Will leaned his good elbow on the counter, doing a passable imitation of casual, rather than someone who needed to lean or fall over. “Nice hair.” Maria was a grad student in sociology, back in school for a year after working in local government for six years, and liked to embrace her freedom from business wear by dying her shoulder length hair a series of increasingly unnatural colors. Today’s was bubblegum pink, with silver ends.
Maria grinned. “I could do yours some time. I’m thinking… camo green?”
Will kept his face carefully neutral, but apparently it didn’t matter, because Maria’s grin softened into a concerned frown.
“You okay? You don’t look too good.”
Will dredged up the best smile he could manage. “That’s just what a guy wants to hear.”
“Go sit down,” Maria said instead of taking it back. “Usual?”
“Just orange juice, thanks. And an English muffin if you’ve got any?” The warmth and steam of a coffee would probably be fine, even soothing, but Will’s shoulders were still tense with the morning’s flashback, compounded by the session with his counsellor, and he drew the line at freaking out in public.
“I think I can find something,” Maria promised. “Go on. Jack’ll clear the table in a second.”
Will took the corner seat, like always, and unfolded the local paper the women had left behind. Turning the pages using his wrong hand was still awkward, but reading about the mayor’s new parking initiative while Jack quietly gathered empty mugs never failed to ease the tension of a whole day out in the world.
WILL ENDED up staying in the coffee shop well into the evening rush, so that the apartment was mostly dark by the time he managed to fumble the lock open and get himself inside. All he really wanted was his painkillers and sleep, but the message light was flashing on the machine, too bright to miss.
Will dug out his cell phone and checked the screen, then unlocked it and went into his messages, just in case the notification wasn’t showing up. Nothing.
That had to be a good thing. If anything bad had happened, someone would have tried his cell, not just left a message on the apartment phone.
Except that Isaac’s parents called on Friday evenings, Ade’s mom called Sunday afternoons, Will’s sister Jenna on Tuesday mornings, and Isaac and Ade on Monday evenings if they could, or sometime Saturday if not. No one called on Thursdays, because Thursday was the day Will came home and crashed out, the only day he could actually sleep through the night, exhausted from the day.
It was probably a telemarketer, or their landlord. It was probably nothing.
And whatever it was, it wasn’t going to change, no matter how long Will stood and watched the light blink.
He took a deep breath, reminded himself firmly that he was being ridiculous, and hit Play.
“Hey, Will.” Isaac, sounding warm and pleased and not at all like he was calling with bad news. Will breathed again, relief flooding him so fast he felt shaky with it. “Sorry we missed you”—in the background, Ade said something Will couldn’t catch—“but we wanted to tell you…. The unit’s being recalled, just heard it this morning. We’ll be stateside early next week. They’re confirming the exact date tomorrow. So—”
A brief scuffle, then Ade’s voice picked up: “So change the sheets, clean the bathroom, get rid of any one-night stands, you know, the usual.” There was a beat of silence. Then Ade said softly, “We’ll see you real soon, babe. We miss you.”
Another moment of silence, then the click of the connection ending. Will restarted the message before the automated voice could get a word in and closed his eyes, just letting the words flow over him.
We’ll be stateside early next week.
We’ll see you real soon, babe.
IF WILL focused on just the horizon, he could almost imagine they weren’t in an active combat zone and that the bright sun and baked roads were some spur of the moment vacation spot the three of them had picked.
Well, if he also ignored the radio chatter, the way they were bouncing around the vehicle, the automatic weapon in his hands, and how ridiculously overheated he was under his Kevlar.
Next to him, Isaac turned away from the road for a moment. His mouth moved, framing what was obviously meant to be a joke from the bright smile in his sharp, pale face, but there was too much noise, and Will couldn’t make anything out. He grinned back anyway, just enjoying a moment of looking into Isaac’s clear blue eyes and wanting to touch.
Isaac tipped his head, mouth moving again—something about Ade, then, in the vehicle behind them. They were due back at camp a couple of hours before dark, and tomorrow had no patrols scheduled. Maybe they could hitch a ride into town with someone, just get out of camp for an hour or two. Will turned back to the road, now lined with the occasional empty shop and abandoned car.