Locked Out

by Anna Chastain

  “I can’t wait to see my boy’s face,” I hear Lola tell Grace. Apparently, and according to the information I received from Grace and Lola’s impromptu home visit last night, Dean had been in North Carolina at Camp Lejeune for about a week now, which meant he’d arrived there fairly soon after leaving the message on my machine. Nerves prickled once again at my palms and in my stomach and, since I’d chewed off all my lipstick already, I reached into my bag for the tube to reapply.

  I had no idea what to expect. We’d all seen the grand reunion videos online and on TV, but I had a feeling this reunion was going to be nothing like those. Dean was flying commercial from North Carolina to California, he’d been gone from home for months, and “debriefed” for a week-whatever that meant, it didn’t sound all that fun-so I could only imagine he was exhausted, maybe a little cranky, and maybe a lot overwhelmed by the transition of leaving a place of war and combat and returning to civilian life. Oh, and, hi, here’s the woman you unintentionally impregnated to welcome you home. Ugh. I seriously had to learn to say no to people.

  I slip my protesting feet back into my shoes when Grace pulls her car into the parking garage, trying not to act like the intruder of this family that I felt like, while walking into the airport with mother and daughter.

  I think he’d like to see you there, Lola assured me last night. Grace looked less sure, but added, It’ll be great, really exciting, with too much enthusiasm. And to think I could be in sweatpants and slippers, eating bread on my couch right now.

  We pause to check the Arrivals board and find that his flight is on time and should be landing in about fifteen minutes, so now we just have to wait. Keeping my eye out for pretzel vendors, I hang back from Grace and Lola, whose excitement is substantial. Adopting an outsider’s view, the whole scene is touching. This is a family that loves each other deeply, they share a connection I couldn’t understand, and when I remember that, my nerves wane. I mean, yeah, I probably shouldn’t even be here, it feels presumptuous and insensitive, but part of me is glad that they’d allowed me to witness a pleasant family moment.

  Maybe I should take out my phone and photograph the mom-

  “There he is!” Grace shouts, lifting to her tippy toes and pointing towards the top of the stairs. Lola sucks in a breath and grabs onto Grace’s hand as I look up to see a group of three men in camouflage uniforms breech the staircase. They’re all carrying olive green duffel bags and when I pick Dean out of the three, I lose my breath.

  His hair has grown out a bit since our video call and his tan face is covered in dark stubble. He’s smiling at the man next to him, but when he turns towards the sound of Grace’s voice, it’s his stupidly beautiful eyes that turn my mouth into the Sahara. God, he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, I should not be here, I should be at home, I should be alone, he’s so beautiful, he’s going to be so mad at my being here…

  My thought train is jamming down the tracks, away from good sense and logical thought. I take two big steps back, hoping to fade into the gathering crowd and give this family their moment. My clutch is slippery in my palms and my feet are pinching in my shoes and I focus on those feelings while I watch Lola Slade gather her much-bigger-than-her son in her arms, and then as Grace gets lifted off her feet in a bear hug. And too late, I remember I was going to take a photo, so when Dean’s eyes catch mine, my face is twisted in annoyance at my lack of thought. I work quickly to smooth it back into something resembling serenity, but if I’m to go by his answering scowl, I’m not quick enough.

  The easy-breezy smile he’d had aimed at his friends and family is long gone and I so regret being here.

  “Holly,” he greets me stiffly with a head nod.

  “Hi,” I mutter, my hand rising in a robotic wave, but he’s already turned away to say goodbye to the men he’d come down the stairs with. One of the men’s uniform has the name Bennett stitched across the front and I wonder if he and Dean were together overseas. He eyes me curiously before reaching up to grab Dean’s hand and pull him in closer.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” Dean tells them sternly as the young men walk away.

  “You mean, don’t do anything you would do?” Bennett turns around to shout, walking backwards, grinning wide.

