Life, Liberty, and Pursuit

by Susan Kaye Quinn

  It was getting hard for him to breathe. “I’m sorry I’m not … I’m sorry I’m not there to take care of you.”

  “Please don’t be mad. I … I can’t take it if you’re mad.” She sounded so frail. He pounded his head with the phone. Idiota. Kretyn.

  He put the phone back to his ear. “I’m not mad, I promise. I just want to kill the creep that scared you.” That seemed to stop the crying a little.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am quite sure I want to kill him, yes.” She let out a small sigh, but he was seething inside, not sure how much longer he could keep going. “I, um, have to go. My time is up. Clayton will call you back in a minute, okay?”

  “You’re not mad?” she asked, her voice small.

  “I’m not mad, Eliza. I love you.” His voice cracked on the words. He needed to get off the phone, quickly. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

  “Okay.” She paused. “Bye.”

  “Bye.” He hung up the phone, his hand shaking. He turned away from the phone wall, a red haze of anger clouding his mind. Clayton stared wide-eyed at him from across the room, arms folded across his chest and body tense. His face became horrified as David stumbled over to him.

  “What happened?” Clayton looked him over, doing that scanning thing that annoyed the hell out of him.

  “Aagh!” He slammed his palm flat against the wall. He had intentionally held back from hitting it with his fist, because he would have put a hole through it. He had that much self-control, at least.

  Clayton glanced around, making sure David hadn’t attracted the attention of anyone in charge. They were all out getting a smoke or whatever the hell they did when they weren’t harassing recruits.

  “Is Eliza okay?” Clayton demanded from him in a whisper.

  “Yeah, I think so.” His anger lost some of its steam. He placed both palms against the wall, hanging his head. She was okay … until he made her cry. His anger and frustration threatened to take control again. He pounded his palm on the wall, shoving away from it.

  “Tell me what happened.” Clayton’s command brought him up short and cleared his head a little. David briefed him, while Clayton eyed him again. He wanted to punch that look right off Clayton’s face, but David knew he needed help. He kept his hands clenched at his side.

  “So,” Clayton said slowly, “some guy was stalking Eliza, her friend Nicolas ran him off, and you got angry at her. Have I got that right?” Clayton stared steadily at him.

  “I’m an idiot, all right? We’ve established that,” David threw back. Clayton’s stern face softened, and he almost smiled, which baffled David. He reached over and smacked David lightly on the side of his head.

  “You’re a love sick idiot, true,” Clayton said softly. “You need to stop being so worried she’s going to leave you, and make sure you grovel enough to keep her.”

  David stared at him, open mouthed. He was worried Eliza was going to leave him. He couldn’t do even the basic job of protecting her from crazed ex-boyfriends, so Nicolas stepped up to the plate. She would go off to Princeton with him. And David would lose her.

  “Maybe she’s better off without me,” he whispered. “I can’t be there to protect her. She’ll just end up … ” He couldn’t even say it.

  “Well, you could make sure she ends up in that Nicolas character’s arms by not calling her back. Or, you could kiss her angel feet and beg for forgiveness and hope like hell she loves you enough to take you back. Choice’s yours.” Clayton stared at him again, cold blue eyes boring into him. He was sure Clayton was right, which only made him angry.

  “Of course I’m calling her back. Don’t be stupid.”

  “Like I said. And, no, I’ll be calling her back. You need to pull yourself together, son, and I’ll let you know when you can speak with her.” Then he strode over to the phone bank, found an empty phone and started dialing, leaving David speechless.

  * * *

  Eliza spent a full minute cradling the phone, waiting to for it to ring, before she realized Clayton wasn’t calling her back right away. Her hand was shaking when she finally set the phone down, convinced that David was so angry he couldn’t bring himself to call her back. A little panicky feeling clutched at the back of her throat. Why didn’t I tell him about Carter earlier?

