This Time by Kristin Leigh

it’ll take, but Tara…wait. Will you wait?”
    “Wait for what, Michael?”
    He clenched his jaw as a tear leaked from the corner of his eye. His voice trembled as he said, “Wait for me. Don’t get into anything serious. Wait, and give me a chance. I think…” He broke off again. “I think I need you.”
    Tara’s heart broke. She opened her mouth to tell him she hadn’t been serious about anyone in five years and that wasn’t likely to change, but he’d already ended the session, and she didn’t have a chance.
    He’d asked her to wait, and she wasn’t even sure she wanted to try a relationship again with him. How long did he want her to wait? A week? A month? A year? Did he have any right to ask that of her? Absolutely not, but he’d asked anyway. Troubled, Tara shut down her computer and went to bed. She was going to take a page from Scarlet O’Hara’s book and think about that tomorrow. Right then she wanted to focus on the fact that he’d said it was coming back.
    She’d been very young when her father got back from Saudi Arabia, so she didn’t remember what he went through then. But she did remember his last deployment. He only did one tour in Iraq before he retired, and when he got home, he was a different person. He was quick to anger and wouldn’t speak to her or her mother for days at a time. She’d been enrolled in college and spent most of her weekends at home. One weekend in particular stuck in her mind. Just before he started to get a little better, he’d had a massive breakdown and punched a hole in the wall because her mother had forgotten to turn the light off when she left the living room. Immediately after, he’d crumpled. He’d gone into their bedroom and sobbed for the entire day before coming out that night and looking like a different man. What made it so unbelievable was that her father had never been a violent man. He’d gone to the VA hospital after that and was treated for PTSD. The doctors had told her mother that the road was a long one, and no one would be able to predict his mood swings. Now, eight years later, her father still couldn’t stand a lot of noise without his nerves getting the best of him. Would Michael go through something similar? Would he rage against the hand fate had dealt him? Would he have moments of complete panic for no reason at all? She was fairly certain he was being treated for PTSD because he’d mentioned flashbacks. She knew those had to be brutal. Her father hadn’t had hallucinations, but her mother had been warned to expect it. They’d told her that during the flashbacks, sufferers often weren’t able to distinguish past from present. Was it that severe for Michael? Tara’s heart broke for him. He’d already endured it once; it hardly seemed fair that he should have to go through it again and again. She turned off her bedside lamp and closed her eyes.
    Michael was a different person now, harder and more seasoned than he’d been when they first met. He was changed by the last few years. The question, then, was whether or not he was capable of being what Tara needed him to be.
    * * * *
    Michael didn’t call again until Thanksgiving, and Tara didn’t get to talk to him. He called while she was at her parents’ house having Thanksgiving dinner and left a message on her machine. She stood listening, thinking she was going to have to give him her cell phone number.
    “I just wanted to tell you happy Thanksgiving.” A pause. “And tell you that I’m thankful you’re in my life, in whatever way you want to be.” Audible sigh. “This is part of my therapy, getting my feelings out. So, thanks.” There was a click as he disconnected and the message was over. When had he called? She replayed the message and listened to the introduction that gave the date and time of the call. Five-forty-seven p.m. She checked her watch. He’d called less than an hour ago. She felt a twinge of disappointment that she’d missed his call.
    “Mommy,