  Dean shakes his head, “Shall we?” He asks, gesturing to the sliding doors of the exit.

  Lola slides her arm through Dean’s and Grace takes up his other side, waving for me to join them. I do, obviously, they’re my ride home. When we get back to Grace’s car, Lola offers up the passenger seat, but Dean refuses and I’m surprised to find myself sitting across the bench seat from him. His legs are long and his knees touch the back of his mom’s seat, but he doesn’t complain. For the first few minutes, Lola and Grace are full of questions and commentary, to which Dean responds little.

  He doesn’t once look at me, let alone speak to me.

  At one point, Grace attempts to pull me into the conversation, but all I can do is smile at her reflection in the rearview mirror.

  “Your dad is going to barbecue burgers, Dean, are you hungry?” His mom asks, turning slightly in her seat.

  “Yeah, Mom, burgers sound great.”

  “It’s just going to be us, though,” Grace tells him and he nods, looking grateful for that.

  I sneak glances at him when I can, my eyes hungry for information on this man. I haven’t laid eyes on him in over five months and my hazy memory of our night together does nothing to the stranger sitting mere feet away from me now. He’s fantastic in uniform, I will say that, but he looks so tired. He’d been dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that night at the bar, his hair was shaggy and he’d had the makings of a beard; his manner had been relaxed, though that could have definitely been the alcohol, and his smile had been wicked. It had taken almost no effort on his part to get me home.

  I sigh to myself, close my eyes, and allow one minute of remembering the way his big hands felt on my skin, the way his beard scratched against my neck, and the way his eyes infiltrated mine so deftly.

  Oh, to have such lusty hormones with no outlet was a sweet, sweet torture of this pregnancy.

  When my minute of memory is up, I open my eyes once again, turn away from the side window, and find Dean watching me. There is no shame in his gaze, he doesn’t work to sneak glances; he just stares openly. I wonder how long it took him to master that blank expression, blink, and turn back away. I was no match for Dean’s assessing stare, he would most definitely find me lacking, and the thought of Dean finding me less than made my stomach hurt.

  There was no way I was going to attend Dean’s welcome home dinner, so when we pull into town, I form a plan to beg off.

  “Grace, I’m not feeling all that well, if you wouldn’t mind just dropping me at home, please,” I beg of her.

  “Oh, honey, are you okay? Why don’t you come on over, you can put your feet up and we’ll take care of you,” Lola says. Gah, this family.

  “That’s a very kind offer, but I think I’d rather head home and just go to bed early.”

  I ignore Dean’s stare lighting a fire on the side of my face.

  “Of course,” Grace says, cutting off any more of her mother’s dispute.

  When she pulls up to the front of my house, I already have my clutch in one hand and the door handle in the other.

  “It was nice to see you again, Grace, Lola,” I spoke to the front seats. “And, Dean, I’m glad you’re home safe.”

  I glance in the vicinity of his chin, shoot him a small smile, and clamber out the door. In these shoes, I’m lucky to have not hit the pavement in my rush, and I have my front door unlocked, open, shut and locked again before their car even leaves the curb. Lord have mercy. I will not cry, I will not cry, why did I feel like crying?!

  I breathe out heavily and let one tear escape before pushing away from the door and heading to the kitchen. I didn’t have soft pretzels, damn, but I did have a loaf of really soft French bread from last night that I tear into. I bring the whole
loaf with me to my bedroom where I finagle the heels from my feet, strip the jumpsuit to the floor and climb into bed in my bra and panties.

  “Hey, Rutabaga, now would be a good time to make your presence known. Your mom could use a little friend right about now.”

  No response. Well, that’s alright, according to the parenting books, moms and dads shouldn’t try to be “friends” with their kids, anyway.

  I fall asleep minutes later on top of my covers and with a loaf of bread in my arms.

  Chapter 9

  Dean

  Well that couldn’t have been more uncomfortable if I’d planned it.

