by Amelia Wilde
I swim up out of the daydream I’ve been tending since the moment Dayton walked out of my office. In the daydream, when he disappears from view, I chase after him. Beg for a few minutes of his time. We end up in a cozy Italian restaurant two blocks down. Somehow a hotel becomes involved. If Whitney hadn’t thrown open the door, I might have gotten all the way to the room, to the bed, to the hot pink vibrator she got me as a joke for my birthday senior year. I found out later it’s a high-quality piece. Definitely not a joke.
I drop my keys on the little table in the entryway and unwind my scarf from my neck. “I’m extremely fun. When it’s appropriate.”
Whitney turns around, shaking her head. “Fun is always appropriate. We only have—”
“—one life to live,” I finish for her. Coat on hook. Scarf on hook. Purse on hook. Everything in its place. “I know.”
“And yet you look like you’re headed for a pair of flannel pajamas and a book.”
She’s so right that it’s a little offensive. I smile rapturously. “What could be better on a Thursday night?”
Whitney’s eyes light up. “Drinks.”
“No.”
“Drinks at Vino Veritas.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “That’s not fair, and you know it.”
Whitney folds her hands in front of her. “Come on, Sunny, it’s an exciting day!”
“Why? Did something happen at work?”
Her smile is worth a gigawatt at least. “Technically, it was at work.”
I gasp. “Did you get an audition?”
“Not just an audition.” Whitney does spirit fingers. “A second audition. I got a callback!”
Then it’s all jumping and shrieking in the entryway, right up until Whit hustles me into my coat and scarf and down to our favorite wine bar.
“We have celebrated,” I tell her ninety minutes later. We’re tucked into a table by the front window and neither of us cares about the view onto 9th Avenue. “Let’s get the bill.”
“Not a chance,” says Whitney, motioning for the waiter. “One last drink. Two glasses of your sweetest moscato,” she says to him extravagantly. We’ve already shared a bottle and some of the prettiest appetizers you’ll find in the city. I’m pleasantly buzzed but there it is in the back of my mind—the call of work. Getting up early. Getting to bed at a decent hour. It’s the right thing to do. I have to be at my best for the veterans.
It’s all true. It’s also true that the wine has made my heart feel steady for the first time since Dayton looked at me across that waiting room.
“Tell me your news. There has to be news.” Whitney leans across the table, eyes shining, her voice bright over the rumble and roll of the conversation in the bar.
“Just another day in the office.”
“Liar. Your face is beet red.”
“I’ve had half a bottle of wine.”
“Sunny.”
That delirious joy shot through with dread blooms in my chest. “I shouldn’t say anything. All of my meetings are confidential.” My voice wobbles a bit on confidential and Whitney pounces.
“What happened?” She grabs my hand on the surface of the table. “Tell me right now.”
I bite my lip. I shouldn’t say anything. I’m not supposed to disclose anything about the veterans to anyone else, and I’m sure this is outside the rules. But I’m humming with the sight of him. If I don’t release some of this pressure, how am I going to sleep tonight? The scale tips in Whitney’s favor. Damn it.
“I ran into…an old friend.” It’s ridiculously inadequate, calling him that, but that’s the only way around this. I’m not breaking the rules if I’m only mentioning that I saw a childhood buddy.
Whitney gasps. “Who?”
He’s dangerous. My brother’s words from a million years ago rocket through my mind. His voice rising at home the next day. The freeze that’s grown between us ever since. “Dayton.”
Whit rolls her eyes and drops my hands. “That’s a city in Ohio. Are you that drunk?”
“Dayton Nash.” I say it louder and her eyes go wide. Something clicks in her mind, her eyebrows shooting up toward her hairline. “My brother’s—”
“—best friend,” she says, and covers her mouth with her hand. “Oh, my god.”
“Ex best friend,” I say automatically, because that’s what it is now, isn’t it?
She tilts her head down, looking up at me from beneath her lashes. “You always had a crush on him, didn’t you? I bet he was hot. I bet he’s still hot. I bet your heart went boom when he walked through the door.” Whit’s mouth drops open. “Did you sleep with him?”
“Oh, my god.”
“You did, didn’t you?”
“No,” I shriek. “I did not sleep with him in my office!”
“Two glasses of moscato,” says the waiter from five inches away. He can’t disguise the laughter in his voice.
Perfect.
8
Summer
Eight Years Ago
My mother clutches my arm right above the elbow as the boys—men—march out onto the field in the Georgia heat. We spent half the night and most of the morning taking two different planes to get here, and for an instant I think she’s cracking up.
She claps her other hand over her mouth. “Oh, Sunny, look at him.”
They all look the same—they’re supposed to, in those uniforms. I can’t see him.
Then I can.
Dayton is one of the first soldiers out on the parade field, marching side by side with all the others he and Wes went to boot camp with. I’ve never thought that much about men in the service but watching Day’s body move beneath the camouflage fabric of his uniform, my breath catches. I didn’t think it was possible for him to look stronger, but his face is leaner somehow, harder. It’s Dayton, but different. I can see it from where we’re sitting, the humid Georgia air soaking into our skin.
