Initiate Me(69)

“Shit, how long has he been missing?”

“A week.”

“What happened?”

“They’re not sure. A bomb exploded, knocking out the first two vehicles in a caravan. Mic and his guys got out of their vehicle to help the injured when two more IEDs were detonated. People scattered and took cover. In the mass confusion of smoke, casualties and gunfire, the vehicles remaining in the caravan were ordered to retreat. The brass didn’t realise they’d left Mic and the other guys behind until they’d returned to camp.”

Zane didn’t say a word.

“They've sent search parties out but haven’t found anything yet.” I squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn’t block out the horrors filling my brain. “They may never find him or a trace of him. Or the others. How am I going to deal with that? I need to get to my family."

“Hey, now. Take a deep breath. I’m not going to tell you everything is going to be sunshiny rainbows, but sometimes no news is good news.”

“I hope so." But my thoughts flew to Mic. I couldn’t comprehend not ever seeing his teasing smile again. Or being a victim of his practical jokes. Or watching him lace up his battered running shoes before he took off on his daily ten-mile run. Mic's life obsessions were working out and guns, so no one had been particularly surprised when he’d enlisted in the armed forces. But my entire family was shocked when he’d chosen the military—not the family business—as his career. "I need to go see my parents; my mother must be going crazy."

"I'll take you. Let's go."

I needed my family then more than ever.

***

My parents had only been back a week from their trip, and for them to receive this news was devastating. As I walked up the porch steps, I spotted my mother sitting on her ever-faithful rocking chair, knitting feverishly. The result of her rapidly moving fingers was a white lump piled beside her. She didn’t even glance up when she said, "Max has told you?"

“Yes." I let out a shaky breath.

No answer.

I walked over to her, my heels clicking on the wooden deck as I sat on the love-seat beside her, click, click, click as the metal needles whipped the wool into shape.

Neither one of us spoke for the longest time, which was fine. I wasn’t quite sure what to say, anyway.

My mother started babbling, “I’ve been putting off finishing this baby blanket for Max and Jada. It will give them hope that the next round of treatment will be a success. You need to remain positive, right?”

“Right.”

“It will happen. I know it will. I can't wait to be a Nonna."

I smiled. "You will be a wonderful Nonna, too. You'll be spoiling those little grandchildren rotten. I can't wait to be an aunty, either. Of course, I'll have to get them to call me Aunty, because Zia Mia sounds weird." I laughed, trying to ease her tension.

“It will be fun to have a baby around this place again. They say what goes around comes around because Max was my climber. But Marco always stayed put, patiently waiting for me to lift him out. And Miccah...Miccah rattled the bars of his play pen so hard I feared he'd rip them out. When you were born, I thought Miccah would accidentally hurt you because he was such a big kid. But he didn't. He was so gentle with you. And patient. Lord, Miccah's size scared a lot of people. He is so strong and smart and he can’t be...there’s no way. No way. They’re wrong. They’re wrong.” She broke down, crying.

The clicking stopped. So did my heart.

“Oh, God," my mother cried. "I can’t do this...I can’t...he’s not...not Miccah...not one of mine. Not mine.”

I gently set the knitting aside and circled my arm around her shoulder as she sobbed. I cried silently right along with her, my emotions ripped into shreds. A cracking noise sounded, followed by a grunt as my father crouched down in front of my mother.

His face looked pinched and pale, almost haggard. He paid no attention to me; his sole focus was on his wife. Picking up her hands from her lap, he kissed her fingertips. “Rosa...

My mother met his gaze. “What?”

“Are you—”

“Don’t you ask me if I’m all right, or I swear to God, I’ll scream.”

“O-o-okay,” he said evenly. “Maybe you should—”

“Don’t you dare suggest I go lay down, either,” she sobbed.

A great gasping sob erupted from my mum’s throat.

“Hey, now, hush.” My father tenderly kissed Mum's palms and the tips of her fingers, then rubbed her knuckles over his razor-stubbled cheeks like her skin was the finest silk. His actions seemed to calm them both a little.