Hover

by Anne A. Wilson

  “Oh, Senior…”

  He takes another heavy breath, laced with grief.

  “Believe it or not, Commander Claggett used to be a good guy, easygoing even, but he hasn’t been the same since.”

  “Is that why—”

  “Why he treats you like he does? I’d bet my life on it. You’re the worst possible person he could have on this detachment.”

  “The worst?”

  “Well, your resemblance to her is a bit uncanny, first of all. And then the names? Sara? Kara? I’ll never forget when he first saw you at the squadron back home with a detachment roster in his hands. He looked at the name, looked at you, and it was like he’d seen a ghost.”

  I’m back to shaking my head. That’s probably why he latched onto the nickname Lace so quickly. It had to be so much easier than spitting out the name Sara.

  “And to make it worse, you’re a great pilot, like he was. Although truthfully, I think he knows you’re the better stick, just like we do. He’s blamed himself for the accident, for killing her, and I can’t help but wonder if in the back of his mind he thinks that if he’d had your skills, she’d still be alive.”

  “The holes in the ramp … that day … he didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “That cut way too close to home.”

  “I had no idea.…”

  My eyes lose their focus as I try to imagine Commander Claggett with a smile on his face, laughing with the woman who laughs in the photo. My eyes glass up and I blink quickly, but not in time for Senior not to notice.

  “But Senior, that still doesn’t explain why he treats me so badly.”

  “He can’t let you in, Lieutenant. Don’t you see? That grief is so raw, even three years removed, that if he did, he wouldn’t be able to function. The further he can push you away by learning how to ‘hate’ you,” and Senior puts his fingers in quotes here, “the further removed he can remain from his grief. He doesn’t want to face it. Can’t face it. And every day, you’re front and center, reminding him of her, so he’s doing the only thing he can to survive, I think.”

  “The drinking…”

  “Excessive, right? There’s a reason.”

  I put my elbows on Senior’s desk and drop my head in my hands. Every horrible thought I’ve ever had about Commander Claggett disappears into the realm of fresh understanding. And the thing is, I understand the grief from which Commander Claggett is trying to hide far better than Senior realizes.

  When I finally raise my head, Senior regards me, his arms folded in front of his chest. “I hope I was right in telling you that. With the squadron turnover, there’s no one around who knows except me. But then, I figure, it’s probably good for you to know. Like I said, I remember when he was just friendly Nick Claggett. He’s in there somewhere.”

  I give Senior a long look. For a salty navy chief, he possesses a far bigger heart than I ever would have imagined.

  38

  “Sara, please,” Em says. “Please come with me tonight. You need to get out. You need to get off this ship.”

  Most of the officers on the Kansas City are headed to Pancho Villa’s, a Tex-Mex restaurant and nightclub housed in the Astoria Hotel in Dubai. This restaurant is a popular hangout with British and Australian expats, and therefore, just as popular with visiting U.S. Navy ships’ personnel.

  I haven’t been inclined to do anything since we arrived in port and I certainly haven’t wanted to leave the ship. Since I saw Eric two days ago, I’ve run for hours on the treadmill, climbed thousands of electronic feet on the stair climber, and pedaled far too many miles on the aerodyne bike.

  I can’t let it go—the hurt, the humiliation, the betrayal. But worst of all, I can’t let go of him.

  I’ve approached the problem by trying to sweat it out of my system. Sweat him out. But it’s not working and I’m miserable.

  I finally realize that I’m going to go stir crazy if I stay on this ship. Nothing is going to get accomplished here. And at the very least, if I go, it will make Em feel better.

  “Okay, I’ll go,” I say, acquiescing. “I just need to run by Commander Claggett’s room first to get the flight schedule approved for tomorrow.”

  “We’re starting the runs to Fujairah, aren’t we?” she asks.

  “Yep. You’re up for the first one.”

  “Sweet.”

