Mitzi's Marine

by Rogenna Brewer

  The couple exchanged a few words and a casual kiss, which put the pink in her cheeks. Estrada sent Bruce a look on his way to the locker room, intended to keep Bruce in line.

  Finally the crowd dwindled down to two.

  The tap of her heels echoed as she crossed the court. She was wearing her service dress blue uniform tonight—a dark navy blue skirt and suit jacket with gold buttons worn over a white blouse with a black neck tab.

  The same uniform she’d worn to Freddie’s funeral. After which she’d rushed straight to Bruce’s hospital room. He’d been groggy from surgery and that long flight out of Germany.

  It was his hand she’d been holding then.

  She’d had such a sad smile.

  Now look at her. A spring in her step.

  And a promotion.

  The gold on her left sleeve identified her as a chief petty officer. He knew she carried her white gloves and black-and-white combination cap in her left hand, keeping the right hand free to salute—even though the Navy and Marine Corps did not salute uncovered. And that the overcoat draped over her arm hid two gold stripes, one for every four years of service.

  She wore her dark brown hair braided and pinned.

  He liked it when she took those braids down. She couldn’t wear it that way in uniform, and out of uniform a ponytail was her default hairstyle.

  Except in the bedroom.

  Knowing that he couldn’t have her didn’t stop him from wanting her.

  She stopped at the foot of his bleachers. “Do you need help getting down?” What made that question worse was the sincerity in her voice.

  “I’m not a cat stuck up in a tree. You don’t have to call the fire department, Chief.”

  “Allow me to rephrase my question, Calhoun,” she said with equal sarcasm. “Are you coming down? Or am I coming up?”

  “Suit yourself.”

  She tossed her overcoat, her hat and everything else she carried onto the bench at the bottom. Then she removed her pumps to carry them as she climbed the bleachers in her prim and proper uniform skirt. He leaned back on his elbows and stretched out his good leg as she made her way toward him.

  The bleachers were steep and she was afraid of heights. “How’d you ever climb aboard a Seahawk?”

  “They’re on the ground when I get in.”

  But helicopters weren’t designed to stay on the ground. She had to jump out over water to do her job. And at some point she had to get herself and her casualties back into that hovering helo. There was a lot to admire about a woman who wasn’t afraid to conquer her fears.

  When he wasn’t pissed off at her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?” Bruce asked once she’d reached the top. Mitzi sat next to him, so close they were almost touching. He shifted forward uncomfortably.

  “I’m sorry.” She dangled her black pumps out over knees pressed firmly together.

  “We spent the entire day in each other’s company. And you never once thought to say, ‘Calhoun, you might want to polish up your brass and head over to the high school tonight.’”

  “I said I’m sorry.” The color Dan had put in her cheeks turned to an angry red.

  “I’m wearing sweats—”

  “It’s not always about you, Calhoun.”

  “Then what is it about?” He held her clear blue gaze until she was the one who had to look away first. It was about something more complicated than he could put into words. But it wasn’t like her not to have a few choice ones for him if she was that mad. “He was my best friend, Mitz—”

  “He was my brother.” Her uniform jacket hummed. She heaved a weary sigh. “I’m glad you found your way here. I should have told you.”

  “That a cell phone in your pocket? Or are you just happy to see me?”

  She frowned as she reached into her pocket and pulled out her BlackBerry. “It’s Dan,” she said, checking the number.

  “By all means.” Bruce waved her to answer it. The guy had just headed to the locker room a few minutes ago. Had he even left the building yet?

  Checking up on him, no doubt.

  “Hi,” she said into the phone, pausing to listen while Bruce got out his own cell and sent her a text. She glanced at her screen, then sideways at him. “No,” she continued, turning her back to him. “I’m tired—it’s been a long day. I think I’m just going to head home.” She paused to listen. “See you tomorrow, then? Good night, Dan.”

  “Ouch,” Bruce said as she closed her phone. “Lying to the new boyfriend.”

  “I wasn’t lying. He’d promised to take the team out for pizza. I’m tired. And I’m headed home.”

  He raised an eyebrow, waiting for the and he’s not my boyfriend part of the denial. It never came.

  “You forgot to mention I’m walking you home.” He picked up his discarded popcorn bag and stood.

  In her stocking feet, shoes in hand, she only came up to his shoulder. “Maybe I drove.”

  He called her bluff. “Didn’t see your car in the lot.”

  “That doesn’t mean you’re walking me home, Calhoun.”

  “I’m headed in that direction.”

  “You don’t even know where I live.” She took a step down and reached back as if to help him, but stopped when he continued foot-over-foot right past her.

  “You’re walking down stairs,” she said, amazed.

  “The first step is always a leap of faith.” He hopped to the ground and held out his hand, glad he still had the power to amaze her. To his surprise she put her hand in his and let him help her down. Her touch was softer somehow, reminding him that being behind a desk all these months meant she wasn’t strapped into a rescue harness and dangling from the end of a rope.

  Did she resent him for that?

  She continued to hold on to him to steady herself as she put her shoes back on.

  “I guess you could walk me home.” She relented as he helped her with her overcoat. “Since you’re headed in that direction anyway.”

