I smiled. Marines were touchy about being referred to as soldiers. "Will obviously never had that problem."

“There are four branches of the military. Only one has soldiers.”

At Gray’s continued disgruntlement, I laughed out loud. “I know. Soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines.”

“Thank you.”

We sat there for a moment in companionable silence and for once I didn't feel the need to rush to say something. Even though he wasn’t touching me, I still felt a connection between the two of us. It could have been our shared experience but I couldn’t remember the last time I enjoyed just talking with someone. A transient thought niggled at the corner of my mind and I asked the question before I could give it much thought. "Have you lost anyone?"

"A couple guys early on. But not a spouse," he said quietly. "I get that that’s different."

His respectful tone made me feel somber. I looked out the window into the quiet night. There was little noise back here. The streets were illuminated by sporadic streetlights, and the only sound was the quiet rumble of the engine.

"A loss is a loss." I hated the measuring of grief.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"No."

"Seriously?"

"If you have to ask the prefatory question then you already know the follow up is a bad idea."

He’d repositioned himself so his back was resting against the window showing no signs of wanting to leave. Strangely my early frustration had given way and I wasn’t anxious for the loss of his company either. Gray chewed on his thoughts for a moment and then asked his question anyway. "What's the hardest thing about being a widow?"

Ugh, seriously. I didn't want to talk about my sad situation with Gray anymore. I was beginning to feel like that poor young widow again instead of Sam, the girl Gray wanted to have coffee with—if only for a small window of time. Heaving an exasperated sigh, I leveled the most annoying military question ever at him. "Did you kill anyone?"

"Not even on the same level," he argued. I bet if I looked at him he'd have a pissy expression on his face.

Sighing, I gave in. "What do you want to know?"

"A pog in my platoon died during my second year. You know what a pog is?"

"In the rear with the gear. Persons other than grunts," I trotted out. I'd picked up some military lingo while Will was in. I'd wanted to be supportive and helpful even though I hadn't entirely agreed with his decision.

"Right, non-infantry. But damn good guys. Anyway, he had a young wife and a kid. I think she's twenty-three or twenty-four. Older than you, but not much. He died, and she was still around base. Everyone was super careful with her, and finally one day, she broke down at the PX and screamed that she's fine. Only obviously she isn't fine. Later I guess she goes home and swallows a bottle of pills and has to be taken to the ER."

I winced. "Horrible story."

"I knew him. I felt like he was one my guys even though he wasn’t a grunt." A genuine sorrow weighted his words.

“So you felt like she was partly your responsibility?"

"In some ways. I mean, there's a big support network for military widows around the base and I went to visit her, but I felt helpless. I wished I could've done more. Plus, because he died, she was going to have to move off the base anyway.”

His expression of regret tugged at me. "Maybe if you wrote her a letter about how vital a member of your platoon he’d been, she'd appreciate that," I suggested.

"Yeah, maybe." His hand reached up to rub the back of his neck again and he sighed. "Sorry for bringing it up."

"I've always thought that the girlfriends and fiancées had it worse." I wasn't sure why I was extending this topic.

"Why's that?" In the dim light I couldn't see his eyes but I felt them. He was not only listening to me but hearing me, and I understood him in return. My heart stretched toward him.

"Because they don't get the same consideration even though they were in love. I mean the difference between getting the funeral flag and the brass bullet casings was two months for me. Two months earlier and his mom would've gotten those things."

"So you feel guilty because you have them?"

"A little. Like I'm an imposter—like I don't deserve to grieve like others have. But I got the visit, the commemorative things, the people checking up on me." God, I couldn't believe I was sharing this stuff with him—this guy who I'd stared at, kissed, argued with. But he didn't turn away at all. He just kept looking and listening, like what I had to say really interested him.

"I never thought of it that way." He sat up but didn't stop looking at me. We were tethered now, our eyes hooked on each other. "So I shouldn't feel guilty for not following up with one? Or I should've checked up on more of them?"

"I don't think you should feel guilty either way, but if it bothers you, then you can do some things. Is it really your business? I hated it when Will had to explain why I wasn't going to move out to his base with him. I felt it was so intrusive."

"Anytime you have guys under you, their personal life is your business. It's a readiness issue. Is their head in the right frame of mind to go over?”

"That's really weird, isn't it?" I asked.

"Completely." He chuckled and then reached out to rub the worn leather steering wheel. I felt it too, like he was touching me, rubbing my arm in comfort. But it wasn't really enough. I wanted him to touch me again. "I appreciate you sharing with me, even though this must be a tough subject."

"When did you stop feeling grief over the loss of your friends?"

He gave me a sad smile. "Never. You never get over it. I lost them in the first year of deployment. Two guys, and I'll never forget them."

"Me either but that's good, right?"

"Damn straight." He moved his hand from the steering wheel to my face, tucking back the stray hairs that wouldn’t stay put. I held my breath because I wasn't certain if I wanted to shake his hand off or turn and taste his entire hand. I didn't have to decipher my feelings for more than a second because he allowed his hand to drop back into his own lap. My twinge of emotion was a mixture of regret and relief.

"What do you do when you aren't mixing drinks?" His question caught me off guard and I wished I could say something adventurous like “I teach skydiving.” At my hesitation, Gray wiggled an eyebrow. "Can't be that bad."

