keys … and a small velveteen jewel box. It had hit the pavement, popping open to reveal the unmistakable glint of a diamond ring. She’d been so shocked, she could barely think, but she’d blurted out, “Oh. You dropped something.”
And God help her, she couldn’t be certain who had brought the ring.
Most women dreamed of a romantic marriage proposal offered on bended knee with soft music playing in the background. In Daisy’s case it had been a nightmare enacted in public before a crowd of people. A far cry from a tender moment to remember and savor with misty-eyed fondness, it had been one of those occasions that had left her wishing the ground would open up and swallow her whole.
Instead of a sweet recitation of love and devotion, the occasion had started with a fight. What happened next still made her cringe. A babble of spectators. Strangers pressing in, drawn by the drama. There had been a moment, a split-second leap of hope, when she imagined the ring had popped out of Julian’s pocket. But no. Marriage was discouraged for ROTC candidates.
Seconds later, with one eye swelling shut and a trickle of blood coming from his lip, Logan had snatched up the box and said, “I meant to surprise you with this, but that son of a bitch forced my hand. I want you to be my wife.”
Julian had made a sound of disgust and stalked away from the platform. More passengers gathered in close, intrigued. Daisy had prayed for a swift, merciful death.
She had refused to see either Julian or Logan that Christmas and had spent the next semester and summer studying photography abroad. After several months in Germany, where her stepsister Sonnet had been living and working, Daisy had returned, as confused as ever.
“The offer’s still open,” Logan said now, and she knew exactly what he was referring to.
“My answer is the same.”
Logan smiled a little. “Your lips are saying no, but what you really mean is, not yet.”
“No means no,” Charlie murmured, waking up with a drowsy smile. It was one of those phrases Daisy tended to say to him … a lot.
“Hey, buddy.” Logan hunkered down and freed the little boy from the car seat. “I’ve been waiting to see you all day.”
“Dad.” Charlie clung to him like a monkey and they kissed.
Daisy watched, caught by fondness and exasperation both. Complicated. That was the word for her life. How simple everything would be if only she could believe she was supposed to be with Logan. The three of them together—a family. What was wrong with her? She and Logan had made this amazing child. Why couldn’t they be happy together?
Five
The officer in the mirror stared back at Julian with a sense of grave purpose. Who was this intensely serious guy? He didn’t even recognize himself. Was that him?
Like so much of officer training, this was a deliberate strategy on the part of the air force. Through all the drills and preparation, the individual was taken apart and remade, perhaps reborn in a way. This suited him fine, dumping a past he couldn’t change for one he could control. He was learning to look the part—an officer. A leader. A warrior.
“My, my,” said Davenport, letting loose with a wolf whistle. “Aren’t you as sweet as honey?”
“Screw you.” The man in the mirror grinned, appearing a little more familiar now. Then he checked the time. “I’m ready to get the show on the road.”
“Have a seat. We’ve still got a half hour.”
“Can’t,” said Julian.
“Can’t what?”
“Can’t sit down. Do you know how long it took me to get these creases right?”
“Hours and hours,” Davenport said with a laugh; then he sobered. “Dude, you look like a million bucks. Or at least like you’ve earned the commission you’re getting today.”
Julian had no idea if his suite-mate was right. He’d worked his ass off, but given the nature of his first assignment, whether or not he was prepared could be anybody’s guess. The most frustrating thing about the news was its top secret classification. He couldn’t tell anybody the details. He didn’t even know most of the details himself. For the past year, he’d been groomed to be part of a special team, a highly unlikely designation for someone at his level. Although he knew his base assignment, he could tell people only that he’d been commissioned for active duty.
He shook hands with his friend, and Davenport resumed his jocular air. “I might advise you to go for a short walk to clear your head, but that would be a bad idea.”
“Why?”
“You are way too pretty in full dress uniform. You’ll end up going through the whole ceremony dragging along an entourage of drooling women.”
“Right. And how many women do you know who get turned on by the sight of brass buttons and epaulettes?”
“I guess you’re about to find out.”
Julian checked out his service dress uniform again, making sure every detail was right. Ribbons, devices, badges, insignia—all present and accounted for. Stuck in the side of the mirror was a five-year-old photo of him and Daisy, standing side by side, laughing at the camera. He remembered the exact instant it had been taken, with the shutter on timer. She’d made him laugh by saying, “Okay, pretend you like me,” knowing full well they were totally into each other.
He was glad he remembered because otherwise he might not even believe the kid in the picture had ever existed. That tall, skinny kid with waist-length dreadlocks, assorted tattoos and piercings and a bad attitude was a stranger to the clean-cut officer in the mirror. Julian had been a punk—an adrenaline junkie with not much going for him except an unexpectedly stellar academic record and test performances. And of course, his status as a minority. He didn’t want people to assume race was the reason he’d been admitted to an Ivy League school and an elite training program, so he made sure he outperformed everyone else.
Taking pains not to mess up his uniform, he slipped his hand into his inner breast pocket and touched the ring for luck.
His phone buzzed, and he picked up. “Gastineaux.”
“Hey Mister Almost-second Lieutenant,” said his brother, Connor. “We’re outside. Come on down.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Connor and Olivia had driven from Avalon with Daisy. His nerves jangled with excitement. He turned to Davenport and was startled to see all five of his suitemates gathered at the exit. They had shared quarters all year long. They’d fought and laughed and partied and competed and helped one another. Now the five of them formed a gauntlet at the door.
“Good luck, Jughead,” said Williams. “We wish you the best.”
The solemnity of the moment was broken by Del Rio, who played the air force hymn on a kazoo.
Julian saluted them with all the smartness and respect he would afford a superior officer.
