Dirty Seal

by Harper James

  “Good morning,” I say. “What’re you looking at?”

  Heath looks up at me in a way that tells me I didn’t startle him— even if I’d wanted to, I doubt I could have startled him.

  “Reading up on you,” he says, and edges to one side of the couch so there’s plenty of room for me to curl up beside him.

  “What?” I ask, craning my neck to see his phone screen. “Oh.” It’s information on my dad’s arrest and upcoming parole.

  Dad is hardly famous for his crimes; he’s one of a billion abusers, unfortunately. My Aunt Lisa never believed that her big brother could do such a thing, though, and my mother had a massive falling out over his arrest. Aunt Lisa said my mother was making the whole abuse story up, even saying that I’d been tricked into believing it all. She created a Facebook page called “JUSTICE FOR CHAD”, and given how close he is to parole, it’s being updated daily.

  “Oh, Aunt Lisa,” I say, sighing. “Don’t believe everything you read on there, okay? She’s nuts.”

  “Clearly. Did you see the Photoshop job she did of your dad arm wrestling the devil? Apparently if I “like”, then your dad wins,” Heath says, kissing the top of my head playfully.

  I groan and bury my head in my blanket-dress. “Why are you reading that?”

  “I already read everything else on the case.”

  “Why are you reading any of it?”

  Heath drops his phone on the coffee table and waits a few beats before answering, like he’s thinking this through. Finally, he says, “I want to see what I can do to keep you safe while I’m gone.”

  Eight days.

  “He’s not getting paroled. It’s fine,” I say. My voice is stiff and uneasy. I don’t want to think about Heath being gone, and somehow, the idea of him try to keep me safe after he’s gone makes it even worse. It’s just harder, thinking on how he’ll linger, knowing how I’ll miss him, how he won’t be around to convince my mother to go outside or call or—

  He moves the blanket away from and kisses the top of my head again. “What do you want to do today?”

  “Well, we don’t have to be out till three o’clock,” I say slowly. “And we haven’t used the hot tub yet.”

  “We haven’t,” he says. “I’ll be there in a minute. I have to call in to my boss and check in about some things.”

  I nod, rise, and take my blanket to the kitchen to make some coffee. It’s not like I’ve got to get undressed for the hot tub; instead I drop the blanket and skirt outside, hurrying to the warm water. I sink down to my neck, eager to escape the cool air outside.

  It’s only once I’m in the water that I realize the button for the jets is on the wall. I curse, debating whether or not I should climb out and face the cold or just wait for Heath.

  Without the jets, it strikes me how quiet it is up here. There’s the occasional scamper of some animal in the trees, and every now and then a light breeze, but other than that it’s meditatively silent. I tilt my head back against the edge of the hot tub, close my eyes, and take a deep breath.

  That’s when Heath’s voice edges into the quiet. I don’t mean to hear, exactly, but now that I’ve gone still I can make out his low, wall-muted words.

  “Yes, sir. Absolutely. It’s no trouble at all,” he’s saying. “I look forward to seeing you on Tuesday.”

  Tuesday— that’ll be four days before he leaves. For someone who is straight up lousy at knowing what day it is, I’ve become a regular calendar app.

  Heath emerges a few moments later, dropping the towel he’s slung around his waist at the door. Even in the chill, he’s huge, and I bite my lip eagerly at the sight.

  “Wait!” I say as he steps into the hot tub. I realize I’ve nearly shrieked, and the alarmed expression on his face makes me laugh. “Sorry, sorry— the jets. The button is right there,” I say, pointing at the wall.

  “Here?” he asks, pointing to the large red button on the wall. “This button?” As there’s literally nothing else on the wall, I know he’s messing with me.

  “Come on. Hit it and get in with me,” I say.

  “Are you telling me, Karli, that you were too lazy to get out of the hot tub and push it yourself?” he asks, teasing.

  “Not too lazy— too cold!” I argue.

