Just Like This

by Rebecca Gallo

  “Yes, Cami. I want you to,” he moaned. His jaw tensed, and his hand sped up as it traveled up and down his impressive length at a punishing pace.

  “Oh god,” I groaned as he gritted out the same thing. My eyes were shut tightly as my own orgasm consumed me, coating my thighs with slickness. My breathing was heavy as my body shook with waves of pleasure.

  “Jesus,” Garrett hissed. I opened my eyes as Garrett was reaching for tissues to clean himself.

  “How often can we do that?”

  “Not as often as I’d like, baby. I’m sorry.”

  I stood and pulled the bodice of my dress back up, placing the straps over my shoulders. I smoothed down my skirt while Garrett tucked his semi-hard cock back into his boxer briefs before re-buckling his pants.

  “Thank you for making it happen, though,” I said softly.

  “You’re welcome. It’s been difficult to find the time to email you and respond to everything you’re going through. I wanted to make it up to you.” Garrett ran a hand through his hair and let out a heavy breath. “I’ll be honest with you, Cami. This deployment is the hardest one. Maybe it’s because it’s my last, or maybe it’s because I know you’re waiting for me back home, but I’m struggling.”

  “Tell me, Garrett,” I pleaded. He was clearly hiding his emotions from me, but I wanted him to trust me with not only his heart but also his mind.

  He shook his head fiercely. “No. You have too much to worry about. I don’t need to add my burdens onto your already weary shoulders.”

  “Garrett, please. I can take it.”

  “I’ll think about it.” There was a pounding in the background, and I heard the sound of someone yelling, but I couldn’t make out what they said. Garrett turned his head and shouted back before facing me. “I’m sorry, Cami. My time is up.”

  “Okay. Thank you for this,” I said, gesturing between the two of us. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Cami. I’ll email you soon.” He blew me a loud kiss and winked before he ended our connection.

  When my screen was blank, I collapsed against my chair and let the tears stream endlessly down my cheeks.

  I undressed slowly, taking care to hang up the dress instead of leaving it in a heap on the floor. I walked into the bathroom and stripped off my panties before stepping into the shower. In spite of my tears, my body was still humming with need, and my fingers found their way back to my center.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Cami

  The Skype call with Garrett was the last happy moment for a while. The infection that my father was battling returned, and he was too weak to fight it off.

  “It’s just a matter of time,” his doctor told us. We were all gathered in his room, a place we rarely left. My dad was in and out of consciousness, waking only to make eye contact and give us weak smiles. Even in his last days, Dad was still trying to reassure us that everything would be fine. “I would make sure everything is in order.”

  The doctor’s words seemed so final. Make sure everything is in order. Call the insurance companies. And then there was the question that haunted me day and night: “Does your father have a DNR on file?”

  I looked at Valerie who nodded. “Yes,” she said tearfully. “He wants to just go.”

  When my father was first diagnosed, he was optimistic, but over the last year, he’d become more realistic. He had agreed to the surgeries and the treatments but had been honest about their outcome. If they didn’t work, if his cancer spread, then he would accept there was nothing left to do but enjoy the past few months of his life.

  My father’s study was small, but during the last few days of his life, we didn’t want to be far apart. We craved the closeness and connection. We played his records constantly, filling the room with soft music. He deserved to be surrounded by the things and the people he loved the most.

  I sent Garrett a constant stream of emails. I couldn’t share my grief with Valerie or my mother, but I needed to unleash it somehow. Night after night, I sat curled in a small armchair in the corner of his room with my laptop and sent email after email. Sometimes, they were only a sentence or two. Other times, they were long and rambling, perhaps even incoherent, and sometimes, I wished I hadn’t sent them. But I received no response from him.

  “Cami,” my mother said softly. I looked up, and the sadness in her eyes told me that this was the end. I closed the laptop and set it on the table next to the chair I had claimed as my own. My feet felt leaden as I shuffled to my father’s side. Sinking down in the chair next to his bed, I grabbed his hand, then kissed it before placing it against my cheek. For one last moment, I wanted to feel his touch.

  “I love you,” I whispered, gently setting his hand back down on the bed. I looked up at Valerie whose expression mirrored my own. Tears streamed endlessly down our cheeks; our eyes were red and swollen. I nodded, and she left to get the nurse.

  The nurse checked my father’s vitals and confirmed what we already knew. He was gone. For the first time in months, I willingly went into my mother’s arms. We huddled together as the nurse called and informed the doctor of my father’s death. Everything over the course of the next few hours seemed to happen in slow motion. I remained permanently affixed to the armchair as the doctor arrived, then the paramedics, and finally, Palmer. He knelt in front of me and grasped my hands in his.

  “Cami,” he said softly. “Cami, you need to sleep. Come and lie down.”

  “No,” I answered him. The paramedics were placing my father’s lifeless body on a gurney. I watched it all happen right in front of me, but I might as well have been a mile away. They covered my father’s body with a plain white sheet, and then he was gone. I stood abruptly. Palmer was right there, his hand hovering under my elbow, waiting to catch me.