  Fujairah, a coastal city in the United Arab Emirates, sits on the Gulf of Oman, about sixty miles east of us. We’ve been briefed that we’ll be flying logistics runs and training hops to their airport throughout the next five months.

  These flights are supposedly a great deal. The aircraft commanders who have flown them in the past say they often require overnight stays at the Hilton Hotel, complete with a swimming pool and buffet breakfasts. Em has been talking my ear off about these flights, how she can’t wait to go, yadda, yadda, yadda.

  This will be good for her, though. With all she’s had to endure with me and the SEAL flights, she deserves this. And even though she and Zack have been flying far more than me over the last couple weeks, for some reason, Em is still falling far short on the flight hours as compared to Zack. Yeah, this will be good for her.

  “Okay, give me a minute. I’ll be right back.”

  When I enter Commander Claggett’s room this time, I see a person sitting at his desk who ironically has erected more defensive layers than I have. Who used to be friendly and easygoing. Who laughed and joked. Who loved a woman.

  It’s bewildering for me to think of him like this after we’ve spent so much abrasive time together. So bewildering, I forget myself and just stand, gawking.

  “So you’re here for what?” he says.

  “I…”

  I have the flight schedule in my hand, yet I’ve forgotten completely it’s the reason I’m here.

  “Still sick?” He smirks.

  “Uh, no … no, I’m not sick.”

  “What do you need then?”

  “The flight schedule,” I say, remembering. “I need you to sign the schedule, sir.”

  I hand it to him, he looks down, but snaps his head up almost immediately.

  “This is not what we discussed. Zack takes this flight.”

  “But Emily’s lower in flight hours.”

  “I know perfectly well where every pilot in this detachment stands on flight hours.”

  “But, sir—”

  “Why are you arguing? I said who I want on the flight and that’s it, end of story.”

  Em is going to be so disappointed. She was really looking forward to this. And she should be the one flying. The discrepancy in flight hours between her and Zack is glaringly obvious.

  “I’m just trying to understand your reasoning, sir.”

  “What the fuck, Lieutenant!”

  Why did I push it? Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

  But then, a normal officer in charge like Brian Wilcox would have explained his reasoning. Maybe cross-country navigation is a deficiency for Zack so he needs this particular flight more than Emily. I would get that. It would make sense.

  “This is so goddamn simple! I tell you who goes on the schedule. You say, ‘Yes, sir.’ You type exactly what I tell you. You give it to me for signature. Period. Do you think you can handle that?”

  Several thoughts cross my mind at once. I think of Emily’s disappointment. She’s put up with so much crap so far this cruise, always on the short end with flight hours and dealing with the embarrassment of being pulled from flights so I can take her place. And then Commander Claggett’s treatment of me, as though I was less than everyone else, and playing that damned female card—tentative, lacking assertiveness. It makes me want to scream. And finally, I know as well as anyone how hard it is to lose someone. And not just that, but to feel responsible for it. God, I know. But this has to stop. The treatment of Emily. Of me. And it has to stop before he drinks himself to death.

  I straighten and pull my shoulders back. “You didn’t used to be like this,” I say.

&
nbsp; “What?” he says.

  I have a choice now. I can say, “Never mind,” and be on my way. But I don’t.

  “You weren’t like this before.”

  “Before what? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I know about her. I know about Kara. And I’m so sorry, sir. Truly. But you can’t treat other—”

  I stop mid-sentence, watching the blood drain from his face, realizing what I’ve just done. I’ve plunged a dagger in his heart, and I instantly regret it. Because for a brief moment, I have direct access to his soul. I see it in his eyes. The love is there. The agony. And I’ve just intruded on something so intensely private, I have to look away.

  “Get out,” he says so quietly that it’s worse than if he had yelled it.

  “Sir, I’m sorry—”

  “Get out,” he says sharply.

  I start to step backward. “Sir, really, I didn’t mean—”

  “Get the fuck out of my room! Get out now!” he shouts.

  Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. What have I done?

  I turn and grapple with the door handle. Come on, come on! The door finally opens and I stumble into the passageway, the door slamming behind me.

