Read Online Disarm by June Gray - Free Book Online Page B

took a step back. “I’m sorry.”
    â€œWhat were you doing?”
    â€œI think I was trying to kiss you.”
    â€œI know that,” I said. “But why?”
    â€œBecause I like you?” he said, the end of the sentence lilting up as if he was asking a question.
    I paused, wondering if Dave was a slimy jerk or if he was just not aware of the situation. “You do know that Henry and I are together, right?”
    His eyes widened, giving me the answer. “Shit. I didn’t know.” He stuck his hands back in his pockets. “Fuck. Sorry. That jackass should have told me.”
    I couldn’t have agreed more. “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Honest mistake. It’s his fault for not telling anyone.”
    â€œMy mistake, really,” Dave said with a wry grin. “I should have asked you out sooner.”

2
    HOMECOMING
    The emails resumed, but they didn’t sound the same. Gone was the intimacy of his words, replaced by nonchalant, almost robotic descriptions of his life there. I asked about the attack during one phone call but he just evaded the question and suddenly had to go. Since I didn’t want any more abrupt ends to the calls, I never brought it up again.
    The third, fourth, and fifth months all blurred together. Keeping busy was not the problem; it was trying to keep my mind from straying back to Afghanistan that was tough. Beth’s tactic of self-distraction was hard to apply when everything around me reminded me of Henry, from his car keys that hung on the hook to his established seat at the dining table.
    I read a ton of books, caught up with friends, ran a lot, and probably wasted too much time on the Internet. I spent many hours at the office, trying to lose myself in work to while away the lonely hours of the night.
    Then the final month came and, I swear, time slowed. I felt like I was moving in slow motion, that no matter how I distracted myself, I’d look at the clock and find that only a few minutes had elapsed. It was so much worse than the first month.
    The anticipation was killing me. He was so close to coming home, yet still thousands of miles away. In preparation, I tidied up his room, vacuumed every nook and cranny of the apartment, and dusted every surface. I filled the fridge with his favorite food and beer, going so far as buying the bottled olives that he loved so much.
    Finally, the most special Wednesday of the entire year arrived. I jumped out of bed with extra spring and took an extra long shower, humming to myself about my boyfriend being back, hey la, hey la. I dressed carefully, then drove to base a whole hour before they were scheduled to arrive. They checked my license at the visitor center, handed me a pink slip, and let me drive through the gate with a knowing smile.
    I stood at the designated waiting area with the others. Our excitement was a living, breathing thing, so palpable you could almost reach out and touch it. We looked at one another—wives, girlfriends, family, and friends—with unconcealed excitement bursting all over our faces. Some people had created welcome signs; others held balloons and flowers in their hands. I had only the hopeful heart pinned prominently on my sleeve.
    Everybody cheered when the bus appeared from around the corner. We cheered when it drove into the parking lot, and we cheered when it pulled up in front of us, but we were deathly silent when the bus hissed to a stop, as if shushing us.
    We all held our collective breaths when the door opened, and I swear, it must have taken five minutes for the first person to step down off that bus, but when he did, a woman squealed from somewhere within the crowd. My eyes remained glued to the bus door as airman after airman stepped down. My heart lurched in my chest every time those tan boots came into view; I thought I’d pass out after about the tenth guy who wasn’t Henry.
    Then he appeared and, for a few moments, I