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Chapter 9
“She hung up on us!” Liam howled, hurling his plastic dinner tray against the Walter Reed hospital wall.
Fiona scrunched her nose in disgust. “She’s just jealous about Dad taking Aunt Celeste to Hawaii. She’ll cave soon.”
“Obviously,” Liam scoffed, kicking his duffel bag. “Aunt Celeste actually belongs at Pearl Harbor Command. What’s her problem?”
“Can Aunt Celeste adopt us?” Fiona whispered for the hundredth time.
They exchanged conspiratorial grins–never considering what the woman who’d birthed them might feel.
The kids were dead sure Mom would show. But dusk bled into nightfall at Walter Reed’s discharge lounge–no Stella.
Finn and Celeste had bounced without paying the co–pay. Medically cleared but trapped by hospital red tape, Liam and Fiona got stuck in vinyl chairs after nurses stripped their gurneys at 9 AM.
Liam kicked a biohazard bin after the twelfth call failed. “All circuits busy.” Same robotic recording since noon.
Panic finally hit. “Mom’s phone’s dead!” Liam’s voice cracked, thumb jamming redial until tears smeared his screen.
“Call Grandma!” Fiona grabbed the payphone. “This is deliberate abandonment. We’ll make sure General’s wife stages Mom’s court–martial for desertion!”
Twenty miles away at Fort Belvoir Quarters, chaos reigned.
For thirty years, Stella executed domestic operations with Delta Force precision–starched uniforms at 6 PM, insulin calibrated to the milligram, even Grandpa’s Purple Heart medal polished before Veterans Day parades.
When she missed evening muster, Grandma Martha wheezed into her oxygen mask, “Just her monthly sulking. Where else would she bunk? The Greyhound depot?”
But twilight bled into night.
Laundry avalanched from mudroom baskets
Mrs. Reynolds‘ Albuterol inhaler lay empty
Rotting coq au vin congealed in the Le Creuset
Mr. Reynolds slammed his fist on the dinner table. “Where the hell is Stella? Deserting her post!”
“Cough…she…knows…her duties,” Mrs. Reynolds wheezed between spasms. “That girl…has nowhere…” Her words dissolved into wet
rattles.
The telephone shattered the silence. Mr. Reynolds smirked. “Finally! Let her squirm.”
Mrs. Reynolds gasped into the receiver, “Darling! Bring milk when—”
“GRANDMA!” Fiona’s wail exploded through the line. “Mom abandoned us at Walter Reed!”
Mrs. Reynolds swayed, oxygen tube tangling. “Abandoned? But…it’s midnight!”
Liam grabbed the phone. “You drive us home! Now!”
“Grandpa’s knees…my nebulizer…” Mrs. Reynolds stammered.
“WE’RE IN THE DARK!” Fiona shrieked.
The line went dead.
Mr. Reynolds helped his shaking wife into her coat. “We’ll deal with that ungrateful girl tomorrow.”
For thirty years, Stella had ferried them to chemo appointments, polished Silver Star citations, even trimmed Mr. Reynolds‘ toenails
when arthritis struck.
Chapter 9
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Tonight, the half–mile walk to the VA hospital nearly killed them