  This was turning into the Titanic of days, slow moving, wreaking unstoppable destruction throughout her life. First Carter was stalking her, and then Nicolas was angry at her, and now David was, too. She was going down without a life vest in the chilly waters. Nicolas’s idea of talking, after Carter had sped away in his trust-fund sports car, was to angrily demand why she had let Carter drive her to dinner. He further explained that if Carter ever went near her again, he would beat the hell out of him, no matter what she said, so she shouldn’t bother telling him to stop. She hadn’t gotten a word in. She only later realized that Addison had tried to patch things up between her and Nicolas by bringing him to dinner.

  And David … she had never heard him so angry. It frightened her. And he was angry at her—for not telling him about Carter, for keeping things from him. And it was true. She hadn’t told him, partly because she didn’t want to worry him and partly because it was embarrassing. It was easier to simply ignore Carter and hope he would go away. And now … and now she had ruined everything. She put her head in her hands, tears surging up, when the phone rang and made her almost jump out of her skin.

  Her hand was still shaking when she picked up the phone and turned it on. “Hello?”

  “Eliza, honey, are you okay?” It was Clayton, and his soft sweet voice was like a smooth blanket over her nerves.

  “Y-yeah. Clayton, how mad is he?”

  “He’s not mad at you, sugar. Are you sure you’re okay? You’re not hurt?” His lilting voice was calming her down.

  “I’m okay. He’s so upset with me, Clayton.”

  “Hush now, Eliza darlin’. He’s not upset with you. He’s upset with himself. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  She didn’t really. Why would David be upset with himself? “Um … ”

  “He needs to hear that you love him, honey. Can you tell him that?” His voice was sweet persuasion, but David already knew she loved him.

  “Um, I suppose … ”

  “He needs to hear that from you, right now, because he’s afraid he’s going to lose you.”

  “What? Why?” Clayton wasn’t making any sense at all.

  “I’m going to let him explain that to you, sweetheart. Just go easy on him, okay? And no more tears. I don’t want to have to clean up a crying recruit on this end. Can you help me out with that?” That honey-coated drawl was working on her. She didn’t fight it.

  She took a deep breath. “Okay.” She wondered if she could keep that promise.

  “Good girl. All right, here he is.” After several seconds passed, David was on the phone.

  “Eliza, I am so sorry I yelled at you. You’ve had a horrible night, and I was just the biggest jerk. I wish so much that I was there and could take care of you. It’s killing me, Eliza.” David was gushing into the phone and she had to make him stop.

  “David, I love you,” she said, interrupting him.

  “What?” He hadn’t heard her.

  When she was sure he was listening, she repeated it slowly, so he would know she meant it. “I love you.” She heard him breathe heavily out, almost a sob, and she remembered her promise to Clayton not to cry. Or make him cry.

  “Look, if I promise to tell you about all the crazy men stalking me, will you promise not to leave me for some pretty female recruit?” She tried valiantly to keep her voice light, hoping it would keep them both from breaking down into tears.

  At that he gave a short laugh, but it sounded more like a gasp. “There are no pretty female recruits here.”
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br />   “I don’t believe that was a promise.” She kept her voice teasing, but wondered for the first time how many female recruits there were.

  “Well, if I promise to tell you about all the pretty female recruits, will you promise not to leave me for all the men who are competing for your affections?” He was trying to sound joking, but there was a strain in his voice.

  “I promise. You know, on second thought, I don’t really want to hear about all the pretty female recruits—just the ones that want to date you. I’m going to put Clayton onto them.”

  “Don’t worry, he’s already found them.” He was truly laughing now.

  “Aha! I thought you said there weren’t any.” Her heart was soaring now, in spite of the new-found worry of female recruits. He was still hers.

  “Eliza,” he said suddenly serious. “There’s no one I want but you.”

  “I know exactly how you feel.”

  He sighed and it sounded like contentment. “I have to go now,” he said softly.

  “I love you, David.”

  He paused, and she heard his breath shudder. “I love you, too.”

