doing something to help these soldiers adapt, because my husband isn't.” I felt like I was pleading with her to understand.

Rae didn't at all look moved by my request. “Well, that's a shame, because Carl is doing just fine considering all that he's gone through. I think what you need to be doing instead of talking about your husband behind his back is try showing him more support.”

No, she didn't go there with me. “Hell, I have been supportive. For the last six months I have been more than patient, but I'm certain my husband is suffering from PTSD.”

That chick had the nerve to laugh at my comment. “There you go, self-diagnosing the man! Wasn't he evaluated by his unit?”

I nodded.

“And what did they determine?” she asked, then crossed her arms and frowned.

“They said he was fit for duty, but—”

She rudely cut me off. “Then there you have it. Just give the man time to adjust. Trust me, there's nothing wrong that a little time and TLC won't cure.” She then patted me on the head like I was a damn puppy. “Now . . . where is that cookbook you wanted to show me?”

This is Nikki Truth and you're listening to
Truth Hurts
on 97 WJPC. Tonight I'm going to read an e-mail that I received from a listener.

“Well, Prisoner of War. That is a tough question. Being the wife of an army soldier as well, I honestly know what you're going through, and it takes a strong woman to be a military wife. We have to be able to hold things together while our husbands are deployed and be able to pull things together when he returns. We are the backbone, and those men rely on our love and our strength to persevere. As my pastor said last Sunday, the Lord doesn't give us any more than he knows we can handle. Well, listeners, there you have it. Our men and women are sacrificing their lives for this country and coming back traumatized.” I paused long enough to bring the microphone closer to my mouth. “From what I've read in the e-mail, I have a strong feeling her fiancé has PTSD, and the first thing she needs to do is try and get that man some help.” It felt good to finally say that. After months of denial and hoping that time would heal all wounds, I'd finally realized it was going to take much more than prayer to cure what ailed Donovan.

“For my listeners who are not familiar with the term, post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD, is an emotional illness classified as an anxiety disorder and usually occurs as a result of a life-threatening experience such as the wars our American soldiers are fighting in. Once they've returned home, these men and women continue to re-experience the traumatic event in some way such as flashbacks and dreams. They're drinking, can't sleep, and are basically having a hard time adapting to life back at home.” Lord knows, I know. “I am a strong advocate that prayer helps, but this is one sickness that requires so much more. POW, get that man some help,” I emphasized, saying aloud something I had known all along. “But what about the rest of my listeners? How many others of you are going through the same things, and for those who are not, if it were you, would you stick by them or not, regardless of how bad things get? I'm going to open up the phone lines and see what my listeners have to say.”

I looked up and caught Tristan giving me a suspicious look. I guess he knew I was lying. I shook my head. Now was not the time to be judging me. The only prisoner of war was me, but I had to know if I was the only one out there who was dealing with post-traumatic stress disorder. After Rae had left the store, I called the unit and left a message with Donovan's first sergeant to call me back. I still had yet to hear from him. I don't care what anybody says, six months home is long enough. My husband was definitely suffering from PTSD, and he needed help.

Tristan held up two fingers and I glanced down at the phone lines and pressed the flashing button.

“Caller, you're on the air.”

“Good evening, Danny.”

“You're right.” Especially about going insane. “Thanks for calling. Caller, you're on the air.”

Tristan was going to have to do a lot of bleeping tonight. “I know that's right,” I said and gave a soft chuckle, trying to bring the mood down a notch. “Hopefully he got better over time?” I asked more for myself.

I groaned inward. “Wow! Thanks for calling.” I pressed the next flashing button.

“
Good evening, Ms. Nikki. This is Carlita.”

“Whassup, Carlita, girl!” I shouted. She was one of my regular listeners. “What's your take on tonight's topic?”

“Okay now.”

I know that feeling.

The more calls that came in, the guiltier I felt for wishing I could be anywhere but with Donovan. I had touched on a controversial issue that had callers debating back and forth. Normally I got a kick out of the antics, but not tonight. The mood was way too serious because what was happening in my home and in other houses around the country was no laughing matter. By the time the show was over, I was calling the house. It had gotten to the point I liked to be prepared for
which
Donovan was at home waiting for me.

“Hey, baby.” Donovan answered after the first ring in a voice that was way too cheerful that I immediately assumed he must have been drunk. “How was the show tonight?”

“It was good.” And for once I was glad he rarely listened to the radio. “Aiden sleep?”

“Yep, me and my man sat on the couch, ate popcorn, and watched
Madagascar
until he passed out. Have to admit that cartoon was kinda cute.” He laughed and I felt myself starting to relax. “Now I'm waiting for my big baby to come home so I can show her how much I missed her.”

“I can't wait to get home. I want to show you just what I plan to do to you.” Those rare moments when he was in the right state of mind, sex was good. And tonight I needed him to put out the fire he had started between my thighs.

“I'll see you in a few. Hey . . . I love you.”

I exhaled a sigh of relief. “I love you too.” I blew a few kisses and was hanging up the phone when Tristan came swiveling in.

“Hey, girlfriend . . . do you need to talk?” He pulled a chair up beside me. His concern was so genuine.

I shook my head. “No, I'm okay.”

He turned to me and commented casually, “Doesn't sound like you are.” Tristan was so damn observant. But I guess
real
friends are.

“I'm trying to hold it together, at least for Aiden's sake.” As I spoke, I felt my bottom lip quiver.

“Donovan's a good man and he's lucky to have a woman like you. I wasn't going to say anything . . . but even when I picked you up that day we went shopping . . . I could tell that something was off about him.”

“It is.” I paused and blew out a long breath just to keep myself from crying. The second Tristan had pulled into the driveway, Donovan went flying out of the house and peered all in his car to make sure I didn't have some man scrunched down low in the back seat. “Tristan, I feel like I'm walking around in a revolving door. I just don't know what to do anymore. One day my husband is acting like a crazy alcoholic, the next day he's sweet as apple pie, then he's a space cadet or the paranoid jealous husband.”

Tristan's hand flew over his mouth in shock. “Nikki, girlfriend, I had no idea things were that bad!”