Chapter 13

Cynthia

Laura and I were engaged in a cutthroat game of Scrabble on a Saturday afternoon with the girls. We had not heard from Charles in many days, either by phone or email. Although I missed hearing from him, I had been warned that he could suddenly disappear with no notice. So, I wasn't concerned. My cell phone rang and I answered. A male voice began, "Cynthia, this is Master Chief Cantera from the Reserve Center. I wonder if I could come by and talk to you for a few minutes?"

I had this immediate sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I was finally able to respond to his question. "Yes, of course. When?"

"If now is good, I can be right there. I'd rather not talk on the phone."

"Now is fine."

No one said a word. I looked over and said, "Charles' boss from the Reserve Center is coming by. He wants to talk to me." I held off my tears until I finished the sentence. Suddenly, we were all on the couch in a group hug.

Alyssa asked, "Is Bradford okay?"

"I don't know, Sweetie. We'll have to wait until the Chief comes."

When he arrived, we brought him in and offered coffee. He took a cup and smiled as he said, "You guys make it better than the Navy." He reached for my hand and began, "Here's what I know.

"Bradford is missing in action. We don't know where he is. We know that he went on some patrols with the Army. One of our SEALs saw him leave on a patrol some time ago. Unfortunately, the rescue mission Bradford was supposed to go on had to leave without him. We haven't been able to contact the other SEAL to learn more and we don't know when they will return."

I looked him in the eye and asked, "Is Charles alive?"

He dodged and answered another question. Clever. "I don't know where he is. I have some friends in the Pentagon who are trying to track him, but I'm limited in what I can do from here." He then took my other hand and continued, "Cynthia, I told Bradford I would keep you posted. Since you're not family, I can't do it officially. Please. We didn't have this conversation."

"Do you know when you will know more?"

"I will get an update every day, but so far, there hasn't been any news."

"Did they find Pete?"

"We don't know that either. You will know as soon as I do."

I escorted the Chief to the door and went to the couch to collapse. The three of them came to sit with me. Laura asked in a low voice, "Cyn, what is it?"

"Charles is missing. They don't know where he is." I then related the rest of the conversation to them and made them swear that they knew nothing before I broke out in sobs. I must have been in that state for an hour before my mind began to work again.

Alyssa asked, "What does 'missing' mean?" She looked thoughtfully. "Does that mean that he's absent or tardy and someone turned him in?"

"Sweetheart, I guess Charles was out doing duty with the Army and something bad happened. They haven't found him yet."

"The Army doesn't know where he is?"

"All the Chief could tell me was that he was missing and that they didn't know where he was."

She looked very frustrated. "Bradford is in the Navy. He's a SEAL. What did he have to do with the Army?"

I guess she could sense my frustration in trying to answer her questions. I think that maybe she grew up a little right then. She hugged me and sat close. "What will we do, Cynthia? What will we do without him?"

I figured that it was time for me to grow up a little. I hugged her to me and whispered, "Alyssa, I believe Charles is alive and that they will find him. I have to call one of my colleagues right now and see if they know any way to learn more."

I dialed the number of the principal investigator and told him my story. He made two interesting observations. "Remember that the Army, or the Navy for that matter, cannot tell you exactly how many people are in their service on a given day. That's a simple question, but the answer is very complex. Did you say that you thought he was on a mission with the Army when he was reported missing?"

I told him as best I could what the Chief told me and warned him about letting the news get out. He laughed and said, "I've been around the military for thirty years. I know not to tell anyone." He paused for almost a minute. "I'll call an old buddy that may be able to get some information. Someone knows the answer. We just have to find 'someone.'"

A week went by. The Chief called twice to say that there was no news on the mission and he still couldn't find Charles. I could tell from the last conversation that he was worried and didn't want to say much. I had learned in psychology that women can often hear from the tone of voice or whatever that others are uncertain. Up to that point, I was certain that Charles was okay. Now, I was seriously worried. My body began to shake. For the first time, I allowed the possibility of the grim reality to enter my thoughts. I watch the news. Some woman or man is at home waiting to hear whether the latest casualties are their loved ones.

Of course, each time the phone rang, we were on eggshells. I had to take a deep breath before answering my cell. "Cynthia? This is your mother."

I was immediately annoyed, relieved, and frustrated. However, I'd made the effort to open the channels, so now it was my duty to be civil. "Hi, Mother. This is quite a surprise. I barely recognized your voice."

"I know. I wanted to call you several times, but it seemed too awkward. I hope you don't mind."

"I'm glad to hear from you. I had the same problem calling you."

"I know." Then she asked about my job and how things were going, and actually listened when I told her what I was doing. Then, it came. "How are things going with Charles?"

I must have paused too long. Then, I felt myself begin crying. "Mother, let me get my breath and call you back. Just a minute or two." I recovered with deep breaths and called her back. She might as well know and get it over with.

"Actually, we were getting along fine in school and at home. Then, he had to do reserve duty in the Navy and went to Afghanistan." I took a deep breath and said, "He's missing in action."

"Oh, my God, girl. How are you coping?"

"As you could tell, I'm not doing well at all. I worry. I work. I try to lose myself in research, but at night when I watch the news, I know what those women on TV are feeling when they don't know about their husbands or wives."

"Is there anything I can do? I know that I was not thrilled with him, and I haven't met him, but he's your choice. I have to support you."

