Early Saturday morning, Myra sat at a gray plastic table, enveloped in the scent of yeast and onions, and doodled on a paper napkin while she waited. She’d been nervous about this morning’s meeting, but still she was able to immerse herself in her scrawled notes. A tap on the plate-glass window next to her made her jump, and she felt her face stretch into an automatic smile when she saw Ainslee on the sidewalk.
Ainslee came into the deli and over to Myra’s table. Her limp seemed less noticeable, and Myra thought the sound of her right leg was more rhythmic than it had been when they first met. Or was she being overly optimistic and seeing progress where there really wasn’t much?
“Thanks for meeting me here,” Myra said. After sharing such a powerful kiss, Myra had decided to try the Jamie approach and give Ainslee a chance to either alleviate or confirm her worst fears. Maybe she’d be comfortable giving in to her interest in Ainslee if she had an honest conversation with her. She didn’t have much choice—her desire was growing too strong to be ignored, and her common sense seemed to be diminishing in proportion. The reality of Ainslee’s kiss had far surpassed even Myra’s fantasies.
“I’m glad you asked me,” Ainslee said. She sat down and looked around. “I haven’t been here before, but it smells wonderful.”
“You won’t be disappointed in the taste, either,” Myra said. Ainslee raised her eyebrows and laughed at the words, and Myra felt her face heat. She stood up and motioned at the counter. “What would you like?”
“What would I like, or what should I order off the menu?” Ainslee asked with a devilish smile. She scanned the chalkboard menu quickly. “A blueberry bagel with cream cheese and a white chocolate mocha, please.”
“Wow,” Myra said with a grimace. “Sweet tooth?”
“Guilty.” Ainslee shifted and rested her left heel on the rung of her chair.
“What were you writing so intently when I came to the window?” Ainslee asked after Myra had placed their order.
“Oh, nothing. Just scribbling.”
Ainslee leaned forward. “Come on, you can tell me. Were you writing your memoirs? Haiku? The complete list of Myra’s Barn Rules?”
Myra fished the crumpled napkin out of her pocket and tossed it at Ainslee’s head. “None of the above. I was balancing chemical equations.”
“For your high school classes?” Ainslee unfurled the napkin and smoothed it out on the table top. She pointed at one of the compounds. “What’s this one?”
“Phosphorous pentachloride. And no, it’s not for class, it’s just a habit of mine.” Myra usually brushed off questions about her game of equations, but she wanted to be completely honest with Ainslee today, and this was as good a way as any to start.
“For fun? Chemistry?”
Myra laughed at Ainslee’s pained expression. “I take it you didn’t enjoy chemistry classes in school. I find it comforting, I suppose. The beauty of these equations reminds me that the universe is orderly, even if it doesn’t seem like it in my life.”
“Huh,” Ainslee said with a brief nod. She folded the napkin carefully and put it in the pocket of her jeans. “I can see how that would be soothing. A little strange, though.”
Myra’s name was called, and she went to the counter for their tray of food. She tried to come up with a subtle way to broach the subject of Jeffrey while she and Ainslee silently glopped cream cheese on their bagels, but nothing came to mind. She decided to ease into the conversation after she had a chance to learn more about Ainslee. She’d read her service record and she knew some aspects of her character, but she wanted to understand her better.
“Now you know my secret hobby, tell me about yours. What do you like to do? What subjects did you enjoy in school, if not my poor maligned chemistry?”
Ainslee didn’t frown, but her smile disappeared and left a neutral void. Even her voice became monotone. “I ran track and was a damned good soccer player.” She gestured at her leg. “Can’t anymore. I liked studying biology and anatomy, and my goal was to be an EMT someday. Can’t anymore.”
And that concludes the getting-to-know-you portion of our morning. Myra’s first reaction was to change away from the painful subject and find an easier topic for Ainslee to discuss, but she stopped herself.
“Tell me what happened when you injured your leg,” she said instead.