  “Ever do that to me?” he asked on the way to the gym’s double doors.

  “What?”

  “Let a guy walk you home, knowing I wouldn’t like it.”

  She rolled her eyes as they passed the janitor and Bruce tossed his empty popcorn bag into the oversize trash bin.

  “Oh, come on.” He zipped up his sweat jacket as he shoved against the crossbar. He held the door for her, then let it fall closed behind them. “We had a long-distance relationship for almost ten years. We were apart more often than we were together.”

  “Six and a half years,” she said, adjusting her hat once they were outside. “We haven’t been together for several months now. And we weren’t together my last two years of high school.”

  “What about what’s-his-name?” he asked as they cut across the student parking lot.

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “Your old crew chief.”

  “Webb?”

  “Ever spend time with him while we were together…?”

  “Sleep with him, you mean?” She sighed heavily. “Let it go, Calhoun!”

  He didn’t want to let it go. He had to know.

  “How’d you meet Estrada?” Shoving his hands into his pockets, he stopped under a streetlight and turned to look at her. “Was tonight his idea or yours?”

  She kept walking and he had no choice but to move if he wanted to follow her home.

  “Mine, I guess.” She drew the lapels of her over coat together and crossed her arms against the frigid air. He resisted the urge to put an arm around her for warmth, knowing his gesture would be rejected. “We met in front of the trophy case in the hall,” she continued. “He introduced himself as the new basketball coach. And I pointed out Freddie in a couple old team photos. I guess he suggested it—” she shrugged “—but I was onboard from the start. What difference does it make?”

  What difference? He’d bet she didn’t point him out in any of those old photos.

  �
��And then the coach just started stopping by in the mornings with coffee. Sounds like a pretty smooth operator to me.”

  “Takes one to know one.”

  They continued for a few blocks in silence. “I don’t think I like him,” he said on a serious note.

  “Too bad. I like him and you don’t get a say anymore.”

  “Danny boy is not going to like it when he finds out I walked you home after you blew him off. That’s all I’m saying.” And if he felt a little smug in saying so, well, he couldn’t help it.

  “This is where we say good-night, Calhoun.” Mitzi stopped in front of a duplex with a sold sign out front.

  “You bought a house?”

  About two blocks away from where they’d both grown up.

  It shouldn’t surprise him. She’d always been a bit of a homebody, even while deployed. Wasn’t that their issue? She wanted to settle down and he didn’t?

  “Freddie left me some money,” she admitted. “I’m renovating it.” She didn’t have to point out the obvious, with the Dumpster parked out front. “I plan to rent out half. Maybe generate a second income for myself. I don’t know.” She shrugged.

  “Looks like quite a project.”

  “It is.” She nodded. He nodded. “Good night,” she repeated.

  They’d never shared a house, or an apartment. But he’d always thought that someday…

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked again.

  “I didn’t think you’d come,” she admitted. “And I didn’t want to be disappointed.”

  Again was implied.

  When she was halfway up the front steps he called after her. “Mitzi.” He hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. “People grieve in different ways. I’m not using that as an excuse…. I’m just saying I’m sorry I ever disappointed you.”

  MITZI WAS TOO TIRED to sleep. Her bed was a futon in the middle of what would someday be the living room. She kept a flashlight handy in case she needed to get up in the middle of the night. And an iPod dock/clock radio to make sure she got up in the morning.

  The glaring red numbers told her it was 1:23 a.m., just two minutes later than the last time she’d looked. She turned her back on the clock, punched her pillow again, but couldn’t stop tossing and turning.

  She’d never lied to him. Not the way he’d misled her.

  Reaching for the clock to turn those obtrusive numbers around, she knocked her cell phone from the futon to the floor. Picking it up reminded her of Bruce’s text message. Not knowing what to expect, she pressed the Okay button to view it.

  Still here.

  No kidding. It was bad enough he’d occupied her every waking moment today. Did he have to climb into bed with her, as well?

  Not literally, of course.

  Even if he was the only man she’d ever been with, she didn’t know who that man was anymore.

  People grieve in different ways….

  And some not at all.

  At 1:25 a.m. she gave up ever falling asleep and got out of bed. She padded across the floor in her bare feet and pajamas.

  She’d acquired few possessions in her adult life. It wasn’t that long ago she’d driven from California home to Colorado with everything she owned packed into her Honda CR-V. Between moving back home and buying her own place, she still felt like a woman in transition. Admittedly she should have unpacked boxes by now, but she hadn’t. So Mitzi knew exactly which file box to grab, along with her cell phone and the comforter off her bed, when she went out to the front porch, which at least had overhead lighting.

  Wrapped in her warm blanket, she sat on the stoop and opened the box containing her brother’s personal effects.

  A cell phone with no service.

  Before it had been disconnected she’d listened to the recorded message for his voice mail over and over again. “Hi, you’ve reached Freddie. Can’t come to the phone right now. Leave a message.”

  She used to call his phone long after he was gone, saying all those things she wished she’d said while he was still alive. The day his phone service was cut had been one of her worst days, because she hadn’t thought to save his recording.

