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  “No, don’t. She’s tired. Let’s not set it up to fail.” Danielle dried her hands on a dishtowel. “Do you want some eggs? I’ve got scrambled ready.”

  “I’d love some, but you don’t have to do that. I can get my own breakfast, honestly.”

  “I know, but I like to do it.” Danielle bustled over, took a plate from the cabinet, and spooned two mounds of fluffy scrambled eggs. “Say when.”

  “When, thanks.”

  Bob cleared his throat. “Mike, Danielle said that you wanted to go through your things at the storage unit, to see if there was anything you needed.”

  “That’s right.” Mike figured that Danielle had made up some story about why he wanted to go to the unit. He avoided Bob’s eye, picked up his fork, and took a bite of his eggs, which were deliciously buttery. “Danielle, these are awesome, thank you.”

  “Okay, your car’s in our garage, so feel free, but you should check the closet in my home office first. I put some boxes up there, Chloe’s valuables and letters, both of your wills, and other things I didn’t trust to storage.”

  “Oh. Is her laptop up there, too?”

  “You were looking for Chloe’s laptop? I should’ve mentioned this, but I threw it out.”

  Mike couldn’t hide his surprise. “You threw out Chloe’s laptop?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. It got so damaged that day, it crashed.”

  Danielle looked at Mike, pursing her lips. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t know. I thought it was in the storage unit, but evidently not. It had all her photos and everything. It kills me that we don’t have it anymore.”

  Mike wouldn’t be able to find Chloe’s password file without her laptop. “Bob, I don’t understand. Was it broken or what?”

  Bob’s upper lip curled in distaste. “Frankly, there was blood all over it. I tried to wipe it clean, but it wouldn’t turn on. I found it on the kitchen floor.”

  “Could we not talk about this? Please?” Danielle shuddered. “Mike, when does your rehab begin? I remember you mentioned that, in one of your emails.”

  “I should call to set up some appointments, but I want to see about a job today.” Mike was thinking about Chloe’s laptop, wondering how else he could get into her email.

  “What do they do, in rehab?”

  “Flexibility exercises, but I can do them on my own.” Mike swallowed his eggs. He was stalling on rehab because he was in no hurry to account for his increased Oxy use. In fact, he was already wondering how he could resupply.

  Bob put his dirty glass in the sink. “Well, in the good news department, we wanted to talk to you about your living arrangements.”

  Mike held up a hand, with his fork. “Let me beat you to the punch. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me and Emily, but the first thing I’m doing this morning is to go to a Realtor’s office and get him started on finding us a place, at least to rent, until I can buy.”

  Bob smiled. “We appreciate that, but you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. We love having you and we want what’s best for you and Emily. The longer you stay with us, the more we can ease her transition. What do you say?”

  Danielle smiled. “If you have to start your rehab, it doesn’t make sense for you to get a babysitter while you go to your appointments or whatever. This way, you can come and go as you please. Doesn’t that make sense?”

  Mike looked from Danielle to Bob, feeling a warm rush of gratitude. “You guys don’t have to do this, really. I’m a big boy, and I have the money, and I’m ready to move away from home.”

  Bob chuckled. “If I were you, I’d take us up on our offer. Start looking for a house if you want to, but staying here takes the pressure off. You don’t have to find one right away, in winter. It snowed again last night, four more inches.” He gestured at the backyard, which was covered with newfallen snow, its crusty surface reflecting the frigid sun. “Stay here, focus on your rehab, and get your feet back on the ground. There’ll be better listings in March.”

  Danielle nodded, from the counter. “What job are you talking about?”

  “Jim says he has something for me, and I’d love to get in with his new partner, if I can still practice.”

  “How wonderful!” Danielle beamed.

  “I know, right? I’m so lucky on the job front. So many ampu—” Mike caught himself—“vets don’t get these opportunities, and I have two. My buddy from Afghanistan said he’d give me a job, too, in Greenwich.”

  “Greenwich, Connecticut?” Danielle frowned. “You’d move away?”

  Bob seemed to stiffen in the threshold. “You wouldn’t want to move. There’s no need for that.”

