Fire In His Eyes (22 page)

“Hi, work is good.  Good kids this year.  I have three honors classes and an AP class which means a lot of papers to grade at night.  It’s all good, though, it keeps me busy.  No marathon, though.  I have not seen anything close enough to do around here.  But, it is something to think about.  I will eat more carbs, too.  Good idea. I am glad you like working back at the base.  Stay safe, though, okay.”

On Tuesday,
he left this message;

“Hey, Monica. It sounds like you have great classes even if it is extra work.  There is a marathon
at the end of next month, every year in St. Pete.  I think it’s a half marathon or a 5K just for women.  I am doing PT again, so really just training the young guys, new recruits, and keeping the old timers in peak performance.  I don’t think they would send me back to Iraq, though, unless it was an emergency.  You never know, but don’t worry about that, okay. Bye.”

Tuesday night at midnight I called him.  This is what I said;

“Hi Victor.  The marathon sounds interesting.  I will check into it.  About Iraq, I can’t help but worry.  I worry about all the guys there.  Some of my students have been sent.  So, I would worry about them and you.  Bye.”

Wednesday the message waiting for me was;

“Monica, tomorrow is Thursday, I have some time.  Can I see you?”

My stomach lurched.  I could not go down this road with a married man, could I?  What had I been doing all week, I asked myself.  Had I been flirting with a married man, or just checking on an old friend, and lover?  I felt sick to my stomach.  My mind had told me the latter, but my heart knew it was the former.  He had a daughter who wanted a mommy and a daddy.  Her mommy and daddy.  If I took that from her, ruined the relationship she had with her father, she would hate us both, he would hate himself, and he would come to hate me.  I could not do this to a child, an innocent young girl who had no clue who I was.

At midnight, I called.  I left this message;

“I don’t think so, Victor.  Goodbye.”

He didn’t call for a week.

It was a Wednesday, when I got the next message from Victor. 

“Hi Monica.  I should have not just said it like that.  I think you took it wrong.  I wasn’t trying to pick up where we left
off.  I wouldn’t do that to you again. I care about you still you know, like a really good friend.  I want you to be happy.  I want . . . to see for myself you are really okay, okay?  I just need to know. I want you to see I’m okay, too.  Let’s talk.  Have a cup of coffee together.  It can be in public.  Outside.  In the daytime. Wherever you choose. I’m free this weekend.  Think about it, okay.  Call me any day, before midnight. No more games.”

No more games?
What was that supposed to mean?  He wanted me to call and really talk to him.  I couldn’t do it.  But yet, I wanted to see him.  I was desperate to see him.  Could I see him and not want to wrap my arms around him, not want to rip his clothes off?  Could I sit across the table from him and not want to crawl across it and sit in his lap and cry like a baby?  Or would I hold on to him, and never let him go?

I thought about
it for two days.  Two torturous days. Two sleepless nights. I was going back and forth.  Maybe, I needed to see him one more time for closure.  It had been nearly four months.  I could do this, couldn’t I?  When I got home on Friday, I would do it.  I would call him.  I chickened out, but after playing with my food at dinner, hardly touching it, I broke down and called him.

“Hello,” Victor said tentatively.

“Hi Victor.  It’s me, Monica,” I said.  I was nervous.  I hadn’t even made up my mind if I would meet him, but the temptation just to hear him had been so strong.

“I know
, silly.  I saw your name on the caller ID.  I didn’t think you would call, but I am glad you did.”  He chuckled.

“Yeah.  Me too,”
I lied as my heart thundered in my chest. I was scared to death.  I still wasn’t sure I could see him again.

“So, things are good, right?” he asked
curiously.  His voice was so casual.

“Yes, things are good this year at work.  You?”  I asked.

“Better than good, at work.  It’s like I never left.”  There was an awkward silence.  Neither of us knew what to say.  “So, can you do coffee?  Tomorrow?  I am free all weekend, so . . .,” his voice trailed off.

“Umm, yeah, I guess I can,”
I stammered.  My head was spinning.

“You sure?
” he said.  He must have heard the hesitation in my voice.

“Yeah . .
. umm, I’m okay,” I stalled, then added, “How about the Barnes and Noble over there on Del Mabry.  I need to get some AP study guides for my students and we don’t have one over here.  So I can kill two birds with one stone,” I offered. 
Phew, made that one sound good on the fly.
  I did need some new study guides for that class anyway, even though they sold them at Books a Million nearby, but Victor wouldn’t know that.

“Yeah, that’s close for me.  No problems.  I think they open at nine,” he suggested.

“Umm, let’s make it for eleven, okay?  I want to get my run in, and stuff.” I knew it would only prolong the inevitable, but I wanted to set the terms, the time.

“All right then.
I can do that. I’ll see you tomorrow, Monica,” he murmured.  Had his voice gotten huskier?  Or, was that my imagination playing tricks on me?  My mind swam, cloudy with confusion and emotional turmoil.

“See you tomorrow
, then,” I echoed Victor’s words and quickly hung up.

I sat on the edge of my chair, the phone still cle
nched in my hand.  Crap, crap, and double crap.  What the hell was I doing?  How could I put myself through this? What the hell was wrong with me?  I tried to tell myself it was just to be sure he was okay, too.  But, I knew that wasn’t it. It wasn’t it at all.  I must be a sadist, I thought, because I sure as hell liked inflicting pain.  On myself.

