SEAL Brotherhood Lucas

by Sharon Hamilton

  She picked through her clothes, thinking there could be a few boxes she would give away. She straightened up her apartment, changed her sheets and towels. Something about this little ritual made her feel more like a whole woman. She lit two new candles and played a streaming Spa Radio channel. She made herself a light lunch, brewed some fresh, strong coffee, sat at her tiny dining table overlooking the flowering crepe myrtle tree that went up three stories, its showy deep rose pink flowers blooming happily just for her. It had been a nice place to stay, but she realized she would move on without regret. Some place equally as nice in Sonoma County awaited her. And in the meantime, Devon and Nick’s home was a safe place to land for a few days.

  She called her hairdresser and found out she’d had a cancellation, so Marcy took the time to have some highlights and a trim. Next were her nails and a pedicure at her favorite Asian spa with the waterfall. She even managed to return Lucas’ keys to the friend who had taken the heavy duffel. She no longer trusted leaving them at Lucas’ apartment, where Connie had watched her retrieve them.

  Strengthened by doing all the things she liked, she decided to go face the office, just as the sun was hanging low and threatening to melt into the ocean. Tomorrow morning she’d get up early and go to the gym in the complex, finish her packing, and then perhaps leave for up North early the next day.

  All the good self care she’d done buoyed her mood, so that when she pulled into the parking lot at the Coronado Bay Realty company’s lot, squeezing her Nissan between large Mercedes, Teslas and Bentleys, the three cars of choice for the Realtors in her office, she felt strong and ready to take on anyone or anything.

  Until she rounded the corner to her semi-private office. Someone had already started moving her things and had brought in several boxes of their own. Marcy’s plaques and awards, even the oil painting a client had done for her as a thank you, some of the celebrity photos she’d had signed, were all stuffed roughly into a couple of cardboard boxes without being careful about the quality of the packing job. It was an obvious slight. The painting had a small hole in the bottom right corner of the canvas where a sharp cornered black-framed award had poked it’s way into it.

  Son of a bitch. She worked on keeping her emotions in check, the painful memory of Lucas’ advice to do so washing a prickling wave over her skin surface, making her hot, frustrated and needing to take it out on something. She kicked the brown box belonging to a stranger, heard something inside tinkle like it had broken and frowned.

  “Hey, Marcy. That’s my stuff,” Gail said to her back.

  Of course it would be Gail.

  Whipping around, Marcy stared back at the woman who was dressed in skinny jeans and an expensive designer t-shirt, showing her ample surgically enhanced cleavage, dressed for a designer work day. “Who gave you authorization to take my stuff down? You put a hole in my painting.”

  Gail sneered, reared her head backwards like Marcy’s comment had an odor. “Geez, Marcy. That thing? I’m sorry. I thought a little kid did it. I was careful with your awards.” She crossed her chest, arms revealing long white fingernails. “As for who gave me authorization? Joe did. He said he’d fired you.” Her eyelids lowered and Gail didn’t seem to have any trouble using that “F” word. She examined Marcy’s face through the bottom half of her eyes, head thrown back again. “Sorry about how all this has happened.”

  “I’ll bet,” Marcy mumbled. Her composure had flown right out of the room. “I need a little privacy to go through my things, if you don’t mind.” She took two steps toward Gail, pulled the door away from the wall and swung it in front of the agent’s body. Gail had to step back to avoid getting it slammed in her face. Marcy made sure she gave it an extra push for the satisfying sound effect as it rattled the other doors and windows in the building.

  She pushed Gail’s boxes to the corner and out of the way first. Then she loaded up the items on her desktop so she could use it as a staging area for other things she needed to quickly go through. Gail stood outside the glass window overlooking the bullpen of other agent’s desks, talking on her cell phone, while giving a disapproving look back to Marcy. The agent’s lack of consideration for anyone else’s feelings actually helped with the process. Marcy was looking forward not to have to deal with Gail and the other whispering hens who could say whatever they wanted, once Marcy was safely away, living a great life in Sonoma County.

