SHARON’S HOUSE was in the Alamo Canyon area, not too far from where Emma lived, and she and Sam arrived with their cooler full of beer and burgers ten minutes late. It was sunset already, and only just after seven. She’d meant to come early to help set up, but somehow she’d gotten waylaid en route from the shower to the closet.
“We don’t have to stay too late or anything,” she said as she closed the trunk of the Mustang. Sam held the cooler as if it didn’t have two cold twenty-packs inside, plus enough burgers to feed the block.
“Don’t worry about me. I like barbecues, and it’ll be fun meeting more of your gang.”
“My gang. Yeah, we’re a pretty rough bunch. We all carry red pens, and we’re not afraid to use them.”
They walked up the path to the stucco one-story house. Emma didn’t bother to knock, which would have been useless anyway, as classic rock was blaring from the backyard.
As usual, the house was neat as a pin but with decor that could only have come from the crazy twosome who owned it. Never let it be said that Sharon and Joe Keeler ever let good taste get in the way of a good time.
Sam put the cooler down in the kitchen, but he had to do a full three-sixty turn to appreciate the wonder of Sharon’s interior design.
It began with cartoon cow salt-and-pepper shakers, and continued with cow hot pads, curtains, picture frames, figurines, plant holders and even a cow wall clock. “That’s a lot of cows.”
“Joe’s just as bad, but he collects Western memorabilia. Wait till you see his office.”
“Did they grow up on farms or something?”
“Sharon’s from Chicago and Joe’s from Cleveland. I doubt they’ve ever been on a ranch.”
Sam nodded. “Joe does what at the base?”
“He’s some sort of engineer.”
Emma took Sam’s hand, and they got a glimpse of the party through the sliding glass doors. The backyard had a big covered patio, and although it was tough to keep up in the summer, their lawn was actually green. Their hosts had festooned the fence and trees with sparkling white lights, the centerpiece of which was a big old hand-painted sign across the back bricks that said So Long, Summer, You Hot Bastard!
The very large gas barbecue was already smoking, and Emma’s friends and their plus-ones were busy drinking and chattering away. There were very few active-service members in the group, considering. Although she knew of four spouses who worked as civilian employees at Holloman.
“There you are,” Sharon said, and Emma grinned to see her oh-so-colorful friend done up as if she’d stepped out of a ’50s film. Her dress was belted and big in the skirt, the better to show off her handmade country cow apron. Even her hair was pulled up in a ponytail. “Thought you two got lost.”
She hugged Emma and then gave Sam the same treatment. “Glad you could make it, Captain. Come on back and have a beer. I’ll start you off with some introductions, but after three, you’re on your own.”
“Sounds fair,” he said, grabbing on to Emma’s hand as he was led to a gathering of couples. Sam shook hands with Deanna and even remembered her name. She was with a tall guy Emma hadn’t met before. Max had a shock of blond hair that was most definitely not a military cut, and she wished she could see better because it appeared he had a nose ring.
Then Sam was introduced to Perry, a history teacher who was very into the Civil War, and his wife, Haley, a stay-at-home mom of two. Emma looked around for Gary, but didn’t see him, and she wondered if he’d decided to skip the party, which wasn’t like him, or avoid Sam, which she hoped wasn’t the case. He’d been great at school, never bringing up anything weird or making her uncomfortable.
Sam seemed completely at ease as he introduced himself to anyone he ran across. It looked as if he was already having a good time, but when he faced the tree draped with lights, he winced.
“Are you okay?” she asked, moving in close so only he could hear.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why, do I seem nervous?”
“You’re squinting. Are the lights bothering you?”
“It’s nothing. Totally within normal parameters for a while. I get starbursts from a certain angle, but it doesn’t hurt. I was thinking, though, of getting a drink. Can I get you something?”
“I’d love a beer.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” she said with a mock glare at his teasing. “It’s a party. But I’m cutting myself off after one.”
