Navy Brat (Navy #3) 4

He pulled off First Avenue onto the lot and left the engine running, hoping she’d get his message, as well.

Her hand was already closed around the door handle. "Thank you for dinner."

"You’re welcome," was his stiff reply. His tone bordered on the sarcastic, but if she noticed she didn’t comment.

"I’m sorry I was such poor company."

He didn’t claim otherwise. She hesitated, and for a wild moment Brand thought she might lean over and gently kiss him goodbye. It would have been a nice gesture on her part.

She didn’t.

Instead she scooted out of the car, fiddled with the snap of her purse and retrieved her key chain, all while he sat waiting for her. When she’d opened the door to her Toyota, she twisted around and smiled sadly, as if she wanted to say something more. She didn’t, however. She just climbed inside resolutely.

Brand had to back up his car in order for her to pull out of the parking space. He did so with ease, reversing his way directly into the street. She came out after him and headed in the opposite direction.

His hand tightened around the steering wheel as she drove off into the night.

"Goodbye, Erin. We might have been friends," he murmured, and regret settled over his shoulders like a heavy wool jacket.

Once he was back at his room in the officers’ quarters, Brand showered and climbed into bed. He read for a while, but the novel, which had been touted as excellent, didn’t hold his interest. After fifteen minutes, he turned out the light.

He should have kissed her.

The thought flashed through his mind like a shot from a ray gun.

Hell, no. It was apparent Erin didn’t want to have anything to do with him. Wonderful. Great. He was man enough to accept her decision.

Forcefully, he punched up the pillow under his head and closed his eyes.

Before he realized what he was doing, a slight smile curved his lips. She should count herself lucky he hadn’t taken it upon himself to prove her wrong and kiss her again. If he had, she would have been putty in his hands, just the way she had been the first time. Erin MacNamera might well have believed she had the situation under control, but she hadn’t. She’d been tense and uneasy, and for no other reason than the fear that Brand was going to take her in his arms again.

He should have. He’d wanted to. Until now he hadn’t been willing to admit how damn much he had longed to taste her again.

Brand rolled over onto his stomach and nuzzled his face into the thick softness of the pillow. Erin had been feather-soft. When she’d moved against him, her breasts had lightly cushioned his chest. The memory of her softness clouded his mind.

Burying his face in the pillow added fuel to his imagination, and he abruptly rolled over. He firmly shut his eyes and sighed as he started to drift off.

It didn’t work. Instead, he saw Erin’s sweet Irish face looking back at him.

Her eyes were an unusual shade of brown. Man-enticing brown, he decided. With her curly red hair and her pale, peach-smooth complexion, her eye color was something of a surprise. He’d expected blue or green, not dark brown.

Beautiful brown eyes… so readable, so clear, looking back at him, as if she were suffering from a wealth of regrets just before she’d climbed into her car.

Brand was suffering from a few regrets of his own. He hadn’t kissed her. Nor had he suggested they see each other again.

Damn his pride. He should have done something, anything, to persuade her. Now she was gone---

Sleep danced around him until he was on the verge of drifting off completely. Then his eyes snapped open, and a slow, satisfied smile turned up the edges of his mouth.

He knew exactly what he intended to do.

Erin remembered Marilyn Amundson from the first session of the Women in Transition course on Tuesday evening. The middle-aged woman with pain-dulled blue eyes and fashionably styled hair had sat at the back of the room, in the last row. Throughout most of the class, she’d kept her gaze lowered. Erin noted that the woman took copious notes as she outlined the sixteen-session course. Every now and again, the older woman would pause, dab a tissue at the corner of her eyes and visibly struggle to maintain her aplomb.

At nine, when class was dismissed, Marilyn had slowly gathered her things and hurried outside the classroom. Later Erin had seen a car stop in front of the college to pick her up.

It was Erin’s guess that Marilyn didn’t drive. It wasn’t unusual for the women who signed up for the course to have to rely on someone else for transportation.

Most of the women were making a new life for themselves. Some came devastated by divorce, others from the death of a loved one. Whatever the reason, they all shared common ground and had come to learn and help each other. When the sessions were finished, the classes continued to meet as a monthly support group.

The greatest rewards Erin had had as a social worker were from the Women in Transition course. The transformation she’d seen in the participants’ lives in the short two months she taught the class reminded her of the metamorphosis of a cocoon into a butterfly.

The first few classes were always the most difficult. The women came feeling empty inside, fearful, tormented by the thought of facing an unknown future. Many were angry, some came guilt-ridden, and there were always a few who were restless, despairing and pessimistic.

