The Girl He Knows (26 page)

Amazing people surround me. Men and women with permanent injuries, some visible and some not. People run on a prosthetic leg or even two, others sit in bikes using their upper body and arms to peddle. Next to them are their friends, spouses, and kids. It’s beautiful, wonderful, and crushing in the same breath.

I grab a coffee and a few pastries from my favorite French bakery and head toward the finish line to watch and cheer. As a therapist, I know of the struggles these individuals encounter on their journey of healing. As a girl in love with a Navy guy, I see a whole new possibility. This could be my life.

Could I go through this with Hank? My mind cannot even wrap around how difficult rebuilding a life would be, together. For better or worse you proclaim on your wedding day and this certainly adds perspective to “worse.”

As the last of the stragglers come through the finish line, I continue to cheer. When it’s over, I make my way to the event table and make a donation. It seems the very least I can do. The mood, the euphoria, and the camaraderie makes me hesitate to move away. But, the crowd is dispersing and I’m just a bystander.

I browse through a few stores, art shops, typical tourist shops with shells, sand dollars, and shot glasses, before I find myself standing in a collectibles store.

In the center of the store, a framed chalkboard hangs from the ceiling. Painted in bold orange letters are the words “Fears Erased Here Daily” and the numbers one through five are listed below that. Underneath the sign are more chalkboards with the same inspiration only in a variety of colors and next to those is a large five-tier stand of journals.

I like the sentiment. It calls to me, my new proverb. The idea of putting my fears down on paper, giving them a voice but not allowing their energy to sit and swell and consume, appeals to me on all levels.

I stand next to a lady who looks to be the same age as me, and she’s looking at the journals. She’s dressed in running clothes and her number is still pinned to her shirt.

I reach for a pretty, hardback book, decorated with minty-green chevrons, and flip it open.

“Oh, chevrons are pretty,” she says. “Too bad the pages aren’t lined.”

I didn’t even realize. “Is that bad?”

“For me it is. Especially if you plan on using it as a journal. I need the lines or else it will start to slant off the page.”

“Good point.” I put the book back and pick up a second hardback book, this time in floral.

She picks up one I hadn’t noticed. It’s decorated with a pretty paisley pattern and scrawled across the front is a different version of my new motto, “Fears Released Here Daily.”

“Hey, babe,” a guy behind us says.

We both turn, another runner stands a few feet behind us, holding a squirming toddler on his right hip. He’s got two prosthetics; one is an amputation below his left knee and the other is below his left elbow.

“Yeah?” my journal-seeking friend says as she holds the book.

“I’m gonna take baby girl outside to run around. She’s going to break something in here any minute now.”

“OK, I’m going to get this book and be right out.”

I watch them smile at each other. He turns and carries their daughter out of the store, making her laugh by blowing raspberries on her arms.

“That’s sweet.” I put the floral book back and pull out the last one with paisleys.

“Yeah.” She watches them leave. She looks lost in thought for a moment, then looks at me and whispers, “I’m thankful every day he’s alive.”

I don’t know what to say that won’t minimize such a statement. I’ll take Hank any way I can get him.

“I’m sure you are,” I say. “I watched the race, and it’s inspiring.”

“You know what he told me? Said he wouldn’t change a thing. Even knowing what it would be like going through it again.” She shakes her head as if reliving it and looks at me with watery eyes.

“I use these journals to let it go.” She pats the book. “Without these, I think sometimes I might lose my mind.” She laughs and holds the book close.

“Oh, listen to me getting sappy.” She grabs my arm in a light squeeze, I can tell she’s embarrassed. “Is your guy in the military?”

I don’t know what to call Hank. He’s not my boyfriend, yet. I go with the truth, “The guy I’m in love with is in the Navy. The military is a new world for me.”

I don’t know why two people who don’t even know each other are sharing such personal details. Maybe because it’s sometimes easier to talk to strangers.

“Don’t let this scare you.” She gestures to the crowd. “It’s not only this. It’s more. Most days are very much like your life right now.”

“How do you handle the worry?” I’ve noticed my worry level has increased enormously. Maybe it’s because we have so much unresolved. I hope so.