  Mike realized he’d said the wrong thing. “No, right, I’d much rather stay here and work with Jim. I’m just saying I have a Plan B. I don’t want you to think you have to take care of Emily and me, like a mooch.”

  Bob’s expression softened, and he picked up his messenger bag. “We never think you’re mooching, Mike. So, will you stay with us, here?”

  Danielle made praying hands. “Please, Mike? Stay with us?”

  Mike felt vaguely pressured, but they were only trying to help him and Emily. “Thanks for the offer, and yes, of course.”

  “Wonderful.” Danielle smiled.

  “That’s settled.” Bob leaned over and kissed Danielle on the cheek. “Now I gotta go. Love you.”

  “You, too.” Danielle smiled. “Bye.”

  “See you,” Bob said, leaving. “Bye, Emily!”

  “Bye, Daddy!” Emily called back.

  Chapter Forty

  Mike went up to his bedroom with a coffee, unpacked his laptop, fired it up, then sat down in the desk chair. He was going to crack Chloe’s email if it killed him. The screen came to life, and the laptop found the wireless Internet, which wasn’t password-protected, so he got online and went directly to Gmail. The screen popped into view, and on the right, it read SIGN IN and underneath that USERNAME and PASSWORD.

  Mike typed in her username, hunting and pecking with one hand, and paused at password. Back in Afghanistan, he had tried emily1000, their go-to-password for most sites, the other variations of their birthdays, and their old street name and house number, but they didn’t work. He thought of Jake the cat, typed in Jake, then tried to guess at which numbers Chloe would pick. Then he realized something. Chloe didn’t have Jake or Emily when they’d met, so the password wouldn’t be anything relating to them.

  Mike remembered the address of Chloe’s old apartment, 2-C, which was in a house at 101 Maple Avenue. He typed in Maple2C101, but it didn’t work. He tried MapleAve101, but that didn’t work either. He typed in CV10210, Chloe’s initials and her house number, but he was wrong again. He drank some coffee, trying to get his brain in gear. He was still on Landstuhl time, and his stump began to throb.

  “Mike?” came Danielle’s voice, with a knock at the door.

  “Come in. How’s Emily?’

  “Down for her nap.”

  “Good. I’m on your wireless, hope you don’t mind. I’m trying to get in to Chloe’s Gmail but I don’t know her password.”

  “Oh, I see.” Danielle entered the room, pulled up a chair, and glanced at the screen. “It feels intrusive, trying to break into her email.”

  Mike looked over. He had passed that stage a long time ago. “I understand how you feel, but now I just want to know who the guy was. You don’t have to be here. She didn’t cheat on you, after all.”

  “No, that’s okay.” Danielle eyed the screen, biting her lip. “You need her password? Try Lucie, spelled the French way.”

  “Who’s Lucie?”

  “Lucie was our first dog, a big red golden retriever. I use her for all of my accounts and I bet Chloe did, too.”

  “Really?” Mike typed in Lucie, then stopped. “What would the numbers be? Do you know? You need to have numbers.”

  “Try 214.”

  “Where’d you get that from?” Mike shook his head, surprised. “I’ve been racking my brain for a
year.”

  “You would never have guessed it, you didn’t know about Lucie. We got her on Valentine’s Day. That was a big thing for Chloe, and she always made us have a birthday party for her.”

  Mike added 214 and pressed ENTER. The screen changed instantly. “Great!”

  “Voila,” Danielle said, but she didn’t sound as happy.

  Mike watched as a blue bar appeared on the screen, filling up quickly while Chloe’s email loaded, then it changed to the brown background of a standard Gmail account. He avoided glancing over at Danielle, who had fallen quiet, and scanned the senders. There was a slew of junk mail that kept coming after Chloe’s death, and he scrolled to December 15 of last year. Most of the senders were Sara, other women, and Facebook notices, but there was an email address he didn’t recognize: Mac702@wahoo.com.

  “Mac702?” Mike read aloud, turning to Danielle. “Do you know who that could be?”

