Austin is a great place to live, depending on where you land. We rented a small house in Rollingwood, an older neighborhood just minutes from Zilker Park and the Colorado River. As a matter of fact, that’s where I was headed on my run.
I slipped into my Brooks athletic shoes and then stretched until limber. Running, for me, is exhilarating and relaxing all at the same time. Only, I can’t run as fast or as far as I could before my injury in Afghanistan. I rubbed the back of my thigh at the recollection, feeling the hard scar through my shorts. Then, I set out toward the jogging path. Riley to Paige to Stratford Drive, past the rowing docks and under the Mopac bridge deeper into Zilker. It’s a beautiful park, with the icy waters of Barton Springs flowing through it. In summer, it’s filled with flowers and festivals and colorful kites. During winter, it comes alive as the city decorates extensively for the Christmas season.
If Emily had it her way, this is where we’d settle, permanently. She jumped at the idea of me working in the family business in Texas. Especially in Austin. I’d do anything for Tomás, and since I had no job to speak of at the moment, it hadn’t been a hard decision. And Emily didn’t have to twist my arm. At least, not too much.
I’ve learned to love the Capitol city, though I still prefer smaller ones, like Waco, if you could call Waco small. It’s where my family still lives. Well, most of them, anyway. Austin has much to offer, depending on your tastes. Nightlife, extraordinary cuisine, interesting people. But for me, it’s the parks. Austin has miles and miles of green space, not to mention the rivers and several vast lakes. But, it’s a long way from Tishomingo, Oklahoma, on the Chickasaw Nation, where I was born. Where I always imagined I’d live out my days.
As I turned onto the Zilker Trails, I picked up my pace. Sweat streamed down my face as my breathing became more labored. I pushed myself, as I do in everything in life. Knowing that I had to tell Emily was forefront on my mind, no matter how much I tried not to think about it. If I’ve learned anything since knowing her, it’s that it’s all in the timing. In the end, though, she’ll sign it. However, knowing Emily, I’ll also have to butter her up to soften the blow.
My thigh ached as my scarred muscle was pushed to the limit. I slowed to a walk and then, hands on hips, paced in a circle until my breathing slowed. I squatted by the river, pulling at sprigs of grass that were trying to hold onto life before a winter’s harsh freeze. I heard the blades of a helicopter chopping at the cool morning air as it passed overhead, following the ant trail of cars into the city, reporting accidents and congestion, and morning commuters stranded along the roads. I looked up, remembering the last helicopter ride I had taken in Central Asia. I tried to wipe away the memories with my hand. Had it been a mistake when I told Brother Bob that I still loved—her? I meant Emily—I love Emily. Right? I looked up into the still dark sky, looking at the same stars I had seen over there.
Over there.
Darkness surrounds me as I hide deep in the bowels of the earth. I see a light in the distance, deep in the cave, and it calls to me. It’s there that I find her, kneeling over a soldier—bloodied and bruised and barely alive. I step beside him and look down. He seems so familiar, and yet, not so much. She takes his hand, warming it. A moment later, she undresses him and then herself before crawling under the blankets that smelled of goat and sweat. Suddenly, I smell them, I feel them draped over me. I feel her flesh against mine.
“Everything is going to be okay,” she whispers into my ear, her raven curls brushing my chest as her hands move quickly over my body, caressing it. Warming it. Warming me. I open my eyes, if only for a moment, merely to have my confusion melt beneath the stare of the dark, intriguing pools as they smile down at me. Sensuous. Mysterious. And then—a kiss stolen in the dwindling firelight of a dark cave.
“You’re going to be okay.” Just a breath.
A promise spoken. A woman, faithful enough for a whole town—faithful enough for a soldier lost. I reach out for her once more, but she disappears into the morning mist, and I open my eyes.
The helicopter passed overhead, and I stared up, remembering. I rubbed my face again, trying to erase the memories, trying to erase her from my mind. Trying to forget those eyes, those damned incredible eyes.