“You just do. The beautiful thing about living a military life is you treat each day as if it’s the last one before a deployment. You know, we, my husband and I, did a good job of enjoying each other before he was injured. Our lives take more work now but we are tackling this new adventure with the same premise. Don’t get me wrong, there are days when I need these little books more, but most days are like before. Don’t spend your time worrying about when he’s going or while he’s gone. It’s a waste of energy. He could be killed in a car accident tomorrow. Grab on to today.” She gives me a warm smile.

I nod in agreement. There are no truer words.

“Thanks.” I want to hug her.

“This paisley print is pretty, isn’t it?” she asks.

I look at the book I hold. The colors are shades of blue and green and it’s very calming.

“I’m a bit partial to the paisley,” I tell her. “It’s my name.”

“Wow, that’s cool. Now when I write in my journal I’ll think of you and smile.”

“I’ll do the same,” I tell her before we hug. “Thank you.”

She moves toward the register. “Oh, poo. Don’t thank me. If you come to the next 8K, look for me and say hi. I’m Andrea by the way.”

“It’s a deal. I plan on running in the next 8K,” I tell her. I happen to know it’s in Ft. Lauderdale in a few weeks and I already have the brochure in my purse. Josie plans on running it too, she just doesn’t know it yet.

“Fantastic. I’ll see you there.” She pays and wishes me well before she leaves.

I pick up a nice pen to go with my journal. After I pay, I find one of the small bistros for lunch and get an outside table.

I wonder what’s become of Hank’s friend who was wounded some time back. For all I know I may be running with him at the next 8K. I pull out my phone and send Hank an e-mail.

Hi, spending the day in St. Augustine. BOB says hi.

I include a selfie just for the heck of it.

While waiting for my food, I rub my finger over the embossed letters, “Fears Released Here Daily.” Yes, I’m afraid it might be too late for Hank and I, that he’s too hurt to overcome it. So that’s what I write. But I won’t accept that to be true, not yet anyway.

Maybe it’s the wine or the conversation with Andrea, the journal lady, but I know what needs to be done. The plan comes to me with such clarity it could be mistaken for a vision. I whip out my phone and with three simple taps of my finger, it rings in my ear.

“Hello.”

“Hey, Gigi,” I say. “I have an idea but I’m going to need your help.”

“Finally,” she exclaims. “It took you long enough.”

The sun peaks up over a clear blue sky as I navigate the Jacksonville morning traffic. The radio is off but I tap my hand against the side of my leg in anticipation. Three days ago, I met Gigi in Orlando and she gave me Hank’s house key. Today, I put it to use.

My phone rings through the car’s Bluetooth system and I fumble it, my fingers moist with apprehension. Gigi’s smiling face, with Hank’s same dimples, brightens the screen.

“Hey, you’re up early,” I say.

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep. I’m excited for you.”

“Really? Because I’m scared as hell.” I don’t doubt my feelings, just my powers of persuasion.

“You’ll do great. It’ll work out. Trust me.”

“You can’t be so sure. You didn’t see his face. I bared my soul and he walked out. He didn’t even look back. What if this doesn’t work?” This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation. My confidence comes and goes in small bursts. Gigi’s convinced me that he couldn’t have turned off his feelings for me already, and I believe her. But then I experience a tremor of uncertainty. Have I hurt him too much? Is it too late? What if it doesn’t work out like I have planned?

“Yeah, what if it doesn’t? But what if it does? Are you so afraid it might not work out you’re not willing to try? I might have a kid with ADHD. I might have a difficult delivery with this next one. I might—”

“All right, I get it.” I laugh.

“Anyway, I called to tell you nothing has changed. Mom e-mailed Hank yesterday and he’s still scheduled on getting in later this afternoon.”

“I guess it’s all systems go.” I rub my palms across the skirt of my navy-and-white sundress before reaching for a piece of gum in hopes of steading my nerves.

“Yippee,” she says and I picture her clapping in happiness and excitement.

“Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need luck. If in doubt, get naked.”

“Gigi,” I exclaim.

We laugh, though mine’s more from nervousness. Thinking about getting naked in front of Hank and being rebuffed, well, I’ll take that risk if it comes down to it. But I really hope it doesn’t.

“Did you get his favorite beer? How about the chocolate-covered strawberries?” Gigi asks.

“Yes, to both.”

