True to You

by Becky Wade

  “And Kathleen is Britt’s mom.”

  “Yes, she’s Britt’s biological mom. Shortly after she married my dad, she legally adopted Willow and me so she’s been a mom to me since I was three and to Willow since she was five. She’s the one who gave us baths, made us do our homework, nagged us to clean our rooms, took us to the DMV for our driver’s test, and bought us prom dresses. I have a special place in my heart for my mother. But Kathleen’s the only mom I can remember.” She shrugged. “She’s our mom.”

  “That’s how I feel about my mom.”

  “I understand completely.”

  Their waitress came to check on them.

  “Is there anything you need, Nora?” John asked.

  You. To love me in sickness and in health till death do us part. “Not a thing.”

  “Just the check, then,” John told the waitress.

  “This, and anything else you’d like, are complimentary,” she replied. “Stefan, at the front desk? He told the chef about, you know, who you are. So . . . this is the chef’s treat.”

  John’s posture stiffened. “That’s very kind, but I’d like to pay.”

  The waitress replaced Nora’s bent napkin with a fresh one. “No, no,” she said cheerfully, walking off. “It’s already been comped. Enjoy!”

  Nora nibbled a sliver of pear. “You seem a trifle uncomfortable, John.”

  “Hmm?”

  “You were uncomfortable at the check-in desk, too.”

  His eyebrows dipped together in the center. “Thanks for pointing that out, Nora.”

  She laughed.

  He piled a cracker with cheese as if that ended their discussion.

  “So?” she asked. “How come recognition makes you uncomfortable?”

  “According to our deal, you get to ask me one question. Is that your question?”

  “No, no,” she hurried to say. Goodness, she didn’t want to spend her one question like a kid who accidentally asked a genie for a wish before thinking things through.

  He finished his cracker, then funneled nuts into his mouth, his vision trained far away. His black watch glimmered. Over the month of their friendship, Nora had noticed everything there was to notice about things like John’s watch, eyelashes, the scuffs on his boots, and the network of veins on the undersides of his wrists. It also hadn’t escaped her attention that he occasionally hummed what sounded like “Sweet Child O’ Mine” when concentrating. Or preferred his water without ice. Or never seemed cold and often wore T-shirts in weather that made her shiver.

  Weighing her options, she selected a slice of apple and balanced a scoop of cheese on top. In the end, she decided to ask him the question she wondered about the most often. “Why are you searching for your birth mother?”

  ———

  A hurricane of black feelings stirred within John at Nora’s simple question.

  Should he tell her why he was searching for Sherry? He was searching because of his diagnosis, but his diagnosis still felt raw, like he’d received it yesterday. In the time since he’d learned about it, he’d only brought himself to tell his family and Allie. No one else.

  It seemed like a betrayal of Allie, to tell Nora something so personal. Yet, Nora was his partner in this search, so in some ways, it seemed like she had a right to know.

  He wanted to tell her because he wanted her to know him.

  And he didn’t want to tell her because he needed to keep the distance between them in place.

  Why are you searching for your birth mother? she’d asked.

  Because I’m going blind, Nora.

  The words waited inside of him. It’s an inherited condition. So you see, if I can’t keep my sight or my independence, which I value more than just about anything, then I want answers.

  If he said that to her, she might pity him. It made his heart stop just to think about her pitying him. He’d rather her go on thinking he was better than he was.

  Nora waited patiently for his answer, golden light behind her.

  He felt a pull toward her—a loyal and intense pull.

  Careful, John.

  “Your question’s too personal,” he finally said.

  “John!” she scolded, laughter in her tone. “I just spilled my heart out, telling you about my mother.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “And?”

  “And you said from the beginning that if your question was too personal, I could tell you, and you’d move on to another.”

  “Fine,” she said lightly, obviously deciding not to test the boundary he’d put down between them. “In that case, I’d like to know what happened that night in Yemen.”

  “You already know. You read the book and saw the movie.”

  “I want to hear about it from you. In your own words.” Nora rubbed her arms.

  “You’re cold.” His voice held a rugged edge of concern.

  “I don’t want to leave, though.” Kneeling, she grabbed a light green sweater from her purse. She slid her arms into it. “I’m good. So . . . spill. You were a member of SEAL Team Six . . .” she offered encouragingly.

  “People still call us SEAL Team Six because it sounds cooler than our official title, which is Naval Special Warfare Development Group.”

  “Your focus was counterterrorism.”

  He smiled. “Who’s telling this?”

  “You are.”

  “The objective of our mission in Yemen was to extract hostages from a group of militants. They were holding two American journalists, one American aid worker, and two Canadian aid workers. We’d been following the situation for a while, but it became urgent when the terrorists announced that they planned to execute the journalists within forty-eight hours. The president gave the order, and we were on our way to Yemen.”

  “You didn’t have much time to plan.”

  “We had enough time,” he stated. “Intel on the compound where we suspected the hostages were being held had come in a few days before the execution threat. Our people had been working on a strategy since they’d received the intel.”