“Oh, he’s changed,” Mom breathes, leaning closer.
“Yeah, he has.”
The company turns a sharp left, coming around the corner of the parade field and pop, there’s Wes. He’s the one my mom’s been looking at. He’s the one I didn’t notice because he was shoulder to shoulder with Dayton.
“Mrs. Sullivan, it’s not a big deal.”
“Dayton.” My mom puts on her best stern-mother expression and grabs him right above his elbow. “We can’t celebrate without you.”
His eyes move from her face to the crowd around us. The wide sidewalk outside the National Infantry Museum is mobbed with families, each orbiting around a boot camp graduate in green. Day’s family must be late. Things happen with planes all the time. Our flight out of Atlanta was almost delayed when the crew went over on their shift time.
“It’s all right, Mrs. Sullivan.”
“Come on, man. It’s dinner at Applebees.” Wes cajoles him from where he stands next to me. “Don’t put up a fight.” I don’t like the edge in my brother’s voice but Day gives a little shake of his head.
“If you’ve got room.”
“The rental’s a zippy SUV with third-row seating,” my mom tells him, beaming. “Plenty of room.”
Day gives the crowd one more glance.
Then he gives in, and we all ride to Applebees in the rental car.
“They say we could deploy as early as six months out.” Wes stabs a knife into his steak and takes a bite, back straight, his pride puffing him out. He was in good shape before he left for boot camp. He’s in better shape now. I keep my eyes on my burger. Wes looks good, but he’s my brother.
Dayton looks so good I can’t look at him without blushing.
Dad chuckles, but I see him swallow hard. “You're in a bit of a rush, don’t you think?”
Wes shakes his head slowly. “I want to get on with it. Six weeks of AIT and I’ll be good to go.” He rubs his hands together.
“What’s AIT?” I ask the question with a sidelong glance at Wes. Things haven’t been the same between us since th
at dance, but I want to know how much longer he’s going to be in training. How much longer Day is going to be in training.
“Advanced Individual Training.” Day’s the one who answers. Unlike Wes, who’s sawing at his steak like he’s been starving, Day has been methodically making his way through a chicken sandwich and mashed potatoes. “More specific training for the jobs we’ll be doing once we get our post assignments.” His voice is hypnotizing. I’m staring. I can’t help it. In the world’s smoothest move, I grab a fry from my plate and shove it into my mouth.
“Cool.”
“It is cool, sis.” His voice carries over to the next table. “But it’ll be even cooler when we deploy. When we’re really getting stuff done.” His eyes glow at the thought of it. Who is this guy? When we were kids, Wes lost it over a cat we had that got run over by a car. Now he’s all about heading off to war and getting stuff done. I don’t feel like eating any more of my burger.
“What about you, Dayton? Do you have plans for after you’re done with AIT?” Mom’s voice is mild.
The corner of Dayton’s mouth turns upward. “It won’t be up to me, Mrs. Sullivan. I’ll get my post and deploy, probably about the same time as Wes.”
“And after?” My mom sets her jaw. “After you both get back from deployment, what will you do? Is this a career for you, too?”
Dayton puts down his fork. “I’m not sure.”
“Hell of a thing to be unsure about, son.” Dad reaches for his beer and surveys Dayton across the table.
Day meets his gaze, head on. “It’s a chance for me to get away.”
For the first time all afternoon, the smile disappears from Wes’s face. What’s that about? I’ve heard the rumors about Day and what he supposedly did, but why would Wes feel guilty about it.
“You’ll send us your updated address as soon as you have it? Both of you.” My mom signals for the waiter. “I’ve been out of water for ten minutes and I’m parched. Anybody else?”
“I’ll catch a bus back to the post.”
“Dayton—”
“Give you some time to spend together before your flight out,” Dayton says, flashing my mom a confident smile. She can’t resist it. This graduation trip has been weeks in the making.
Hugs all around, with a handshake for my dad and Wes. When Day wraps his arms around me I take a deep breath in. He smells of soap and spice and man and I keep my face absolutely blank while my insides warm and glow.
Then he’s walking across the parking lot toward a bus stop on the outer edge of the property. My mom’s phone rings in her purse. Her face lights up when she sees the name on the screen.
“It’s your grandfather!” She hands the phone joyously to Wes, and I stifle a sigh. Grandpa is eighty-seven, and all he wants to talk about is the honor and privilege of joining the military. And of course it’s honorable, but it also means that we can’t get into the car, because the traffic noise interferes with his hearing aids somehow.
Day stands tall next to the bus stop shelter, his posture perfect. It strikes me to the core. I have to know. I have to know what he’s running from. What makes him want to get away so badly?
I don’t want him to leave. This might be my last chance to tell him so.
“I’ll be right back,” I say into my mother’s ear, and she brushes me off, straining to hear what my grandfather is saying to Wes, and in fifteen seconds I’m up next to Day, heartbeat loud in my ears.
“I didn’t believe them.” It’s not very suave, but they’re the first words that come to mind.
He turns, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Sunny, what are you—”
“I didn’t believe the rumors. About that store. I know you didn’t do it.”