He gave her butt a light squeeze that no one could see, then went off in search of the drinks. It was surprisingly hard to let him go. Not that he wouldn’t be fine. He wasn’t the life-of-the-party Danny’d been, but he was very good in social situations.
Everyone had liked Sam, back in the day, even though he’d sometimes get quiet. She used to wonder about that. He’d be going along fine, and then she’d notice him standing off to the side, watching. A sort of melancholy having set in for no obvious reason. But she’d never asked him about it. Frankly, Danny took up too much of her attention.
It didn’t take Sam long to bring back not only the beer but also a trio of husbands that Emma knew, plus Max, and yes, that was a nose ring. One of the guys was asking about Sam’s last tour in Afghanistan. Her chest tightened as if she hadn’t already assumed his past would come up.
Being the new kid and the only fighter pilot in their circle, there were bound to be questions, and they wouldn’t be about his work as an instructor. There was that damn mystique about fighter pilots. Soon, she knew, the women who’d met Sam five minutes ago would be looking at him differently. The blessing of the fighter jock and curse of the flyers’ wives.
“So how come you’re teaching and not flying?” Bill asked. He was married to Wendelin, who taught English to the German pilots who came to Holloman to train on the Raptors. “That has to suck.”
“Are you kidding me?” Max said. “Dude, the drones are changing everything. They can get everywhere without being seen, and they’re eyes in the sky 24/7. You do not want people operating those things who think they’re playing some kind of video game.”
Everyone looked at Max, probably as surprised as Emma was that he’d done so much thinking about drones. He didn’t look the type, but shame on her for judging him before they’d even spoken.
Sam nodded. “You couldn’t be more right.”
“My buddy from Berkeley is an RPA sensor out at Creech,” Max said. “He tells me it’s superstressful, and not just keeping alert for hours at a time, but to make damn sure you’re making the right calls for the right reasons. No, seriously, hats off to you, man. Being a pilot’s cool and all, but training hundreds of guys for that kind of responsibility? That’s something. I mean, it’s a big deal. The brass must have a lot of faith in you.”
Emma found that her heart was beating faster by the second. As much as she wanted Sam’s eyesight to be perfect, she hoped that by the time he was cleared for flight he’d be content with teaching. It was a foolish hope, she knew, but she couldn’t help it.
She loved him, and she wanted him home. But staying out of the cockpit had to be Sam’s choice. He’d be miserable, perhaps even resent her if he let her persuade him, which was why she would never even try. A motorcycle was one thing. Taking away his wings was something far more serious.
“No argument from me,” Bill said. “Although you don’t see a lot of teachers walking around in flight suits. I swear to God, those chick magnets must come with a written guarantee.”
Sam smiled at the joke, but Emma would swear that he was thinking about Max’s little speech. In fact, when Deanna pulled Max toward the grill, Sam stopped him. Shook his hand.
“Don’t listen to him,” Sharon said. “Sam doesn’t need a flight suit to get the best woman in the world.”
“That’s probably true,” Gary said, sneaking around the edge of the patio. “But it didn’t hurt.”
Emma stiffened, hoping he hadn’t meant the remark in an unkind way, but she couldn’t tell.
“Where’ve you been?” Sharon pulled Gary to the center of the crowd.
“Told you I was coming right back,” he said. “And you can thank me later for filling the coolers with ice.”
Emma took her beer from Sam, then captured his free hand in hers. “Sorry about that.”
“About what? The questions? That’s nothing.”
“So, Sam,” Bill said, moving in a little closer. “Seriously. Yeah, yeah, I get the whole teaching is noble thing, but what in hell made you trade in a cockpit for a classroom?”
Sam hesitated for a minute, then straightened his shoulders. “I had an issue with my vision about a year ago and was grounded. But I’ve had some corrective surgery that could help me qualify to fly again.”
“Good for you, buddy,” Bill said. “When will you hear?”
Emma looked from Bill to Sam, just in time to catch Sam’s wink at her. “Don’t know for sure. But it’s looking good.”
