"Sure you are. Over the loss of your trust, your first love. Your belief in a happy ever after."
I stopped my busy tasks all together and leaned my hip against the table. Folding my arms, I gave her a repressive look, signaling the end of the conversation but Sam was undeterred.
"Didn't you at first refuse to believe that your girlfriend—what’s her name?"
"Carrie." I said curtly.
"Didn’t you try to convince yourself that Carrie wasn't doing anything wrong? That she was showing up around base to be part of the wives’ support group? And at first, when you sat outside your lieutenant's apartment, you believed that it might be a waste of your time?"
"Yeah so?"
"And then you got sick drunk?"
I nodded cautiously. Feeling a little like I was being led down a dangerous path, I chose to just let Sam do the talking.
"So you have shock and denial, followed by pain. You probably had some thoughts that maybe if you didn't go on that second tour you'd still be together. That she wouldn't have cheated?"
Her spot-on analysis of my post-breakup thought process was unnerving. Quickly, I returned to packing up the firearm paraphernalia and took it all over to her SUV. She hadn't stopped talking, though, following me to the Rover and then back to the tables, which I swiftly dismantled.
"Don't look so surprised. After hours of actual therapy, I feel that I could be an expert. Also, I feel a lot of guilt about not moving to Alaska, so maybe I'm still working through stages two through seven," she mused.
Deciding she wasn't going to stop until she'd gotten everything out of her system, I shoved the two tables into the cargo space, shut the door, and leaned against the bumper. Crossed arms and a scowl on my face didn't faze her.
"And now you've got a lot of anger. You don't want to have relationships. You just want to have people you have sex with."
"Wanting to be safe and sensible isn't a product of anger. It's a product of good decision making."
Sam stepped in between my legs and placed her soft hands on my chest and her sweet scent mixed with gunpowder drained away any anger I'd felt toward the subject matter. Maybe Sam was feeling guilty about having sex with someone other than her husband. I’d noticed she’d taken her ring off, but I hadn’t said anything. Sliding my hands up her arms, I wrapped my fingers around her shoulders and tugged her a little until she fell against me.
“I don’t know if you really want to stay in or get out, but I suspect you want to stay in,” she said. Everything about her was surprising me. “You’d make such a great officer, because you truly care about what happens to those you lead. You aren’t in it for the power or the status.”
I opened my mouth to protest but a single finger against my cheek shut me up. “I also think you’d be surprised at how the right girl would not only be true to you while you were gone but would make your time with her so amazing that it would last you both through those long, lonely nights.”
When she opened her mouth to start talking again, I crushed her to me. Sliding my tongue between her surprised lips, I closed my eyes and savored the taste of her. I couldn't wait until I could fill myself at the buffet of Sam. Her fingers wrapped around my shoulders and when she kissed me back, I knew our conversation was over. I knew grief. I'd felt it when I'd lost friends outside the wire. What had happened between Carrie and I hadn't left me with grief but an education. Women and men couldn't stand long separations and the military was full of them. Temporary connections conducted in a safe manner was what I had going for me until I retired. If I felt a pang in the region where my heart sat, it wasn't because I longed for something deeper.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Samantha
WE DIDN’T TALK ABOUT WHAT happened at Finn’s farm, but Gray came home with me that night. In the morning he was gone with a note that he was going to run with his boys. Noah liked to run at what Gray referred to as the ass crack of dawn. I thought it made more sense that it would be the crown of dawn, like the crown of a head, but he’d said no. It was definitely the ass crack. Later he texted me that he was filling in for Bo at a city league softball game and did I want to come? Was knitting the best hobby ever? Of course I did. Packing some dark blue yarn into a sling and my 16-inch circular needles, I headed out for the park.
AnnMarie waved me over, and I climbed up to join them on the bleachers. Out in the field, Gray was jumping from side to side. My heart flipped over. Oh no. I was falling so hard for him, and he was leaving. In less than two weeks, he’d be returning to San Diego. I cupped my hands in front of my face and tried to cover up my sudden distress.
“You look blue,” Bo commented. One arm was slung around AnnMarie’s shoulder and the other he held gingerly to his side. Maybe Bo could give me some insight. Perhaps Gray had talked to him about separating. Maybe they’d even talked about Gray staying here, going to Central with his friends.
"I'm just not sure—” Before I could get my whole sentence out, Bo held up his hands in a T formation.
"Hold on. I was just making conversation." He turned and let out a piercing whistle. Everyone to the left of us—and some to the right—stared in our direction. He waved to the beautiful blonde and yelled out, "Lana, you're needed."
She shook her head but he whistled again. I ducked my head and covered my ears. She came huffing up.
"What the hell?”
"She needs advice." Bo pointed to me. I kept my head between my hands so that I didn't wrap them around his neck and choke his brains out for embarrassing me like this.
"How many times do I have to tell you I'm just a fucking student?”
"No need to curse," he tutted. "But think of all the practice you’re getting." He nudged me. "She's better at this than all of us but her bedside manner needs work."
She sighed and sat down next to me. AnnMarie mouthed "I'm sorry" as she was dragged away by Bo.
"What's up?"
"Psychology student?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I guess you're better than nothing since he’s run off."
"I don't think he does feelings unless they involve AnnMarie." We looked down at them. He was now delicately probing AnnMarie's mouth with his tongue as they leaned against the back of Gray’s team’s dugout. Bo had claimed a gimpy arm, which is why Gray was filling in, but I think he just wanted to feel AnnMarie up.
"He's certainly exploring those feelings now,” I remarked dryly.
"So you’re the widow." Lana looked at me speculatively.
"Geez, is that how everyone knows me?”
"Pretty much."
"Thanks.” I shook my head in disbelief. “Does everyone come to you for advice?"
"Not everyone." Her gaze drifted to Gray's team. "But if they do it’s because I’m the most fucked-up person everyone knows."
"You say it with such pride and cheerfulness."
"Years of therapy and resignation. Lay it on me."
Oh why not.
"Gray’s got me all confused."
"In a bad way?"
“Is confusion ever good?” I countered. Lana shrugged, the motion lifting one golden curl and settling it back on her shoulder. The crowd behind us sighed with appreciation. She was just so beautiful you couldn’t help but stare.
"You ever been to therapy?" The jump in conversation topic made me blink but I just went with it.
"After Will died, my parents made me go."
"What’d you learn?"
"That grief is a process; everyone goes at a different pace; it's okay to move on; no feeling is wrong except if you want to kill yourself and in that case I should call the ER." I turned and looked at Lana. "I never felt like killing myself."