Meant for Her (17 page)

“This isn’t going to work.”

Thunder crashed outside the window as shock glanced off Hank like a blow. He must have misunderstood. “What do you mean?”

“You and me. It’s not going to work.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I don’t want to be with you, Hank. I’m sorry.”

He stared at her unmoving body, her eyes never leaving his. The stillness that captivated her contrasted with mother nature’s violent outburst outside. A different kind of storm took hold in his heart.

I’m not going to lose you again.

“You said you love me.”

“I was upset. I confused gratitude with love.”

“What, and the last six hours have cleared it all up for you?”

She looked away from him, another flash of lightning capturing her lifeless features.

“What happened between now and then, Julie?” He knelt before her on the tile floor. “Because I love you. I want to make a life with you.”

She turned back to him quickly, her eyes angry and harsh. “I don’t love you, Hank. I never did. You almost got me killed, you let my father escape. I’m lucky to even be alive. Now for God’s sake, get the hell out of here.”

 ~~~

Hank traipsed through the hallways, down flights of stairs and got lost. A trash can beckoned and he threw away the flowers he had bought for the woman he loved. He was angry, he was confused. He was emotionally devastated.

Somehow he got back to his car in the parking garage, rammed the key in the ignition and started to drive. Where he was going, he had no idea.

The city streets were congested with traffic and he felt the world closing in on him. He picked up the ninety-three expressway and headed out of the city, quickly accelerating beyond the speed limit on the slick roads. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Barstow.

“You need to get a uniform on Julie Trueblood’s hospital room.”

“I thought you were taking care of that.”

“Not anymore.” He looked down and disconnected the call. He lifted his gaze and saw a family driving beside him on the road, reminding him that he was not the only one who might be hurt if he drove recklessly.

“Fuck.” He said to himself, easing off the accelerator.

He ran his hand through his hair. What would he do now that Julie was gone? He had let her down, failed to protect her, and she couldn’t forgive him. He understood that.  He couldn’t forgive himself, either. The knowledge burned at his gut like a physical pain. Julie Trueblood had every right to want him out of her life for good.

He just didn’t have any idea what the future would look like without her in it. She had made him happier in a few days than anyone had made him in his whole life.

~~~

Gwen found Julie an hour later, propped in the same blue recliner like a lifeless doll. Outside the window, rain fell in a constant pour from the heavens.

“Julie, are you all right?”

Slowly her head pivoted to face Gwen. “Yes.”

“Where’s Hank? I thought he would be here?”

“I sent him away.”

Gwen cocked her head to the side. “Why?”

“I didn’t want him here anymore.”

The healer in Gwen instantly wondered if Julie was suffering an infection. She walked over and put her hand on Julie’s forehead.

“I’m not sick.”

“Then what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you send Hank away?”

Julie frowned and shrugged her shoulder as if she had no idea of the answer. “I just don’t think we should be together anymore.”

Gwen sat down on the edge of the bed, close to her niece. “You broke up with him? What the hell is going on, Julie?”

Julie raised her eyes to Gwen’s. “I’m not good for him, Gwen.”

“Of course you are.”

She looked at her hands in her lap. “I’m John McDowell’s daughter. How do you think that’s going to play at the office?”

Gwen pursed her lips. “I imagine it will be difficult for Hank at first.”

“I imagine it will ruin his entire career.”

“That’s for Hank to consider, Julie. Not for you to decide for him.”

Julie looked frankly at Gwen. “And what do you think he would say?”

“He would choose you, of course.”

“Exactly.”

“So that’s it, then.  You just sent him away.” Gwen stood and walked to the sink, washing her hands and grabbing a paper towel. “I think you’re being very selfish, Julie.”

Julie turned wide eyes to her aunt. “No, I’m being very unselfish. I’m setting him free.”

“You,” she said, pointing at her, “are conveniently escaping a real relationship with a good man by bowing out gracefully at the eleventh hour. Shame on you, Julie. You’re not even going to give him a chance, are you?”

