Something Like Normal(19)

“I’m fine,” I said. “I just need to go buy a brand-new Mustang and shack up with a stripper.”

Peralta laughed, because we’d just finished sitting through a two-hour stand-down on money management—basically, that we shouldn’t throw it away on expensive cars, blow it at the casino, or marry girls who would spend it all and dump us for another Marine. Thing is, I wasn’t sure what he was saying. Did he want me to see a shrink? And what would happen to me—to my career—if I did?

“You’re a good Marine, Travis, and I want to see you succeed,” he said. “So I strongly suggest you take two extra weeks beyond the two-week post-deployment leave to work things out.”

“Are you making this suggestion as a friend, too?”

“I’ll leave that up to you to decide,” he said.

I didn’t want to use that much of my leave—and I sure as hell didn’t want to come home—but it was an order wrapped in a suggestion. And I respected Peralta too much to disobey.

I pull into the parking lot at the Waffle House, one of the few all-night places in town. I go inside and Harper is standing behind the counter, wearing a gray uniform shirt and black apron. Her hair is scraped up in a knot. When she sees me, her eyebrows pull together for a second before her lips stretch into a fake smile. “Hi, welcome to Waffle House.”

“You work here?” I sit on one of the stools. There’s a button pinned to her apron that says If I had half a mind I’d still be twice as smart as you.

She rolls her eyes. “No, idiot, I just wear the shirt so I can get free food.” I laugh as she reaches across the counter and plinks my forehead. It’s a playful gesture. A welcome change from punching me in the face. “Are you stalking me, Travis?”

“What? No!”

Her eyebrows lift as she crosses her arms over her chest—as if she doesn’t believe me—but she doesn’t look mad. “You’ve shown up where I’ve been four times in the last three days.”

“Completely coincidental,” I say as she puts a coffee cup on the counter and fills it from a full pot. “Except, you know, for the time I showed up at your house, but that was more like… unintentionally intentional. The question is, do you mind?”

She ignores me. “Are you going to order?”

“Let’s try the All-Star again.”

“Over easy with bacon?”

I grin. “Aw, you remembered.”

She flips me off, calls my order to the grill cook, and turns back to me. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Eating at Waffle House?”

“No, I mean tonight tonight,” she says. “After you go to sleep and wake back up again.”

Not really sure where she’s going with this, since I’ll probably stay awake, but whatever it is, I’m game. “Anything you want.”

“Anything?” The way she smiles makes me wonder what I’ve just agreed to do. “Perfect. I’ll pick you up at nine p.m.”

“So what are we doing?” I ask, glancing into the backseat of the Land Rover. Lying across the seat is a small shovel, along with a black plastic tarp and a flashlight with a piece of red film covering the lens. “Burying a body?”

Harper throws a devious smile in my direction. “Maybe.”

So fucking cool.

“We’re nest-sitting.” She hands me a large foam cup of coffee.

“What does that mean?”

“Well, we’re in the middle of sea turtle hatching season,” she explains. “It’s been fifty-five days since this one particular nest was laid, so tonight should be the night.”

I’m not an especially romantic person, but when a beautiful girl invites a guy to the beach at night, sea turtles are not usually involved. Also, this is not something I’d have expected from Harper. “So we’re… helping?”

“In a sense. We give them as many advantages as we can without disturbing the natural process,” she says. “I brought you because I figured you’d be good at digging.”

Marines carry small folding shovels called entrenching tools. E-tools, for short. We use them to dig holes for sleeping, burning trash, fighting, and taking a dump. So, yes, I am very good at digging. “That the only reason?”

She gives me a tiny bit-lip smile that knocks the wind out of my chest. “Maybe.”

On the way to the beach, Harper explains that I’ll dig a trench from the nest to the water while she sets up the tarp. It’s attached at intervals to wooden stakes so it can be positioned around the nest and along the trench. A funnel to keep the baby sea turtles pointed in the right direction and keep away raccoons, crabs, and anything else that might want to eat them.

“So how long have you been turtle-sitting?”

“A couple of years,” she says. “I’m planning to study marine biology.”

It’s tempting to make a joke about Marines and biology, but her smile says this is important to her, and I don’t want to ruin it with a stupid joke. “That’s very cool.”

“What about you?” Harper presses a button on the CD player and Joe Strummer sings about redemption. “Do you think you’ll go to college when you’re done with the Marines?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’ve still got a lot of time left, so I’ve been thinking about doing the basic recon course.” Not sure why I’m telling her this, but it’s as if I can’t help myself. I swear, if anyone wants to torture secrets out of me, apparently all they have to do is put me in a room with her. I only joked about recon with Charlie, but now that I’ve told someone else, it feels even more like a real option.