Where You Go

by Claire Cain

  “You kept up your Italian for over a decade, during which you barely communicated with me in any way, because it made you feel connected to me? Are you kidding?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  I couldn’t stop myself, because as soon as I recovered from the mush, I felt frustration. If he’d missed me that much—even just missed our childhood, why not tell me? Why not email me? Why not call my house and find out if I was there? Get my phone number? Join the modern age and stalk me online like everyone else in the world did?

  “I guess it’s weird. I always just liked the language, too. I didn’t mean to freak you out.” Now he was legitimately embarrassed, but I had to clarify what I was getting at. I didn’t want him to stop being honest, or God forbid, for him to stop speaking Italian to me.

  Per favore, Dio non voglia.

  “No, you’re not freaking me out. I’m just so confused about why you would do that but then barely respond to my emails or come see me when you knew I was in town if you were there too?” I felt the real hurt rise again as I remembered him saying we had been home at the same time once or twice, but it was only this last time he’d tracked me down. I’d never known we were in the same place at the same time other than the one time we’d run into each other years before.

  “I’m sorry. I wish I had. I guess it felt safer to just keep doing what I was doing and keep our emails simple. When we saw each other, I knew you were dating someone, and I was too. It just… but it’s not like I didn’t still miss you.” He sounded a little hollow and sad, maybe actually regretful, and I decided to move on before we ended up frustrated with no way to fix it. The phone was not ideal for conversations of any real depth.

  “Ok, let’s just move on.”

  “Ok. Tell me about how your week’s been.” He was clearly relieved by the topic change.

  “It’s gone ok.” I felt the rush of disappointment and frustration flood over me again. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Do you miss New York?”

  “I miss things about New York. I miss Ellie. I miss the deli down my old street that made the most perfect sandwich with green apple, real turkey breast, not lunch meat turkey, and melted brie—I would kill for one of those right now. Sometimes I feel like if my old boss makes good on her threat to woo me back I might welcome it for that sandwich alone. And sometimes I miss the stuff you know? Restaurants on every corner, weird artsy stuff everywhere, not needing a car. But Nashville has its own vibe I like a lot, and that’s not the issue, if that’s what you’re thinking. I should, by all rights, feel totally proud of and satisfied by the work I did this past weekend. The school raised almost $40,000 for their arts program and they were happy with the event, but I just feel…” I couldn’t name it. Not to him. It felt too much like something a kid would say, too whiny and ungrateful to be at a new, awesome job in a place I’d chosen to be and not be happy.

  “It’s ok that it’s not perfect. You don’t have to pretend it is.” His voice was steady but quiet.

  His response was perfect. He didn’t try to prescribe a way to improve the situation or pepper me for more information so he could try to solve the problem. He just listened and gave me permission to be honest with him and with myself.

  “Thank you.”

  “No need to thank me for saying something true.”

  “Well, what about you? How has work been for you? I still don’t have any idea what you do, or what your job is, even. But maybe you can show me this weekend?”

  “I will show you my very luxurious, dilapidated office, sure.” I heard him let out a breath and I pictured one hand gripping the back of his neck, his feet kicked up on a coffee table I couldn’t yet see in my mind. “My week’s been ok. Major Flint is still being a jerk, and I swear it has nothing to do with me or the work I’m producing. It’s like something crawled up his—no. You know what? No. I’m not going to spend my time complaining about him. I should be leaving that office anyway, but they’re trying to get me to stay and take a second command—whatever. The point is, I hope that whatever is going on with Flint resolves soon, because I do not want to deal with Bad Mood Joe anymore.”

  “Ugh, that sucks.”

  “Yeah, it does. But… there’s always something, you know? Always someone you don’t agree with or get along with. That’s part of real life and being a professional.” He sounded very matter-of-fact, and I smiled at his attitude. It was so him. He saw things in a black and white way—if you could fix a problem, do. If you couldn’t, then deal with it, or get out of the situation. Done.

  I’d always envied him that ability to see things so clearly, and I wondered if that wasn’t why he sometimes seemed to short circuit when we were together—we were loosely draped in all kinds of gray.

  “I guess I agree to some degree, but at the same time, it’s not a given that you hate your boss or they’re a jerk, is it? Am I naïve about that? I didn’t love my boss in New York, but she wasn’t awful. She was one small part of a whole situation that wasn’t right for me anymore.”

  “I see your point. I feel like I always disagree with someone in my chain of command. If it’s not my direct commander, it might be an overarching methodology. Or, lately, it’s more likely to be the president, who is ultimately my commander in chief.”

  “How do you do it? Why stay in a job that you’re constantly conflicted with? Especially one that demands so much of you.” It was mystifying to me.

  “I know it sounds crazy, but I think that’s what happens in an organization as big as the Army. One of my commanders once said that we take our oath of office and we swear allegiance to an idea, not a person. I’m not fighting for the president. I’m not fighting for a political party’s agenda. I’m serving in the Army and working for the ideas in the constitution, the idea of upholding the republic. And then there are more personal things, like my family, my freedoms, my sense of duty, and those more immediate motivations. But when I frame it that way in my mind, it’s a little less painful when I staunchly disagree with the power players in Washington or even on the battalion staff, at the very least.”