  “Okay.”

  “Two Ospreys transported us to a position about seven kilometers from the compound.”

  “In the dead of night, right? You SEALs seem to like nighttime missions.”

  “We SEALs are all about concealment. Hostage extraction is extremely difficult. Our mission was to protect hostages from captors who were very close, in proximity, to them. We did everything we could to ensure that we’d be able to neutralize the captors before they suspected we were there.”

  “I’m trying to look like I’m accustomed to talking about the neutralizing of captors. How am I doing?”

  “You’re doing fine.”

  “Continue.” She made a go on motion.

  “Two of our snipers simultaneously took out the night guards. One guard was sitting outside. One was walking by a window inside. When those shots went off, several of us were already waiting close to the rear of the house. We entered, engaged with the guard in the hallway and the two who’d been sleeping. It couldn’t have taken us more than twenty seconds to deal with all five of them.”

  “That part went according to plan.”

  He nodded. “None of us heard the guy in the hallway alerting reinforcements on his walkie-talkie right before we entered the house. It wasn’t until much later that we found out that’s what had happened. The Ospreys landed at the compound. We’d started loading hostages and team members onto them when we saw three open-topped trucks speeding toward us. As soon as they were within range, they started spraying us with machine gun fire. The first Osprey lifted off safely. I was in the second Osprey. It got up, but they fired an SA-7 surface-to-air missile and hit the tail of our aircraft.”

  Nora looked worried that he wouldn’t make it out of the story alive.

  “You know all this already,” he reminded her.

  “Hearing you tell it is bringing home the fact that you really did live this. It’s not fiction, like what I�
�m used to. You were actually trapped in a doomed helicopter.”

  He’d relived it through nightmares for a long time afterward.

  “How many of you were inside the Osprey?” she asked.

  “Seventeen. Three of the hostages. Two medics. The rest of us were military. The pilots pulled off an incredible piece of flying to get us down as well as they did. Even so, it was rough. Two SEALs died in the crash. Two more were pinned inside the wreckage and died in the fire.” His felt a muscle in his neck tick. “All but three of us were injured.”

  “You say that, but the three of you who were still on your feet did have injuries.”

  “Right, but not the kind that would slow us down. The three of us pulled everyone from the Osprey that we could, then loaded up with guns. The other two guys took up positions between the militants and the crash site. Their goal was to hold them at bay. I stayed behind with the survivors. I got them down into a gully so they’d be out of range, then climbed to the top of the ridge and waited in a stand of trees.”

  “Did you think that reinforcements would make it to you in time?”

  “I knew they’d make it to us, but I didn’t know if they’d make it in time. The terrorists were on us fast and I was spending all the ammunition I had. Lobbing grenades. Shooting. Reloading. We were outnumbered. They were well-armed and well-organized.”

  “You were shot twice.”

  “Both were flesh wounds.”

  “But they bled.” She looked deeply offended on his behalf. “A lot!”

  “They weren’t the kind of injuries—”

  “That would slow you down?”

  He grinned wolfishly.

  “Continue your tale.” She reached for her iced tea.

  “The militants killed one of the SEALs in the forward position. They wounded the other.”

  “Who you then rescued at risk to your own life.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “I continued to do what I could to hold the attackers off. Let’s put it that way.”

  “While relaying information to the reinforcements,” she added.

  “If you say so.”

  “And did our guys really make it to you in the nick of time?”

  “Just in the nick of time.”

  “So tell me something that’s not in the book or the movie.”

  He’d been trying to talk sense to her about what had happened in Yemen, yet her expression was full of softness and respect, and he knew she was building it all up in her mind. He’d admitted to himself a few minutes ago that he wanted her to think he was better than he was. But never about this. “I’m going to tell you the honest truth about it. You ready?”

  “Ready.”

  “I’m not a hero, Nora. To me, a hero’s someone who weighs the situation and searches his soul and then sacrifices himself. That night in Yemen, there was no time to weigh the situation or search my soul. I didn’t decide to sacrifice myself.” He needed to make this point clear. “I just did my job. My instincts and my training took over, and I picked up my gun and started firing. I reacted the same way any other SEAL on that mission would have reacted. It’s just that I was able to do what others weren’t because I was uninjured and because I was standing farther back, in the trees.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?” he asked, relieved.

  “You were doing your job. That day in Yemen was another day at the office.”

  “Another day at the office,” he agreed. “A very bad day. But just a day.”

  “The praise of others makes you uncomfortable because you feel as though you were fulfilling your duties, same as everyone else.”

  “Several SEALs gave more than I did that night. I knew them and their families. They were brothers of mine, and they deserve thanks.”

  “Yes, but the people who cross your path only have you. In their path. To thank. They won’t have the opportunity to thank the others.”

  He scowled.

  “You did something for America and for those people that a lot of us would have loved to have done in theory, but could never do in reality. So thank you, John. Very much. For what you did.”

  The link of their eye contact grew heavy and meaningful.

  Protectiveness of her, fierce tenderness for her, swept through John. So strong that his lungs physically tightened. So strong that sexual desire rocked him.

