extended. I have to make another stop or two before I can make it home."
Stacy had been a Spec Ops wife for years, but it wasn't something a woman could get used to. Eric knew this because she made it clear several times. Never in anger; never in an accusatory tone. Her love bathed her words the few times they discussed the work he did.
Such discussions were always vague, something required by security, not just for Moyer and his team, but also for his family. Truth was, only a handful of people knew about any mission his team undertook. Not even the president knew when a mission began or ended unless he was the one who called for the action. The military survived on invisible compartments. Captain Tim wasn't being snide when he refused to say what operation he was on when he was wounded. Moyer knew a lot about Spec Ops activities, but the fact he was a team leader didn't give him access to what other teams were doing.
Most men could discuss work with their families: the good, the bad, the frustrating, the layoffs, the awards, the contracts. Moyer and men like him could say nothing to family or friends. Those who know what he did—and they were few—could only watch the news and guess if their son, husband, or father was somehow behind the story.
Moyer didn't want to count the number of times he was called up with just enough time to kiss his wife good-bye and wonder if it would be the last time he ever did so.
"I see. Should I push Gina's birthday party back a week or so?"
Moyer could hear the sadness in Stacy's voice; he could also feel the red-hot emotional knife the question plunged into his gut. "That's a week away. I'll try to be back by then." He paused. He had no idea when he'd be back. "Let her decide. If I can't make it back in time for the party, then we'll do something special when I get back in town." He lowered his head. "Is she there now?"
"She's about to leave for the library."
"Put her on."
"Hang on."
A moment later a familiar, chipper voice poured over the phone. "Daddy!"
"Hey, kid. You doin' okay?"
She put on a Jersey accent. "I do fine. How you doin'?"
Moyer had to laugh. "Listen, munchkin, I'm being called to a special meeting so I won't be home tonight."
"Oh. Okay. I understand."
"I'm still going to try to make your birthday party." His stomach tightened into a knot. "If I miss it, we'll do something special. I know, we'll go to your favorite restaurant." Another second-rate offer to compensate for missing another important date in his family's life.
"Can I bring a boy?"
"Do you mean to be dinner or join us for dinner?"
"You know what I mean."
"Only if I can call you baby names through the whole meal—in front of him."
"Never mind." She sounded pouty and loosened Moyer's heart.
"I'm just kidding."
"I know. Me too. Be safe, Daddy. I miss you. Gotta run. My ride to the library is here."
"I miss you too. See you soon."
Stacy returned to the phone. "You made her day."
"She made mine." Moyer chuckled. "You know, I think she's the only person her age who goes to the library voluntarily."
"She loves it. You know her, books are everything."
"You'll have to cover for me if I miss the party. How many times have I had to do that?"
"Stop it, Eric. Your . . . business is important. Don't beat yourself up." She paused. "Leave that to me."
"You could probably do it."
"Probably? Probably? No probably about it, bub."
Moyer laughed, but it was mirth mixed with regret. "Rob behaving?"
"Yes. Oh, he got that job."
"Flipping burgers?"
Stacy said yes. "He thinks he can earn enough money over the summer to buy an iPhone before he starts college."
"When did I get old enough to have a college-aged kid?"
"Many years ago."
"Watch it." The image of his tall, lanky son played in his mind. Just two years ago he and Rob were at each other's throats, but events changed him; that and some wise counsel from J. J.'s chaplain brother.
"It's good to know he's there for you. I don't suppose he's
Stacy had been a Spec Ops wife for years, but it wasn't something a woman could get used to. Eric knew this because she made it clear several times. Never in anger; never in an accusatory tone. Her love bathed her words the few times they discussed the work he did.
Such discussions were always vague, something required by security, not just for Moyer and his team, but also for his family. Truth was, only a handful of people knew about any mission his team undertook. Not even the president knew when a mission began or ended unless he was the one who called for the action. The military survived on invisible compartments. Captain Tim wasn't being snide when he refused to say what operation he was on when he was wounded. Moyer knew a lot about Spec Ops activities, but the fact he was a team leader didn't give him access to what other teams were doing.
Most men could discuss work with their families: the good, the bad, the frustrating, the layoffs, the awards, the contracts. Moyer and men like him could say nothing to family or friends. Those who know what he did—and they were few—could only watch the news and guess if their son, husband, or father was somehow behind the story.
Moyer didn't want to count the number of times he was called up with just enough time to kiss his wife good-bye and wonder if it would be the last time he ever did so.
"I see. Should I push Gina's birthday party back a week or so?"
Moyer could hear the sadness in Stacy's voice; he could also feel the red-hot emotional knife the question plunged into his gut. "That's a week away. I'll try to be back by then." He paused. He had no idea when he'd be back. "Let her decide. If I can't make it back in time for the party, then we'll do something special when I get back in town." He lowered his head. "Is she there now?"
"She's about to leave for the library."
"Put her on."
"Hang on."
A moment later a familiar, chipper voice poured over the phone. "Daddy!"
"Hey, kid. You doin' okay?"
She put on a Jersey accent. "I do fine. How you doin'?"
Moyer had to laugh. "Listen, munchkin, I'm being called to a special meeting so I won't be home tonight."
"Oh. Okay. I understand."
"I'm still going to try to make your birthday party." His stomach tightened into a knot. "If I miss it, we'll do something special. I know, we'll go to your favorite restaurant." Another second-rate offer to compensate for missing another important date in his family's life.
"Can I bring a boy?"
"Do you mean to be dinner or join us for dinner?"
"You know what I mean."
"Only if I can call you baby names through the whole meal—in front of him."
"Never mind." She sounded pouty and loosened Moyer's heart.
"I'm just kidding."
"I know. Me too. Be safe, Daddy. I miss you. Gotta run. My ride to the library is here."
"I miss you too. See you soon."
Stacy returned to the phone. "You made her day."
"She made mine." Moyer chuckled. "You know, I think she's the only person her age who goes to the library voluntarily."
"She loves it. You know her, books are everything."
"You'll have to cover for me if I miss the party. How many times have I had to do that?"
"Stop it, Eric. Your . . . business is important. Don't beat yourself up." She paused. "Leave that to me."
"You could probably do it."
"Probably? Probably? No probably about it, bub."
Moyer laughed, but it was mirth mixed with regret. "Rob behaving?"
"Yes. Oh, he got that job."
"Flipping burgers?"
Stacy said yes. "He thinks he can earn enough money over the summer to buy an iPhone before he starts college."
"When did I get old enough to have a college-aged kid?"
"Many years ago."
"Watch it." The image of his tall, lanky son played in his mind. Just two years ago he and Rob were at each other's throats, but events changed him; that and some wise counsel from J. J.'s chaplain brother.
"It's good to know he's there for you. I don't suppose he's
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