Unraveled

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Gray

BACK AT THE BASE, MY days simultaneously ran together and refused to end. Every night I went home and worked on the afghan, or BG as I called it, because I was a Marine and we only ever referred to anything by its initials. BG stood for Big Gesture but could’ve also stood for Big Garbage, since that piece of shit looked like yarn that had been chewed up and vomited out by some large animal. Hopefully when I showed it to her she would realize it meant that I was placing her first in my life and that I was trusting her with my damaged heart, the one that I realized I now wore outside of my body, exposed.

I slept, ate, exercised, trained, worked. Whatever calling I thought I had here was missing. I'd left all my ambition and my soul at the feet of one girl. But she hadn't stomped on it. I'd been the one to grind all that we could have had into the dust with my size thirteen boot. Ironically, I was better suited to serving now. The fear I’d once had watching over these guys was nothing compared to the fear I’d had watching Sam fall out of the sky or the fear that burrowed deep in the back recesses of my mind that I’d never win her back. Those were real fears. The fear of leadership wasn’t even close.

"Marine, you are one sad sack." Captain Dailey looked up at me over his long, hawkish nose. The bushy, beetle-shaped eyebrows were furrowed together, forming one long, hairy snake over the tops of his eyes. I stared at the row of fur in fascination, waiting for it to crawl off. I was back in his office to hear yet another lecture on the glory of the Corps.

"Yessir." I snapped off a knife-sharp salute. You said, “Sir, yes sir,” even if your commanding officer told you to suck his dick.

"I haven't seen your reenlistment papers." I guess he’d conveniently forgotten I’d already told him I wasn’t reenlisting.

"No, sir."

"Why's that, Marine? You're too soft for us now?"

"No, sir." If anything I was more hardened and determined than ever. My goals had shifted but I wasn't revealing that to the captain.

He stared at me, trying to wait me out, but I'd learned a few things in my seven years of service and the mantra that they should never see you sweat was one of the important ones. Show a weakness and they'd needle you forever under the guise of making you a stronger warrior.

Maybe that was how you created a better Marine, but I wasn't convinced that trying to find someone's weakness and exploit it always made good sense—but I knew better than to tell the CO my thoughts on the matter. Instead I stood with my heels together so that I stood straight as a tree and as unmoving as a steel post. My arms were glued to my side, fingers pointed straight down. I could have been a plum line, my bearing was so perfectly erect and straight. I'd practiced this pose for years watching Dad and Pops. I'd stood in front of the mirror and saluted. I’d had the best salute in boot and was even praised for it, when they weren't busy spitting obscenities in my face and mocking me for being a hard charger.

My dad had never forced me into this. I had been happy I was going to fulfill the dreams he and Pops had of one of the Phillips boys carrying on the tradition. I'd even had those dreams myself. Of Carrie and I having a son who'd be in the Marines. And maybe he'd be an officer, and it'd be a proud moment for both of us where we'd choke back manly tears.

Being a Marine had been what I'd wanted to do for as long as I can remember and now I was going to give it up for a girl. But it all felt right to me.

Captain Dailey sighed and thrust his short fingers through his non-existent hair. "At ease, Marine."

I let my body relax, shoulders dropped, grateful for the rest. I folded my arms behind my back.

"I don't understand you, Phillips. You've an exemplary record, a high tolerance for bullshit, and a sterling family history in the Corps. You’ll probably make gunnery sergeant in record time. What's out there in the civilian world that's worth throwing this away for?"

I hoped the question was rhetorical because I didn't have a good answer. If pressed, I was going to lie and say college but I was afraid my lack of enthusiasm for sitting in a lecture hall with a couple hundred snot-nosed teenagers who thought it would be funny to make pew pew pew sounds when I walked by would be all too evident.

Captain Dailey didn't need an answer. He paced in front of me for ten minutes, giving me a lecture on the glories of being a Marine.

"It is an honor to be a Marine. We have the smallest number of men compared to any other military branch but we are the first to be called out. We stand constantly ready and can be shipped out in twenty-four hour notice because the president knows that we are always ready. The Marines were called on first to lead the charge into battle. The Marines were the first to orbit the moon. John Glenn was a Marine. John Wayne wanted to be one. The Marines are first, ready, able. Our fighting force is so fierce that the Germans called us Teufels Hunden."