  “That makes sense. It does. That’s… reassuring. Thinking of the Army as fighting for that higher ideal is reassuring.” His words made sense to me, and I could hear the conviction in his voice. And hearing him say it did make me feel more confident in him, in the fact that what he was doing had value beyond this moment. “You’re kind of amazing. Have I told you that?”

  He made a dismissive noise. “You haven’t. You don’t need to. Plus, if you were constantly telling me I was amazing I’d start wondering what you’re up to.” I could hear him smiling, and I felt a tug of longing to be with him and see his face.

  “I’ve missed you. I can’t wait to see you Saturday.”

  Me: What does one wear to a combatives tournament?

  Luke had texted me the address and directions to his house the night before. I felt the flood of nervous energy hit me as I’d showered that Saturday morning and then realized I had no idea what to wear.

  Luke: Your ball gown.

  He was quick to respond and I shook my head at him. I guessed he really did like the dress.

  Me: Or… option B?

  Luke: Or jeans? It’s casual. Whatever you’ll be comfortable in. Unfortunately, it’ll probably be hot.

  I stood in front of my closet. It was mid-September but frustratingly hot. Summer in Tennessee really did last until a third of the way through fall, and I’d heard more than one of my coworkers claim this was the worst extended summer in years.

  I didn’t want to be sitting there sweating all day. I was already nervous enough.

  I settled on a navy-blue sundress. The straps were thin over my shoulders, but it was still modest. It cinched in at the waist with elastic, it had pockets (because any comfortable dress does), and it hit a few inches above the knee. It was comfortable and relaxed, and it would keep me cool. I wore my hair down, some flat sandals I could walk in, and grabbed a gray cardigan to t
hrow on if we went anywhere with air conditioning.

  “Well Lemmy, wish me luck.” I nuzzled his forehead with mine and heard his purr accelerate in a low rumble. “Love you too, buddy.”

  The drive wasn’t too bad, but it did take me a full hour to get from my house to Luke’s. When I pulled up to the apartment building, I saw his truck and my heartbeat kicked into high gear. I hadn’t even seen him yet, and I was already starting to sweat and feel weird.

  “Hey,” he called to me as he walked out of a first-floor door close to where he’d instructed me to park. I fumbled with my seat belt and threw the door open. He was at the door and opening it too before I was out of the car. He grabbed my arm and pulled me the rest of the way out and right into a hug like he couldn’t wait another second.

  “Hi,” I said into his shoulder as he crushed me to him, lifted me up, and twirled around a little as he hugged me. He smelled so good. He was wearing his uniform—the one I’d mistakenly referred to as camouflage and he’d explained they were “ACUs,” but really, they were just camouflage in my world that didn’t yet grasp the nuance of the difference—and he looked like an action figure in it. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “It’s good to see you too. It feels like it’s been weeks.” He squeezed me once more and then set me down. He beamed back at me, but his smile fell a bit as he took in my dress.

  “What’s wrong? I do have jeans in the car just in case you meant that literally. I just thought I might overheat in them if it gets hot like it did yesterday.” I started toward the car to grab my jeans and show him, but he stopped me.

  “No! No, you don’t have to wear jeans. There’s no uniform for you.” His eyes were bouncing between my dress, my legs, and my lips. When he finally met my eyes, I felt that familiar feeling of stepping off a stair and missing one so I ended up lower down.

  “Ok,” I said, not sure what he was thinking, but feeling increasingly more self-conscious. I licked my lips and was searching for something else to say when he grabbed me gently by the back of the neck and pulled me in for a kiss. He pulled away although his hand fisted in my hair in what felt like frustration, and then he grabbed my hand.

  He stood there a moment, his brilliant blue eyes piercing, and he let out a little puff of air and cleared his throat. “I just have to grab a bag and my water, and then we can go. We’ll go in my car and that’ll make signing you in easier.”

  We walked into what must have been an airplane hangar, and they had bleachers set up around a bunch of mats, each grouping of mats creating a different ring where rounds could be held simultaneously. Soldiers milled around restlessly, awaiting the competition’s start. Luke led me to the bleachers where I saw Megan, Ally, and a few more women I was introduced to at the ball. Megan’s eyes lit and practically glowed when she saw us, and she gave me a knowing smile when I sat down by her.

  “So.” She leveled me with her bright blue eyes and Cheshire cat smile.

  “So,” I said, not willing to let her win right away, although I couldn’t help meeting her smile with my own.

  “So now you’re his girlfriend,” she said. Her dainty hand patted down the hair along the side of her head and smoothed down her long, blonde ponytail. Even in capri pants and a tank top she looked polished. How?

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” She beamed at me and then introduced me to a few people milling around I hadn’t met.

  “Did you meet Captain Jackson at the ball?” Megan asked me as she nodded to the woman sitting a few rows down with a few other soldiers.

  “Oh, yes, hi. It’s nice to see you again, Captain Jackson,” I said to the striking blonde woman sitting in front of me.

  “Please, call me Rae,” she said and extended her hand. I shook it.

  “Ok, Rae. Good to see you again.”

