Remember, You Love Me
Little Girl Lost
Mairsile
Remember, You Love Me
© 2014 by Mairsile. All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental, except for Carol Burnett, who truly is a living legend.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form, without written permission from the author.
Cover Design: Mairsile
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Acknowledgements
This is the third in the Aidan and Vicky series. There will be plenty more adventures for the two lovers. Visit me on Facebook for the latest, or you can find me on www.Mairsile.com.
A million thanks to Joyce, my best friend and supporter extraordinaire.
A million more thanks to L.Fox, my best friend who came to my rescue. God bless you!
A great big thank you to all the men and women, who have served or are serving in the American military. You are my heroes.
And last, but never least, may the glory go to God.
Mairsile
Chapter 1
Ten Years Ago at a Prestigious College Library
The sunbeam has a favorite path it likes to take, so that the dust particles can dance in the warmth that it emits. The particles like to waltz across the beam, as it moves over the four chaired, round tables, and across the rows upon rows of books, until the particles danced their way out of the beam, and land in the furthest, secluded corner of the library. People rarely watch their recital, but they do enhance it, when they walk through the sun beam, and in their wake the waltz becomes a samba.
There was one who watched, as if mesmerized, but their dance only drew her inside her thoughts. Thoughts of love, of lost, of melancholy. There’s a type of comfort, sitting among books of every genre, thick and thin, old and new, fantasy and adventure, and love. But she wasn’t there for love, for love had forsaken her, and even the dust particles knew it.
“Hey, is this seat taken?”
Vicky was pulled from her daydreaming with a start, “What? Oh, no, help yourself.”
She tossed her books on the table, “Thanks. Whatcha studying?”
“Fundamentals of microbiology. You?”
“I’m studying that gorgeous girl over there.” She nodded toward a wisp of a girl, drawing on her art pad, in the corner of the library.
Vicky chuckled, “You have good taste.”
Joyce cocked a grin, “Dang, that was nice of you to say. My name is Joyce McMillan, second year med student.”
“I’m Vicky Montgomery, first year nursing student.”
The girl Joyce was admiring, walked up to her, and handed her a small piece of paper, then she left. Joyce watched her until she was out of view, and then she remembered the paper. The girl had drawn a cartoon of Joyce, holding a cell phone, and written below it was her phone number.
“Do you get that a lot?” Vicky asked inquisitively.
“Well, I don’t mean to brag, but…, no I’m kidding. I’ve sort of been stalking her, and she finally noticed.” Joyce picked up the slip of paper and folded it neatly into her billfold. “Well, back to you, nurse Vicky. Why are you looking so down in the dumps?”
Vicky put her palm to her face, “Oh, was I?”
“You’ve been dumped, haven’t you?”
“In a matter of speaking.”
“Just say the word and I’ll kick their ass for you.”
“Oh Joyce, you are direct aren’t you? But it doesn’t matter. It was over five years ago. I don’t know where she’s at now.”
“Who would dump a real looker like you?”
“Aidan didn’t dump me, exactly. She ran away so I wouldn’t get in trouble. If only…” Vicky had made that wish before, many, many times before.
“Listen kid, there’s no sense wishing your life away. You’ve got to get back up in the saddle again.”
Vicky’s eyes welled up, “Aidan use to call me kid.”
Eighteen months ago, near Fort Hood, Texas
The bartender had seen this many times before. It was an occupational hazard when you owned a saloon close to a military installation. Rowdy soldiers on a weekend pass, getting liquored up, losing too much money at poker, and justifying it with a fist fight. That’s why he kept a sawed off shotgun under the bar. Usually just the appearance of it, and the fighting would stop. But this time, he didn’t draw it out, though he rested his hand on it. This time he wanted to see how the fight would end, because this time, it was between a big burly Marine jarhead, and a tall, thin, Army grunt. If he were a betting man, his money would have been on the grunt, even though the jarhead was bigger by half, and the grunt was a female. It was the rage in her eyes, and her wild tiger like animalism that convinced him. He would have won that bet.
“Atten-HUT!” Army Master Sergeant Sherri Rowen, stood in the doorway of the saloon. Though she was Army, she outranked them all, which immediately commanded their respect.
Four of the five soldiers immediately came to attention. The big burly Marine was a little slow to stand up, unwilling to take his hands off of his painfully sore testicles. He groaned dramatically, as he finally came to attention beside the others.
The Master Sergeant walked in front of them, as if to inspect the line. One sailor, two Marines, and two Army, stood rigid in front of her, eyes forward, hands at their side, and blank expressions on their faces.
“Someone want to tell me what’s going on here?” No one spoke. “I figured as much. Let me see if I can guess. Now stop me if I get this wrong…” The Master Sergeant had a mischievous twinkle in her eye, “The Marine here,” she pointed to the man who was slow in getting up, “was lying on the floor when I walked in. From the look of it, he had been kicked in the scrotum.” The others snickered, until she shot them a stern look. “Who could get the drop on such a large man? Who would have the balls to even take him on? I know it wasn’t the sailor or Marine, because they were standing behind this man. I guess that just leaves you, Specialist.” She stood in front of Spc. Jerry Williams, who was of average height and weight. Jerry’s eyes looked like the deer caught in the headlights. “Well of course it had to be you, Specialist, because this soldier,” she walked in front of Aidan, “this soldier with a cigar in her mouth, is a woman, and surely women are much too weak to inflict such a blow.”
