Purple Hearts(27)

“They’re not foodies, Cassie. They’re just hungry.”

After Cassie had picked me up in her Subaru, the entire car ride through suburban Austin had been a stream of criticism. Or “just questions I have,” according to Cassie. Why didn’t you tell me we were supposed to dress up? All the army wives are going to look like Jackie Kennedy, aren’t they? Do you guys think drone bombs are taking your jobs, or are you all for drone bombs? Do I salute, too? I had tried to answer her as best I could while the annoyance pressed on my chest. I didn’t realize tucking in my one button-up shirt was “dressed up,” I’d told her, and I didn’t know anything about drone bombs, I was infantry, and, no, for God’s sake, please don’t salute. I assured her we’d be in and out of there, then we’d follow them to the hotel near the airport that Frankie had booked for us and a few other couples, then we would be done.

Inside, Chili’s was full, loud, smoky from fajitas. A teenage hostess with a too large headset greeted us and held up a one second finger. We nodded.

“I’m just saying.” Cassie leaned close to me and muttered, “What about barbecue?”

I sneezed in response.

“Are you getting sick?”

“No, your perfume makes my nose itch.” Her car smelled like someone lit a match to a field of herbs. Not unpleasant, just spiky.

“I don’t wear perfume. Remember? I told you that at the diner.”

I hadn’t remembered. I was probably too busy being pissed about all the stuff she forgot. “Okay, then the smell of your car makes my nose itch.”

“Are you allergic to my smell?”

“No!”

Cassie was laughing. “I’m sorry,” she said. “The face you just made.”

I realized my jaw was pretty much wired shut. I tried to loosen it, took a breath, and said quietly, “Can you handle this?”

“Handle what?”

“This is the last impression people in my company are going to get of you and me in person. This is, like, our army moment. For an army marriage. So.”

“So?”

I was walking on the edge of pissing her off. A familiar place. “So. You know.”

“What?”

“Just, don’t ask them questions about drone bombs.”

“Dude.” Cassie gave me a relaxed thumbs-up. “I’ve been in relationships. Straight back, big smile, laugh at everyone’s jokes. I’m a pro.”

“And pretend you like me,” I added. My stomach flipped. I’ve heard couples say that to each other, but usually they were joking.

“Duh,” Cassie said.

She got quiet, biting her thumbnail, staring absently at one of those tacky black-and-white posters of Marilyn Monroe near the host stand. Reality was approaching. I sensed her nerves.

I nudged her shoulder. “Just pretend I’m that hot musician. Bon Iver.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “You don’t look like—”

“Father Jack Misty,” I tried.

“It’s Father John.”

“Father John Misty. Dressed like David Bowie. Holding a key-tar.”

“Now you’re just pandering,” she said. But she smiled.

We followed the hostess toward the back of the restaurant, where there was a large room behind French doors. I could hear a burst of laughter, and Armando came into view, a couple of pounds on him since boot camp had ended, and Gomez, her lips painted, and Clark with a red beard he’d have to shave off before we deployed. Then there was Hill, a corporal I barely knew, and his wife. And Frankie and Elena, gelled and crisp, looking like they were about to sign a lease in an ad for expensive condos. Empty pint glasses stood along the table. We entered to a burst of laughter.

“Nobody told him drills were over!” Armando was saying, pointing at Frankie, out of breath.

Clark noticed us and stood up, putting a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Morrow! And who’s this?”

The room got quiet.

“Hi, y’all,” I said.

“I’m Cassie, Luke’s wife,” Cassie said beside me.

“Luke’s wife?” Gomez asked, her eyes widening with surprise.

Cassie wrapped her arm around my waist. I hadn’t thought about this part. I was ready to eat mozzarella sticks, put my arm on the back of Cassie’s chair, point at her with my thumbs, and refer to her as “this one,” like I’d seen friends’ dads do. I wasn’t ready for their shock. Nor for the possibility that shock might morph into disbelief. You’re going to blow it. And even if you did blow it, no one would care. None of these people know you. They don’t care about you. They’ll turn you in. A bump of Oxy would have really mellowed things right then. I pushed the thoughts away.

“When did you get married?” Gomez gasped.

My veins pumped. Cassie looked at me with dewy eyes, squeezing. Ouch. I swallowed and said, “A couple days ago.”

“It was love at first sight,” Cassie added with a bright laugh. Her voice didn’t sound like her own.

“How wonderful!” Gomez was saying.

Armando’s eyes traveled the length of Cassie’s body and he shrugged, approving. I gave him a warning look.

I led Cassie away from Armando, to the opposite end of the table. As we sat, Cassie leaned close to me, her breath in my ear. “Remember the plan.”