Home Is Where the Heart Is

Part I Spring 2008 This story takes place several months after All Through the Night, and several months before Into the Fire.

Chapter One.

It was surreal, being home.

Of course, this apartment wasn't really home. It was kind of half-home, but half-not, which added to the weirdness.

When Arlene Schroeder's reserve unit had gotten called up, she'd given some of her furniture to her brother, Will, but had put most of it into storage, into a self-service garage-sized room.

For twelve dollars a month-special military rate, set up by a friend of a friend-the antique desk and bedframe her grandmother bequeathed her, her dresser and formal dining room set, all of her books and clothes, and her precious box with Maggie's baby shoes would be safe and dry and waiting for her, upon her return from Iraq.

Over the long months-two separate tours-that she'd been gone, she'd frequently wished she'd been able to put her now-thirteen-year-old daughter into similar storage. Instead, Mags had moved in with Will.

Instead, she'd kept growing and had gotten even taller than Arlene, beginning the permanent transformation from sweet-faced child to this remarkably self-reliant, beautiful young woman who now stood in the kitchen of Will's shabby Newton apartment, cutting vegetables for some kind of exotic, Indian-spiced dish that she was cooking for dinner.

Arlene's baby girl was cooking dinner.

She wasn't just cooking dinner, she was cooking dinner while wearing a bra.

As Arlene watched, Maggie added the vegetables to what looked like some kind of dangerously delicious stewing chicken, and put the cover securely on the pot. "In an hour, when the dinger dings," her daughter commanded, "turn on this burner over here. When the water boils, add the rice, lower the heat and-"

"I know-" How to cook rice. Arlene bit back the words that were coming out of her mouth much too sharply. It wasn't Maggie's fault that she felt like an outsider here, like a stranger in a strange land.

"It's basmati," Maggie told her as if that meant something special. "It only needs to simmer for fifteen, sixteen minutes, okay?"

She was so excited that Arlene was home, so excited to be showing off her cooking skills-skills she'd needed to develop because her mother had been sent to serve for much longer than they'd all expected, way over on the other side of the world. She was showing off the skills she'd learned from Will's latest girlfriend, who no doubt had also taken Maggie bra shopping.

Will's latest girlfriend with the ridiculous name-Dolphina-who was pet.i.te and perfect, like some Bollywood movie star with her long, shimmering, straight dark hair, her perfect, freckle-free skin, and her big, brown Bambi eyes.

Every other word out of Maggie's mouth was Dolphina. Dolphina said this and Dolphina said that and, G.o.d, Arlene was beyond grateful that Maggie was happy and healthy and that she clearly felt loved and supported, particularly while her mother was stuck in a place where death by mortar fire was common and unpredictable, but enough already.

"Go to your rehearsal," Arlene quietly told her daughter now. "I got the rice-I'll make us a salad, too."

Maggie hugged her, giving her a noogie atop her head-the way Arlene used to do to her. "Little Mommy," she teased.

"Go," Arlene ordered in her best military sergeant, afraid Mags would see the sudden rush of tears to her eyes. She didn't want her daughter to be taller than she was. She wanted her monkey-girl back, but that Maggie was gone forever-the anxious little girl she'd left behind when she boarded that first troop transport all those endless months ago. Arlene had done her duty and gone to Iraq-and she'd lost those last precious few moments of Maggie's too short childhood. She'd sacrificed those last few chances spent with her daughter curled up, gangly arms and legs and all, on her lap. A lap which now felt achingly empty.

"I'll call if I'm going to be late." Maggie grabbed her bookbag and her jacket and bounded out the apartment door.

Leaving Arlene alone for the first time since Maggie and Will had met her plane at Logan, yesterday morning.

Will and the perfect Dolphina were having dinner out tonight. That had been Dolphina's idea-arranged to give Maggie some alone time with her mom. Yeah, didn't it figure? The betch was as nice as she was beautiful and smart.

She also had the extremely glamorous job of personal a.s.sistant to a movie star. Well, TV star now. Actor Robin Chadwick Ca.s.sidy and his FBI agent husband Jules lived in a chichi part of Boston. Maggie and Will both had visited them at their town house. Many times.

Arlene paced Will's little living room, pretending to look at the photos and artwork on her older brother's walls, but in truth restless-and not quite sure what to do with herself. In Iraq, she was either working or sleeping. Mostly working. If she ever found herself with two full hours on her hands, she'd immediately retreat to her quarters and fall unconscious on her bunk.

After first hitting the computer tent, waiting on line to connect to the Internet, to send her daily, cheerful "everything's all right" e-mail to Maggie and Will. Even if-as was so often the case-she wasn't feeling cheerful or as if anything there in the sandbox was good or right.

She circled the room one more time before deciding to go out for a walk-something she'd never been able to do in besieged Baghdad-when the doorbell buzzed.

She glanced through the door's peephole, certain it was one of the neighbors, or maybe the FedEx delivery person. Will was writing a book, collaborating with a former special forces soldier who lived in Florida, who preferred working with hard copies. As a result, Will now knew all of the various delivery people by their first names.