  “Where’s he going? Where are they taking him?” My voice was shrill and panicked. I turned in a wild circle, searching for my father. A high wail escaped my lips as I sank to the floor. Palmer’s arms wrapped around me tightly as he gently rocked me back and forth.

  “It’ll be okay,” he whispered, smoothing his hands down my back. “I’m here for you.”

  Valerie was next to me too. Her arms joined Palmer’s, and they both held me tightly while I did my best to suppress the screams bubbling up in my throat. He was gone. My father was really gone, and I’d never felt more alone.

  The next morning when I woke up, my eyes were dry and practically swollen shut. There was a warm body next to mine, and my first thought was Garrett’s home! Somehow, he knew, and he came home. My heart rate picked up, and I shifted in the bed, turning toward him. Instead of Garrett, I was face to face with Palmer.

  “Palmer,” I croaked. My voice was hoarse, and my throat felt sore. I cleared it and said Palmer’s name again. His eyes opened slowly, and a slight smile tugged at his lips.

  “Hey,” he said softly.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I didn’t want to leave you. The doctor almost had to sedate you. Don’t you remember?”

  I shook my head slowly. The memories of last night were still foggy, but one thing was perfectly clear: my father had passed away. Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks, and I buried my face in my hands.

  “He’s really gone,” I choked out. “My dad is really gone.”

  Palmer tugged at my hands, pulling them away and wiping away the stream of tears. “I’m here, Cami, and I’ll help you get through this.”

  I nodded even though he wasn’t who I wanted. The one person who could truly give me the comfort I craved was halfway around the world.

  I got up and went through the motions of my day, doing everything on autopilot. Palmer was there, hovering in the background, waiting for me to break, but I wasn’t going to. I was going to prove to myself that Garrett was right. I was strong. When it was time to head to the funeral home, Palmer offered to come, but I told him it wasn’t necessary. He watched me carefully as I got into the back seat of Valerie’s car.

  My
father didn’t want a traditional service. He wanted a memorial service filled with the people who mattered most to him, and he wanted to be cremated. “And he hated roses,” I told the funeral home director. “No roses.”

  “Your father loved roses,” my mother interjected.

  “No, he didn’t. He hated them.” Because of you, I added mentally, but this wasn’t the time to discuss that.

  “Okay, so nothing with roses,” the director agreed cautiously.

  “He’d always joked about playing the Bee Gees at his funeral. I think we should do it,” Valerie said. I looked at her, and we both smiled. The memory of my father dressed up as John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever one year for Halloween sprang into my mind, and I couldn’t help the laughter that tumbled from my lips.

  “We should definitely do it,” I agreed.

  “Absolutely not,” my mother said firmly. “We are honoring your father’s life, and we need to be respectful.”

  But we didn’t hear her. Instead, we reminisced about him, and the silly things he did for us. He was the reason pancakes were my comfort food (because they were one of the few things he could make without burning). He was the reason I had the courage to leave Gig Harbor and become a pastry chef. He was the reason I still believed there were decent men in the world because even though my mother had left him, he still loved her until the day he took his last breath. I would do whatever I damn well pleased to honor the most important man in my life.

  When the plans were finished, Palmer arrived at the funeral home to pick me up and take me to dinner. I was physically and mentally exhausted, and food was the last thing on my mind, but he pushed me to eat.

  “You’re going to get sick,” he scolded. “You have to take care of yourself.”

  “I know.” I slowly picked my way through a salad but barely touched the plate of pasta. Palmer looked disgusted as I asked our server for a box. “Can you just take me home?”

  It had only been a day since my father passed, but it felt like things were happening too quickly. But there was also so much to be done that it was overwhelming. We had to wait three days before he could be cremated, and then the memorial service would be a few days after that. Lawyers had to be contacted to begin the process of executing his will. Insurance companies needed to be notified too. It was all too much for me, but I kept reminding myself that I was strong.

  “Have you heard from Garrett?” Palmer asked me as we drove back to my house.

  “No. Not for a few weeks.” Almost a month since that last moment of happiness. “But I email him every day anyway.”

  “Well, it all depends on his job. Sometimes it’s hard to communicate unless you’re paying for Wi-Fi or you work in communications.”

  “He’s tried to prepare me, but this is the time when I want to be able to talk to him, you know? I just want to hear his voice for a few minutes.”

  “I’m sure he’ll call soon,” Palmer said, trying to reassure me.

  When we arrived at my house, I quickly exited the car. I didn’t want to keep up a façade; I just wanted to fade into the darkness of the guesthouse and grieve. I thanked Palmer for dinner and then hurried inside before he could protest.

  After a long, hot shower, I changed into one of Garrett’s T-shirts that I had snagged from his laundry and buried myself under a pile of blankets with my laptop. I opened my email, but there wasn’t anything new, so I sent him one.

  To: Garrett.Hammond@army.mil.gov

  From: CSorenson@mail.com

  Subject: Grief

  No matter how many times I say otherwise, I’m not strong. I know that you keep telling me to be strong, but I just can’t do it anymore. I want to be weak, Garrett; I want you to come home and be my strength because I don’t think I can survive this. He’s been gone one day, and already, my life feels significantly emptier. He was my best friend, and now he’s gone. What do I do without him?

