“I’m Captain Thibodeaux, ma’am. Commander of C Company. We met at the family picnic shortly after the unit returned from Afghanistan.”
Mrs. Taylor nodded.
He pointed to the others. “Special Agent Kelly McQueen from the CID office, Chaplain Sanchez and Lieutenant Bellows. May we come in?”
Phil removed his hat as he opened the screen door, motioned Kelly inside and then followed her into the living area along with the chaplain and lieutenant.
The wife turned to stare at them, her eyes wide with worry. “Where’s Rick?”
Phil’s face wore the grief they all were feeling. “Ma’am, I’m sorry. There was an accident. Your husband was hit by a live round.”
“Oh, dear God, no.” She slumped onto the couch. The chaplain hastened to her side. “Was … was anyone else hurt?” she asked.
“Only Corporal Taylor, ma’am.” Phil pulled in a deep breath. “The medics were on-site. They tried their best, but your husband suffered a massive loss of blood and couldn’t be saved.”
She lowered her face into her hands and moaned. “Why?” she repeated over and over again. The lieutenant huddled over her.
Kelly watched as the men offered words of comfort. Mrs. Taylor shook her head back and forth and began to cry. Her heart-wrenching sobs soon filled the small living area. The chaplain handed her his handkerchief, which she accepted, but her face remained buried in her hands.
Mrs. Taylor appeared to be in her mid-thirties, which was at least half a decade older than her deceased husband. Medium height and slight of build, she had appeared capable and in control when she’d first opened the door. Kelly’s initial impression was of a strong woman who usually got what she wanted.
Now, sympathy for the grieving widow welled up within Kelly, overriding her attempt to look at the situation with an impartial eye. A lump lodged in her throat and sorrow wrapped her in a tight hold. No matter how competent Mrs. Taylor seemed, nor how much any one of them regretted what had happened just a short time ago, Kelly couldn’t do anything to change today’s tragic events.
Wrapping her arms around her waist, she stepped into the hallway, partly in hopes of distancing herself from the pitiful site of the broken widow and partly because she was aware of another sound.
Above Mrs. Taylor’s sobs, Kelly heard a feeble call for help. The men, hovering around the grieving widow, seemed oblivious to the frail voice that cried out once again.
She followed the cries to a small bedroom at the rear of the house. The door hung ajar. Peering into the darkened interior, she saw a hospital bed with the side rails raised.
Kelly stepped toward the pile of covers that nearly hid the wrinkled prune of a face that stared up at her. Big eyes—as blue as the sky on a summer’s day—blinked open.
“Mrs. Taylor.” Before Kelly could say anything else the sound of clipped heels signaled someone’s annoyance and approach. Kelly turned to find Lola Taylor standing in the doorway.
“I glanced up as you left the living room.” The widow’s face was blotched from crying, but her eyes reflected anger instead of sorrow. “What are you doing in here?”
“I heard someone call for help,” Kelly quickly explained.
“My mother-in-law suffers from dementia. She doesn’t understand what’s going on. You didn’t mention—”
Kelly shook her head. “I haven’t said anything.”
The younger Mrs. Taylor swiped her hand over her cheeks to wipe away her tears before she approached the bed and smiled down at her mother-in-law. The senior Mrs. Taylor focused her gaze on Kelly. Her frail lips moved as if she was trying to speak.
“Mildred, it’s time for your medicine.” Lola grabbed a bottle on the side table, an extra-strength analgesic sold over the counter. She spilled two pills into her hand and reached for a glass of water on the nightstand.
“Let me help.” Kelly raised the older woman’s shoulders off the pillow so she could swallow the pills. Mildred’s gray hair was pulled back from her face and appeared freshly combed, but an odor of urine wafted up from the crumpled bedding.
Once she had taken the pills, Kelly gently lowered her head back to the pillow and pulled the covers up around the woman’s shoulders, feeling a stab of guilt at her own inability to have cared for her mother at home.
Being in the military meant Kelly could be sent anywhere on a moment’s notice. She had needed a stable environment for her mother, and the local nursing home had been the best option at the time.
Plus, keeping her mom in her own home would have meant round-the-clock care, which wasn’t possible on their limited incomes. Her mother had nothing more than a small social security check coming in each month, and Kelly’s warrant officer pay had been stretched thin just to cover the few extras her mother needed.
Mildred’s eyes drooped closed, and Kelly turned from the bed. As she did, her gaze took in the wide assortment of sleeping pills and over-the-counter pain medications on the nightstand.
Phil appeared in the doorway. “Everything okay?”
Kelly nodded. “I heard a call for help and found Corporal Taylor’s mother.”
He glanced at the now-sleeping woman and then at the widow before he lifted his brow to Kelly. She nodded, hoping he would pick up on her nonverbal cue that she would explain what had happened once they had left the house.
Turning to the widow, Kelly asked, “Do you have relatives in the area?”
Lola shook her head. “My family is from Kentucky, and Rick was an only child. But I have friends in town.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“A little over a year. Rick and I were married fourteen months ago. He was stationed at Fort Knox when we met and was on orders for Fort Rickman. We moved to Freemont a month before he deployed to Afghanistan.”
“You were practically newlyweds.” As soon as the words left Kelly’s mouth, she wanted to reel them in again.
Lola’s face clouded. “Rick said military life would be an adventure. I never thought it would end like this.”
Kelly’s heart went out to the widow. She opened her arms and pulled her close, feeling her slender frame shake with grief. Kelly patted her back and tried to think of something to say to lessen the load this woman carried. Nothing came to mind except that life is fragile, which someone had mentioned at her own mother’s funeral. The memory caused Kelly’s eyes to burn. Phil stood in the doorway, his gaze lowered, his face drawn.
For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were the heavy pull of the old woman’s breathing and Lola’s sobs. Eventually, she stopped crying and turned away from Kelly to grab a handful of tissues from a box on the bedside table. She dabbed at her eyes, and when she glanced back at Kelly, her face was surprisingly clear and she appeared in control once again.
“It’s been a long day,” she admitted, motioning them
