The Soldier's Promise: A Military Romance

PT 2: Almost Goodbye

Two Weeks Earlier

I stare down at my grilled cheese. It's burnt around the edges in a way that's closer to a smoke alarm than chic grill marks. I say nothing and smile anyway as the plate is handed to me. John returns a sheepish grin as he pulls out my seat.

"This looks lovely, thank you," I say, although my stomach is already filling with heavy slime. There's no way I'm going to keep this sandwich down.

He runs a hand through his dark brown hair, cut short at the sides with only a hint of chocolate waves at the top—the standard "army issue" haircut. It looks good on him, masculine and sexy.

"Thanks. I wanted to do something nice for you."

I appreciate the gesture. John wasn't a big cook, and I handled things in the kitchen. Besides, he had much more important things to do than flip grilled cheese sandwiches, like flying helicopters and saving the world. I don't know much about either of those two things. I leave it to the pros.

An unfamiliar silence stretches out between us, drilling into my bones. I poke the bread, which crumbles under my fingertip, revealing a sticky patch of molten plastic that passes for cheese.

He clears his throat. " Hey, this is hard, but it will be okay."

Tears well in my eyes. "How do you know that?"

I want to believe him, but I know the words mean nothing. They're sick platitudes that ricochet from his beautiful lips. It's his first deployment; he doesn't know what it will be like any more than I do. Sure, he's been training for months, years really, getting his pilot's license, learning evasive maneuvers, studying flight manuals. But it was a whole different ball game when it came to real combat. Would he be ready to face it? 

There are crumbs at the corner of his mouth; they mock the seriousness of this conversation. They bounce as he speaks like little jumping beans. "I just know it in my bones. God wouldn't send me over there to die. I know it."

'He's done it before, to millions of others.' I think to myself, biting my tongue before the thought escapes. The last thing I need at this moment is to incite celestial ire. "I hope so."

His hand covers mine, enveloping it with a warmth I didn't know I needed. "I know so, Little Cat. It's going to be okay."

I lift my head, meeting his dark green eyes. "You mean it, Bear?" The sound of our pet names comforts me like a soft blanket.

"Forever and always."

He murmurs something else, but I can't hear it as my head presses into his chest, seeking out the sound of his heartbeat.

***

That night, as he lies snoring beside me, I trace the contours of the water stain on the bedroom ceiling. Then, I count the rotations of the bedroom fan. Five hundred twenty-six, five hundred twenty-seven. This exercise should put me to sleep, but it doesn't.

Above, the distant hum of helicopters flying past marks the hours as aviators complete nighttime training. I imagine them squinting through the night vision goggles, hands on the controls. It sounded so whimsical when John first told me about it, like something from an action movie. But now, the thought makes my already queasy stomach even sicker. It's no fun when someone is shooting at the person you love.

John's breath catches in his sleep. His head shakes as he turns to the other side, stealing the blanket. I don't care. I let him enjoy this tiny luxury, even as goosebumps form on my arms. It doesn't matter; his side of the bed will be cold for the next nine months anyway.

Four A.M. comes earlier than expected. We load his things into the car and head to the bus stop for the final goodbye.