The Long Way Home

Chapter One

Nothing has changed, Rita Warren thought. She kept watching both sides of the Boulevard as she drove along, not really knowing what she expected to see. This stretch of road had looked the same—been the same—for as long as she could remember. It was like an irrepressible old lady who wouldn’t behave at the family reunion. No matter who objected, she just kept singing her bawdy songs. So what if she was crass and a bit obscene. It didn’t matter. It never mattered—she was still profitable enough to get away with it.

Because it was a weekday, nearly every vehicle Rita encountered seemed to be occupied by military personnel. She didn’t see anyone she recognized. There was a time when she could hardly go anywhere in this town without someone calling to her from an open car window or a boulevard parking lot.

Hey! Ready Rita!

It suddenly occurred to her that it was she who was not the same. She wasn’t Ready Rita, the most notorious club dancer on the boulevard, anymore. She might still look like her, even dance like her, but that was all. She had money now, for one thing. Not a lot by some standards, but more than she’d ever thought possible. And, for the first time in her life, she was actually experiencing the self-satisfaction that came from having had a long-held dream come true. Oddly enough, it was this remarkable occurrence that had led her to finally face all the other things in her life she wasn’t so satisfied about.

Money, success, a certain kind of fame from doing what she loved best in the world, what she had literally sacrificed her rights to her daughter to have, had precipitated a kind of epiphany. An attack of insight that let her look into the dressing-room mirror one day and know exactly what kind of person she was—and wasn’t. The dream come true of performing in Las Vegas suddenly became two shows a day, six days a week, twenty-five pounds of feathers and fifteen pounds of jewelry—and no baby daughter. The remarkable achievement of having gone to an open audition, and actually having been hired to dance in one of the most famous and prestigious shows in Vegas didn’t help. The accolades from the audience didn’t help. The six hundred dollars a week—and then more—didn’t help. She had thought she could just walk away and forget the mess she’d made of her life, but that hadn’t been the case. She’d soon realized that whatever she decided to do with her newfound, elevated consciousness, she had to have capital. She rounded up several of the other dancers—college students, single mothers and the like—who needed to save every penny and talked some of them into sharing an apartment.

She already knew how to live on practically nothing, and now, driven by the need to backtrack and make things right once and for all, she absolutely excelled at saving money. Now—she was more or less sitting pretty. Or at least pretty enough to be able to come home again. She knew there were people who would think she had crawled back here with her tail between her legs, that she had had her shot at the Big Time, and failed. She knew there were people who would think it ludicrous that she—Ready Rita—had not only returned but was going to go to school at the local community college. She didn’t care. She couldn’t fix the situation until she had fixed herself. If she wanted to be an important part of her daughter’s life, then she had to be worthy of it.

Olivia was happy with her father and his new wife. As much as Rita would have liked to believe otherwise, she knew that to be true. She couldn’t just show up on Matt and Corey Beltran’s doorstep and announce that she’d had second thoughts and now felt like being Olivia’s mother again. She loved her baby girl—regardless of the way it may have appeared. She had no excuses for her past behavior—except that it now seemed as if it had all happened to someone else.

She had done an incredibly stupid thing in leaving Olivia with her soldier father the way she had, and she was paying for that mistake. But that didn’t mean that she had to leave everything exactly as it was. She could still see Olivia. Matt and Corey wouldn’t deny her that. And if she took it slowly, carefully, there was a good chance she could participate in her baby’s life again. To participate, not to disrupt. That was all she wanted. Just to be there for Olivia and have her know that her mother loved her.

A pickup truck abruptly changed lanes in front of her, and Rita reached out to keep her stack of textbooks from sliding onto the floor. Even she found it hard to believe that she was actually going back to school. But she was fully convinced that the community college wouldn’t be like high school. She would no longer be intimidated by not belonging to the in crowd, by not feeling pretty enough, or rich enough or smart enough to even try. She was going to soar now—she hoped—in spite of her impetuous decision to take a course in algebra instead of business math.

