Uncommon Pleasure (36 page)

“Abby,” he said, and his choked voice made her tear up. “How did you do this?”

“I copied Gunny Sandoz’s e-mail address from your phone,” she said. “Repayment for when you broke into my car to replace my battery.”

He was silent, slowly turning pages, giving little huffs of laughter at some of the pictures, shaking his head at others. “I’m speechless,” he said distractedly.

“I’m glad you like it,” she said. “They sent in the stories that went with the pictures. I hoped you’d tell me what you remember about them, too.”

He lifted his gaze to hers, tears shining in his eyes before he swiped at them with his shirtsleeve. “Thank you.”

Now she stood in the middle of a very dark, very snowy forest, testing all her brand-new winter gear. “No, I’m not cold. It’s just hard work, slogging through all this snow. Where are we going?”

“Up,” he said quite seriously, and pointed. His clothing was similar to hers, minus the scarf and the long underwear, and he showed no signs of being affected by the heavy snowfall.

“I can see that,” she said just as seriously. “Uphill, on a snow-covered trail, at night. The question is, why?”

“Because there’s something I want you to see,” he said. “It’ll be easier on the way down.”

He broke the trail, his breathing even and hardly labored while she waddled along in his wake. “I’m out of shape,” she panted.

His back still to her, he went down on one knee in front of her. “Climb on,” he said.

“You can’t be serious. I weigh a hundred and thirty pounds. You can’t carry me up that hill in the snow.”

“You weigh about as much as the pack I humped through Afghanistan on patrols,” he said without turning around. “And you’re softer.”

She giggled, then climbed on piggyback style. He looped his arms under her knees and shifted her higher on his hips, then set off up the trail again.

“You’re not even breathing harder,” she observed after a minute.

“This actually feels a little more natural,” he said. “I got used to the extra weight. Your job is to keep branches out of my face.”

“I’m on it,” she said and extended her arm determinedly.

Twenty minutes later they broke through the forest at the top of the ridge. He crouched to let Abby down. “Okay,” she said. “What did you want me to see?”

He pointed again, this time straight up. She tilted her head back, and felt her breathing halt. “Oh,” she said almost soundlessly.

The Milky Way spread in an arc through the sky like someone with immeasurable wealth took fistfuls of diamonds and flung them on black silk. She turned in a slow circle, her mind unable to take in the vast expanse, the stark, indescribable beauty.

“That made you think of me? It’s beautiful,” she said. Having turned in a complete circle, she stopped, a little dizzy, and reached for Sean to steady herself. He held out his hand, and something in the tight grip through thick gloves caught her attention. She looked down to see diamonds sparking in his black-gloved hand, glittering
like he’d plucked them from the night sky and set them in a band of moonlight.

“Marry me, Abby.”

“Oh,” she whispered. “Oh, Sean.”

“You don’t have to say anything now. I’m just letting you know that I’ll never quit on us, or on you, again. If…when you decide you want to wear my ring, it’s yours.”

“How long will you wait?” she asked. “How long until you have to have an answer?”

“I’ll wait forever,” he said intently. “Until one way or the other you tell me to stop waiting.”

Life was one huge risk, she thought. Service was a risk, taking a chance that giving yourself to something bigger wouldn’t use you up for nothing, and even if it did, the daily act of fidelity to people, causes, places, beliefs, values, principles would transform you. Half a dozen logistical issues loomed in front of her, an intense, consuming year of nursing school and her father’s illness not the least of them. She blew them all away with a puff of breath into the frosty air.

“Oh, Sean,” she said, and pulled off her glove. “We’ve both waited long enough. Yes.”

He extracted the ring from the box. Trembling, she held out her hand, palm down, fingers spread just a little. The ring slid easily onto her finger. She spun it with her thumb and watched diamonds glitter in a circle.

“It’s an eternity band,” he explained. “Do you mind that it’s not a typical engagement ring? We can exchange it.”

She turned it again and thought of how she’d remember this night forever, stars moving in a slow, eternal spiral overhead, diamonds encircling her finger. “We’ll do no such thing. It’s absolutely perfect.”

His lips were warm against hers, soft, then firm and demanding as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body to
his. “We must be wearing too many clothes,” she said into his mouth. “I can’t feel you at all.”

He laughed. “Nobody gets frostbite on my watch, so we’ll keep our clothes on until later,” he said, and tugged her glove back on over the ring. They stretched out on the snow on their backs, faces turned to the glittering night sky.

“I feel like I’m spinning,” she said after a few minutes.

“You are,” he said. “A little less than a thousand miles an hour.”

The precise answer, so Sean, so geeky Marine, made her smile. “This is what you saw.”

“This what I saw,” he repeated. “And every time I felt you beside me.”

“Now I am,” she said simply. “Forever.”