Tully should have seen this coming. The whole station was buzzing over what was happening in the Middle East. Everyone at the station and around the world was trying to guess when President Bush was going to drop the first bomb. “A lot of journalists are going over there, Katie. He’ll be fine.”

“I’m scared, Tully. What if—”

“Don’t,” Tully said sharply. “Don’t even think it. I’ll follow him from the station. We get most of the news first. I’ll watch for you.”

“And you’ll tell me the truth, no matter what?”

Tully sighed. Their familiar promise didn’t sound as airy and hopeful as usual; suddenly it had a dark, ominous edge that she had to force herself to ignore. “No matter what, Katie. But you don’t have to worry. This war won’t last long. He’ll be home before Marah takes her first step.”

“I pray you’re right.”

“I’m always right. You know that.”

Tully hung up the phone, listening to the sound of Grant turning on the shower. His humming, which usually made her smile, had no effect. For the first time in a long time she was afraid.

Johnny in Baghdad.

Kate received the first message from Johnny two days after he left. Until then, she’d walked around the house in a daze, never far from the new fax/phone they’d put on the kitchen counter. As she went about the business of her day—changing diapers, reading stories, watching Marah crawl from one potentially dangerous piece of furniture to the next—she thought: Okay, Johnny: let me know you’re alive and well. He’d told her that phone calls could only be made with dire need (to which she’d argued that her need was dire, and why didn’t that count?), but that faxes were not only possible but relatively easy.

And so she’d waited.

When the phone rang at four in the morning, she threw the blanket away and rolled off the sofa, stumbling toward the kitchen, waiting for the message to unfurl.

Before she’d read a word, she started to cry. Just seeing the bold scrawl of his handwriting made missing him almost unbearable.

Dear Katie:

It’s crazy here. Flat-out insane. We don’t know exactly what’s happening—it’s a waiting game right now. The journalists are all in the Al-Rashid Hotel in the middle of Baghdad and we’ve got unprecedented access to both sides. The coverage of this war will change everything. Tomorrow we’re leaving the city for the first time. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.

Gotta run. Kiss M for me.

Love U

J

After that, the faxes came about once a week. Not nearly often enough.

K—