Sixty
before
Cary met Breanna in officer training.
She was Mexican American. From Texas. Her older brothers were in the Navy, too.
She caught Cary’s eye because she never complained. She was always doing exactly what she was supposed to be doing, just a
little bit better than everyone else. She knew all the answers, even if she didn’t say so. She didn’t gossip or get involved
in drama. She hated a mess.
Breanna was beautiful. She had thick, dark hair and a great smile. Busty enough that she was never happy with the way her
uniforms fit. She loved to run, so Cary ran with her.
They couldn’t date until after they finished their training. And then they were stationed in far-flung ports.
But they were both diligent, both focused—both interested. They did what they had to, to stay in touch. They tried to coordinate
their leave time.
It was Breanna who asked Cary if he was ready for marriage. And then if he was ready to propose.
Cary wasn’t sure. He wanted to be careful. There was a lot to consider.
About six months later, he bought a ring—platinum, diamond solitaire, two baguettes. And then he proposed to Breanna a few
months after that, on leave.
She said yes.
But Cary got the feeling that he’d asked too late. He never felt like he could catch up, from then on. Breanna was always
pushing forward, asking for slightly more than he could give.
It was easy to lose himself in his work. It was an excuse she understood.
Breanna broke up with him two years after he proposed. She did it over the phone. He wasn’t surprised.
She sent him the ring—fully insured, registered mail—the next time he was on land.