She sipped her beer and kept on smiling. Despite that little slice of wishful thinking, she’d already decided there was nothing to do about Sam’s vision except take things one day at a time. She wouldn’t be convinced that the repair was a success until he stopped getting starbursts and halos and could see without any problem or complications.
As for his going back to flying... She’d cross that bridge if and when. Nothing was going to be decided overnight. She knew that the military bureaucracy moved like glaciers. And she refused to get into a lather before things played out.
When she turned her head, she found Gary staring at her. He smiled, lifted his beer in a cheery salute. She couldn’t imagine what he was thinking about this new twist, and she didn’t care. She looked past him toward the house to see where Sharon had gone. He went back to listening to Bill and his friends talk about how they’d always wanted to know what it was like to be a Top Gun.
Sam didn’t bother to tell them that was a navy thing, not air force. Why should he? The aura of speed and sex and high-flying danger was all anyone ever thought when they met a fighter pilot. The same things she’d tried to forget.
* * *
SAM HAD ALWAYS enjoyed grilling but something about turning a knob to settle the heat took some of the fun out of it. Still, even without coals, he knew his burgers. Medium rare had a certain feel, and he never got it wrong.
Most of the crowd had wanted ribs for dinner. He couldn’t blame them, the one he’d tried had been delicious, but there were some die-hard burger fans. He wasn’t sure if Emma had skipped the ribs out of loyalty or because she truly did like his burgers better. Either way, he was stupidly pleased. Especially when she moaned after taking her first bite.
They would not be staying late if he had anything to say about it.
“I guess you must hate Alamo,” the woman waiting for her burger said. She was one of the only singles at the gathering. Mindy taught biology, and she might have had one beer too many. It had to be tough, though, coming to a party like this. Couples everywhere. Deanna’s friend Max and Sam were the only two fresh faces.
He checked that the rare burger on the grill wasn’t getting too warm, then smiled at Mindy before he looked at Emma, who was standing a little farther back. “Alamo has a lot going for it,” he said. “For one thing, no humidity.”
“Yeah, but it’s dry as dirt here. In fact, if it wasn’t for the tons and tons of white sand, there wouldn’t be anything but dirt in all of Southern New Mexico.”
“I gather you’re not fond of the desert?”
Mindy shook her head. “You have no idea.”
“What keeps you here, then?”
“I like my job. The school’s cool.”
Emma joined them just as Sam put the buns on the grill. In another minute, he’d be finished at his station, most everyone having eaten their fill. Although he’d heard there was ice cream and pie for later.
Emma rubbed his back, and he caught the way Mindy pressed her lips together at the gesture. Sam was sure it wasn’t anything personal. Although he was glad Emma was close.
“They’re going to set up karaoke in about a half hour.”
“That’s a scary thought.”
“Worse than dancing?” Emma asked with a grin.
“Neck and neck, I think. You don’t want to hear me sing.”
“I don’t know. With your sexy baritone, I bet you sound great.”
He gave Mindy her finished burger, and she just nodded before she left. As soon as she turned, he went back to Emma. “There’s a reason you don’t hear me singing in the shower.”
“So what can you do, if you can’t dance or sing?”
He put down his utensils, turned off the grill, then pulled Emma into his arms. His hand landed on her derriere, which he proceeded to squeeze. “I think we both know where my talents lie.”
“I’ll give it to you,” she said, leaning in close so she could whisper in his ear. “You do make the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had.”
He kissed her, and as his hand ran up her back, he planned their exit strategy. Surely no one would miss them if they disappeared during karaoke.
“Hey, you two. Knock it off. This is a G-rated party.”
Sam stepped away, holding his hands up. “I was minding my own business, Sharon. I swear.”
“I’ll bet. Emma, how about you come give me a hand with dessert, while He-man here helps Joe with...whatever.”
Emma laughed. “When Sharon invites you to a barbecue, what she really wants is free labor,” she said as Sharon tugged her in the direction of the house.
