The door opened, and a nurse stepped inside. “Your time is up, Sergeant Zim. The Lieutenant needs his rest.”
“I was just leaving.”
The Gunny turned back to John, and for a moment, his face grew sad. “Look, Lieutenant, you were lucky this time, but it won’t last. You can’t save everybody who needs saving.”
He hesitated. “John, even heroes die. Remember that anytime you want to rush into a fight. It’ll save your life.”
***
Modern antibiotics kept the wound from festering, but soldiers don’t always have access to the plastic surgeons who could skillfully remove such a scar. Later, after he’d left the service of both the UN and the US, John found he didn’t want the scar removed.
It was a good reminder of what happens when you let emotion overcome caution.
Caitlin was staring at him when he came out of his flashback on ancient history.
“What’s the matter? Is something stuck in my mustache?”
She frowned in distaste and shook her head slightly. “No, I was just wondering what you were thinking about.”
“Old memories.”
“Anything you care to talk about?”
He took a quick gulp of beer and shook his head. “No more than I’d like to suck this beer up my nose with a straw.”
Again, she frowned. “Must you be so crude?”
“Life’s crude,” he replied with a dismissing wave of his hand.
“That may be, but nothing forces you to be the same.”
He took another mouthful and let its cool bitterness slide across his tongue. She was right. The memory of Haiti had dragged an old crudeness from him. The scar wasn’t her fault. He had only himself to blame for it. Was his crudeness a simple attempt to shock her? Perhaps, but unnecessary crudeness wasn’t him. He just wanted her to realize he was no longer the kid who’d fallen so quickly for her in the Canyon.
He set the glass down and gave her a half-hearted smile.
“My apologies, Caitlin. You’re right. There’s no reason for the crudeness. It was just an old memory stirring forgotten emotions.”
“Memory?”
She repeated, and he saw her gaze move to encompass the scar. “Of how you got that?”
“How very perceptive. Yeah, it was the scar.”
“You could tell me about it,” she said.
“I don’t think so.”
Her hand slide across the table and softly came to rest on the back of his. His eyes rose slowly to meet her gaze.
“All right. Not that there’s much to tell, but if you’re sure you want to know?”
She nodded.
He gave her a brief playback of the memory. It didn’t take long.
When he finished, her hand was still on his. The emotions playing across her face were too easy to read. He pulled free of her hand and downed the rest of his beer.
“I don’t need your pity,” he said with unnecessary bitterness.
She sat back and looked him in the eye. “It’s not pity I’m feeling. It’s understanding.”
Was it? He wasn’t sure. He had been madly in love with her for a time, but so much had changed, at least for him. Could it be that he was afraid the spark still glowed? No, it wasn’t possible. Too much time had flowed through life’s canyon. But if he were so sure then what would it hurt?
“All right, understanding then. Tell you what, from here on out, I’ll be honest with you and you with me.”
“Deal. What now?” she asked with the first cheerful smile he’d seen on her face in nearly twelve years.
The front door opened.
“Now? Now we go see someone I know about a file.”
A man came through the door. A man with a splint over his nose.
“Oh, where –”
John interrupted her. “Caitlin, I want you to go to the restroom. Stand up slowly and don’t turn around.”
“What?”
“I think your Mr. Holdren has put in an appearance.”
CHAPTER 18
Caitlin’s eyes widened, and fear shadowed her face. “Here? How did he find me here?”
“This isn’t the time to be wondering. Just do what I said. He probably won’t notice you leaving the room, if he does, he’ll hopefully just think you’re on the way to the facilities. Go to the back door, but don’t open it until I get there.”
“All right, but–”
“Look, just do it all right?”
Caitlin frowned but nodded. John watched Holdren as he walked slowly from table to table at the front of the bar. When he turned away from them, John nodded. “Now.”
Caitlin stood and walked past him to the back hallway.
It was one of those days you can’t get a break. Holdren turned back their way as Caitlin was leaving. He obviously saw something familiar in the way Caitlin walked for a second after she had disappeared through the back hallway, he went after her.
Holdren looked to be in his late thirties, maybe early forties. He was about six feet tall, and his fine, graying hair was cut neatly away from his ears in a typical military cut. Not the severe cut of adrenaline pumped grunts, but the classic cut of the officer corps. His face was creased with wrinkles that made John think of worry lines rather than weathering. Thick eyebrows shaded his eyes, and his lips were curled in what looked like a permanent frown.
Holdren raised his hand as he moved across the room and spoke into the cuff of his hound’s tooth jacket.
John ducked his head so the brim of his hat would cover his face. With any luck at all, Holdren wouldn’t stop to wonder which table Caitlin had been occupying.
Why was it that anything involving luck always seemed to be on the other guy’s side?
As Holdren neared, John watched
