Page 34 of The Art of Dying

“Then, honey… we’re doing this.”

Thunder sounded in the distance. I glanced back at the window. “Sounds like a storm’s coming. In winter? Weird,” I said.

He smiled. “Good. I love storms.” He carried me down the hall and closed the bedroom door behind him.

chapter eleven.

Kitsch

“You need to fucking handle it, Butter Bar,” Sloan said, slapping me on the back.

I glowered at him.Butter bars, or second lieutenants—the first rank of a commissioned officer—were fresh out of college or OCS and had yet to receive his or her first appointment, the derogatory reference came about because of the single brass bar on our uniforms. Sloan and I had met when he was a private first class and I was a butter bar, but he never felt the need to stop when I was promoted to first lieutenant, mostly because he knew it pissed me off. I was thankful that he at least called me that when we were out of earshot of anyone else, only because they’d think he was stupid for saying it.

Some people might scoff that I took any shit from Sloan when I outranked him, but I knew where he was headed. Sloan didn’t look like a Marine, maybe a buck fifty, but that was because he did a shit ton of cardio getting ready for the gruelingly long orientation course hikes he was going to have to complete after he completed Scout Sniper School.

Sloan was every CO’s dream. He excelled at everything he set his mind to, including getting a perfect ASVAB score—a 107 on the General Technical section—and he was an AFQT Category One. Sniper School only required a GT score of 100. Sloan scored a 110. He’d just made lance corporal. He’d also been selected for Scout Sniper School in Quantico and just completed a battery of qualifications. Now, he was preparing to leave for seventy-nine days of pure Hell.

“I’m handling it,” I growled. “How about you worry about Quantico and all those grueling hikes you’ll have to do alone when you get back, and not my love life?”

“It’s not like you just started dating. You were high school sweethearts, right? Marry her already. Then you don’t have to be apart.”

I thought about that for a moment. No one at Camp Pendleton knew we’d only been dating three weeks before I’d reported for duty, not even Sloan. When I mentioned her, I simply explained that I liked to keep my private life private, and that wasn’t a surprise to anyone who’d known me prior to my new duty station. None of my friends back home would understand, but here, thinking Mack and I had been together longer than we had… they wouldn’t think twice. The real reason I’d been off my game wasn’t known, either. Earlier that morning, I realized I’d been away from Mack a day longer than we’d been together. That bothered me, and I worried that it would bother her, too. But, married? It was crazy, but it would also mean we could be together. As an officer, I was already living in the Del Mar neighborhood on base in a two-bedroom home. It wasn’t quite furnished yet, but Mack loved all that shit.

Mason hadn’t bothered her—yet—but on base, I’d know she was safe. I wasn’t sure what I’d do with Dad and Ma’s house, but that was secondary to my current problem. Focusing was more difficult than I’d imagined, and if I was going to try for the Raiders, the Corps’ special operations unit, and spend the rest of my career on teams, my mind had to be clear.

“I’d marry her tomorrow. I don’t know that she’s ready,” I said. “She’s been through a lot, but she’s still loving and kind. She asks me about my day and actually cares about the answer. Even when she’s mad, she lets me know she’s still there and fighting for us. All my friends back home love her. She can look smoking hot in a dress or sit around in sweats and drink a beer with me in the backyard. She’s funny as hell, I don’t think she’s missed a day of work in her life, she’s confident, and she gives me a little kiss or touches my hand just in passing, almost like she doesn’t have to think about it. She just reaches out for me whenever we’re close. When we’re relaxing in bed, she’ll lean over and give me these tiny kisses on my cheek or forehead, a thousand of ’em. That woman is the apple of God’s eye.”

“Yeah. You’re a goner. And it sounds like she’s ready, too.”

I chuckled. “You don’t know her. She might say no.”

“What Idoknow is that she can’t say yes if you don’t ask.”

I raised my eyebrows. Maybe I could somehow gently broach the subject. We still talked every day unless I was out in the field. We missed each other like crazy, but Mack might believe I’d lost my mind if I even mentioned marriage, or worse, think it was for any other reason than I loved her.

After a particularly grueling day, I fell onto my bed. The officer housing in Del Mar was a significant upgrade in comparison to other housing on base, newer and nicer than Dad and Ma’s, right by the Main Gate of the base, and only a stone’s throw from the bay. I stared up at the ceiling, still having a half hour to kill before Mack was home from work, and now that I had the idea of marrying Mack and bringing her here, my thoughts wouldn’t deviate.

I read a magazine, threw a ball into the air, and rubbed my face in frustration a lot before the second hand on the round clock on the wall showed it was five minutes before go time. I stood up and made my way to where the kitchen met the parlor and reached for the cordless phone, where it hung from its base on the wall.

Someone knocked on the door, and I rushed over to answer.

“Kepner,” I said, surprised.

Danny Kepner was my neighbor, and the only other bachelor officer in the Del Mar neighborhood. His biceps were bigger than my head, and he was a full foot taller than I was. He rubbed his hand over his buzz cut, his blond hair nearly invisible.

“You busy?” he asked, towering over me. His low forehead and pointed chin made him a prime candidate to be the poster boy for jarheads. Once he opened his mouth, though, he seemed significantly less lethal.

“I was, uh… just getting ready to call my girl.”

He walked past me and sank into the oversized cushions of my new sofa—the only other piece of furniture I had there besides my brand-new bedroom set, a couple end tables and a console table for my television.

“Come right in,” I said, annoyed. I closed the door and turned to face him.

“You callin’ your girl, huh?” he said in a thick east Texas accent, sounding more likecawlinthan the word he meant.

“Yeah, do you mind?”

“Not at all, brother. Let me know when you’re done. I’ll just be hanging out in here. Where’s your remote?”

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