The Major's Wife (Jubilant Falls series Book 2) by Debra Gaskill

Author:Debra Gaskill [Gaskill, Debra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance
Publisher: D'Llama Publishing
Published: 2012-03-03T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7 Kay

I took no perverse pleasure in noting Paul's will had not been changed before he died, that everything reverted to me and not some other woman. The hardest thing to do was to pack up his stuff. His commander, Col. Schiripa, took leave and brought his personal belongings back.

Col. Schiripa stood ramrod straight in my entryway, a huge box covered in brown paper and masking tape at his feet, but there was no mistaking the pain that filled his craggy face. I thought his graying hair made him look a little older than his forty-seven years, especially when twenty-five of those years had been spent in the cockpit of one fighter plane or another. He was wearing his blue uniform with the leather fighter pilot jacket, holding his flight cap in his hands.

“He was a good man,” Schiripa said, as we hugged briefly.

“I know.”

“We’re still looking into the hydraulic failure that caused the accident. I want you to know that this will not be blamed on pilot error.”

I nodded. “Good.”

Schiripa shifted from one foot to the other. “Kay, we all knew why Bear came to Korea. It was pretty much an open secret that he was looking for that little boy.”

“You knew?”

“Everybody did. He was obsessed about finding that kid. It couldn’t have made things very easy for you.”

I sighed. “No, it didn’t. When he was home at Christmas, we decided to split up. I was to file everything, and then we’d finalize it before he went on to his next assignment.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I don’t know why he behaved like that, when he had somebody like you at home.” Schiripa twisted his flight cap in his hands.

“I never understood it either, Colonel.” But I’ll bet you never sat down with him and said that, I thought.

“You let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“I’m fine.”

He nodded and, placing his flight cap on his head, saluted.

“Take care,” he said, and he was gone.

I sat on the floor beside the box, folding my legs beneath me. What was in here? How much of the man remained?

I tore the brown paper off the box and opened the cardboard flaps. I picked up each shirt, each pair of pants and smelled it, hoping for one final scent of the man, but someone had washed them before packing them. Who? His Korean lover? Another female officer? All I smelled was soap and dryer sheets.

His own personal collection of knickknacks broke my heart. There was a picture of the kids and me together at Virginia Beach that had been in his locker; a picture of a signpost in front of the on-base officers’ quarters he lived in, with arrows pointing to cities in all directions: Moscow (3627 miles), Mifflin, PA (6866 miles), Mount Holly, NJ (6964 miles), Pyongyang (131 miles); the Myung Jin bus schedule; a small American flag; a box of cheap, Korean souvenirs for the kids; and a few tattered paperbacks, westerns by Louis L'Amour.

Nothing to indicate he was anything but the perfect officer, the perfect gentleman, the perfect family man.

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