  The phone clicked on the other end. She held it to her ear, not wanting to break the connection between them. Somehow this was going to work. Somehow she would find a way for them to be together. Because anything less would be horribly, tragically wrong.

  Chapter 17

  Decisions

  In the week since he last talked to Eliza, or rather yelled at Eliza and then groveled for forgiveness, a calm had settled into him. His greatest fear had been smacked down by those simple words from her lips: I love you. When he had hung up the phone, David was so giddy he had been tempted to hug Clayton. Being in a room full of testosterone-pumped recruits, he settled for thanking him instead.

  Something else also happened in the past week, although he couldn’t figure out exactly when. While he contemplated their trip to the Gas Chamber later in the day, he realized something: he felt like a sailor … and a soldier. He had found a place where he could measure up and do something right—a feeling that had escaped him most of his life in Green Bay, always in the shadow of Dr. Marek and Tomasz. Perhaps it had been the live round firing on Tuesday, when he had shot over forty rounds and managed not to kill anything other than his target. Maybe it was the anti-terrorism briefings they had all week in Petty Officer Reynolds’ class. It could simply be that his uniform fit and his hair was longer than most of the recruits’, fresh waves of whom arrived every week, nearly bald and looking scared. He and Clayton laughed while the chief yelled at the smurfs instead of them. It felt good.

  They had received plenty of instruction on the Confidence Test they were about to take, but even Clayton seemed leery of it. Of course, no one wants to take off their gas mask and inhale tear gas just for the fun of it. Sickly yellow lights lit the faces of the recruits as they marched into the windowless hallway outside the chamber. Their entire division lined up along the walls, waiting for their turn. The recruits stood silent, watching the division before them come out, coughing, gagging, and some of them losing their lunch. David had remembered to go light at morning chow today.

  They had practiced donning their gas masks before, in the classroom, with all the time in the world to get it right. Inside the chamber they would have thirty seconds while Chief McMillan lit the tear gas pellet. The normal joking that occurred whenever the RDCs weren’t around was absent as they waited. The light went green above the chamber door and they filed in, standing in rows, one after another. At six weeks, they were finally able to do that without stumbling. Chief McMillan passed them their field protective masks as they came in. They all stood, bulky rubber masks in hand, awaiting the signal. He could swear the chief dropped the pellet before they were instructed to don their masks. Right before the chief shouted “Gas,” an acrid whiff drifted across his face, and his eyes started to water, which made getting the mask on more difficult, given that he couldn’t see.

  Since his eyes were useless, he closed them, frantically putting the mask on by feel and remembering not to breathe until it was fully on. The first gasping breath he sucked in was still full of gas. He panicked before he realized the mask must have filled with gas before he put it on. Blindly feeling all around the seal, he could tell it was tight. He still couldn’t see, with tears running down his face and pooling in the bottom of the mask, but he calmed as the gas slowly cleared. The mask seemed to be functioning properly, allowing only stale rubber-tinged air to pass, a vast improvement.

  He waited as the chief went down the line, barking at recruits to remove their masks. The chief’s orders were muffled by his own gas mask, but he made his intent known. David’s eyes had cleared a little, so he could just make out the chief’s blurry form through the glass eyeholes of the mask. When the chief reached David, he took a deep breath, quickly pulled the mask off, removed the filter cartridge, threw it in the trash can the chief held, and shouted, “Seaman Recruit David Marek, Division five-three-five!” He tried not to breathe any of the tear gas that filled the room. It was impossible. The gas seeped in his eyes, nose, and mouth, causing him to cough and gasp in more gas, which only made it worse. Tears streamed down his face again as he stumbled out of the chamber, following the recruit who had fled before him for the sweet freedom of the hallway.