He was really worked up using the German word so I threw him a bone. "Devil Dogs, sir!"

"That's right. We're the Devil Dogs, the first to go..." His steam was running out. Last to know. I finished the saying in my head.

He walked around and dropped heavily into his chair. "We need men like you, Staff Sergeant Phillips. Not just because of your record or your family legacy. You care about what happens to the other men here. You wear your leadership lightly and those under you know it. Think about it. There's always going to be room in the boat for you."

"Yes sir." I saluted.

"Dismissed." He waved a weary hand at me.

I walked as fast as I could without making it seem like I was running. Captain Dailey's speech was one I'd heard before in a million variations but it still struck me hard. I did love the Marines. I loved, in a non-sappy, brotherly way, the guys I slept beside in the sand for days without a shower.

I'd still stay close to those men. I stayed in contact with Bo and Noah and they'd been out for two years. I'd keep coming back here to Camp Pendleton to check in with old buddies. I'd be a Marine for life, even after I got out. No one would think less of me. I just had to convince myself of that. It was all worth it. Letting this go so that I could be with Sam.

Later that night, I texted her as I did every night.

Almost bit my tongue to prevent from laughing when a poolie (new guy for you Army folks) got my rank wrong today. They're supposed to greet every individual higher in rank than them with a salute and acknowledgement of rank. A lot just use "good morning, sir" no matter what time of day it is but this one said "Good morning, Gunnery Sergeant.” It was dusk. I patted him on the shoulder but I could hear a Lance Corporal chewing him out. I haven't heard back from you about my flying up to see you. I’m still working on getting some days off.

I debated telling her I was coming regardless but figured that sounded too threatening. I’d been texting her so that I was constantly in her thoughts, not so that I could creep her out. Of course, it was possible that she deleted my texts before even reading them. Or that she’d blocked me and I didn't know it. Could she do that?

I grilled myself a hamburger and washed it down with a bottle of Miller, and then took another bottle into my small living room. I flicked on the television to ESPN, picked up the instructional book I'd bought a week ago and the mess of yarn and needles. I was trying to knit the blue section of the flag with the white stars—the part that had stumped Sam—only doing it so that the stars were knitted into the pattern instead of added later. Intarsia was what Sam had called it. Fucking impossible is what it was.

I'd started and ripped out the section what seemed like a thousand times. It'd taken me a week just to figure out the basic stitches and how to get the tension right. I'd had to remind myself that I could do amazing things with weapons and tanks and even excelled at fine motor skill dexterity tasks, but holding two needles in one hand while threading yarn in and out was about the most complicated fucking thing I'd ever had to do.

What I currently had going was a lumpy mess with loose stitches creating a misshapen thing that looked like a geometry test gone wrong. There were no right angles, only waves of misstitched edges. But at this point, I wasn't ever going to finish if I started over, so I just went forward. It'd be the ugliest part of the flag, but somehow I'd gotten it into my head that if I presented this to Sam, she'd fall on her knees in joy.

In fact, I'd dreamed of that moment more than once. In my dreams, the stupid thing was perfectly created, but that didn't matter as much as Sam hugging it to her chest and then stripping down to her birthday suit and begging me to take her hard. Or sometimes I imagined that our reunion would start with my face between her legs. Either way, it ended with me doing her for hours as she gasped out my name in time to my thrusts. Unfortunately, since it was only a goddamn dream, I woke up with messed-up sheets, a hard-on, and an aching heart.

Weirdly, knitting actually made me feel closer to Sam. I imagined she was knitting at the same time that I was. Although given our two-hour time difference she was probably sleeping. Still, I felt some kind of kinship. I can't say that I understood why she liked knitting, but I hoped the effort would make her understand how much I loved her.

A knock interrupted both the Padres game and my futile struggles with the yarn and wooden poles. I stuck those under the sofa cushion. I didn't need that kind of hazing out on a training mission.

"What's up—” My greeting died in my throat as I gazed at the figure of my ex-girlfriend. The one who'd cheated on me with the local Marine recruiter. The one who nearly passed on her STI, had I not caught her in the act. Yeah, I had zero to say to her, and I let the door close.

Too quick for me, Carrie shot through a narrow opening and into my apartment. I needed to get into one of those condo units that had a security door in the front, like Sam's place. I grabbed the door and held it open so she was clear about where I wanted her to be. Outside.