“I’m doing this for Hank.”

“Oh, bullshit, Julie.” Gwen’s chest heaved and her nostrils flared as she grabbed her purse off the bed. “You have a chance at happiness, my dear, that many people never get. Now, I’m going for a walk. I’ll return when I am no longer angry enough to throttle you.”

 ~~~

Hank got out of the cab, pulling his red and black carry-on behind him. The airport loomed wide before him, its curbside crowded with vacationers and businesspeople jockeying for position at makeshift check-in counters.

His uniform glittered in the midday sun, every badge and pin in perfect place, his shoes polished to a flawless shine.

The military was his life.

Barstow had called back, and this time Hank didn’t hang up. He gave Hank orders to travel to Seattle for an investigation into the disappearance of two ensigns during a training exercise. It was a high profile case, and the admiral hinted that Hank would finally be promoted to commander if the investigation was resolved satisfactorily.

A family walked in front of him, husband and wife similar in height and build to him and Julie. Three small children followed behind, the oldest a girl, maybe five. She turned to Hank and waved, her other arm pulling a pink monster suitcase behind her.

He turned to walk into the airport, but his feet refused to move beneath him. A month ago, a year—he knew exactly what he wanted. Today all of those dreams were within reach. All he had to do was get on a plane and do his job.

But he didn’t want those things anymore. He wanted Julie Trueblood.

Any other lieutenant could be standing where he stood, wearing the same uniform he wore, headed toward the same destination to perform the same job.

He turned in the opposite direction and gazed into the bright afternoon sun, shielding his eyes so he could make out the skyline of downtown Boston.

Julie.

Gwen had called this morning to let him know Julie had been discharged. She also asked him for a gun to give her niece, unable to obtain one herself on short notice. He proposed a trade—the weapon for Julie’s address.

“I’m sorry, Hank. She wouldn’t want me to tell you.”

“And it’s illegal for me to give a firearm to an unlicensed civilian.”

The address was tucked in his lapel pocket. He pulled it out and knocked on the window of a cab as it began to pull away. “I need a ride,” he said, climbing in as he loosened the collar on his uniform.

Chapter 13

Julie sat on the floor of the expansive room, the last bands of the setting sun streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Wood floors were stained a modern black, the walls covered in warm gold paint. An equally modern kitchen ran along the short wall adjacent to the windows, a hefty island and barstools rounding out the space.

Barstow had called her at the hospital this morning. “It was a textile manufacturing plant in the seventies. Being converted to loft apartments. This is the first unit that’s come up for sale.”

“Really, you don’t have to…”

He cut her off. “It’s an investment. You’ll rent it from me, once you get on your feet. I’ll have someone drop off the keys.”

She had packed an overnight bag with the essentials, including a pillow and blanket. These she set up on the floor next to containers of Chinese take-out and a bottle of cheap Chianti from a liquor store down the street.

The only thing she put in the kitchen was the pistol Gwen had given her. It was in the drawer to the left of the sink, and in her mind it seemed to take up all the cupboard space and every square inch of countertop.

Isn’t it just like Gwen to give me firepower?

Julie sipped her wine from a plastic cup as she let her eyes glide from one side of the space to the other, bumping up and over the square surfaces of the kitchen until they came to rest on the heap of her own belongings.

They didn’t fit in here any more than she did.

Barstow’s offer of protection seemed like a godsend at the time, but sitting in the emptiness made it clear that more had changed than her address. Hank was gone, and she was completely alone.

She had sent them away, of course. Becky and Gwen would never abandon her. A part of her needed this solitude, like an injured animal wandering away from the pack to lick its wounds.

The bottle in her hand was heavy with wine, and she rubbed her fingers against the woven basket that covered its smooth glass bottom. She loved these bottles as a child, their dark glass artfully drizzled with a rainbow of candle wax.

 Tomorrow, she knew, she would move on without even unpacking.

