Chapter 22
Chapter 22
T he first two weeks after Gaines went away were worse than the first six weeks after Jay’s death. Jordan couldn’t understand why she had powered through the loss of her husband with barely a dent and then came completely undone when Gaines went away. Surely not because she hadn’t loved Jay, because she had. They’d been married, had built a life and had children together. As much as she cared about Gaines, their relationship couldn’t compare, at least not yet.
The day after he went on assignment, Jordan could barely get out of bed. Only her kids and their need of her kept her moving.
The first day is always the hardest, she told herself, but she knew from past experience it was a lie. The first day was full of momentum. It wasn’t until late in the game that things seemed impossible. This time, however, everything hurt. Her mind kept coming back to why. Why did it hurt so much that Gaines went away? Why did it feel like a betrayal? She knew it wasn’t. Her mind told her so. Gaines was her friend, an independent person with every right to do his job. She had no claim on him, and neither did the kids. He hadn’t abandoned them, was only doing his job. Her reaction was overt and unfair. And yet it was her reaction—pain, betrayal, and grief, so much grief.
She felt like she needed to talk to someone, but she had no idea who that might be. All her friends were military wives whose husbands were still alive. She knew no other widows, and certainly not any in her unique situation. And what situation was that? The one where she’d fallen for a guy so soon after her husband’s passing. Try admitting that to a stranger.
The oddity of her situation made her isolation more severe. Absolutely no one could understand. The loneliness, confusion, and grief made Jordan feel like she was collapsing in on herself. And yet she powered on, because of her kids. They’d already lost one parent. They couldn’t lose her, too, if only in spirit.
So she kept stumbling forward, day after day, feeling like the walking wounded. At some point she became numb. A part of her brain signaled her that was probably worse somehow, but she couldn’t seem to care. Amelia called and texted, as did Maggie. Even Babs tried a time or two, and she was a new friend. Charlotte’s party loomed, Jordan did nothing to help it arrive.
Precisely two weeks after Gaines left on assignment, someone knocked on her door. It was a light knock and Jordan steeled herself in case it was her nosy neighbor, come to enquire why she hadn’t seen Jordan out and about lately or some other nosy question cloaked in care.
When she opened the door, she didn’t recognize the woman on the other side. And yet she was familiar somehow, as if Jordan should know her, if she tried hard enough. Weirder still, she was beaming as she held out a pie, indicating Jordan should take it.
“Why, hello,” the woman said, placing the heavy pie in Jordan’s hands.
“Hello,” Jordan said, sounding as baffled as she felt. “Do I know you?”
“I should think not. We’ve never met. A shame, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes?” Jordan tried. Her eyes landed on the pie, pecan. “And thank you?”
“You’re quite welcome. My name is Juniper. I would shake your hand, but I’ve recently filled them with pie.”
“Oh, right. Let me set this down. Please come in?” She said it like a question again because she wasn’t certain she should invite a stranger inside. But she was petite and well-kept, sixty if she was a day.
“Yes, ma’am,” Juniper said, closing the door behind her as she stepped inside and followed Jordan to the kitchen. Her eyes skittered everywhere as they progressed. Jordan cringed at the mess, but Juniper smiled. Her finger touched a piece of artwork haplessly taped to the wall. “I remember these days.” Her tone was fond and nostalgic.
“You have children?” Jordan inquired.
“Yes, ma’am. Three girls. And now three sons-in-law and a couple of grands.” She paused to beam again, clearly delighted.
“Congratulations,” Jordan said, returning her smile.
“Thank you.”
It was hard not to be charmed by her, between the pie, the dimpling smile, and the overt southern accent. On the other hand, “I’m so sorry, but who are you?”
Juniper snapped to attention. “Oh, dear, did no one tell you I was coming? I thought Cameron might have warned you.”
“You know Cam?” Jordan asked.
“We’re practically family. His brother is married to my oldest daughter.”
Jordan frowned, puzzled. “But I thought Cam’s brother was married to The Colonel’s daughter.”
Juniper’s smile turned wry. “Well, I’m not The Colonel, but we do have a fair amount in common. Most notably three children and a predilection for pecans.”
“You’re his wife,” Jordan breathed, awed. The woman was almost as legendary as the man himself. So much that several people doubted her existence, like a Yeti. And yet here she was, alive and well in Jordan’s kitchen, and Jordan couldn’t fathom why.
“Yes, ma’am,” Juniper agreed. “I was so sorry to hear about your husband. We attended his funeral, but kept to the background. John tends to attract a certain amount of notoriety. We didn’t want to detract.”
“Thank you, that was so kind. I’m sorry I didn’t see or speak to you. The day was a bit of a blur.”
“Days like those tend to be.”