  Surprised it only took barely a half hour to complete the sorting, Marcy brought a large box of papers and folders to the shred bin in the reception area, unlocked the box, and dumped her things inside. The rest of her things fit into three remaining boxes. She’d been short one, so removed the contents of Gail’s things from one box and placed them on the near-empty desktop.

  A picture of Gail and Connie caught her eye. It was taken in Hawaii, in happier times. The two ladies were tanned, drinking umbrella drinks at sunset. Behind them were two tanned men: Lucas Shipley and Barry Burnett. The visceral reaction she had seeing Lucas’ face was a surprise to her. His wide smile and white teeth contrasted the twinkle in his eye. She could see all the way through to his bad boy soul. It made her heart beat faster.

  Damn.

  Carefully, Marcy grabbed the framed picture and turned it over on the desk top. She loaded up her items and took each box out to her car. Before she removed the last box, she righted the foursome picture, turning it to face the side wall, surrounding it with other things from Gail’s collection, turned around and left without searching back.

  “All yours,” she said with a quick smile. Gail stood in the lobby area alone, without expression.

  “Good luck to you, Marcy. Where are you going to work?”

  “Not sure yet.”

  “Well, I can call your cell, then?”

  “Excuse me?” Marcy set the heavy box down on a reception chair.

  “If I have questions about your other listings.”

  So Joe had given them all to Gail, which felt like a stab in the back. Suddenly her trusted feeling towards her broker was gone.

  Better. You are so outta here, Marcy. Who cares what any of them do now. Not. Your. Concern.

  “I’m probably not going to be available, Gail. It’s up to you.”

  “Oh.”

  Marcy was planning on calling all her former clients, to say a proper good bye. Perhaps lay the seed they could still use someone else from the office if they were unhappy with her replacement. Something like that. Do it classy and quick. Let them know it wasn’t her choice.

  “Where are you going, then?”

  “Gail, I have no idea.” One of the receptionists was leaning to the side to watch her communication with Gail. Marcy walked up to her and presented her office key. “Give this to Joe, okay?”

  “Sure will.”

  Marcy walked out the lobby doors, past the scored faux columns and broken pottery vases bursting forth with color, down the crushed granite walkway to the parking lot beyond and set the box down in the trunk. Marcy and her Murano drove off. She had no impulse to want to see what the office looked like. There was nothing there any longer she wanted to remember.

  THE TRIP UP to Sonoma County the next day began after Marcy did one last hard workout in her complex gym. The morning commute was thinning. She texted Devon before leaving and then promised she’d let her know when she was near San Francisco. She double-checked messages and confirmed Lucas had not called, which was as she expected.

  Near dusk, she was close to San Francisco, stopping by an Italian place she knew about, had some soup and good San Francisco French Bread, a cappuccino, and then texted Devon she was an hour and a half away. Devon texted her back a smilie face and a heart, ‘Can’t wait.’

  Near eight o’clock she turned down the winding Bennett Valley Road, into the crushed granite driveway of Sophie’s Choice Vineyard. The stress of driving the distance and the awkward meeting at her office lifted as she pulled up to the beautiful modern home, golden lights from the many windows illuminating the
silent green vineyards tucked in neat rows.

  Devon ran outside, grabbed her Murano’s door handle and swung it wide. “Welcome home!” She nearly pulled Marcy from the little SUV and then gave her a big hug. “So glad you made it safe and sound.”

  Devon was quickly trying to struggle with Marcy’s bags when Nick appeared. “Hold it there. You get your butt inside the house, little one. I got this.”

  Marcy started to take one of the bags and Nick swatted her hand away.

  “I said I got this.” Then he broke a smile. “Welcome.” His familiar blue-green eyes were warm and friendly. With his straight jaw, slightly unshaven stubble, his blond hair wildly growing like cropped golden hills of California, he exuded confidence, health and a good dose of sex appeal. She had trusted him since the first time she’d met him, but now, she realized she’d missed their easy conversation and banter on the trip down to San Diego.

