Chapter 6
Chapter 6
F or two days, the situation with Juniper broiled in the back of The Major’s mind. How on earth could he dislodge her? She didn’t want to go and, if he were being honest, there was a teeny little part of him that didn’t want her to. As hard as he had tried not to admit it, he had enjoyed catching up with Juniper Dunbar. Maybe it would be worth a visit to Alabama, next time he was in the states. He could put to bed some old ghosts. At the very least he could assuage the dim echo of guilt over his long absence.
Orders were orders, however. The area needed to be evacuated, and with good reason. Tensions had reached a boiling point. The Sandinistas were growing bolder, edging farther from their native Nicaragua into Honduras. Bankrolled and emboldened by the USSR, they were an ever-growing threat to Central America and, by extension, to the United States. The convoluted political minefield was why John and his team had been sent in, to be involved without making it look like they were involved. Secrecy was his specialty. Up front, they were there to support the Honduran peacekeeping effort. Behind the scenes, well, the less said, the better.
No matter how anyone cut it, it was the very last place a twenty two year old American botanist should be, kapok trees or no kapok trees. The entire area was like a box of tinder, ready to go up in flames at the slightest provocation. Juniper was in danger and had to go, like it or not.
The third time he visited her tent, her table was set for two, as if she’d been expecting him. “Bear,” she declared, beaming as she unfurled herself from a chair, setting aside the giant tome she’d been reading.
“Juniper,” he began. It was best to get it out of the way first before she got any notions about distracting him. He opened his mouth to continue when she once again preempted him.
“Did you know every girl in town had a crush on you?”
His mouth snapped together. “What?”
“I used to think about that a lot when I became a teenager, wondering what exactly they saw in you. Not that you weren’t nice looking, of course you were. But so were a lot of boys from back home. Was it because you were aloof, a challenge? Or was it that quiet strength, that indelible Johnness?” Her head tipped, studying him.
“I don’t, uh…” he scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck. Back then he’d had nothing but escape on his mind. Girls hadn’t entered the picture. Ever, if he was truthful. It wasn’t that he didn’t like women. Of course he did. He liked their prettiness, their softness, their smell. It made a nice contrast from the sweaty soldiers usually around him. And when he pictured why he did what he did, who he fought for, it was always some nameless, faceless female. But he had always known that life wasn’t for him—dating, relationships, marriage, fatherhood. John had been set apart, first by the events of his life, and then by his training. For that reason he had made himself the soldierest soldier of all. If there was a special training to further his skills or education, he took it. If there was an assignment too risky for the family men, he took that, too. If he were being honest, he hadn’t expected to live to his current age. By all reasonable statistics he shouldn’t have. He’d been close to death so many times he’d lost count. There had always been great comfort for him in knowing absolutely no one would mourn for him if he died.
“Juniper,” he tried again, but again she preempted him as she steered him to the table and bade him sit down He did so and this time she plied him with some kind of pudding, its cool creamy texture sharp contrast to the day’s heavy humidity. It was so pleasantly unexpected he stopped short and stared at, wondering how she managed it. No wonder the locals thought she was magic; maybe she was. He shook his head and attempted to try again.
“I was awfully sorry to hear about your Uncle Bailey,” she said, tone soft and reverent.
John blinked, feeling oddly choked. After two years with the Dunbars, the State of Alabama finally found his only living relative, a salty old bachelor named Bailey Jones, his mother’s great uncle. The old fellow was ancient, a crusty no-nonsense retired army guy who knew nothing about children. Everyone agreed John was better off with the Dunbars, everyone but John who longed to live with his uncle, if only for the escape it would provide. No more daily hugs at his uncle’s house, no more clinging baby with blond mussy hair and sticky face, that was for certain. His uncle hadn’t taken full custody, but he had kept a finger in John’s life, pointing him toward the army and West Point, giving him a much-needed goal and directive. They corresponded often over the years, and John visited with him about once a quarter. And, despite the old man’s standoffish stoicism, he had come to mean a great deal to John. They’d been as close as two uncommunicative men could be. It had been a painful blow when he died three months after John graduated West Point.
“Thank you,” he said as his spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl. Somehow he had eaten all the pudding without saying what he came here to say. He took a breath.
“It hurts to lose people we love, leaves a hole,” she mused.
He paused, regarding her with a frown. What could Juniper possibly know about loss? She, who had been so beloved by every member of her family. Their darling baby girl. It was a wonder she hadn’t turned out spoiled. He opened his mouth to put her on blast.
“Have you been to your parents’ grave?”
He blinked, shocked by the abrupt subject change. The Dunbars were big about visiting graves. John had never gotten it, but he had dutifully gone along four times a year to the cemetery where his parents were buried. Her parents would lay flowers. The whole family stood silent and reverent a moment, and then they would leave him alone to “say what he needed to say.” He wondered if they realized he never said a word. Nice as it was, the whole ritual had seemed a bit bizarre to him.
“No, not once since I left.”
“Hmm,” she said. Even though she didn’t say it, he could feel her disapproval.
“I don’t go in for all that sentimental nonsense, Juniper.”
“I know. I just…” she stared into space on her right. “If not their graves, where do you find them?”
He blinked at her. “I don’t. You know how it ended. That’s not something I care to revisit.”
“What about all the years that came before the end?” she asked.
He scowled. “I don’t revisit it. Ever. With anyone.”
“Oh,” she said, nodding sagely as if she had gained some cosmic insight into his soul.
Irritated now, he traded saucers with her, ate the remainder of her pudding, and then blinked at his newly empty bowl. In all his life, he was certain he had never done something so petty and immature. No doubt about it, Juniper Dunbar made him insane. He had the sudden vision of more visits like these. He would keep attempting to get a word in and she would keep diverting him, keep plying him with food, keep poking at his depths and old wounds he’d rather forget. He wouldn’t, couldn’t let that happen. Calm now, he dabbed his lips with the napkin and stood. Juniper watched him curiously, a smile of amusement on her face. When he reached for her, she put her arms up, a repeat of so many scenes when they were kids. Except now he didn’t tuck her cozily against his chest, trying to avoid her sticky jam hands. Now he hauled her up, tossed her over his shoulder, carried her to his Humvee, and tossed her inside.