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After another beat, I launched into the story, not leaving out any of the gory details. The bar was pretty empty, as it was a weekday afternoon, but there was enough noise from the music piping through the speakers and the announcers covering the game on the TV that no one was going to overhear me as I laid it all out for her.
“Whew,” Gemma exhaled slowly when I wrapped up. She hadn’t interrupted me as I’d talked, not even to ask questions. She’d seemed to follow along without any issue. “That’s a pickle.”
I laughed at her casual reaction. “A pickle? Hell, I think I passed a pickle a while ago.”
She smiled. “I don’t mean to downplay it. It’s obviously very serious. I just don’t know what else to say. I mean, the crash was traumatic enough. I can’t imagine having to deal with all that bullshit on top of it,” she concluded, the smile fading as the mood shifted back to the serious. “I’m sorry, Aaron. I wish there was something I could do to help.”
“Me too. Ya know, it’s shocking how few people have experience in dealing with evil billionaire tyrants.”
She laughed softly at my joke. “What’s your gut instinct telling you to do? I find that’s usually the best place to start.”
“Well, my gut can’t always be trusted. It tends to run hot and not think things through…” I let my voice trail, thinking back to the brawl in the parking lot the day I’d first met O’Keefe. I hated to think that if I’d just given him the F-4, or hell, just let him win the stupid auction if any of this would have even happened. In reality, he would have found out about the museum sooner or later. He’d been bidding to develop Holiday Cove for months, but still…his tactics and fucked up attitude might have been vastly different had we not started out in the middle of a war.
Not that it mattered. The pin on that grenade had already been pulled and I couldn’t put it back now.
“I don’t want to give up my museum. It was my father’s legacy. He wanted me to keep it in the family. Indefinitely. How could I take O’Keefe’s money and just walk away?”
“Could you move locations? I mean, the business would still be yours, right?”
“O’Keefe said he wants the planes. I’d have to start from scratch. I guess I could fight him on that part…try to negotiate, but from our past interactions, that feels like I’d be negotiating a brick wall with a vendetta.”
Gemma smiled sadly. “I’m sorry.” She dropped her hand to mine and the chill from her glass radiated through to mine. She realized it when our skin met and pulled her hand back to wipe it on the leg of her jeans. “Condensation.”
I smiled at her, still marveling at how calm she was after everything I’d just told her.
“And you don’t want to get your friend…the smuggler guy in trouble…that’s why you aren’t going to call his bluff on that part?” Gemma asked, returning her—now dry—hand to the back of mine.
“Yeah, that would be shitty of me. O’Keefe is my problem. Besides that, Rick has done me some favors, not of the illegal variety, but it would be a smack in the face if I turned on him.”
Gemma nodded. Her eyes dropped to our hands and I could see the wheels turning in her mind.
“You know what, let’s talk about something else,” I said, pivoting the conversation. I needed something more light hearted. “Tell me what made you join the Army. Were you a military brat?”
Gemma met my eyes again, her eyes bluer than grey in the natural light streaming through the window beside our table. “Yeah. Both of my parents were Army, actually. That’s how they met. Right after basic.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. It’s a crazy story. They divorced a couple years after my younger sister was born, but they stayed friends,” she continued. “They both encouraged me to join the military, mainly for the education benefits since I wanted to go to medical school, which is crazy expensive.”
I laughed. “Makes sense to me.”
“What about you? Your dad was Navy, and then your mother? What did she do? Besides cook awesome food?”
I stared at Gemma, blown away that she’d remembered the small detail I’d shared in the hospital. “She was a secretary at a law office. Up until she got sick. Then she had to quit so she could go through treatment. That was rough on her.”
“I’m sorry, Aaron. When did she pass away?”
“The summer before I turned fifteen. So just about fifteen years ago.” I paused, struck by how close I was to hitting my thirtieth birthday. “Anyway, after that, I had to stay with friends or relatives every time my dad went on deployment and spent the rest of the time on a naval base, raising hell.” I chuckled.
