Chapter 20
“Why NCO? Why not officer?”
Jerry looked up from his perfectly prepared lamb chop. “Hmm?”
Olive set aside her napkin. “What made you decide to be an NCO? Isn’t your father a retired colonel?”
She pursed her lips. “But you enlisted. Didn’t go the officer route.”
Anger suddenly burned in his chest. It surprised him how fast it hit him. “Didn’t especially want to. I wanted to stay on a team as long as possible.”
Jerry studied her face. What was this? He couldn’t help but overlay her words with the last conversation he ever had with his mother.
He left that day feeling like he wasn’t good enough, as if all his hard work, school after school, and all the accolades and awards didn’t mean anything to her because he had an E instead of an O in front of his pay grade.
“Officers have better pay, more responsibility, higher housing reimbursements, and a larger retirement.”
She said it as if these were unknown facts, something he didn’t know. “I’m aware.”
“Then why not get a commission? OCS or whatever. You’re clearly qualified.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Was my answer somehow insufficient?”
Her head went back as if dodging a blow, and her eyes widened. Perhaps she could hear the caution to not go any further in this conversation with him.
“I didn’t mean to make you angry,” Olive said, her eyes wide with caution.
“Oh? What was your intention?” He took a breath and puffed it out.
She sat up straighter. “If I were still in the Army, we couldn’t even be here together. Because I was an officer.”
“Ma’am, yes, ma’am.” He realized his voice didn’t sound particularly friendly. “As I recall, we covered that the first time we met. I told you I wouldn’t hold it against you. You holding something against me?”
When Olive sat silently, instead of saying anything else, he set aside his utensils and napkin, crossed his thick arms over his broad chest, and met her gaze. The silence stretched until Olive opened her mouth to speak again, apparently thought better of it, and closed her lips.
“Say it,” Jerry prompted. “You know you want to.”
“Fine.” Olive leaned forward. “I just don’t understand why someone who is thirty years old isn’t looking at his future more seriously.”
“More seriously? You don’t understand? Well, first of all, I don’t recall asking you to understand. But let me put it this way. I can explain it to you, but I can’t understand it for you.”
“Then explain it,” Olive’s voice rose a bit.
“Fine. Apparently, you think this is all just some game for me?” he snapped.
He tried to keep the anger out of his voice, and failed.
He did, however, manage to lower his voice to a cold whisper.
“Olive? I am one of the top five shooters on the actual planet Earth. Did you know that? So why not the best man for the hardest job? If I were an officer, they’d take me out of my tree or off the rooftop or out of my Ghillie and hand my rifle over to maybe the sixth-best shot, or the tenth-best. Why not use my God given talent and skill the way God intended and, oh by the way, preserve lives along the way? ”
Jerry felt his jaw clenching and the muscles in his neck bunching like springs. He shut his mouth to stop the words and to keep from raising his voice. He did not want to say something in anger that he could never take back. He also did not want anyone at a neighboring table to hear him.
“You’re really angry.” Her eyes snapped wide, jaw slackening as color drained from her cheeks.
Angry? She didn’t know the half of it.
“What ‘I am’ is done with this conversation.” He tossed his napkin atop his nearly untouched plate, rose to his feet, and stalked away.
He did not look behind him. He had to get away from her right now, put some perspective into that conversation. Remove the hurt his mom caused him and try not to project that onto Olive.
He understood her point of view. She had just agreed to marry him, and suddenly their intertwined futures lay before her. Maybe doubts or fears had started nagging her, and she wanted to alleviate some of the worst of it.
That didn’t make him feel any better about how angry he’d gotten and how quickly the hurt had returned.
He went straight to his cabin, thankful Brock had not come back from dinner yet. Energy thrummed up his spine, and his hands formed fists. He paced inside the tiny space, going from bed to door to desk and back again.
Finally, he threw himself down onto the bed, pushing the idiotic towel, folded and twisted into an elephant shape, out of his way.
He covered his eyes with his arm and started breathing slowly.
In through his nose, out through his mouth.
As he breathed, he began mentally going over Psalm 91, making sure to form every word.
