Chapter 8
Chapter 8
S he wouldn’t look at him again, wouldn’t say goodbye as he handed her off to someone to drive her to the base. She couldn’t know that he hand selected one of the men he trusted most, a responsible family man who would keep her safe, who wouldn’t bother her by trying to flirt.
“They’ll get you home safely after you reach the base,” he tried. She kept her face averted, arms crossed, lips pressed tightly together. “Probably be able to catch a flight tomorrow or the next day. There are a lot of transports going in and out these days.” Nothing. The silence annoyed him because it made him feel…well, that was just it. It made him feel. He didn’t like to feel, and he especially didn’t like to feel what he now felt—guilt. He was doing the right thing. He knew it down to his core. He was keeping her safe, and that was what was most important. The area might soon be a war zone. Young pretty girls would be bandied about like trading cards. He had knowledge of what they’d do to her, knowledge she should never share. It was his duty to keep her safe, both as a man and as a soldier. But if she would look at him, say something, offer a smile or even eye contact, he’d feel some measure of peace, of closure. He had never needed those things before, but he hadn’t dealt with someone like Juniper before, someone he’d known from early days.
“Someday you’ll understand this is for the best,” he tried. Still nothing except… He tilted his head, squinting. Was that…yes, a lone tear trickled down her cheek. It took everything in him not to wipe it away, not to reach out, draw her close, and make her understand. He was doing this for her own good, why couldn’t she see that? And, more importantly, why did he care that she was upset? Orders were orders. It never bothered him before who he had to trample to carry them out. He tapped the car and gave the driver a nod. The man had questions, John could see them. This was the first bit of humanity his men had likely ever seen in him. More than a few of them were staring at him, watching his exchange with Juniper. He should get it together, resume his stern exterior. Instead he stood still and watched the Jeep until it was long out of sight. And then slowly, heavily, made his way into his tent. Work, he thought, stretching the kinks in his neck. I need to work.
But he didn’t. He sat staring into space, his mind unable to focus. Maybe if he packed up some of her things, had them ready to go, it would make things easier. There were people he could send to do such a mundane task, at least a half dozen of them. But somehow he knew he needed to be the person to pack her personal effects, to make certain they were handled with care.
He bounded back to the Humvee and returned to Juniper’s camp, feeling oddly bereft to be there without her. What is wrong with you? he questioned himself. He hadn’t felt this way since…ever. It wasn’t as if he and Juniper were close, wasn’t as if he’d kept in contact with her or anyone from home the last fourteen years. He hadn’t seen her since she was an eight-year-old child. She was still a child. A twenty two year old little upstart who thought she was big stuff because she was on assignment in the jungle. He pictured her face as it had looked that first day she turned and realized it was him, the surprise in her eyes, the warm light of welcome. Sharp contrast to the way she went away—sad, angry, dismayed. Hurt. No, not hurt. He refused to believe that. He hadn’t done anything to hurt her. All he had done was his job. Maybe his earlier prediction had come true and Juniper was spoiled now. How else to explain her overt reaction to not getting her way? She was pouting, like the child she was. In turn, he was disturbed at her petulance. Her parents had been indulgent, too free with their emotions, too liberal with personal freedom. Allowing their kids to run wild at all hours of the day or night, him included, all in the name of learning. We want our kids to thirst for knowledge, they had famously declared when they gave John the choice to keep going to school on his own or learn from home with the others. Of course he had chosen to homeschool. He had hated school. And then… Well, if he were being honest, then he had loved it, had loved being able to research topics that captured his interest. And almost everything had captured his interest. He had become a great reader after he lived with the Dunbars, investing himself in classics he otherwise wouldn’t have espoused.
But even if he was willing to admit there was some merit in their style of education, he always felt they’d lacked discipline. And now that lack was being played out in Juniper who threw a fit, just because she’d been routed from her camp in the middle of a warzone. Why was it so hard for her to understand she had been in danger? She’s too dratted soft, he thought with a disgusted shake of his head. Too vulnerable, too breakable. If an insurgent got hold of her they… He had to break off that line of thought before he snapped the steering wheel. That wouldn’t happen now. She’d be out of harm’s way. In a couple of days she’d be back in the states. With her fiancé. They would probably get married now, as they should. A woman like Juniper shouldn’t be alone. She was too soft, too vulnerable, too adorable too…
He broke off his thoughts again and stormed into her tent.
It was a large tent, more of a yurt, likely paid for by whichever university sent her. It wasn’t secure, of course, but it was spacious, especially for a lone woman, and it would have done a good job of keeping the mosquitos out, along with any jaguars that might otherwise try to overcome their inherent shyness and attack.
The cabinet by her bed likely contained all her personal items. He moved there now and crouched, opening it with a yank. Everything wooden tended to swell in the high humidity. There were girly things—lotions, sprays hair tonics. He gathered them and set them in the box he’d brought. Next came a small decorative box marked “pictures.” Unable to contain his curiosity, he opened the box and came face to face with a picture of himself. Unsurprisingly, the Dunbars had also been into pictures. Seemingly every day they took a picture of something or other the family was doing. And with such a large family, there had been a lot of celebrations—birthdays, Christmases, Easters. The photos hadn’t stopped there, nor had the festivities. They celebrated every time someone lost a tooth, every Veteran’s Day, President’s Day, anything and everything that could be cause for jubilation had been observed. The picture in question looked like it had been some sort of patriotic celebration. John knew because he wore a red t-shirt, no doubt selected by his foster mother specifically for the occasion. And in his arms was Juniper, bedecked in a red, white, and blue dress, chubby arms around his neck and clinging tight, cheek pressed against his. As usual, her cheek had smears of something pink, ice cream, perhaps? John looked as though he tried to pull away, probably to avoid getting it on himself. Juniper had no such compunctions, full in on her hug, messy cheek mashed firmly to his clean one. It was a metaphor for their entire childhood—Juniper clinging, John trying to wriggle away.