I woke up feeling nauseous, and I had hardly slept at all.  I crawled out of bed, and went to the bathroom and puked my guts out.  I was a fucking idiot.  Who was I kidding?  Not me.  Maybe him.  I rinsed my mouth, brushed my teeth, and sipped a little water, foregoing coffee on my sour stomach.  I went back to my room, and put on some shorts, and a t-shirt and went for my run.  My daily runs consisted of the streets within my neighborhood.  I had used the car to plot my route, increasing it as my stamina increased.  My new eight mile route took me out of my neighborhood, and included some nice hills for the strengthening of my calves, butt, and hamstrings.  It was a great workout and always made me feel better when I was done.

When I got home it was a little after eight.  Instead of a shower, and to kill some
time, I took a bath instead, soaked a bit, and shaved my legs.  By nine, I was dressed and ready to go.  I didn’t want to look fabulous, draw attention to myself or anything, but didn’t want to look like a pathetic loser.  So, I selected a pair of faded jeans.  A little loose, since I had lost maybe fifteen pounds, I didn’t know, but something like that, since Victor and I broke up. I matched it with a loose peasant top that I thought looked kind of Soho.  Well, it was a style anyway I told myself in the mirror and shrugged.  I did not straighten my hair.  I left it wavy, the humidity was pretty much gone in November, but I did blow it out just and used a little mousse in case it got hotter and started to frizz.

I forced myself to have a piece of toast, and glass of apple juice. 
The toast would settle my stomach.  Having nothing in it made the nausea worse so I ate the dry toast and sipped the juice slowly to help it go down. At nine-thirty I was twiddling my thumbs, so I got my keys, and went.  I would drive slowly, have time to buy my books before he got there, and be seated with a pile of manuals between us for protection in the coffee shop.  Good, I had a plan and felt a little safer.

But
, despite my planning, I got there at ten-thirty and saw his car already in the parking lot; he was standing out front looking exactly the same as I imagined.  He, too, wore faded jeans, and a navy t-shirt, with an Army logo on it.  He smiled when he saw my car pull in the lot, began to approach, and no sooner had I stepped out of the car or even knew what was happening, he wrapped me in a bear hug.  “It’s so good to see you, Monica.  I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

“You too,” I uttered into his shirt.  He smelled so good, and I couldn’t help but inhale.

Then while still holding me, “You’re skin and bones, what the hell,” he said in shock as he let me go, bent slightly at the waist, and reached out to put his hands around my waist as if to measure me.  I pulled back quickly stepping into my still open car door.

He straightened,
and shook his head in apology, “Sorry, I . . . uh . . . shouldn’t have done that, umm, let’s go inside.”  He indicated the front of the store.  I moved out of the way of my door, shut it and began to walk.  He walked beside me to the entrance and held the door open for me. 

“
You look good, though,” I murmured rather lamely.

Once inside, the bright
sunshine from outside left us a little blinded with the muted lighting and décor of the bookstore.  He peered around and indicated the coffee shop in the back.

“Oh, there
it is,” he said as he pointed to the small tables and chairs set up in the rear of the store for customers to peruse titles before making a purchase. Butterflies flapped in my stomach. His touch earlier had made me feel faint, and the scent from his skin brought so many memories rushing back.

I needed a moment to regain my equilibrium
. And to catch my breath, clear my head.  “You go,” I said and he gave me a puzzled look.  “Order me a coffee.  You know how I like it, right?  I want to get those manuals so I don’t forget, okay?”

“Yes
, I remember how you like it,” he muttered.  “Go on. Get your books.”  He had sounded so disappointed like he knew I was evading him for a few more moments.

I took as much time as I dared.  I bought twelve
study guides, one for each student.  These would make a great barrier on the table.  No accidental hand touches, no reaching across the table.  I paid for the books, brought the bag with me and headed to the coffee shop; I spotted him right away as he waved me over.  When he saw my load, he quickly got up, and pulled over an extra chair, so I could put my purchases on it.  So much for protection, I thought grimly.  He took the bag out of my hand, oops accidental touch, and electricity to boot. The butterflies were back. I let go quickly, trying to not let on to what I felt.

“Huff, that was heavy. Tha
nk you,” I slunk into my chair trying to act nonchalant.

“I can take them to the car for you,” he made to get up just as he was sitting down.

“No, no that is not necessary,” I ushered him back into his chair.  He sat back down slowly.  I was a bit relieved to see he looked just as nervous as I was.

He repositioned his chair moving it a bit closer so that we weren’t sitting directly across from each other at the small café table.
“Okay, but I will take them out for you when you are ready to leave.  Is that all right?” he asked.

“Sure, that would be nice.”  It was easier to
agree to let him take the books out for me then the thought of him watching me lug them out, walking like I was drunk or lopsided because of the weight of the books.  Or worse yet, have my pants fall down around my ankles because they were incredibly loose, with him watching.

He smiled then
giving me a sympathetic look.  “So, I got you your coffee.  Two Splendas, and low-fat milk,” he paused and then added, “I, er . . . I also got you a muffin.  Hope you don’t mind.”  His look was one of concern.

“Well, I did eat,
but I can pick at it.  Thank you.”  I didn’t want to insult him. He was obviously concerned about the weight loss and like my sister wanted to force me to eat more.

“Okay,
and you’re welcome.”  There was a long awkwardness between us.  It had been four months since we had seen each other, well maybe a little less for him, and we just didn’t know what to say to one another now that we were here. We both just looked at each other, and smiled. Victor eventually broke the silence after clearing his throat, “So I am glad you came.” Pause. “This is so awkward, isn’t it,” he laughed.  “Let’s just call the elephant in the room what it is.”