Now it was Jordan’s turn to jump to attention as she remembered her manners. “Would you like to sit down? May I get you a drink?” Her hand flapped toward the now-cold coffee she’d forgotten. Juniper’s eyes landed there, too, knowingly.
“I would love to sit down, and I don’t care for anything to drink, thank you. I can’t help but notice the quiet. I hope I’m not taking you away from naptime?” Naptime was gold, as every mother knew.
“Don’t give it a thought. It’s almost over, anyway.” Her eyes darted to the clock before leading Juniper to the couch. She had to move aside a pile of stuffed animals and cracker crumbs before they sat. Juniper seemed not to notice the mess, instead regarding Jordan with a tipped head and inquisitive expression.
“Jordan, our world is small, as I’m certain you know. My husband keeps close tabs on the men under his command, but I take more of an interest in their wives and families. I thought I would stop by and see how you’re doing because we have something in common.”
“Were you married before The Colonel?”
“No. But shortly before John and I were married I lost my entire family in a car accident. My parents and all my siblings.”
“I…I’m so sorry,” Jordan stammered, shocked by the ease with which she related her massive and catastrophic loss.
“Thank you. Once you lose someone, you understand. It’s an exclusive club absolutely no one wants to join,” Juniper said. “And then there’s being a military wife. Not so easy, when you get right down to it.”
“It’s not,” Jordan agreed. “Though I guess I’m not one anymore.”
“Nonsense,” Juniper scoffed. “Once you’re in, you’re never back out again.” She tipped her head, regarding Jordan thoughtfully again. “I don’t think our men always understand the toll it takes, do you?”
“It’s not the same for them. They get to go away and do something important while we…”
“Stay here and do something important, but perhaps less glamorous,” Juniper suggested.
“Yes,” Jordan nodded, relieved to have someone who understood the struggle. She had tried so hard not to complain, but she was exhausted.
“Some of our men come back with PTSD, which is a shame and a struggle and I sympathize. But something that gets overlooked, I think, is how many women have to deal with it, too. Both as the support for their struggling husbands and in regard to their own trauma. And it is a trauma, is it not? The constancy of being alone, of moving when you begin to establish new roots, of starting over and being left behind.”
Painful tears formed in Jordan’s eyes, refusing to be released.
“You’ve had a lot going on,” Juniper said, tone oozing sympathetic understanding, and at last Jordan’s dam broke. The tears burst free and made hot, fast tracks down her cheeks. She nodded, unable to speak.
Juniper scooted closer and took her hand, giving it a squeeze. “Here’s what I want to tell you. Not that it gets better, because I’m certain you know it does. Eventually, in some way or shape. What I want to say to you is that it’s okay if it’s not right now. It’s okay to wallow, to struggle, to grieve in any way you want or need, for any length of time. Stop pressuring yourself to be okay. Someday you will be. It doesn’t have to be now.”
Jordan nodded fiercely, doing absolutely nothing to stop her mad rush of tears, mostly because they felt so good. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding back, that she’d been yearning for permission to cry free, to fall apart, to not be okay. But this woman, this revered, mythical matron was giving her an out, had provided a loophole. Because if The Colonel’s wife said it was all right to have a complete and utter breakdown, then it was certainly okay. Maybe even sanctioned.
She sobbed for what felt like hours, heaving, wrenching ugly things that wracked her body and made her throat ache. Juniper sat placidly beside her without touching, as if bearing witness. Somehow that helped, too. Jordan didn’t want to be hugged or comforted. She wanted to get it all out, an emotional purge.
Eventually she did. The heaving sobs gave way to shudders and then to sniffles. She felt as though she’d cried for everything that had ever happened to her, not only Jay’s death, but all of his accumulated absences, all the things she’d had to face on her own. In a way, she had been a soldier, too. Unpaid and unacknowledged, but expected to carry a heavy burden nonetheless.
“There now,” Juniper said cheerfully, as if they’d just finished a craft project together. It made Jordan laugh.
“Juniper, thank you for this. Truly. You’ve changed my life.” Jordan felt she might have gone on for years with this unacknowledged ache, staggering under the weight of her baggage, guilty because the love and care of her family somehow wasn’t enough.
“You’re welcome. And someday, Jordan, you’ll be in a place to help someone else. I promise you.”
That was a happy thought for Jordan, she who preferred to care instead of be cared for. In his room, Nash began to cry.
“I believe that’s my cue,” Juniper said, standing.
“Please stay. Have some pie. The kids would love to meet you.”
“And I would love to meet them, but I have a prior commitment.”
Just like that she took her leave, gone so quickly it was as if she’d never existed. If not for the pie she’d left in her wake, Jordan might have believed she’d been visited by an angel. Worse, it was too private and tender to gossip over, meaning it would remain a secret. Once again The Colonel’s elusive wife would remain a myth and, to Jordan, a legend.