Page 16 of Operator
Wanting to drown out the memories, I say, “What about your truck?”
“What about it?”
Rolling my eyes, I say, “How are you going to get it?”
“You can take me in tomorrow with you. I'll get it then and follow you back after work.”
My heart pounds and my throat goes dry as I search for words. “I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow.”
At this, he looks at me, his eyes dropping to my stomach. My hand goes there automatically. For a moment it's as though in Ian's ghost is sitting between us. I can almost feel his presence.
“Then I'll follow you there.”
I huff out an exasperated breath. “Don't you think you're being a little ridiculous?”
“No.” No explanation. No justification. Callum does what he wants, when he wants. Period, end of discussion.
I very nearly growl. How am I supposed to live with him, of all people, acting like a shadow? There’s no way. Of all the times for William to leave, it has to be now. “Well, I think you are. There's no need for you to follow me around everywhere. I'm perfectly capable of going to the doctor by myself. You can pick up your truck tomorrow and go home, Cal. I mean it.”
He doesn't answer and I don't know if that's because he agrees with me or because he stopped listening. I'd forgotten how stubborn he could be. Almost as stubborn as me.
By then we reached the house and I get out of the car without saying a word. I go inside and retrieve my things from the night before. Daisy winds around my legs, pushing her head into my thigh for head scratches. I oblige, and without further fanfare, we load up in my car. Callum appears on the porch, his hands crossed over his chest, watching.
He can watch all he wants. I'm not a kid anymore. I don't need his permission or his protection. So as far as I'm concerned, the conversation is over. I'll drive him to work in the morning and that'll be that.
For a crazy moment, I wonder if he can somehow read my mind.
Maybe he knows I'm lying.
But there's no way he can know.
When I voiced my concerns initially, everyone said I was crazy. So, I stopped bringing them up. At least in public. Everyone wrote it off as grief and the subject was dropped. According to Bunny, I was pregnant and overemotional after Ian died. She didn't want me to stress out and have it affect the baby even more.
For a while, I believed that.
* * *
After work the next day, Callum doesn't try to follow me. For that I'm grateful because if he had, he would have learned I don't have a doctor’s appointment after all. It would have been very awkward to show up at the office and have the receptionist prove what a liar I am. Instead, I turn to the less populated area of town. One where people are slightly less able to recognize me. If I've been thinking clearly at the time, I may have opted for somewhere out of town, but there's no changing that now.
The self-storage building is located just off the interstate. It's a rundown place, but no one really knows me there, so there won't be prying eyes. I park the car and climb out slowly. Maybe it's wrong of me to hide this from Ian's family, but when I try to bring up my concerns about his death, they didn't want to hear it. Losing him was hard enough for all of us. I didn't want to dredge up old wounds.
The key goes into the lock easily and I open the sliding door to the storage unit, wincing as my sore hips protest. There isn't much inside. It's mostly just boxes of paperwork and memorabilia. Ian was never really the hoarding type. I have to believe if there's a clue, a reason, an explanation for his death, it'll be in these boxes. I've been putting it off for months, but with Callum coming home, all the hurt and loss is bubbling back up to the surface. I need answers, even if I won’t like them. I need answers for our baby. Maybe a part of me feels safer with Cal here, as much as I hate to admit it.
I should have asked William, but with patient confidentiality, I didn't think he'd give me a real answer. Or maybe I didn't want him to think I was as crazy as everyone else said I was.
Because I don't think Ian committed suicide.
I heft the chair I brought with me and open it up next to the nearest box. Dust motes and mustiness explode as yank open the lid. Even if I'm wrong, it'll be a good idea to go through these things for our baby's sake. Someone else had packed them all up. Not Bunny, maybe Ian’s father or one of the other Marines. There are probably things in here that will help him get to know his father. Or her. I haven't let the doctors tell me what we're having. What I’m having. The surprise of their gender is one of the only things I have to look forward to these days.
The first box is full of military paperwork. Documentation of changes in duty stations, other orders. Commendations. Records from his deployment. Medical paperwork detailing all of his injuries and illnesses. I go through each document, but don't see anything in particular. It all looks pretty normal disappointingly, painstakingly normal. I’m surprised to find that I’m not emotional about it at all at this point. I’m numb by pure exhaustion. I haven’t had much time to be sad lately, what with working and getting ready for the baby.
The same goes for two more boxes. I'm surprised by how much paperwork the military is able to generate. Is that why our military spending is so high? Because God knows I don't want to do that much paperwork. I hope whoever is responsible is getting paid well for it.
The next box causes a lump to rise in my throat. It's photographs. Some of this stuff Ian never got around to bringing to the new house once we were finished with renovations. He was never the clingy sort and traveled light after his years in the military. As I lift the photo albums onto my lap, I realize why. A lot of the pictures are of him and Callum. And if I remember correctly, several of Callum’s teammates I don’t recognize. He never really brought them around. In fact, Callum’s life in the military is pretty much a blank spot.
I go through a couple more boxes with the same result. It's like a knife to the heart to see so many pictures of Ian smiling, happy. It cuts through the numbness and straight to my core. None of them look like a man who would take his own life. Maybe I'll never understand. He had so much to live for.
I stay as long as I can, looking through everything, but a few hours later I desperately need the bathroom and a gigantic plate of food. I'll have to come back another time if I can sneak away from Callum and his goddamn overprotectiveness. I don’t want to bring it up to him until I’m certain he won’t accuse me of being a hormonal woman about it all.
