If I Don't Ask, page 17
hear distant gunfire coming from somewhere outside the FOB.
Good, more work, more distractions. No, no, not good. I didn’t
want someone to be critically injured just so I had something
to do to take my mind off Sabine. Because now, having
confirmed that she obviously felt something beyond just me
being her boss, I had a new problem.
But what was I supposed to do? Send her home? Transfer
her to someone else’s unit? Betray her trust and ruin her
career? Because she’d be investigated for homosexual conduct
if I even hinted that I thought she was borderline being a little
too familiar with me. Should I discipline her for something
that just felt like she was touching the line instead of actually
crossing it? The line that I’d been touching too, so hell, I’d
have to put my hand up for an investigation as well, not to
mention other disciplinary action because once I admitted that
I’d suspected she was being perhaps overly friendly from her
first deployment it would be all downhill, and I’d have to
admit that I’d been just as friendly with her. I didn’t really
think “I just couldn’t help myself” was going to help me any
in the discipline department.
I cared about her and I didn’t want her to suffer because of
something that, really, was harmless. I had never felt so weak
in my life. No matter what I did, I had to do something
because this situation was quickly becoming impossible. As
much as I hated it, the only way I could think of to get her to
realize what she was doing, or stop doing it, was to push her
away. Subtly of course, but I needed to do it and hope she
caught the message. Because I really couldn’t live like this for
much longer. I couldn’t control what she did or said, but I
could control myself.
I had to, for both our sakes.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Linda texting me instead of her usual email or instant
message wasn’t entirely out of character, but the fact it was
after midnight in D.C. was. She was probably at a bar and
wanted my opinion on someone she was thinking of taking
home. A quick glance at the message told me I was wrong.
I really need to see your face. Will that horrible internet
work long enough for a video call? The sooner the better.
Sure. I’ll call you before I go in for dinner when it’s a more
civilized time for you?
Earlier if you can? It’s important. Sorry, I know you’re
working.
I need to do rounds and some urgent discharge paperwork,
so give me an hour, hour and a half? Maybe two… I’ll text to
make sure you’re still awake.
I will be. Talk to you then. I love you.
You too xo
I’d finished my rounds and discharge paperwork and was
sneaking back to my room to call Linda when I heard a raised
voice from down the hall. It didn’t sound like a heated-but-
friendly match on a gaming console, or even just someone
frustrated with their game. It sounded like an argument.
Brilliant. Sighing, I rolled my shoulders and prepared myself
for mediation.
As I walked closer I realized it wasn’t an argument, but one
angry voice coming from the phone cubicles. And I’d been so
focused on breaking up an argument that I hadn’t realized who
it was. Sabine. I’d never heard this tone from her. From around
the corner, her voice echoed through the empty hallway and I
took a moment to be sure I was hearing what I thought I was
hearing—an argument, her distress, her resignation, then her
fury. Sabine almost choked, gasping as she shouted, “Fuck
you, Victoria. Fuck! You! You fucking adulterous, animal-
stealing cunt!”
Wow.
The sharp sound of plastic slamming against plastic was
quickly followed by loud clattering. I didn’t think Sabine had
seen me, but I saw her. She leaned against the wall, bent
forward at the waist, with her hands cupped over her mouth.
The only way to describe her expression was shocked, almost
murderous, and it was so unexpected on her usually serene or
attentive or laughing face that I decided I wouldn’t go to her to
make sure she was okay as I’d intended. That expression made
it clear she didn’t want to talk to anyone, probably least of all
her boss. She turned away and picked up the phone again, and
I slipped back around the corner out of sight.
It took about five seconds to put all the pieces of this
puzzle together. I’d heard the end of a breakup conversation.
Victoria. A breakup conversation between two women. A pang
of empathy welled up in my chest and as I walked away, the
realization sunk in. She’d just broken up with her partner.
She’d just broken up with a woman. A dozen emotions surged.
For her? Sadness, pity, sympathy.
For myself? Hope. Pointless, disgusting hope.
Disgusting summed it up perfectly. You are disgusting,
Rebecca. Alongside my self-recrimination, a new worry
pushed itself forward. I’d clearly heard what she’d said, and
the obvious fact that she’d just broken up with her apparently
female partner. And if I’d heard it, who else might have?
I had to trust that nobody would ask, but I also needed to
prepare myself for damage control. A quick glance into the
nearby rooms found them empty. For some reason, and I
wasn’t going to question the grace of the universe, but
everyone seemed to be in the hospital, their rooms, or outside,
and it seemed nobody had heard her telephone conversation.
