by Claire Cain
“Well, you don’t. There’s no way to know, but you can start by figuring out what you’re willing to give up. Because to have this,” she gestured around us to the chatting soldiers, the giant flag waiving outside the hangar doors, the other women talking and waiting for their soldiers’ turns, “and to have Luke, you’ll have to give up a lot.” She let that sink in for a minute.
I felt the weight of her words, and I knew what she was saying was true. I knew it from the beginning, and like it or not, it was a big reason I felt like I was constantly pumping the mental breaks on thinking about a future with Luke. I didn’t like that we were having this conversation there, in the midst of the tournament and at a time I couldn’t think or process anything.
“It’s not that it’s not worth it. I wouldn’t trade my life, this military life, for anything. I wouldn’t trade it for the career of my dreams, I wouldn’t trade it for a house near my folks and my grandparents and free babysitting and great school systems. I wouldn’t trade it for a safe job for James and a predictable future for our family. I love the adventure and challenge of moving. I love the pride I feel in my husband’s job, and honestly, the pride I feel in myself and my kids for all the crap we deal with and how we figure things out and make the most of every situation. I love the hell out of my Army wife friends and in so many ways, they’re closer than family. But that doesn’t mean that sometimes what I’ve given up doesn’t feel like a loss, like something I need to mourn now and then, even when I know what a beautiful life this is.” Her voice was thick, and I looked over at her and saw the sincerity written on her face. She seemed desperate for me to understand her, but she wasn’t warning me away from Luke.
We sat quietly for two rounds. Then she turned to me and said, “I guess I would say to you that the question isn’t whether you’re strong enough for Army life. No one knows that because you don’t get strong enough for it until you’re in it. It’s kind of like having a baby—you’re never actually prepared no matter how many times you babysat or helped with a sibling or how many books you read. You just do it. Then you figure it out, and you keep doing it because it’s real life and there’s no other choice. The real question is what aren’t you willing to give up for Luke?”
Her question was rhetorical, and I knew I’d be mulling it over for a while. I couldn’t think about it here, so close to her, surrounded by people and heat and noise.
Chapter Sixteen
We heard, “Waterford! Harrison!” and I snapped out of my self-focus. I looked up to see Luke and his friend Jake walking onto the floor.
“Wait, he’s going against Jake Harrison? I thought Harrison was some kind of expert-level guy?” I felt my nerves rocket back full force as I watched them each pull on and strap down head gear and mouth guards. They attached the pads that by now I’d gathered were required, and they moved to the mats.
“Yeah, he typically wins the tournaments. I think he’s even competed at national levels and stuff. Luke has no prayer,” she said and winked at me. That damn wink!
The bell sounded, and the two separate men became one muscled mass of energy as they met each other in the center of the mat. I could barely tell what was happening because Jake Harrison moved so quickly, I couldn’t see him. I saw his open hand strike Luke’s ribs, and then grab Luke by the back of his head, sweep his legs, and pin him. Then he pulled the collar of Luke’s uniform tight around his neck, and Luke almost immediately tapped Jake on the side.
“Waterford did well! Most people don’t even last that long with Harrison,” I heard a voice from the small group of soldiers sitting near us say. I recognized the voice as that of the other female captain I’d met, Captain Richards.
I felt stricken and hoped Luke was ok. Jake reached out a hand and pulled him up and patted him on his back. Before I knew it, it had happened again—two more times. Then, they both pulled out slimy mouth guards and I could tell they were talking. Luke clapped Jake on the back, and then looked my way. He held up a finger and I nodded at him.
“You made it through,” Ally said as she sat back down with a hot dog and soda. I hadn’t actually talked to her yet, but she’d waved to me from across the hangar when I walked in earlier.
“I can’t believe it’s over that fast,” I said, still trying to process what just happened.
“All I can say is Luke did hold his own. It’s so hard to tell what’s happening, but the fact that he made it almost a full minute each time is impressive. Jake Harrison is a beast, and I think Luke was probably the sacrificial lamb to go first. He’ll be one of many to go down fast at Harrison’s hands,” Megan confirmed.
I felt a little better after seeing Luke smiling and laughing with Harrison, but when he came and sat down, I turned my full attention to him. His face was still a little red, his uniform disheveled, his mouth curved into a wry smile.
“Are you ok?” I asked and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Yes, I’m fine. I knew it was coming, but I’m always surprised at just how fast it happens.” He shook his head and wrapped a hand around his ribs and winced a little.
“Are you hurt?” I touched the hand that rested on his ribs lightly like it would tell me the truth if he didn’t.
“Not bad. I’ll just be sore tomorrow. He pummeled me in the ribs before I let go of his arm so he could sweep me and pin me. You know, my glorious ten second hold out before the fall.” He laughed lightly and just that little smile and laugh lit me on fire.
His total humility in that moment was incredibly attractive. His willingness to laugh at his defeat instead of pout or complain or even try to justify his loss by the fact that he’d apparently faced an expert, was so appealing. It showed me he was secure and confident and not afraid to embarrass himself. He didn’t take himself too seriously, at least not in this area of his life.
