Life, Liberty, and Pursuit

by Susan Kaye Quinn

  “How? How can you fall in love in four days, Eliza? You’re joking, right? It doesn’t work like that.”

  “I don’t know,” she said softly. “It just happened. I didn’t choose to fall in love with him, Nicolas, I just did. And it’s exactly like that—it’s something that happens, and you’re in love, and you can’t just wish it away. You can’t make yourself stop loving, because it’s not really in your control.” She stared at the table as she spoke, trying not to cry, but tears were leaking out anyway. She glanced up, and Nicolas was staring at her, open mouthed, like she was some alien creature from Mars. She wondered if this was the end of their friendship, if he would walk away and never speak to her again. The pleading look in her eyes reached him—or possibly it was the tears—but his look softened. He reached out to touch her hands, which she didn’t realize were clasped upon the table, shaking. His large hand lay softly on top of hers.

  “I know.” His eyes were wide and uncertain. “You can’t make yourself stop, no matter how hard you try, because it’s part of who you are.” It sounded like he was talking about himself, not her. That he understood—because he loved her that way, too.

  That was too much for her, and she broke down completely, putting her forehead down on top of his warm hand and sobbing. He reached over and stroked her head, comforting her. He was comforting her—it was horrible. She sat up, pulling her hands away from his consoling touch. She wiped her tears away, angry at herself that she couldn’t keep it together. Nicolas should be crying, breaking down, cursing her name. Instead, his dark brown eyes searched her face as though seeing her for the first time.

  “God, Nicolas, I’m sorry! I’ve no right to sit here and cry on you.” She couldn’t take those brown eyes looking kindly at her. She stared at the table.

  “No, you don’t,” he said very softly. “But I love you anyway.”

  At that unfortunate moment, their waitress appeared with their burgers. Nicolas quietly asked her to box it. The waitress saw Eliza’s tear stained face and hurried away, taking the plates with her. They were both quiet until she came back with the box and check. Nicolas paid and picked up the food to leave. She followed him out of the restaurant. At least he wasn’t going to storm out and abandon her here. He was too good a friend to do that. She should have known.

  They were silent on the drive back to her house, Nicolas’s eyes glued to the road, hers staring out the window. Her mind cast about desperately for something that could ease the pain, for him and for her. She couldn’t think of anything.

  He walked her to the door, waiting for her to open it. To her surprise, he walked inside. He put the box on the kitchen table before returning to her, standing in a daze at the front door. He looked into her eyes for a long moment, and then wrapped her in his strong arms, hugging her. He held her for a long time, his face buried in her hair. She trembled, but she hugged him as best she could.

  “Good-bye, Eliza,” he whispered, and walked out her front door.

  She didn’t call Addison. She walked upstairs and cried herself to sleep.

  * * *

  Friday was test day—their first written tests, as well as the Indoor Confidence Course. But most importantly, it was phone privilege day. David asked Clayton who he was calling, but he gave some noncommittal answer. David had the sense that he didn’t have anyone to call, but didn’t press. Sometimes Clayton was a very private person, and David understood that.

  Recruits lined up at the phone bank, waiting for their fifteen minute slot or talking furtively into the phone, trying to hear and be heard over the noise. His family was expecting his call, and his mom picked up on the first ring. He had used his first phone privilege to call Tomasz, so this was the first time he had talked to her—she sounded anxious. After repeatedly assuring her he was fine and checking his watch to make sure he still had time, he asked to speak to Tea. Fortunately, she was home.

  “Hey, good looking, did you get my package?” she sang into the phone. It was really good to hear her voice.

  “Tea, you’re the best, you know?”

  “I’ve got you covered.” Her words eerily echoed Clayton.

  “Well, I need your help again. Can you get me Eliza’s phone number and send it to me before next Friday?”

  She snorted in disgust. “Of course.”

  “And I need some stationery, too.”

  That seemed to sharpen her interest. “Are you going to write Eliza?” David realized that his sister was trying to sound nonchalant. He smiled into the phone.

  “I already have, but my bunkmate had to use some favors to get me stationery, and I don’t want to have to ask him again.”

  “Your bunkmate helped you score stationery for Eliza?” She sounded impressed.

  “Yeah, Clayton’s pretty cool. Can you send it soon?”

  “Of course.”

  “Also, can you tell Mom and Dad that next week I’m going to be using my phone privilege to call Eliza? Tell them I’ll write instead. And can you convince Mom she really needs to stop worrying about me? I’m fine.”

  “Well, you know how that goes.”

  He sighed. “Right. And Tea—thanks for the picture.”

  He could hear her smiling through the phone. “You are most welcome, big brother. So, do you have it pinned up in your locker?”

  “Yes.” He could hear a barely suppressed squeal on the other end of the line. “My time’s almost up. Can you put Mom back on the phone? I need to make up for next week.”

  “Love ya, David.”

  “You too, sis.” He hadn’t realized how much he missed Tea until he had heard her voice. He spent the rest of his time slot reassuring his mom that he wasn’t dying of dehydration or something worse and promising to write.