At the moment, though, she had other things on her mind. She wanted to see her baby girl. Finally. She’d taken care of business first—taken care of finding a place to live and enrolling in school. She was still looking for some kind of gainful employment, but she knew exactly what she wanted to do about that. And now she was ready to take on the scary prospect of presenting herself to her daughter. She had called Matt’s house several times today, but no one had answered the phone. On impulse she decided to go by anyway.

She turned off the boulevard onto the street that ran past the yellow house on the corner where her daughter lived. There were no cars in the driveway, but she still stopped, her heart aching at the sight of the little red-and-blue tricycle on the front porch. She had sent it to Olivia for her birthday, the big zero-three. Corey Beltran had told her that Olivia liked it. Maybe it was true. It certainly looked... appreciated.

Rita smiled abruptly to herself, imagining the little girl Olivia must be now, zipping around on her first set of wheels. She wondered if Olivia would even know her. Corey had sent her pictures faithfully, all kinds of pictures. Olivia in her Sunday best. Dirty-faced Olivia after a hard day in the sandbox. Olivia sleeping on Matt’s shoulder at the military’s Fourth of July celebration. And Rita had returned the favor with a publicity photo that featured her in all her showgirl glory—bosom covered, in case the Beltrans, or anyone else who happened to see it, still thought of her as that kind of dancer.

Her smile abruptly faded. She had missed so much of Olivia’s life.

And whose fault is that, Rita? she whispered, knowing exactly where to lay the blame. She sat there, staring at the yellow house, the front porch with the swing and the ivy and the hanging baskets of red geraniums.

The place looked exactly like what it was—home, something Rita had experienced only briefly before her grandmother had died. She could remember riding past houses like this one when she was a little girl, wishing—wishing so hard—that she could live in one, not because of the house itself but because of the love and caring that surely must be inside. She had firmly believed that houses like these—the ones with tricycles and flowers on the porch—were places where little girls were looked after. There would be sit-down meals with a mother and a father, and clean clothes, and people who cared if they were hungry or sick or scared. And—

And if she wasn’t careful, she was going to be bawling about her poor, pitiful childhood in a minute, when she’d learned a long time ago there was no point in it. What mattered now was Olivia’s childhood, not hers. She couldn’t change the past, and in lieu of sitting there feeling sorry for herself, she abruptly decided to leave a note. She got out of the car, and she had walked nearly to the front door when another car pulled in behind hers.

Matt.

She saw immediately the change in his expression as he realized who she was. It was clear that he still expected the absolute worst from her—and not without good reason. But he was the kind of man who met his problems head-on. He approached her with the same kind of grim determination he must use whenever he found himself in the Balkans or Haiti or any of the other places he’d been sent to keep the peace. The same determination he’d had after he’d learned that he was Olivia’s father—whether he remembered the occasion or not. Watching him now, it surprised Rita to note that her unrequited passion for him had somehow dissipated during the time she’d been away. The passion, but not the respect.

Rita, he said by way of greeting, and nothing more, his expression still wary. She remembered suddenly the way his face would light up whenever he saw his wife. Someday, she wanted a man to look at her the way she’d seen Matt look at Corey. She wondered if he still did that, still looked at the woman he’d married with the unabashed eyes of love. Probably—or he wouldn’t be so obviously worried now.

Sergeant, she said just as gravely, then smiled. He didn’t smile in return.

Okay, then, she thought. If that’s how it’s going to be.

I came to see Olivia, she said.

She’s not here.

When will she be back?

I don’t know.

"You don’t know?"

That’s what I said.

Why not, Matt? Rita asked pointedly, because she was becoming more than a little annoyed by his reluctance to tell her anything. She wasn’t just somebody in off the street here. She was Olivia’s real mother, and he’d do well to remember that. I came to see my baby. It’s in the custody agreement. You do know that much?

Well, you missed her. Sorry.

Yeah, I can see how sorry you are. But if you don’t want me—and my lawyer—on your doorstep every day, you’d better tell me where she is and when she’s coming home.

