Summer of Two Wishes by Julia London Page B

worried.” He gently dislodged himself, then rolled over on his back and closed his eyes, a contented smile on his face.
    Macy inched toward the edge of the bed.
    “What’s the rush?” he asked, and put a hand on her belly.
    “I have to go,” Macy said, scooting out from beneath his hand.
    Wyatt opened his eyes. “Where?”
    “Laru’s. I told you.”
    A frown darkened his face and Wyatt abruptly sat up. “What the hell, Macy?” he asked angrily. “You’re still going after what just happened here?” he asked, gesturing to the bed.
    She had to go, especially after what had happened. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and glanced back over her shoulder at Wyatt. “I don’t know how to make it easier. If I could, I would, believe me.” She stood up.
    “Macy, dammit! Don’t go!”
    “I’m sorry,” she said, and padded into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

11
     
    Finn dreamed he was under heavy enemy fire. He was running through the confusing maze of streets in Kabul, ducking into doorways when he could. The fire was drawing closer; he ran again, finding himself in a blind alley, a dead end.
    There was a woman in a blue chadari standing at the end of the alley. No one could be trusted; Finn cautiously approached her, his rifle raised, the woman in his sights. He heard the rap rap rap of gunshots nearby. He drew closer, but as he did, he noticed the woman’s wide blue eyes, the only part of her he could see. He blinked, quickly rubbed his eyes, and looked again. “ Macy?” he whispered.
    The woman quickly raised a rifle she’d been hiding in the voluminous folds of her chadari. Rap rap rap.
    Finn woke with a start, groping for a gun, frantic to find it until he remembered where he was. He sucked a calming breath into his lungs and sat up.
    He heard the rap rap rap again—someone was at the door of his room. Finn stumbled to his feet and opened it. “Dad,” Finn said roughly, rubbing one eye. “What are you doing?”
    “Just checking on you, son.” His father looked strange standing there. Finn was still expecting to see turbans and chadaris . “You’re sleeping. I’ll leave you be,” he said.
    “No, no,” Finn said. “What time is it?”
    “Ten.”
    Ten. He’d been awakened at seven every morning for the last three years by the slide of a tray of food across the dirt floor, or the heel of a boot in his back. For a long time, the first real human contact he would have each day was with the boy, Nasir, who had big green eyes, almost too big for his face. He would stare at Finn through a gate as Finn tried to rouse himself, day after day.
    Once he was awake, he’d begin his day of alternately sitting and pacing, save the one hour at midday they allowed him into the courtyard to walk around. Nasir would follow him then, watching Finn feed scraps of food from his bowl to the stray dog in the compound, and then, as Nasir grew older, helping Finn feed the stray.
    “Your mom made pancakes,” his father said.
    “It’s good to be home,” Finn replied. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
    With his father gone, Finn sat on the edge of the bed in his parents’ house and stared at the wall. Ten o’clock. He hardly knew what to do with himself. The army handouts suggested that he engage in routine behaviors, but hell if Finn knew what was routine anymore. There were a few things he wanted to do, like see his land. His dogs. Maybe catch up with a couple of friends, if he could find them. But beyond that, he had no idea what he would do.
    He got cleaned up and dressed. The smell of pancakes lured Finn down the hall. As he passed the utility room, something in a box on top of the dryer caught his eye. He backed up a step.
    Sticking up out of the box was a folded corner of an American flag. Finn stepped into the utility room and looked at the box, but instantly recoiled, his gut taking a nauseating dip. He took a tentative step forward, peered into the box again, and removed a