A Rope and a Prayer by David Rohde, Kristen Mulvihill Read Free Book Online Page B

am also going to have to deal with the fact that I am angry. I realize he took a risk imagining a positive outcome. David does not think that lightning can strike twice. But it has. This is his second detainment. He was jailed in Bosnia for ten days in 1995 while reporting on the mass execution of Muslims in Srebrenica.
    I feel like I’ve been hit by a thunderbolt. I recall our engagement. David proposed to me on a sailboat in the middle of New York Harbor. “Let’s lead a big life,” he said. I agreed. This is not exactly what I had in mind. I glance at my engagement ring, a pear-shape diamond set on its side. I remember thinking it looked like a teardrop on first viewing. I somehow worried this was a premonition of things to come, but later convinced myself it was a raindrop, which was a more refreshing and fitting thought. Rain is a recurrent theme for us. There was a torrential downpour just before we set sail in New York that day. Hurricane Hannah struck on our wedding day. I often liken the extreme, unpredictable shifts in our circumstances to weather patterns.
    Lee offers to drive me to my parents’ home in Maine for the night. I will meet up with him tomorrow before I leave for New York. I call my mother from the road. Unaware of what has been going on, she is excited to hear from me. I tell her I have brought a guest along. I know she immediately assumes it’s David—perhaps he’s come to his senses and returned from Afghanistan early.
    I haven’t been to the house since we were married in September. David and I decided to marry there, as we each have fond memories of summer childhoods spent in Maine. We wanted to celebrate with our families at a place that had special meaning for us.
    The house sits on a sandy tidal beach. The scenery and light shift as the water advances and recedes twice each day. I have always loved the sense of motion, possibility, and renewal these natural changes provoke daily.
    I walk into a perfectly preserved moment. The room is still full of an almost palpable sense of love and hope from our celebration. We are greeted by my mother, Mary Jane, a petite, upbeat brunette with a welcoming smile. Despite her five-foot frame, my mother is a powerhouse of strength, tenacity, and positivity. She is a healthy dose of Sally Field, tempered with a shot of Anne Bancroft. She has been drying the wedding flowers. Full bridal bouquets sit in their original places, vibrant, slightly shrunken, preserved. Two months ago we were rolling up the carpets, dancing in the living room, mingling with friends and family. It’s odd to be in this space alone, an observer. As I glance out the sliding doors, the ocean is calm, glasslike. I am comforted by memory and surroundings, yet pained to be here without David.
    I remember that David looked nervous as we exchanged our vows. To lighten his mood, when I declared “For better or worse,” I winked at him on “worse.” This definitely qualifies as worse. I now regret my well-intentioned and whimsical act. Perhaps I should not have tempted fate. I promise myself that when David returns, I will restate this promise sans blink.
    My mother has prepared a lobster dinner in anticipation of my arrival. I tell her there is no cause for celebration and bring her up to speed while Lee phones his wife from the other room. Mom is quiet, recognizing that this was always within the realm of possibility, given the nature of David’s work. When I tell her I am shocked and upset by David’s letter—that he was willing to risk everything for the sake of the story, without consulting me—she does not finger point.
    “Okay, he made a mistake,” she says. “But you need to move forward from there and think positive if you are going to get through this. Don’t let your mind be clouded by anger. It’s not going to do you any good now. Focus on bringing him home.”
    “We just took a wedding vow,” I say.
    “And now it’s your chance to live up to it,” she