by Caro Carson
“This isn’t life or death.” She said it out loud to her reflection, sternly, because her heart was pounding as hard as if her whole world was on the line. She still felt like a cadet, trying to meet impossible demands: memorize the menus for the day, the front-page stories from the newspaper and all the other daily knowledge upperclassmen required, polish her shoes, shine her brass, prepare her room for inspection, ping—walk briskly—to an academic building to pass a multivariable calculus exam, then run back to the barracks to get into full regalia for an afternoon parade.
Her heart must have beat this hard more days than not, especially during plebe year. Panic had become a normal emotional state, one she’d learned to function well in. If Drummer were here, he’d say it was understandable that she was defaulting into that mind-set now, because that’s what had worked in the past.
Perhaps that hadn’t been the best thing to learn at her alma mater.
Chloe was in trouble for missing PT, of that she had no doubt, but what good did it serve to rush about in panic now? This was a new life. An adult life. A better thing her alma mater had taught her was to take ownership of her failures. Cadets could not say anything except No excuse, sir when asked why something had gone wrong or something had been left undone. It had rankled as an eighteen-year-old, wanting to explain all the circumstances but being able to say only those three words. Now, it was second nature.
She’d missed PT this morning. No excuse. This situation wasn’t ideal, especially not on her second day in the unit, but she’d report to the commander, apologize for being late, and take whatever butt-chewing he dished out. She would stand through it without flinching—and that, her alma mater had certainly taught her how to do.
Then she’d sit in her new office, five feet from Thane Carter, for twelve hours.
Chloe stared at her reflection a moment longer. She told herself her stomach hurt because of hunger, not dread. She pulled off her black shirt and turned on the shower. She was going to report to the commander showered, fed, hydrated, wearing her ACUs and looking like the calm—not panicked—professional military officer she was.
And then she’d deal with Thane Carter for twelve hours.
Chapter Ten
Chloe used her extra time to stop at the drive-through doughnut shop on her way to the post. She bought a dozen doughnuts, all different flavors, plus one extra for herself. The doughnuts were a shameless attempt at damage control, a small positive after the big negative of oversleeping.
The headquarters building was nearly empty. PT had finished, and everyone had gone to their quarters to shower and eat and return in ACUs for the rest of their day. Chloe had time to kill. She savored her doughnut, wiped the sugar off her lips, shot the balled-up napkin for two points into the basket that was Thane’s trash can, then turned her chair over to figure out which wheel was making that god-awful squeaking noise.
As soon as she heard her platoon sergeant arrive down the hall, she picked up the doughnut box and headed to his office. Even though she was his boss, she owed him an apology. Maybe because she was his boss, she needed to apologize for letting their whole platoon down. At the very least, she owed him the first pick of the doughnuts.
She told him the truth. She’d overslept. No excuse.
Ernesto seemed surprised. “The platoon wasn’t at PT this morning, ma’am. During garrison duty, the soldiers working shifts are excused. It’s pretty much just headquarters at PT.”
Only headquarters did the routine 6:30 a.m. PT during garrison months? It made sense. The supply sergeant, the motor pool mechanics and the rest kept regular hours, but the MPs performing law enforcement did not. Her platoon hadn’t been out there in the predawn, running in formation without her.
She didn’t even try to keep the relief out of her voice. “I’m so glad to hear that. I’ll just go explain to the CO, then.”
“Well, ma’am, you can do that if you want to, but I don’t think it’s necessary. You officers usually write where you’re going on that whiteboard in the orderly room. When you weren’t at PT this morning, I took the liberty of writing ‘in-processing’ next to your name. No one’s expecting you to be at any particular formation today.”
Chloe was speechless. He’d covered for her, and he’d done it in a perfectly reasonable way. For four years, she’d heard that every new lieutenant needed to pray for a good platoon sergeant, because a good one could smooth the way. She’d assumed that meant the sergeant would know all the right paperwork forms to use or how to procure the right equipment, but this? She wasn’t in trouble. At all.
Ernesto prompted her. “You do still have some in-processing to take care of, right? You’re authorized five days, and they had you riding along on at least one of those. Gotta get a parking pass or drop your medical records at the clinic or something?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll go take care of...something like that today.” Forget Thane Carter, forget Different Drummer—Sergeant First Class Ernesto was her favorite man in the world right now.
She handed him the entire box of doughnuts. “Could you find a home for these, please?”
He took them with a smile. “Roger that, ma’am.”
Chloe smiled, too, all the way back to her own office, practically dizzy with relief, until she saw that Carter had arrived. He was at his desk, typing something on his personal phone, scowling away, and he didn’t even greet her with a grunt.
She sat in her chair. The wheels squeaked loudly. There was no way he didn’t know she’d walked in.
“Good morning,” she said, just because Carter didn’t want to talk.
He tossed his phone onto his desk, but didn’t stop scowling.
“Bad news?” she asked, nodding toward his phone.