  And what the hell had she been doing there, anyway? Honestly, had my family learned nothing from all my years of deployments? Don’t fucking surprise me, I hate it. At least they hadn’t invited half the town over for barbecue this time, so I was able to eat my burger and retreat to the back house, which is where I stay when I come to the Cove. The little house is like a granny quarters with a corner kitchen, living/bedroom and a fairly spacious bathroom, considering the square footage of the place. And even if I was, technically, staying with my parents, at least I had some fucking privacy.

  My dad knows enough not to hound me much the first couple of days, but my mom just can’t help herself, and I know it comes from love, I know it. She misses me all the time, she just wants to take care of me, I get it, really. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m like an addict in detox, just throw me some food and water and leave me the fuck alone. Once I get past the shakes, I’ll be better company. That doesn’t stop me from feeling guilty every damn time, though. I hate feeling like this, torn between two places, two Dean’s, being a dick to my family. That would be the number one reason I’m pissed that Holly was there today.

  It’s not her fault-in fact, I’m pretty sure I know exactly who maneuvered that whole operation. Fuck. I’m gonna have to apologize. I throw an arm over my eyes and groan.

  “Fuck,” I curse to the dark room. I prided myself on control in times of chaos, that’s what I’ve been trained for, so the fact that I couldn’t get a grip on this situation with Holly was pissing me off. I tried giving myself the benefit of the doubt: I hadn’t been thoroughly prepared or briefed and just needed a little time to focus on the situation and devise a plan; also, I probably needed to stop referring to a pregnant Holly as ‘the situation’.

  And let me just pause here a minute to admit to myself how fucking amazing she looked today. Jesus. It was no wonder I’d been desperate to have her back in June; I mean, she was gorgeous, yeah, but it was more than that. She was fucking bright, lit from the inside out, and that, that draw, that pull towards her was something I knew even less about how to deal with. It’s almost midnight and obvious that sleep is not going to happen anytime soon, so I figure I can do one of three things: take another shower and bring thoughts of the lovely Holly with me, scrounge up a book to distract my mind, or go for a run.

  Option three, it is.

  I pull some shorts and a t-shirt out of the dresser where I keep some clothes and map out a route in my head while I lace up my shoes. I’d kept myself so in shape all these years for my job that now my routines were an ingrained part of my life. Running here, though, with the salty air moving through my lungs was the best. I stay away from the beach because I’d just left miles of sand behind and wasn’t feeling like getting it all over me again tonight, so I head out on the quiet street. And when I say quiet, I mean completely fucking silent.

  When I left Camp Lejeune, the military psychologist had had some concerns about my state of mind, but I was more concerned about how well my body was going to hold up. I would definitely be icing some body parts later. Truth is, I wasn’t suffering from PTSD, luckily; if anything, it was a case of what am I going to do with the rest of my life? I think it’s normal, it felt normal for a 35-year-old person to question whether or not he or she was still content with the path their life was on. Now, with my job, choosing a different path was a bit trickier than others; I couldn’t just decide I wanted a different job. Before this last deployment, I’d spoken with someone about my options, and was still waiting to hear on a couple of them. At the very least, I was hoping my days of deployment were over. I think that’s what had the psych confused because she had my file, she knew where I’d been and what I’d done in my career, so to hear me say something different probably seemed like a red flag.

  After this month at home, I was to report to Camp Pendleton, get reevaluated, meet up with my guys, and figure out my next step. In the meantime, however, I was going to keep running and tomorrow, I’d go surfing, then, I’d pay a visit to Holly O’Brian and make my apologies.

  I had to get Holly’s address from Grace since I couldn’t remember exactly where she’d lived which, of course, meant Grace thought she had the right to interrogate me. I told her to mind her own fucking business, minus the ‘f’ word since my niece and nephew were hanging around at the time, and left.