  I stand with my back against the bulkhead, my breath stuck in my throat. What the hell did I just do? I went so far out of bounds with him. So far. Nothing he’s ever said or done to me comes even close to what I just did to him. What was I thinking?

  And then I hear it. Soft at first, but eventually loud enough that there’s no mistaking it. The sounds of a grown man crying.

  Oh, god …

  I flee to my room.

  “What the hell?” Em asks.

  I move right by her and rush into the head, locking the door behind me. Dropping to the ground, I cover my eyes and let the tears come. For many reasons they come. Commander Claggett’s tragic loss is just the straw.

  To cry is to admit I made a grievous error in judgment, erroneously lowering my guard. But ultimately, despite four days and nights of denial, it’s an admission that my heart is, in fact, broken.

  39

  Em waits for me. I thought she’d be long gone by the time I finally returned to the room, utterly spent.

  Using the intuition of a best friend, she doesn’t ask me a thing. Instead, she acts like nothing happened and we’re still going out. She knows she needs to get me off this ship. I know I need to get me off this ship. Walking into a packed nightclub wouldn’t normally be my first choice in a case like this, but I really don’t have a say in the matter.

  Once we arrive, Emily only has eyes for the bar. Although, she does pause at the entrance. “Are you going to be okay?” she asks.

  “I think so.”

  We step inside and enter another world—music pulsing, dance floor thumping, disco lights flashing. She leads me through the throng, which includes the majority of our ship’s company and many officers I recognize from the Hail and Farewell in Hong Kong.

  While we wait at the bar for her margarita, I take in the very Western attire of most of the female patrons. These Aussies and Brits flaunt miniskirts, sleeveless tops, and plunging necklines. Em was right about that.…

  When we first pulled into Jebel Ali, the executive officer personally spoke with us—just us, not the men—about the importance of wearing conservative attire when leaving the ship for liberty. He highly recommended long pants and long sleeves.

  Em complied, kicking and screaming the whole way as she left the ship the first night. To her chagrin, she departed wearing one of my long-sleeved blouses.

  I remember the eruption when she returned. “The XO can kiss my ass on the conservative dress!” she shouted. “Oh, my fuckin’ god. You should have seen the Aussies and the Brits. I don’t think they got the fuckin’ memo!”

  I was surprised she didn’t rip the buttons out of my shirt in her haste to remove it.

  Of course, conservative attire isn’t an issue for me, so I’m comfortable as a clam tonight in my jeans and long-sleeved white oxford.

  “You need to eat,” Em says, shouting to be heard above the fray. She lifts her margarita glass from the granite countertop. “Let’s get a table.”

  My eyes burn. From the bathroom floor to a crowded nightclub in the space of an hour. I’m starting to think I might have to join Em with the margaritas.

  We’ve taken two steps away from the bar when I run into Rob Legrand and Brian Wilcox.

  “Hey, Sara,” Rob says, leaning into my ear so he can be heard.

  Brian chooses to wave instead of shouting.

  I say hello in return, but I doubt they heard me. Behind us, the crowd on the dance floor moves as a singular gyrating organism to music that makes my lungs vibrate.

  “This is my roommate, Emily.”

  While Brian and Rob shake Emily’s hand, I begin a slow scan to find open seating. My dead heart lurches when my eyes settle on Eric. He sits with his detachment pilots in a booth in the far corner.

  “Hey, Em!” a man shouts, approaching her from behind. “Fancy seeing you here!”

  She turns and gives him a hug, and they begin a loud conversation as if they’ve known each other for years. I’m guessing they met last night.

  I can’t turn away from Eric, though. He doesn’t look good.

  Brian and Rob have followed my gaze.

  “So what did you do to him?” Rob asks. “Did you kick him or something?” He laughs at his joke until he sees my expression.

  “No, he kicked me,” I say flatly.

  “Ah,” he says, retreating.

  It’s an awkward moment and I’m not even going to try to cover it up.

