The Soldier's Homecoming

“You first,” he insisted.

She took a long sip of tea before answering.

She shrugged. “I always had wanderlust. When I was a kid, I could travel through books and movies and television. But that wasn’t enough. I wanted to see places and events through my own eyes, not someone else’s. I majored in journalism in college, helped put myself through by writing for the university television station and stringing for state newspapers.

“When I graduated, reality hit,” she said with a wry grimace. “Jobs were hard to come by in the business. Newspapers were consolidating all over the country. Really fine, experienced reporters couldn’t find jobs. The entire field was in withdrawal.

“I auditioned for several television stations,” she continued with that spark of defiance in her eyes, “but I turned down being a weather girl.”

He couldn’t help but smile at that. Just from the few hours he’d spent with her, he realized she wouldn’t be satisfied in a nine to five job even on television. He had a damn hard job thinking of one for himself. “No,” he said. “I can’t picture you standing in front of a board, day after day.”

Her brow furrowed. “You’re right. Instead, I worked at making contacts with editors through press clubs and friends. I made a nuisance out of myself. Through pure persistence, I got a job with a small city newspaper. Interesting, but not what I wanted. I wanted to cover more big news, and I wanted to travel.” She paused. “I’m talking too much.”

“No, you’re not,” he replied. “Go on.”

“Maybe you should have been a reporter,” she said with that quick, heart-stopping grin. “I discovered that my newspaper was paying freelancers for travel articles. I investigated and discovered a lot of travel magazines as well as newspapers used freelancers. I also discovered that, unlike newspapers, travel magazines are doing very well and looking for contributors. I’d saved enough money to take a sailboat cruise to some off-the-beaten-trail Caribbean Islands and wrote three different stories and sent them to three different travel publications. All three bought them and wanted more.”

She paused, but now he was caught up in her story. She sipped her tea.

“How did you go from travel writer to war correspondent?” Travis asked. He wanted to keep the conversation away from Covenant Falls and himself, and turnaround from all her questions was only fair. He also liked watching her as she spoke. Her green eyes lit with life and humor. Determination and restlessness radiated from her. It was even in the way her fingers wandered from her glass to the silverware. They were always in motion.

He realized one thing. It was going to be nearly impossible to deflect her from whatever she was seeking.

She played with the napkin, another indication of suppressed energy. “I spent two years as a travel writer, both for magazines and newspapers. I could always find quirky people and odd bits of history and out-of-the-way places. Most of my expenses were paid by hotels or ships or travel agencies. I saved money. I was satisfying my travel drive, but not the part of me that wanted to be where important things were happening.

“When I’d saved enough money and made contacts with major news organizations, I decided to go out on my own. I had a college friend who worked with refugees in Jordan and I was able to get a visa. That was before everything blew up there. Once in the Middle East, I started writing stories about ordinary people caught up in war and a growing number were picked up by several news services. Few of them wanted to pay for a full-time reporter with all the risks involved.”

It sounded easy, but Travis knew how difficult it was to get permission to enter Middle Eastern countries. He wondered whether it was that smile or the obvious never-say-quit determination. Whatever it was, it did not bode well for trying to discourage her from whatever she wanted here.

“You did more than a few articles,” he said.

“You did some research, too,” she tossed back.

“A little,” he admitted. “But I suspect there’s more to the story.”

“I was in the right place at the wrong time,” she said. “I was staying in a hotel in Iraq when terrorists hit a popular restaurant on the same street. I emailed it to a news service that had picked up some of my travel articles. The news manager bought it, pushed it and it got wide distribution. He said he would take whatever else I could give him. Through him, I was able to get press credentials and go pretty much wherever I wanted to go. And that’s pretty much the whole story.”

“And what about your family?” he asked.

She shrugged. “No husband. No children. As for my parents, they disapproved of almost everything I did. My father’s expectation was a proper marriage to a very eligible and preferably wealthy man. He was sadly disappointed with my wandering ways. We don’t speak much.”

“Mother?” he asked.

“She thinks like Father thinks.”

The food came. Jenny grabbed one of the two cheeseburgers the second the plate was down, but she paused before eating long enough to look up at Maude with a blinding smile. “Heavens, but that smells good.”

He was just as hungry, and they both concentrated on hamburgers and fries. He was impressed. When she finished with the first burger and french fries, she fastened her gaze on him. “Your turn to tell your life story.”

“You still have a burger left.”

“That’s dessert. A dignified pause is warranted,” she explained patiently.

He chuckled. He was both relieved and yet oddly saddened to be leaving Covenant Falls the day after tomorrow.

“Fair’s fair,” Jenny persisted. “I get to ask a question now.”

“Okay,” he said. “Ask.”

“How long have you been in the army?”

“Seventeen years in September.”

“Do you want to stay in?”

“Depends on the job. My injuries, both leg and hand, will keep me out of the field.”

She studied him for a long moment. “Why did you join the army?”

He shrugged. “Nine-Eleven, like a lot of people my age. A close friend died in the South Tower.”

“What were you planning to do?”

“Sports management. High school or college athletics. I’d just received my undergrad degree and was planning to get my master’s, but sports didn’t seem that important after Kevin died. Instead, I went into officer candidate school.”

“What about your family?”

“There isn’t any,” he said in a flat tone that ordinarily would have warned most people off. He’d already said more to her than he remembered telling anyone else. More explanation would carry too much pain.