  I’d had to postpone my morning surf session with my Uncle Red because once I’d come back from my midnight run, I’d passed out and not woken up until dinnertime when my mom came knocking at the door with an invitation to eat. I’d gone, because you don’t turn down your mom’s dinner invitation, then stopped by Red’s shop to see Grace. It was good to see her running the place; the shop was doing well, and my sister was a natural-born boss, whether she believed it or not.

  I pull up to a little beach house and have a flashback vivid enough to make me grin into my lap. Fucking wild thing, that’s what I remember when I spot Holly’s little house, and revel in the memory of being pulled at the waistband of my jeans by a tiny, but strong, redhead.

  Well, here’s hoping she doesn’t slam the door in my face.

  I take a deep breath and knock on her door.

  “Coming,” I hear her voice echo. Her front door squeaks, I recall, another flashback hitting my brain as her face peeks through the glass door. Her eyes widen to a comical size and this time, the flashback I have is somewhat indecent, so I force it away, sticking to my vow of being respectful towards her.

  Her door squeaks open, I fucking knew it, and her head peers around the door.

  “Um, hi,” she says, her voice quiet.

  “Hi.” She makes no move to invite me in so I guess I’m gonna have to do my apologizing right here. “I was wondering if you had a minute to talk?”

  “Um…” She glances to the side and chews on her lip. Her hair is pulled up again, like when she’d Skyped me. She takes a long time to answer and I start to worry, deciding to just go for it.

  “I just wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday. I acted like a dick and…”

  I’m shaking my head because, well, doesn’t that just sum it up? I acted like a dick. But at least my words pull her from her shell a little bit and she opens the door enough for me to see her rounded belly, and holy shit, that’s my fucking kid in there. I acted like a total dick while this woman is taking care of my kid. Shit, I’m gonna have a kid.

  “Look, like I told you before, you don’t owe me anything and I don’t expect anything from you, so...it’s fine.”

  Her words pull me out of my spiral and seeing her tiny shoulders lifting up and down while she talks make me hate myself a million times more.

  “And, for the record, I didn’t invite myself along to the airport, I didn’t even want to go,” she insists. “I mean, how presumptuous would that be? But, Dean, your mom and sister, separately, are like two small, very organized tornadoes, but together? I didn’t stand a chance.”

  Her little fingers are spinning in the air and her eyes are a bit wild. She’s fascinating.

  “Yeah, I’ve been there, I get it.” Then her words sink in. “And Holly, I wasn’t mad that you were there.”

  I duck my head and squat down to meet her eyes. I want my words to sink in now.

  “Coming back from overseas is always a mind-fuck, it doesn’t matter who’s standing at the gate, I’m probably g
onna act like a dick.”

  She finally meets my eyes and gives me a small smile.

  “Okay. “

  “Okay?”

  She nods, looking up to me with those big eyes one more time.

  “Okay,” I breathe out, feeling a little better and hoping that she does too. “So, I guess we’ll talk soon?”

  “Mmhmm,” she agrees, crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes have dropped away again and I really don’t like it; she doesn’t trust me at all.

  “We’ll talk soon, Holly,” I repeat, no question this time.

  I pull away from the curb, still restless, still unsettled. Nights are the absolute worst. And, yeah, it’s a story everyone’s all heard before, right? The messed up Marine. I mean, you go into something with the best intentions only to come out the other side completely fucked up and a completely different person. And people can make movies about it and post shit online about being supportive, and that’s all well and good, but I still have to live inside my head. And I don’t do drugs, I don’t (want to) drink anymore, so I turn to what’s always saved my soul: surfing. I’m sitting in my dad’s truck at the edge of the sand when another vehicle pulls in next to me and flashes its lights. I grin and flip my own lights back on before getting out of the cab and walking around to the back to grab my board.

  “Dean fucking Slade, my man.”

  “Bear.”

  He grabs my hand and fakes me out, pulling me in for a tight hug instead. Crazy fucker.