SEAL of My Heart

by Sharon Hamilton

  “What’s it gonna be, Tyler?” they cheered.

  He scanned the audience before him on the dash. None of your fuckin’ business, guys, he told them mentally. All he heard back was laughter.

  “You okay, Ty? I mean, you are way more distracted than I’m used to. Like, you’re usually ready for World War III, which means I don’t have to worry about it. But today, you’d probably walk into a fuckin’ Afghani tank and hit your head before you woke up. You can wake up, can’t you?”

  “So I’m thinking about that woman, Kenny. No harm in that.”

  Kenny nodded. “No. No harm in that. As long as you don’t step out in traffic, or forget you’re driving or something.”

  Yeah. Thinking about her was kind of addictive. Made him want to take a nap and dream about her. He needed to be alone with his private thoughts about her. Kenny must have realized he was going there, and nothing would disturb his daydreams, because eventually his friend’s incessant banter petered out. When the green monster car pulled up to Tyler’s mother’s salmon-pink-with-turquoise-trim two-story shingled home, he realized he’d been stuck thinking about what she felt like while she shivered against his chest there in the donut shop.

  His mom ran out the front door to greet him, her hands buried in a paint-smeared towel. Her lined face was still beautiful, and her long grey hair hadn’t been cut in twenty years. She’d just taken it out of the clip she usually wore when she was painting.

  “Oh, sweetie. Thank God you’re home.” She engulfed him in one of those mom hugs that had smothered him and made him sneeze when he was five or six. He felt how slight she’d become, and for the first time felt, as well as saw, her age.

  “You’re getting too skinny, Mom,” he whispered into her hair.

  “Oh stop it, Ty. You know your dad likes me at my dance weight. And you’ll see every pound I’ve lost has gone right to his waistline.”

  Nope, Tyler thought, that would be your blackberry cobblers and homemade vanilla ice cream.

  “Hey, Kenny,” she said as she rubbed her fingers through Kenny’s hair like she was rubbing a charcoal stain from one of her sketches. “How are the folks?”

  Tyler and Kenny’s parents had tried to be friends since the boys were in grammar school, but it never took.

  Kenny shrugged. “Fighting like cats and dogs, making up like rabbits.”

  Tyler saw his mom’s eyes sparkle. “Well, at least they make up.”

  “I think it’s why they fight,” Kenny quipped.

  She Kenny as he said his goodbyes and they made a plan to get together the next day for coffee. The Gremlin took off down the hill in a belch of smoke like its namesake.

  Tyler put his arm around his mom and pulled his wheeling duffel along with the other hand. They walked across the old creaking porch to the front door and into the “cave of bright and light,” as he’d once described it to a couple of his friends.

  Funny how he thought about that just now. One time during the BUD/S training, he’d been between Jones on one side and Rory on the other, locked arm in arm. The three amigos all graduated in a class that had been another near-washout. They were lying in the surf on the beach in San Diego, their clothes on, including their combat boots, wet and cold as hell. Shivering and talking about stuff just to stay awake, because sure as shit the water wasn’t doing it for them, after only ten minutes of sleep in the last three days of training. Someone had started to snore and he and the guys on either side of him had to run five miles while the others lay back and got wet and sandy.

  They’d contemplated pretending to fall asleep, because then at least they could get warm during the run, but a five-mile run at midnight, completely soaked through, with the boots…and besides, the spot between his legs where his wetsuit had chafed would hurt even more. If he took off his clothes, and it would be a full forty-eight hours before he would be able to lose the clothes and take a hot shower, he’d known he’d see blisters the size of his fist, probably good and bloody, too.

  So they talked about stuff just to keep each other awake. He described his mother’s house in great detail, with all the huge, colorful, abstract paintings, the way the rain pattered against the stained glass windows his folks had bought from some abbey in France on their honeymoon, the smells of strong coffee, and sounds of Joni Mitchel in the background, brightening everything, including his soul…that’s what he talked about. The guys gave him hell for the Joni Mitchel comment, which was well-deserved. He couldn’t understand her much or the words, but he liked her tone and spirit. And the guys hadn’t believed a word of that, either.