“I’m impressed. Not everyone can lose so gracefully.” I grinned at him and kissed his cheek. He made a frustrated sound as I pulled away and pulled me back to him to kiss his lips.
“I’m not a sore loser generally, but I’m definitely not when I know I’m going to lose, and lose badly, ahead of time.”
His statement made more and more sense as the day wore on. Harrison defeated everyone he came up against in minutes, if not seconds. He didn’t seem to have any trouble. The last few rounds of the fighting were far more intense than the earlier ones. The fighters wore only their green undershirts on top instead of their ACU tops, and this meant there was less to hold on to and pull without the bagginess and pockets of the uniform. They could also throw full punches and kicks instead of the open-hand versions allowed in earlier rounds.
Harrison was like a weapon. I loved watching the fights, especially because there was no real animosity. We cheered for our guy, Luke’s friend, but everyone enjoyed the spectacle and the demonstration of skill.
When all was said and done, Harrison took first in his weight class, and he would go off to a regional tournament in a few months—good for him. He came to shake hands with Luke before we left.
“Good work man. At least I can say I lost to the champ.”
“You put up a good fight.” Jake Harrison’s voice was deep and surprising. He spoke like it cost him to spend his words.
“Great job.” I smiled at him, feeling like I wanted to say it was so fun to watch you beat all those guys but thought that might sound a little too weirdly eager for violence.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said.
“Sergeant First Class Harrison, this is Alex Moore.” Luke put his hand on my back and smiled at me.
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” Then he nodded to both of us and disappeared into the crowd.
“He just ma’amed me twice in less than a minute,” I said, surprised that someone who was clearly my peer would call me ma’am.
“Yeah, he’s perpetually courteous. It’s drilled into all of us, but he’s so stubborn, I wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up calling his wife ma’am someday.” I laughed out loud at that.
“No, thank you. I do not want to be ma’amed by my future husband,” I said as we stepped out of the hangar. The wind gusted around us, and I felt my dress swirl around my legs. I pulled the hair that had blown into my face out of my mouth and held my dress close to my body. Luke wrapped an arm around my shoulders.
“Whoa! It’s picking up. Let’s get to the truck.” We sprinted to the parking lot and both hopped in and slammed the door just after the downpour started. My hair was wet, my shoulders shining with rain drops.
“Sweet steak frites, it’s crazy out there!” I yelped as I pushed my now totally wild hair out of my face and looked over at him. He had rain drops running down his face and dripping onto his shirt, which was also turning dark green at his shoulders and chest where he was wet.
“Did you just say ‘steak frites’ as an exclamation?” He looked at me like I was crazy, and sure, yeah, I maybe was.
“What of it? It’s a habit I may or may not have developed over the last decade. Deal with it.” I met his look with a bold one of my own and crossed my arms against the air conditioning blasting away as we drove.
“I can deal with it. Is it always steak frites?” He kept his eyes on the road and both hands on the wheel. The rain was coming in rough sheets that blasted the truck every few seconds. We could see the wind bending trees to the side. I was thankful he didn’t live far from the post.
“No, not always. That’s maybe the first time I’ve said that one.”
“That makes it even better,” he said, genuinely delighted by my oddity. My chest warmed at his response.
One of the things I loved about our friendship when we were kids was we were both weird kids, even though all kids were weird. We managed to love the weirdness in each other when we were small. I used to wonder if maybe my weirdness had scared him off when we hit high school, and that was something that had truly gutted me. The thought that he knew me better than anyone, and that he maybe didn’t want me because of what he knew, was terribly upsetting. But I was an expert at pushing negative thoughts away at that age, so I dove into the distractions of high school and assumed we just drifted apart.
He pulled into his apartment complex and looked at me. “I’m so sorry, but I don’t have an umbrella.” He looked genuinely regretful as we both looked outside at the utter deluge.
“I’m not sure it would make any difference. I think we’ve just got to run for it. But I’m going to run to my car and grab my other clothes because by the time we get inside we’ll be soaked, and I won’t want to come back out.” I mentally mapped my path from his car to mine just three spaces away, and then to his door.
“Ok. One, two, three… Go!”
He slammed the door behind me and we stood there, absolutely sopping wet, dripping on the linoleum entry way to his apartment. I must have looked like a drowned rat with my hair stringy down my back, my dress stuck to me, and probably some mascara running down my face. I wiped under my eyes, and then I giggled.
Luke ran a hand through his wet hair and I heard him let out a laugh.
Then, it just sort of bubbled out of me, and kept coming—I started laughing so hard I could hardly breathe. I could see him watching me and laughing too, his eyes bright and his face alight with the humor of the moment.
I felt my knees give way, so I leaned against the wall on the other side of the door, dropped my little bag full of clothes to the ground, and slid down the wall. He was standing directly in front of me, watching me laugh hysterically while he did the same. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t think. I just laughed. When I came out of my laugh coma, I saw him standing with his arms crossed, laughing with me, though he was evidently not incapacitated with the hilarity like I was.
“Oh man, I’m sorry. I just… it’s been a stressful few weeks, and so heavy and tiresome. Today has been so fun, and… I don’t know. I guess I needed the relief of a good laugh.” I stood up and grabbed my bag.
