Authors: Kate Aster
For residents, this was a wonderful time,
a time when the streets weren’t crammed with cars, and local pubs were filled
with familiar faces. As a slow drizzle started to fall, Lacey and Mick ducked
into one of them and were immediately greeted by a few people they knew,
including one of Maeve’s neighbors and a pair of fresh-faced seniors looking
guilty sipping their beers. They quickly jumped off their stools, standing at attention
as Mick walked past.
“At ease, gentlemen,” Mick said, leading Lacey
to a table on the opposite side of the bar. He pulled out her seat for her. “You
sure you don’t want some dinner?”
“Just a drink is fine. I downed a
quarter-pound of fudge, remember?” Lacey shrugged off her wet jacket as she sat
down. “And you better not eat too much. I promised to make you spaghetti
tonight. Or are you trying to avoid my cooking?”
“Hardly. Just avoiding that rain.” Mick took
her hand and played lightly with her fingers, tracing with care along the
freckle on her right knuckle, the practical sheen of each fingernail, even that
tiny calloused bump on her middle finger that came from years of gripping a
pencil too tightly. She caught his brief, devilish grin.
“What?”
“Hmm?” Mick asked innocently.
“You were smiling.”
“Can’t I smile when I’m in the company of
the hottest girl in the pub?”
Lacey’s eyes glanced around them. “Not too
much competition out tonight, but I’ll thank you for the compliment.”
“I was actually just noticing how sexy
your hands are.”
Eyebrows raised, she cocked her head. “You
must be joking.”
Mick’s eyes locked on hers. “You still
have the whole weekend off?”
“Mmhm.” Her body hummed at the idea of an
entire weekend with Mick, free of appointments or open houses. Or funerals, she
thought as her grin widened. Taking a break from funeral crashing had
definitely been a good idea.
“Great. You’ll enjoy meeting Admiral Casey
tomorrow night.”
Her serenity evaporated at the reminder
that they would be having dinner with the visiting Admiral who might be able to
get Mick’s career back on track. How convenient that she had forgotten that. “Are
you sure you think it is a good idea for me to join you? I might say the wrong
thing.”
He took both of her hands. “Honey,
after seeing you work that crowd at the ball, I think the Admiral will be putty
in your hands.” He flipped over her hands and gently kissed both of her palms. “God
knows nothing else turns to putty in your hands.”
Lacey felt her temperature rise.
“Besides, I’m nervous as hell about it,
Lacey. I’ve always relied on my own accomplishments to build my career in the
Navy. I’ve never been one to pull strings to get where I want to go. This is
foreign territory for me. It will be good to have you by my side.”
It will be good to have you by my side.
Lacey played his words over in her
head as the warmth of his hands closed around hers again. With an ache in her
heart, she wished she could hear him say that every day for the rest of her
life.
***
Mick smiled when he opened his eyes, his
first gaze of the day resting on Lacey, still asleep at his side. He brushed
the hair from her face, and rested his hand on her cheek for a moment. She felt
warm. Too warm. Gently, he pulled the blanket off her shoulders.
A good breakfast was what she needed, he
decided, quietly rising from the bed.
By the time he returned with a breakfast
tray in hand, Lacey was half awake, a soft moan coming from her.
“Morning,” Mick said softly, sitting
beside her.
“Mick?”
“I brought you breakfast.”
“Not hungry.” She shut her eyes again. “I
don’t feel right.”
“You seem a little warm. I’ll get you a
cool rag.”
Mick found a fresh washcloth in the linen
closet and drenched it in cool water. He placed it on her forehead.
“Mom?”
“No, Lacey. It’s Mick. You must have a
fever.”
“Mick?”
“I’m right here, baby.”
“Don’t feel well. I should go home.”
“You’ll stay right here and I’ll take care
of you. I’ll be right back.”
Mick raced into the bathroom. He must have
a thermometer somewhere. He was mildly impressed to find one shoved into one of
several first aid kits he had collected over the years.
As a man who rarely got sick, he knew
nothing about treating a cold. If Lacey had a shrapnel wound, he was the right
guy to have around. Or a scorpion sting, or dehydration. Heat stroke. Dysentery.
Hell, he could even hook her up to a damn IV if she needed it, but he had no
idea what to do for a common cold.
He put the thermometer under her tongue
and watched the number rise to 104.3. Shit, that’s bad, he thought, reaching
for the phone.
“Hey, Maeve, it’s Mick. Lacey woke up
sick. … No, she’s not hung over. … Like a cold kind of sick. Or the flu. … Of
course, I won’t send her home like this. I wouldn’t want Bess to catch it
either.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m keeping her here, but I’m just not sure what
to do for her. I never get sick. … Yeah, I did. It’s 104.3. … Sure I’ve got that.
I’ll give her some. … No, I haven’t noticed any coughing yet. She’s breathing
fine. … Asleep. … She woke up a minute ago, but went back out again. She
thought I was her mom. … Yeah, cute, Maeve. That’s really funny. … Do you think
I should get her to the doc?”
Lacey murmured something, but Mick
couldn’t understand her.
“Okay, I’ll give her the pills and see if
that brings it down. … Yeah, thanks, Maeve. Try to dig up her doctor’s number
for me just in case it gets worse. They might have someone on-call. I’ll call
you in an hour or so.” He set down the phone.
“Mick?”
“Yeah, baby. I’m right here.”
“I think I’m sick.”
Mick couldn’t help but smile a little. “Yes,
honey, I think you are, too.”
“I should go home.”
“No way. I can take care of you.”
“But you have your dinner tonight with the
Admiral.”
“Don’t worry about that right now. Let’s
just get you better.”
