Duty(34)

“It has, hasn't it?” she muses, and I see in her eyes the same feeling I have. I feel like I'm coming home after a long break, that something that's been missing is now here, and that I'm almost complete again.

Lance comes over, holding a box of microwave popcorn. “Can I, Mommy?”

Lindsey takes a look, then nods. “Okay. But we share.”

“Okay,” Lance says. “Can I walk now?”

“Stick next to the cart,” Lindsey says, and he dutifully grabs hold of the side of the cart, wrapping his fingers through the wire in a tight grip. We start off, circling to my left, heading back toward the eggs. She notices my uniform and nods in appreciation. “Air Assault and Ranger. You've got the full stack now.”

“When half my battalion is running around with a Combat Infantry Badge, my chest feels awfully empty,” I answer, realizing I'm talking about more than just my badges. Still, I'm in uniform. I have to change the subject. “How was Lewis?”

“The falls are a lot better than Bragg,” Lindsey says with a chuckle. “So do you still ride?”

I nod, understanding what she's doing. Bikes were always our safe zone. We could talk about them for hours. Gears, shifters, pedal arrangement and geometry—we could geek out safely about that no matter what. “You'd be proud of me. I'm riding a Specialized now too. Since I stopped doing tris, it's a bit of an expensive toy now, but I still get out and ride on weekends when I can. What about you?”

“She rides a lot!” Lance interjects, looking up at me. I look down at him and feel a wave of disbelief hit me again. His eyes . . . they're hazel. Like mine. And while it's a bit blurred with his little kid chubbiness, he's got a cleft chin. Like mine. “I get to ride on back.”

“Well that's gotta be good for the workout. Do you cheer your Mom on?” I ask, struggling to hold back the question that suddenly pops in my mind, and he nods. “Good. It's always better when you have a partner to ride with.”

I look up to Lindsey, who is smiling strangely, and I smile back, even though I want to say more. “He's well spoken.”

“Smart as a whip,” Lindsey says, ruffling his blond hair, so like his mother's. “Aren't you?”

“She says I’m named after Lancelot,” Lance declares proudly. “The knight.”

“I see. And how old are you, Sir Lancelot?”

“I turn four in Febooary,” Lance mispronounces, and I do the quick math. February birthday, almost four years ago . . .

“I . . . I see,” I tell him, looking up at Lindsey, panicked and a little bit pissed off. Am I? Her eyes are beseeching, and I shut my mouth. Obviously, if I am, the boy doesn't know. And frankly, this isn't the time or the place to talk about it. Instead, I give her a slight nod, reassuring her for now, even if inside, I'm about ready to go off. “So when did you pin your E-5?”

“Just before leaving Lewis,” Lindsey replies, relief in her voice and in her eyes.

“And now you're with the MPs?” I ask, seeing her nod. “I know someone over there.”

“Captain Lemmon?” Lindsey asks, and I feel like I've been kicked in the head again. “He's my CO.”

I nod, stopping my cart. We're at the eggs, and I help her get her damaged carton out of her cart, putting it in my basket before putting a replacement in hers. “Here, I'll pay the commissary for these.”

“Thank you,” Lindsey says, opening her mouth to speak again, but before she can, the PA system interrupts us.

“Attention, Commissary shoppers. The Commissary closes in fifteen minutes. Please finish your shopping and come to the front to check out as quickly as possible.”

Lindsey looks up, surprised, and I gulp. I know what she's thinking, and I don't want this to end. “Aaron, this has been nice, but . . .”

“Wait,” I say urgently, stepping closer. “We have a lot to catch up on . . . and things I think we need to discuss.”

“But . . .” Lindsey says, and I stop her, shaking my head. No, not this time. I won't let it happen again, especially with the suspicions running around in my mind.

“Four years ago, I made one of the worst mistakes of my life by walking away. I just want to talk. We can do that at least, right?”

Lindsey takes a deep breath, nodding. “Got a pen? You guys always do.”

I laugh and reach into my chest pocket, pulling out my notebook and pen. “They make us keep these things even in the shower.”

Lindsey laughs lightly and flips to an empty page, scribbling down a number. “Here. Call me tonight. After eight thirty, but before ten. Lance goes down around eight, and I think you want to ask questions I don't want to answer where he can hear. And I've got PT in the morning. I can't be staying up much past ten thirty.”

“Thank you,” I say, trying not to reach out and touch her. I'm upset, but still, seeing her perfect face right in front of me, I want her again. “I'll call you tonight. My cell.”

“In the meantime, I need to get some pasta unless he's eating microwave popcorn and eggs tonight,” Lindsey says, gesturing toward Lance, who's looking around like a normal three-year-old. “It . . . we'll talk later, Aaron.”