  “Likewise. I’m sure Waterford’s happy to have you here,” she said and smiled at me. Good grief, this woman was pretty. She had sparkly blue eyes and bright white teeth. She looked like G. I. Jane Barbie.

  “Glad to be here,” I said and smiled back. I had to stop myself from asking if she was a model for the Army.

  I mean really, get this girl on a poster.

  “Rae was in the battalion with our boys. She and Captain Richards there,” Megan pointed a perfectly painted nail to the left down the bleachers to another woman in uniform who I thought was the other female captain I’d met at the ball, “were the only female officers in the battalion. Richards left last week. Rae, I heard you’re about to leave us too, is that right?” Megan turned back to Rae.

  “Yeah, I’m already over at the BSB. Probably do some staff time there,” Rae explained.

  “Oh that’s where you go since you’re not infantry, right?” Megan asked.

  “Yeah it’s the brigade support battalion so that’s where logisticians usually go after a company command. I transitioned over a few weeks ago.”

  “Well we’ll miss you, honey, but I know we’ll see you around. You holler if you need anything, all right? I know you’re a self-sufficient, badass woman, but still.” Megan gave her such a motherly look I had to laugh just a little. Megan narrowed her eyes at me, but Rae laughed too.

  “Yes ma’am, I’ll be sure to let you know.” She turned to me and said, “Nice to see you again, Alex. Enjoy the day.” Then she pushed up off the bleachers and walked toward one of the mats. I watched as several heads turned to follow her movement, just as I did.

  “She’s astoundingly pretty. I hate for that to be my first thought, but…” I trailed off.

  “You’re not wrong. She is. She’s also damn good at her job, which is the good news.” Megan’s eyes were still on Rae when we heard a loud buzzer signaling the start of the event.

  As the competition got started, I saw how fun it was. The grappling or… combating, was very entertaining. Luke sat with me for a few rounds, and then he moved off to stretch and warm up a little before his turn. I was getting nervous on his behalf as I saw him bouncing around at the corner of the mat where his match would take place in a few minutes.

  “Are you nervous?” Megan asked as I watched Luke stretch his long legs and tried not to let my mouth hang open in appreciation of how devastatingly sexy he was in his regular, every day uniform.

  “Yes, I’m so nervous. Why am I nervous? Should I be nervous?” I rambled and gripped the metal bleacher on either side of my legs to brace myself.

  “No, you have nothing to worry about. He won’t get too banged up, and it’s all for fun until the later rounds anyway. This kind of thing? No nerves required.” She seemed so seasoned at that moment, and I wanted to hear more.

  “What kind of things do you get nervous for?”

  “Mmm, not much anymore. I used to get nervous for jumps or air assaults—where they jump out of the helicopter and fast-rope to the ground—and sometimes even helicopter rides because there are accidents during training. But that’s so much work. You learn to block that out. And even during deployment, it’s different. It’s like you get inured to the feeling of danger. You pray every damn day, but by the end it’s like you’re always humming with that please God, keep him safe—please God, let him come home. You can’t possibly always be putting it into words or even letting it become conscious thought because you’d never do anything else. So you just keep it there, tucked at a low roar in the back of your mind and keep on keepin’ on until he’s back and you’re touching his face.”

  I took a moment to process her words. I thought about the moment of a soldier’s return, of finally touching him again. I felt a pang in my chest at the thought of the goodbye and at the joy of being reunited. I didn’t let myself imagine the soldier was Luke and I was the one touching his face, kissing his lips, being reunited with him.

  “It makes sense that you can’t constantly be scared of the things that most people would be. It’s their job description to do some of these things the teacher or banker or corporate guy would never dream of doing,” I said.

  I had t
hought a little about that dynamic—that what Luke did was entirely different from anyone I’d dated or even considered dating. Different from my father, who’d been an engineer at a local plant for decades, always in the same place.

  “Yeah, military life isn’t for the faint of heart, I can tell you that.” She looked at me pointedly, and I shifted my eyes to see Luke, still stretching and talking to a few soldiers.

  “No, I guess it’s not,” I said quietly.

  “Girl, you are intense today. What’s on your mind? I know you don’t know me from Eve, but I like you. I’m not tryin’ to scare you away from that gorgeous man, so don’t let what I just said freak you out,” she said with a chin-nod to Luke.

  I raised my eyebrows at her. “You’re not trying to scare me away? You sure?”

  “I’d never do such a thing. I already told you I think Luke’s about as gone on you as a hog on slop. Based on the way you walked in here and that sweet smile that keeps creeping up on your face every time you catch sight of him, I’m guessing you feel the same way.” She watched me and all I could do was nod at her assertion that Luke was “gone on me” and her very correct assessment of my own feelings for him.

  She nodded to herself then. “I thought so.”

  “But what if I am ‘the faint of heart’?”

  “Are you asking me if you’re strong enough?” Megan’s voice echoed a thought I’d had to repress a lot lately. I turned to her and found her eyes serious and concerned.

  “I don’t know. How could I know that?” It was a question I asked myself every time I wondered about the future I had with Luke. I swallowed down a surge of panic and gripped the bleachers until my knuckles were bleached of their pigment.