  “No idea.”

  “Did she know anybody with the first or last name Mac Something?”

  “Not that I remember.” Danielle shook her head, mystified. “Are you going to open it?”

  “I want to and I don’t want to. Is that possible?”

  “Yes, it’s exactly how I feel.”

  “You can go, if you want to. You don’t need to know who he was, or read this. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you can’t unknow what you know. You can’t unsee what you saw. I wish I didn’t know about her cheating. But now that I do, I can’t ignore it.” Mike looked over, meeting her eye, evenly. “This is your chance. You want to go outside and I’ll fill you in later, or not? Up to you.”

  Danielle eyed the screen, emitting a small sigh. “I’d like to know,” she answered, with a firmness that surprised him.

  “Okay.” Mike clicked OPEN, and the email popped onto the screen. It read:

  Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. Just let me hold you and make love to you. Everything will be all right, you’ll see. I love you.

  Mike clenched his jaw, involuntarily. He could feel Danielle waiting for his reaction and he didn’t want to look over. He tried to get past the moment. “Be careful what you wish, right?”

  “No,” Danielle answered, gently. “You didn’t wish for this. You didn’t wish for this at all.”

  Mike didn’t want to go there, not now. “So obviously the guy isn’t signing his name, which I get. Do you know who this could be?”

  “No, not in the least.”

  Mike looked back at the screen and there were only six emails from Mac702. They started on November 7 and ended on December 14. “So it looks like the affair lasted a month.” His chest felt tight, his emotions bleeding through the Oxycontin, and he wished he could take another pill. He slid the chair back and got up. “Excuse me, I forgot to take my pill this morning, and my arm is hurting.”

  “Of course.” Danielle’s mouth turned down at the corners, in sympathy. “Is there a lot of pain?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are you taking?”

  “Steroids for swelling, something for edema, antibiotic in case of infection, and a few others.” Mike went to his backpack, got his Oxy bottle, and brought it back to the desk. He uncapped the bottle with his thumb and shook one out, but all the capsules rolled onto the desk. “Oops!” Mike felt his face go hot. A million things were harder with one hand, but he remembered he wasn’t supposed to feel sorry for himself.

  “Let me help,” Danielle said quickly, pushing the pills into a pile. “You take your pill, and I’ll put these away.”

  “Thanks.” Mike’s mouth was too dry to swallow the pill, so he slugged some coffee, and Danielle put the pills back in the bottle and handed it to him.

  “Here we go.”

  “Thanks.” Mike sat down, returned his attention to the email, and realized he could chart the chronology of the affair, so he scrolled to the oldest email from Mac702, and clicked OPEN. It read:

  It was great just talking to you. As I mentioned, if you could use a hand at the house, I’m free to come over, anytime. Call on my cell. It’s better and quicker than email. Text is also fine.

  “So the 999 cell number was Mac702’s, but he didn’t sign his name. Damn!”

  “Wonder where he works.” Danielle puckered her lips.

  “So do I. His identity isn’t obvious from his email address, so it suggests that it was somebody she knew.” Mike thought aloud. “She obviously just had a conversation with someone about needing some help around the house, or something like that, so she wasn’t surprised when she got his email.”

  “Could be.”

  Mike clicked to the SENT file to see how Chloe had responded, which was:

  I would love that! I’m afraid of heights and the last time it snowed, it almost broke the gutter out back. Yikes! Thanks so much for your help!

  Mike felt a pang, reading her words. It was just how she talked, open and friendly, and seeing it in print was like being in her presence. He got lost a minute, remembering her. He’d be crying if not for the Oxys.

  “It’s not like she was looking to cheat.”

  “She didn’t say no, either.” Mike clicked on the next email from Mac702, which read:

  I never had so much fun in my life. You’re an amazing mother and amazing artist. I didn’t mean to open up so much but you brought that out in me. Can’t wait to see you again. Please make those muffins?

  “You jerk,” Mike said to the screen, starting to see red.

  “Still no name. Go to the one on November 11.”