  I know what I should be thinking about now, what I should be looking forward to, but I can’t. I can’t think about the day you come home or about starting a life with you because that means planning a life where my father does not exist. That means accepting he will not be around to teach his grandchildren to make confetti pancakes (confession time: they’re really his recipe, not mine) or to take them clam digging during the holidays.

  It’s been a month, and I’m aching to talk to you, if only for a few minutes. I need to hear your voice, your encouragement. I need you to lift me up because I’m falling, Garrett. Wherever you are, I hope you’re safe.

  Yours, Cami.

  I sent it off and set my laptop on the bedside table before settling in for another restless night of sleep.

  Chapter Thirty

  Garrett

  If today was going to be the day that I died, then I wanted to make sure I was nothing but honest with Cami before taking my last breath. Things were heating up, and we’d lost several troops from another unit in a roadside bombing, which meant all communication was down for almost a week after Skyping with Cami. There wasn’t even a way for me to bribe my buddies in communication for some computer time. When communication was finally up and running again, I left base almost immediately to scout. The roadside bombings were becoming all too frequent, and we needed to know who, what, when, and where. There wasn’t much time to read and respond to the almost daily emails from Cami.

  Jackson knocked on my door and pushed it open before I could tell him to enter. “Are you ready? We need to leave right now.”

  “Yeah. I’m just finishing an email to Cami.” I sent it, and before I closed out my browser, I quickly scanned the dozens of unopened emails waiting for me. From the subject lines, I could tell that her father wasn’t doing well. My heart ached to call her and provide the comfort that I knew she was craving from me. I wanted the same thing too. When I got back to camp and things were finally settled, I would read every email, then call her and explain. And then I would listen because I knew there would be a lot to say.

  To: CSorenson@mail.com

  From: Garrett.Hammond@army.mil.gove

  Subject: Fears

  Cami—

  You asked me once to share my fears with you, to trust you with them. Some of my fear comes with the nature of my job in the Army, but I can’t share any of that with you. I hate saying this, but it’s classified.

  Here’s what I can share with you. I’m afraid to leave you. I’ve never been in love like this before. I’ve never cherished another person the way I cherish you. I’m afraid of never seeing your beautiful blue eyes again or feeling the softness of your lips against mine. I’m afraid of never holding you in my arms again. For once, I’m looking forward to the future because I know you will be in it. But what if that future ends during this deployment?

  I’m also scared to leave my family behind. I need to make amends with my father, and after I’m out, I plan on doing just that. But what if I never get tell him how sorry I am? Or to ask for his forgiveness? I don’t even know Neil, my own brother. I missed out on him growing up. I want to get to know him. Oliver is about to have a second baby, whom I won’t get to meet if something happens.

  For the first time, I’m scared shitless. But I have your love which gives me immense strength.

  All of your emails are waiting for me, but I can’t read them right now because I’m about to leave. As selfish as this sounds, I don’t want to carry the weight of your grief with me into battle. But I know your messages are there, and when I get back, I will read and reply to every single one. And then I’ll call you, and you can tell me everything because I know you’re hurting right now. There are a dozen emails filled with your grief and pain, and I wish more than anything that I was there to carry you through all of this. I love you. Stay strong.

  Love, G.

  As I headed toward the convoy, Jackson stopped me. “Can I talk to you for a second?” He looked worried, so I nodded.

  “What’s up?” I asked him.

  “I just got this,” he said, han
ding me a thick document. I flipped through it and saw the words marriage and annulment.

  “WHOA! What the fuck is this?” I continued to read what was clearly a petition for annulment. “I thought you said that nothing happened in Las Vegas.”

  “I don’t remember getting married, though,” he said honestly. I shook my head; sometimes Jackson was a giant walking cliché.

  “Well, obviously, you sign this and send it back so you don’t stay married to this woman.” I scanned the document for her name. “Allison Cochran.”

  “But what if she’s hot? What if she’s amazing? What if she’s my Cami?”

  “Do you seriously want to stay married to this woman while you’re over here? You have no idea who she even is! You don’t even remember getting married.”

  “You have a point.”

  “Why is she seeking an annulment anyway?”

  “Fraud.”

  “So she’s saying that you lied?”

  “I don’t know, Garrett! This is all so confusing.”

  “Let’s deal with this scouting mission first, okay? And then we’ll deal with sorting out your marriage.” I clapped a hand across his back and squeezed his shoulder. “Congratulations, by the way. I’m sorry I didn’t get you a gift.”

  “Shut up, man, or I’m going to tell everyone on base about that Skype chat you had a few weeks ago.”

  “How in the hell do you know about that?”

  “Thin walls, buddy. Thin fucking walls.”

  I shoved him playfully as we all assembled in front of the row of Humvees and Bradley tanks. Our leader gave us a few quick orders before dismissing us to our assigned vehicle. As soon as the rest of the troops were loaded, the convoy headed out. It would be a long few weeks scouting rebels, but it was necessary. The roadside bombs weren’t just hurting us; they were damaging all of the coalition forces and our increasing efforts to stabilize the region.