  “I don’t think so,” Heath says, and then sweeps forward. He launches himself into the hot tub; I squeal and try to escape him, but there’s no point. He grabs me up in his arms and hauls me out, and I scream when the cold air hits me.

  “No, put me back! I’m going to get frostbite!” I yell, thrashing in his arms, laughing. Slippery as we both are from the water, he’s got such a tight hold on me that I’m not worried about falling. He carries me over to the wall.

  “Go on. Hit it,” he says, shaking his head in faux disappointment at my “laziness”.

  “You’re the worst,” I say, and punch him in the shoulder (which I suspect hurts my hand more than it hurts him). I lunge over and slam my hand against the button. The hot tub fizzes, then begins to bubble like lava.

  “Was that really so hard?” Heath plays, and carries me back. The water is now almost too hot— ALMOST. I sigh in relief as I sink down, and Heath laughs, apparently unfazed by the temperature change. I sidle up next to him, shaking my head at how he’s merely sitting on the bench, perfectly willing to let his torso freeze.

  “What was your call about?” I ask.

  Heath looks up at the trees for a second, then sinks down into the water as far as he can. He’s more limited by his height than I am, though, so his shoulders remain exposed. When he pulls me a bit to kiss me, I find I don’t mind the cold as much.

  “There’s been a change of plans,” he says, pulling away from my lips, though he keeps his face close to mine.

  I go still. “What?”

  “I have to fly out on Tuesday.”

  I stare. “What?”

  “I have to fly—“

  “I know what you said, Heath, I just don’t— Tuesday?” I ask, stepping back from him, trying to tame the expressions reeling across my face.

  “The situation in North Africa changed. We’ve got to get there sooner than I expected,” Heath says, and I notice the regular calm is gone from his voice. He isn’t angry, but there’s an edge that isn’t usually there, and he glowers in the middle distance like the source of his frustration is looming there.

  “That’s half the time. It’s not fair to just change your life around like that,” I protest.

  Heath smiles a little at me. “I didn’t sign up for fair, Karli. I signed up with the SEALS.”

  “So you’re just fine with it? With leaving?”

  “Of course not— you know I’m not fine with leaving you,” he says, shaking his head. At some point I’ve pushed away from him, and I’m standing in the hot tub, essentially oblivious to both the cold and my own nudity. For once, though, being naked in front of Heath is doing nothing at all for my sex drive.

  “I just…” I look away, trying to tamp down the growing lump in my throat. “I said we were streamlining, but 8 days already felt like a rush. Now to cut that in half—“

  “I know.”

  “You don’t know! You know what it’s like to leave, but not what it’s like to be left— or to be about-to-be-left!” I say, and I can hear how childish I sound. I’m throwing a tantrum, basically, but I don’t care.

  Heath presses his lips together and nods a little, the movement uneasy. “You’re right. I don’t know what it’s like to be left. But I do know what it feels like to leave someone you care about. It’s why I’ve done my best not to care about anyone all too much. I always figured I could do my caring once I left active duty. But then you happened, and…well…”

  I sink back into the water, both because the cold has finally gotten to me and because I hope the splashing jets will help hide the tears in my eyes.

  “I just don’t understand what I’m supposed to do while you’re gone.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks,
and pulls me through the water to him.

  “I was fine with sort of…just seeing how this plays out, you know? But now it feels like four days isn’t enough time to even know how it plays out. Four days isn’t enough time to do anything.”

  Heath leans down to kiss me long and deep. “I disagree.”

  “To do anything other than have sex. Not that I’m complaining, I just—“

  “Look who’s got a dirty mind! Can’t I kiss my girlfriend without her thinking I’m trying to get in her pants?”

  “I’m not wearing pants,” I argue, and as I’m saying it, I realize what he just called me. I swallow, bite my lip, then kiss him, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling my body up against his smooth chest.

  “Come on, baby,” Heath says. “We’ve got ninety-six hours. Let’s fill them.”