Day’s face darkens. “You don’t know—”
“I know you.” It’s the truest thing I’ve ever said. I do know Day. I’ve known him for years. He’s been my brother’s best friend for years, and I know he wouldn’t do what they said he’d done. “You don’t have to run away, Dayton, you really don’t. I believe in you. I know you’re not like that. You can do anything.” My breath is fast and fluttery. I can’t believe I’m saying these things to him. I can’t believe I’m standing in his heat like this. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, like I’m a little kid.
Dayton’s eyes never leave mine. His tone softens. “It’s not like that, Sunny. I don’t have a choice.”
“You do.” I whisper, my voice breaking. I don’t know where Wes thinks they’re going to go, but I don’t want Day to leave. It’s too dangerous. It’s too awful.
He swallows hard, a sheen over his dark eyes, and a pure white hope breaks clean over my chest. He’s going to stay. He’s going to change his mind. I know it.
“I’m going to miss you, Sunny,” he says, standing tall, his shoulders broad under the uniform. With one of his big hands on my shoulder, I feel small, childish. “Be safe, okay?”
My heart shatters.
“Day—”
One step. That’s all it takes for him to reach me, to fold me in his arms, and kiss me.
My gasp disappears between his lips, and then it’s all heat and light and spice, and this is the best moment I’ve ever lived.
“Hey, asshole!”
Moment over.
9
Dayton
“We’ve made an amazing start.” Summer beams at me from the other side of her desk, printouts fanned in front of her. We. As if I’ve done anything other than show up. “I’ve got six firms with open positions, so I thought we could work through the application process together.”
“Firms?”
“Yes. Firms. Companies.” She cocks her head to the side, looks at me over the papers. “You said you were interested in analytics and planning, right?”
“Yeah, but—”
“That’s where I started.” Summer flips the first paper over so it’s facing my direction and rises partway out of her seat. “Gordon & Preyde has an opening in its administrative department. You’d probably start with a lot of mail filing, but I thought, given the circumstances—”
“Gordon & Preyde? Is that a law firm?” Summer nods and I laugh out loud. “I can’t work at a law firm.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No, I really can’t.”
Her blue eyes search mine. “If this is about those rumors from back in high school—”
The memory of it swims up from the depths of my mind. Anxiety prickles at my core but I cover it with a smile. I didn’t hold up a grocery store back in high school. It was Wes who wanted a thrill, who walked out with two Zippo lighters in his pockets. I was the one the police went after.
But high school’s not the problem with working at a law firm. It’s what I did after I got out of the Army.
I’m not going to tell Summer that.
“It’s not about that.” She keeps it professional, but I see the twitch at the corner of her mouth. I know there’s more she wants to say. “What else do you have?”
“A similar position is open at Delaware Paper Products.”
“Oh, Jesus. Like that TV show?”
Summer grins. “No. Not like that.” She glances over at her computer screen. “It’s a start-up that claims to revolutionize the distribution of paper products across the northeast region.”
“Sounds like my kind of place.” It doesn’t. The thought of sweating through dress shirts in an office cubicle while I try to ignore phantom pains does not appeal to me, but here we are.
“How about this?” Summer gathers up the papers with a flick of her wrists and pushes the stack toward me. “Why don’t you take a look through these, and then we can talk about whichever opportunity—” Her elbow knocks against a mug at the edge of her desk and pens spill onto the carpet on my side of the desk. “Oh—”
She’s out of her seat in a flash, but I’m faster. By the time she’s around to my side I have the pens in one hand and the mug in the other, and I’m standing to meet her. Her face is bright pink.
“Sorry about that.”
Summer takes the mug, her hands brushing against mine, and her cheeks get pinker. I didn’t think that was possible. If everything had been different, I’d take her face in my hands right now and—
“Day?”
It’s not the professional, chipper voice she’s been using since she led me back here and offered me a seat.
“Yeah?”
“The pens?”
I can’t stop the short, harsh laugh that’s on the edge of my lips, but I can tip the pens back into the mug. “I think that’s all of them.”
Summer looks down into the pens and takes a deep breath, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. I can’t say I mind that she’s standing this close. “You saved the day,” she says softly, and it’s all I can do not to reach for her.
“No. I’m not that kind of guy.” It’s a joke, meant to be lighthearted, but her smile disappears.
Her blue eyes are huge and clear when she looks into mine, the mug trembling in her hands. “Aren’t you?”
“I don’t—”
“I always thought you were, when I was—when I was growing up.” Her eyebrows draw together. “But then after boot camp—” The air around us is charged, every one of my limbs humming with the tension. This is not how I expected this conversation to proceed.
“I went where the Army told me to go.”
Sunny—that’s who she looks like right now, not the professional Summer Sullivan of Heroes on the Homefront—looks toward her window, then back at me. “You went to Afghanistan and you never said a word to me. I thought—” She swallows hard. “I thought you could have died. All that time, I never heard from you. Not once.”
In the emptiness of my hands, I feel it again—the dust. The grit. The fine sand that coated everything, got into every crack and crevice. I was never clean in the desert. Never. It settled in every breath. Summer is right here. I could finally tell her that with every one of those filthy, dusty breaths, I thought of her. I ached for her.