Ainslee bit her lip and looked around the restaurant—anywhere but at Myra. She seemed about to refuse to answer, but she started talking in a hesitating voice.
“We were in a Jeep, driving back to base through what was supposed to be a safe part of the city.” She shook her head. “Like any place was truly safe. But someone tossed a grenade, and the Jeep flipped over and landed on my leg. Gunfire broke out with us in the middle. I was…I was pinned there for almost an hour, before two soldiers could get to me.”
Ainslee sat quietly, perfectly still, and Myra saw the same expression of inward vision that Jeffrey wore the few times he’d talk about the worst things he’d experienced. She needed to pull Ainslee back to her. She reached across the table and squeezed Ainslee’s chilled hand. She sighed when she felt a tentative pressure in response.
“What was it like, while you waited?”
“Loud. I’d never realized how many different sounds a gunshot could make. A ping against the metal of the Jeep. Thuds when the bullets hit the ground.” Ainslee looked at her, and Myra recognized that Ainslee was allowing her to see the anguish in her eyes. “I was with two other people from my unit. My friends. They were in the front seat when the grenade hit, and they were killed instantly. I couldn’t do anything to help.”
Myra wrapped Ainslee’s hand in both of hers and raised it to her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said against Ainslee’s skin, quietly and inadequately.
Ainslee inhaled audibly at the touch of Myra’s lips, and she appeared to physically step from the world of her memory into the present. She gave a small shudder and brushed her palm against Myra’s cheek before pulling away.
Myra wondered how such a cold hand could leave a trail of heat on her face. “My brother served in the Middle East,” she said. “He deployed twice.”
“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Ainslee said. She took a drink of her mocha. “Are the two of you close?”
Myra wanted out of the conversation as soon as she’d gotten in it, but she couldn’t leave Ainslee’s question unanswered. She had talked about Jeffrey’s death with Kate and her family—always people who knew what had happened. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d said the words out loud.
“We were,” she said.
Ainslee set her mug on the table. “I’m so sorry, Myra. What happened? Was he killed over there?”
“No. He came home to us almost two years ago.” Myra paused. “He committed suicide soon after.”
“Jesus,” Ainslee swore under her breath. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I don’t talk about Jeffrey much, unless it’s with people who knew him. And I didn’t want my own sorrow to intrude on the program.”
“Sharing your story would never have been an intrusion. I think we might have realized how much you understood what we were going through. What was Jeffrey like?”
Hearing his name coming from Ainslee gave Myra a sense of comfort. Jamie had been right—although Myra wasn’t about to admit it to her—and she should have told Ainslee about her brother sooner than this.
“He was three years younger than I am, my kid brother. He was sensitive…not in a flaky, daydreamy way, but empathetic, I guess. Intuitive might be a better word.” Few people had seen the side of Jeffrey that Myra knew so well, and she struggled to capture who he was for Ainslee. “He was popular in school, with teachers and the other kids. Athletic. He was on the varsity football and baseball teams. But he felt things more deeply than most teenagers. Animals of any kind adored him, and he’d be devastated if he saw one hurt.”
She paused and blinked away the threat of tears. “My parents fought a lot when we were in school. They never got along well, and they finally got a divorce once Jeffrey had graduated from high school. He’d get so upset when we were young and they fought, so we spent a lot of time together, trying to distract each other.”
Myra’s speech halted again, and Ainslee gave her time to gather her thoughts. “I don’t want you to think he was weak or cowardly because of how I’m describing him. He was a decorated hero. I have his medals at home. He just never got over what he experienced over there. He wouldn’t talk about it much, even though I tried everything I could think of to help him. It wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.”
Myra felt her eyes sting and she stared at her breakfast. She hadn’t removed the tea bag from her mug yet, and the liquid was dark and murky. Her bagel was untouched. Ainslee lifted her hand to Myra’s face again, cupping her chin and making her look up. “You sound like a great sister, and now I understand your drive to help everyone and every animal you meet. But sometimes there’s a dark sadness inside, and no one can help a person out of it.”
