Like bombs.
Gray straightened. The father doll fell to the ground. Magda tugged the smaller doll from the swing. She gripped the mother and child dolls in one hand and ran them across the yard.
A cold core, like a lethal lead ball, lodged right below Gray's sternum. The mother shoved the child under the tiny kitchenette table and ran back outside to the father.
Another crashing sound from Magda.
She dropped the mother doll to the ground.
Magda folded her hands in her lap. Silence echoed as it always did in the aftermath of battle.
Gray blinked once, twice, wanting to deny what he'd seen, but he couldn't. Magda had acted out her parents' death. He had no doubts. Her story likely didn't differ from many other children's, but that didn't ease the clutch of anger inside him or the fierce urge to protect her.
Unable to stop his feet, he slowly walked into the room. Magda looked up at him as if she'd known all along he was watching.
Careful not to startle her, he sank to one knee beside her and stared into her dark-brown eyes, bottomless eyes that had seen too much too early.
She glanced down at her "parents" then back up at Gray. Fix them.
He heard her, as clearly as if she'd said the words, he heard her. The weight of responsibility crashed on his shoulders like a seventy-pound survival pack.
There were at least a couple thousand people in Charleston better equipped to handle this moment than he was. One of them slept in the next room—incapacitated with the stomach flu.
The moment to act was now. No time to wake Lori or consult a slew of child psychologists. Magda needed him, perhaps more than she'd needed him days ago in Sentavo.
Gray looked at the mother and father doll and thought of his own parents. During his father's years in 'Nam, Gray had dreamed of flying overseas to bring his father home.
Life would be normal again. His mother wouldn't go to bed alone, her eyes so exhausted even a kid could notice. Once again the familiar nighttime calls would sound from down the hall as his father hollered a laughing roll-call/lights-out for the kids.
Magda stared up at him with such wary hope, her "parents" lying beside her tiny bare feet. Right or wrong, he had to do something. Inaction wasn't an option.
One at a time Gray lifted the mother and father, dusting each off in turn, smoothing back their hair, silently offering up a prayer for the parents of the child by him. Side by side he placed them on the dollhouse bed and draped a miniature blanket over them.
Then he prayed like crazy again that he'd done the right thing. Surely an image of them asleep, even if forever, had to be better than visions of them dead in their yard.
Lori would be able to come up with a better answer later. For now he'd done the best he could. Hopefully, it was enough. Gray waited for Magda's verdict.
Magda cocked her head to the right. Rocking forward on her bottom, she leaned into the dollhouse. She pressed her fingers to her lips and touched the face of the father doll. She repeated the gesture with the mother.
Gray sucked air down his closing throat.
Magda turned to him, fingers pressed to her lips. For a second he thought she meant to kiss him, too. Then her fingers simply gestured forward as she'd done in communicating with Lori.
Thank you.
There wasn't enough air in the room to expand his constricted lungs.
Gray dropped a hand on top of Magda's shorn head, all the comfort she would likely allow from him. A familiar, but no less powerful, fire burned inside him, and he knew that if Lori were watching she would finally understand his single-minded commitment to his career.
This was why he served. For the people who couldn't fight for themselves and right the wrongs in their lives. He flew, he fought, he healed, whatever he could.
Because he didn't know how to do or be anything else.
Chapter 11
Maybe Gray would consider leaving the Air Force.
The ridiculous idea gnawed at Lori with tenacious determination.