  In the relatively clear air of the hall, dozens of recruits leaned against walls or on their knees, coughing and gagging. David managed to keep his lunch down, and his eyes cleared quickly. Clayton staggered out only a few seconds later. He looked like an absolute wreck. David started laughing and couldn’t stop, hacking extra gas out of his lungs. Clayton braced a hand on his shoulder and coughed out a laugh. The rest of the recruits were too busy trying to keep their lunches to bother with the two of them, laughing hysterically, hands on their knees and spitting out gas flavored saliva.

  After the Confidence Chamber, they were off the hook for regular PT, starting fire fighting drills instead. Next week, they would have to complete Battle Stations, a comprehensive review of all they had learned about being sailors. It looked like it might even be fun.

  The afternoon passed quickly. Before he knew it, they were waiting their turn for phone privileges. There would be no talking to Eliza this week, and it depressed him more than he cared to admit. He had been trying to think of ways they could be together, but he couldn’t come up with much. He had boot camp, then two years at DLI, and then at least two years’ commitment after that. She was going to Princeton for four years. Maybe she would visit him in California in the summers? Possibly, he could take a leave and come to Princeton for a while. The idea of an endless stretch without seeing her was eating away at him. He was finally getting to know her, and every new thing he discovered intrigued him, making him want her even more intensely. The days were completely filled with drills and training, and yet they were empty unless there was a letter or phone call at the end.

  But the letters and calls were not enough for him, and he knew they never would be. One week without a phone call was hard enough—four years of only calls and letters with an occasional visit was an aching eternity. He didn’t know if he could endure it. He had known enough girls to know that Eliza was one in a million—and he had found her. But for her … she was younger than him, and he had a feeling she was less experienced. His heart cringed. He still believed that, given enough time, she would find someone else—or someone else would find her. He knew all too well how irresistible she was, and he obviously wasn’t the only one who noticed.

  Maybe it would be better once he was out of boot camp, and they could talk more often. The occasional visit might carry them through. If he could get stationed near her school, after he graduated from DLI, then it would only be two years, not four. In any event, he had to keep thinking about it, keep hoping, or he might go mad in the mean time.

  He moved up in line as the recruits shuffled fo
rward, and Clayton shifted in line as well. Clayton finally had someone to call, so David was stuck with only one fifteen minute phone privilege. It wasn’t a coincidence that Clayton had waited until David’s no-Eliza week. Clayton’s unwavering support of his long-distance affair with Eliza continued to amaze him, and he should have shown his appreciation by keeping his nose out of Clayton’s business. But it was killing him to know who Clayton was going to call. Curiosity got the better of him.

  “So, who are you calling?” he asked, trying to sound casual. They were standing side by side in line.

  Clayton shrugged. “A friend of mine. He’s helping me set up accommodations once we get to DLI.”

  “Aren’t we spending the first few weeks in lock-down?” David asked. DLI was their A school, their first long-term duty assignment out of boot camp. They would be restricted to DLI barracks at the Presidio of Monterey for the first few weeks, except for weekend liberty privileges.

  “Yeah, but you’re going to need some place to live after that. The Navy’s not going to take care of you hand and foot, son. You’ve got to figure some of this out for yourself.” Clayton was teasing him, but he wasn’t sure about which part.

  “Well, where are you staying?” He assumed Clayton would have the best deal going already. That’s just how it went with him.

  “I’m going to check, but I think I may have secured some quarters for us at Fort Ord,” he said with a smile.

  “Us?”

  “Unless you’d rather take your chances on a new bunkmate.” He shrugged, but David could tell Clayton was hoping he would say yes. Of course, there was no way he would pass up a chance to room with Clayton.

  “I’d just have to break him in.” David grinned. “Hey, wait—did you say Fort Ord?”

  Clayton nodded, eyebrows arched.

  “That’s where my sister’s going …” David trailed off, wondering how that could be. He remembered Tea’s last letter said something about setting up campus housing with Eliza’s friend Addison at Fort Ord. “I think CSU Monterey Bay is located on Fort Ord as well. Tea said she was rooming there with a friend. Maybe they converted part of the military base for campus housing.”