“No news.” His scowl didn’t let up. “Why does it smell like doughnuts in here?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged and did the first thing that would make her look busy—opening her government-issued laptop. Her personal laptop was still sitting in her apartment, as it should be, but she wished she could write to Drummer. She’d ask him if he’d ever dreaded something he’d been sure would be hell, but then it had turned out to be a piece of cake? Or a doughnut? That was it—she could make him laugh by telling him that she’d had nothing but a box of doughnuts with which to face a hellish morning, but a coworker had turned her morning into a piece of cake. She’d taken the cake and given away the doughnuts, and gotten the better end of the bargain.
She stared at the army laptop’s unfunny home screen. It felt like a million years since she’d last talked to Drummer. It would be at least another ten hours before she got home. Meanwhile, she only had Carter to talk to, a handsome man who hated her, a man who was raising an eyebrow at her in question.
Oops—she’d been looking at him instead of her screen.
“You’re riding along with me again tomorrow night.” Carter looked about as thrilled as she felt.
“Great,” she said with zero enthusiasm. The more he glared at her, the more she craved the warmth and approval she got from Drummer.
Tonight. She just had to wait until the flag was lowered tonight, and then she could leave Carter’s hostile company and go spend the evening with Drummer.
He was such a better man.
* * *
Dear Drummer,
I just got home and read your letter. I’m so sorry you’ve been so worried. Nothing terrible happened to me. I was away from my laptop, and couldn’t check our app. I’ve been missing you!
Chloe hit Send on that much and stopped to unlace her boots and take off her jacket. She was determined not to pass out tonight before doing the essential things, like eating dinner, and most of all, talking to Drummer.
Drummer came first, food could come second. The emotional blue words he’d written had tugged at her heartstrings. How wonderful it was to have someone really worry for her. How awful it was that she’d given him cause to worry.
The only terrible thing that happened was that
I made you worry for no reason. I’m so sorry. I didn’t forget you. I just wasn’t physically near my laptop. You were always on my mind.
She pulled off her socks and wiggled her bare toes. She could feel Second Lieutenant Michaels giving way, relaxing, morphing into Chloe, lover of the ballet and pop culture and Scottish poetry, lover of Drummer’s words and thoughts and friendship, just a girl in love with her boyfriend.
Just a virtual boyfriend—but he was a real person. But not a man she knew in real life.
Thane Carter was a man in real life. Annoyingly, an image of him popped into her mind. Not Carter the MP officer, sweating from a foot chase, cuffing a suspect. Not the fellow platoon leader kicking back in his desk chair, smirking at her. For just a brief moment, she remembered the Thane Carter who’d knelt beside her at the edge of the pool, offering her a beer and a towel and his company. The sun had been shining and the water had been blue...
Well, that had gone nowhere.
Drummer was so much better. He didn’t insult her face, for starters. He hadn’t ever seen her face, but if he did, she was sure he wouldn’t hate it. He surely would never stand around with other guys in public and discuss her shortcomings.
She carried the laptop into the kitchen. Blue letters suddenly ripped across the screen. There you are!!!! Thank God. Where have you been? Who were you with? Not the jerk I told you to confront, I hope.
Oh, boy. Drummer was real, all right. Real and upset. She set the laptop down next to the fridge, but she didn’t type immediately. If she decided the jerk he referred to was Keith from her cadet days, then she could say she hadn’t run into him again yet. But really, the jerk they’d discussed Saturday night was Thane, whom she had confronted and now had to work with.
Drummer wrote into her silence. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to interrogate you. The only truly important question is this: Are you safe?
She’d already said that she was okay. What made Drummer suddenly afraid she might come to physical harm? She’d been obsessed with keeping her heart safe, not her actual body. Yet Drummer was worried enough that he’d missed her Willie Nelson quote, You were always on my mind.
She hadn’t meant to scare him with her neglect. The guilt she felt for taking their virtual relationship for granted felt very real.
More blue words filled the silence. (Willie Nelson, by the way. Too easy.)
I’m physically safe, I promise. Safe and so relieved he was still teasing her with a too easy.
Chloe blew a kiss at her screen and opened the fridge. Yogurt and coffee creamer and some leftover macaroni and cheese huddled together on one shelf in the otherwise-empty fridge. She put the mac and cheese in the microwave and got a spoon to start on the yogurt. She could eat and type.
Emotionally, I’m doing all right, too, now that I’m getting to take a break and catch up with you. If my goal in Big Life is happiness, then I need to talk to you as often as possible. It makes me happy. (Could be Elvis, too, you know. He sang it first.)
Her pink words hadn’t pushed all his blue words off the bottom of the screen yet. She reread them. He sounded so different. Something had happened to Drummer. She was almost certain.
What makes you think I could be in physical danger? she asked.
Bad things happen to good people.
She abandoned the spoon in the yogurt and ignored the beeping of the microwave. What happened to you? Are YOU safe?
I’m fine. Wasn’t talking about myself. I just saw some things at work that
The words just ended. Chloe shifted from bare foot to bare foot on the cold linoleum as she waited.
This anonymity thing has its limitations, he wrote. I can’t tell you about my job and you can’t tell me about yours. But can you tell me if you are safe at work? Safe at home?
Chloe went still. At work, she carried a loaded Beretta and drove at high rates of speed through red lights. Was she safe?