"Scuttlebutt around base is that you met someone."

"Get out."

She ignored me and started to walk around the room. I could see a stray bit of yarn peeking out from the bottom of the cushion and panicked. Slamming the door shut, I strode over to the couch and sat on top of the cushion, hoping one of the wooden needles didn't stab me in the ass.

"What do you want?"

Carrie wandered around, putting her hands on my things. I wanted to get up and shove her out the door. It was like she was touching things and trying to put her stamp of ownership on it. Made me angry and annoyed. The only females I'd ever want in this place were Sam and my mom.

"Just wondered what you were up to. You haven't been out with the guys."

"Don't know why you're keeping tabs on me." I crossed my arms and hooked one ankle over the opposite knee. It was weird that she knew what I was doing.

“I still care about you." Carrie sat down next to me, so close I could smell the perfume and feel the heat off her body. She looked rail thin. I tried to move away but was stymied by the arm of the couch.

That horrifying statement and her placement right next to me made me jump up. I went over to the door. What if Sam came and saw her here? It was an irrational though, but still.

"Okay," I said, and then grimaced when I saw the tip of a knitting needle sticking out from beneath the cushion. If Carrie shifted just to her right, she might scrape her leg and then—oh fuck it. I walked back over and sat down next to her and pressed my bare calf against the needle in hopes of shoving it back. No go. The weight of my ass was preventing the needle from shifting and all I got was a sharp stab in the calf muscle.

Carrie had watched my gallop from the couch to the door back to the couch again in wide-eyed amazement but I couldn't look away from the door, praying Sam wouldn't suddenly show up. I checked my phone. Nothing.

I didn't know if I was relieved or pissed that the silence from her end continued. But that didn't stop the quickening of my heartbeat.

Carrie took my resettling by her side as an invitation and pressed one hand behind my neck and slid the other across my chest. It was an embrace, and she was marking me with her stupid perfume. I'd have to shower and then wash these clothes. I wanted to pick her up and carry her to the door but I wasn't ever going to touch her again.

"I don't know why you're here or what you want but you need to leave." I held myself stiff in her embrace so she could tell I did not want her touching me, much like I didn't want her touching anything in my home.

"Baby," she whispered in my ear, her minty breath wafting by my nose. "I miss you so much."

That was it. I stood up, uncaring about the knitting needle and only wanting her to leave.

"I don't miss you and I haven't for some time. Yes, I am seeing someone else and I care about her a lot. You need to leave now," I repeated.

She moved and then, as anticipated, scraped her leg along the needle. "Ouch, what is that?" She stood and lifted the cushion and found my mess of dark blue yarn under the couch.

"Oh my God." She crushed the mess against her chest. Shit, could I wash yarn? I strode over and yanked it out of her hands and threw it on a nearby chair.

"Get out," I repeated and pointed at the door.

"Did I turn you gay?" she cried.

"What?" Following her train of thought was like trying to keep track of a jumping bean.

"Did I turn you gay?" she asked again, trying to look sad but secretive pleasure flirted at the corners of her mouth. God, what did I ever find attractive about this woman? "When I had that fling with Lieutenant Maritz, did you turn to guys? Oh my God, Gray, tell me it isn't so!"

As if she could turn me gay. Was she fucking nuts? I shook my head at her presumptuousness. "You’re a dumb woman, Carrie. It doesn’t work that way. And guess what? I don't care what you think my sexual preference is as long as you understand it isn't you."

Carrie swayed over to me, swinging her skinny hips in an action that might've turned me on four years ago but now just looked like she had a weird hitch in her step. I swung the door open so she could take that hitch right on outside but she paused in front of me. The courtyard was occupied by a few people, but no one that looked like Sam. It was probably the first time in months that I'd been relieved I hadn't had a Sam sighting. Every other night I'd glance out there, hoping I'd see her come up the walk. No dice. But with Carrie standing far too close to me, I was glad that Sam was thousands of miles away.

"I'm glad I stopped by, Gray. I had this feeling that you needed me. You've been on my mind, and when I went down to the Enlisted Club and didn't see you, I was concerned. I'm glad I followed my instincts and came here." Carrie reached out a manicured finger and ran the tip down the front of my T-shirt.