I checked my watch, drew in a deep breath, then started back toward home, retracing my steps through the running path, past the rowing docks, down Stratford Lane, and back to our tiny rented home sandwiched between million-dollar mansions. There was a cool breeze blowing, bringing with it the promise of winter just around the corner. I slowed my stride as I arrived at our short cobblestone driveway, pacing to cool off.
When my phone rang, I answered without looking to see who was calling. “Hello?” I gasped.
“Edward?”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “No one calls me that, but my mother,” I quipped, more than a little surprised. I was just thinking about you, didn’t seem like an appropriate way to start the conversation. I glanced at the house, turned, and walked back toward the street.
“How are you?”
“I’m good,” I replied, lowering my voice in case the windows were open. “You?” Then added quickly, “And Henry?”
“We’re good.” And then she was quiet; the silence strained and uncomfortable.
“So, if you’re still halfway across the world, this is an incredibly good connection.”
“Actually, I’m in Texas.”
“Really? Trying to convert the natives here?”
Her light chuckle touched my heart. “No. We’re back in the States for a year. I have family here, so I wanted to see everyone before they ship me off again.” After a beat, she continued. “I thought, if you weren’t too far away, maybe, we could get together. Have lunch or something.” Mary Beth stumbled over her words.
Good! I wasn’t the only one nervous. I hesitated. Though my immediate reaction was to say ‘yes’, I didn’t know if I should. I’d told Emily about the missionary and how she and a small Afghan village saved my life. Only, I’d kind of left a few details out. Details like, I’d fallen in love with the woman who rescued me. That I’d proposed to her. But, before my brain told my mouth I needed to think about it a little longer, I blurted out, “Sure. That would be great.” I beat the phone against my head several times in frustration, then listened for her response.
“Great. I’m in Copperas Cove. Where are you?”
“Austin.”
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed.
“How does your Sunday afternoon look?
“Sunday?”
“I have Guard training in Killeen. We could meet for a late lunch.”
“That would be great.” The excitement in her voice was contagious.
“Good. I’ll text you that morning, and we’ll firm up the time and a place. Sound good?” I stopped pacing and looked toward the house.
“Perfect.”
“I look forward to seeing you again,” I breathed out.
“Me, too,” she confessed. “Goodbye, Eddie.” And then, she was gone.
“Goodbye,” I said, to no one.
“Who do you look forward to seeing again?” A voice asked from behind.
I turned startled. “An old friend from my time in Afghanistan,” I replied, nonchalantly. I strode up to her and moved to take her into my grasp.
Emily held me at arm’s length. “Shower,” was all she said, just before pinching her nose, turning and walking back inside, straight to the coffee pot.
I grinned slyly to myself, sneaked up behind her, and pressed against her.
“Eddie,” she whined, wriggling from my grip. “You’re all sweaty and dirty.”
“I thought you liked me dirty,” I teased, grabbing for her.
“Please,” she cried out, playfully.
“Wash my back?” I queried.
“Hmm,” she murmured, sipping her coffee and sitting in her chair, looking over the manicured gardens.
“Or my front?” I offered, leaning over her.<
br />
Without even looking up, she pushed my face away.
“Denied,” I exclaimed, woefully, walking toward the bedroom. “Last chance,” I suggested, stripping as I walked, and tossing my soaking wet clothes at her. I grinned as she dodged every last piece without ever facing me. How does she do that?
I replayed the phone call over and over while I showered. My heart raced as I stared at the wall. I hadn’t really lied, had I? If not, then why did I feel so guilty? I loved Emily. I did. And, considering where we’d both come from, I wanted to make sure we based our relationship on trust. She deserved the truth, so I decided to tell her. I exhaled nervously. Now I just needed to find the words.
