If You Believe in Me by Natalie J. Damschroder

 
    Chapter One
    Amber hummed a Christmas carol into the frigid evening air, her boots thudding on the snow-dusted steps of the Rikers’ front porch. She shifted the grocery bag to her left arm to unlock the door and grunted when her tote slid off her right shoulder. She could almost hear Kale’s chuckle as he teased her for not making two trips to the car, and the longing that swelled her throat killed the desire to sing.
    She swallowed hard and tugged off her mitten, catching the keys before they fell. Kale’s parents were still at work, but she’d wanted a head start making their “traditional” week-before-the-holiday dinner—if two years in a row could be considered a tradition. They might not have heard from Kale for six months, but if they were able to talk to him wherever he was stationed right now, she didn’t want to be tied to the stove.
    Plus, the more she had ready before they got home, the more she could relax with the couple that had become her surrogate parents in the last couple of years. She shivered at a gust of wind, slid the key into the deadbolt, and paused. If it turns without sticking, he’s safe and coming home to us.
    Her spirits lifted when it did, the song returning with a new lilt. She “br-rrr”ed and quickly closed the door behind her, careful to keep her feet on the woven runner while she toed off her boots. Halfway through, she froze, her humming fading into silence. Something was wrong.
    The Rikers always had their artificial tree up by today, exactly one week before Christmas. But that corner of the room stood empty and shadowed. No lights twinkled along the mantle. Her nose wrinkled at the house’s chill staleness. Even when they were at work, the house always greeted her with scents of fresh pine from the boughs climbing the banister and spice from clove-studded oranges and gingerbread candles. Why hadn’t they decorated yet?
    She tried to shrug off her uneasiness and headed toward the kitchen. Hopefully, no one was sick. She hadn’t talked to them in a couple of days, but they would have told her to reschedule if something had come up. Okay, they were humoring her a little. She knew her insistence on doing everything the same way wouldn’t guarantee anything. Kale had been here the first year she cooked chicken marsala for him and his parents. Last year, he’d been able to videoconference with them, which was better than nothing. This year will be nothing, and next year—
    Amber slammed the door shut on that well-traveled thought path, but her unease grew. The house was so still, she kept glancing over her shoulder at the echo from her own footsteps.
    She snapped on the radio to keep her company and began emptying the bag of groceries. Chicken, pasta, mushrooms, butter, scallions… They’d have flour and all the spices already. But dammit, she’d forgotten the wine in her car.
    Halfway back to the front door, she spotted the suitcases at the foot of the stairs. What were those doing there? The Rikers never went anywhere during the holidays.
    Maybe the baggage was empty. She hurried over, hating the dread that grew with every step. They could have just been cleaning out closets or something, planning to move the bags up to the attic when they brought down the holiday decorations. She yanked at the biggest one, ready for it to pop up off the floor. Pain snapped through her shoulder. It was full. Heavy. She blinked back flashing lights in her peripheral vision and sank down on the lowest stair, clutching her shoulder.
    The big black cases loomed in front of her, taunting. They weren’t locked. She could open them and examine the contents to try to figure out where they were going. She imagined sterile white walls and rows of hospital beds. No! She wouldn’t jinx Kale by thinking of Ramstein.
    Maybe they’d gotten word that he was coming home.
    She shot to her feet, a burst of elation numbing her shoulder pain. They could be planning to meet him at the base, and they