The sad fact was that I had allowed Carrie to turn me off of women. I started mistrusting all of them because of her stupid behavior. I'd stopped thinking in terms of relationships. I'd only thought they were good for fucking and not much more. If the med student treated me like a human dildo it was because that's about how much emotion I'd put into it.

Sam was right. I had grieved and I was bitter. And I needed to let it all go.

"Thanks for your offer, but I'm not interested." How many times did I have to say that before she left? Carrie stepped even closer and the scent of her perfume made my stomach churn. I really needed her out of there and she clearly wasn't going on her own accord. Placing a hand on her chest, I stalled her progress and started sliding her out the door, slowly so not as to cause injury. I held both her biceps and easily lifted her over the threshold. The shock of it made her immobile for a minute and I was able to shut and then lock the door.

The yarn, needles, and mangled blue material looked like a nasty collection of fibers. I didn't have the time or patience tonight. Carrie knocked on the door but I ignored her, turning up the television louder to drown out her profanities. I left the TV and the knitting and went into the bedroom. Two beers and five instructional knitting videos on the iPad later, I went to sleep with renewed hope. One day closer to my End of Active Service date and one day closer to being with Sam.

"I REALLY NEED TO SEE you. Can you fit me in?" I begged. There was the sound of flipping pages as Dorothy looked through her appointment book.

"Can you be here in thirty minutes?" Dorothy asked.

"Yes." I jumped up and started stuffing my paraphernalia in my pack.

"I'll only have a little time for you in between my class," she warned.

"I'll take whatever you have. I just need to see you." I hung up before she could tell me no. Grabbing my pack, I looked twice to see if there was anyone I knew outside, and then sprinted to my truck. The drive to the shop was thirty minutes. I made it in twenty-five.

"Sergeant Phillips," a delighted squeal greeted me from Dorothy's mother. I leaned down and hugged the tiny German woman, placing a kiss on her parchment-thin skin.

"Hey, Mrs. Bend, good to see you."

Mrs. Bend dragged me over to the sofa in the back corner and tugged at my pack. I let her have it. The expression on her face was one of dismay as she pulled out the mess I'd made of the yarn I'd bought two weeks ago at her daughter's yarn shop. "What've you done, my dear boy?"

"Mrs. B, pardon my language, but this shit is hard." I tugged at one of the stray yarn threads that dangled off the needles. "I can sew on a patch or a button or even darn a hole in my sock if necessary, but this is beyond me."

Mrs. B flipped the knitted mess over a couple of times. Her purple fingernail pointed at a small white splotch in the middle. "And this is?" she asked.

"It's the star, Mrs. B." I leaned back and drew a hand over my face in frustration. "I'm never going to figure this out."

"Now, now, no need for that." She laid the yarn mess in my lap. "You'll have to take it apart though and restart. Let me watch you for a while to see if I can pinpoint where you’re going wrong."

As I unraveled the yarn Mrs. B asked, "Are you sure you want to start with the intarsia technique? It's quite difficult."

I nodded grimly. "You know the story, Mrs. B." I'd told Mrs. B and her daughter Dorothy the whole sad saga of my relationship with Sam and how I'd fucked it all up. Mrs. B patted my arm. This was my grand gesture. I was going to knit Sam an afghan and take it to her the next time I had a three-day leave, which might not be before my contract ran out if my CO had anything to say about it.

“Well, I think this is very sweet and if it doesn’t win her back, then I have a wonderful grandniece over in Sausilito. She’s a nurse and you two would get along great.”

“Thanks, Mrs. B.” Never going to happen, I thought, but I just gave Mrs. B a smile and tried to figure out when I was supposed to bring in the opposite colored yarn. Because I was paying such close attention to her, I almost missed the commotion at the front of the store that stirred up when Hamilton and Ruiz from my platoon burst in.

"What're you guys doing here?” I asked suspiciously. Quickly, I moved the yarn stuff to the side and pretended like I was just relaxing. On a sofa in a yarn shop. With Mrs. B sitting right next to me.

“What are you doing here?” Hamilton scanned the shop in disbelief. “Is this a store for old ladies?”

“No, you dumbass, it’s a yarn store.” Given that everyone else in the shop was likely over fifty, I could see how Hamilton made that error. “What’re you doing here?” I repeated. Standing up, I glowered at both of them.

"We followed you.”