“You understand how he felt, don’t you.” Myra was stating a fact, not asking a question. She saw the sympathy in Ainslee’s eyes and had the answer she’d been searching for—Ainslee knew the same darkness Jeffrey had felt. Myra felt numb. Resigned.
Ainslee brushed her thumb over Myra’s cheek, leaving the same trail of fire her palm had left earlier. Why couldn’t Myra’s physical response to Ainslee follow the same rules of common sense and self-protection her mind had set?
Ainslee let go of Myra’s chin and sat back in her chair. “In a way, I do. There were so many emotions to sort through, so much anguish. I get buried in self-pity because I lost my leg and my future, but then I feel guilty because I should be grateful I survived when I had to watch my friends die. I’m still struggling to break that cycle.”
“But would you ever…could you…hurt yourself like he did?”
Ainslee frowned. “I won’t lie and say the thought never occurred to me, especially when I first got to the hospital. I hurt so badly, and all my goals in life seemed to have vanished when they removed my leg. But it was fleeting and faded once the intensity of my memories and my pain eased a little. Why do you ask? Are you worried about me?”
“No. I mean, of course I care about you and want you to be healthy and well. But I needed to know for me, too.” Myra wanted to reach for Ainslee’s hand again, but her own were shaking and she kept them on her lap, fingers entwined. “I like you, Ainslee. You’re beautiful and I was attracted to you from the moment I saw your photo. Meeting you in person just made those feelings stronger. More than just that, I love how complex you are. Funny and smart and challenging and sometimes frustrating.”
Ainslee smiled a little at the end of Myra’s sentence. “I like you, too, Myra. You stuck by me when I was having a hard time, but you treated me like a person and not an invalid. The day I saw you carrying those sacks of grain.” She shook her head. “You were so sexy I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t think you’d want someone like me, someone…partial.”
Myra had to remain resolved, had to explain why she needed to regain some distance between them. She couldn’t help but protest about the way Ainslee described herself, though. “You’re a whole person, Ainslee. You aren’t lacking anything, and I hope someday you realize how much you still have to offer, and how much life has to offer you. I wish I could prove it to you, but I can’t do it, Ainslee. I wasn’t able to bring Jeffrey back from the edge. I’d never survive if I failed you, too.”
Ainslee’s smile faded, and her eyebrows pulled together in a frown. When she spoke, her voice was as icy as her hands had been earlier. “What are you saying, Myra?”
“I was hoping we could date, but—”
“That’s funny,” Ainslee said, leaning her forearms on the table. Her tone didn’t sound at all amused. “I thought we were on a date right now. You asked me here for breakfast to, what, interview me for a date? And because I answered you honestly about the despair I felt after my accident, the pain I still feel, you’re dumping me already?”
“God, no,” Myra protested. She couldn’t seem to make Ainslee understand that the reason she couldn’t pursue a relationship was because she cared too much for her, not because she could easily dismiss her feelings. “You’re not the one falling short here. I am. I’m not strong enough to keep you from that kind of pain—”
Ainslee stood up, interrupting Myra’s words. “No one, no relationship comes with a guarantee, Myra. You either accept me as I am—broken but healing—or you don’t. You’ve made your choice, so it’s time we both move on.”
Myra rose to her feet and put a hand on Ainslee’s arm, trying to keep her from walking out. “I came close to self-destructing when I found Jeffrey and for months after, while I tried to recover. I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”
“Myra, since the day we met, you’ve been trying to get me to have some hope for the future again. To believe I could still have a worthwhile life. Well, you accomplished your goal. When you asked me here, I was happy. I came here and took a chance on the future I’ve fantasized about since we met. Congratulations—you can add me to your list of successful rescue stories. Too bad you won’t stick around to see how this one turns out.”
Myra let go of Ainslee’s arm and sat down, overwhelmed by the anger she felt from Ainslee and by her own gnawing regret. Ainslee turned and walked slowly but resolutely out of the café, with barely any trace of a limp.