Bookbinder could siphon off magic and bind it into inanimate objects, or even people. Which was ostensibly why he was reporting to the Breakwater , to oversee the deployment of one of his ‘Bound Magical Energy Repositories’, what he called ‘boomers’, an oil drum brimming with a blend of Hydromantic and Aeromantic magic supposed to calm rough seas.
After saving FOB Frontier, he’d stepped through the gate outside Bethesda Naval Medical Center ready to be court-martialed. Instead, there’d been questions, tests, days and nights ‘for his own safety’ in a blank, featureless room which felt suspiciously like a comfortable prison cell. When the cries for his release finally forced the government’s hand, and he emerged blinking into the sunlight, he’d been allowed home for one night.
One.
The girls had flown into his arms, folding around his knees, the smell of their hair making his throat tighten. But Julie had hung back, one hand on the lintel, her face blank. She looked quickly away when he tried to meet her gaze, over his shoulder at his ‘protective security detail’, setting up their posts in the living room. Ripple was among them. She’d been assigned that morning.
The girls remained attached to his legs for the entire afternoon, and it wasn’t until they’d been put reluctantly to bed that he found himself alone in the bedroom with Julie, a guard outside the door.
She shrugged off his awkward embrace, looked at the floor. ‘There are a lot of people talking like you’re a war criminal.’
There were a lot of people calling him a hero, too, but not in the social circles of military wives where Julie spent her time.
She looked up at him. ‘Alan, what happened?’
He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. How could he describe the adventure? The transformation? He’d left her a desk-bound bureaucrat and come home a battle-hardened war leader. That transformation enabled him to make the hardest decision of his life: defying the authority of his government in order to save tens of thousands of men and women.
The man standing across from Julie Bookbinder was not the man she’d married, and they’d both known that the moment he’d walked through the door.
He coughed, stammered. ‘Julie, I . . .’
The door opened, and the girls came running through. Ripple stood outside, shrugged, smiling. She looked scarcely older than his children. ‘They wouldn’t sleep, sir. They insisted . . .’
Bookbinder was too happy to acquiesce to letting the girls sleep with them. After all, he was only home for the one night. Kelly and Sarah lay between them, Julie’s silent form on her side, back to him.
As the girls snored, he reached out, traced a finger down Julie’s spine. ‘I did what I had to do, bunny. I had no choice.’ She stiffened, the pace of her breathing the only other indicator that she heard him.
‘I did what I did to get back to you in one piece. If I’d left those people when I could have saved them . . . what kind of man would I be?’
Silence.
‘Julie. The one thing that kept me going . . . it was so hard, and I was able to push on through dreaming about this moment. I kept thinking if I could just get back to you, if I could just hold on long enough to get back to you . . . then . . .’
‘Then what, Alan?’ she whispered.
‘Then it would be okay.’
‘It’s not okay. Nothing’s okay.’
He nodded in the darkness, biting back tears, unable to deny it. ‘It doesn’t have to be okay. That’s what “for better or for worse” means. It means that loving you is enough. And I do love you, Julie. Even if you’re angry with me. There’s still us after all of this. There has to be.’
Whether there had to be or not, she wouldn’t answer for the rest of the night, her back a white wall to his face, looming over the sleep-tousled heads of his children.
A stranger.
Bookbinder put the cell phone back in his pocket undialed. The ache tore
After saving FOB Frontier, he’d stepped through the gate outside Bethesda Naval Medical Center ready to be court-martialed. Instead, there’d been questions, tests, days and nights ‘for his own safety’ in a blank, featureless room which felt suspiciously like a comfortable prison cell. When the cries for his release finally forced the government’s hand, and he emerged blinking into the sunlight, he’d been allowed home for one night.
One.
The girls had flown into his arms, folding around his knees, the smell of their hair making his throat tighten. But Julie had hung back, one hand on the lintel, her face blank. She looked quickly away when he tried to meet her gaze, over his shoulder at his ‘protective security detail’, setting up their posts in the living room. Ripple was among them. She’d been assigned that morning.
The girls remained attached to his legs for the entire afternoon, and it wasn’t until they’d been put reluctantly to bed that he found himself alone in the bedroom with Julie, a guard outside the door.
She shrugged off his awkward embrace, looked at the floor. ‘There are a lot of people talking like you’re a war criminal.’
There were a lot of people calling him a hero, too, but not in the social circles of military wives where Julie spent her time.
She looked up at him. ‘Alan, what happened?’
He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. How could he describe the adventure? The transformation? He’d left her a desk-bound bureaucrat and come home a battle-hardened war leader. That transformation enabled him to make the hardest decision of his life: defying the authority of his government in order to save tens of thousands of men and women.
The man standing across from Julie Bookbinder was not the man she’d married, and they’d both known that the moment he’d walked through the door.
He coughed, stammered. ‘Julie, I . . .’
The door opened, and the girls came running through. Ripple stood outside, shrugged, smiling. She looked scarcely older than his children. ‘They wouldn’t sleep, sir. They insisted . . .’
Bookbinder was too happy to acquiesce to letting the girls sleep with them. After all, he was only home for the one night. Kelly and Sarah lay between them, Julie’s silent form on her side, back to him.
As the girls snored, he reached out, traced a finger down Julie’s spine. ‘I did what I had to do, bunny. I had no choice.’ She stiffened, the pace of her breathing the only other indicator that she heard him.
‘I did what I did to get back to you in one piece. If I’d left those people when I could have saved them . . . what kind of man would I be?’
Silence.
‘Julie. The one thing that kept me going . . . it was so hard, and I was able to push on through dreaming about this moment. I kept thinking if I could just get back to you, if I could just hold on long enough to get back to you . . . then . . .’
‘Then what, Alan?’ she whispered.
‘Then it would be okay.’
‘It’s not okay. Nothing’s okay.’
He nodded in the darkness, biting back tears, unable to deny it. ‘It doesn’t have to be okay. That’s what “for better or for worse” means. It means that loving you is enough. And I do love you, Julie. Even if you’re angry with me. There’s still us after all of this. There has to be.’
Whether there had to be or not, she wouldn’t answer for the rest of the night, her back a white wall to his face, looming over the sleep-tousled heads of his children.
A stranger.
Bookbinder put the cell phone back in his pocket undialed. The ache tore
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