Hudson smiles and shrugs. “I figured my grandpa served two tours and came home completely unscathed to live until old age. Dad was hit by a random drunk driver one Saturday morning and lost his life. There’s no control over what our future holds or when it’s our time to go. I wanted to bring back the family tradition of military service. Do something I could be proud to tell my kids one day.”
It’s such a sad story, but yet has such a heartwarming ending I bite my bottom lip to stop from sniffling. “But it doesn’t explain how you ended up in Maine?”
“Thatis a completely different story,” Hudson says shaking his head.
“You have to tell me.”
“I joined the navy because that’s where my grandfather served and it sounded like the right thing to do. Plus, the army recruiter was a real asshole, but the navy guys talked about fleet week and how much fun they had.”
“And the girls?” Fleet week is a big thing in San Francisco. I’ve heard all the stories.
Hudson laughs. “The girls may have had something to do with it. Anyway, my first few months at boot camp I ran into this guy named Ridge. He was a SEAL doing training with his team nearby. In passing one afternoon I asked him what it was like to be a SEAL and he didn’t give me the standard answers.”
“There’re standard answers?”
“Yeah, you know. ‘It’s great, kid’ or ‘The best thing on the planet.’ Ridge stopped and answered my questions. Then he offered to buy me a beer. The next day I signed up for the special training program.”
“And then you became a SEAL?”
Hudson laughs again. “Well it took longer than it sounds. I had to be accepted into the program, then testing, and training.”
“Okay this story still doesn’t explain how you ended up in Pelican Bay with Ridge.” Hudson must be the worst storyteller in the history of the world. He hasn’t made it to the main point yet.
“Calm down, I’m getting there. Ridge attended my graduation from SEAL training, but I never saw him again. Then one day I’m out on patrol and an IED explodes in one of the buildings we’ve been tasked with securing. Took a piece of shrapnel in my calf.” He taps the back of his left leg. “The nice career as a SEAL was done.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
Hudson shrugs. “I was lying in the hospital wing in DC when Ridge walked up to my bed and told me he’d been following my career and if I ever wanted a job at his company, I was welcome to it. Took a few more months of recovery and physical therapy, but as soon as they discharged me I packed my bags and headed to Maine.”
“Ridge seems like a great guy.”
Hudson plucks another piece of grass from beside him and flicks it in front of us. “He is. In ways he saved my life.” A few seconds pass as I consider his tale. “How did you end up in San Francisco?” he asks when a text comes through on my phone.
I scan the message before it disappears from my home screen. “Aspen plans to get people together for dinner at her house tonight.”
Hudson laughs. “They do get together often, huh? It’s been two days.”
“Yes, and now that Marissa and Aspen aren’t working, it will only be worse.” They’ll have nothing to do besides plan parties. The horrible future possibility makes me shudder. So much social interaction. So much talking.
“So now you must tell me how you ended up in San Francisco with a bunch of billionaire best friends.”
Technically only Finn — and by extension Aspen — are billionaires, but I don’t correct Hudson. When your bank account contains that many zeros, does it matter?
“My story is not as exciting. Graduated high school, went to college for marketing, and took a job in the marketing research department here in San Francisco. The city sounded like a great place to live, it got me away from my brothers, and I work with puppies.” Really, it’s a no-brainer.
“Are you one of those marketers who designs ads or runs numbers?”
“Neither. I run our test groups. I pass out free dog food to the families in our control groups and once or twice a month get the dogs together for play dates and to hear from their owners how they responded to the sample products.” It’s my dream job. Who else gets to give people free stuff — everyone loves free stuff — and then spend a significant amount of my time visiting with dogs?
“I can tell you love it from your face.” Hudson flicks another piece of grass. This one lands on his boot and he’s forced to shake it off.
It’s easy to beam with pride about my job. “I do because I love dogs. I get the feeling you don’t love animals the same way.”
His face pinches in aversion. “It’s not that I dislike animals.”
“You definitely dislike my pigs,” I say with one eyebrow lifted higher than the other.
“It’s not your pigs.” Hudson sighs. “It started with this dog, Frankie.”
