Page 41 of Embracing Trust

When we’re about to leave, Grandma insists we take home a sack of her produce. While she steps into the garage to get a box, Julia glimpses at the many family photos hanging on the walls of the hallway.

“Did you find me? I’m the handsome one,” I say, as I give her a light poke in her back.

“Here’s a good-looking little fellow,” she says as she points to a newborn picture.

“Sean,” I growl.

“This one? He’s a cutey too.” She points to a three-year-old Liam.

“Liam.”

Then we come across a picture of a baby lying on his stomach, bare ass on display, and a huge smile.

“That’s you, dear,” Grandma says as she sees us laughing at the picture.

“What? Why am I the only one with a bare butt?”

“You were just the sweetest thing…but don’t feel so bad. If you look down there a little further, you’ll see a handsome and debonair young soldier.”

“That’s more like it,” I say as I see a younger me in my Army dress uniform with the American flag displayed behind me.

As I’m driving her home, it hits me how much I really like Julia, how much my feelings have only intensified for her, and how much I want to take our relationship to the next level.

I won’t lie. Hell yeah, it’s sexual. I’m a guy. But it’s more than that. She listens to me, and she’s interested in what I have to say. A few times I’ve been tempted to tell her what happened in Afghanistan, but I don’t want to talk about it. The nightmares are no better and seem a bit worse sometimes. Besides, I don’t want her to pity me or see me as weak.

I’m starting to notice things that bother me that didn’t use to. I was in the grocery store and since it was right after I got off work, it was crowded. As I was waiting in line to check out, I felt trapped—like I couldn’t move.

Being with Grandma Nola and Julia reminds me that I have people in my life who care about me. Grandma has always supported me and understood the challenges with my parents. She was the only one who encouraged me to join the Army when I talked to her about it all those years ago.

I feel guilty that I hurt Julia so much, but I also feel like we’re working to build that trust again. Maybe someday I can tell her what happened in Afghanistan. It would be better for everyone if I could keep it inside and not burden Julia with this pain.

Chapter Nineteen

Julia

It’s a picture-perfect day in Texas. The sun warms me, as the ocean sends an invitation of peace and serenity. The sky is dotted with my favorite clouds—the white puffy ones that remind me of cotton candy. The kinds of clouds that, as kids, would put us on our backs in my front yard as we discovered animals and ice cream cones. Definitely a much easier time in my life—a time when I was naïve enough to believe my father truly loved my mother. I believed my life would continue as it was as I viewed the innocence of my existence through six-year-old eyes.

I bounce into the kitchen and start the coffeepot. Can’t start my day without my brewed beans. Actually, I probably don’t need the caffeine—I’m already bouncing off the walls. My stomach feels like its on the spin cycle.

Ryan invited me to do something fun on this beautiful Saturday. For once, I don’t have a wedding to attend or photograph. My first free weekend in a while.

My phone indicates a text message. I smile when I see Merilee’s smiling face on my screen.

Merilee: Ready for your big day?

Julia: Yep. Nervous and excited.

Merilee: Nothing to be nervous about. Just relax and enjoy. Heading to bed. Just got home from work.

Julia: OK. Get some sleep. Talk later.

Merilee: Good luck and have fun!

I pour myself a cup of coffee and carry it back to my bedroom. As I search my closet for the perfect outfit, I struggle. Ryan mentioned a bike ride, so a dress is out and it’s too hot for jeans. I settle for a pair of cut-off jean shorts and a white tank top. I also put on my favorite lacy white bra. If Ryan wants to continue what we started last week, I may be okay with that. And if not, this bra makes me feel good. And sexy. My hair flops around in a high ponytail and I slip on my favorite sandals.

I fry myself an egg, toast a piece of bread, and pour a small glass of milk. Once I eat some food, my empty stomach finally stops with the angry protests of corruption.

I want the house to be perfect. I want to prove myself—prove that I’ve moved on. I want him to see that even though he broke my heart, I’ve managed to make a successful life without him. The dryer buzzes and I load the clothes into the wicker basket and dump them on my bed. I run the vacuum cleaner on the living room rug and assure everything is put away. I load the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and tidy the home office. I pull up the sheet on my bed, the blanket, the comforter and take a shaky breath as I arrange the throw pillows.

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