21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (119 page)

He sat up and searched the room, worry tightening his chest. The sound of water running in the bathroom reduced the pressure on his ribs. Swinging his legs off the bed, he leaned forward and stared down at her discarded T-shirt and cotton panties. Reality set in swiftly and he checked the time, though his internal clock was pretty steady.

Gritting his teeth, he sucked it up and rose. Dressing efficiently, he ignored the state of his uniform. He would be shedding it again shortly. At the door to the bathroom, he knocked once. “Jana?”

“Yeah?” The water cut off, and the door muffled her voice.

“I’m going to go shower and change. Do not leave until I come back for you. I’ll make sure you’re in the kitchen in time.” He waited for her acknowledgement.

“Okay.” No argument. She turned him inside out. The door opened, and she gave him an almost shy smile. “Happy Thanksgiving, Charlie.”

The unexpected sweetness damn near robbed him of his good intentions—twice. But the night had ended, and he had to be in uniform and ready for duty no matter what his body wanted. Bending, he brushed his mouth to hers gently. “Happy Thanksgiving, Jana.”

Training alone forced him out of her room. He retreated to his quarters, showered quickly, dressed in a fresh uniform, and suited up. By the time he returned, she stood ready—flak jacket and helmet in place. He fixed one of the buckles, smiling the whole time. Yeah, he still thought her visit was a bad idea, but couldn’t help but be grateful for it at the same time.

“Ready?”

“Yes, sir.” Another shy smile curved her mouth, and he smothered the need to kiss her until her eyes glazed over. They had a lot of work to do.

It was O-seven-hundred when they entered the kitchens, and the mouthwatering scents jerked him out of Afghanistan and thousands of miles away to home. If nothing else, she’d accomplished one mission. Every Marine working in the kitchen greeted her warmly, though traces of the innate wistfulness for home remained.

“Someone want to hit the music?” Jana called out, stripping out of her jacket and helmet like a pro. “I’m ready to get the yams in the oven.”

Charlie found a perch near the door and settled in. It would be his duty station for the day, keeping watch over her.

He didn’t mind one little bit.

By the time they served the second meal of the day, Jana pushed through her work on a diet of adrenaline and euphoria. Adrenaline because every time she glanced at Charlie, her heart rate increased and heat flooded her body. Euphoria because she’d found Robbie’s friends.

They came in a batch at the end of the first Thanksgiving mealtime, and Charlie made a point of introducing her to them.

Hutch, Phelps, Camden, and Martinez from Robbie’s unit each gave her a hug. They told her stories about her brother that left her sides aching with laughter. The moment she lost her breath occurred when the entire room rose up to applaud her. As one, they gave her a gift. The men had pooled their resources to make a donation to the Toys for Tots fund in Robbie’s name. He had actively supported the charity and raised funds and toys for them whenever he had the opportunity.

Overwhelmed, she made a point to learn the name of every single Marine involved in the effort. She also got Sergeant Hall to part with information on items—socks, playing cards, cookies, magazines, even a list of DVDs—the others might enjoy receiving in care packages. By the third shift of dinner, her gratitude and cheer turned maudlin. The Marines had devastated the turkeys, stuffing, veggies, bread, and briskets, and she’d put in fresh batches of bread when they threatened to run out. But soon it would be over and she’d pack her duffel to go home.

She’d have to say good-bye to everyone…and to Charlie.

They’d
met
just a little over twenty-four hours before, but she got it. She understood why soldiers, Marines, and veterans came home from these places and—no matter how bad it was—wanted to come back. Their unit was still there, and their people needed them.

Robbie’s people, these brave heroes, somewhere in the last day, had become her people, too.

I have to go home. I don’t have a choice
.

If she did, no matter how awful it all seemed, she understood—she would choose to stay.

He couldn’t get her to leave the mess hall until the last Marine had eaten and the last of the dishes had been cleared away. He’d known about the fund in Robbie’s name, and he’d donated to it. The charity was the pride of the Marine Corps Reserves, and he’d been involved for years, in one aspect or another, with the rest of his family. Whoever flagged the idea as a good one to unite the men understood Marines.

Despite the tension and the grief disturbing the ranks, raising money, the Thanksgiving dinner, and Jana’s presence all helped kick-start the healing process. Thirty-six hours before, she’d been a name on a file, the recipient of one of the hardest letters he’d ever written, and a fledgling pen pal of sorts.

She’d become a hell a lot more than that.

After sundown, the temperatures outside plummeted. The last of the recordings the Marines made would begin airing at home as Thanksgiving Day kicked off in the States. He imagined families gathering, food cooking, and arguments over who might win the game.

Some of the guys headed to the media room to watch a tape-delayed game from the previous weekend, but he’d passed on it. He passed on all of it. In twelve hours, he’d lead the detail to return Jana to the air base, put her on a C-130, and get her the hell out of Afghanistan. But not for twelve more hours. She followed him to her quarters in subdued silence.

He’d enjoyed his serving, waiting to eat what remained after everyone else—including the mess hall staff—their fill. “Thank you for today. It was a great meal.”

“I’m glad.” Disquiet veiled her expression, and she perched on the edge of the cot, turning the helmet over and over in her hands.

Checking the hall, he stepped inside her room and secured the door. “Are you okay?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m not.”

Guilt chewed him. Stripping out of his gear, he stacked it neatly before crossing over to sit next to her. Twice he opened his mouth to speak and twice he closed it. He didn’t have the right words to offer her.