  He was weary from being up for almost two days, having successfully stayed awake for his entire watch the night before. There wouldn’t be time for writing tonight, but tomorrow he would write both Eliza and his mom. He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow, a smile lingering on his face.

  * * *

  Eliza’s eyes followed the lines in the ceiling—tiny cracks and contours that formed barely discernible patterns above her bed. She spent most of the night tossing and turning. Her cell phone buzzed and jumped on her desk. Addison was calling her again. She had turned it to silent earlier so she wouldn’t have to listen to it ring.

  She would have to call Addison back eventually, of course. Sometime when she wasn’t mired in the depression of telling Nicolas that she didn’t love him. She shuddered when she thought of what he must be feeling. If David told her he was in love with someone else—as soon as her mind went in that direction, it shut down. But she knew that Nicolas must feel horrible, and she was the cause of it. Her heart hurt just thinking about it.

  She must have drifted back asleep again, because she was startled awake by someone pounding on the door downstairs. She forced herself out of bed and stumbled down the stairs. She opened it cautiously and there stood Addison, a worried and angry look on her face, holding her mail.

  “Eliza! Why haven’t you answered your phone?” she said in a rush. Eliza stepped aside, letting her in.

  “I’m sorry, Addy. I’ve just been …” She must have looked like a wreck, still dressed in her clothes from last night. Addison took in her appearance as well, and the anger left, leaving only concern behind.

  “Was it really that bad?” Addison asked.

  “Yeah, pretty much.” She took the stack of mail from Addison and headed over to the living room. She knew Addison would want to hear all about it. She sank heavily into the couch, and Addison joined her. The early afternoon sun made shadows across the room.

  “Did you talk to Nicolas?” Eliza asked. Maybe she wouldn’t have to go over everything.

  “Yeah.” Addison looked stricken. “He was very down. He did
n’t want to talk to me.”

  Eliza nodded.

  “What happened?” Addison asked.

  “I told him I loved David, he got really mad, and then I started crying. I really made a mess of it.” That conversation had been replaying in her mind for the last twelve hours. “He brought me home, hugged me, and said good-bye. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to see me ever again.”

  “No! Eliza, he just needs time. He’ll get over it.” But she didn’t seem convinced.

  “I don’t know, Addy.” Eliza shook her head, flipping through the stack of junk mail sitting on the couch between them. She froze as she saw it—a plain white envelope, handwritten address, postmarked in Chicago. A small gasp escaped her. She picked it up, flipped it over, and saw it was from David. She looked up from the envelope with wide eyes.

  “He wrote back,” Eliza said. Addison’s eyes flew open as well.

  “I knew it.” Addison sprouted a small smile. Eliza stared at the envelope, not quite believing it was real.

  “Call me later.” Addison was up from the couch and heading to the door. “Promise, Eliza.”

  “Promise.”

  Addison slipped out, and Eliza opened the envelope before the door closed. She read the letter with one hand clutching her tiny lifesaver ring and the other trembling as she held the thick, white paper.

  Dear Eliza,

  I was so glad to get your letters, especially the second one. I haven’t been able to think about anything else since I read them. I’m sorry I didn’t write or call you sooner. I was afraid that maybe you wouldn’t want me to. I’ve never been so happy to be wrong.

  I had a dream about you, too. You were beautiful, like you always are. You wore white and that smile that I love, and your hair was soft, just like I remembered it. I kissed you for a long time and didn’t want to stop.

  It reminded me of that last time I kissed you, on the pier, and I wanted to say I was sorry for that, too. I’m sorry I didn’t say good-bye, but I think, even then, I loved you too much to be able to say it. Good-bye was too final, and I didn’t want to believe I would never see you again. I hope you can forgive me for that.

  I know that there are plenty of other guys who would do anything to be with you. I know I would. I don’t know how, or when, we can be together again, but that doesn’t change the way I feel about you. You’re all I can think about.

  Yours,

  David

  She closed her eyes and pictured him, pen in hand, writing furiously. Hope and love welled up in her, and she held the paper to her chest, hugging it. David was rescuing her again—from the agony of telling Nicolas, from her own doubt, from the sheer terror that he would love someone else. She looked at the letter again, noticing the pale watermark at the top and his neat, square printing. She read it again and again: I loved you too much … you’re all I can think about … Yours, David. The phrases imprinted on her mind, a tattoo of his love, etched in words. Her heart fluttered so badly it was making her lightheaded.

  She remembered that she should call Addison. She stumbled to the kitchen phone and hit the speed dial. Addison answered quickly.

  “Eliza! Are you okay?” Her worry floated through phone.

  “David loves me.”

  Chapter 15

  Privileges

  David’s letter was like an electric shock, jolting her back to life. Simply knowing he loved her, was dreaming about her, changed everything. The universe suddenly came into focus and made sense. The time between the pier and now was simply an anxious dream of waiting and doubt mixed with misery and longing. Of course the intense feelings they had during the cruise wouldn’t disappear with a plane ride home. Of course they would be thinking of each other—they loved each other. It only made sense.