  He’d have to say his mother was a nester. The opposite of Tyler’s simple life, with a definite lack of things to clutter it up. He liked her color and her free spirit, her warmth. It reminded him, every time he walked through the door of this battered, eclectic home, why he did what he did. He was fighting to protect this for all the people like his mother, and for Kenny and his donut love, and all the other people who didn’t have to know about the evils out there and the things he and his Team had to do. And because they were so removed from his arena, he hoped they never thought about it, either. That was the way it was supposed to be. Make it so safe, people never had to worry about the safety of their ordinary lives.

  He let the colors soak in like sunlight on the beach. He must have sighed because his mom snuggled against his chest and whispered, “You’ve had a long trip, I can tell. Want some coffee, or do you want to go up to your room and take a nap?”

  He did want to be alone, and felt guilty about it. There would be time later for sharing himself with her, and with his dad when he came home from his principal’s job. But right now he didn’t want to take a nap. He wanted to start writing a letter to Kate, while the thought of her was fresh in his mind.

  His mother waved to him as he climbed the groaning, hand-hewn pine steps that wound up the middle of the great room to the bedrooms above. He’d never really thought before about how huge the house was. The grand staircase could host a king’s procession as it descended to a waiting crowd of loyal subjects gathered below in the enormous hall. The combined living/dining/family room area was at least five times the size of his apartment in San Diego.

  He opened the door to his room. His baseball and soccer trophies still lined shelves built along two walls almost up to the ten-foot ceilings. Posters of baseball players and international soccer stars covered the rest of the wall space, along with a tattered American flag he’d brought back from Afghanistan for his mother. She’d mounted it here instead of flying it out front like he suggested. She told him it meant a lot to her, which is why it took prominence in his bedroom, so she could go in there during his deployments and feel like she was next to him.

  He never told her about the two young Marines he’d attempted to rescue that day, or the ten others he had. The kids they’d escorted to a safe building, along with their pretty teacher, who had already lost a hand in the explosion that took out the school. He’d never forget the way she took care of those kids, little girls among them, which they figured was why the school had been targeted. And she hadn’t fainted from her serious injury until after they were all safe. She’d used her hijab to wrap around the wound, leaving her head uncovered so she could protect her stump of an arm and stop the bleeding. Or maybe it was so the kids wouldn’t have to see it.

  His mind wandered back to Portland and memories of sitting at his desk, watching the Columbia River glisten past, looking lazy but vibrant in the late afternoon sunlight, belying a deep spirit buried in the strong current underneath. He’d sat there and written the poetry he hadn’t thought of in years.

  His memories led him next to the bookshelf with all his favorites starting with the Huck Finn and Treasure Island books he’d read as a child, books lovingly passed down to him from his father, who had taught him the love of reading. He let his fingers travel over the old paperback Star Trek, also his father’s, and then some of his own, including a well-worn secret book, Lady Ch
atterley’s Lover, which, oddly, now was prominently displayed next to his science fiction collection. That meant that his mother had found it on one of her cleaning days, and it was a message to him that she approved of his choice.

  So be it.

  He’d loved that book and the beautiful description of a woman’s body, the way her passion bloomed for her lover, how she gave as much as he took in the illicit affair that would consume them both. He wanted that kind of love.

  He was surprised to find, next to the erotic tome, two spiral notebooks he’d filled with love poems in high school. He brought them over to his desk, removed his jacket, and sat down to read.

  I watch you travel on your way to who knows where,

  Jealous of the shoes your little feet are tucked into.

  I’m jealous of the air you breathe all around you,

  Jealous of the boys who flirt with you and then glare at me behind you,

  As if they know I like to follow,

  Just to smell your perfume.

  He blushed at his own words. He tried to remember her name, and then did. Karen. He’d lie awake at night and think about her, and what it would feel like to caress her back, hold her naked against him. It was the vision that got him through high school.

  And Karen never even knew he existed. The back of the notebook had several blank pages, along with a letter he’d begun to her. Holding his breath, he dared to go back to that time in his life he’d all but forgotten.