But the man standing in the hall wasn't wearing a delivery uniform. And he certainly wasn't old Mrs. D'Oretti from next door.

It was Jack Lloyd-but it was a Jack Lloyd the likes of which Arlene hadn't seen very often.

Instead of his usual sneakers and jeans, shabby b.u.t.ton-down shirt, sleeves rolled up, tie loose around his neck, this alternate-universe Jack Lloyd was wearing a suit.

A very nice suit that fit his tall, lean frame very, very well.

Last time she'd seen the man in a suit had been that night that ...

Arlene opened the door. "Will's not here," she said in lieu of proper greeting. Hey, Jack, how are you? It's been a long time. Two years, three months, and nineteen days, in fact. You never did return my phone call-and I really was only calling to find out if you'd found my favorite pair of panties in the mess we'd made of your bedroom, that night you rocked my world three different times.

"Yeah, I know," Jack said, in his familiar whiskey-flavored voice. "I'm not here to see Will."

She'd always thought that that was stupid-voices couldn't have flavors. But then she'd met Jack.

"I'm kinda here to see you," he told her, actually physically bracing himself-as if he expected her to slam the door in his face.

Or maybe it was his eyes that reminded her of whiskey-an intoxicating swirl of brown and gold, in a face that wasn't exactly handsome, yet still managed to make women swoon in the street as he pa.s.sed by. It was his smile. Boyish. Mischievous. Warm. Inclusive. When Jack Lloyd smiled, even the wary way he was smiling now, it made people feel as if he were sharing a private joke, only with them.

And yes, she was standing there, transfixed, like some hapless rodent mesmerized by a king cobra.

She found her voice, which, if it had a flavor, would no doubt be something stupid, like mustard. The bland yellow kind. Not the spicy brown stuff that you got in a good New Yorkastyle deli.

"It's really not a good time," Arlene told him, even as he pushed past her and walked into the apartment. Which was when her famous redhead's temper flared. "I have nothing to say to you, Jack. And there's absolutely nothing that you could say to me that would-"

"Maggie e-mailed me, about a month ago," Jack told her, which worked to shut her up. Maggie e-mailed him? "She said you were coming home, but only for a short time-that you were going to have to go back almost immediately. What's up with that?"

Arlene struggled to make sense of his words. Maggie e-mailed him? His smile was gone, and his eyes were void of amus.e.m.e.nt-this wasn't some big funny that he was trying to pull on her, the way he and Will used to do, back when they were in college and she was barely older than Maggie was now. She focused on his question, and tried to explain. "It's a new program. We get to come home for a relatively brief visit, with the understanding that we'll have significantly longer than the usual six months between our next tours. People were running into trouble in terms of finding short-term employment, knowing they were going to redeploy, so ..." She shook her head. "Why did Maggie e-mail you?"

"She doesn't want you going back to Iraq," Jack informed her-as if Arlene didn't know that. "And she's a pretty smart kid. She figured out a way that you won't have to."

Oh, Maggie. She shook her head. "There's no way that-"

Jack cut her off. "Yeah, actually, Leen, there is. I did some research, and Maggie's right. Regulation 635-200. You won't go back. In fact, you can get out for good." He cleared his throat. "If you're pregnant."

And there they stood, in Will's living room-Arlene stunned into silence, Jack waiting, patiently, for her to regain use of her vocal cords.

Pregnant?

"Oh, G.o.d," Arlene said. "Please tell me that Maggie didn't-"

"Yep. She did." He smiled, but it was tight. "It was one h.e.l.l of an e-mail. Thank G.o.d I was sitting down at the time."

She knew the feeling. Her world had tilted, and she now fumbled for a seat. "I'm so sorry. Oh, my G.o.d, she is so dead."

Jack sat on the other end of the sofa-her sofa that had once filled the tiny Cambridge apartment that she'd shared with a much shorter Maggie. He sank back into the soft cushions, yet still managed to look too big to fit there comfortably. "Give her a break, Leen. She doesn't want you coming home in a box."

"How did she ...?"

It didn't make sense. Maggie had never known about the night-singular-that Arlene had spent with Jack. It had happened while the girl was visiting her grandparents. And G.o.d knows Arlene had never spoken of it to anyone, never so much as whispered Jack's name in Maggie's presence.

But her brother and Jack were close-although no longer as close as they'd been as roommates at Boston University. They both currently worked as reporters for the Boston Globe, so it made sense that Maggie would've met Jack at some point, but still ...

"I met Maggie at the wedding," Jack explained. "Robin and Jules. Last December? I told her I knew you, and ..." He shrugged. "I kinda let slip the fact that you and I had, um, a thing."

"A thing," Arlene repeated.

"Yeah," Jack admitted, making an oops face. "And I also may have said something about, you know, about my, well, kinda still having a thing. You know. For you."

Chapter Two.

