“I don't know,” I tell her honestly, knowing she can hear something in my voice, but I don't want to go into it over the phone. “It can wait until tomorrow though. Good night.”
“Good night, Aaron. See you tomorrow.”
Chapter 6
Lindsey
I pop a salute, waiting for the blue-tagged officer's vehicle to roll through the gate. Drawing gate guard duty is one of those things that everyone does once in a while. The garrison MPs can use the help. West Point is a tourist destination as much as it is a military post, and because of that, there are many civilians who come onto post a lot. So we normal soldiers get to help out on gate guard duty on a rotating basis.
I've only done it twice so far, and it's not too bad. The actual MPs will do any sort of vehicle inspections or things like that. My main job is to salute and check IDs. All I have to do is make sure I've got a clean uniform and that my patrol cap is sharp. Not hard at all.
“Hey, you doing okay?” the MP with me, Specialist Brower, asks. He's a decent enough guy, and when I told him that I'm seeing someone, he stopped any questions right away. Actually, it felt good to tell him that I'm seeing someone. I haven't been able to say that honestly in a long time. “The relief is coming down. I wanted to know if you needed anything.”
“Just a ride back to the barracks if you guys can arrange it,” I tell him. “If I have to walk back, I'm going to be cutting it tight for a five o'clock thing I've got. I'd like to change out of uniform.”
“Gotcha covered,” Brower says, smiling. “Whenever you all help me out, I make it a point to give y'all a ride back before I sign out at the station.”
We chat and wave cars through until our relief shows up. There's another regular soldier with the MP again. Sundays are rough for inspections because of all the cadets coming back from weekend leave, and the time from six until seven is always hectic. Handover is quick, though, and a few minutes later, we're rolling in the MP SUV back up the hill toward my barracks. Brower drops me off, tossing me a little touch of his cap. “Thanks again for an easy shift. Hope I get you again next time you're on gate duty.”
“No offense, but I hope that I don't pull gate duty for another six months,” I joke, waving. Brower laughs and pulls away, and I hurry to my room, changing clothes quickly. Aaron said he just wanted to talk, so I pull on some jeans and a sweatshirt, making sure there's nothing about what I'm wearing that says Army. As a last-minute thing, I pull the band out of my hair and let it hang free. It's nice to let the stress off my hair, if anything else.
Lusk Reservoir isn't that far from my barracks. I mean, West Point isn't exactly a big post to begin with, and I walk down there with plenty of time to spare. I'm a little hungry. I didn't get much for lunch, but that's okay. I don't mind waiting, and it's early for dinner anyway. Riding yesterday without Aaron felt empty, and as I wait, I wonder if I'm falling for him.
It's been a long time since I really fell for a guy, and after having sex on Tuesday, it's been running around in my mind all week. I'm not easy, but the way that Aaron was, strong and sensitive, it was perfect, and giving myself to him felt just right.
I see someone coming up the hill by the Chapel, and pretty soon, the familiar figure of Aaron comes around the Reservoir. I wave, and he waves back, but there's a set to his face that concerns me. I wait until he's close enough that I don't have to yell, and just smile, waiting for him. “Hey!”
“Hi,” he says, his face grim. “How was work?”
“Oh, you know . . .” I reply, biting my lip. “Work. So, what did you want to talk about?”
“Let's walk for a bit,” Aaron says, pointing up toward the more private areas away from the reservoir. “If you don't mind.”
“No, that'd be nice,” I say, worry growing. I mean, I know he's in uniform—he's wearing his PT gear—but still, he's not even smiling. I walk next to him as we walk, heading toward Round Pond. “Is everything okay?”
Aaron shrugs. “Sometimes, when I'm working on my running, I like to do this route,” he says, pointing ahead and ignoring my question. “Do you ever run up here?”
“I don't really like to run,” I admit, shrugging. “I avoid it as much as I can.”
“That's gotta be hard . . . for a PFC,” Aaron says icily, giving me a look. “Isn't it?”
I stop, my face going to ash. We're alone, so there's at least some privacy, and I feel tears coming to my eyes. “When did you find out?”