  She’d been smarter about uploading his photos and phone book. Tonight she erased them from the phone’s memory. Then she slipped the phone into the padded envelope she’d prepared with prepaid postage to Cell Phones for Soldiers, the brainchild of a young brother and sister.

  Brother and sister. Freddie would have teased her for that sentimentality. But it was time to let go of his cell phone and let it do someone else some good. For security purposes the donated phones weren’t sent overseas. They were sold for cash, which was used to purchase prepaid calling cards.

  With Thanksgiving and Christmas coming she couldn’t think of a better gift to give someone. She set the envelope aside to mail tomorrow and reached into the box again. This time she pulled out an open pack of gum and helped herself to a piece.

  Only after she put the gum in her mouth and realized it was a little hard to chew did she think to check the expiration date on the package. Sure enough.

  Expired last year.

  Funny how it seemed like only yesterday she’d met Freddie and Bruce in Kuwait. There were days when she had to remind herself that she couldn’t just pick up the phone and call her brother. Or Calhoun for that matter. It had been more than a year now of missing them both.

  Spitting the gum back into the wrapper, she set it aside to throw away later. She left the open pack and all the unopened packs in the box.

  Freddie had gum with him at all times. She’d forever associate the smell of cinnamon with him.

  Digging through the box, she found pocket change, a comb, his diving watch and everything from legal papers to some of the letters she’d written him from boot camp. She still had to weed through it all—just not tonight.

  Tonight she’d opened this box for another reason.

  It came in a small black velvet box, which she’d tucked away with Freddie’s belongings. But she’d known there would come a day when she’d have to deal with it.

  She pried open the lid to her engagement ring.

  White gold. Beautiful in its simplicity.

  A one-carat—more than he could afford—pear cut diamond. Looked like a teardrop to Mitzi.

  Fifteen months earlier

  Balboa Naval Medical Center

  San Diego, California

  MITZI PULLED UP to the loading zone in her new Honda CR-V, then scrambled around to the passenger side to open the door. A young hospital corpsman wheeled Bruce to the curb and laid his crutches and overnight bag across the backseat.

  Bruce’s doctor had given him a weekend pass in advance of his hospital discharge next month so they could spend some time together before Mitzi had to report to Pensacola, Florida, for five weeks of Navy recruiter school.

  Despite a forecast that called for rain, Mitzi wore a bright floral-print sundress for the occasion. Bruce was wearing a baggy gray T-shirt and sweats with the empty pant leg folded and pinned out of the way. The loose-fitting sweats emphasized the amount of weight he’d lost recently.

  He refused help getting out of the wheelchair or into the car. Grabbing the open door, he hopped up on his good leg. Then hopped in an awkward half circle until he could push that tight tush of his up into the seat.

  Before she could close the door he had it closed. Mitzi thanked the corpsman for his help and circled back to the driver’s side. “Seat belt,” she reminded Bruce while securing her own.

  He started to fasten his seat belt, then stopped to pull a copy of Bride magazine out from under his butt.

  “Sorry.” Mitzi took the bridal magazine from him and tucked it between their seats. The backseat was full of magazines with white gowns on the covers. Until she’d started Navy counselor school four weeks ago, in preparation for Navy recruiter school—and to extend her stay in San Diego—she’d spent a lot of time in waiting rooms.

  Bruce clicked his seat belt into place as she
pulled away from the curb. Her car still had that new-car smell and he commented on it. “I would have gone car shopping with you.” If you’d waited was implied.

  “My dad was here,” she said, feeling the need to defend her decision. “And I wanted to take advantage of the cash-for-clunkers program.”

  Going new-car shopping with her father while he was here seemed like the least she could do. After Freddie’s funeral he’d pressed her to spend the rest of her leave at home, but she wanted to stay near Bruce.

  “I thought we’d picnic at the lighthouse,” she said, determined to remain upbeat. After two surgeries, the first to try to save his knee and the second to take it, Bruce had every right to be cranky.

  Nothing seemed to stop his pain.

  But at this point she had to wonder how much of it was in his head. Real or imagined, she didn’t know how to help him. Not when he pushed her away.

  His doctors here were optimistic about his future mobility. And while Bruce had started out just as optimistic, something inside him had changed after that second surgery. He seemed to be experiencing more pain than before. And more phantom limb symptoms.

  “May as well head straight to the motel,” he said, checking the sky. “It’s going to rain.”

  “Since when has a little rain ever dampened one of our picnics?” Rain used to be their favorite weather for lovemaking. She continued driving toward the park.

  There’d been plenty of day trips and overnight passes over these three months. But they’d put off sex for so long now she felt apprehensive about this weekend.

  The closer they came to the lighthouse the quieter he grew. It was probably his least favorite place on earth. And the one place she needed to be right now. Cabrillo National Monument overlooked Fort Rosecrans Military Reservation. Navy SEALs requested burial here because of its view of the bay and Naval Special Warfare Command.

  Mitzi saw the pain etched into Bruce’s face as he popped the lid to his painkillers, and she wished she’d driven straight to the motel.

  “Do you need some water?” She offered him her bottle.

  He shook his head and swallowed dry more pills than the prescribed dose, she suspected.