Free The Night Singers by Valerie Miner Page B

weather. She was also drawn toward the posting in Germany. How else could they afford to live in Europe at this stage in their lives? They didn’t have any parental responsibilities. The fertility doctor told her sometimes a dramatic change of scene brought surprising results. She was ready for surprises.
    â€œWould you like to see the memorial plaque?” Mackie asked after a respectful period of time.
    Jennifer was weeping copiously now. Couldn’t help herself. She hadn’t expected this. She thought she’d cried all her tears in Phoenix. She’d attended grief counselling. The school had given her two weeks compassionate leave to bask in the cool, wet weather of her family.
    Mackie proffered another Kleenex.
    â€œThank you,” she said, then soaked this tissue as well.
    Inadvertently, he checked his watch.
    â€œOh, I’m keeping you,” she blubbered. How this would have mortified Brandon. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I … I …”
    â€œThis duty is an honour, Ma’am. I was just thinking that maybe it’s been too much for you today. The emotions. The heat. Weather’s supposed to break tomorrow and I have some time in the afternoon.”
    â€œWould you mind?” She felt pathetic; but her legs were beginning to buckle.
    â€œNot at all Ma’am. I’d be honoured to show you the memorial and then perhaps buy you a glass of lemonade. Shall we say 3pm tomorrow?”
    â€œThank you, Sergeant Mackie.” His name was Charles. As much as the familiarity would comfort her, it wasn’t the military way.
    Brandon loved nothing, no one, in his life as much as he adored Jennifer. She knew this. Although he didn’t share her hatred of the desert sun, he understood it. Home to him hadn’t been a concept until she entered his life. If she was happy, he was happy. Or close to it. Or getting there.
    Of course opting for the Army wasn’t like buying a tailored suit. He’d have to leave in January and her teaching contract tied her to Phoenix until June.
    They sat one air-conditioned night on the beige couch and cried together. Why were there so many trials—the heat of Phoenix, the intransigent child, the distance from old friends and family? And now—either a six month separation or the prospect of settling in Phoenix for eternity.
    â€œI think you should go,” she sat up straighter.
    â€œSix months is a long time,” he frowned. “One-hundred-eighty-three days. Who would take out the garbage?”
    She laughed. They’d been arguing about this silly chore for the last month. All their arguments had been absurd and she regretted each of them now, regretted the discomfort she’d given Brandon, the world’s best husband, who underneath his strong, resolute exterior, was still a two-year-old boy wounded by the deaths of both parents, an adolescent troubled by serial foster families, a teenager humiliated by high school years in the orphanage.
    â€œWe can write every day!” she looked at him brightly, then amended the plan. “I can write every day. We can use those cheap phone cards.” She swished the throw rug back and forth on the tile floor with her bare foot.
    â€œBut how will you deal with the scorpions?”
    This gave her pause. She had found only one scorpion in the apartment, but she had barricaded the bedroom until he returned from base to remove it.
    â€œI would hope I’ve learned some courage from my soldier,” she shrugged. “Actually, it might be good for me to fend for myself. I’ll use the time productively. Manfred the new art instructor is from Hanover and he offered to teach a German class for the teachers.”
    â€œYou already know Spanish and English,” Brandon looked oddly annoyed.
    â€œThey won’t do me much good in Germany,” she laughed.
    He knew when to give up. He said, maybe she was right, maybe it would give them a broader