After sliding on my favorite worn chinos and All Black’s rugby tee shirt, I walked into our quaint kitchen. I heard a noise and turned to find Emily sitting at the breakfast table, still nursing her cup of coffee and reading, her red hair falling like a curtain across her arm. I smiled to myself when she didn’t stir. Stealthily I sneaked up behind her, brushing her hair from the nape of her neck before kissing it. Emily twisted. Startled. As I wrapped my arms around her from behind, she immediately slid from my grip. Her cheeks were wet with tears; her eyes filled with hurt and confusion. And, before I glanced down at the papers in her hand—I already knew.
“Emily,” I exhaled. Ashamed.
Hurt turned to anger as she slapped me across the face and then walked out the back door, slamming it for effect.
My hand went to my sore cheek. As I rubbed it, I sighed. “Well, that actually went better than expected.”
Veteran’s Day
Chapter 10
I don’t know which was more difficult, not talking to Emily since she found the prenup or field training in Texas in hundred-degree weather. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a little. But, either way, a combination of the two was almost too much to bear. Emily hadn’t answered any of my calls or responded to any of my texts. No one knew where she was, or if they did, they weren’t saying. I was frustrated and sad and overwhelmed with guilt. For not telling Emily about the prenup. For not telling her about my lunch with Mary Beth. If I was lucky, and I wasn’t feeling very lucky at this point, I would be able to take my frustration out on the gun range.
Field training in Central Texas is brutal. Even in November, it’s a lot hotter than say at summer SFQC training in Fort Bragg, or just about any other state. It’s very reminiscent of Central Asia. At least, that was the consensus of those alongside whom I trained this weekend. I can’t fathom how it could be worse, because it’s almost winter and must be at least ninety degrees. Or, rather, it felt that way. I guess I’d gotten somewhat spoiled by the cooler temperatures year-round on the eastern seaboard.
Since the war on terror changes daily, so does training. It all depends on the dynamic of those we would be fighting should we be deployed. Before September 11, 2001, our primary focus was to support geographic combatant commanders, U.S. ambassadors, and their teams. Some referred to it as glorified babysitting. But after the twin towers fell, Special Ops became responsible for hunting, capturing, and killing high-value targets in the war on terror, among other classified assignments. It’s what we are. It’s what we do.
This weekend was more of the same, upping our instructional intensity on counter-terrorism. On Fort Hood, there are several training courses. The one we were now on had a complete village reminiscent of Central Asia. Having served in at least two of those countries, I can tell you, they were pretty darn close on design, not to mention that the terrain is very similar. Like Texas, it’s one of the few places on earth where you’ll find arid deserts, lush valleys, and frozen mountains all on the same day.
Our goal this weekend was to find, secure, and extract a high-profile target. We did just that. Only—I got shot. The old-timers razzed me about being soft. What can I say? I’ve gotten slow since getting out, and I’m paying for it now. I was definitely joining a gym once I got back home.
They let some of us leave sooner than expected, so I headed to the restaurant early to ensure that we had somewhere to sit. It was Sunday and Veteran’s Day, so I knew the restaurants would be crowded. We had agreed on Franklin’s, a quaint, family-owned diner located in historic downtown Killeen, set about a mile from the Main Gate. It was a local favorite, easy enough for base civilian employees and active-duty soldiers to get to and from in under an hour for lunch. Built into a century-old brick building, it shared its two-story wall with an upscale day spa and nail salon that also doubled as a vintage clothing store.
As I waited for the woman dressed in a fifties throw-back uniform to select my table, I saw a hand waving zealously in the air. I checked my watch, then told the hostess ‘never mind’, and strode confidently to the back of the room.
I plopped into the red vinyl booth just as the waitress was setting down a plate with a perfectly sliced wedge of buttermilk pie at its center and refilling a cup with coffee. I enthusiastically accepted when she offered me a cup and a slice of pie, as well.
“Pie’s on the house,” she chirped. “Thank you for your service.”
“You’re welcome,” we replied, almost in unison. Then, I added, “Our pleasure, ma’am.”
