Ask Me Again Page 6

  After fifteen minutes of frolicking, Sabine came back and stood astride my legs. She bent at the waist, leaning down to kiss me. “What do you want to do about dinner?” Sabine stole another kiss, lingering against my lips. She’d become overly demonstrative, as though making up for all those years we couldn’t be.

  I let the camera dangle around my neck and rested back on my hands so I could look up at her. “We can do whatever you want. We can cook, we can stay out and get something in the city or order in.”

  She nodded thoughtfully, knelt beside me and began to wind strands of my hair around her fingers. “Will you make dinner?”

  “Of course. What would you like?”

  Sabine hopped up again and began to pace around in front of me. “Your chicken puttanesca.”

  “Sure, I can do that.” It was the first thing I’d ever cooked for her, and though Sabine usually had something nice to say about my cooking, she’d never given any indication she was overly enamored whenever I’d made that dish again. I shielded my eyes against the low afternoon sun. “I’ll have to pick up a few things on the way home.”

  “That’s fine.” She suddenly stopped her pacing, gave me a devilish look and reached into her pocket.

  That expression made me suspicious, because it usually heralded mischief. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.” Sabine fished out her phone and held it up to face me. I heard the camera shutter clicking repeatedly. “You look so beautiful with the sun in your hair, that’s all.” She walked behind me and dropped onto the grass, sliding forward so she was pressed against my back with her legs along the outside of mine.

  I rested against her, letting my head fall against her cheek. Despite the cool breeze, she was hot from her gymnastic display, arms damp with sweat as they came around to encircle my waist. Sabine fidgeted, tapping my thighs with her fingertips before she brought her phone around in front of us, arm out to take a photo. I groaned. She knew I disliked selfies, unable to figure out the point of them.

  “Photo time, Bec.” She chuckled, her fingers now playing lightly over my ribs as I squirmed to get away from her threat of tickling.

  “Why? Come on, that’s not fair,” I complained, but I was already laughing.

  “Just one, babe. Please?” She was kissing my neck and tickling me, attacking me from all directions, trying to get me to submit. I stopped moving, hoping that playing dead would stop her. It didn’t. “Got you,” she whispered in my ear. Her hands came around the front again and she adjusted the phone angle, lifting it just above us. I smiled, and the camera sounded again a few times, finishing as she planted her lips on my cheek.

  “That’s more than one.”

  She laughed and wrapped her arms around my torso again, pulling me back against her. Her knees were bent, heels on the ground and she pressed her thighs inward to hold me in place. “I’m going to change all my social media settings to public and post a billion photos of us.”

  “Only a billion? Clearly you don’t love me as much as I thought you did,” I deadpanned.

  “Geez. Tough crowd. Three billion then.”

  We laughed together, her arms tightening around me. I placed mine over the top and let everything else fall away until it was just Sabine and me finally together with nothing else in the way. Quietly we watched birds pick worms from the grass and laughed at a toddler trying and failing to throw handfuls of grain for ducks, then panicking as the ducks swarmed around his feet.

  “Do you ever miss it?” Sabine asked out of nowhere.

  I twisted around to look at her. “Miss what exactly?”

  “Being in the Army.”

  The Army. A career stretching eighteen years and eleven deployments, with countless people under my command. When my aunt died, I’d decided I was a lifer—I would be in the military for as long as I could. There was no family to worry about back home and the lack of a stable romantic relationship didn’t bother me. I bounced around from medical centers stateside to the hospital in Germany, interspersed with deployments in Bosnia then Iraq and later Afghanistan.

  I had casual relationships that lasted as long as my time at home and I was comfortable with the life, couldn’t imaging changing it. Until I met Sabine when she reported at her first duty station, the old Walter Reed Medical Center, fifteen years into my career and just a few days into hers. She drew looks from people without realizing it, and she’d drawn mine almost from the start. The physical pull had been unexpected, unwanted and had brought about immediate panic because I’d never felt that kind of attraction to anyone I worked with. The fact I was her commanding officer only made it worse. The pull of her personality came soon after, and I wondered how the hell I was going to work alongside her without giving myself away.