It turned out Emma was right. The whatever that Sharon had referred to was setting up a makeshift stage for the entertainment. Joe wasn’t too thrilled about the task, either, but as he explained, there was a reason Sharon helped out with the drama department. She was a wannabe actress and singer who’d never had the chance to shine.
But there was a great deal of pride in his voice when he stopped unfurling the microphone cord to say, “You know, she’s darn good, too. Better than half those folks on American Idol if you ask me.”
The work itself wasn’t difficult, and soon enough Sam was caught up in an all-guys’ discussion about cars, his Mustang in particular. Seemed most of the men had either always wanted a muscle car, or had owned one in their earlier years.
Sam wondered why it was that even when the husbands and boyfriends congregated over typical guy talk, Gary was never around. When Sam had spoken to him, he’d been friendly enough. They’d never be best buddies, though. Besides, Gary didn’t strike him as the kind of guy who’d own a souped-up classic Mustang.
By the time dessert was being served, all Sam could think about was being with Emma again. She’d been the best part of the evening, and while he didn’t mind sharing her, he was looking forward to being home. In bed.
At least this wasn’t like the old parties back when he, John and Danny were working for their wings. Those had had a lot more liquor, and a lot more testosterone floating around. For the first couple of years, Danny and Emma had been all over each other. But with time, Emma had ended up sitting with the air force groupies, or even left back at the house.
He wondered again if Emma knew that Danny hadn’t always been faithful. The damn fool. He hadn’t strayed often, at least as far as Sam knew, but even once was unacceptable.
Sam would cut off his own arm before he’d do that to her. When he got back to flying, it would be a whole new ball game. No hanging out at the officers’ club, running off with the other pilots on adventure vacations. He would covet his time at home. With her. As often as the stereotype was flung around, he knew plenty of good family men who also happened to be fighter pilots. She’d never have to wonder where he was when he was at home base because he’d be with her.
“Sam,” Joe said, “do me a favor and go give the gals a hand with the desserts, huh? I want to make sure the music is all set.”
“Sure thing.” Sam headed toward the kitchen, listening to odd bits of conversation peppered with the loud squeal of the microphone feedback.
He’d just entered the house when he stopped at the sound of his name. Gary was the one saying it, and he must have been just around the corner.
“...he’ll be flying again. He has to be pretty thrilled about that. Though I can’t imagine you are.”
Sam had thought he heard Emma’s voice, and assumed that was who Gary was talking to, but what a messed-up thing for him to say. Nobody answered.
“Of course I am,” Emma finally said. “I want Sam to be happy. Anyway there’s no guarantee he will be flying. He has to put in a request to transfer. Even if he does that, it doesn’t necessarily mean he’s going to get a plane.”
Emma sounded defensive, but she hadn’t asked what Gary meant by that last remark. What bothered Sam even more had been her delayed response. What the hell was that about? Did Gary know something Sam didn’t?
“Well, I hope it all works out for you,” Gary said. “Honestly, I do, Emma. You deserve to be happy, too.”
There was another stretch of silence. Maybe Emma had paused to take a drink or do something that Sam had mistaken for hesitation. No need to be paranoid. He was about to step into the kitchen, when Emma said, “I believe you do wish the best for me. I appreciate it.”
“That’s because it’s true.” Gary’s voice had lowered. “Just remember, I’ll be here for you if you ever need me.”
Behind Sam, there were footsteps, and he moved aside as a couple whose names escaped him went around the wall. Now Gary was just being a dick. Maybe that was what that silence had been about earlier. She probably figured it was better to ignore him. As much as Sam wished he could turn around instead of pretending he didn’t want to kick Gary’s ass, he had no choice but to go inside and get the damn ice cream.
* * *
THE FIRST THING Emma wondered when she saw Sam enter the kitchen was if he’d overheard her conversation. Gary hadn’t said anything damning. Well, yeah, he had, that one remark, but that was a couple minutes ago so Sam couldn’t have heard. But she still felt uncomfortable. So she’d been a dope swearing off pilots in front of her friends—she still wasn’t about to discuss Sam with Gary.