"What the hell!” I practically shouted it out. Mrs. B made a clucking sound of disappointment. “Sorry, Mrs. B.”

"We heard a rumor." Hamilton lowered his voice but he was a drill instructor and the low voice of a DI is pretty much normal tone for anyone else. "You leaving the Corps because you want to knit? How come you can’t do both?”

“I’m guessing that Carrie’s saying I'm not re-upping for another contract because being near one of you and not having you is too painful for me. Which of you is the lucky guy?"

Ruiz jerked this thumb toward Hamilton.

“I’m a pretty tempting package.” Hamilton smoothed a hand down his shirt. “I do tend to drive the ladies wild. Good to know my animal magnetism affects the lads in equal measure.”

Ruiz looked upset and near bursting with something to say.

“What is it, Ruiz?”

"Why not me instead of Hamilton? Don't you think I'm attractive? Fun to be with?"

We both stared open mouthed at Ruiz. Hamilton recovered first. “Dude, what?”

Ruiz looked offended. "Just wondering why Hamilton?"

“Oh Jesus H. Ruiz, really?” I ran my hand over my recently shorn head.

“Yeah, I mean he's not better looking than me.”

“That's not what your mom said last night, Ruiz,” Hamilton shot back, offended that Ruiz thought that he was better looking.

I shook my head. Of all the comments Ruiz could make. Throwing my arm around the smaller guy, I said, “Ruiz, you’re just too short for me.” And then I thought about Sam and her small frame, which fit me just fine. “Plus.” I dropped my voice low enough so just Ruiz and Hamilton could hear. “Hamilton’s got a small dick and I’m the only one who doesn’t care about that.”

“Fuck you, Phillips. My dick is just fine. Your sister…”

“I don’t have a sister, fuckwad,” I cut in, forgetting about where we were. "You assholes. Knitting has fuck all to do with sex.”

Dorothy came over with a big-ass frown on her face and I felt horrible. “Sorry, Dorothy, forgot where we were.”

She shook her head and gestured toward the door. “Why don’t you go outside and finish your profanity-laced sex discussion there?"

“Sorry.” Abashed, I started out the door. I’d have to bring a big arrangement of flowers or something next time so that Dorothy and her mom would let me back into the store. Ruiz and Hamilton shuffled behind me, mumbling, “Sorry ma’am” to everyone as we walked out.

"No, don't let them leave," another lady cried out.

"God, no. Who cares what they’re saying? We haven't had such eye candy in here since the last Lion trunk show."

"Oh, honey, if you're comparing yarn to this, you need to get out more."

"You're right. Hot young Marines just don't measure up to Lion yarn,” the other woman shot back sarcastically.

Once outside I realized I’d forgotten my knitting. Thankfully Mrs. B stuck her head out the door and handed me my pack. "You're improving. Come back next week and I'll help you again."

"Thanks, Mrs. B.” I took the bag.

"Don't forget, the color switch happens in the back. Trap the yarn, dear, in the back."

Hamilton and Ruiz started snickering. Mrs. B gave us a cheery wave and I stomped off to my truck without looking back. I could hear the dickwads clumping behind me like they were going on a march.

"In the back." Hamilton and Ruiz roared.

Later that evening, Hamilton came over.

"You think this is the most girlie thing ever?" I gestured with my needles. Hamilton took a long swig of his beer and then watched me fumble with the yarn for a few rows.

"Maybe if you were any good at it."

"I think my fingers are too big."

"That's what the ladies tell me too."

Shaking my head, I eyed the pattern Mrs. B had drawn for me to see how crappy the next few inches should look.

Hamilton offered his own assessment. "Looks like a piece of dog crap if he ate the yarn, got the runs and then shit it out."

"Thanks, man." I threw it down. "Fuck. What am I doing?"

"Don't know. What are you doing?"

"Why do we fight, Hamilton?"

"To protect our country, preserve freedoms, uphold the honor of the Corps."

"But what's the point of all that?"

"Regular access to prime pussy?"

“God. No.” I rubbed my head. But truthfully I had gotten it into my head that Sam would forgive me if she could see how much effort I was expending on her behalf. Did it make sense? In my confused, fucked-up mind it did. Sighing, I said, “Close enough." I picked up the needles again.

"So knitting is the same as being in the Corps?”

"Close enough,” I mumbled again and set to work once more.

