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“You can’t tell me you liked everything you had to do in the Navy. Sam told me–”
“Well, not everything. But that’s different. Lives are at stake.”
“Not so different.” She looks serious again.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’ve been given a great gift. A second chance at life. And with great gifts, comes great responsibility. So, I worry I should push myself harder. Make myself run. Give more back to the community.”
“I’m not so sure that sounds like you talking.” She side-eyes me, and the look is confirmation. I called it. “Who said that? Mr. Watson or Mrs. Watson?” I snap my fingers. “Mr. Watson.”
She laughs a full-throated laugh. My hand falls on her lower back. Not because I need to guide her, but because I want her near.
“Dad. How did you know?”
“I can just hear him saying it. He sounded like a preacher most of the time.”
“He did.” She’s grinning, and the look on her face is full of fondness.
“Sam hated it.”
Her eyes widen and her steps slow. “He did?”
“Yeah, he did. You didn’t know that?”
“No. I mean…by the time Sam and I got to spend real time together, as equals…Mom was sick.”
“Well, it used to drive Sam crazy because he said that your dad was as wild as they came. Your grandparents, I guess, used to tell all kinds of stories. And so did your dad’s friends. He always felt like the preacher version of your dad wasn’t who he really was.”
She’s quiet for a couple of sidewalk squares. My arm comes back to my side. We’ve turned onto my street.
“Maybe Dad had to grow up unexpectedly, ya’ know? Sick daughter. I’m not the only one it impacted.”
I pause and reach for her wrist. “All that’s behind you now. You know that, right? And your dad, Sam, all of them…they didn’t hold that against you.”
“I know.” Her head moves up and down in a short, jerky nod, but her lips are in a straight line, and I’m pretty positive she doesn’t know it at all. Or if she does, she chalks it up as one more thing she needs to live the best life for. Because they all sacrificed for her to live.
It’s a heady responsibility. Not too dissimilar to survivor’s guilt, something the shrinks would go on about back on base.
Back at the apartment, Millie lounges in her dog bed. Sage scratches behind her ears, and her heavy tail thumps against the floor.
“What do you want for dinner?”
We could’ve stopped for dinner on the way back home, but all the outdoor patio tables were taken in the restaurants along the way. I could find us a restaurant, turn tonight into our first date, but I don’t want to do that. No, I want to pull out all the stops for Sage. She deserves it. Sam would expect it.
She’s removed the baseball hat, and a few stray strands frame her face. From what I can tell, she’s not wearing any makeup. Her skin glows, something I’d like to think stems from our first kiss. Well, our first proper kiss.
She stands before the refrigerator, the door open, probably searching for food. My gaze falls to her shorts, or more honestly, her ass. “Do you like fried rice?”
I rarely eat Chinese food, mainly because of the grease. A younger me had no issue with it, and as much as I work out, I don’t really have an issue with it now, but you can’t spend as much time as I do in the gym and not grow a healthy awareness for what you’re putting into your body. Still, I’m not about to tell Sage no. “You want to order Chinese? I have menus?—”
“You have everything we need to make it. Eggs, frozen peas, corn, rice. Won’t take me long to whip it up. It’s on the lighter side, but I’m not feeling like a big meal. Unless you are?”
“No, that’s…but wait, I can?—”
“You’re letting me stay here. Cooking dinner is the least I can do.”
“How about this? You leave the recipe with me, and you go get a shower?”