  Dear Karen,

  I’ve enjoyed watching you from the shadows and won’t reveal who I am, except to say that I think you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. We are graduating soon, and I know we probably won’t see each other much, if ever, but maybe we could have one dance at Project Grad night. If I came up to you, would you give me one dance? If I showed you who I was? I’m not a creep, or someone you have to worry about. I’m just writing to tell you I will miss seeing your pretty face every day during the week, and hope…

  The letter wasn’t finished. He remembered he’d been interrupted, but forgot why. He’d never dropped the letter into her locker. And she hadn’t attended Project Grad that night, either. Who knows, maybe if he’d told her, if she’d gotten a mysterious letter from an admirer, she would have come. And maybe it would have changed the trajectory of their lives.

  But no. He’d made a different choice. He wasn’t going to let that happen again.

  He found an unused page in the back of the notebook, smoothed his hand over the lined white paper, and began to write.

  C

  hapter 7

  Kate waited on the front porch of Gretchen’s home, watching the waterway below and listening to the sounds of late afternoon boat traffic. The constant commercial noise and the way the river meandered on its way out to the ocean was comforting. Life was back in order and would go on as planned, even though her life felt, after this morning’s plane ride and adventure at the donut shop, chaotic.

  Gretchen waved as she maneuvered her car up the steep driveway along the side of her house. Kate heard car doors slam and the voices of Gretchen’s three girls. The back door banged, and she heard the patter of little feet racing towards the front door. Angela, the youngest, barely four years old, struggled to open the heavy wooden door of the large two-story bungalow. Her face was streaked with smudged Indian war paint.

  “Auntie Kate!!” the little one squealed as she ran to her and embraced Kate’s knees. Clover and Rebecca, Angela’s two older sisters, hovered in the doorway, waiting for the hug fest to end. Clover appeared to have grown nearly a foot, and resembled her handsome basketball player father.

  “What’s the matter with you guys? Clover, Rebecca, get over here,” Kate commanded. In two long steps, Clover traversed the distance between them and bowed her head, giving Kate a tentative hug. The girl was nearly Kate’s height. Rebecca pushed Angela out of the way and took her place at Kate’s knees.

  Gretchen appeared next and walked over to complete the group hug.

  “Sorry about the mix-up. Angela’s preschool had an event I forgot about.” She turned to her daughter. “Angie, you need to wash that face now. Part of your war paint is already somewhere in my car or in the house or—” she checked Kate’s pants to be sure she hadn’t been slimed. “Oh good, you’re unscathed.”

  Kate shared a grin with her sister. Despite curly hair that went everywhere, her lack of makeup, and the ripped jeans/fluffy sweatshirt ensemble, Gretchen looked happy. Happier than she’d seemed in years.

  “Looking good, Gretchen. You have your spark back,” Kate said.

  The comment didn’t get past Clover. “Mom’s got a new boyfriend,” she said around her braces.

  Good for you, Gretchen. “Ah, so that’s what it is.” Kate examined Clover for evidence the new man was a problem for her. It had been a very public divorce after her dad, the awesome professional basketball player, had been outed doing shots and disco dancing with a coed about half his age. Up until his indiscretion, if it could be called that, he’d been the golden boy of the family. She was proud that her sister refused his attempts at reconciliation and only accepted a minimal amount of child support, even though he had at least a seven-figure income. Gretchen had told her she wanted him to feel as useless to their lives as she had felt when she saw the newspaper photos of him, bare-chested, dirty dancing with the blonde.

  “Come on in. We have so much to catch up on,” Gretchen said, wrapping her arms around her girls, who lovingly hugged her back. Kate was glad to see again that her sister had the family she’d always wanted, even without the guy. In fact, she was a bit envious of her sister’s happiness.

  “Let’s get Aunt Kate’s bags up to the room,” Gretchen said, and immediately the bevy of girls took everything and preceded Kate up the carpeted stairway to the top floor.