  Not once in my career had I ever thought about crossing those lines—the clear line between superior and subordinate, and the even clearer line of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. With her, I thought about it nearly every day and hated my weakness. I’d make excuses to be near her, seek her out for an opinion on a case. Yet even as I did that, I would keep us apart during surgery because I couldn’t bear being so close to her and the unavoidable contact. Until the urge would overwhelm me and I would give in and assign her to my team.

  I’d heard her video calling with someone back home, someone who was more than a friend and I was consumed by jealousy. Then came the breakup, and her breakdown, and I was disgusted by the small swell of hope that nestled alongside my concern for her. The change between us had happened so quickly that there was no time to think, only act on everything I’d been suppressing.

  Would I change it if I could?

  I leaned back and rested my head on her shoulder. Sabine’s lips pressed lightly against my temple and I exhaled, relishing the closeness. I knew the answer to her question with as much certainty as I knew my own face. “Do I miss the Army? Sometimes I miss my friends and the camaraderie. I miss working with you. But I don’t miss not being with you.”

  Chapter Five

  Sabine

  Bec and I spent the rest of the weekend doing mundane things like grocery shopping, housework and watching television cuddled together on the couch. The four days felt like nothing more than a cruel teasing promise of our vacation once I’d finished with all the post-deployment stuff. By Sunday evening there was still nowhere near the easiness I’d expected for our reunion, and I couldn’t help wondering if the reason I felt so off was just that subconsciously I was still in a deployment mindset, waiting until I could really relax.

  Before I could test my theory, I’d have to spend the week at work being subjected to boring crap like psych and physical fitness evals, questionnaires and debriefs. To break the tedium, someone would start a betting pool, away from the eyes and ears of our bosses. We’d bet on two things—how long we’d be stateside before deploying again, and also where we’d be sent. I was going to put my money on Landstuhl, Germany, in seven months and thirteen days. It would be my final deployment before I officially finished my contract. Worth putting down at least a hundred bucks.

  Monday morning, I left early so I could hopefully beat traffic and find a parking space. I also wanted some time to familiarize myself with the grounds of my new duty station, though I’d already studied the map layout until I thought I’d go cross-eyed. I was the first person in the briefing room a little before 0800, and after a quick internal debate, settled five rows from the back in the fifth seat from the end. Thirty minutes until we began. May as well get a head start on a post-deployment questionnaire. Laptop resting on my knees, I logged in and brought up a health assessment form. Name, Social Security, DOB, Gender, Service Branch, Pay Grade, blah blah. I rushed through a few basic health questions until I got to the portion which was basically How physically and mentally damaged are you?

  Ever feel like you were in danger of being killed? Yes or no? I moved the cursor between the two, knowing full well the only reason I’d felt that was because of the PTSD. Not a real fear. I chose no.
Did you encounter dead bodies or people killed-slash-wounded? That was always a weird one, because seeing wounded people and unfortunately sometimes dead people is kind of my job. And dead people are usually the same as people killed. Yes. Did you receive care from combat stress? Yes…

  I kept scrolling, clicking answers and filling in details when they asked me to please explain. At least this time I could answer no to the questions about rocket-propelled grenade, vehicular accident, fragment or bullet wound. Good for me. One hundred percent injury free, unless I wanted to count banging my knees against the end of my bed nearly every time I got up to pee in the middle of a sleep cycle.

  Prescription medications? Zoloft, Valium. Have I been bothered by…no, no, no. Menstrual cramps—bothered a lot, please convene a committee to work on that. Noises in head or ears? Yes, some intermittent tinnitus. Becoming easily annoyed or irritable? I, well…a little, sometimes when things weren’t set up right in the OR. I blew out a breath. Pretty much all of my yes answers related directly to The Incident. Great.