I released an embarrassed little laugh. "It's just so stereotypical. I might as well buy my red hat and dye my hair blue and call it a day."

"Now you're speaking another language."

"I knit," I admitted. "The most exciting thing I’ve ever done was to yarn bomb the lampposts at Central College's sculpture gardens."

"What's that? Throwing balls of yarn at something?"

"No, like putting sweaters on things secretly in the dark."

Silence.

"Not very adventurous, right?"

"Hell, who am I to judge?" he offered magnanimously. "It's creative."

I couldn't tell if he was interested or thought it was silly. "Not very exciting though, not like skydiving."

He shrugged. "You could've been caught."

"We had the administration's permission."

"Yeah, not very dangerous." He grinned at me and I caught a glimpse of white even teeth and crinkles around his eyes. It was a smile that made me feel warm and tingly inside. It made me want to smile back and so I did. "Knitting seems cool. Will you make me something?"

This made me laugh again. "That's everyone's response when I tell them I knit."

"Damn, I'm not very original. But does that mean no?"

"You don't think that it's a little dull?"

"Not really." He shook his head. "Has someone said that to you?"

"Not about knitting specifically. I'm just kind of a non-adventurous type of person. Will always said I kept him grounded." I always took it as a compliment as Will intended it to be.

Gray didn't comment on that, but instead he asked me, "What kind of things do you think are adventurous?"

"Jumping out of airplanes?" I peeked at him. Whatever had shadowed his thoughts earlier were gone. Instead, a mischievous smile was directed toward me, as if he had some grand idea. It made me smile in return.

“Jumping out of airplanes is good but there are a lot of other things we could do.”

We? I liked the sound of that. “Like what?”

He gave me a mysterious look. “Leave that up to me.”

“What happened earlier?”

The hand went back to the neck. Gray wasn’t very difficult to read but this time I didn’t think it was tension that made him grip his neck as much as it was embarrassment. “That was me being stupid and I’d like to make that up to you.”

Was that like an invitation for coffee? I couldn't figure it out, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to put the effort into mulling it over. I put the car into gear and coasted down Adam's driveway toward the house.

“I’m not agreeing to anything but if I did, what would I need to bring?”

“Wear sturdy boots. Shorts. T-shirt. Bring your knitting." He jumped out almost before I'd pulled to a complete stop leaving me with unanswered questions and an uncertain tomorrow.

I backed out and headed to my parents’ house. In the driveway, I pulled out my phone to text Eve. She was either sleeping, having sex with Randy, or winding down by watching some television. Hopefully the last one, because I wanted some more advice. I hadn’t been able to close the deal with Gray physically, but the car ride to Adam’s house wasn’t just meaningless small talk.

I asked him to coffee but he turned me down.

Way to go! And I'm SORRY! He's a douche. You are WAY too good for him. Where are you?

Oh, Eve, such a good friend.

Parents’ house. Took him up to my condo. We were friendly then he decided to go home. Guess he didn’t like the taste of my coffee.

I’ve had your coffee. You have great coffee. Randy says U should stay AWAY. Too Ducking dumb. God, I meant F UCKING. STUPID PHONE. R says guy who doesn't know a coffee invitation means sex can't find your C L I T anyway. STUPID PHONE typed CLOT.

He asked me to go on adventure with him tomorrow.

OH HE DID! He may be able to find the CLOT after all. UGH. U KNOW WHAT I MEAN!

He told me to wear sturdy boots, shorts, T-shirt, and to bring my knitting. Is that code for sex too?

There was no response right away. Had she passed out? Slipping out of the car, I headed into the house and to my bedroom. I was able to change, wash my face, and brush my teeth before I got a response.

We're STUMPED. R says he may be kinky bastard. May like outdoors sex. U be careful?

Should I stay home?

This time, she responded immediately. NO! was the immediate response. GO and tell me ALL DETAILS tomorrow night. Bring condoms. Never trust other person.


As I looked around my childhood bedroom, it occurred to me that I should’ve brought Gray here. There were no traces of Will in this room. My father had banned him from coming up here. Instead, Will and I had spent a lot of time in my parents’ basement, making out and sometimes even having furtive, not terribly satisfactory, sex. The fear of my parents catching us made it too hard for me to relax. I think the thrill worked the other way on Will. He always finished hard and fast. But that was Will, hard charging and thrill seeking. He said my more sedate pace was what kept him balanced and I kind of took pride in that. Being his anchor.

My dad thought that as long as we weren't doing it in my princess bed with its sheer white bed hangings I was still untouched. Ironically, my princess bedroom had become a haven, a place I could escape the suffocating memories of Will and me. I’d spent a lot of nights here right after Will died.

Pulling the pink gingham quilted coverlet back, I climbed inside and tucked an old teddy bear next to me. The image of Gray as he effortlessly held me up flitted through my brain but I didn't want to be having a fantasy about him tonight. As I allowed exhaustion to pull me under, I wondered if my attraction to him was based on the fact that he was military and he reminded me vaguely of Will even though the two looked nothing alike. Oh, Will. God, why did you leave me alone? And I was alone—and so, so tired of it. The pang in my chest felt vaguely like guilt, and when I closed my eyes, my aching loneliness soaked my pillow.