  Chapter 22

  Ninety-six hours is both too much time and too little time to be with someone. Too much because it’s just long enough that your body wants to take a nap, or watch some trash television, or cuddle up to him while you play Fruit Ninja. Not nearly enough because how can you possibly waste a minute playing Fruit Ninja when the person you care about is going to North Africa to do god knows what, probably while being shot at?

  In the end, I wind up taking off work entirely. Heath does the promised security sweep at my mom’s house; she practically fawns over him as he does everything from checking window locks to installing a carbon dioxide detector.

  We do cheesy couples things, going for hikes and brunch and walks in the park. We have sex over and over again, finding new positions— or rather, Heath places me in new positions, and I relish the way he knows just how to move me, just how to have me.

  And then, of course, I think about not having him— not having any part of him, sexual or otherwise. I’ve gotten used to him being in my life so quickly, but I know I won’t be able to get used to his absence nearly as fast.

  “Vic’s throwing a party tonight— it should be small. I know you and him didn’t get off to a great start, but I’d like for you to come with me,” Heath says on Monday afternoon, when we’ve got less than twenty-four hours left together.

  I’m far from eager to see Vic again, but he’s Heath’s dad— and besides, maybe now that I know what to expect, things will be different. I nod, and Heath looks genuinely grateful. He looks even more grateful when I text him a picture of what I’m planning on wearing that night— a navy blue mini-dress— and what I’m not wearing— panties or a bra.

  Heath: Forget the party. Let’s get a hotel.

  Karli: You don’t mean that.

  Heath: Try me.

  I don’t try him, though, because in some ways I think it’s sort of sweet that Vic is throwing Heath a going-away party. It’s certainly the most paternal thing I’ve heard of the man doing. I head over to their house at six o’clock, hoping I’ll get there a little early for some one on one time with both Heath AND Vic. Maybe he and I can mend some fences before the crowd arrives.

  Or maybe not, I think when I pull up to the house.

  The driveway is packed with cars, as is the front yard, as is the side yard, as is basically every open space around the house. I can taste the acrid sting of cigarette smoke in the air even from inside my own car; when I park and get out, the smell is overwhelming to the point that I cough. The sound of deep-voiced conversation is pouring through the front door, which is propped open despite the cold air outside.

  I take a breath (and cough again), then collect myself and start toward the house, eyes peeled for Heath.

  I don’t see him, but I see enough people that I’ve got to be looking at an entire regiment or division or however it is people are groups in the military.

  The main room and the kitchen are absolutely packed with guys that look like the store brand versions of Heath— broad shouldered, chiseled jaws, massive forearms, and steely gazes, though not (to my eyes, at least) anywhere near as attractive as Heath is.

  There are a few women in the room too— some who I can tell are girlfriends or wives, though a few who I can tell are also military, including the woman who accompanied Heath, Jack, and Leo to my mom’s house that night. She smiles at me and gives me a short wave, then goes back to her conversation.

  I smile cordially, weaving through the crowd, but Heath isn’t anywhere to be seen. Vic, however, is in the center of the fray, seated on the kitchen counter and telling stories that are hilarious to him and his listeners, but mostly seem to involve explosions, dismemberments, and a few slightly racist terms that make me cringe. It’s my bad luck that Vic’s eyes find me right in the midst of one such cringe.

  “There she is! Come over here, Karla!” he shouts across the room. I don’t correct my name— what would be the point? He’s clearly drunk; his words aren’t slurred, but he’s red-cheeked and shiny. I make my way over to him.

  “Hi, Vic,” I say kindly, hoping I can swing this interaction into something positive despite the fact that Vic’s hand is a little too friendly on my back when he hugs me too tight.

  “Boys, lemme tell you, Heath will not shut up about this one. I thought she was just a piece of ass, but I think he’s serious,” Vic jokes, elbowing me like I should think this is a compliment.