He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High Shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.
The relaxation technique began to take hold, and the tense anger started to dissipate.
“You should look at the future. More stability, better retirement.” Olive might as well have quoted his mother directly. When Jerry told his mom that he had turned down the opportunity to go to Officer Candidate School, she couldn’t believe it.
His mother had scolded, “You’ve had your fun. Now it’s time to look to your future.”
The last time he’d seen her alive, they’d had that conversation, and he had resented her words, because he knew he lived the life he’d always dreamed of. He needed her to respect him and feel proud of him. Every little boy on the playground says, “Look, Mom!”
Look how strong I am, look how fast I am, look how good I am, watch me. Watch me, Mom!
He murmured aloud, “Look what a good shot I am. Look how my teammates respect me. Look at all the lives I just saved. Look at how fast I got to Sergeant First Class. Look at my badges and medals. Look at this amazing woman who agreed to marry me.”
He needed her approval, and he didn’t have it. What he heard was, “You’re not good enough.” He’d left angry, her standing there with her silly gingerbread apron tied around her too-thin body with the snowman hat on her bald head.
Olive had no reason to know how much his mother had hurt him, and how she’d died before he could fix that relationship.
Knowing her heart and how she cared so deeply for the people around her, he couldn’t believe she would intentionally bait him.
He also didn’t think she thought less of him for enlisting instead of going the officer route.
She had just wanted to have a conversation, and he’d lost his well-known cool.
Perhaps Osbourne’s wedding and asking Olive to marry him at the same time had added some stressors to the back of his mind that he didn’t anticipate. Something had certainly reared its ugly head.
He spent a while praying for God to ease the pain in his heart. Oh, how he wished he could call his mom. He needed to hear her voice one last time—without scolding or recrimination in it. Look, mom!
Jerry sat up, harshly clearing his throat. He needed to speak to Olive, to help her understand what happened.
He checked the time. Eleven-thirty. She might still be awake. Brock never came in before two. Erin always found some late-night show or activity on the ship and dragged Brock along. That meant Erin probably hadn’t returned, either.
He opened the cabin door and peered down the passageway, sensing and seeing no movement. In one step, he’d crossed over to Olive’s door and lightly tapped on it.
It only took a few seconds for her to open the door. She had changed out of the dinner clothes and into a pair of shorts and a tank top. Her hair fell out of a sloppy bun on the top of her head, and he could see the tearstains on her cheek. She’d scrubbed her face clean of makeup.
Her eyes widened when she saw him, then narrowed. “Hey,” she greeted, her voice harsh.
Jerry slipped a hand into his pocket and rubbed his neck with the other one. “I, uh, need to explain something.”
“Okay.”
“Can I, uh, come in?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe. “Better not.”
After releasing a breath, he said, “I’d like to tell you about the last conversation I had with my mother. She died just hours later.”
“Well,” All of the righteous indignation radiating from Olive just went away. She straightened and pushed her door wide. “In that case, you’d best come on in.”
Sunlight poured through the ship’s dining room windows, casting golden streaks across the tables as Olive sipped her coffee.
Jerry had spent two hours in her cabin the previous night, explaining the story of his mom in a way that clearly took a toll on him.
She realized as he spoke that she’d used almost the exact same words as his mom had, and that caused his angry reaction.
The vulnerability he showed her last night, the tears on his face, and the pain in his voice only made her love him more. She knew she didn’t have anything for which she ought to apologize, but she did anyway. She hugged him and told him that she would never hurt him on purpose.
In typical Jerry fashion, he had said, “Amoris vulnus idem sanat qui facit,” which apparently means “The wounds of love are healed by the same person who inflicts them.”
They prayed together, talked some more, and then finally kissed goodnight.
She hadn’t seen him today, and didn’t expect to.
Jerry had groomsman duties to perform, and so much time spent in social interactions had left her a little drained, too.
She hadn’t slept well and had a slight headache.
She decided to dine alone—just her and her latest Mandalynn Clementine mystery, written by the brilliant Violet Pearl.