Samantha

I PULLED UP TO THE Anderson house. It was a large brick monstrosity. I think about five families could have fit into the Anderson home but it housed only two people now—David and Carolyn. I guess that's why it was so easy for them to remain married despite the fact that they didn't really care about each other. They spent weeks without seeing each other. I walked around to the side door, the one I'd always used, and let myself in. Donna, the Anderson’s housekeeper, was sitting at the gleaming marble island, a coffee cup by her side, flipping through a magazine. "Hey, Sam," she greeted me as I snuck in.

"Carolyn around?"

"In the sunroom." Donna started to rise and get me something to eat but I waved her off.

"I don't need anything, Donna. I'm not even sure how long I'll be." Even though I'd planned my speech to Carolyn all night, I was feeling nervous and sick to my stomach. I wished Tucker was here or that David was better at comforting his wife. Worried that Carolyn was going to need someone, I planned to talk to Tucker directly after.

Donna gave me a concerned look, but I was halfway through the kitchen and out the door before she could ask me what was wrong. The sunroom was a long, screened-in porch that overlooked the pool. When we were younger, Tucker, Will, and I all played out here, but when my parents moved out west of town and installed a pool, we started gravitating toward my house.

The Anderson house was oppressive. Even though Carolyn tried to decorate it in bright, sunny tones, the unhappiness of her marriage and the disapproval that Tucker and Will suffered under because they never lived up to their father's expectations made the house gloomy and unlivable. The sunroom, however, had been a place of noisy games and laughter when it had been the three of us kids here. Now Carolyn sat there almost every day with a book and a cup of tea. I didn't know if she read the book or drank the tea or if they were just props to make her look like she was occupied and not reliving scenes from the past.

"Hey, Carolyn," I called from the doorway, not wanting to startle her. A big smile wreathed her face as she took me in.

"Samantha, what a nice surprise." She walked over and grabbed my hands, pulling me in for a hug and kiss on the cheek. "I was just thinking about the graduation party we'd held for Will and you here." Leading me over to the settee, Carolyn sat me down and poured me a cup of steaming hot tea. It was always hot no matter what time of day or what the temperature was outside. I took a careful sip and tucked a slip of my hair behind my head. I didn't correct her. The graduation party had been held at a nearby park because we'd co-hosted it with my family. Maybe Carolyn was thinking of Tucker's graduation, which had been held here and which had been kind of crazy because it ended up with a lot of fully-clothed people in the pool.

Later that night, Will had snuck some weed from his brother's stash and we'd smoked it in the pool house and made out. But I didn't want to share that with Carolyn so I kept my mouth shut.

"We had some good times here," I said. It was true. While we didn't come here a ton and we were mostly at my house, as long as Will and I were together it had been a good time. I lifted up the box I'd brought with me.

"Carolyn, I want you to have these things." I held out the big white box to her. She made no move to take it. It was heavy so I couldn't keep holding it. I dropped the box to my lap.

Refusing to look at me, Carolyn continued as if I hadn't said a word to her. "It's good that he left, your friend," she clarified. "He didn't seem to fit in with us.” Who knew what Tucker had told her.

"Carolyn," I started again, but she just talked right over me.

"How is that afghan going? I was over at the condo the other day and saw you'd taken it down. Did you finish it? I think it would make a great Christmas gift for Tucker. Something you made in remembrance for Will."

I'd forgotten she had keys to the condo and it was a little weird that she'd gone in there without telling me. But this too was part of my own weakness. I'd relied on my family too long, not picking up the reins of my own life. This was going to be so hard. Rubbing my forehead, I thought about the best way to make it clear to her that whatever dreams she had for me and Will or me and Tucker weren't ever going to come true. "I'm in love with him," I finally said.

"Oh, I know. We all love him." she said, deliberately misunderstanding. "I guess that's why it's so hard to have his things in your home?" She nodded toward the box on my lap. "I just know you'll regret it if you give them away."

"I'm not giving them away." I told her softly. "I'm returning them to you. I know you'll treasure them, but it just isn't right for me to have all these things."

The flags, the medals, his uniforms. I couldn't keep those things and go to Gray with an open heart. He was a good man and an understanding one, but these things were better off with Will's family. I knew it and I think Carolyn knew it too even if she didn't want to acknowledge it. I had my own Will treasures. The stuffed animal he'd won for me at the school carnival. The tickets to our senior prom. Pictures. Those were the mementos of our life together. The medals and honors represented Will's life in the Army and I felt like they were better off with his mother than with me.

