Page 59 of Almost Home
I didn’t have letters from her at basic training. I didn’t have her and a rounded belly to come home to, to move to my first duty station with, to learn and grow and build a family with. But I’d cobbled together an existence that I could live with, and for years, until I got to the EMU, honestly, that’d been all I had to give myself.
“I don’t know. I mean, yes, I can admit I’m thoughtful. But…” Her lips tucked in like she didn’t want to say.
“What?” I prompted, immensely curious for anything she might not naturally share. I wanted all of it.
She pasted on a smile. “I’m just at a crossroads with teaching, I guess.” She tossed her napkin. “Ready?”
I saw the topic change for what it was, but went with it. I wouldn’t pressure her about that now. There’d be time, maybe even today, to talk about deeper things. So far, we’d kept it light, but I had a thousand questions. I couldn’t ask them all today, but I hoped, more and more, we’d get through it.
Because there had to be something that would chafe. There had to be hardship and challenge coming for us. And I wanted to face it head-on, I wanted it addressed and taken care of instead of lying in wait. If my gut was right, and it usually was, something was coming. I hated the feeling, especially when I couldn’t tell from where the dreadedsomethingwould come.
We left the terrace where we’d been seated outside and proceeded back through the Silver Ridge Resort to the main lobby. My mother had conveniently mentioned the resort restaurant featured a spring brunch that had a great menu served until mid-afternoon on weekends and suggested I take Sarah there today, then fifteen minutes later, I’d heard from Sarah.
I’d met her at the resort, a truly impressive version of the old lodge it used to be. I’d seen it in the last few years on my spare visits, but I hadn’t been inside. The Morrison family had brought in the big guns, and one of those happened to be Julian Grenier. Warrick might’ve had mixed feelings about the man, but he certainly made an excellent partner thus far.
Grenier’s taste for luxury made even more sense in the context of his part-ownership of the resort—the opulence and quality of everything felt familiar. He’d insisted on wood floors, carpeting, covering the exposed logs of the cabin, the updated break room, the polished wood conference table and upholstered chairs, and much more at our small business. I hadn’t objected, aware that his knowledge of upper crust preferences would help Saint Securities land the kind of clients we wanted to serve.
Back outside, Sarah stretched her arms overhead and breathed deeply. My eyes skated over her, gulping down the view before averting my eyes.
“It’s so beautiful here. I missed it while I was gone.”
“That it is,” I said, not caring even a little bit I hadn’t looked at anything but her with as much longing.
“Did you like North Carolina?”
“No.”
She burst out laughing. “You lived there most of your Army career, right?”
“The last fourteen years.”
Her forehead wrinkled. My hand itched to grab hers. Other than the initial hug and cheek kiss, we hadn’t touched today. Not that there hadn’t been moments when I’d wanted to. At one point, our knees had brushed under the table, and you would’ve thought she’d slid her hand up my thigh for the way my body had responded.
It’d always been like this before, but I’d chalked it up to teenage hormones. Of course when I was living it, I hadn’t thought of it that way. I’d known it wasSarah, my love for her. Our connection. The depth of our feelings.
In the years after, I’d made my peace with our connection and the dissolution of it—or I’d tried to—by admitting that love at seventeen could only have so much depth. Granted, we’d both been through a lot, and we’d experienced a lot together. But that rampaging, mind-melting need for her? That’d been hormones.
Except, if that were true, I wouldn’t be feeling that way now. And I did. Absolutely. To an embarrassing degree.
“And you didn’t like it at all?” She nudged my shoulder and, happily, didn’t retreat very far as we walked side by side.
“I’ve got the west, the desert and mountains, in my blood. The humidity, lack of winter, the bugs…” I shuddered.
She chuckled. “I get that. You could also say you have them on your arms.” She glanced at my tattoos, then continued. “I can’t tell you how many kids had to go to the nurse thanks to fire ant bites during recess when I taught elementary.” She made a face that accurately reflected the horror of fire ants.
“Yeah, you should know. Georgia isn’t all that different from North Carolina, and you were there right up until you moved here, right?”
Her expression tightened. “Yeah.”
I couldn’t read exactly what hid behind the smallness of her response, but I needed to know why she’d come back. “But you came back here.”
Her blue eyes met mine. “I did.”
“Why?”
A reluctant smile flashed over her features before she asked, “Why did you?”
And though I was still embracing this truth, still developing what it meant for myself in my own mind, I answered truthfully. “I wanted to come home.”
