Bring Me Home for Christmas

two, three, four in the morning to watch news coverage of the war because Afghanistan was twelve hours ahead of L.A. She didn’t know a person could cry so much.
    She lost weight and there were dark circles under her eyes. She had no sense of humor and grew more lethargic by the day. Her grades dropped significantly, though she hung on so she could graduate. Her mother was beside herself with worry, and with anger toward Denny.
    The painful truth was that Becca’s life had been pretty easy until then, when she lost the man she’d thought was the love of her life. It was a horrible experience. If they’d been in touch so she could occasionally have that reassurance that he was all right, that he loved her, she would have gotten through it much better.
    By the time Becca learned that Denny was safely returned to the U.S., she was a newly minted second-grade teacher, and she’d managed to do a lot of thinking. The way he’d acted was irrational; she’d expected their relationship to be a team effort, a true partnership in which he could count on her in hard times and she could count on him.
    She heard through Rich that Denny finished his two-year commitment at Camp Lejeune, but even though he was stateside again, he didn’t get in touch with her. During that time, Becca came to some conclusions about the kind of relationship she needed. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get to share her thoughts with Denny, but in fact she did. When Denny exited the Corps for the second time. Rich gave him the address for Becca’s apartment and he went to see her.
    “Okay,” he said, “it was a stupid move, breaking up with you. But I was all torn up over my mom’s death. If you’re game, I’d like to try again.”
    “Game?” she repeated, stunned. Outraged. He’d dumped her and ignored her for two painful years and that’s how he came back around? “Game?”
    “Look, Becca, I can admit to being screwed up, all right?”
    “There’s no question about that, Denny,” she said. “I’m teaching school now, you know. Second grade. Seven-year-olds. I love them—they’re precious. One of my kids has Tourette’s syndrome and some days are real hard for him. One of my little girls is recovering from six months of chemo after being diagnosed with leukemia. If we try again, fall in love again, get married and have a family, and one of our kids gets sick, will you bail? Will it be too heavy for you?”
    “I admit, I was wrong…”
    “Will you be wrong again? Leave to deal with whatever heartache it is alone? Leave me behind while you try to figure out your head?”
    “I hope not,” he had said.
    She lifted her chin, blinked away her tears and said, “I haven’t heard from you in two years. I have a guy in my life now who isn’t going to bolt on me if times get hard.”
    “Really?” he asked. “Rich didn’t say anything…”
    “Rich hasn’t met him yet. I’ll probably be engaged in a year. I guess that means I’m not game. You might have to come up with something more compelling if you want a second chance.”
    She had been vindicated by the expression of shock and disbelief on his face. Did he really think he could screw up that bad, walk back into her life with some lame apology and wipe out the pain and loneliness she’d suffered for two whole years?
    He did. He said, “Well, I really blew that one. I’m sorry, Becca. I’m an idiot and I’m sorry.”
    And then he had left. Again. Left her, left San Diego. Rich said he’d gone to some little town in Northern California in search of his biological father and a new beginning.
    She had lied about the other guy, about the imminent engagement, out of hurt and anger. So Becca, who hadn’t been dating because she’d been grieving, said yes to a date with a guy she met on the beach—Doug Carey, down from UCLA Law School. And what she found was a guy who wasn’t very complicated. He had a list of commendable qualities—brains, education, money, confidence and looks. The thought of being with him forever should have lit up Becca’s world. Her mother, Beverly, was thrilled.
    But it was as if Denny had left a hole in her heart. She knew she should dive at the chance to marry Doug, but instead, it scared her to death. She needed to get over that if she was ever to be happy again.
    Now here they were, Denny and Becca, both twenty-five, six years older than the day they met. The past few years had been really rough. Then Rich started talking about a guys’