"I take it everything did not go as planned?" She threads the strap around my thigh.
"I'm not at liberty to give details."
Her brown eyes meet mine briefly before flitting away.
I have the urge to tell her as much as I can. For her to know me. "There was an explosion on the ship. We were supposed to be all-clear from the vessel before detonation, but it didn't workout that way." I point to the jagged line on my face, the scars hidden beneath the fabric of my shirt. The memories of that day aren't foggy, but it all happened quickly, and it's hard to focus on some aspects. "There was hand-to-hand combat, the broken ribs I already told you about. And then the explosion. I was concussed from the blow. Ended up in the water."
Daisy, who has been nodding along with my vague report, finally gives in and looks horrified. "The water? As in, the ocean?"
"Maritime, Daisy."
"I know you said that, but it didn't fully sink in. No pun intended." She smiles despite her dismay. "I can't believe you were a part of all that. I was here in this small town, doing whatever it was I was doing that day?—"
"Night," I correct, though it was probably daytime for her.
"Night," she echoes, shocked. "You were in the ocean at night with broken ribs, concussed, and lacerated."
And I thought of you.
I saw her in my mind's eye, but it was thirteen-year-old Daisy. The way she looked the last time I saw her. I never looked her up on social media, not for lack of wanting to. Once, in a group photo posted by Hugo on his professional page, there was Daisy in the background. I clung to that image too, as I did my best to tread water in the dark sea, on a night shot through with stars. I told myself Daisy would be waiting for me on dry land. She'd be on base, or in the hospital, or in my living room. Though I knew it impossible, I clung to the falsehood. Daisy, and the lie I told myself, saved my life.
I was located and pulled to safety, and then the shock wore off and the pain took over. And now I'm here, in front of Daisy, breathing the same air. I know how I got here, but also,how did I get here?
"Paper cuts are most definitely for amateurs," Daisy says, bending my knee and crossing it over the opposite thigh.
I tap her wrist with a finger. "Tell me how you hurt yourself with a pry bar."
"I'm remodeling my master bathroom," she says reluctantly. "The sink is basically superglued to the wall, and I had to pry it off. I guess I pried a little too enthusiastically, and"—she lifts her bandaged hand—"this happened."
"Pry bars aren't known for cutting people. Bludgeoning, sure, but not slicing like a knife."
"Leave it to me," she shrugs, releasing my leg. She slips the strap around my opposite thigh, rounding the table to stand on the other side. "It slipped and there was enough force that when it grazed my palm, it cut me. It's not deep, but it's a tender area." She sighs, and this time it's not directed my way. "It'll make it harder for me to keep going on the remodel."
"So, a remodel, huh?" I ask as she guides me into another stretch.
"Yes." She quirks an eyebrow at me. "Why do you sound dubious?"
"Seems like a lot to take on. Wedding planning, remodeling"—I gesture around us—"running a business."
"I like to be busy." A defensive edge sharpens her tone.
"I'm not criticizing you," I say, gentling my voice. I'm dying to ask her if she still helps out on her parents farm, and at her mother's tea house.
"It wouldn't matter if you were," she says, chin lifting. "I know what I'm doing."
"Right." I point to her bandaged hand. "Looks like it."
She growls at me. Literally. Daisy fuckinggrowls. It takes everything I have not to smile, pumping my fist in the air celebrating Daisy's authentic response. It's not that I want to celebrate her unhappiness, but her willingness to show me hergenuine emotions elicits a feeling of pride in me.That's right, it's me who she feels comfortable being herself with.
"Anyway," she says, being less than gentle as she puts me in my next stretch.
My groin protests. "Daisy, I don't know if my body should?—"
"You're fine, Sailor," she snaps.
Everything inside me seizes. Sweet Mother Of Dragons, did she just call me Sailor? And did I like it?
My body warms. Tingles. Blood pumping. Muscles swelling with the desire to be used. Oh yeah. I liked it. Probably too much.
