Page 5 of Wrong Number, Right Soldier
I do it.
I probably didn’t spell it right… I bet she’s used to that. Unfortunately I am too. It’s Trey, like a person. Not tray, like atray. Goddammit.
Try like fucking hell as I might to shift my attention back to my work, I can’t stop thinking about her. Those eyes shot me dead on the spot. There was an easiness in talking to her that I can’t explain. That I want more of.
And there’s something else, something deeper, fuller than just my thoughts. Thisfeelinginside of me.
I have to call her back.
I have to call her backnow.
She answers right away, with that smile that could end all wars right here right now, and send me home to her. “Evidently, you can alsomakecalls.”
I laugh. “If we’re really good, they let us feed the stray dogs and cats that come ’round like they’re our pets. Some of them even get names.”
Saylis gasps. “I should write my congressman. First pillows, and nowpets? They’re treating you almosttoogood there.”
“Did you get ahold of Derek?”
“Um, no.”
“Wrong number again?”
“No…I didn’t try,” she says to me. I don’t ask why not. I don’t want to know what I don’t want to know. “What time is it there, in Kuwait?” Saylis asks.
“It’s just after five.”
“In themorning?!” Saylis shrieks.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Holy crap. Why did you even answer before? Also who are you calling ma’am, I’m only twenty-five.”
“Practically a newborn.”
Saylis repositions, getting comfortable. So, I guess we’re doing this, then. “Seriously, how old are you?” she asks me.
“Thirty-one.”
“Oh, soIshould callyou‘sir,’ then.”
I shake my head. “Do not call me sir, I work for a living.” She gives me a look, head tilted, not understanding. I smile. “Trey will suffice.”
“So what are you doing over there, Trey?”
I reposition. “I can’t really say.”
“Ah. Great chat.”
“Ha-ha,” I chuckle. “Tell me about you. What is young Saylis with the most incredible, electric blue eyes, doing at nine o’clock at night on a Sunday, talking to a stranger out of the blue?” I shake my head. “No, what do you do when you’renotdialing randos deployed in the Middle East?”
Saylis tells me she’s about to take her last state exam to become a middle school Language Arts teacher. The time ticks by faster than it ever has here, impossibly, frustratingly fast. Talking to her is a cross between a sedative, and a hit of cocaine.
As it gets closer to six a.m., I know I have to let her go soon. Soldiers are starting to shuffle around and make a shit-ton of noise, and I pray no one comes barging in here and giving me hell—or worse, saying anything inappropriate to Saylis.
And most of all I hope we get to do this again.
“It’s getting noisy over there.”