  They had moved her into Clover’s room. A poster of Justin Bieber was prominently displayed on the wall, along with some posters of her dad in a Trailblazers jersey. Kate noticed a number of ribbons and small trophies. “Way to go, Clover!” she said to her niece as she pointed at them.

  Clover stared at the ground and shrugged, embarrassed.

  “She plays basketball, but loves volleyball even more,” her mom said.

  Before she could stop herself, Kate blurted out, “Thank God.” The girls snickered and her sister handed her back a smirk.

  Kate felt the need to explain. “I was just thinking she’s her own woman. Not to be following along in her dad’s—” She realized her slip and began to shake her head, angry with herself.

  “Kate, best to stop digging now you’ve gotten that hole started.”

  “I’m sorry, Clover,” Kate said.

  “It happens,” she said with a shrug “I’m used to it.” Her voice wavered and Kate could see she’d hurt her feelings. She put her arm around the lanky preteen. “You’re nothing like your dad in all the wrong ways, and everything like him in all the right ones.”

  And that seemed to make things okay.

  Gretchen and the girls left Kate to unpack and get adjusted while they went downstairs to make an early dinner and begin their homework. Clover’s bedroom window looked out over the waterfront, and Kate wondered what Tyler was doing right now.

  It was time to journal, she decided, and got out her notebook. Out of nowhere came a welling up of sadness, and she fought tears that poured out uncontrollably anyway. What was going on? Looking out over the glistening waters of the Columbia as it rolled slowly past, it hit her.

  She didn’t want to marry Randy. The prospect was like a lead weight around her neck. All of a sudden it was clear to her that going through with the wedding would be the worst decision she’d ever made.

  Holy cow. How come I feel this way?

  It hadn’t been the kiss, the attraction to Tyler, which had triggered this feeling of dread. It was because her decision had finally been revealed in the light of day, and in the sunlight it didn’t hold up. It wasn’t what she wanted. It was what
her parents wanted, what Randy wanted, what her friends wanted, what his parents wanted. Everyone wanted it except her.

  Her pen stopped before she could commit anything to paper, as if writing it down would make it permanent. Or that someone might read her second thoughts. But they were more than second thoughts. This was real dread, real fear she was about to make the biggest mistake of her life.

  She closed her eyes, and all she could see was Tyler and his blue eyes. Damn him! She tried to relax, shoo him out of her thoughts so she could examine her feelings for Randy uninterrupted…and yes, there it was. She found a lot of obligation, but not any desire or love of any kind. Was she doing this for all the wrong reasons? Had she sold out? The idea made her feel nauseous.

  Kate abruptly stood up, slipped on her shoes, and dashed down the stairs to consult with Gretchen. Growing up, they’d been confidantes, and she’d always been able to tell Gretchen things she couldn’t tell their mother, even though she knew her sister would tell her on her if it was really important, or if she was pressured. Kate needed sisterly advice and Gretchen’s level head.

  Gretchen must have sensed something, too, because she turned down her music and laid down her knife. Of course. All she’d ever had to do was look at Gretchen and she’d know something wasn’t right.

  “Were you nervous before you married Tony? I mean, so nervous you considered…”

  “Breaking it off?”

  It sounded so harsh, so permanent when Gretchen said it. “Well, not exactly.” Kate avoided eye contact, even though Gretchen was watching her closely while she moved around the kitchen, not taking her eyes off her face. Then when their gaze met, Kate’s tears welled up again.

  “Ahh, sweetie,” Gretchen said as she darted around the counter to hug her. “What’s happened?”

  Kate brushed the tears away with her palms, and then the backs of her hands, but the torrent wouldn’t stop. Gretchen’s gentle hug while she rubbed the tops of her shoulders just made the tears flow faster. Finally she pulled away from her sister’s embrace and took a deep breath. “I’m just having huge second thoughts. I don’t know why I didn’t think about all these things sooner. I’m thinking I’m not ready. I mean…” she peered at her canvas slip-ons. “Did you question your decision to marry Tony? Really question it?” After she said the last sentence she had the nerve to meet Gretchen’s concerned stare.