  As the tingling began forming in her belly it dawned on her that the person she was really missing was Lucas. The loss of that sexy friendship she had with him hurt like a wound that would never heal.

  She and Devon laced their elbows together as Marcy slung her red computer case over her shoulder and walked arm in arm with her best friend. Her eyes filled with water with the welcoming she’d received in just under a minute. It was something that helped take away the bitter sting of her firing and painful scrutiny in San Diego.

  They were playing soft music that echoed up throughout the house. A melodic soft African singer’s voice filled the large rooms with warm sound.

  “You have dinner? Want anything?” Devon asked.

  “I’m fine. I stopped in San Francisco and had some soup and French bread.”

  “Vesuvio’s?”

  “What do you think?”

  “How about some hot chocolate?”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  Devon pointed through the sliding glass door off the kitchen, “You go on outside to the guest house and get yourself situated. I’ll brew you some hot chocolate with a little chili, okay? Come on in after you get settled.”

  Marcy set her computer case down and crossed the kitchen in three long strides to hug Devon. “Thanks so much, Dev. You guys are a lifesaver.”

  Devon’s body was warm, returning her hug with a squeeze. “I’m just so excited to have you here. We’ve got some wonderful news I’ll tell you all about it after you come back. Now scoot.” She said as she spanked Marcy on the rear.

  The cottage brought back the memory of when she first came up to Sonoma County, the day she met Lucas. It was the cottage she’d hoped to spend a few nights with him in, before he was called away. A single lemon-scented candle glowed on the glass coffee table in front of the burgundy loveseat at the foot of the bed. Bright oil paintings adorned the walls as well as collages of work done to the winery. She examined one picture with a bunch of boys working shirtless, spraying each other and dancing. She saw Lucas among them.

  “Where do you want these?” Nick asked, standing in the doorway behind her.

  “Just put them on the bed. I’ll unpack later tonight and tuck them away.” She smiled up at him as he lay the suitcases down on the bed, waved and started to leave.

  At the doorway, he turned to ask her a question, “So Marcy, you hear from Lucas?”

  “No. Not sure I will ever again.”

  “Ever is a long time.” He was right, of course, but his wicked red eyes bored into her like she was target practice.

  “I know, Nick. I appreciate all you guys are trying to do for me. This was very generous of you.”

  He departed.

  The property had been Sophie’s struggling nursery and Marcy could still feel her presence, her spirit somewhere. Sophie had been Devon’s mentor and friend, but she was also the older sister of Nick. Marcy knew the story of how she’d died at the old home, had been poisoned with arsenic in the water tank. Shortly before her death she had to endure the fire that nearly burned everything to the ground. She looked at a picture of Nick and a very frail and thin Sophie, which must have been taken just before her death.

  Marcy washed her face, put on a stretchy top and bottoms she could sleep in, hung up a few things and placed underwear and other items in the dresser drawers she’d been provided. She removed her shoes and slid into some felt slippers, making her way back outside along the pathway nearly overgrown with honeysuckle, to the rear kitchen door. Devon had just poured them each a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

  “Here you go. Let’s sit here for a bit,” Devon pointed to one of the overstuffed chairs in the living room. A fountain outside bubbled and spattered loudly, working it’s magic on Marcy’s soul and she relaxed further. Nick sat on the wide arm of Devon’s chair, making her look like a child easily lost in the big cushions. Devon’s feet couldn’t touch the ground when she was seated all the way to the back.

  “So, can I ask you what happened with you and Lucas?”

  “Nick, stop it. None of our business,” Devon interrupted him. It elicited a shrug from Nick.

  “Sorry.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, when Lucas gets home, I’m sure we’ll talk. But only if he initiates it. Not holding my breath,” said Marcy. “In all fairness, it was just one conversation, a long-distance conversation.” She examined her fingernails. “Nothing I can do about any of it until he’s back. I could tell his focus had changed. He was a bit stressed.”

  “I’ll bet,” Nick whispered looking far away.

  “What’s happening, Nick?” asked Marcy.

  “Crazy sh—stuff.” He shook his head. “We are living in strange times.”