"I love you, Carolyn. I loved Will. He'll always be with me but I'm ready to love again. I hope you understand that."

Silent tears dripped down her face but she acted like it was nothing. "Tucker's been making noise about going back to law school. Wouldn't that be nice?"

He'd done no such thing, but I lied again. "Yeah, that would be nice." It wasn't ever going to happen.

"I was thinking of the time that you and Will handed out candy at Halloween. You dressed up like Gomez and Morticia Addams."

I laughed a little. "And Tucker was Lurch. And all the kids said I was too short to be Morticia."

"You looked so beautiful on your wedding day."

Carolyn's unhappiness was breaking my heart and I did love her, like a second mother. For a moment, I felt myself weaken. Would it be so wrong to stay here and sit in this sunroom and talk about Will for the rest of my life? But my heart was pulling me in the direction of California. Will was my past and Gray was my future.

I stood up then, leaving the box on the table. She didn't even look at me, and the guilt of loving someone other than Will threatened to sweep me under. If I stayed another minute, my resolve might break. "I'm sorry, Carolyn. I loved being an Anderson. I loved being Will's girl. But it's time for all of us to move forward."

I waited for a response but got nothing. Sighing I turned and started to leave. Her whispered words barely reached me. "I want you to be happy too."

"Thank you," I choked out. She didn't say another word, didn't turn toward me, so I left her in the sunroom, the sunlight not quite reaching her sofa, her tea untouched.

I wiped away my tears with the pads of my hands and walked toward the kitchen. Donna was standing up, either by some sixth sense recognizing something was wrong or because she'd been eavesdropping. I didn't care which. "She's gonna need something."

"I know just the thing," Donna said and then patted me on the shoulder. Pulling me in for a hug, Donna whispered. "You're doing the right thing. This family's going to be all right."

Maybe it would and maybe it wouldn't but as my mom had said to me, the Anderson family's emotional health wasn't my responsibility.

The next conversation was with Tucker, and that was going to be a hundred times more difficult.

I’d texted Tucker the night before, asking him to meet me for lunch. He’d told me to come by the shop. I’d picked up his favorite sandwich—apple and ham on a hoagie—and two cups of fresh-squeezed orange juice. His hair was messed up and he smelled of fresh sweat. Sometimes Tucker's smell had confused me because it was so close to Will's, but now I realized it was the smell of a friend. A good friend and one that I'd miss.

He gave me a wary glance but said nothing as I spread out the goods on one of the silver tool trays.

"You'll have to wash this when we're done," I teased gently. "No one wants sandwich crumbs in their tattoo."

Tucker shrugged and ate half the hoagie in one bite. "Maybe it will be a new thing. Like food tattoos instead of a memorial one."

I made a face. Memorial tattoos were made by tattooing ashes of people’s loved ones into their skin.

"What's so important that it couldn’t wait?”

“I’m leaving for San Diego today,” I admitted.

Tucker took a deep breath and gripped the edges of the tray between us. "Sam, I never told you this because the time wasn't right—” Tucker began. I held up my hand and gave him a sad smile.

"Don't say it, Tucker.”

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"Maybe I don't, but I want you to know that I love you like the brother I never had and I hope you'll always feel the same way toward me," I replied. Tucker looked at me and then glanced down. I blinked away a few tears that had crept into my eyes. "Don't say anything that would mar that," I whispered. I did love Tucker, and I always would, but he was Will's brother and mine too. I'd never view him any other way, and it broke my heart that I had to hurt him.

"So Gray, huh?" Tucker was fiddling with the food and refusing to look at me.

"Yes, it'll be Gray for as long as he'll have me."

"Being a soldier isn't very safe."

I didn't take the time to correct his use of “soldier.” I responded, "Gray loves it. It's in his blood. If he stayed here, part of him would shrivel up. He'd suck it up and he'd fill those spaces, but he wouldn't be the same Gray that I love."

"It's not real love if he resents you for decisions he made for himself," Tucker argued.

"Maybe not, but I have real love for Gray which means letting him go pursue his dreams."

"I don't want to lose you.” Tucker was still avoiding my eyes. This time the tears wouldn't be stemmed by a few blinks. I let them roll out because they were part of the process of saying goodbye as much as the words.

