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Feeling reassured, Lauren took a bite, then
another. “These are good!”

He chuckled. “You sound surprised.”

“I am. Is that cinnamon in the eggs?”

“Yep. You like it?”

“I do! Never would’ve thought to do that.
But yeah, I like it a lot.”

They finished their breakfast and added the
morning’s dishes to those from the night before to the dishwasher. Lauren
stretched and looked regretfully at the clock.

“I didn’t expect to spend the night. I’m
afraid I have an appointment this afternoon I need to get to.” She didn’t
volunteer what the appointment was and felt relief when he didn’t question her.
In fact, she didn’t have an appointment. Yet. But she would. After the last
twenty-four hours? Yes, she definitely would be making an appointment.

“Let me get your clothes. Did you want to
shower here?”

Lauren shook her head. “No, it’s okay.”

John disappeared up the stairs and Lauren
fidgeted in the kitchen. Was she supposed to follow him? Or was he bringing her
things down from some hidey-hole she shouldn’t see? Damn, but this kind of
relationship made for a ton of questions.

He brought her things and she dressed in
front of him, feeling almost as disconcerted as she had when she’d undressed
the day before. Had it really only been one day? So much of her life had
changed in such a short space of time.

“There’s a reenactment this weekend,” he
told her as she dressed. “It’s huge. We’re in the midst of all the one-hundred
fiftieth anniversaries of all things Civil War.”

“Wow. That war seems so long ago. Hard to
believe it’s only been a hundred and fifty years.”

“This weekend is Antietam.”

Lauren paused, her fingers stilling on her
blouse. The way he dropped that name, the heavy sound of his voice, she didn’t
know much about the battles of the Civil War, but apparently that one had
significance.

When she looked at him, clearly not
understanding, John explained. “Antietam was the bloodiest battle of the war
with the highest number of Americans killed in a single day, ever.”

She gave him a skeptical glance as she slid
her feet into her sandals.

“Remember,” John’s voice was soft, “every
man who died in that battle was an American.”

Lauren now understood. “Brother against
brother, neighbor against neighbor. All of them Americans.”

“It’s right that their deaths are
commemorated.”

“By reenacting the battle where they died?”
She knew she sounded skeptical.

“Yes.”

That was it. No apology, no explanation.
Just “yes” as if that were enough reason for him to be there. Lauren gave him a
level gaze as she assessed his answer. Anyone else and she’d challenge him with
the “boys playing war” argument.

Except there was something in John’s stance
that brooked no argument. And something in his eyes she hadn’t seen before. For
a moment, he wasn’t there with her. He’d gone somewhere else.

But then he smiled and the ghost that
haunted him disappeared. “What do you say? You think you’d like to come along?”

“I thought women stayed home and did
laundry while their men were off fighting.”

“Most did. Some came along and lived
outside of camp.”

“Camp followers?” She swayed her hips
suggestively.

“There were those too.”

Lauren laughed and picked up her purse.
“Don’t have a period saloon-girl outfit.”

“There were nurses there as well, you
know.”

She stilled. “Clara Barton started at
Antietam. Almost got killed doing it.” She turned to face him. “I do know a
little of my nursing history. And I’m not going as a nurse.”

He pulled her into his arms. “I’d love for
you to join me this weekend. But I won’t push. Think about it.” He kissed her
and Lauren wanted to say yes right then and there. But then he pushed her
toward the door. “Give me a call later.”

“Will do.”

He walked her to the car and closed the
door for her once she was inside, then waved to her as she drove away. Humming
a little to herself, Lauren couldn’t wait to get home. A few blocks from his house,
she pulled over and took out her cell. Scrolling through the numbers, she found
the one she wanted and clicked “send”.

“Hello, I’d like to make an appointment
with Dr. Butters for this afternoon if possible. Yes, I was a patient of his a
few months ago, but I wasn’t ready to talk about what happened to me over there
then. Yes, I am now. Excellent. I’ll take the cancellation and see you shortly.
I’m ready.”

I am very much ready now
, Lauren thought to herself. Time to take care of her demons.

That evening, Lauren couldn’t figure out
why it had taken her so long to go see Dr. Butters. She felt so much better for
having talked to him. He’d helped her to understand her PTSD wasn’t a curse or
a weakness of her own spirit, but an honest and true reaction to the terrible
things she’d witnessed. For the first time in months, Lauren felt like the sun
might be rising rather than setting on her life.

She almost called John then thought better
of it. He definitely played a part in her renewal but she needed to do this for
herself. Her friends too would play their own part, and in fact, already had by
making her a part of the gang again. She had initially felt like an outsider
with them and had attributed that to the fact that she’d been gone and they’d
moved on. Now, however, she understood that wasn’t the real reason. Only part
of it was her inability to tell them of the things she had seen and done over
there. The rest of it had to do with their relationships with their husbands.

But now Lauren had been initiated into the
world of BDSM and that drew them closer together. As to her experiences
overseas, those she would continue to shield from them. She’d gone through all
that so they wouldn’t have to. That was something Dr. Butters had helped her to
understand. Knowing she’d played a part in their protection gave her a warm,
fuzzy feeling.

As to the reenactment, Dr. Butters helped
her put that in perspective as well, although her decision to go had more to do
with the ghost in John’s eyes than the good doctor’s words.

As Lauren climbed into bed that night, she
smiled into the darkness. She’d done a lot more smiling in the few short weeks
since meeting John than she had in several years. Rolling over, she tucked
herself into the tight little ball she always formed for sleep, but then
purposefully stretched her legs and rolled onto her stomach. Dr. Butters had
warned her old habits would be hard to break. She might as well get started on
breaking this one right away. With a deep breath and a sigh, she fell asleep,
her body taking up far more room than it had in years.