The thing was, she did believe him. She thought he wanted the best for her. Now, maybe he worried that with Sam getting back his wings, he wasn’t the right man for the life Emma wanted. But it wasn’t Gary’s business, even if he meant well.
Still, she couldn’t blame him for thinking that. Which was, she realized, why her stomach was tensing with guilt. She wasn’t sure, either.
Things had changed so much in such a short period of time. If felt as if they’d been on an island of happiness for a couple of weeks, and then everything had started spiraling out of control. Sam was so excited about the possibility of flying again that she hadn’t dared share her misgivings. Nor had she admitted how terrified she’d been when he’d flown back from L.A. But even though she’d tried her best to stay in the moment, to not think the worst, she had.
She supposed that was the thing about experiencing true tragedy. Before Danny had been killed, she’d thought he was invincible. He behaved as if nothing could touch him. They all had, those young warriors. They owned the world from thirty thousand feet.
Then the illusions had been shattered, and she couldn’t ever believe the illusions again. Bad things happened. Really bad things. God, she didn’t know if she could handle it, the waiting, the constant panic building inside with irrational certainty that, like Danny, someday Sam wouldn’t make it home.
“I was told I could find something sweet in here,” Sam said. He nodded at Gary as he passed him, and put his arm around Emma’s shoulder. “It’s true. You look good enough to eat.”
“I’m sure everyone would prefer pie and ice cream, and there’s a bunch to take out,” Emma said. “What are you better at, balancing or withstanding the cold?”
“Normally, balancing, but I’d better carry the ice cream.”
She carefully avoided looking at Gary and kissed Sam’s cheek, because that had to be hard to admit while he was in the middle of showing off his peacock feathers. “Just so you know, you’re wonderful.”
His smile made things better. Not perfect. But better. She pointed to the subzero stand-alone freezer. “Could you take one of the big tubs out to the table?”
He opened the freezer door. “Just how much ice cream are we supposed to eat tonight?”
Emma laughed, so did Gary. They both sounded forced. “She’s hosting an ice-cream social for the drama club and their sponsors next week. Another fund-raiser.”
“Ah. Okay. I’ll be back in a minute to grab whatever else I can.”
Between the three of them, they got all four pies, the ice cream, toppings and all the necessary flatware out to the tables just as the first song started on the main stage.
Sam took a decent slice of cherry pie with a vanilla scoop, and Emma went for the apple à la mode she no longer wanted. But she’d mentioned wanting dessert several times, and if she skipped it Sam would know something was wrong.
He found them a nice patch of grass to sit on. They had a fence to lean against, and they were out of Joe’s line of sight as he cajoled people up to sing.
After they’d finished eating, Sam pulled her around until she was leaning against his chest, his arms around her middle. She loved resting against him, reveling in the strength of him, and their closeness. But she couldn’t deny that her thoughts about their future weren’t nearly as rosy as they’d been.
She wanted him whole and safe and home. And she wanted him happy. There was so much she wanted to do with Sam. Marriage, kids, all of it. The whole foolish dream, complete with a swing set in the backyard and soccer games and anniversary parties and growing old together.
But she’d seen his whole countenance change when he talked about being a pilot. She heard the thrill in his voice even when he was trying not to get overexcited. She understood that, she did. Danny had been like that. John, too. And although Sam might have the best of intentions, he was the man Gary had warned her about.
The question was, could Sam put her first, even when he was an active duty fighter pilot? And would she be able to stand it if he couldn’t?
She would have to. Because she’d reached the point of no return.
He kissed her temple. “You okay?”
“I’m...good,” she said, listening to Sharon belt out a song from Les Miz. “Glad that you’re with me.”
“Me, too, honey,” he said, squeezing her tight.
She squeezed him right back, wishing she was strong enough to hold him like this and never let him go.