Jack was totally s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g this up. Considering he was an award-winning journalist, he'd just delivered the lamest, vaguest declaration of love in the entire history of the world.

And he could see from the disbelief in Arlene's eyes that she was seconds from losing it and kicking his well-dressed a.s.s out the door.

"You told my daughter-"

"That I haven't been able to stop thinking about you," he finished for her, afraid to be more precise in defining exactly what he was feeling and had felt for going on over a decade now, because it was clear that Arlene wasn't going to fall into his open arms in the immediate future. He'd had that chance, two years ago, and had completely blown it back then. "Yes. We were talking and ... I wanted to know how you were."

"I'm fine, thanks," she shot back, "although still missing my favorite pair of underpants."

And there it was-the moment of truth. "Okay," Jack said, trying to sound matter-of-fact and calm. "Good. Let's put everything out on the table. Let's talk about that night. I want to tell you about what happened to me the day after."

She shook her head, vehemently. "Let's not. Let's stay on topic and ..." He could practically see the wheels turning in her head. "Will told me he saved your life," she said. "Last November. That you were in Afghanistan and-"

"He's got nothing to do with this." Jack knew where she was going. She a.s.sumed Will was the mastermind of this crazy plot. Truth was, he hadn't even mentioned it to Will. Probably because Will would have shut it down, fast, and Jack had had this completely insane spark of hope that Arlene would welcome the chance to stay home-after getting over the initial shock that her daughter had approached Jack for stud services. "This was all Maggie's idea."

Arlene wasn't convinced. "Why are you dressed up?" she asked suspiciously.

He looked down at his wool-covered legs, at the bright silk of his tie. "I wanted to, I don't know." He shrugged. "Look nice?"

"So that I'd have s.e.x with you," she concluded. Good old point-blank Arlene. Why couldn't he be attracted to the shy, reserved type? "You wore it because you were wearing a suit that night."

He had been. That night.

He'd just won an award for a newspaper story he'd written on the health-care crisis. He'd been giddy, not just from the award, but because he was being recognized for writing about something that mattered.

After the award dinner, purely by chance, he'd run into Arlene downtown, near Copley Square, getting out of work from what she said was a temporary second job, filling in for a waitress friend at a local restaurant. She'd been wearing jeans and a clingy tank top, sandals on her feet, her red curls loose around her shoulders, her smile filled with sunlight and ...

But Jack couldn't for the life of him remember the underwear she'd had on that incredible night. Black or purple. He'd have thought the color would have been permanently burned into his brain. Black-or purple-against the paleness of her smooth, perfect skin, as she'd tumbled back with him, onto his bed.

As he'd done what he'd been dying to do for years and years and years-to bury himself inside of her, to see her beautiful hair spilled across his pillows, to know that the smile that sparkled in her eyes was just for him.

Her eyes weren't sparkling now. In fact, they were narrowed. She was looking pretty grim. And tired. Haunted, no doubt, from all she'd done and seen over the past long months, living in a war zone.

And Jack knew that if he had any chance at all here, it would come because he told her the truth, so he said, "Yeah. I wore the suit because you told me that night that I looked good in a suit, that it made you want to, you know, take off my suit and-"

"I remember what I said," she cut him off, then swore, because her redhead's complexion made it impossible for her to hide a blush. Yeah, she not only remembered what she'd said, she obviously remembered what they'd done after she'd said it.

Jack remembered, too. Vividly. In glorious Technicolor. Except for the color-of-her-panties part.

"I didn't call you back," he told her quietly, "because Becca threatened to kill herself. I made a really bad mistake, a few nights before you and I hooked up. She came over to my place, and ... I thought it was ... you know, once more for old times' sake? It was stupid. I was stupid-I'll be the first to admit that. I should have known better. But then when she ..." It had been a nightmare-his ex-wife's phone calls, her threats, his fear that she just might be crazy enough to do it. His twisted reasoning that she truly must've still loved him ... "She's the mother of my kids, Leen. I thought I needed to give it one more shot-regardless of what I really wanted. Which absolutely was you."

She didn't believe him. He could tell from the way she was nodding. "You could have written a note. Sent my panties back."

c.r.a.p. "Would you believe me if I told you I wanted to keep them?"

She laughed in his face. "For Becca to find? No."

"Yeah, that would've been bad," he admitted. "But I did. Want to keep them. That's not why I didn't send them to you, though. It's actually ..." He just had to say it. "See, I, um, found two on my floor. Black and purple. I didn't know which was-"

"That," Arlene interrupted him, standing up and crossing toward the door, "I believe."

Jack stayed in his seat, determined that she hear him out. "The others were Becca's, and ... I swear, Arlene, that night? I was certain my marriage was over and done. We'd been separated for six months. I spoke to a lawyer earlier that week-"

"Thanks for dropping by."

He tried a new tack. "Maggie says you're home only for a month."

She opened the door. "Perhaps I wasn't clear enough. It's time for you to go."

"You know, if we worked hard at it, I'm pretty sure I could get you pregnant in that timeframe."