She was beyond lucky that it’d been me instead of someone
less sympathetic to what had just happened.
As it turned out, someone had heard it, but not fully, as I
discovered during my quick stop to grab coffee. Two of Phil’s
surgeons were strolling down the hallway in front of me,
having a quiet but not-quiet-enough conversation, and it was
easy to pick up who it was about.
“She just broke up with some guy, sounded like he was
cheating on her? I think she threw a chair or something. Or
that’s what it sounded like from outside.”
Some guy. Well, I supposed, if the cat had to be out of the
bag at least it had been misidentified.
“Breakup rage. Nice. She’s the last person I’d have
expected rage from.” A knowing laugh. “But I thought she
was with Mitch? Fuck, I mean, poor Sabine but hello, Boyd.”
“Nah, they’re just best friends.”
“Ladies,” I called after them. “A moment of your time,
please?”
They both froze and turned around. “Colonel Keane. Good
morning.”
“Good morning.” I adopted my friendliest and most patient
smile, aiming for honey, not vinegar. “I’m all for a good bout
of gossip but perhaps, given the sensitive nature of this
particular piece, it might be prudent to let Fleischer have her
moment of grief without the whole base watching her and
comparing notes?”
Their expressions told me the chain was already well
underway, likely as a game of Telephone. Goddammit, it
didn’t take long for things to get around and then get out of
hand. Given it was about five minutes after I’d overheard
Sabine and it was already some guy, not some girl, I thought
she might have just had the luckiest break of her life.
“Yes, ma’am. Of course.”
I indicated they should carry on and watched them scurry
off, undoubtedly to continue their conversation. Shit, speaking
of… I still needed to call Linda. I considered putting it off so I
could find Sabine and see if she was okay, relatively speaking,
or check if she needed anything from me—a tight, comforting
hug was high on my fantasy list—but given Linda’s insistence,
I decided I could spare her five minutes, even if it was just to
tell her to her face that I really didn’t have five minutes to
spare.
As I made my way to the barracks, I sent a text to let her
know I was just about to call and received a Yay in response.
“Hi, and sorry,” I said as soon as the video connected. “I’ve
got a forest fire here that I’m trying to put out. I’m going to
have to run again in a few minutes.” I fixed my wonky, hastily
put-in earphones.
She nodded quickly. “Oh, okay.”
“What’s up? Lady problems?” I finally took a moment to
look at my friend and was stunned by what I saw. Though I’d
seen her a few weeks ago in a video call, as she appeared now
on my laptop screen, Linda looked exhausted to the point of
illness, with dark rings nestled under her eyes, her face hollow,
hair flat and lifeless. I frowned. “Did you get two extra jobs?
Or has some woman been running you ragged in the
bedroom?”
Linda’s normally bright voice was dull. “Rebecca. I—” Her
words caught into hoarseness. “Damn you look good.” Her
appearance had already alerted me to the fact something was
up, and her voice confirmed it.
“You don’t,” I said flatly, trying to ignore the stirrings of
uneasiness. “What’s going on?”
She didn’t hesitate, or mince words. I almost wished she
had because it might have given me some time to process
before she said, “I have cancer, Rebecca. Advanced stage three
pancreatic cancer. It’s started spreading right through me and
it’s going to kill me.” She held up both hands, palms toward
the camera. “Please don’t cry. You know it sets me off and I
don’t want to spend the rest of my life crying. I’ve spent all
afternoon and night trying to figure out how to tell you, trying
to get the guts to just come out and say it and I’m sorry, I
know you’re working but…” She shrugged. “So yeah. That’s
it.”
I clenched my molars to hold back my tears, but failed
utterly at keeping my voice steady. “Okay okay. No tears. I,
uh…I don’t even know what to say. I want to ask all the
medical questions but I know you’ll just tell me to shut the
fuck up.” Advanced stage three metastatic pancreatic cancer.
Terminal. Fast.
Linda snorted out a laugh. “That I will.” Her mirth faded.
“I have doctors, and what I really need from you right now is
for you to be a friend, not a doctor.”
I nodded, inhaling slowly in a futile attempt to calm down.
“I can do that. I’ll be the best fucking friend you’ve ever had.”
“Thank you.” She blew me a kiss.
“Why are you dying?” I blurted. “It’s not fair.” Despite my
age and emotional maturity, my medical degree, my years of
experience with death, I sounded like a child.
Linda’s expression softened. “Honey, the Nationals not
winning isn’t fair. Not getting a run of green lights the whole
way home isn’t fair. Some asshole getting the last bit of
shrimp at the buffet isn’t fair. This is just…life. Happens to the
best of us. And the worst too, apparently.” There was a touch
of sadness in the smile. “But, I do have some good news.”