He stared at the picture feeling…oh, how was he supposed to assign a name to every blasted emotion? He felt something, and wasn’t that enough? The problem was, he didn’t want to feel anything, didn’t want to remember how it had been when he was part of the Dunbar family, at least peripherally. He had cut ties with them, with everyone, with everything. Ever since his uncle Bailey died, he had considered himself an orphan in every way, completely untethered.
But he wasn’t, not really. There was a family who had loved him, who had raised him from twelve to eighteen, who had taken him in when he had nowhere else and lavished him with affection, attention, and understanding. And even though he hadn’t wanted those things—then or now—that didn’t negate the fact that they’d given them and given them freely. And how had he repaid them? By disappearing. Had he ever even thanked them? They had received a stipend from the state for his care, but it hadn’t been nearly enough to cover all the food he ate, the clothes he wore, the presents he received for every blasted occasion. They had been generous with him, overtly so, and he had shoved that generosity in their faces. His conscience smote him, he who had tried hard to live above reproach, with honor and character, had done a bad thing to people who did nothing more than love him.
And they had loved him. He never doubted that. They had never once made him feel like an outsider, never less than a part of their family.
When this assignment was over, he would make amends. He would go home and thank the Dunbars for all they had done on his behalf. Maybe they hadn’t understood him, hadn’t met him on a level where he could accept and appreciate their care, but they hadn’t been stingy or cruel with him, had only ever wanted the best for him. It wasn’t their fault he was already dead and closed off in all the ways that mattered by the time he arrived at their doorstep. Maybe by the time he got home, Juniper would be married. He could meet her husband, make certain he approved of the man. What will happen if I don’t approve of him? He wondered but found no answer and that was disquieting for reasons he didn’t understand.
Maybe that was what was so frustrating, what had always been frustrating about his involvement with the Dunbars. He neither wanted nor understood any of the emotions they evoked in him. He knew they were good people, knew they were caring and kind. But he hadn’t wanted their goodness, nor their care and kindness. It was the reason he had wanted to live with his uncle instead of them. Bailey would have left him alone, would have let him stew in his isolation.
He would never be like other people, his father assured that when he murdered his mother and then himself before John’s eyes. There was no possible healing from that, no chance to recover. John understood it instinctively, almost as soon as it happened. His father might as well have killed him that night because something inside him died regardless. He could never be a real part of a family. His life with the Dunbars had proved that. Happiness and love had churned around him and he had watched it like swirling fog, always unable to reach out and grasp it, to hold it to himself, to let it become part of him. If he was ever going to heal, to become whole, it would have happened then, from twelve to eighteen when he had been steeped in love and affection, so much he was almost drowning in it. Instead he’d become more reserved, more distant, more resolved in his separateness.
He wished he could figure out a way to explain to Juniper, but it was impossible. To do so would only further what she saw as a bond between them. There was a part of him that wanted her to understand and a part of him that didn’t. Telling her would extend his misery, would bring him closer to realizing what he could never have. Not telling her was like ripping off a bandage, a quick sting of pain, soon forgotten. Knowing and being known by someone was another luxury he could never afford. Long ago he had accepted the life he now lived. He was a solider, that was all. His life was about duty, nothing else. And that was okay. More than okay. He had purpose, great purpose, and that brought him more satisfaction than anything ever had.
Going to Juniper’s camp had been the right decision, had provided the closure he needed. He would send her effects and then, when things settled, he would visit the Dunbars and give them his thanks. He owed them that much, probably more. Knowing them, they would want to stay in contact, would want to invite him to all the family gatherings henceforth. He would give his apologies and explain it was out of the question. His life was not his own; he belonged to the army in all the ways.
With a definitive nod, he picked up the box of Juniper’s things and headed back to the Humvee. He felt almost cheerful now. The last few days with Juniper were a blip. He would forget her and return to how it was, how it had always been.
His mind once again clear, he drove to camp, ready to work. A queue of nervous looking soldiers stood outside his tent, nudging each other. It was a familiar gesture to The Major. You tell him, no you tell him. Had he ever been that frightened of a superior as these men were? He couldn’t remember, but he didn’t think so.
“Is there a problem?” he asked as he stepped out of the vehicle.
Once again the men traded glances. One of them cleared his throat and took a tentative step forward. But that seemed to be as much resolve as he possessed. He stood still, blinking at John, mouth agape.
“Speak up, soldier,” John barked and the man flinched like he’d been hit. He cleared his throat and tried again.
“Sir, we received word there was an ambush.”
Quickly, John’s mind flicked through all the hotspots in the country, already arranging strategy to counteract the fallout. “Where?”
The men traded glances again. John couldn’t understand their odd reticence until another of them piped up, one he’d sent to try and send Juniper packing. “Sir, they took her, they took Juniper.”