  “Well these are certainly strange times. I meet Lucas, and less than a week later, I’m without a job, relocating to Northern California. I’ll be lucky if I still have my real estate license left when all the dust settles.”

  “Lucas is a one-man wrecking crew.”

  “We all are,” Nick corrected her. “Remember, Devon? We get this tunnel vision, especially when we’re on deployments. I’ve seen guys lose it when they get into arguments with their girlfriends or wives. Here they are, hiding in some boxcar of a home, hot, tired and maybe a little scared. Waiting for all the action to start and wham, a call to or from home, puts them on their ladies’ shit list. Not a damned thing we can do about it, either.”

  “So, maybe it’s best that everything is over before too much is made of it.” Marcy’s words trailed off and she slowly felt herself getting sleepy. “I gotta turn in.”

  “Me too. We’ll talk in the morning. I have a Noon appointment in the office, so why don’t you plan on going in with me and I’ll introduce you to my manager. That sound good?”

  “Thanks, Devon.”

  On the way back to the cottage, Marcy saw a shooting star, and made a wish, just as she’d always done as a child.

  “If there’s a way, and a reason for it, bring him back. If you can. And only if he wants.”

  Chapter 27

  ‡

  THE SOCCER GAME after lunch between the Navy players and the SEALs was a complete wipeout—for the SEALs. The girl’s goalkeeper wasn’t afraid of a muscled hero coming at her. What she couldn’t stop with her body, she would push back with her spikes. She drew blood on three forwards, tackled another and did a from behind slide tackle as her only defense of the box when she’d been caught off guard by a quick pass. With no refs to call a maybe questionable foul, she got away with it. What was apparent was that, for all their strength and stamina, because the SEALs had not worked together as a team on the field, the girls would be able to kick their butt each time they played. And the games wouldn’t be close either. They called it quits after an hour, and although there was a dispute about the actual score, what wasn’t in question was that the girls scored at least ten times, and the SEALs had only made one.

  It was something that would eventually even out, but it would take several more games than they had.

  A party was arranged to go up to spy on the tra
ining camp in the daylight. This time, Lucas stayed back at base. Jeffrey had brought a prototype of his new Battlefield Zombies video game Lucas and Jake lost themselves in.

  “Holy shit, Jeffrey, do you suppose you could have any more blood in it? Alex asked the handsome former Bachelorette contestant.

  The game had blood spurting in every direction when one of the good guys died, and greenish black ooze that worked like acid on the good guy’s skin for the zombies. Lucas laughed when a new zombie appeared dressed as a cheerleader, complete with a couple of heads she used as pompons she held by long stringy hair. He wasn’t so sure he’d have much of an appetite for dinner. It didn’t affect his ability to drink red bull and beer in alternate doses.

  “Red sells really well in China,” Jeffrey answered.

  “That’s death to Chinese.”

  “Prosperity and long life, good luck too,” he answered. “That’s what they asked for. Lots of red.”

  “Who the fuck is supposed to win?” Jake asked. “Looks to me the zombies have an edge.”

  “Can’t make it too easy. I think they expect for a novice there’ll be lots of red. They asked for that. Then we get the kids to watch the online tutorial I’m working on now. You tell me what parts you like, would like to see more of.”

  Lucas switched with Rory and T.J. while Lucas, Jake and Ryan went outside, sitting on foldup lawn chairs he and Cooper brought back.

  “So you guys think we can find a five bedroom in the complex?” Lucas asked.

  Ryan sniffed the air, “You smell that, Jake? I can smell it a mile away. This here is a kiss-up.”

  “Nice and sweet,” He smiled back at Lucas. “You stay the hell away from me in the shower. Recent breakups can do a lot to a guy, and you got two inside of one week, my friend.”

  “Shut up. You should talk.”

  “Seriously, Lucas,” Began Ryan, “You’re lucky man. I’d say you dodged a big ol’ bullet. These married guys, they can talk all they want, but we all know what some of those ladies can turn into. And as you’ve noticed, you don’t get any warning or chance to plan.”