“I should go home,” she repeated.
“It wouldn’t be good to expose Bess to
this,” Mick said, knowing that might be the only thing that kept her here in
his bed.
“Oh no. You’re right.” Lacey sighed, her
limbs relaxing into the sheets again.
***
Mick stayed watch over her nearly every
minute that day, listening to her quiet breathing.
He went downstairs to heat up some more
chicken soup and dialed a number into his phone.
“Sir, it’s Mick Riley, Sir. I’m sorry to
do this so last minute, Sir, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to cancel for
tonight. … No, Sir, I’m fine, but my girlfriend woke up with a high fever. I
wouldn’t feel right leaving her alone right now. … Many thanks for understanding,
Sir. I hope the opportunity arises again soon. … Yes, Sir. I will give her your
regards.” Mick laughed at something the Admiral said. “You’re absolutely right,
as always, Sir.” He set down the phone and stirred the pot.
Hours passing, Mick grew restless. He had
too much time to think, but couldn’t lose himself in a book and was too worried
the TV would wake up Lacey. He didn’t want to leave her side.
He was more of an action guy, he decided,
as he watched the sun drop lower in the sky.
Mick’s mind wandered to the simple
statement the Admiral had made. “Better take good care of her while you’re
stateside, so she’ll be waiting for you after you’ve been away.”
It was a nice idea, but just not possible.
Deployments were hardest on the people you left behind. Mick knew that from
seeing other couples and families suffer.
He couldn’t do that to her.
And how could staying together even be
possible? Lacey’s place was here, where she was building a career and had the
comfort of good friends.
It would nearly kill him to leave her one
day. He knew that now. But if he loved her, that’s just what he should do.
One day, he wouldn’t be the one to nurse
her back to health. Mick would be just a memory. Some other guy would be
sitting here with her. Some other guy would be the one to celebrate each time a
house sold.
Mick shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Some
other guy would make love to her. Hold her hand as they brought a new life into
the world. Grow old with her.
Mick was suddenly feeling sick himself.
He left the room, needing to breathe.
God, he loved her.
Leaning against the doorframe, he gazed at
the framed commissioning certificate in the hallway trying to remind himself of
what had been most important to him for more than a decade of his life. His
eyes rested on the Naval Academy watermark behind the stylistic writing and the
signature of the President of the United States at the bottom.
He looked at his own name printed on it,
McMurphy Ryan, named for his mother’s maiden name because she had insisted, his
father once told him. Mick wished he had known her better, had more than just
fleeting memories of her. He wished he could remember the love his parents must
have had for each other. Maybe then he’d better understand his feelings for
Lacey. Love was unfamiliar ground for him.
Was it easier for civilians, he wondered? Or
was it always this damn confusing?
Mick’s gaze wandered to a photo of the
first ship he served on, surrounded by signatures of his shipmates. Then to a
photo of SEAL Team Six before they left for his first deployment.
These were the images that should bring
him comfort right now, as he tried to rebuild his SEAL career. But they didn’t.
Instead he found himself looking at the
empty spaces on the wall and wishing he could fill them with photos of himself
and Lacey. He wondered what she’d look like on her wedding day or holding a
child in her arms.
Mick felt a tightness in his throat that
was nearly unrecognizable to him.
He went downstairs and grabbed the newspaper
off the coffee table and a beer from the fridge.
Looking around each room he passed, he
noticed with a sense of disgust that everything he hung on his walls had
something to do with the Navy. Even
Jack
had a photo of his sisters and
their kids on his desk.
But no, not Mick. God forbid he try to
balance anything else into his one-track life.
For a fleeting moment, he let himself
wonder if it might be possible for him.
He sat down by Lacey’s side again, and
flipped through the paper, careful not to rustle the pages too loudly. A flier from
a jewelry store fell out from the coupon section, packed with dazzling photos
of engagement rings. His eyes rested on it for a few seconds, and then he
laughed quietly at himself for even considering the idea.
Lacey stirred, and Mick set the paper aside
to rest his cool hand on her forehead.
“Mmm,” she murmured.
“Hey, baby.”
Lacey’s weak smile was dazed. “Mick? It’s
dark.”
“Yeah, you slept the day away.”
“Feel hungry.”
“That’s a good sign then. I’ll bring you
some soup.”
Lacey’s eyes flew open. “You’re supposed
to be at your dinner with the Admiral.”
“I’m right where I’m supposed to be,”
he responded easily, stroking her hair.
The realization struck him, and he heard
himself repeat it as though for his own reassurance. “I’m right where I’m
supposed to be.”
A 104 fever can’t be psychosomatic, can
it?
The thought drifted again into
Lacey’s mind several days later sitting in the office, still consumed by guilt.
Mick had been looking forward to that
dinner with the Admiral for weeks, and she had ruined it. He kept reminding her
that it wasn’t her fault she got sick. But of course, he didn’t know the absurd
fantasies she had about sabotaging the evening just so he’d stay in Annapolis.
Her shoulders slumped as she stared at the
dull gray wall that divided her cubicle from the next. She knew she would never
actually do anything to hurt his career. Oh, why hadn’t he just left her alone
to fend for herself?
She jumped with a start at the sound of
her cell, her daytime cold medicine putting her on edge. “Carolyn, I’m so glad
to hear back from you,” she answered, recognizing the number.
The older woman sighed on the other end. “I’m
sorry I was slow to call you back.”
“That’s all right, but we need to respond
to the latest offer on your property before it expires. I know you haven’t
lowered your price on the other two offers, but I strongly recommend you
consider it.”
“My son thinks that I’ll get full price if
I just hold out.”