The Officer Says I Do

by Jeanette Murray

  The instant hush of the group of women would have been obvious to a deaf man. The older woman turned and smiled, her painted lips pulling tightly over her teeth. Clearly, being outted for eavesdropping wasn’t her idea of fun.

  “Skye, sweetheart. Nice to see you.” Mrs. Blackwater’s eyes drifted from Skye’s head to toe and back again. “You look… appropriate. I’m very proud of you. I’m sure Timothy is proud as well. He must be so pleased you’ve decided to take his career seriously.”

  Because that’s just how she would think. Skye’s entire existence was wrapped up in her husband’s wishes. Only an airheaded cardboard Barbie would set aside what she wanted to…

  Oh. Shit. For the first time, Skye stared down at the hated black dress. Without ever meaning to, she’d wrapped her entire self around her husband. Without ever meaning to, she lost herself.

  Skye plastered a smile on her face, fighting to remain outwardly calm through the painful self-disappointment. “That’s kind of you to say. But I’m not a potty-training puppy. I’m fully capable of behaving however I please, with or without my husband’s approval.” Without waiting to see or hear the older woman’s reaction, Skye turned on her heel and left the group of women, heading toward the door.

  She barely reached the coat closet when warm fingers wrapped around her upper arm.

  “Where are you going?” Her husband’s voice was low in her ear.

  “Home,” she said quietly. Though the thought hadn’t occurred to her, in that instant she knew that’s where she needed to be. To restart. Reenergize. Reevaluate just how badly this entire thing could have ended up, and how much of it was her fault.

  “Are you sick?” Tim’s face morphed instantly from confusion to concern as he rubbed his palms up and down her bare arms, as if to warm her. “Do you need to go to the clinic?”

  Skye smiled, taking another long look at him. Soaking in what he looked like in his dress blues, committing the image to a sweet memory. His shiny gold insignia winked in the light, his ribbons marked the achievements he’d gathered through his career. And he had only begun. Despite the loss of self, she loved this man. With his sense of honor and commitment, tenderness and stubbornness… she couldn’t deny that. But to give him what he deserved—a whole wife, not just a ghost of one—she needed to take a step back.

  “No. Not sick. Just need to go home.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, then back to her. “I’ll take you. Just give me a second to give some excuses.”

  She tilted her head at him. “You can just come to Texas like that? I would have thought you needed to fill out some form or something first.”

  “Texas? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Home. Where I grew up,” she clarified. “Texas.”

  “No.” He shook his head once, firm. “Home is the townhouse twenty minutes away.”

  “It’s not. Not for me. Time to face that fact. It’s your home, and I’ve been living there.”

  The hurt that bloomed in his eyes mirrored the pain in her chest, but the truth was the truth. And she couldn’t ignore it any longer.

  She kissed his cheek. “I’ll let you know when I get there.”

  “How are you—”

  “O’Shay! Get your sorry ass back to the bar; you owe the next round before this thing starts!” The call was followed by the deep rumble of masculine laughter. Tim didn’t even look, only kept his eyes on her.

  “Go.” When Tim didn’t move, she gave his chest a little push. “Seriously, go.”

  “How are you getting h—back to the townhouse?” he asked hoarsely.

  “Cab. I hear they have those even here in California.” The joke fell flat, and Tim didn’t crack a smile. “This isn’t the end of the world, you know.” We’ll figure it out. We have to.

  Tim only shook his head, as if he didn’t believe her at all. But he let her go, to walk into the lobby and away from the choking, smothering feel of conformity.

  ***

  She left. Tim stared at the closing lobby door. She honest to God left. And he didn’t even have the presence of mind to ask if it was for good, or for now, or for the weekend… He wiped a hand down his face, like he could erase the memory of her sad smile looking up at him. Christ, what the hell was going on?

  “O’Shay.”

  “What!” He spun on his heel, only to come face-to-face with Colonel Blackwater. “Sir, apologies. I thought you were someone else.”

  “No harm done,” the CO said, his lips twitching. “Did I just see your wife leave? I hope she’s not feeling poorly.”

  Fishing. It couldn’t be more obvious if he had just hung a sign around his neck saying Tell me all your dirty secrets. “Yes, sir. She just needed to head home.” There. That was as close to the truth as he could get without lying or sounding like an idiot. An idiot who didn’t know if his wife would be his wife any longer.

  The Colonel shook his head, a sad sort of smirk on his face. A look that made Tim clench his fists against the unholy desire to remove the smirk permanently. “I hate to say this, especially when it seemed like she had such promise. Leaps and bounds, my wife said. She was really getting there. But to leave you alone so suddenly, and during a formal event like this. Well…” The patronizing smile only grew. “It’s just unfortunate. I hate to say I told you so, so I won’t.” He walked away with that.

  “Right, you’ll just let me know without a doubt that you did tell me so. Smug bastard,” Tim muttered to himself. He glanced at the door again, torn between wanting to run after Skye as fast as he could and stop her. The other part wanting to kick the door in at the frustration of being put in the position of having to choose between her and his job.

  She already made her choice. And it wasn’t you. Skye clearly didn’t need him. Didn’t want him. Who left their husband in the middle of a Dining Out, just because?

