Will:Completely false, but sweet
*
Will:Whose soul are you eating today?
Will:Do you wear one of those blinged out wrestling belts? Something with ‘Soul Crusher’ engraved on it? It just sounds like it would be appropriate.
Shannon:You know what they say. Send me to the wolves and I’ll come back leading the pack.
Will:That you do, peanut.
Will:So who are enslaving?
Shannon:Not that it’s any of your goddamn business…but Sam
Will:Well, he deserves it.
Shannon:Don’t you have governments to overthrow or submarines to blow up?
Will:Yes. I’m saving that for after lunch, though.
Will:What did Sam do to earn your wrath?
Shannon:Nothing. He’s just being a bitch.
Will:Is it because he discovered he’s a grown man who needs someone to launder his pants?
Shannon:Would you shut the fuck up?
Will:Yeah, next time I have your pussy to suck on
Will:And thank fuck that’s going to be soon
*
“I can’t hearyou,” I said, raising my voice though I knew it wouldn’t help. I glanced at the screen. “Tom? You’re breaking up. I have a good signal but I think there’s something wrong with my phone. It got wet this morning, and it sounds like something is sizzling inside. Hold on, let me get into the terminal.”
I blew my hair out of my face and tucked the phone against my other ear but I was still in shambles. I was morbidly premenstrual and feeling one hundred percent too bloated for these jeans and this bra. I was ready to eat six cheeseburgers and all the chocolate cakes, and I was well pasthangry. My quick flight from Boston to Washington, D.C. hung out on the tarmac for three hours before takeoff, and it was packed with dueling high school cheerleading squads and screaming babies. When I stepped off the plane and onto the jetway at Reagan National, my ears were ringing and I couldn’t get “we go tick, tick, boom” out of my head.
And it was a full moon.
This was one of those insane weeks where every item crossed off my to-do list was replaced with another five, and everyone was miserable about something. It was cold and snowy, work on our properties was taking much longer than expected, and another one of Patrick’s assistants quit in a flurry of tears and drama. Oh, and Will and I hadn’t been in the same state in over three months.
We made plans to spend a long weekend together in January, but a blizzard shut down the airports. Will made some noise about knowing where to find a snow mobile, but he was on the opposite end of the country and wasn’t getting to me, even with all his connections. Instead, we video chatted while we both watchedThe Day After Tomorrow. I thought it was a good choice considering the whole epic snowfall situation; Will thought my humor was frighteningly dark.
Neither of us ever brought up Christmas Eve…but I replayed that conversation daily.
We lost two more weekends when he was pulled from baby SEAL training to handle an overseas mission. The certain danger he faced hit me harder than ever before, and it tore me apart. The worry was paralyzing. I scoured the Internet for incidents involving special operations, and kept cable news on the background all night. Until I heard from him and he confirmed he was perfectly safe, I was a frantic mess and the most difficult part was knowing there was nothing I could do.
When his call came through, telling me that he was alive and well and hopping a flight back to the base in Virginia, no one could have stopped me from going to him. It didn’t matter that this weekend was terrible for me, work-wise, or that Sam was notably depressed, or that we only had one day together since Will was due on base Sunday morning.
“Sam is being verystrange,” Tom said.
“He’s always strange. It’s his signature look,” I said.
“Right, yes, I know that. However,” Tom said, taking a breath, “he seems really…off. I’ve been ordering him lunch every day like you asked, but he didn’t even notice me when I walked into his office. He was just staring out the window. When I came back three hours later, he hadn’t eaten anything. Also, I don’t believe he’s sleeping. Did you talk to him before heading out?”
A slow-moving group of cheerleaders ahead of me burst into shouts and chants as they marched up the jetway, and I edged around them. The terminal smelled like cinnamon rolls and teriyaki, and in a perverse way, that combination sounded great. “Sometimes he does that. Staring out the window. It’s his creative process. I don’t know what else to tell you. We had breakfast a few weeks ago and everything was fine, but other than that, he doesn’t talk to me much. And you know what, Tom? I can’t chase him down every time he sneezes or frowns. Neither can you. We have a goddamn business to run and he’s not a toddler.”