Fuck me! Aidan quickly tossed the cigar to the floor behind her, and came back to attention, then she confessed without inflection, “It was me, ma’am.”
“You? You had the balls to kick this man in the balls?” More snickers from the others. “What is your name and rank, soldier?” The Master Sergeant already knew the answer, having given Aidan demerits before for a similar infraction.
“Sergeant First Class Aidan Cassidy.”
“So, SFC Cassidy, why did you kick this man in his family jewels?”
“He irritated me, Master Sergeant.” The fact that she had so easily bluffed the conceited Marine, was what set him off, leading to the standoff that ended with him crumpled on the floor. But Aidan wasn’t the type to whine, or in this case, brag, to a superior officer in order to get out of receiving demerits.
The Master Sergeant, surprised at such an honest answer, had to suppress a chuckle. “And how did he irritate you, Sergeant?”
“With respect, Master Sergeant, I’d rather not say.”
“I see. Well then,” she took a step back, “Marine, do you want to press charges agains
t this soldier?”
The Marine looked over at Aidan, who was looking straight ahead, without movement, save for her jaw muscle bunching, he looked back and said, “Respectively Master Sergeant, no I do not.”
“Army,” She looked back to Aidan, “Do you want to press charges against this Marine?”
“No, Master Sergeant. I do not.” Aidan said straight out.
“Very well then, you are relieved.” As all five hurried to exit the saloon, the Master Sergeant bellowed, “Cassidy, front and center.”
Aidan knew she was going to get a dressing down from the Master Sergeant. She had a feeling she would be walking the parade ground again for a month working this one off. She didn’t really care.
MSgt Rowen, stood in front of Aidan, “SFC Cassidy, I’d like a word with you.”
The Master Sergeant called to the bartender, “Barkeep, two beers over here please.” Then she set down at the poker table.
Aidan set beside her, in the same place she had been just a few minutes before.
“Listen, Cassidy. You and I have danced this waltz before, and I don’t like dancing, so I’m going to lay it on the line for you. One more infraction like this and you’ll be shipped to Siberia.”
“Permission to speak freely, Master Sergeant.”
“Granted.”
“There is no U.S. military presence in Siberia.”
The Master Sergeant chuckled, “It’s a saying Cassidy. I’m just trying to instill in you, the seriousness of these fights. Your career could be at stake, if you keep this up. You do still want to be a soldier, don’t you?”
Aidan looked at her, reflecting back on her question. A question she had been asking herself a lot lately. She felt like things were slipping out of her control and her solution to that, she thought, was to marry Samantha. She knew it was her love that kept the fear at bay, though she wasn’t sure what it was she was afraid of.
Yesterday in Little Rock, Arkansas
Everything was brown. A dingy, dirty sort of brown, that tinged even the cigarette smoke, hovering gloomily over the room. Even the patrons seemed to have a brownish hue about them.
He raised his woozy head from the bar, and with the knuckle of one finger, sluggishly pushed his glass toward the bartender. “Hit me again,” he slurred so badly, that only a bartender could understand what he was saying, “and one for the purty lady over there too.” He drooled toward the inebriated, liquid lady, her head also down on the bar.
At the sound of free booze, she suddenly developed beer goggles, and looked at her benefactor with instant arousal.
While he waited for the libation that would send him further into the obtunding comfort of inebriation, he glanced up at the blurred box with the annoying screech coming from it. Squinting, to clear the muddy fog from his eyes, he still had to rub them clean with his fists first.
“Turn it up!” he demanded.
The bartender reached over, and turned the knob on the 1970’s, colored television set, mounted over the bar.
“What is this?” the man said to himself, squinting harder to focus on the show.
“I think that’s the Maggie O’Hare show,” replied the bartender.
The man looked closer at the tall, auburn haired girl on the TV, who stood fidgeting next to a distinguished man wearing a suit. His memory was to foggy, or to lazy, to remember why she was familiar to him.
“Yeah, I’ve seen this one,” the lush pushed her hair back thoughtlessly, “It’s a repeat with a couple of gals from right here in the city.” She gulped her drink and continued, “I think the blond owns a hospital, or something.”
The blond came instantly to his recollection. “I’ve had that blond before.” He boasted to himself, remembering a little girl in a white dress. Fixating on her, the man forgot his drink, and walked inside his memories, then locked the door.
***
Today, flying somewhere over California
For anyone coming home from a war zone, there is nothing more beautiful than seeing the soil of their homeland again. It renews their strength, lightens their spirit, and gives hope to their battled weary minds. But sometimes, the drama a person comes home to, is much worse than the battlefield they left behind. Sometimes, physical action is much easier to deal with, than mental inaction.
“Okay, Sam, I need you to stand back over there, and then tell the old man that I choose you.”
Both Samantha and Vicky were shocked. Samantha said, “You understand, that means he will kill her?”
