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military. He had responded by blaming the military for missing the fact that the man's identification papers were faked. The entire investigation had been a disaster without resolution. The hard truth was that a foreign terrorist had infiltrated an American army base and dealt a killing blow. The fact that he'd been killed before he detonated his suicide bomb was thanks to a man whose mind was now in a state of limbo. Not even the base doctors could promise that Wes Holden would recover. In fact, the more time that passed, the less optimistic they became.
      Now, after talking to Wes's doctor a few minutes earlier, Charlie's hopes were dimmer than before. When he reached Wes's room, he hesitated. This was his third visit this week, and probably his last. He was shipping out in two days and had no idea when he would be back. It would be good to know that his friend was on the road to recovery before he left.
      "God, please let this be okay," he said softly, then entered the room.
      Wes was sitting in a chair with his back to the door. Charlie took a deep breath and then made himself smile as he moved closer.
      "Hey, Wes, it's me, Charlie. How you doin', buddy?"
      He pulled up another chair and sat down beside the window, then stared straight into Wes Holden's face. At that point, Charlie's last hopes died.  
      Without speaking, he scooted his chair forward even more and put his hand on Wes's forearm. The sunlight coming through the window made Wes's blue eyes appear transparent. The bone structure of his face was highlighted by a marked weight loss, and his lips were slightly parted, as if he was on the brink of speaking, although Charlie knew that was misleading. He hadn't heard a word out of Wes's mouth since his claim that the enemy had followed him home.
      He gave Wes's arm a brief squeeze, then turned his chair so that he was sharing Wes's view. He sat quietly, believing that in some part of Wes Holden's mind, he had to know that Charlie was there. They'd lost so many good people as a result of the bombing. He didn't want to lose his best friend, as well.
      Time passed. The sun had already begun its fall toward the western horizon when Charlie got up and moved his chair between Wes's gaze and the window. He watched for a few moments, hoping for a reaction, but got nothing. Still, for his own peace of mind, he had to say what he'd come to say.
      "Wes...they tell me that you're in what amounts to a catatonic state. They're starting to hint that you might never recover, and you know what I think? I think that's bullshit. You're not lost, man, you're just sad, and God knows you have the right."
      Charlie gritted his teeth, then moved his chair a bit closer.
      "I need to tell you that in a couple of days I'm shipping out. I don't know how long I'll be gone, but I don't want you to think I'm abandoning you. So here's the deal. You deserve this state of grace. While I'm gone, I want you to grieve and hide from reality and whatever the hell else you feel the need to do, but when I get back, you better be standing on the tarmac to welcome me home."
      Charlie took a deep breath and shoved the heels of his hands against his eyes to keep from crying, then stood abruptly.
      "Goddamn it, Wesley, don't stay gone too long." He walked out without looking back, crossed the parking lot and got into his car without remembering that part of Wes's view was of this very same lot. He didn't think to look, and even if he had, he would have been too far away to see the tears on Wes Holden's face.
     
     
     
    Three
     
    Blue Creek,
West Virginia
     
    Ally Monroe was staring out the kitchen window with her hands in slowly cooling dishwater. Although she was looking toward the family garden, she wasn't really seeing it. Her gaze was caught in the sunlight reflecting off the standing water in the concrete birdbath. Wish dreaming, as her mother used to call it. Longing for something different was pushing at her soul, but she'd