Page 221 of Severed Heart

“Actually, Delphine,” he replies, “I’m here to see you.”

“Me?” she says, glancing back at me in confusion before addressing him again. “Here for me, why? Who are you?”

I can’t help but chuckle at her frank candor and reception. He grins down at her before spotting me over her shoulder. I grin back, giving him a shrug and‘good luck, pal’eyes.

“Well,” he chuckles in amusement, and I can tell she’s intimidated him a little, which is comical because he’s a good foot and half taller and is currently towering over her. “I’m First Sergeant Eric Shultz, and this,” he says, extending a neatly pressed jacket to her, “is for you.”

“Shultz,” she mimics, very familiar with the name. “You are here for me?” she repeats, darting her eyes over her shoulder to me before turning back to him. “I know who you are.”

“Likewise, I’ve been anxious to meet you for some time now, and it’s the reason I’m here. Today, I came from Albany, New York, to thank you for saving my life.”

The air tenses briefly as he stares down at her, his expression sincere as shock registers in her posture.

“You came from New York? ... But I-I did no such thing,” she argues, though I can hear the effect of his words in her voice. Already armed and ready for her objection, Shultz pulls up his cell phone.

“This is my daughter, Amy, and I almost didn’t get to be her father.” Delphine takes the phone, stares down at the picture, and studies it for long seconds, which I know she’s using to gain her composure.

“She’s beautiful,” Delphine says.

“She is, and thanks to you, I’m going to help her blow out her fourth birthday candle next week.”

“I appreciate you ... the jacket, really, but—”

“Delphine,” Shultz delivers in his no-bullshit tone, “I would have missed her birth, her life, being her father if you wouldn’t have trained the man behind you. If you hadn’t taken the time to teach him exactly how the hell to get us out of a situation weshould nothave survived. So—” He takes the jacket and opens it, and Delphine turns, pushing her arms through as he covers her with it. “This is yours because it’s what I was wearing when you saved me.”

“I—oh, Merci, thank you”—I can see the mist in her eyes as she glances back at me again—“but truly, I did nothing—”

“Well, I’m afraid we don’t share your opinion, ma’am,” he says, grabbing her hand and squeezing it before releasing it. “So, thank you, Delphine. Truly, thank you.”

“Okay, I don’t know ... what,” she chuckles nervously, “you are welcome, I guess,” she whispers, the rattle in her voice thinly concealed as she pauses. “Wait,we?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, stepping back and opening the door wide just as Mom takes her cue and clicks on the porch light. Delphine gasps as she scans the row of uniformed soldiers in varying branches of the military lined in our front yard.

“Mon Dieu,”My God, she croaks before turning back to me, instant tears shimmering in her eyes. “Soldier, what is this?”

“This is a long overdue and much deserved thank you,” Shultz replies for me. “Merry Christmas, Delphine,” he says before turning and stalking off the porch, passing Ramirez as he steps up, lifting his chin toward me in greeting before his eyes glitter down on her.

“Hi Delphine, I’m—”

“Ramirez,” she whispers, her voice full of incredulity just as Zach enters the back door.

“Hey, what’s going on out—oh,” he says, as I hold up a hand and usher him toward me with the wave of my fingers. A second later, Zach joins me at my side as Ramirez voices his own gratitude while Delphine rattles in shock at the front door.

“Watch this, buddy,” I say, careful not to nudge Zach the way I’m naturally inclined to.

“They’re all here for her?” he whispers.

“I think the better way to put it would be—they’restill here becauseof her.”

“She saved them all?” He gawks, and I nod before nodding toward the exchange at the front door.

“...ten-year veteran, husband of fifteen, and father of five who also thanks you for bringing their father home—but my wife especially because, well—” Ramirez bulges his eyes—“five children.”

We all laugh as, one by one, my buddies begin to pay homage to the soldier whose endless efforts to educate and mentor me played a major role in getting us all home.

“Merry Christmas, General,” he tells her, and I can see her physically start to shake as they continue to come, one by one, showering her with tokens of thanks and praise.

McCormick delivers his thanks next, his words visibly affecting her before he nods to me just after in greeting. “Merry Christmas, brother.”