“I turn four in Febooary,” Lance mispronounces, and I do the quick math. February birthday, almost four years ago . . .
“I . . . I see,” I tell him, looking up at Lindsey, panicked and a little bit pissed off. Am I? Her eyes are beseeching, and I shut my mouth. Obviously, if I am, the boy doesn't know. And frankly, this isn't the time or the place to talk about it. Instead, I give her a slight nod, reassuring her for now, even if inside, I'm about ready to go off. “So when did you pin your E-5?”
“Just before leaving Lewis,” Lindsey replies, relief in her voice and in her eyes.
“And now you're with the MPs?” I ask, seeing her nod. “I know someone over there.”
“Captain Lemmon?” Lindsey asks, and I feel like I've been kicked in the head again. “He's my CO.”
I nod, stopping my cart. We're at the eggs, and I help her get her damaged carton out of her cart, putting it in my basket before putting a replacement in hers. “Here, I'll pay the commissary for these.”
“Thank you,” Lindsey says, opening her mouth to speak again, but before she can, the PA system interrupts us.
“Attention, Commissary shoppers. The Commissary closes in fifteen minutes. Please finish your shopping and come to the front to check out as quickly as possible.”
Lindsey looks up, surprised, and I gulp. I know what she's thinking, and I don't want this to end. “Aaron, this has been nice, but . . .”
“Wait,” I say urgently, stepping closer. “We have a lot to catch up on . . . and things I think we need to discuss.”
“But . . .” Lindsey says, and I stop her, shaking my head. No, not this time. I won't let it happen again, especially with the suspicions running around in my mind.
“Four years ago, I made one of the worst mistakes of my life by walking away. I just want to talk. We can do that at least, right?”
Lindsey takes a deep breath, nodding. “Got a pen? You guys always do.”
I laugh and reach into my chest pocket, pulling out my notebook and pen. “They make us keep these things even in the shower.”
Lindsey laughs lightly and flips to an empty page, scribbling down a number. “Here. Call me tonight. After eight thirty, but before ten. Lance goes down around eight, and I think you want to ask questions I don't want to answer where he can hear. And I've got PT in the morning. I can't be staying up much past ten thirty.”
“Thank you,” I say, trying not to reach out and touch her. I'm upset, but still, seeing her perfect face right in front of me, I want her again. “I'll call you tonight. My cell.”
“In the meantime, I need to get some pasta unless he's eating microwave popcorn and eggs tonight,” Lindsey says, gesturing toward Lance, who's looking around like a normal three-year-old. “It . . . we'll talk later, Aaron.”
Lindsey scoops up a suddenly protesting Lance, who waves as they leave in the cart. I let them go around the curve before hurrying off in the opposite direction. Lindsey was right. I don't have half my shopping ready, and I need to get something in my cart if I'm going to be eating anything tonight. If anything, I need some more damn milk.
My fingers shake as I look at the phone number on the piece of paper, and I wonder again if I'm doing the right thing. My heart and body are saying one thing, and my brain is saying another. I've been lonely for too long. I haven't even gone on a date past a couple of group things with other junior officers on post in the past six months, and seeing Lindsey, I know what I want. I want her. Seeing her just reignited the burning ache that's been sitting inside me for all these years.
But that's the problem. I want her, and I can't have her. Hell, I don't know if she even wants me still. Sure, maybe I saw something in the commissary, or maybe my imagination was filling in gaps that weren't there. What can't be argued is that triple chevron that rests in the middle of her chest, or the butter bar still in the middle of mine.
But I have to know, even if it's dangerous. Even if I just talk to her this one time. I have to find out. I have to ask questions that have haunted me for four years, and more importantly, the questions that have been running around my head for the past two hours.
Finally, I tap in her phone number, hoping that she picks up. The phone rings two, three times . . . “Hello?”
“Lindsey? It's . . . it's Aaron.”
There's fear and worry in her voice, but also a bit of what sounds like relief too. “Aaron. I wasn't sure if I was going to pick up or not.”
“I wasn't sure if I was going to call or not,” I admit, sighing. “The idea kinda scared the hell out of me.”
“I know what you mean,” Lindsey says, letting out a shaky laugh. “Seeing you today was like seeing a ghost.”
“I hope I'm a little livelier than that,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.