“I'm sure,” Lindsey says sadly. “Last night. This morning. They were incredible. Perfect. And the memories will help. But we know the truth, Aaron. Our moment of fantasy is over.”
“And what if I don’t want it to be over?” I ask in a whisper. I swore when I woke up this morning, her naked body nestled in my arms, that I wouldn’t make this harder than it needed to be. But now, I can't let her go. I don't want to let her go.
“Nor do I,” Lindsey says quietly. “But by the time we could see each other again, that Gray Line's going to be Blue. I won't have you risk everything you’ve worked so hard for. I care about you too much. Go on. Please. If we stay here much longer, I’m going to start crying.”
I lean in, and we kiss. One last time. It's tender and soft, everything I want to remember about her, and when our lips part, she's smiling too. “Goodbye, Aaron Simpson. Be well.”
Before things get out of hand, I turn and join the security line, forcing myself to face away from Lindsey for as long as I can. Finally, I turn around, but she's left already. That's probably for the best. But still, I wish I could have said goodbye.
I wish I could have said a lot of things.
Chapter 8
Lindsey
It's kinda nice, watching the fireworks over the Puget Sound. It's a lot different from any other way I've celebrated the Fourth of July, even if it is a bit lonely.
The grand finale starts, blast after blast going off over the water, and even though I'm miles away, I'm buffeted by the sounds that pepper the air. I feel bad for any PTSD vets in the area. They've got to be going through hell listening to that, so much like artillery or even machine gun fire. I can understand why there were safety notices on the radio as I drove into the area.
Mom and Dad don't understand why I insisted on driving to Washington a few days early, but at least they didn't say anything about it. I guess after having me hang around the house for a week more or less constantly moping, they figured that they'd ask their questions later. I'm glad for that, because right now, I'm not sure I could trust myself to give the answers that they need to hear.
The truth is, I miss him. Walking away from that security checkpoint before he could say goodbye was the hardest fucking thing I've done in my entire life, and my last two weeks at the Academy before going on leave were pure hell. Twice, I found myself walking down by Central Post, not for work but just to be there, wishing he'd come around the corner by the library, his smile dazzling in the summer sun. I even ate a pizza at Grant Hall, or I tried to before the sadness made me leave. I couldn't eat another bite, knowing that even though I wanted to do nothing more than share the pizza with Aaron, we'd never be able to. I gave my half-pizza to some poor cadet who was stuck at the Academy doing summer school and walked out. Last semester, I looked up at Grant Barracks and wondered which window was Aaron's before leaving, trying not to cry.
I've been doing that a lot lately. More mornings than not, I've woken up to find that my pillow's a little damp, and I haven't even found the energy to ride my bike. It’s still strapped on the bike carrier on the back of my Honda.
The last of the fireworks goes off, and the silence reigns heavily over the water, except for the cheers of the crowd that's gathered lower near the shoreline while I'm up here in my hotel room. I know I could have checked into my unit early. They'd have just let me crash out until my official report date in two days, but I just didn't want to be near the Army for a little while.
The Army. The fucking Army. With their stupid fucking rules. Rules that tell us how to dress, how to walk, how to run, how to eat and how to sleep. But the Army never put out any guidelines about love. Oh, sure, they've written some rules about sex, about fraternization, but they've never given any guidance for when I found the man I still dream about and fall in love with him. They can't even tell me if I was right or wrong to not say it, or if I was right to be greedy and self-centered and demand that we never say that word. His chain is still around my neck, and I'm never, ever going to take it off short of orders.
I sigh and get up, dusting off my jeans. I can't let myself get down. It's not what Aaron would want me to do. Sure, he sometimes was a little rah-rah when I would bitch about work after he knew I'm an enlisted soldier, but he never wanted to see me frown, let alone cry. I can do that much, at least when I'm awake.
I force a smile on my face, looking up at the stars, wondering if perhaps Aaron is looking up at the same stars. Probably not. It's late back east, and he's just wrapping up Airborne school. Maybe they're giving him a long weekend. That'd be nice. Give his knees and ankles a chance to heal up from the pounding. I've heard Airborne's a major beating on the legs. Either way, a girl can wish, can't she?