The gun from Gwen was a sign. She was in charge of her own protection now. Barstow was as unnecessary to her as the boxes of detritus Becky had so carefully hauled here from Julie’s condo this afternoon.

None of it mattered without Hank.

Maybe she’d go south, just until it got warm, then rent an old house and plant a garden. Watch it grow. That would beat the hell out of the damn snow and ice and writing computer programs she didn’t even care about.

The sun slipped below the skyline as Julie reached for the Chinese food bag. Two fortune cookies rattled in the bottom and she pulled them out, slicing open their wrappers with her teeth and slipping the papers from their crunchy folds.

Believe in love and it surrounds you.

She scoffed out loud—a bitter, desperate sound—and flipped to the second fortune.

Enemies and friends have similar features.

She thought of Barstow. He had been an enemy in her mind for so very long, only to be an ally in the end.

A loud clang of metal on metal came from the entryway and she started, adrenaline quickly shooting into her bloodstream. She slowly rose to her feet and strained her ears to hear, unable to see past an eight-foot high divider that separated her from the foyer space.

The silence that followed mocked the original clamor, and she fixed her gaze on the kitchen drawer some ten paces from where she stood. The path to the kitchen was visible from the doorway, and she hesitated, unsure of what to do next.

“Julie? Are you here?”

She exhaled the breath in her lungs, recognizing the admiral’s voice. “Tom, you scared the shit out of me.”

He walked into the space wearing a black leather jacket and aviator glasses, carrying a pizza box. “Sorry. I didn’t think.”

Julie watched as he put the box on the granite counter top and pulled out a cell phone, checking his messages. Crisp jeans landed on black leather boots, adorned with simple silver chains. She wouldn’t have recognized him, were it not for his voice.

“You hungry?” he asked.

“I already ate. Chinese.”

He shrugged out of his coat, revealing a gray T-shirt underneath. Julie was surprised by how muscular his upper body appeared in this outfit, compared to the polo shirt he had worn to the hospital. He turned back to the kitchen and began opening cupboards. Her gut clenched, thinking of the gun.

“Got any plates?”

“No, there’s nothing.”

“Oh, well.” He picked up a piece of pizza and took a large bite.

Julie tugged at the hem of her sweater. She thought he brought her pizza to be kind, but it looked like he was making himself comfortable on a barstool at the kitchen island.

Oh, please, go away.

She debated whether or not to offer him a glass of wine, neither wanting to be rude nor encouraging him to stay. Rubbing at the back of her neck, she decided rude was preferable. At least he might take the hint and leave.

An image flashed in Julie’s mind, a picture of her firing the gun at Barstow. It was so real, more like a memory than anything, and it scared her. She looked beseechingly at the admiral. Was she losing her mind?

He met her eyes as he masticated, the muscles of his jaw working as he stared with eyes void of compassion. Gone was the affable and empathetic man who had visited her in the hospital, the stark contrast unsettling and dark.

Fear began to hum in her belly as the image returned. This time she could see the bullet entering his body, his head jerking back and to the side, blood splattering the taupe wall behind him. Her eyes traveled to look around the loft—failing to find any such wall.

“Would you like some wine?” she asked.

“Sure.”

From her camp on the floor she retrieved her overnight bag, digging a bit before finding another plastic cup. She poured him Chianti and delivered it to his side. In one quick twirl, she caught the cup with her elbow and sent it to the floor, spilling its contents on his pant leg as it fell.

“Damn it to hell,” he said, standing quickly.

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry,” she said, hands splayed in mid-air. “There’s a towel in the bathroom. You can rinse it out.”

He stormed away, his body hulking from side to side like a much younger man. She positioned herself in front of the silverware drawer and waited until he was out of sight before grabbing the gun and tucking it in the waistband of her jeans.

Grateful for her bulky sweater, Julie pulled the yellow and green yarn down over the weapon and began to pour Barstow more wine. He reappeared the instant she picked up the bottle, making tiny beads of sweat pop out on her forehead.

“I am sorry, Tom. Did it come out?”

He walked up to her and grabbed her by the elbow. “How about we cut the bullshit, shall we?”