Hawke

Anyway it was over, but somehow she couldn’t stop crying. The handsome young sailor was gone. There’d been so much hope in her heart that rainy day inside the little chapel in Miami. He seemed like such a fine young man, standing so straight beside her in his brand-new uniform.

And then when they’d had their kids, she’d felt like all of her dreams were coming true. But something went wrong. It wasn’t just the drinking, although that was certainly part of it. It started back when Gomez’s mom first got sick in Havana. When he couldn’t get any medicine for her, and heard her screams on the phone. Finally watching her die in such pain. That’s when it started going seriously downhill. That’s when he started to—the front doorbell rang again.

“Sorry,” Rita called out, hurrying through the tiny living room. “I’m coming.”

She wiped away her tears on her apron and pulled the door open.

It was the commanding officer’s wife, Gi

“I’m so sorry about your husband, Rita,” Gi

“Oh. Of course,” Rita said, standing aside for her and then following her inside. She was slightly stu

“I made this for you last night,” Gi

“What do you mean?” Rita said, thoroughly confused now.

“You mean you don’t know?” Gi

“What?” Rita said. “I don’t understand. We’re being—”

Gi

“Do you mind if I put on CNN?” Gi

“No, of course not,” Rita said, feeling completely disoriented. She dug the remote out from under a cushion and switched cha

Men in bright yellow environmental suits were pouring from the rear of C-130s out at Leeward Point field. There were strange vehicles ma

One of the famous old CNN guys from the Gulf War was standing under a palm tree outside the Gitmo HQ building with a microphone. Rita tried to concentrate on what he was saying, but she kept glancing over her shoulder at Gomez sitting up there on top of the fridge.

“In many cases,” the reporter was saying, “bacon was frying on the stove and the Monday wash was on the line when the order came to evacuate dependent women and children. Already, security guards protect empty houses and patrol now-quiet neighborhoods only yesterday filled with children’s noisy play.”

“What is—what in the world is going on, Gi

“Shhh, just listen.”

“The plans for the evacuation were a

“Why are they wearing those suits?” Rita asked, but Gi

“The Navy Exchange is still open,” the CNN guy continued, “but it stands deserted. A battalion of Marines arrived during the early-morning hours, and their general attitude is one of calm watchfulness. Guantanamo is a changed place this morning. The base golf course is dotted with the temporary tents pitched by Marines who now bivouac on the fairways and greens.”

“Oh, my God,” Rita said.

“Along with the Marines, bomb squads, scientists, and doctors from the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta, all in their protective clothing, find no relief from the hot Cuban sun. No one will officially confirm why they’re here, but rumors are rampant.”

Gi

“Tell me, Gi

“There’s some kind of bomb hidden on the base. Joe says it’s either a nuclear or a biological weapon. Some kind of new laboratory-created bacteria, they’re guessing most likely. The ‘poor man’s atomic bomb,’ he called it. They haven’t been able to find it to defuse it or whatever they do. So, we’re all clearing out. Women and children, I mean. And civil servants, of course.”

“My God,” Rita said. “Who would do such a thing?”

“The new Cuban government,” Gi

“Okay,” Rita said, her mind racing. She glanced back at the top of the fridge. There was a family member up there. Did Gomez still count for a suitcase?

“If you’ve got a dog, you’re supposed to tie him up in the backyard. And leave the keys to the house on the dining table.”

“We don’t have a dog.”

“Right. I’m sorry. This is a terrible time for you,” Gi

“We don’t have a car. The MPs have it impounded.”

“Oh. Yes, that’s right. I forgot. Well, listen, Rita, I’ll pick you and the girls up here then. If you could be out front with your luggage?”

“Okay,” Rita said, looking around at the bravely decorated little rooms she and Gomez and the girls had called home for so long. She couldn’t stop herself from noticing just how dry the dried flowers looked. God, how she’d tried to make this house a home.

“Can you be ready in an hour? The streets are a mess. Packed all the way to Wharf Bravo. That’s where the JFK is berthed.”

“Sure. We, uh—whatever you say. I would think your husband would, you know, fly you and Cindy out? Something?”

“That’s what he wanted us to do. I said no way. I think the commanding officer’s wife’s place is shoulder to shoulder with the sailors’ families aboard the Ke