The lights on the Christmas tree sparkled and dance among the green branches and colorful ornaments. Presents were piled beneath the limbs, spilling off of the red skirt and into the floor, testifying to the good year they had. The children would be thrilled tomorrow morning when they emerged sleepy-eyed from their bedrooms to see the wealth of gifts Santa had brought.
Santa had not answered Jane’s Christmas wish, though. She had put together the presents alone. It was creeping onto 3 o’clock in the morning. She would barely get three hours of sleep before the children would wake from their sugarplum dreams to shake her and announce that Santa had been there. Those three hours would not be peaceful, either. She hadn’t slept well since February when the 101st Airborne had left Fort Campbell for Iraq. She’d been brave and not cried when Henry had left home on a cloudy, cold morning. She’d held her tears while she comforted the children as they’d waved good-bye to their father. She wore a smile like cheap jewelry. Everyone knew it was a fake, but everyone was too polite to comment.
She’d been relieved when Baghdad had fallen, certain that Henry’s troop would be steaming across the Atlantic soon. The 101st was always the first platoon on the ground and the last one out, but as quickly as the Americans had routed Saddam Hussein and his sons, even the 101st wouldn’t have to stay in the desert long. She was convinced he’d be home by summer, but summer had faded into fall, and Thanksgiving had passed into Christmas. Henry was still in Iraq, only able to contact them periodically. Every time he called, she asked the same thing. “When will we hear from you again?”
“As soon as I get to a phone,” he always answered.
Her neighbor’s garish display of multi-colored lights and mechanical glowing Santa reflected in her window as she gazed outside at the quiet, comfortable neighborhood where they lived. Of the places they had lived in their twelve years of marriage, she liked Clarksville, Tennessee, best. Everything was quiet on the street. The other families had finished preparing for Santa’s visit.
She left the window and walked through the kitchen, setting her now empty mug of spiced tea in the sink. She opened the fridge, mentally double checking what she would need to do tomorrow after the excitement of Christmas morning passed.
She peeked into the children’s rooms. The boys were sprawled in their bunk beds at odd angles. She often wandered how they kept from falling out as they tossed and turned all night long. She crossed quietly and put Ian’s leg back into the bed, sliding the blanket over it. Paul turned, mumbling something in his sleep. She whispered a word of assurance to him, smoothing her hand over his hair as she pulled the blanket over his shoulders.
Betsy, her baby girl, was sleeping soundly, her thumb stuck in her mouth. Jane smiled, as she always did when she looked at Betsy. Betsy was their miracle. She had been born ten weeks early, but now was a robust an active tomboy of two. She kept up with the six year old twins nicely.
A noise caught her attention and she frowned, looking toward the front room. She quietly pulled Betsy’s door halfway closed and headed cautiously through the hall toward the glow of the tree. She tensed, wishing she had picked up the baseball bat that lay in the middle of the boys’ floor.
She saw the duffel bag around the corner of the wall first. The edge of the green bag, packed full and covered with dust, was visible sitting next to the recliner. Her pace quickened and by the time she reaching the living room, she was running. She stopped as she reached the entryway, gasping with surprise.
He was dressed in his desert fatigues and was on one knee next to the tree, examining the bounty that Santa had left. A sob caught in her throat, and she covered her mouth as he turned toward her with a smile. “Surprise,” he said just before she pitched forward.
Lightening quick, he caught her in his strong arms. He wrapped them around her waist, holding her as she leaned against his chest, looking into his face. She reached up to stroke his rough cheek. “Are you real?”
“I sure hope so,” he laughed in his familiar Texan drawl. He bent and brushed his lips against hers, a sensation she had feared she would never experience again. His lips were firm and familiar and lingered for an eternity. He pulled away, his smile in place. “You tell me.”