“You know, I was thinking, you should take off your underwear. Maybe even your bra. Guys can tell right away if a girl doesn’t have on those things and it might work to your benefit.”

“I’m going to hang up on you now,” I say and park my car a few houses down from Hank’s, hoping to hide it among the cars lining the street.

“OK, but you call me if you decide to chicken out or something because that isn’t an option. Remember, you got this.”

“Yeah.” I try to sound convincing but it comes out weak.

“You got this,” she screams in my ear.

We laugh and say a quick good-bye. I put my plan into motion.

Waiting for Hank is less about prepping his house and more about prepping my nerves. I put the beer on ice in a fancy table cooler and set out cheese, crackers, and strawberries, licking the chocolate off my fingers. I move the cooler and food to the living room coffee table, then, move it back to the kitchen. While I wait—Hank’s window of arrival spans four hours—I change the ice out twice.

Gigi made me promise I would practice my speech in every room so I’d be as prepared as possible. I practice in the kitchen and in the living room. When I start it in his room it sounds stupid and I decide to scrap the idea. Maybe I should get naked and wait for him on his bed. I slip off my sandals and reach back to unfasten my dress. Nothing says I love you to a guy like sex, or so I’m told. But the thought of waiting, naked, for who knows how long is creepy, wrong. Only thing missing from this crazy picture is a bunny in a pot, on the stove, straight out of
Fatal Attraction.

I decide to wait in the living room and quickly refasten my dress. I forgo the shoes and walk to the kitchen to grab a beer. I’m passing between rooms when a key in the door makes the bolt turn with an audible
click.
I freeze. He’s early. Do I dash for the couch? Move to stand before the door? Where are my shoes? I turn in circles and freeze again when the door swings open and Hank tosses in his sea bag, shuffling in behind it.

We stare at each other. It’s only a guess as to what he’s thinking but I’m experiencing a rush of thoughts. He looks exhausted. Where are my shoes? This isn’t how I planned on starting this. Man, I love him.

“I guess you found my hide-a-key.” He steps back out the door and kicks over a rock. Damn Gigi. I bet she knew a key was there the entire time.

I shake my head when he looks at me and we say in unison, “Gigi.”

“Hear me out,” I say as I rush to him. I want to grab his hands, cup his face, or wrap my arms around his neck. I want to touch him but the wary look in his eyes and the heavy sigh falling from his lips stops me from going any further.

“I heard you last time.”

“Yes, but you didn’t listen. You didn’t see. I love you. I want to be with you. I want—”

“I can’t do this right now.” He shoulders past me.

“I’m not leaving until you listen to what I have to say.” I dog his footsteps, walking so close that when he stops at the kitchen, drops his sea bag, and turns, I bump into his side.

I mumble an apology and take a step back.

He pulls a beer out of my table cooler and twists off the top. He takes several long gulps and I survey his rumpled uniform, the stubble on his face, and the slight pink tint to his sun-kissed skin. Where did he go? Was he in danger? I suddenly understood the message Andrea had pressed upon me. Live everyday as if it’s the one before a deployment. Yes, the specifics matter but only so much as they provide knowledge. Specifics such as where he was or what he did aren’t as important as how we live the day, together.

He brings the beer down and meets my gaze, cocking a brow, “I don’t think there is anything you can say at this point.” He shakes his head and walks away.

“Hank,” I cry out.

He disappears into his bedroom. The shower turns on. I refuse to be dismissed so easily and chase after him.

“Hank,” I say again when I enter his bedroom. “Please.”

“Please what? I heard you.” He strips off his khaki shirt and white undershirt. He’s going about his business as if this is no big deal whatsoever.

“Tell me what you want from me.” I take a deep breath to steady my voice. I don’t want to cry but it’s inevitable. The tears are pushing against me, waiting to break free.

“I wanted it all. I wanted you to want me too. I wanted—” he says.

“I do want you. I’ve always wanted you but I’ve been too afraid. My mom lost the love of her life and it almost broke her. Losing you would be the same for me. Devastating.”

He looks me up and down. “You don’t look devastated.” He sits on the edge of his bed, kicks off his shoes, and tugs off his socks. I’ll convince him before he gets in that shower or by God I’ll follow him in there, clothes and all.