“I understand he will try,” replied Aidan.
The crushed look, and whimper from Vicky, “Aidan?”, shattered Aidan’s heart, causing a volcano of regret that push hot tears to the rim of her eyes, but her resolve was set in stone. It had to be.
“Where are we?”
“We’re 10,000 feet up, in a private plane, on loan from a friend of President Trenton’s, and we are about to cross the time zone into America. So what were you dreaming about, sweetheart?”
“It was more like a nightmare,” replied Aidan. She sat up in her chair, tossed the small pillow to the side, and wiped the sleep from her eyes. She looked at her intended, and decided it would be best not to remind her of something she still had doubts about. Instead, Aidan changed the subject, “Hey, have you called the hospital yet?”
“I was just going to do that.” Vicky pulled out her cell phone, finally powering it up after days of not being able to use it. She dialed directly to the CVICU’s nurse manager, at her hospital.
“Linda, this is Victoria Montgomery, how is my father?”
“He’s doing very well, Victoria. He scared us again in surgery, but Dr. McMillan was able to finish the job this time, so barring any complications he should do well.”
“That is good news indeed. Is she available, I’d like to talk with her?”
“I’m sorry; she’s not at the hospital right now.”
“Okay, I’ll call her later. Thanks Linda.”
“By the way Victoria, love that photo of you in pigtails.”
Vicky could hear Linda chuckling, and though she was 10,000 feet up in the sky, she was still a little bit embarrassed. She had forgotten that before they left Baghdad to find Samantha, Aidan had emailed a picture of Vicky in pigtails, and a t-shirt that said, ‘my daddy is a Marine’, across the front. She hoped it would cheer her father up, so she had her secretary print it out, and hang it in his hospital room. Vicky didn’t consider that her employees would also see the photo, but then, she didn’t really care; it was her father she was thinking of. As the CEO of the hospital’s health system, she could always be found wearing a business suit, or at the very least, a stylish pant suit, with her long blond hair pulled back, just enough base and rouge to hide her childhood freckles, and subdued lipstick, because that’s how executives wore it.
“Yes, the things you do for family, right? Listen, can you transfer me to Yvonne in administration please, thanks Linda.”
Yvonne Rogers, executive assistant to Vicky, was more than just her right arm; she was also a friend, one who Vicky trusted to take care of her parents while she was away. Vicky talked with Yvonne while Aidan got up to stretched.
Aidan looked at the baby lying in an isolette, still a grayish color, and so tiny. The two day old, premature child of her ex-fiancée, Samantha, was fighting for his life. Hang in there little guy. In her heart Aidan said a quick prayer over him.
Extremely fit, after their physical training for Syria, Aidan Cassidy, a few inches taller than Vicky, and a year older, sported short auburn hair, sparkling sea green eyes, hollow cheeks, and thin lips around a large smile. She wasn’t one to show emotion; in fact she hated it, unless of course Vicky was the recipient. But being in the desert had changed her. Now her emotions were on the brink, looking for any excuse, like this baby, to breach the dam.
“Yes we’re fine, and we’re on our way home.” As she talked with Yvonne, Vicky watched Aidan, “Would you please call, and have two ambulances waiting for us a
t the airport. We’ll be there in about five hours. We’ve got a preemie, and a couple of people on board that need medical attention. Oh and tell them we’re in private jet, that President Trenton loaned us, which I’ll explain to you later. Thanks Yvonne, I’ll see you in a few hours.”
Vicky hit the end button, and then dialed Joyce. “Joyce! Thank you so much for taking care of my dad. Yes, I’m on a plane somewhere over California right now.”
“How is what’s her name?” Joyce asked snidely.
“Oh Joyce, you know perfectly well what her name is. You were there when she proposed to me.”
“Yeah I know. It’s Aidan Cassidy, the big hero, who drags my best friend off to a war zone, just so she can save her ex-girlfriend.”
Vicky was use to her bluntness, and usually appreciated her view on things. But not when it came to Aidan.
“Joyce, you’re talking out of your ass, and you know it.” Vicky had picked up some of her own bluntness during the boot camp type training.
They had met in college, and became best friends. Sense then, Vicky rose in the ranks of healthcare executives, and Joyce became a nationally renowned cardiovascular surgeon. Dr. Joyce McMillan, looked like the epitome of a doctor. A handsome face, and brown hair that’s beginning to gray around the temples, giving her that distinguished compassionate look. She is compassionate, but aloof, and likes to say what she thinks, regardless of who is listening. But her most enduring quality is that she is loyal to a fault. When she got word that Vicky’s father had a heart attack, she jumped on the first plane to Little Rock, and immediately took over his case, essentially saving the man’s life. But now that it was all over with, and everyone was coming home safe again, the claws were coming out. Joyce was none too happy at the moment, that Vicky had been dragged off to a war zone in Syria by Aidan.
“Listen, I’ll talk to you more about this later, all right, Joyce. Love you.”
Pulling up the blanket on a sleeping Samantha, Aidan then did the same for Jerry. She walked back to Vicky and sat down. “How’s everything at the hospital?”
Remember, You Love Me: Little Girl Lost Page 1