  Still, she was surprised when she arrived home to find another letter from David in her mailbox only a few days later. She had written back to him immediately after she read his letter. Well, immediately after she re-read his letter a dozen more times, committing it to memory. She had missed the Saturday mail, but made sure her letter went out first thing on Monday. When she came home from camp on Tuesday and saw the crisp envelope, tucked like buried treasure in amongst the junk mail, her heart nearly burst out of her chest with excitement. She dropped her keys on the coffee table and opened the envelope as quickly as she could without damaging the letter.

  Dear Eliza,

  I’m standing watch outside my ship, tired from a long day of training, studying, and drills. Normally, I can’t wait for nighttime, because that is when I get to think and dream about you. Did I tell you I dream of you every night? But tonight, I will gladly trade dreaming for the chance to write to you again.

  When we were together on the cruise, there was never enough time to hold you, or kiss you, or ask you all the things I wanted to know. You have intrigued me from the first word you said: “No,” which I found terribly funny, because I only asked if you could speak. Now, I steal time in the evening before lights out to write my hasty letters, and hope they find their way to you before you forget about me, or give up hope of hearing from me.

  You asked about boot camp, and I will tell you, but only if you promise to fend off your admirers and write me a letter to answer my questions as well. I have your picture in my locker and start every day looking at your beautiful smile and wondering why I didn’t kiss you more while you were wearing that purple dress. I have a bunkmate named Clayton, who is also going to the Defense Language Institute in Monterey. He was very helpful in acquiring the paper I’m using to write you. We have most of our classes together, although we are only learning Navy rules and regs so far. We spend a lot of time on drills and physical training. I daydream about you during all of it.

  Now, you must answer the following questions: Is being a camp counselor the drudgery that you expected? What have you been doing with your friends since you’ve been home? Have you thought more about your major in the fall? Are you still wearing my ring?

  Since I won’t be getting any sleep tonight and will miss dreaming about you, I will have to create my own waking dream. It starts with you waving from far away as I come off the gangplank. I’m dressed in my navy whites, because I’m returning from a tour of duty, and you are wearing an amazing blue dress that doesn’t touch your knees, but seems to touch everywhere else. I have to wade through other sailors and their girlfriends and wives to reach you, but when I finally do, I hold you for a very long time, lips pressed to yours, not wanting to let you go.

  Please write soon.

  Yours,

  David

  Her heart was racing—how on earth could he do that to her from 1,371 miles away? His letter left her weak in the knees. She held his ring, dangling from its thin chain. His ring. She thrilled to the way he thought of it. She couldn’t understand why he wanted to know such mundane things about her life, but she would be good and write him the answers, if only to receive another one of those letters that set her heart alight.

  * * *

  The end of the day had finally arrived. Recruit Petty Officer Simpson was delivering mail tonight in Hawaiian undershorts, the rest of his regular uniform and smurfs having mysteriously disappeared from his locker while he was in the shower. David tried to contain his laughter as RPO Simpson shouted, “Seaman Recruit Marek, mail call!” Clayton was stone cold silent and didn’t even crack a smile.

  David rushed to pick up the brown envelope Simpson had tossed towards him, hoping it was from Eliza, but it was only a package from Tea. He knew it was too soon for a letter from Eliza, but it still made him nervous.

  “Mail from Eliza?” Clayton asked, peering at the brown package.

  “No—Teagan,” he said. Clayton gave him a disapproving look. He added, “She’s my sister?”

  Clayton nodded, but didn’t drift away, apparently still curious. Clayton had y
et to receive mail, or use a phone privilege, and it was starting to make David wonder. He showed Clayton the stationery Tea sent—some good heavy-weight linen paper with matching envelopes. A note with Eliza’s phone number spilled out, and he told Clayton about his plan to call Eliza at his next privilege.

  “Who are you going to call on Friday?” David asked.

  “No one. Hey, do you want my slot? I could pretend it’s my call, and then let you talk.”

  David couldn’t help asking, “Don’t you have a girl back in Mississippi?” Clayton had come from Gulfport before boot camp, but he had been tight lipped about home.

  “Not anymore.”

  “What happened?”

  Clayton took a deep breath and looked David over. Something met his approval, because Clayton folded his arms and leaned languidly against the top rack. “She didn’t care for me quite the way I cared for her, you could say. After I found her with my best friend, I finally told her she needed to get out. But she was really gone long before that.”

  David winced, wishing he hadn’t pried into Clayton’s business. Clayton added quickly, “Hey, don’t worry about it. She wasn’t the right one for me anyway. I haven’t found that one yet. Not like you and Eliza. Now that’s something to write home about.”

  David smiled, enjoying Clayton’s vicarious fascination with Eliza and him. “Well, what about your family? Shouldn’t you call them and let them know you’re doing okay?”

  Clayton snorted, finding what he said very funny, although he wasn’t sure why. “I don’t think the Commander wants me to check in and tell him I’m okay,” he laughed. “He’d probably make sure I got assigned extra PT if he thought I wasn’t miserable enough.”

  “The Commander?” David choked out. “Wait, Commander Lane is your father?” How had he missed that their Base Commander had the same last name as Clayton? Suddenly, it all made sense: Clayton’s unnatural ease with all things Navy; his ability to run circles around all the chiefs and petty officers; his being close personal friends with the Chief Petty Officer in charge at the Commander’s office.