* * * * *

“So besides a sleeping bag, a tent and a
cookstove, what else do you need?” Beth balanced the baby on her hip as she
pulled a neatly rolled thermal sleeping bag from the storeroom closet.

“I figure we’ll be camping out the entire
weekend, starting late Thursday night. I’ve got clothes enough and John says
there’s a Laundromat in town if we need it.”

“You staying in a campground or out on the
field?”

“Campground. John’s friend, Will, has
offered to share his RV with us, but we thought a tent might give us
more…privacy.” Lauren couldn’t hide the silly grin that had been with her since
talking with John that morning. Okay, so maybe going off to watch grown men
play at war wasn’t exactly the most romantic weekend getaway, but when the man
was John McAllen, how could it be anything but wonderful?

Beth laughed and handed the baby to Lauren.
“Oh girl, you have it bad.” She turned her attention to her infant daughter.
“Auntie Lauren is learning just how much fun it is to be a bad girl and she’s
going to have a wonderful time this weekend.” She dropped her voice and gave
Lauren a knowing look. “If Big John keeps her tied up, that is.”

“Beth!”

Her friend laughed, hoisting the sleeping
bag in one arm and a small bag in the other. “These are the tent stakes,” she
explained. “I assume you remember how to put up a tent?”

Lauren shook her head and followed her
friend into the kitchen. “I did just get out of the Army, you know. Tents are
still the default housing for troops on the move.”

“Well, this ain’t no Army tent. And it’s
big. You’re probably going to need a camp site all to yourselves. The tag says
it sleeps eight, but we’ve found the four of us fit quite nicely.” She dropped
the bags on the floor and took Emily from Lauren’s arms where she had been
intent on pulling every lock of Lauren’s hair just in case any of them weren’t
attached.

“You know,” Beth informed her as she pried
loose Emily’s fist from Lauren’s tresses, “you can tell her not to do this.
She’s starting to understand the word no.”

“Oh she wasn’t hurting. My scalp could use
a good massage.”

“So you’re leaving Thursday, coming back
on…Monday?”

“That’s the plan.”

“You ready for this?”

Lauren heard the underlying question in the
seriousness of Beth’s tone. She nodded. “I’ve been to see Dr. Butters.”

Beth stopped mid-motion, Emily half-in,
half-out of the swing she would outgrow in another few weeks. She looked over
at Lauren. “The Army psych doc?”

“Yep. We had a very good conversation
yesterday.”

Beth straightened and gave a satisfied
smile. “It’s about time.”

“I know. John asked me to go to the
reenactment with him and I knew I had to deal with my PTSD before I could say
yes.”

Beth’s eyes narrowed. “You do realize one
session with a therapist isn’t enough to cure what’s going on inside your
head?”

Lauren waved her hand in dismissal. “I know
that, I’m not stupid.” She smiled. “But I am in love.”

Beth shrieked and gave her a huge hug. “I
was hoping I’d hear you say those words. I’m so happy for you, Lauren!”

“It’s a weekend, Beth, not a marriage
ceremony.”

“But you love him.” She stopped as a
thought occurred to her. “Does he love you back?”

Lauren couldn’t stop the laugh and didn’t
want to. “Beth, that’s so junior high!”

“Well?”

Her grin deepened. “Yes, he loves me back.”

“Oh this is so great. I mean, going away
for the weekend was good. You need it. A chance to go away with a gorgeous hunk
of male? Even if he is dragging you to a pseudo war zone…” Beth stopped talking
long enough to put the milk bottle she’d been preparing into the baby’s hands,
who eagerly tipped it up and fed herself. Lauren took the chance to get a word
in before Beth continued.

“And I’m ready to face the ‘pseudo war
zone’ as you call it. I know none of it is real.”

If her friend had any further misgivings,
she wisely kept them to herself. Giving Lauren another hug, she pointed to the
garage. “Tent’s out there in a big blue rayon bag. Long and skinny. Go put it
in your car.”

“You’re the best. Thank you, Beth.”

Both women understood Lauren thanked Beth
for more than the loan of a sleeping bag and tent. With a playful swat, Beth
sent her on her way and Lauren loaded up her car with a light heart.

* * * * *

Her good mood lasted all the way through
packing her Army duffle, even though she had to stop once to deal with some
unpleasant thoughts. Afterward she felt quite proud of herself. In the past,
she simply would’ve shoved the bag back into the closet, put on some music to
drown out her memories and fallen asleep on the living room sofa.

This time, she sat back on her heels,
letting the memory play. As if watching from a point of view that was both hers
and not hers, the events unfolded before her…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

She could feel the gritty nature of the
air, from sand that never seemed to stay on the ground. Her shirt stuck to her
back in the ever-present desert heat that surrounded the Humvee. The incredible
brightness of a sun unfiltered by trees made her squint.

And the sounds. She flinched when the
explosion came as the truck in front of them blew apart into thousands of tiny
shards. She braced herself on the dashboard as their Humvee stopped and was
already half out the door before the driver had it in park.

A small knoll of sand and rock jutted up
about thirty feet from the road. She ran to it, hearing the feet of her fellow
nurses behind her. They’d been on their way to Mosul, called in to help with a
large number of casualties. They were a medical convoy with the bright red
cross prominently marked. Why had they been attacked? They were there to help…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

With a start, Lauren pulled herself back to
the present. She’d been so young when that happened. In Iraq what? Six months?
Maybe seven. They’d lost five people that day. Once it was determined to be an
IED and not an RPG, they’d gotten back in their vehicles, detoured around the
smoking remains of the front truck and continued on their way. Others would be
by later to clean up. Right then their mission lay in Mosul.