She remembered Thane’s drop-everything response to the nine-nine-nine code, the way 330 had arrived so quickly to assist. Two more patrols had been on their way before dispatch called them off once 320 had radioed that he was safe.
I stay very safe at work. I am never alone. I always have reliable colleagues around me.
Including Thane. He’d been so callous and careless with her heart, but if she ever said nine-nine-nine into a radio, he’d do whatever it took to get to her.
She’d do the same for him.
It was an unquestionable commitment that was hard to explain to civilians. For Drummer, she tried. I honestly feel safer at work than I would if I were out on the town by myself.
I’m glad to hear it. You have no idea how glad. Maybe we should rethink that confrontation plan tonight, though. Even someone you think would never hurt you might.
Too late. I already had it out with him.
God. And you’re ok. Good. How did he take it?
He took it like a man. Chloe deleted that as soon as she wrote it. It sounded too much like a positive trait. He didn’t run away. That’s something. She hit Send.
Did he apologize?
No. But he didn’t try to gaslight me, either, and pretend I was remembering things wrong. He didn’t play like it was no big deal or say he’d just been kidding and I was overreacting. I hate when people do that.
Years of living with No excuse, sir had made her pretty intolerant of excuses, she supposed. She did have to work with Thane, so it was good to know he wasn’t the kind to make up excuses. Too bad he was the kind who tried to charm a woman he wasn’t really interested in, just for kicks, just for an ego boost.
If I’d done the usual avoid-conflict thing, then I would have been the one playing it off like it was no big deal, which would probably have already resulted in me giving myself an ulcer overnight. Laying everything out plainly was good. I wouldn’t say it made me happy, but at least I don’t feel like a doormat right now.
From there, Chloe and Drummer eased into their comfortable relationship and spent the evening cracking jokes about leftover food and the remains of a television series that should have ended at least one season earlier than they did.
She couldn’t ignore her hunch, though, that some aspect of Drummer’s life made him think women were vulnerable. She knew he wasn’t a billionaire and there was no reason to assume he was a drummer any more than she was a ballerina, but with his knowledge of Thoreau and Shakespeare, she’d always pictured him in an erudite kind of profession. If he was a drummer, then he was a percussionist in a symphony, perhaps, or a man seeking a PhD in music studies.
She had to frame it a little differently now. He must be around a grittier way of life. Maybe he was the drummer in a rock band, a big star who’d seen too many women crushed by crowds or overdosing on drugs at wild backstage parties.
Okay, that was a bit far-fetched. More realistically, he’d be the drummer in a fledgling rock band that was playing gigs until closing time in bars that had back alleys. Dangerous back alleys. Had he seen a woman become the victim of a terrible crime?
She was so very tempted to suggest they reveal their professions. He might be reassured to know she was a soldier and an MP.
Or not.
He might worry even more. Most people thought of the military as a dangerous profession. Law enforcement was considered a dangerous profession. Put them both together...
He wouldn’t feel better at all.
She couldn’t change their relationship and make the man feel worse at the same time.
The best leftover in the world is fried chicken. She hit Send with a sigh.
No way. The coating gets all soggy in the microwave. If you can’t nuke it, it’s not a good leftover.
Chloe rolled her eyes. He was such a dude sometimes. You don’t microwave it. You eat it ice-cold, preferably while standing in front of an open refrigerator door.
You’re weird.
Do you know what else tastes great, no matter how long it’s been left out?
I’m afraid of this answer
.
Candy, candy canes, candy corn and syrup. Chloe hit Send, and waited. One second, two—
Elf—great Christmas movie. (And too easy.)
There. She’d made Drummer feel better. Telling him she was an MP in the US Army would only have made him feel worse.
It wouldn’t have made her feel good, either, to be honest. Once people found out where she’d gone to school or that she was an officer, they expected her to act a certain way, all gung-ho and oo-rah. Her career was a huge part of her life, but it wasn’t every minute of it. The last time she’d been home, she’d gone to her mother’s book club’s tea party. She’d been having fun, until she was asked what she did for a living. Once her profession was known, there’d been the inevitable questions, even requests for demonstrations, like could she do a man’s push-up?
Duh. As if there were even such a thing as girl push-ups in the army. There weren’t. Of course she could do regular push-ups—she never referred to them as man push-ups—but she didn’t want to put down her plate of pretty appetizers to prove it at a party.
She was relieved to have remained Ballerina Baby tonight. She bid Drummer a fond adieu.
His response was different than his usual “looking forward to it.” Now that I know you are alive and safe, I’ll be able to sleep tonight. Lock your doors and don’t talk to strangers, ok?
She hadn’t done such a good job making him feel better, after all.
Drummer wasn’t worried that she’d get caught in a hurricane or a tornado, nor something as common and simple as a car accident. He was worried that she’d be a victim of an assault and battery. She was the least likely woman to be a victim of a crime—not impossible, but not probable.
You, too, she wrote. By the way...
Yes?
This concern for my safety has me thinking about women in general, and crime statistics in general. Are you worried about me just because I’m a woman?
She watched the cursor blink once. Twice. Three times.