“Then please, for the love of all that’s good, give it to me.”
The hint of sadness I’d detected disappeared completely,
turning to incongruous delight. Her delight made sense when
she blurted, “I’m getting married!”
That was as much of a bombshell as her cancer diagnosis,
and thankfully nowhere near as heartbreaking. “Oh my god.
Congratulations!” Linda dealt in humor, so I forced my
devastation aside for a moment. “Jesus. Cancer, dying, getting
married. Way to drop a bunch of bombs at once. You couldn’t
have trickle-fed me some of that information to let it soak in a
little? Or even told me that you were seeing someone that was
serious enough you’d considered marriage?”
“Figured it’d be easiest to just do it all in one call. And it’s
all happened so fast, like literally in the last few days. I’m just
trying to figure out what to do from here.”
“Good point.” I set aside the banter to focus on her health
issues. I almost didn’t want to ask, but I had to. The question
caught in my throat as I asked it. “How long do you have?”
Linda didn’t flinch, didn’t waver. “Nine months. Give or
take.”
I felt like vomiting. My best friend would be dead in nine
months, likely less. “Did you know you were sick?” I recalled
she’d seemed thinner, tired when we’d said goodbye before I
left for this deployment, but I never thought… “Have you had
any treatment at all? God no, of course you haven’t, you just
found out. Okay, so what’s your oncologist say? What’s the
plan? Chemoradiation, palliative surgery? How’s your pain,
are you—”
“Rebecca.” She cut me off and made a zip-it motion over
her lips. And despite the fact I’d broken the rule of not asking
about it, she still answered me. “I didn’t feel great but I didn’t
realize how not great I was. Just thought I was a little run-
down. And don’t even start with your ‘I should have seen it’
bullshit. I can see it on your face, plain as day. You couldn’t
have seen it, you couldn’t have known. It’s been in me for
years they say.” She held up a hand to pause the conversation.
Her coughing fit lasted for almost fifteen seconds, and it took
another thirty for her to stop wheezing and start breathing
somewhat normally again. “And no treatment. I don’t want to
spend my last days feeling even sicker from chemotherapy or
radiation or recovering from surgery when it’s just going to
delay the inevitable. I’ve decided to live my life while I still
can. Carpe diem and all that. I’ve learned life really is too
short and that’s not just something you say when you want an
excuse to do something dumb or reckless.”
I almost spluttered out my incredulity. “Are you serious?
Delaying the inevitable? That delay could be the difference
between living a few months and living years.”
“Don’t doctor me now, please.” Her expression fell to
pleading. “I just need to work through this my own way. I
know that’s hard for you but it’s how I need to do it. Friend,
not physician, remember?”
I bit back everything I knew would be hurtful to her, all my
anger that she wasn’t even going to try to give herself more
time, and nodded. “Okay. Friend it is. But please note my very
strong objection.”
Her shoulders dropped. “It’s noted. And thank you. Now,
back to my marriage.” A less-than-subtle way to get me off her
case… “So I’m getting married to a woman I love and who I
would have married anyway. We’re just moving the timeline
up. I know what it’s like in your job and I know you’re
deployed but if there’s any chance you could be there, stand up
with me, it would mean the world to me. And I also know it’s
short notice, and I would love to wait until you get home in
November but I’m not sure I’ll be here, or able to travel then.”
She exhaled a shaky breath. “All my research tells me doctors
who give the terminal prognosis are usually optimistic. So I’m
going to go with five or six months, just to average it out.”
I had to stop myself agreeing with her on her life
expectancy self-estimate. It wasn’t helpful now. I put my
emotions in the box where I kept every unhelpful thing in my
life. “Are you going to tell me anything about her? Even a
name? Is this the woman you were dating when I was home
last?”
Linda’s face contorted to confusion. “Her? Oh, god no.
And we weren’t dating, technically, just sleeping together.
My… fiancée’s name is Michelle. Do you remember the
pottery class woman I mentioned who I wanted to set you up
with? Shit…it was your last deployment, right?”
I dragged my mind back. “The one who likes blue-eyed
blondes and didn’t care about anything aside from that?”
She chuckled. “That’s the one. A few months after I told
her you’d politely declined me pushing you two together for a
date, she disappeared from class. Then just turned up again
suddenly about nine months ago. I joked I’d never try to set
her up with anyone again in case she did another year-long
disappearing act. Then I asked her out.”
“And she gave up her one important and immovable thing
of blonde and blue for a hazel-eyed brunette? Wow. You must
