“It’s time to play our daily round ofPrevent! That! Infection!” she told him.“It’s your turn. I’ve already changed my bandage—Melvin is healing very nicely.”
“Next time, wait before you bandage it back up. I want to see. You also might want to start leaving it open to the air.”
“Got it,” she told him, setting down her book as she stood up, heading into the kitchen to wash her hands. “Sit there, and oh, have a beer.” She raised her voice to talk over the water running. “I figured this was a good time for you to drink some calories. I mean, compared to having a beer with your breakfast, before you go back out to check for messages from Uncle Alan...?”
“Good guess,” he called back. “You’re not having one?”
As she came back in, drying her hands on a towel, he took a swig, then reached for the peanut jar that was his—marked with a K-for-King. It was still half-full, while hers—marked with an F-for-Francisco—was nearly empty. Of course, he’d been out for all that time while she’d been sitting here, hungry and anxiety-eating.
“I opted for a glass of liquid grapes a couple hours ago—a very nice red blend that paired wonderfully with peanuts,” she told him. “Here, lean forward a little.”
He complied, and she surveyed his injury. It was slightly swollen and no doubt still badly bruised and tender to the touch, but the scrape was, like Melvin, healing nicely. Still, a little antibiotic goop couldn’t hurt. She dolloped some into her palm, handing the open tube to him to close, and began to gently dab.
“Since we’ve already discussed Ted and his various failings, whatever happened to Rachel?” she asked.
Thomas laughed his surprise. “Rachel?”
“Yeah. Dark brown hair, cool glasses, from New York? She was in San Diego during the summer, for some kind of... tech internship, I think it was...?”
“Oh, I remember Rachel,” he told her. “She had a paid internship for a work-study program at SolarCal. She was in an advanced engineering program at RIT—Rochester Institute of Technology.”
“She was really tall,” Tasha said.
He laughed again. “No, she wasn’t.”
“She was to me,” she pointed out. “And she was smart. I... liked her.” Not a complete lie. She’d been green-dagger jealous of Rachel, for sure. She’d been fourteen when Thomas first started dating the grad student—fifteen when they broke up. But Rachel had always been incredibly patient and kind in the face of Tash’s surly teenaged death-wish petulance.
“She was special,” Thomas agreed. “When didyoumeet her?”
“You brought her to the Team cookouts at the Catalanottos’,” Tasha said.
“Right,” he said. “Right. Yeah, I had that temporary assignment as a BUD/S instructor, so I was around a lot that summer.”
“It was a good time to girlfriend up.” Tash knew from growing up with a close proximity to the Coronado Naval Base that many of the younger SEALs used the age-old excuseBut we’re never in one place for very longto steer clear of romantic commitments. Yeah, right—theirkeep it casualprime-directive was always gallantly due to a deep desire to keep the other person from being hurt in the long run.Ahem. “But it was more than just that one summer, you and Rachel.” She finished with the ointment, and used a tissue to wipe the remainder from her hands as she moved to pack up the first-aid kit.
Thomas helped her. “That’s right. She came back to SolarCal in the spring, for her next work semester. I think we all went—”
“Bowling.” They said the word in unison as Tasha sat down across the L from him.
“It was Uncle Bobby’s birthday, so everyone was there,” she continued. “But then the Team got called in.” It happened right after Tash had gotten a strike—everyone had been cheering—she still remembered that night vividly. “You went to the base with Alan, so Mia took your truck and we drove Rachel home. She was... a little freaked out.”
Thomas shot her aYou think?look as he nursed his beer. And yeah, that was a major understatement.
Rachel had beentremendouslyfreaked out by the fact that the SEALs all just rushed away, heading into God-knows-what kind of danger. There was—because there always was—the possibility that they might not come back alive, and the reality of that shook her badly.
“I remember thinking how did someone so smart not understand,” Tasha said. “I mean, you’d been together for more than a year by then—she was dating a SEAL. What did she think that meant?”
“That was the first time I went wheels up while she was in town,” Thomas explained. “I think it was different, seeing it up-close. It wasn’t just me on the phone sayingHey, I gotta go. I’ll email if I can,like I was making a business trip to Sacramento. I remember her telling me, afterwards, how awful it seemed because y’all seemed so casual—all the families and girlfriends.”
“Well, that’s not true. It was normal-ish, sure,” Tash said. “It was expected, absolutely, but it wasnevercasual. But making a fuss about it—making it about howwefelt when our SEALs needed their heads in the game...? That wasnotokay. Geez, I knew that back when I wassix. Don’t cry when Uncle Alan has to leave, because the last thing he needs is to be worrying aboutyou. Just hug him hard and sayI love you, and trust him to fight like hell to come back home.”
And Tasha also knew, even as a child, that she and Mia had it easier than the other SEALs’ families. Because even though her uncle traveled to some extremely dangerous places, an injury to his knee had permanently sidelined him, keeping him relatively safe back at the base or HQ, in a support role. That didn’t mean, however, that he couldn’t be killed by a roadside bomb or a terrorist attack.
Thomas was nodding, but then he shook his head. “Yeah, well, Rachel wasn’t from a military family.”
“So?” Tash said. “You lean on the families who’ve been there, done that, and you learn how to cope. Veronica Catalanotto wasn’t from a military family—until she married Uncle Joe.” It was essentially true for most of the SEALs’ girlfriends and wives—and boyfriends, hello Dave, don’t forget about Dave.
“Yeah, I know that, but...” Thomas said, but he shook his headnoagain, glancing at her as if he had more to say.