  Your wife does. The woman you love. The spontaneous, outspoken, vibrant woman that you need. Not want. Need. If she left, it wasn’t for malicious reasons. It was serious. To her.

  “Tim, hey. Come on.” Jeremy walked up and waved a hand in front of his face. “They’re seating for dinner.” He paused and looked around. “Where’s Skye?”

  Tim gave one final glance at the door. “Gone.”

  ***

  Skye let her bags drop on the porch and reached for the front door, knowing it would be unlocked. The small house, one step up from a log cabin, really, was her sanctuary. As a child growing up, it wasn’t at all uncommon for the open door policy to be used quite literally for the rest of the commune. Everyone’s door stayed unlocked. And if you needed a place to stay, there was always an empty couch. Of course, one never knew when you would be walking in on a group of goddess worshippers, performing some midnight dance in the nude. But those were the risks you took.

  Skye walked on tiptoe, not wanting to wake up her parents. Though they were night owls for the most part, she assumed even they would be asleep at two in the morning. She should have pulled over hours ago and spent the night in a motel. But something kept her driving, urged her to press on until she reached the safety of her childhood home. She could sneak into her old bedroom and get some sleep, then talk to her parents in the morning. They would see her car outside and understand.

  The house was silent, with only the sounds of her father’s snoring to welcome her. She smiled. At least some things never changed. On tiptoe, she walked the same path she had a thousand times up the stairs, skipping the one step that creaked loud enough to wake the neighborhood, and stole into the room that she used for eighteen years, and every visit home since she moved to Vegas for school.

  She didn’t turn on any lights. Didn’t need to. And she was too exhausted to bother changing. She toed her shoes off, found the edge of the bed with her knees, turned around, and fell, ready to be unconscious as soon
as her head hit the mattress.

  Instead, her head hit something hard as a rock.

  “What the hell?”

  A shriek louder than a siren split the night, and it wasn’t Skye’s. Skye scrambled off the bed and across the room, bashing her knee into the desk as she went. The shrieking continued as she limped toward the door. But before she reached it, a blazing light flooded the room, and she had to blink several times before her eyes adjusted.

  “Skye Meadow?”

  “Dad?” She turned to the voice and was immediately enveloped by strong arms and a stronger chest. The smell of pine and tobacco, her father, filled her nostrils, and despite the erratic crying behind them, Skye felt more at peace than she had in weeks. Nothing could be so wrong in her father’s arms.

  “Hey, pumpernickel. What are you doing here?”

  Two in the morning didn’t seem to be the time to get into the long story of her marriage, and her failure, so she just shook her head and burrowed closer, like she was seven again.

  “What’s going on? Peter?” Skye peeked over his shoulder to see her mother standing in the doorway. Amber’s hair stuck out every which way from beneath its wrap, her eyes were wide, and she was clutching a yardstick in both hands with a white-knuckled grip. As if a yardstick would really help against a burglar. “Is Veronica all right?”

  “Veronica? Who the hell is Veronica?” Skye pulled away from her father slightly until her mother caught sight of her.

  “Skye? Oh, sweetheart, you scared me to death.” Amber dropped the yardstick and held one hand to her chest, as if to calm her heart.

  “Um, excuse me?” The soft but sure voice came from the bed. And for the first time, Skye remembered they weren’t alone in the room. She turned to see someone—presumably the aforementioned Veronica—sitting in her old bed. The covers were pulled up around her chest, her knees were drawn up, and she looked tiny in the double bed. Two braids of dark blond hair draped over each shoulder, and the poor thing’s complexion was as white as the sheets she clutched around her like a security blanket.

  But even as she watched, Skye saw her straighten her spine, as if willing herself to be more present.

  Skye looked expectantly at her parents.

  Her mother pushed hair back under her wrap with smooth motions, completely unruffled now that all physical threat was past. “Skye, this is Veronica. Veronica is your cousin. Veronica, this is Skye, our daughter.”

  “Hey. Nice to meet you.” Given the time of night, and the fact that she’d scared about ten years off both their lives, she opted for a wave from a distance instead of a handshake.

  Veronica smiled shyly and nodded. “I apologize for…” She waved a hand over the rumpled bedspread.

  “No worries. I should have known better than to just assume the bed was free.” Her parents picked up another stray. It wasn’t uncommon. In fact, if she had been thinking clearly, she would have thought to check before assuming her bed was unoccupied. Anyone needing a place to stay was welcome at Chez McDermott/Gibson. It was only a matter of asking.

  Veronica started to stand, then looked down and realized she was still in her pajamas. “Uh, if you just give me a minute, I can be out of your way.” Though she still looked a little pale, she wasn’t as shaken as before.

  Skye glanced around and realized that since her last visit home, her old room was no longer a shrine to her childhood. Things she didn’t recognize were scattered over the desk and dresser. A skirt she didn’t own was hanging from the closet door. Veronica wasn’t here for a one-night stay. That was certain.

  Skye waved her off. “No need. I’m the intruder this late. I’ve got the couch.”

  Veronica looked like she wanted to argue, but Amber stepped forward.

