Page 22 of Every Good Thing
Scanning the room, my eyes magnetize onto Lauren like a predetermined target. Feelings surge, so I force my usual unresponsive demeanor. I prefer not to react.
But it’s difficult.
Twelve years have passed since I last saw her, but closing in on her from across the room seems to pull the time together like a drawstring. She’s barely changed.
My anger isn’t as sharp as I expected, as I wanted, seeing her again. Faded memories stream in bright technicolor—good more than bad—and I hate myself for entertaining them like old friends.
This woman reminds me of everything I lost that day in Afghanistan, everything I’m still losing.
She stands when she sees me, straightening the baby-blue dress that clings to her slender frame like it was made for her. It probably was.
She intercepts me halfway to the table, and an awkward beat passes in mutual examination.
“Hey, stranger,” she finally says, side-smiling.
Her familiar greeting tightens my throat, making it hard to swallow.
She leans in for an embrace, but I extend my hand, pushing it awkwardly into her tight stomach. She recovers with a knowing look and accepts the compromise.
“Lauren.”
“Ben, it’s good to see you.”
The soft upturn of her smile seems genuine, but it’s difficult to fathom how that can be true after our last encounter.
I can’t return the sentiment. It’s not good to see her. It’s weird and disconcerting.
She directs me toward the table. “The years have been good to you. How come men get more handsome as they age? Hardly seems fair.”
She sits first. I tuck her chair in behind her.
“Ever the gentleman. Just like the old days,” she says, as I sit opposite. She leans forward, elbows on the table—something her mother often ridiculed her for—and seems to contemplate me.
“Should we address the elephant in the room first? Or should we waste more time feeling curious and awkward?”
I feel both awkward and curious. “Fine.”
Her hands open submissively against the table. “We share a beautiful history. It ended in a way neither of us wanted. But it’s done, and we’re better people for it. Agreed?”
My eyes narrow, considering each point. “Yes.”
“Let’s not complicate it, then… You’re here for a job. Not a tug-of-war down memory lane. Yes?”
I smirk. “Yes.”
She holds her hand out again. “Lauren Riley, head of human resources.”
Her fingers press softly against mine. I play her game, comforted by it. “Lieutenant Ben Wright, Wilmington Police Department.”
“Alright, L.T.” She grins.
My smile rises slightly at her informal use of lieutenant.
“Let’s talk business.” She motions for the waiter. “Comfortable with wine?”
“One glass.”
She instructs the waiter. Once he leaves, she reaches for a leather binder beside her and holds it in her lap. “I’ve planned a light lunch to review the position’s responsibilities and benefits. Then, we’ll have a tour and visit Dad. He designed your incentive package himself.”