Are you going to be in town awhile? he asked, completely unimpressed by the ultimatum.

"A long while," she said, and if she thought he had looked less than delighted to see her before, it was nothing compared to now.

Welcome home, Rita.

Are you going to give me a little hint about when she’ll be here, or not?

I told you. I don’t know—not for sure. When I talk to Corey, I’ll ask her.

You do that. You and Corey aren’t having problems, are you? Is that why you’re so...uninformed? If Olivia is in the middle of some kind of marital trouble here—

There isn’t any marital trouble, Rita. Corey and the kids went with her parents to the beach. Her father had a heart attack a few weeks ago. He was afraid he wouldn’t ever see the ocean again, and he insisted he was going. Corey went along to do the driving. How long they stay will depend on him—on how well he gets along while he’s there. She calls every night. I’ll tell her you came by.

And I want to know when Olivia’s coming back.

That, too. Anything else?

No, that’s all—except, I don’t know why you’re acting like this.

Experience, Rita. Experience.

She sighed. She had no legitimate argument for that. So is...Olivia okay? she asked after a moment.

She’s fine, he said shortly.

She looked up at him. He was still worried.

She’s...fine, he repeated, a little less defensively this time.

What about the other one? she asked, and he looked at her blankly. She knew perfectly well why. He hadn’t expected her to be civil. A conversation with Rita Warren surely wouldn’t include chitchat and pleasantries.

The other kid, Matt, she said in spite of her insight. and with more sarcasm than she really intended. The one you and Corey had, remember? Olivia’s half brother. How is he?

He’s fine.

Now that you’ve got the little prince, does that mean you’re not going to care all that much about Olivia? Because if it does—

"Rita! I love both my children. Both of them, okay!"

Okay, she said lightly. Don’t get so pushed out of shape. I have to ask, don’t I?

He didn’t answer her. He just stood there, obviously wishing her gone.

I’m going, she assured him. But I’ll call tomorrow. And if I don’t get an answer, I’ll be back.

Hey, he said when she was about to open the car door. Have you been to see Bugs Doyle?

No, why? she asked, surprised by the question. She and Spec 4 Calvin Bugs Doyle had come to a parting of the ways even before she left for the greener pastures of Las Vegas. Surely Matt knew that.

I know you two were close—

"We were not ‘close.’ Not the way you mean. He helped me out when nobody else would. That’s all. And if you—"

All right! he said, holding up both hands. I was just going to tell you he’s still in the hospital—

Still? What do you mean ‘still’?

He was on a Black Hawk that went down on a night training mission. Maybe you ought to go see him. I don’t think he gets many visitors.

Rita looked at him. Is he hurt...bad?

Bad enough. He and his lieutenant were the only ones who made it.

I hate hospitals, she said.

Suit yourself.

What is that supposed to mean? she asked, immediately offended by the tone of his voice.

Nothing, Rita—but you’re the one who said the man helped you out.

"Did I say I wouldn’t go see him? I didn’t say I wouldn’t go. I just said I hate hospitals. I have ever since that time when Olivia was so sick. You are so hard to get along with—I don’t know how Corey stands you."

For the first time, he almost smiled.

Don’t you forget to ask Corey about Olivia, she said, opening the car door.

You’re going to go see Bugs?

Yes! I’m going to go see him!

Good. If anybody can take his mind off his troubles, you can.

She gave him a look before she got into the car. His heavy-handed implication was that she was such a handful Bugs would be forced to forget his current miseries because he’d have to deal with her.

To her surprise, Matt actually smiled this time, and for one brief moment she felt that old longing for what might have been.

I hope you know how lucky you are, Corey, she thought as she drove away.

It was late afternoon before she made it to the hospital. It wasn’t the same hospital where Olivia had been admitted when she’d had scarlet fever. This was the new one with an odd kind of architectural style that reminded Rita of an airport terminal-slash-Oriental pagoda. But she still remembered that terrible time whether she wanted to or not. She had felt so lost and helpless then. Everything in her life had spiraled completely