  “Veteran’s Day. How ironic.” Mike opened the next email from Mac702, which read:

  That was the best day ever. You have only yourself to blame that I overstayed my welcome. You’re simply the most beautiful, fascinating woman I have ever met.

  Mike had to look away, out the window. The sun was blindingly bright, making golden streaks on the snow’s crust, not strong enough to melt it. He wished he could be like that, so that none of this got to him, not the emails, Emily’s tears, the loss of his arm, or Phat Phil and Oldstein. He wished he had a heart made of Kevlar. He returned his attention to the laptop and scrolled over to the SENT file, to see how Chloe had replied:

  Your words are way too kind. I have to admit I opened up a lot, too, but I think that’s part of being alone so much and worried about Mike. Please forgive.

  Mike read her email again. It made him feel better, seeing that she had at least mentioned him and was missing him. “I wonder whether Mac702 was married, too. It’s possible, and that could be why he’s using the screen name instead of his real name.”

  “It’s certainly possible.” Danielle lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve heard stories about husbands with secret email accounts and phone numbers. I have a friend whose husband used drop phones, for talking to his mistress.”

  “That could be why the cell phone was out of service, like those calling cards we used at base. Maybe it was a phone nobody knew about, not even his wife, assuming he was married.” Mike scrolled to the next email, which came the next day, on November 12:

  I know we just hung up, but I can’t stop thinking about you. I know you didn’t mean things to go so far, but I couldn’t help myself. I know you regret it, but I’m hoping I changed your mind on the phone. This is the beginning of something amazing and you deserve to have the love you need. You can’t blame yourself for needing to be held. I’m falling in love. Say that you are, too.

  “Oh, man,” Mike said, but it came out like a long, slow moan. He could read between the lines. They had slept together. He raked his hair, wanting to tear it out by the root.

  “I’m so sorry, Mike.”

  “This makes me sick.” Mike couldn’t look over at Danielle, and he realized that he couldn’t read in front of her. “Danielle, I changed my mind. Would you mind if I read these alone? I don’t think Mac702 is going to mention his name, if he hasn’t already.”

  “I understand, sure.” Danielle sighed, meeting his eye. “I’m sorry about this
, but I believe in Chloe. She didn’t love him, she loved you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Let me know if you need anything, or if you find out who he is.” Danielle got up, left the room, and closed the door behind her. “See you later.”

  Mike confronted the screen, bracing himself. He went to the SENT file, found Chloe’s email to Mac702, and clicked OPEN:

  You almost changed my mind on the phone, but I admit I’m not thinking straight. What happened between us was wonderful, but it was also wrong and I don’t want you to be misled. I feel horrible today, guilty. I appreciate the comfort and affection and closeness we shared, but it can never be more than that and it should never happen again.

  Mike swallowed hard. He scrolled down, noticing that there were no emails the weeks of November 18, November 25, December 2, and December 9. If Chloe died December 15, when she was about a month pregnant, the child would’ve been conceived sometime the week of November 11, early in the affair. He clicked to the last email to Chloe from Mac702, which read:

  I can’t begin to tell you what these times we had together have meant to me, and I think you know anyway. I heard what you said today, but I can’t end this so easily, and I don’t believe you want to, deep inside. You’re not answering my texts or calls, so I had to resort to email, but please just see me one more time, to talk about this. I don’t want to throw us away.

  His blood started boiling again. Chloe had tried to break off the affair, but this guy wasn’t taking no for an answer. Mike clicked ahead to the SENT file to read her last email to him:

  I’ve listened to your messages but you have to respect my wishes. Please don’t come over or drop in again. This relationship was wrong when it started, and continuing it only makes it more wrong. I know that you are not the answer to my loneliness or depression. I have to get back on my feet. Please respect that, and I wish you all the best. Good-bye.

  Mike felt the his love for Chloe coming back. He began to understand why she’d done what she’d done, because she’d been lonely and worried about him. It wasn’t because she didn’t love him, it was because she’d needed him more than he realized, maybe even more than she’d realized. Chloe was a casualty of war, too. He no longer judged her, he forgave her, and the very notion eased his heart.