  “Why don’t we take this reunion downstairs so Veronica can get back to sleep?” her mother suggested gently, guiding Skye and her father out the door. “Veronica, dear, we’ll talk in the morning. Don’t worry about a thing. Go back to sleep.”

  The young woman looked unconvinced, and Skye gave her a quick, bright smile. “We’ll catch up tomorrow. I didn’t even know I had a cousin.”

  Veronica breathed deeply, letting out a long, low stream of air, as if relieved. “All right. If you’re sure.”

  “I am. In the morning, though, you and I will talk.” She shut the bedroom door behind her, noting that even on the way down, a faint glow came from under the crack of the door. Veronica probably still had her bedside lamp on, perhaps still too startled to fall back asleep. Not a great first impression on a relative she didn’t know she had. She’d make it up to her in the morning.

  After settling down in the kitchen with a cup of organic herbal tea—her mother’s own blend—Skye sighed. “I’m sorry about that. I should have checked before I climbed, or rather, fell, into bed. I hope I didn’t jump on someone who’s going to be scarred from it or anything.”

  Her father waved the worry away, as he did all worries. Peter was a man with nothing on his mind but the positives and the future. The past and negatives were nothing to him. Admirable way to think sometimes. But in other instances, it drove Skye nuts. You couldn’t always ignore the negatives in life. “She’s a tough one; she’ll be fine.”

  “So.” Skye blew on her tea. “Cousin, huh?”

  “On my side. My brother Ronald’s daughter.” Her mother spoke like Skye had any clue who this Ronald person was. Like it was a well-known fact that her mother didn’t just pop up in a cabbage patch.

  Skye wouldn’t have a clue. Her mother never spoke of her family. Ever. Interesting. A relative. Something to think about later.

  “Did she have an accent?”

  Her father patted her hand. “You can find out tomorrow.”

  “But what about—”

  Her mother cleared her throat and arched a brow. “Clearly discussing the family tree is not what drove you to our home in the middle of the night. Care to speak of it?”

  “No.” Skye knew that would be the end of it. Her parents wouldn’t ask again. They believed all things were revealed on their own time, and if they weren’t revealed, they weren’t meant to be known. Skye agreed… to an extent. But for tonight, knowing she was safe from interrogation was a blessing. “Just needed some home-time.” It was a half-truth anyway. She was too exhausted to get into her marriage tonight.

  Her father rubbed her back in soothing circles, just the way he did when she was a child. “You’ve come to the right place then, pumpernickel. Word on the street is this is home for you.”

  Skye felt her lips curve, but there wasn’t much humor to the gesture. She should have been back in California, asleep with Tim, his warm weight behind her, curling around her in subconscious protection. Instead, she would climb on the sofa bed and sleep alone. Was she absolutely nuts to give that up, simply to take some time apart?

  It’s not nuts if you need it. And she did. For now, this is what she needed. For once, she could concentrate on her.

  Chapter 22

  Tim rubbed his eyes with his thumbs, completely lost in his thoughts. The Taliban could have blown the battalion building up by now and he wouldn’t have blinked.

  He was going to work late. Again. On purpose. The thought of heading home to his empty townhouse disgusted him enough to stay well past the normal quitting hour. What was there to rush home for? An evening alone with a beer and a Hungry Man microwave dinner? God, he missed his wife. Unconventional though she was, the actual life she breathed into his world was a tangible thing. A thing that, without it, made his personal life feel like a big black void. No color. No character. No surprises. Ha. Didn’t he used to hate surprises? Yeah, he had. Then he got the best surprise of all, and he let it slip through his fingers.

  Other than the brief voice mail Skye had left on his phone saying that she made it to Texas just fine and not to worry, tha
t she’d given her work notice that she was taking vacation, he hadn’t heard from her. He tried calling a few times, but the first call rang until her voice mail picked up, and the rest of his calls went straight to voice mail, as if her phone wasn’t even on any longer.

  He knew that she joked about growing up in a commune, but they had to at least believe in cell phones, right? Who didn’t these days?

  “Okay, I’m really sick of the ‘Woe is me, my wife took off so now I’m going to mope’ bullshit. Pull your head out, O’Shay.”

  Jeremy’s voice pulled him from his thoughts with a snap. He looked up to see Jer standing in the door of his office, blocking all view of the hallway. Jeremy’s face and body language screamed, “Pissed off Jarhead comin’ at ya.”

  “Fuck off.” It was weak, as far as comebacks were concerned. But he knew an answer was expected.

  “Aw, honey. Is that any way to talk to your best friend when he brought you lunch?” He tossed a brown sack on the desk, scattering papers. The logo on the bag told Tim there’d be a hoagie from his favorite sub shop inside.

  “Thanks. See ya.” Tim turned back to his computer, not even sure what he was looking at.

  Jeremy’s fists landed on the desk with a thump, rattling Tim’s empty coffee mug and scattering papers. “No. The three of us are going to sit down and have lunch together, dammit. And if I have to duct tape your ugly ass in your chair to get you to do it, then I will. So don’t make me. It’ll only make you look like a shit.”

  Tim looked around the office. “If you haven’t brushed up on your numbers lately, there’s only two of us.”