  He wanted her.

  He wanted her badly.

  “I’d better go in,” he said.

  “John . . .”

  “I’ll see you in the morning.” He didn’t look at her. He was already stalking past. He was afraid of what he’d do or say if he looked at her.

  Not one more glance.

  “Bill your dinner and breakfast to your room,” he growled. “I’m paying.”

  Phone conversation between Allie and her best friend, Lizzie:

  Allie: John is on a trip with the genealogist he hired to help him find his birth mother. Should I be worried?

  Lizzie: Is she pretty?

  Allie: Not in a conventional way. But she is sort of . . . cute. And John’s always telling me how smart she is.

  Lizzie: Then maybe some degree of worry is in order.

  Allie: That’s what I was afraid you’d say. I’ve been playing it cool with John because I’m no dummy. I would have scared him off if I’d told him from the start how much I care about him. Do you think I’ve been playing it too cool?

  Lizzie: Based on the time I’ve spent with you and John, I think you’ve played it exactly right. Do you trust him?

  Allie: I trust him. But that doesn’t mean I’m not a little concerned. We’ve been dating for six months, Lizzie. I keep thinking and hoping that he’s going to decide that he loves me. But so far, he hasn’t.

  Lizzie: That doesn’t mean he won’t.

  Allie: But I have no guarantee that he will, either. John’s never fully let me in. He’s never given me his heart.

  Text message from Allie to John:

  Hi, sweetheart. How’re things going in Oregon?

  CHAPTER

  Ten

  John paced his hotel room until he couldn’t stand pacing it any longer.

  He changed into work-out clothes and went to the gym, which was full of loud silence at this hour. While all the rest of the guests ate dinner, he lifted weights. Did stomach crunches. Ran on the treadmill.

  None of it offered an escape from what he’d just felt for Nora.

  When she’d told him about her mother, sorrow had poured into him. Then he’d told her about Yemen and seen that same sorrow looking back at him. Her story had brought down his defenses. His story had crushed what was left of them.

  He’d wanted to know about her life and to tell her about his. He’d wanted that, so that was what he’d allowed to happen. But, in retrospect, they shouldn’t have shared so much.

  A man got to know himself well, living through situations like those he’d been through. He was almost never surprised by his own responses. Ever since he’d moved to Shore Pine, he’d become predictable to himself.

  But the surge of desire he’d just felt for Nora—was still feeling for her—surprised him. It had thrown him off-balance the way an earthquake might, and now aftershocks of self-hatred continued to rattle through him. Sins of the mind and heart were every bit as wrong as sins of speech and action.

  He’d been explaining away the chemistry between them. He’d been telling himself he could manage it.

  He’d been lying to himself.

  He’d been a fool. Worse than a fool. He was flirting with infidelity. And that? That was unforgiveable.

  He returned to his hotel room and jerked his sweat-stained T-shirt over his head. Standing at the window, he could see nothing of the day’s view now that night had stolen it. Only his blackened reflection stared back at him.

  He’d underestimated the power of his feelings for Nora. And he’d overestimated, big time, his own sainthood.

  He was a fraud. Many times he’d spoken to groups
about how he’d rooted his identity in Christ. Then he’d learned he was losing his eyesight. Ever since, God had been showing him just how much his identity had been and still was rooted in his own abilities.

  He’d spoken to groups about the value of honor. Now God was showing him how little his own honor was worth.

  It was humbling. It was disturbing.

  Nora had thanked him for what he’d done for America, for pity’s sake. And Allie was at home, trusting him.

  He had no one to blame but himself. His own rationalizations had brought him to this point. Now he needed to find a way to get through tomorrow, return Nora to Merryweather, and cut ties with her.

  He hated what he’d have to do.

  She’d done nothing wrong, and she wouldn’t understand why. Just the thought of ending their friendship made him sick. Yet he couldn’t do their friendship anymore without wanting her, so he couldn’t do their friendship. Which made him furious at himself for having failed at controlling his body and his mind. He’d ruined what he and Nora had when what they had was good. Or . . . it had been good. Right up until that moment on the balcony. That was the moment when he’d stepped across the line between good and wrong.

  Moments of attraction to people you aren’t dating or married to happen. His lecture to himself came back to haunt him. It’s how you respond that matters. If you’re an ethical person, you guard yourself. You make the right choices. You refuse to act on the attraction.

  He picked up his phone and saw a text waiting from Allie. Guilt fell over him like a blanket. With a groan, he tossed his phone on the bed and scrubbed his fingers across his forehead.

  He was a fraud. He was a fraud who needed to beg God’s forgiveness, then do what was needed to make things right.

  Frustrated, Nora turned her face toward the alarm clock on her hotel room’s bedside table. It read 6:12 a.m. John had sent her a curt text message last night suggesting they meet in the lobby at nine this morning, to which she’d said sure, which meant she should still be sleeping. Especially because she’d stayed up thinking about him until after midnight, then slept in fragments full of dreams of him.