"Mother? That means so much to me. I know it was sudden and that you didn't understand. If I admitted the truth to myself, I was in love with him before he went to Afghanistan the first time. I'm in deeper, now."

"I'm sorry and I will hurt for you. Uhm, are you still living with him?"

"Technically, I live with his landlady. I have a small suite where I do my work. Charles and I each needed a private space. However, when he's here, we spend most of our time together. I keep most of my things in his apartment."

She had this way of snickering and chuckling at the same time. "So, you're a kept woman?"

Her tone was not Mother. She wasn't disapproving. "No way to deny it. He says the rent's the same whether I'm there or not and he'd be just as happy if I stayed."

"Do his parents support you?"

"He says that he has money from the Navy from when he was on active duty. Then, he says that he has a reliable source of income that lets him live well for a student. I don't know. I do know that he isn't living off credit cards because I open them and see that he pays them off every month."

"What about his family?"

"His parents died. He didn't seem close to either of them. I think he has a brother out west who works for Jet Propulsion, NASA, or someone. They don't communicate very much."

"I hope his source of income is legal."

"I asked the same. I think he has royalties from oil leases from some of the things he's told me. I hate to probe, but as we move along, I'll want to know more."

"Oh? When he returns, you'll be moving along together?"

"I hope so. We do well together. I'm not handling being apart and worrying well at all."

"Do I hear that he makes your heart happy?"

"When he's here, we have a wonderful life. We go to concerts, to the jazz club, to events at the University, we both cook nice meals—and by the way, Mother, I learned to feed a man very well, thanks to you."

She laughed. For the first time in a year, she seemed accepting. "He cooks for you?"

"He always gets up first and makes his outstanding coffee. Then, sometimes he makes omelets, egg dishes, pancakes, waffles, outstanding French toast, and other goodies. I miss having him. No one else cares for me like that. Some days, I feel like a little girl at home. That's just breakfast. He makes terrific Reuben sandwiches and he grills." I breathed. "Listen to me. I do miss him terribly."

"Will I get to meet him when he comes home?"

"He's already agreed to visit there and I didn't have to twist his arm." I just had to tell her. The make or break was right now. "Mother, I have to tell you that he keeps my knives very sharp."

There was a long pause, and then she laughed. "Oh, he does, does he? When did your grandmother tell you that?"

"When I was going to marry Blair, she took me out to lunch one day. After a couple of glasses of wine, she said, 'Cynthia, dear, in my time, women couldn't talk frankly about their sex lives, but we had to talk. So, our code was that a woman with sharp knives was being well treated by her husband. If someone came to tea reporting that her knives were dull, we could all share the experience and know that she was needy.'"

Mother laughed. "Well, they developed a whole set of terms around that euphemism. Seeking to get one's knives sharpened was akin to a man's getting his ashes hauled. I can remember one of her friends telling her that she'd left the knife sharpener on the bed in plain sight for several nights and still couldn't get them sharpened."

"How are your knives, Mother?"

She laughed again. "Cynthia, are we really going to talk about such things? Seems strange."

"Only if you want to. I'm willing to share with you if you feel comfortable. I know we haven't done this before, but isn't it about time?"

"Oh, it is. Now, I have to go back to the counselor and get over my issues. To answer your question, they aren't as sharp as I'd like them."

"Among the three of us, maybe we can work on it. Now that I've had sharp ones for a while, I know what it's like to have both kinds. I'll take the sharp ones."

"Me, too, yes. I had to work hard with a counselor to appreciate and accept that you are living with him. When you said that he arose first, that reminded me of where he must have been."

"He cuddles me, even on a bad night when we've had a spat. Until he went away, I was thrilled to be with him every day and night. I want him home. I worry too much and my knives wouldn't cut hot butter."

She laughed and then asked pleasantly, "Are you really in love with him?"

"More than I care to admit."

"I can't stand this anymore. You bring this wonder boy out here and let us have a look at him. Does he play golf?"

"He hasn't played in a while, but I understand that he used to break 80 regularly when he had time to play."

"Your father will be the judge of his character when he takes out his clubs." I heard her sigh. "Cynthia? Will you call and talk to me? I miss you."

"Mother, I'd be a happy girl if you wanted to talk to me. Being ostracized isn't a good place to be."

"If you will forgive me, I will try to do better. My counselor said that if we have problems, we should bring them to her immediately and I agreed."

"Did she twist your arm?"

"She made it clear that I was a large part of the problem and it was up to me to get things back on track. She said some things that weren't nice."

"Counselors do that sometimes. Mostly when we deserve it. That's why they get a bad name."

"Baby, I'm so glad you talked to me and that we can do this again. Please email me all his information so that I can follow the news. Your father will be most interested." She paused for longer than usual. "Call me immediately if you hear anything, okay?"

"I don't get much news since I'm not family, but his boss checks in regularly because he thinks I'm good for Charles and he likes me. I'm delighted you called. I love you, Mother."

"I will again. I love you too, Baby, and I feel all bubbly inside." She paused. "Uhm, Cynthia, while he's gone don't take your knives elsewhere to get them sharpened."

"Thank you, Mother. I wouldn't think of it. Don't worry."

I must really impress people. First, Crawford told me to keep my lips sealed and then mother told me to keep my legs closed. Hmmm. That counselor lifted a heavy burden from my shoulders. I no longer had to be angry with her. Maybe she told the truth. Until our problems with Blair, we had a good relationship; although, I had to keep many of my escapades to myself. Well, we'll see. It would be nice to have a mother again.