"I'll always be part of the Anderson family for as long as you all will have me."

Tucker breathed through his nose and grabbed me. "We'll always want you."

I hugged him tight, this man who would always be a brother in my heart even though the line that connected us was broken.

His hands clutched me, and for a moment, I reveled in the embrace, remembering what it was like to be with Will. But I pulled away from his arms and he reluctantly let me go. I dug into my pocket and pulled out the gold-and-diamond solitaire ring that had sat on my left finger for over two years. Tucker gasped when I held it out to him and backed away. His hands came up as if to ward me off.

"No way, no fucking way. That is yours.” He glared at me.

"No, Tuck, this is your mother’s. She gave this to Will, and yeah, she got a beautiful ring in exchange from your dad, but this belongs in the Anderson family. Not with me. Not anymore." I advanced on him, and Tucker turned away. I could see he was struggling with this but I pried open his hand and place the ring inside of it.

It wasn't the loss of me that he was struggling with. I'd become Will's avatar to his family and his friends. Through me, Will was still alive in some small measure. But that was over now. It had taken me a long time to come to terms with this, but it was time to move on.

MY ENTIRE FAMILY DROVE ME to the airport. Bitsy held my hand in the backseat the entire drive. Hugs were given all around and everyone was teary. It was like I wasn't ever going to come back.

"I might be back before the week is out," I joked weakly.

"Nah, as many times as he's texted, he won't let you out of his sight for a good month,” Mom said.

“You’ll have to come back and visit soon. It seems like I just got off the plane.” This was from my dad.

"Love you." I gave them all another round of hugs. I’d return soon, for a visit.

And then I was off. The flight to San Diego required a stop in Denver, where I considered for the hundredth time texting Gray. But I didn't want to text him. I wanted to explain to him face to face why I was taking a chance on him, and I wanted to read every emotion on his face so I could reassure myself it was the right decision.

Instead, I spent the time finishing up the skull caps I was making for donation to the Warmth for Warriors group. At the San Diego airport, I ducked into the bathroom and changed out of my shorts and T-shirt and sneakers. I wanted to knock Gray's socks off. I pulled out the red polka-dotted dress with the sweetheart neckline that Bitsy had helped me find. Its flared skirt made my waist look tiny and the three-inch cork wedge heels made me tall enough that I didn't feel like I was going to be trampled.

“Pendleton," I told the cabbie. I'd packed only a carry-on with this dress and one other change of clothing. Bitsy and my dad said they'd ship everything out to me if I needed it. I had some cash to buy some new clothes if I was going to stay longer. Hopefully I'd be calling home to send the stuff right away. Even though I'd had nightly texts from Gray, seeing me there might be too much for him.

I just didn't know so I'd made a reservation at a nearby hotel. I also had a list of knitting shops that I'd make application to and if I didn't get into one of them, then I'd try something else. My application to FIDM was sent in and hopefully I could start in the winter semester since it was too late for fall admission. I was going to be in San Diego for a while. If it didn't work out with Gray, then the city would be big enough that I wouldn't have to see him and I'd be having an adventure, all on my own.

The ride to Camp Pendleton wasn't long, and as we stopped at the gate, I paused for a moment, wondering why the heck I thought it was a good idea to come to the base. But the cab had left before I could call it back, and there I was looking at the gate station. Two young Marines manning the gate watched me. Crud. For all my planning, it hadn’t occurred to me until right that moment that I should've waited until Gray got off of work, whenever that was. But I didn't even know where he lived. Only that he was stationed here. I had been too chicken to ask Bo or Noah, but that was quickly becoming a more attractive idea. I pulled out my phone when a Marine driving up in a Jeep stopped beside me.

"You lost, miss?" he questioned.

I ran a light hand over the side of my lightly curled hair, not wanting to mess it up but feeling agitated. "We both know I'm not."

"You have a tour planned?"

A tour? I pulled up the Camp Pendleton website on my phone and checked out the visitor information. A tour could be pre-arranged. "Um, maybe?" Was this guy going to help me out?

"Who was it with?"

"Sergeant Grayson Phillips?"

The Marine's eyes widened in recognition. Then he looked me over thoroughly, so thoroughly I felt like I was going through the airport security line again. "Wait here, ma'am."