  “I’m definitely serious,” I say in response, smiling at the people who were looking at Vic. I could only see their backs before, but now that I’m looking at their faces from Vic’s point of view, I see something that startles me. It’s not admiration, even though I’m sure Vic thinks that’s the case. It’s pity. Vic is the too-drunk friend, the chronically too-drunk friend, but he’s someone they can’t just leave.

  One of the guys up front— he’s one of the older men in the group— reaches forward to shake my hand. “Pleasure, Karla,” he says.

  “It’s Karli, actually,” I answer. “Thanks.”

  “So sorry,” the man says. “Heath is a good guy. He’ll do right by you. I know it’s hard to have your partner deployed, but you’ll get through it. My wife has had to deal with a half dozen deployments just in the past few years. Trust me, you learn to be every bit as strong as the soldier you’re with.”

  “Thank you,” I say sincerely. “I really appreciate that.”

  “That’s my girlfriend over there,” another man says, this one only slightly older than me. “I can introduce you? Might be nice to have someone to talk to who’s been through it, once Heath has left.”

  “You guys are bringing this down!” Vic says, shaking his head. “He’s not gonna be gone that long. Besides, you know they treat those SEALS like they shit gold. Drop them in, then yank them out. Meanwhile, we live there, deal with the day to day bullshit…and what do we get? Grunt status,” he says, rolling his eyes and taking a swig of a beer that he realizes from the flavor isn’t his. He finishes it anyway.

  “Sounds like you’re a little jealous,” one of the older guys jokes, and there’s a chorus of laughter. Vic’s eyes, though, are a touch stony, and I can tell that the statement was true.

  “Has anyone seen Heath, by the way?” I ask. “I can’t find him.”

  “I think he’s around back,” the guy who suggested I talk to his girlfriend says. I smile and skirt away from the group. I hear Vic launch into another war story as I find the back door and cut through.

  Heath is out back, along with Jack and a few other guys. They’re drinking and smoking cigars, which surprises me a little; cigar smoking isn’t something I thought Heath would be in to. It’s also not one of those things I’ve ever really understood— for starters, why is it considered so much more highbrow than smoking cigarettes? And why do people think they smell good? I’ve never figured it out.

  I walk up, wobbling a little on the soft dirt. The mountains stretch out before me; Heath and his friends are under an oak tree that must be as old as the hills themselves.

  “Hey,” I call out, and the group spins to see me. Heath smiles lightly, though not in the unfiltered way he does when we’re alone.

/>   “Karli!” Jack says, grinning. “My sister was just accusing Heath of stealing you from her this morning.”

  I wince. “It’s just because he’s leaving so soon,” I explain.

  “I told her that. And she was just kidding, anyway. She thinks the whole story is basically a storybook romance. Heath’s the knight, you’re the princess, that kind of thing.”

  “I can get into being the princess,” I say.

  “Are you coming out with us tonight?” Jack asks. “Rule is that Heath has to do one shot for each deployment, plus an extra to keep him alive this time.”

  “Tonight?” I ask, turning to Heath.

  “It won’t take long,” he says. “It’s not that many shots.”

  I bite my lip. It isn’t fair for me to want to keep Heath to myself on our last night here. He’s Jack’s friend, after all, and Vic’s son. But knowing that’s another few hours we won’t be able to spend alone stings more than I want to admit.

  “Okay,” I say. “I can come. When should I be there? And where is it?”

  “Not entirely sure yet,” another one of the guys says. “We’ll probably go straight from here, once the kegs run out.”

  “Oh,” I say, surprised again. I look at Heath.

  “Sorry. I forgot. There are all these traditions, I just never…well, I never really had to think about how they’d effect someone else before, you know?”

  “Right,” I say, nodding, and I can tell from Jack’s eyes that the rest of the group can see how Heath has wandered into dangerous territory. “Okay.”

  There’s a stretch of silence, and they all puff on cigars for a moment. I feel like I’ve interrupted something, the girlfriend in the middle of a bro circle— and it’s not like this is the time with Heath I wanted anyhow. I eventually tell Heath I’ll meet him inside when they’ve finished, and head back.