  My coworkers were filtering in, and unlike me, seemed to take seats with no thought. Their noisy chatter filled the space and I distractedly returned greetings as I rushed through the rest of the questions. I closed the laptop and set it on the floor just as Amy dropped into the chair beside me. She stretched out her long legs until her feet disappeared under the chair in front. “I’m so fucking glad to be back at work,” she mumbled. “Four days and Ethan is already driving me insane.”

  I turned sideways, slinging my elbow over the back of the chair. “What’s up?”

  “Usual post-deployment shit. Won’t go to bed then won’t stay in bed. Won’t eat dinner. Won’t do his chores. Won’t listen to Rick or me. Talking back.” Amy rolled her neck, letting out a long breath. “He should settle down in another few weeks but I’m about ready to throttle him.”

  “Shit.”

  “Shit indeed. As in, he’s being a little shit. Anyways, screw talking about kids. This is my time away from the insanity.” She grimaced and grabbed my arm tightly. “God that sounds awful. You know I missed them, Sabs, God I did and I love them so much but it’s such an adjustment coming back to that crap. Though at least this time Rick and I are on the same page about how to deal with the misbehaving kid.”

  Shuffling back in the chair, I crossed my legs. Obviously I didn’t have a child acting out back at home, but coming back to a lover and your family had its own challenges. I let out a breath. “You’d think we’d have it all figured out by now.”

  Amy snorted a laugh. “As if.” She side-eyed me. “Things okay with you and Keane?”

  “Yeah, you know, kind of awkward but I think it’ll start getting better now.”

  “Everything good in the bedroom?” One of the things I adored about Amy was her utter lack of filters. If she wanted to know something, she asked and if she had something to say, she said it. Her intentions were so uncomplicated that I could never be upset with her, and she was right—a healthy sex life was…healthy.

  I smoothed my palm over my thigh. “I uh, we haven’t.” After a beat, I looked up. “I just don’t feel right, you know? Like I want to, but…”

  Amy bumped me with her shoulder. “Totally normal, love. Ugh, after last deployment I didn’t even want Rick to touch me. It was like coming home to a stranger and I was so fucking grossed out. This time he was treating me like a virgin until eventually I just had to tell him to get over it and do it because his pussyfooting around was freaking me out. Being away screws with your head.”

  “Don’t I know it,” I mumbled.

  “What’d I miss?” Mitch asked breathlessly, climbing over to settle on my other side and elbowing me in the process. I couldn’t tell if it was accidental or intentional. Probably the latter.

  “Nothing,” Amy and I answered simultaneously as Lieutenant Colonel Henry Collings, the CO who’d taken over Bec’s job, strode with his usual briskness into the room.

  The room quieted as Collings placed a stack of folders on the desk. He turned on the projector. “Morning, team! I hope you enjoyed your time over the weekend with family and friends.” Collings was no Lieutenant Colonel Rebecca Keane, but he was still a capable and compassionate leader. I liked him well enough, but I couldn’t deny that I missed the warm, safe feeling I’d always associated with having Bec around. Even before we’d been involved, she’d just made things easier.

  After a chorus of Good morning, Colonel and Yes, sir! he smiled and raised both hands. “Right, let’s get on with it so I can send you all off for some much-needed leave, and I can head on up to North Dakota for some fishing.”

  A low chorus of laughter echoed through the room. I opened my new notebook, clicked my pen and stared intently at my boss. Let’s get on with it indeed.

  * * *

  After lunch, on my way to my psych session, I snuck into a bathroom to check my uniform. Only after I’d spent one full minute making sure it was smooth and sitting symmetrically did I start toward the Behavioral Health services building. Almost unconsciously, I began to count my steps away from the building I’d just exited.

  One. Two. Three…

  Shit. No, no, no, don’t do that. But I’d already started and couldn’t stop now. Each footfall sounded dully on the concrete, the rhythm perfect. But I didn’t feel better for the regularity, I felt like shit because I couldn’t help myself and the insistent counting.

  …two hundred forty-one, two hundred forty-two, two hundred fort—

  Wait. I planted my feet, staring at the building in front of me. The bottom of the concrete stairs seemed roughly five feet away which would be about five steps plus the five going up to the door. Two hundred and fifty-three. That won’t do. If I did two huge strides before the stairs I could make it two-fifty.

