When She Came Home by Drusilla Campbell Page B

lenses. She would not have to turn around to feel the eyes of the crowd in the room watching her. By a small stretch of her imagination she saw her father at home in his den, his attention riveted to the television screen as she swore to tell the truth.
    Bunny was right. The risk was too great and the chance of doing good by testifying was almost infinitesimally small. Iraq teetered on the edge of a flat world. Blood was blood and dead was dead. Forever. She would not humiliate the corps or herself, and she would never, under any circumstances, do anything that would hurt her father.

Chapter 13
    T hat night it was after eight when Frankie left the MCRD and walked to her car. The early dark was oddly quiet but she heard the rustle of hidden life in the huge palm trees. She didn’t want to know what kind of life, but there was no way to pretend it wasn’t up there skittering around. In the half quiet darkness, she heard the scrape of tiny claws from nest to nest, up and down the shingled trunk. From a power line a crow as black as ink watched her and she was tempted to call up to it, tell it to go away, leave her alone. Carrion crows were everywhere in Iraq.
    She called Rick and told him she was going to the support group at Veterans’ Villa. He knew this was a big step for her and he said twice how proud he was. She wished he would not praise her. She wasn’t doing anything worthy and she did not intend to participate in the group. If Domino wasn’t there, she wouldn’t even hang around.
    She parked in front of a hiring agency whose blue neon sign outlined a coyly posed nude and crossed the street. Atthe entrance to Veterans’ Villa a notice directed her to a “closed” support group at the end of an arcade open on one side to a center patio. At the round tables the umbrellas had been drawn down and strapped and the chairs were tipped forward, balanced on two legs. In a corner two women sat on a bench talking quietly. As she passed near them they looked up briefly, took in her boots and cammies, and resumed their conversation. At the door Frankie put her hand on the knob and paused. She knew the women were watching, making up stories in their minds as to why she was there, fitting them into the lines and spaces of their own histories.
    The long, narrow room was floored in vinyl, a gray marble design that could not conceal the wear of hundreds of pairs of boots. The walls were a similar nondescript color, but she smelled fresh paint. At one corner there was a bulletin board with nothing posted on it. Opposite a line of windows faced the street where Frankie’s car was parked. Off-white plastic vertical blinds laid stripes of blue neon across a dozen metal folding chairs arranged in the approximation of a circle. Faces turned and a dozen pairs of eyes stared at her.
    She didn’t see Domino. One man, tall and very thin, raised his hand and beckoned her to join the group.
    “Sorry. I must have the wrong room.”
    She ducked back and closed the door. For a moment she stood, leaning against the building while she waited for her pulse to stop racing. She hurried along the coveredwalkway, out, and across the street. Fumbling for her keys, she looked up the street and saw Domino’s van parked just inside an alley, almost out of sight. It hadn’t been there when Frankie went inside.
    Domino had a pillow rolled between her neck and the car’s door. Frankie knocked on the window, startling her. Domino pressed a finger against her lips for quiet and carefully opened the van door and stepped out into the street. The door clicked softly as she closed it.
    “Candy’s asleep,” she said. “We spent the whole day at the beach. She’s beat.”
    “I’ve been looking all over for you.” Frankie hugged her. “And Glory’s been driving me bat-shit asking when she’ll see Candace again. Are you guys okay?”
    “Been better.” Domino rubbed her upper arms.
    “Let’s sit in my car. It’s chilly out here. We’ll be able