“Don’t apologize for laughing, crazy. And that’s not me saying you’re not crazy, because you totally are, but I’m glad you can collapse in a hysterical fit of laughter with me. I can’t imagine that’s something that happens with just anyone,” he said, still watching me.
“It’s true. Only the privileged few get to witness such a miracle,” I said. His smile faded by degrees as we stood there, and I felt that familiar charge light up the air around us. It was like we’d stepped into the spotlight in the room. The sky outside was dark from the storm, and he hadn’t turned on any lights. His face was shadowed, but I could tell he was focused on me.
“I’m honored,” he said, his voice low and smooth and dangerous. His shirt was plastered to his chest, and it was too alluring to ignore. I bit my bottom lip before I realized he was clearly watching me and looked up at him. If ever there was a heated stare, a charged moment, this was it.
And I wussed out.
“Ah, bathroom? Do you mind if I change?” I asked, clearing my throat of the desire that had flooded me.
“Of course. Yeah, let me get you a towel. If you want to shower or anything, go for it. You do your thing in here and…” He walked me to the door and grabbed a clean towel and set it on the counter. Then he looked at me and said, “and I’ll be… I’ll be out here.” He left and closed the door behind him.
I took a deep breath letting out a bit of frustration, a bit of relief. He was overwhelmingly attractive sometimes, and I felt like a fumbling goon when faced with his intimidating looks, not to mention the looks. The way he looked at me lit a match in me, one that had never been struck by anyone but him. Maybe one I never knew was there, lying at the bottom of kindling that was flammable only for Luke. I had certainly never felt this out of my mind for Marcus, or anyone else.
After I showered quickly and changed into my jeans and tank top (not ideal, but I figured if I was wearing jeans I’d want something cool on top for the tournament. I didn’t plan on the downpour), I wandered out, toweling my wet hair and surveying his apartment. He must have heard me come out because he came to the hallway with a bundle of dry clothes and I heard him say, “I’ll be out in a sec,” as he took his turn in the shower and I wandered his small place.
It was nice. It was neat, but not too neat, but definitely a mature bachelor’s place rather than the dreaded bachelor pad. He had some actual furniture, but some IKEA (but I wasn’t judging because what red blooded American didn’t love Swedish particle board?). He had a few things hanging on his walls—an old-timey looking map of the US with pins in different cities, and another map of the world with similar pins. He had some kind of flag on one wall with a plaque underneath that I definitely wanted to read.
But first, I studied his maps. His US map had pins in a lot of cities. It looked like he’d been to almost every state in the West, Midwest, and South. He had work to do in the Northeast for sure. Then I moved to his map of the world, and I sucked in a sharp breath.
Ireland.
Iceland.
Germany.
Kyrgyzstan.
Kuwait.
Egypt.
Afghanistan.
Iraq.
These each had green pins in them. Everywhere else—England, Scotland, Germany, France, Denmark, Mexico, Canada, the Caribbean—these had yellow pins.
He emerged from the bathroom and I was still standing there, thinking about those green pins, not seeing anything.
“Do I have you beat?” he asked, suddenly right behind me, his warm breath on my ear.
“I think so. I’ve only been to about eight countries, I think.” I leaned back just a little so my back was pressed to the front of him, and he wrapped his hand around and held me to him, his arm crossing my collar bone and his hand resting on my opposite shoulder. He took a deep breath.
“Well, not all of those are places you’d want to go. And some of them don’t count because I didn’t get to see the actual country.”
“The green pins?” I asked, holding his arm in place with my hands.
&n
bsp; “Yeah, they’re all the places I’ve either deployed or stopped in on the way to or from a deployment. So Kuwait, Ireland, Iceland, and Germany are countries where I barely stepped foot outside the plane, basically for refueling. But of course, then I did visit Germany when I did that other trip, so I count that as an actual visit too.”
We stood there a moment longer and looked at the map together. I felt an overwhelming sense of grief when I looked at the little green pins. I felt my eyes prick with tears and tried to force them away before I turned toward him. He wrapped his other arm around me and held me to him.
“I’m so sorry.” My voice was a rough whisper. I was choked with the emotion and I wasn’t sure how to verbalize it better than that.
“Why are you sorry? I’m not sorry for the places I’ve been. There are some places I don’t want to go back to, and there are people I wish had come back with me who didn’t, but I’m not sorry,” he said gently.
“No. No, I don’t mean that you deployed. I assume that as a soldier who has chosen to make this your career, that’s just part of the reality. I’m not saying I assume that means it’s easy, but I guess I think it’d be difficult to be in the Army if you were going to regret every experience that forced you out of the Western world. What I mean is, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry I didn’t write you or send you mail or support you through those times. I feel like I’m looking at a little list of all the ways I’ve failed you as a friend.” My voice shook. I felt a dreadful sense that I was making this about me, and I didn’t want him to think that. My heart was aching because I’d missed loving him, even as a friend, during what must have been hell at times.
“You can’t apologize for that. I missed your life too. I didn’t do a damn thing to support you through your moves or education or anything.” He ran his hands soothingly up and down my back.