  Two-fifty is an even number, a multiple of five, and also one quarter of one thousand. Or…if I did three slightly big strides before taking the five stairs it would make two fifty-one which is a prime number and that’s awesome. Two fifty-seven is also a prime number. No, that’s too many steps before the stairs, I couldn’t do that without looking really weird.

  I slid my tongue over suddenly dry lips, my posture rigid as I stared at the building, trying to rationalize with myself. The longer I waited, the greater the gnawing in my gut, but I just didn’t know what to do. Make a choice, Sabine. It’s not a goddamned life or death situation. What the fuck is wrong with you?

  The door swung open and an unfamiliar lieutenant jogged down the stairs, took few purposeful strides, then came to an abrupt stop when he saw me. He greeted me with a salute. “Good afternoon, Captain.”

  My right hand automatically found my brow. “Good afternoon.”

  “Taking a few minutes to enjoy the sun, ma’am?” he asked politely.

  I made myself smile. “Yes, indeed. Beautiful day.” My toes curled inside my boots and I lifted up on the balls of my feet as though I might stretch the tension from my body.

  “It sure is. If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I have papers to deliver. I hope you continue to have a pleasant day, ma’am.” He snapped another salute, waited until I’d returned it and dismissed him with a nod, then strode off again.

  I returned to my dilemma. After half a minute, I decided on two hundred and fifty. Yes, that’s a good idea, the number with the most going for it. No, wait. What if that’s the wrong choice? Why not just walk into the building like a regular person? But then all the counting would be in vain. I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly, trying to stop the thoughts tumbling around my head. Pinching the skin on the inside of my wrist, I chanted under my breath, “Bec, kittens, skiing, Bec in a bikini, grass.”

  Just move, Sabine. I took two regular steps forward, intending to just walk into the building—step count be damned. Intending to, until a wave of anxiety hit and I had to stop. Right on cue, pain lanced through my ribs under my right armpit, almost bending me in half. Stand up. Someone’s going to notice. Just walk. I sucked in a couple of quick breaths
and forced my feet to move.

  Two hundred and fifty.

  By the time I’d found the correct floor, checked in and taken a seat in the small institutional waiting room the anxiety had eased to an ignorable level. I nodded politely to the other six waiting who all looked as uncomfortable as I felt. A quick glance at my form listed Lieutenant Colonel Andrew Pace as my appointed shrink.

  Sitting ramrod straight with my hands curled into loose fists on my knees, I stared at the posters and mental health checklists on the walls. Same shit I’d been seeing since I’d first begun my therapy career. Stuff about PTSD, the importance of self-care, the onus is on you to report any mental health concerns, etcetera.

  “Captain Fleischer?” came the call in a calm tenor with a slightly twangy Midwest accent.

  I jumped up, brushed myself off and strode down the corridor. The guy in the doorway stared at me over the top of his bifocals, his pale blue eyes at once gentle and appraising. He was about my height, stocky with unruly brown hair just turning gray at the temples. He reached a hand toward me. “I’m Andrew Pace.”

  I shook it. “Good afternoon, Colonel.”

  Pace stepped aside to let me pass. “Come on in.” He closed the door then gestured to one of the seats against the far wall. “Please sit down. How are you?”

  Oh, just fine, all things considered. Like the fact I stood in front of this building arguing with myself about how many steps I should take in order to get inside. I pasted a smile on my lips. “I’m well thank you, sir.” I sat where he’d indicated and folded my hands in my lap. On the desk to my right lay a file with my name on it. Clearly doing your homework, LTC Pace.

  The chair beside me creaked when he lowered himself into it. “Wonderful. And how are you finding being home from deployment?” He settled the regulation shrink notepad on the arm of the chair, a pen held lightly in his hand.

  Straight into it. Typical. “It’s an adjustment as always, sir. It’s only been a few days, but I believe I’m coping well.”