After she stepped away, I looked across the table as Bob hungrily attacked his dessert. When I laughed at him, he interjected, “Heard you got shot today.”
I dropped my head in shame.
“Good thing they don’t use real ammo, huh?”
I chuckled as I looked around. “Yeah.”
“Congratulations!” said the charismatic chaplain as he slapped me on the arm. “Also, heard you’re gonna pop the question.”
I nodded, unenthusiastically, forcing a small smile, which wasn’t lost on him.
“Who’s the lucky girl?”
I furrowed my brow. “Emily.” Of course.
Bob looked down, concentrating on the cup in his hand. “Hmm.”
“What?”
“That’s the old girlfriend, right?”
“Yeah.” I leaned back in my chair, hands clasped behind my head.
I thanked the waitress as she slid the plated pie before me, then gracefully topped off our cups before slipping away. I could feel him studying me.
“What?” I asked again.
“Nothing,” he replied, shoving a forkful into his mouth without looking up.
I narrowed my eyes. “You obviously have something to say.”
The Staff Sergeant shrugged, stuffing another bite into his already full cheeks.
I leaned forward onto the table, watching his body language. “Emily and I are good together.”
Bob bounced his head in an exaggerated nod as he chewed.
“She’s great, really.”
“I’m sure she is,” he mumbled.
“Hey,” I said, suddenly feeling defensive. “You don’t even know her.”
Bob stopped chewing; eyes wide. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Mm, hmm,” I hummed.
“It’s just, after our conversation last time, I figured—”
He didn’t need to finish his statement. I already knew where this was headed.
Bob looked around, then reached across the table, grabbed my napkin, and proceeded to dab his mouth with it. “I’m merely making an observation, but I’ve gotta be honest here. Since I met you, you’ve talked more about your missionary than you ever did about Emily. In fact, this is the most you’ve mentioned Emily since we met.
“I…” Only I had no rebuttal. I replayed our previous conversations over and over in my head as I slumped onto my elbows. Damn it. He was right.
Bob read the realization in my expression. “Sorry, Eddie. Didn’t mean to take the wind out of your sails.” After pushing his plate to the side, he leaned forward as well. “Something on your mind, soldier?”
I contemplated my answer carefully. Were he a priest, I could confess and get away with saying ten Hail Marys. However, I’m talking to a preacher. Not the same. I avoided his eyes as long as possible
, but he didn’t waver. I could feel him staring, so I sighed in surrender and faced him.
His posture said, “Talk to me, Eddie.”
A million thoughts ran through my head, jumbled and indecipherable. Emily begat Jessica, Jessica begat Erica, Erica begat Amanda…
“First marriage?”
“Yeah,” I scoffed.
“You seem like a nice enough guy. Why did you wait so long?”
I looked down; my hands clasped together before me as I considered the question. When I looked back up, I shrugged. “I guess I never found anyone worthy of my charm.” I leaned back in my chair again, feeling slightly overconfident.
“Hmm,” he replied, furrowing his brow. “But you asked the missionary, right?” When I didn’t respond, he added, “Why did you ask her and not the others?”
I hesitated before responding. “Mary Beth was different.”
“How was she different?”
“I don’t know—just different.”
“Was she prettier, smarter, sexier, what?”
I rolled my head back before facing him again. “All of the above. What I felt for Mary Beth was somehow, different than anything I’ve ever felt for anyone else.”
“Including Emily?”
I stared at him, befuddled, feeling trapped.
“And yet, you said you knew her only a few weeks.” He pursed his lips, arms crossed. “What’s the longest relationship you’ve had with a woman?”
I didn’t even have to think about it. “Eight years.”
“Did you ever propose to her?”
“We talked about it.”
“I talk about getting hair implants,” he joked. “Talking about it and doing it are two different things.”
I nodded.
“Why did you never propose?”
The Ex Page 5