What a good portion of those who signed up for the course didn’t understand when they first arrived was how balanced life was. Whenever there was a loss, the stage was set for something to be gained. A new day was born, the night was lost. A flower blossomed, the bud was lost. In nature and in all aspects of life an advantage could be found in a loss. A balance, oftentimes not one easily explained or understood, but a symmetry nevertheless, was waiting to be discovered and explored. It was Erin’s privilege to teach these women to look for the gain.

"I was wondering if I could talk to you?"

Erin paused. "Of course. You’re Marilyn Amundson?"

"Yes." The older woman reached for a tissue and ran it beneath her nose. Her fingers were trembling, and it was several moments before she spoke. "I can’t seem to stop crying. I sit in class and all I do is cry---I want to apologize for that."

"You don’t need to. I understand."

Marilyn smiled weakly. "Some of the other women in class look so… like they’ve got it all together, while I’m a basket case. My husband…" She paused when her voice faltered. "He asked me for a divorce two weeks ago. We’ve been married over thirty years. Apparently he met someone else five or six years ago, and they’ve been seeing each other ever since… only I didn’t know."

This was a story Erin had heard several times over, but it wouldn’t lessen Marilyn’s pain for Erin to imply that she was another statistic. What she did need to hear was that others had survived this ordeal, and so would she.

"I’d…gone out shopping. The bus stops right outside our house, and when I returned home, Richard was there. I knew right away something was wrong. Richard only rarely wears his suit. I asked him what he was doing home in the middle of the day, and all he could do was stand there and stare at me. Then… then he said he was sorry to do it this way, and he handed me the divorce papers. Just like that – without any warning. I didn’t know about the other woman---I suppose I should have, but I…1 trusted him."

Erin’s heart twisted at the torment that echoed in the other woman’s voice. Marilyn struggled to hold back the tears, her lips quivering with the effort.

"Although this may feel like the worst moment of your life, you will survive," Erin said gently, hugging her briefly. "I promise you that. The healing process is like everything else, there’s a beginning, a middle and an end. It feels like the whole world has caved in on you now."

"That’s exactly the way I feel. Richard is my whole life… was my whole life. I just don’t know what I’m going to do."

"Have you seen an attorney?"

Marilyn shook her head. "Not yet… My pastor suggested I take this course, and find my footing, so to speak."

"In session twelve a lawyer will visit the class. You can ask any questions you like then."

"I wanted to thank you, too," Marilyn went on, once she’d composed herself. "What you said about the balance of things, how nature and life even things out… well, it made a lot of sense to me. Few things do these days."

Erin reached for her coat, slipping her arms into the satin-lined sleeves. She smiled, hoping the gesture would offer Marilyn some reassurance. "I’m pleased you’re finding the class helpful."

"I don’t think I could have made it through this last week without it." She retreated a few steps and smiled again. This time it came across stronger. "Thank you again."

"You’re welcome. I’ll see you Tuesday."

"I’ll be here." Buttoning up her own coat, Marilyn headed out the classroom door.

Erin watched the older woman. Her heart ached for Marilyn, but, although she was devastated and shaky now, Erin saw in her a deep inner strength. Marilyn hadn’t realized it was there, not yet. Soon she would discover it and draw upon the deep pool of courage. For now her thoughts were full of self-condemnation, self-depreciation and worry. From experience, Erin knew Marilyn would wallow in those for a while, but the time would come when she’d pick herself up by the bootstraps. Then that inner strength, the grit she saw in the other woman’s weary eyes, would come alive.

As if sensing Erin’s thoughts, Marilyn paused at the classroom door and turned back. "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"Have you ever been in love?"

"No," Erin answered, regretfully. "Not even close, I’m afraid."

Marilyn nodded, then squared her shoulders. "Don’t ever let it happen," she advised gruffly, yet softly. "It hurts too damn much."

Chapter Three

The envelope arrived at Erin’s office, hand-delivered by the downstairs receptionist. Erin stared at her name scrawled across the front and knew beyond a doubt the handwriting belonged to Brand Davis. She held the plain white envelope in her hand several moments, her heart pounding. It’d been two days since her dinner date with Brand, and she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. She’d been so awful, so aloof and unfriendly, when he’d been trying so hard to be cordial and helpful.

When he’d dropped her off where she’d parked her car, she’d practically leaped out of his in her eagerness to get away from him. Exactly what had he done that was so terrible? Well, first off, he’d been pleasant and fun – horrible crimes, indeed – while she’d behaved like a cantankerous old biddy. She wasn’t proud of herself; in fact, Erin felt wretched about the whole thing.

"Go ahead and open it," she said aloud.

"You talking to yourself again?" Aimee chastised. "You generally don’t do that until the end of the day."

"Brand sent me a note." She held it up for her friend’s inspection as though she were holding on to a hand grenade and expected it to explode in her face at any moment.