“I don’t regret last night.” She put one of his worries to rest. “Or this trip, really. It’s not regret at all, I don’t think.” Laughing humorlessly, she scrubbed a hand against her face. “I came here to feel closer to Robbie. I don’t know that I’ll ever take comfort in understanding this part of his life and, at the same time, I’m glad I do. It sounds crazy. I guess I sound crazy.”

“No. You don’t.” Explaining a tour or deployment to someone who hadn’t been in the sandbox or the mountains or anywhere near the hell the last ten years brought to the region was hard. Only those who’d shared the experience truly understood. His father served in Vietnam, his grandfather in Korea, but the men had rarely discussed their tours with the family.

They’d talked about it with others—old friends, brothers in arms, men who understood those wars. At least Charlie had brothers both in blood and in arms. Holding his hand out to her, he waited, palm facing up.

Slowly, too slowly, she placed her hand in his and interlaced their fingers together. “I do and I don’t want to go home.”

“Yeah. But you’re
going
home.” He couldn’t make it plainer. She would get on that plane if he had to hogtie her and carry her on board. “You’re going home, back to school, and you’re going to build a life. And it will to be great.”

“How do you know?” Unshed tears coated her words.

“Because you’re great. When I get home, I’m going to come visit, and you’re going to show me this life you’ve built.” He only had a few months left on this tour—maybe it was the time to reconsider post-operational life as they scaled back their presence overseas—provided another war didn’t start up. “Until I can get there, we’ll write.”

“You’ll really come see me?” The skepticism in her voice rankled.

“Yeah.” He eyed her, but the vulnerable sadness in her green eyes deflated any offense he might have taken. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind, but it will be different there.”

Sliding an arm around her, he gave her a squeeze. “Different doesn’t mean bad.” He wished he could offer her words to make it better.

“Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think we could go on a date sometime?”

Triumph chased relief through his blood. “That should have been my question.”

“Yes, but since I asked it first….”

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he murmured, “I’d like very much to take you on a date sometime.”

“Groovy. Can I write you naughty letters?” She gave him a watery smile and leaned her head against his shoulder.

“You can write me anything you want.” Content to simply hold her, he rested his chin on her head. It had been a long, emotionally exhausting day.

She stayed quiet long enough, he suspected she’d fallen asleep so her whisper surprised him. “Charlie?”

“Hmmm?”

“Do you have any more condoms?”

His body stirred. “Yes, ma’am.”

Her silence returned, and he leaned away to get a look at her. She stared at him solemnly, and he raised his eyebrows in question. Maybe he’d interpreted her inquiry wrong.

A smile flirted at the corners of her mouth. “You said asking for a date should be your question. I’m not sure if I should ask about sex again so soon after I seduced you the first time.”

Amusement flared and he grinned. “Jana, you can ask me for sex anytime you want.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah, but I don’t think you seduced me.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I did.” She bit her lower lip, tempting him.

He covered her sweet mouth with his and kissed her until they were both breathless. “I don’t recall it that way at all.”

“Huh. Well if you did the seducing, why don’t you show me how it’s done?”

The Marine understood a challenge when he heard one. “Gladly.”

He’d never shied away from a challenge.

Saying good-bye to Charlie sucked. She barely noticed the landscape on the way back to the airport or the chipper conversation of the Marines in her escort. Desperate to memorize every nuance of his features, she couldn’t take her gaze off her companion. Too soon, they were back at the air base they’d picked her up from. Even sooner she was shuttled through a secure holding area, onto the waiting plane, and taxied down the runway.

Sixteen hours proved ample opportunity to think about her visit and her time with the men there—about Robbie, his death, Charlie, and his life. At home, it was Black Friday. Shoppers hustled and bustled for great deals online and off, kids enjoyed frolicking without school, and parents started to pull out Christmas decorations and put up trees while snacking on Turkey Day leftovers.

It took traveling more than seven thousand miles to realize how much she took those things for granted. Thanksgiving in Afghanistan had been an hour or two spent over good food, if the men were lucky, and a recorded message to their loved ones. Then?

Right back to work.

In the midst of it all, they tried to do something to help her remember her brother. Their donation stowed securely in her bag would count; she’d make sure it did. Raising donations for the Toys for Tots program might not seem like much, but she could do it.

Numb with exhaustion by the time she arrived at DFW Airport, it took everything she had to put one foot in front of the other. A woman stepped into her path, blocked her, before Jana even noticed her. “Sorry,” Jana murmured.

“Jana Grimaldi?” The brunette tilted her head. She looked oddly familiar, but Jana couldn’t place her.

“Yeah.”

“Hi, I’m Naomi.” Her southern accent tinged the words and a high-voltage grin demanded answering. “Naomi Sparks. My brother, Charlie, called me. He said you might need a friend and he asked if I’d stand in until he got home….”

Always a Marine - Book 18

By

Heather Long

~Dedication~

For Leah, who invited me to my first Seder, first Hanukkah, and always made me feel welcome at her table. Latkes and laughter were the best medicine. I’ll always miss you.

Isaac paid the cabdriver and slung his bag over his shoulder. He’d hoped to arrive earlier than
Erev Shabbat
, but in his neighborhood, he knew where everyone would be. Loping up the steps to the temple, he entered the lobby and slowed his pace to swap his cover for a plain black
kippah
. Tucking his hat into the duffle and securing it, he eased the door to the service open and he paused just inside. He recognized the strains of
Hashkiveinu
, as he let the door close silently behind him.