June 9th, 1990 The day I was dreading had arrived. Somehow, my week had flown by on silent wings, gliding past on sunshine and happiness. I felt as though I had only just arrived, that I had only just found the starting point. Dean and I were about to begin something wonderful, and it wasn't fair that Dean had to leave. It wasn't fair that we had only had four magical days together, and now he had to leave for the horrors of war. It made my stomach hurt. I sat on his bed, my arms wrapped around my legs, watching him pack. He had the door to the ocean open, and the salty air was making my hair ripple down my back. Despite the Florida sunshine and the warmth of the breeze, I felt cold. Dean carefully packed his dark green rucksack, placing his boots and clothing in the hard canvas with care. His slow, methodical movements were hypnotic, the muscles on his arms flexing and relaxing with an attractive rhythm. Maybe if I watched him long enough, his bag would never fill and he would nev
June 9th, 1990 The airport reared its ugly gray head all too soon. I swallowed down tears as a plane soared overhead, the jets rumbling through the air. Matt parked the car in the rental station, handing the keys over to a man in a red vest. Matt carried his bag like a suitcase to the check-in line, his big biceps flexed as he moved across the shiny floor. The moments seemed to blur together, my brain refusing to accept what was going on. I turned to see Tony walking up, his arm draped protectively around Kimberly. She had tears running down her face. The tissue balled in her palm was past its usefulness, but she kept wiping her nose with it anyway. Dean squeezed my hand, letting me go for a moment, as he checked his bag and picked up his ticket. The three men were ready to head to the gate in less time than I had hoped. I wanted every moment, every step, to take twice as long as it should because that would be twice as long that I could spend with Dean. We were at the gate all to
Two Years Ago I had to turn on the GPS guidance on my phone when I got into town. Everything was different, and even though the bar was still in the same spot, the buildings, and even the beach, were not. I finally found it, maneuvering the rental car into the quiet parking lot. What had once been the hottest disco bar in the small town was now a rundown country bar. Gravel and sand crunched under my feet as I headed up the rickety wooden steps toward the open door. It looked as though they had covered the open air portion of the bar. Bad country music blared out into the parking lot, the dim light from the bar glowing neon yellow and red. Inside, a girl with full tattoo sleeves leaned against the jukebox, feeding it quarters and singing along with the music. I could see where a fight had occurred earlier, a chair in pieces by the door. Several males were in a smoky corner, taking turns around a faded green pool table, but I wasn't there for them. I was there for the long-legged ma
June 16th, 1990 I stumbled into my apartment, dropping the stack of bills on my kitchen table. They merged seamlessly with the other bills and junk mail, all waiting for me to be responsible and look at them. Nothing I was hoping for had come in the mail. I closed the door and kicked off my shoes, letting my toes stretch out and relax. I had been home for a week and was missing the beach terribly. No, I didn't miss the beach. I missed Dean. Six days, eight hours, and thirty-seven minutes since I had seen him last. And I had no idea how to fill the hole that was growing in my heart. I leaned back against the door, closing my eyes and remembering his face. Maybe a letter would come tomorrow. I had sent one off two days ago, carefully checking and then double-checking the address. It had been hard to write, not knowing where to start and then not knowing where to curb my words. I wanted to tell him that he was all I could think about, that I would wait for him to come back if he wanted
June 20th, 1990 I gripped my sketchbook tightly, making sure for the third time that I still had the designs from the night before. I had no idea what Mrs. Saunders looked like, how far along in her pregnancy she was, or what her build might be. I had sketched out a couple more maternity designs, but without meeting her, I didn't want to create too many, but I needed enough to impress. Mr. Martinez walked calmly in front of me, easily navigating the huge apartment building as we headed toward what he called "Mrs. Saunders' sun-room". The apartment was huge; bigger than what I would consider a house. I had a feeling the oil business, at least for the Saunders and DS Oil and Gas, was doing well. I was trying my very best not to be overwhelmed by everything, and I felt like I was doing a pretty good job. Mr. Martinez and I had arrived by a private plane and then drove straight into the city to the Saunders' household. I couldn't wait to go out and explore the city after my interview.
June 20th, 1990 Down at street level, I got into the waiting car and stared out the window. The driver was silent as I headed back to my hotel, and my mind was on designs rather than the giant buildings when something caught my eye. A young boy, about five or six years old, was walking resolutely along the sidewalk. He stopped, setting down a brightly-wrapped present, and pulled out an oversized map, his small face frowning as he tried to read it. The boy obviously was trying to get somewhere to deliver the gift, but I couldn't see an adult with him. I watched him for a moment as we sat at a light, wondering why he looked vaguely familiar. I gasped as it hit me where I had seen the boy before. He was the laughing child in the pictures on Mrs. Saunders' wall. His mother would be worried sick if she knew he was out on the streets of New York by himself. "Stop the car!" I shouted, unbuckling my seat-belt and practically lunging for the door. The driver looked back at me in surprise, b
Present Day The drive was just as awkward as I was afraid it was going to be. I drove carefully, heading down the highway to the small town on the Atlantic coast. The county jail was only a couple of blocks from the marina. I had, unfortunately, been there to pick Robbie up for public intoxication. Twice. The hospital was only a few streets down from that; luckily, I had never been there, but it would be easy enough to find. Dean sat comfortably in the passenger seat, his long legs crossed as he looked out the window. We had started out making polite conversation, remarking on the weather- it was supposed to rain later- and how the football season was going. Neither one of us really had the time to follow sports, so that was a short conversation. I didn't really want to discuss the current situation with Dean, and anything regarding the Saunders family was dangerous due to Daniel's condition. Our usually easy conversations, just didn't seem to flow. Our minds were elsewhere. As a re
Present Day I pulled into the parking lot attached to an old wooden building with small windows that looked exactly like a small town police station in the movies. Dean sat quietly for a moment, as if debating saying something. Inside the darkened glass door with white lettering, I could see a man in a grayish tan uniform sitting at a desk filling out paperwork. "I'll get the paperwork started while you're at the hospital. I'll call if we finish before you," Dean said. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something more, but instead changed his mind, pushing his lips together and opening the car door. I watched him walk into the station, his movements full of an unconscious deadly grace that can only come with years of practice. His hands opened the door, and I remembered how they had felt on my cheek. I took a deep breath. I couldn't think about that kiss right now, the way his hand cupped my jaw, the sweetness of his tongue... Stop it! You have work to do! I chided myself.