Whispers and Little White Lies - Excerpt 2
In spite of the move, every night after prayers were said and all but the smallest of lights were turned out, Kate would try, with all her might and with the help of a small brown bear her grandmother had given her, to stay awake in hopes that her father would find her, that she would hear his voice and that he would poke his head through the slightest of openings in her bedroom door and slip, ever so quietly, to the side of her bed. She would lie there and listen until sleep proved, as it always did, stronger than her will to keep it at bay, and then she would dream. She dreamed of the home she left behind, the planes her father flew that roared through the sky both day and night, and the bugler who told her it was time for her father to come back to her with the same big hug and the same big kiss. In her dreams she smelled the scent of flying and felt the wetness of his sweat and pushed aside the sunglasses that always covered his eyes and touched, with her curious fingers, the lines where the oxygen mask had pressed across his cheeks. In the dark of the night, she dreamed other dreams, as well, and they were the ones that caused her to wake and caused her mother to wonder if they would ever end.
As with most hurts, however, Kate's eventually found a place from which it seldom ventured, and one day Kate said to her mother, "Daddy's not going to keep his promise. I thought you should know."
"I know Dear," her mother replied. "The warä¨¥ war took him too farä¯¯ far even for him."