  Brian steps closer, leaning into me. “He told me about the two of you.”

  I shift to face him. “What?”

  “In confidence, of course.”

  I try to appear indifferent, unaffected, but Brian sees right through it.

  “I know it’s none of my business, but whatever happened between you two … well, he’s devastated.”

  Devastated? Devastated? I’m the one he betrayed! I opened my soul to him! I shared my deepest secret and he used it against me! And he’s devastated? Why, because he lost his go-to girl for sex on this deployment? Damn him.…

  I peer over Brian’s shoulder. Eric stares absently at a water glass he twirls on the table, his demeanor a far cry from what it was in the meeting. The pilots seated with him are engaged in animated conversation, but Eric remains isolated and withdrawn, clearly detached from anything happening around him, looking … devastated.

  I turn back to Brian, leaning close to his ear. “Brian, have you known him long?”

  “Since I taught him to fly the H-60 so many years ago. I was an instructor pilot then.”

  “Did you just teach him or did you really know him?”

  Brian steps away to let a group of three squeeze behind him on their way to the bar.

  “We became great friends,” he says, leaning in again. “So much so that I know his background—all of it.” He looks at me knowingly.

  “But I thought—”

  “Just the squadron skippers, right? Normally, that’s the case. But we’re close, so he confided in me about that, even before I was selected as one of their pilots.”

  “You were…?”

  “Yeah. We’ve been through a lot together, and I’ll be flying with Eric again whenever this mission gets called,” he says, pointing to the silver cell phone at his waist.

  I look down at mine, the one I’ve worn dutifully 24/7 just as Animal ordered. Running my thumb along the smooth, thin edge, I think of Eric confiding in Brian, considering him a close friend. It doesn’t match with a person who could deceive.

  “Do you trust him?” I ask finally, looking up.

  He responds without hesitation. “Absolutely.”

  I put my fingers to my temples and squeeze. I’m going to fly apart if I don’t.

  Em waves her arms over her head to gain my attention. While Brian and I were talking, she has m
oved away and found a table.

  “I, uh, I need to go,” I say.

  Brian nods. “You take care, okay?”

  As I walk toward Em, the energy ratchets higher. She’s speaking animatedly with two men I’ve never seen before and motions for me to sit while continuing her conversation.

  But they beat a hasty departure when Jonas trumpets his arrival. “Hello, ladies!” He’s accompanied by Bartholomew and Collin. Admittedly, this trio is an intimidating one.

  “Mind if we join you?” Jonas asks.

  “Are you kidding?” Emily says. She hurriedly sits, adjusting her position to make room.

  Bartholomew and Collin take seats next to her and Jonas moves in next to me. I slide over until I’m pinned against the wall.

  “Nice that you’re finally off the ship, eh?” he says.

  “Oh my god, Sara. They have accents!” Emily giggles.

  “Em, this is Bartholomew, Collin, and Jonas,” I say. “Guys, this is my roommate, Emily.”

  “How do, love?” Collin asks.

  “I do fine,” she says, starstruck. Emily is melting in her chair. How embarrassing.

  “So how are you?” Jonas says.

  He has just drawn a demarcation line between those on the other side of the table and us. With a turn of the head and a hush of the voice, he has transformed what was just a horribly loud, overcrowded pub into a small, intimate, private space. He speaks to me now as if we’re the only two present. I feel myself backing into the wall, though.

  “What’s the matter, love?” he says. “You look uncomfortable.”

  “I … I need to leave.”

  “Shall we slip outside?” he asks, sliding over and standing.

  I rush to escape the seat, instantly feeling better as I stand. But now, a rock-and-a-hard-place conundrum. I don’t want to leave the “security” of a crowded room, but I’d do almost anything to gain a little space between me and Jonas—the space that collapses as his hand wraps around mine.

  “You’d do well with some fresh air,” he says.

  “No, I think I’d rather go by myself, thanks,” I say, trying to pull my hand away.