he said. “There’s a newly upgraded base there called Palanquero.”
His uncle let out a low whistle. “Man. Colombia.” Julian could practically feel Daisy wilt with disappointment, but she kept her smile in place. “That’s exciting, Julian,” she said. “You’ll get to use your Spanish.”
He couldn’t tell her, but he’d been groomed specifically for this one-of-a-kind assignment. His training had been multifaceted, including attendance at the Inter-American Air Forces Academy in Texas and undergoing rigorous security evaluations to make sure he was fit for covert ops.
He had first encountered Colonel Sanchez, the head of the operation, during a field training exercise two summers ago. He hadn’t known it then, but Sanchez had been combing the rosters, identifying personnel for the team. Julian fit the bill. He had the physical qualifications, the language skills, the technical and tactical skills. At first he hadn’t realized he was actually being scrutinized for high-risk operations. He later learned his reputation for being an adrenaline junkie had made him an early favorite.
These days, the troubles in Colombia didn’t tend to make headlines. The rebel FARC and other anti-government paramilitary organizations had diminished, and news from the Middle East and even Mexico tended to overshadow Colombia, although the mountainous nation still produced eighty percent of the world’s cocaine. What the press generally failed to mention was that in the wake of the paramilitary demobilization, criminal groups had arisen and filled the niche, like opportunistic infections. The drugs kept coming. And in recent times, something sinister had developed—ties between the drug cartels and terrorist organizations. That, combined with a base closing in Ecuador, had spurred the U.S. to action. The idea behind the action coalition was to disrupt the activities of the drug and weapon operations, and cause their organizations to fall apart.
“All I know about Colombia is the coffee,” his mother admitted. “And stories about scary drug lords.”
Julian didn’t say any more. He couldn’t; it was strictly classified. Those scary drug lords were the reason he was being sent to South America.
Six
Staying in a hotel was a treat for Daisy. Sometimes while on a wedding assignment, she stayed at the venue, but that was work. Unfortunately, all the luxury in the world could not translate into a good night’s sleep when she was working.
Nor could it when she was worrying. And on this night, she was worrying. She paced the floor. Stared out the window at the moonrise as it tracked imperceptibly across the night sky. And paced some more.
Colombia. It was half a world away; she’d checked it out on Google maps. She and Julian hadn’t managed to get together while living in the same state. Now that he was going to be on a different continent, what hope did they have?
Julian was about to start a different life, as an officer and a gentleman. A striver, a patriot. A man with a duty to his country, about to embark upon the adventure of a lifetime. But all she could think about was that his duties were going to take him far away from her into an unknown and dangerous world.
Be happy for him, she told herself. Everything is as it should be.
Had she been fooling herself all along, thinking there was a chance for them? Now, more than ever, she needed to have a difficult, honest conversation with him about the two of them. Their relationship was a series of encounters filled with a burning chemistry that thus far, had led only to yearning and frustration. Whenever she even thought of him, she felt a longing so fierce it hurt. Still, all the longing in the world didn’t add up to any kind of future together. For that matter, they’d never even declared their love aloud. They’d never had time or space for anything to grow and develop, knitting them together.
They were stuck in the magic stage; they idealized each other, not knowing for certain if they were truly meant to be together. Maybe they had habits that would eventually annoy one another. Maybe they were sexually incompatible; she wouldn’t know, because they’d never slept together. Maybe they were on different paths and destined to stay that way.
But in her heart of hearts, she wished this didn’t have to be the case. She loved him with so much of herself that she couldn’t imagine any other way to feel. To stop loving him would be to stop breathing the air.
Still, all the love in the world couldn’t change the fact that she was tied to home, to Charlie and his dad, while Julian was bound for adventure. The only practical thing to do was to make their peace with reality. She tortured herself with the very real possibility that in his travels, Julian might meet someone, a woman who was free to follow him to the ends of the earth. For the briefest of moments, she fantasized about what it would be like to be that woman, unfettered, nothing keeping her from striking out on an adventure. Then she thought of Charlie and immediately felt guilty. How could she even imagine a life without Charlie?
Somehow, she managed to steal a few hours of sleep. In the morning, they all gathered for breakfast. She sat next to Julian, watching him methodically eat his way through the buffet—an omelet, pancakes, cereal, fruit—like a starving man.
“You always did have a big appetite, boy,” Tante Mimi said fondly.
“‘Member when we had that pie-eating contest?” Remy asked.
“Sure,” said Julian. “I was the winner.”
“Yeah, but you had a bellyache all night.” Remy leaned forward to catch Daisy’s eye. “Me and Jules, we went camping at the state park. What we call that park, Mama?”
“I don’t remember,” said Tante Mimi. “It was by Lake Ponchartrain.”
“Yeah,” said Remy, “with our scouting group, and we had the eating contest. Learned stuff, too.” He handed Julian a plastic matchbox. “‘Member this? I made it for you.”
“Thanks, Remy.” Julian slid open the box. “Strike-anywhere matches, a water purification tablet … It’s everything I need to survive in the wilderness.” He took out a small wire. “I don’t remember what this is for.”
Remy beamed, clearly delighted to be the authority. “You rub it on your hair and set it on top of some water, and it’ll always point north.” He frowned at Julian. “You got enough hair for that, Jules?”
Julian burst out laughing. “I guess I’d better check.” He demonstrated the makeshift compass on his water glass.
The tiny filament swung gently toward Remy. “Look at that,” Julian said. “You’re my true north, Rem.”
“Even in Colombia?” Remy asked.
Julian’s smile stayed in place, though Daisy sensed the tension ramping up. “A compass works differently south of the equator,” he said. “Still works, though. Thanks, Remy.”
His New Orleans relatives and his mother had a long day of travel ahead of them. Daisy would be driving back to Avalon with Connor, Olivia and baby Zoe.
Soon, Daisy would be back with Charlie and the life she’d made for herself. A few times, she caught herself thinking, I wish … And then she would rein herself in. Let him go, she thought. Let him go.
After breakfast, she returned to her room to get
