Terrible. I've literally been up to my elbows in shit today. You should be glad that I'm too busy to see you today. You two couldn't stand the smell.
LOL. I bet a shower could help. Especially if I joined you?
Careful, I don't think I need to pop wood on duty. People might think I like working with porta potties.
LOL. Okay, sorry. Just . . .
Just what?
I feel flirty and youthful the past few days. I know they've sucked for you, but even just texting like this, I kinda feel like old times, u know?
I do. Hey, I gotta get back to sucking crap. Text you later. Love u.
Love u 2. Call if you get home before 10.
I smile and put the phone back in my pocket, feeling refreshed. To hell with Captain Bradley. If he wants to put me on details like this every day, then I'll gladly do them to be with Lindsey. “Ready, sir?” The engineer says.
“Twelve down, eight to go. Let's knock it out,” I tell him, tugging on the hose. Just breathe through my mouth, and I can convince myself that it's not all that bad. At least, a little bit. Two more days, and then a four-day training holiday. Even Captain Bradley can't fuck that one up. It came down from the 82nd's commanding general, and Bradley can't stop me from using those four days unless he's willing to start paperwork on me.
Two more days. Just two more days.
Chapter 18
Lindsey
It's a sweet little drive toward the coast, Lance giggling in the back seat from time to time as Aaron snores next to me in the shotgun seat of the car.
“How much longer, Mommy?”
“We just left, honey. We still have a while to get there.”
It's a drive to the coast, but in exchanging texts and short phone calls with Aaron all week, we agreed that it was the best idea to stay away from the more popular places like Wilmington or some of the more famous barrier islands. Wilmington is the sort of town that attracts not only soldiers from Fort Bragg, but also lots of Marines from Camp Lejeune, who come to the 'big city' to party during long weekends. We don't need to run the risk. Murphy's Law seems to have bitten us in the ass once already.
Aaron tried to keep up a conversation on the way over, but the week plus of exhaustion caught up with him about five miles outside of Fayetteville, and he's been snoring at various volumes ever since. By my phone's GPS, we're about fifteen miles from Oak Island, so he's been down a while.
“Aaron? Hey, Aaron!” I say, shaking his knee. “You doing okay?”
He hums and smacks his lips, almost exactly like Lance does when he's waking up, but he opens his eyes, looking at me sleepily before smiling. “Yeah . . . that was a nice nap. Thank you.”
“You snore loud,” Lance says, and Aaron chuckles.
“Yeah, my old roommate at West Point said the same thing. Sorry.”
“You weren't too bad, and you slept right through the music, so I'd say you were fine,” I reassure him. “Next time, I'll just crank up the Skrillex a little louder.”
Aaron groans, and I can't keep up the deception. I laugh. He realizes I'm joking and gives me a little heart-stopping grin that makes me turn my attention back toward the road, or else we're going to crash. Aaron yawns and stretches as best he can, then turns his attention back to Lance. “So buddy, are you ready to hit the beach?”
“Uh huh. Can we build a sandcastle?” Lance asks, and I know why. In Washington, the sand at the beaches was normally too gritty to make them, and Lance wants to build one like in one of his picture books.
“You know what? Today, we’ll try to build one. Did you pack a shovel?”
Lance shakes his head sadly, looking down. “I don't have one.”
“Then we'll just have to stop before we get to the hotel and get us a set.”
We chat for the next forty-five minutes while we make our way to the hotel, including a stop for beach toys. The hotel is a block from the beach, and to keep up appearances, we did rent two rooms, side by side. I'm hoping that once we tell Lance, Aaron and I will have a little bit of privacy at some point, but who knows?
We get checked in quickly, hurrying up to our side by side rooms to change in a rush, the scent of the ocean putting an extra bounce in our step. I barely take a moment to look around the room other than noting that the king-sized bed looks luxurious while I hurry to change. Lance takes a total of thirty seconds to yank his pants off and pull on his little trunks before he's hopping from side to side, anxious.
I take out my swimsuit, which I just bought two days ago at the PX. It's not the sexiest thing out there, a simple white top and slightly conservative boy short style bottoms, but I hope Aaron likes it. I tie the wrap I bought, a multi-tone blue thing, around my waist and pull on a sleeveless t-shirt, hoping to surprise Aaron a little bit on the beach.
I put my sunglasses up on my forehead and grab my backpack, heading out with a still hopping Lance to see Aaron waiting for us outside his room, leaning against the wall with his own little backpack and t-shirt, already changed into his trunks. “Ready?”