Page 140 of After We Fall

After almost two decades in a city filled with military personnel, I’ve picked up some of the lingo. I think he means intermediate-level education. He might have recently become a major.

“It’s a highly specialized class,” I say with a smile. “Are you deploying overseas?”

“Yes. I leave in three weeks.” He widens his stance and crosses his arms over his chest. “What are the specs for your military project?”

My belly flutters at his interest, and my excitement pushes me a step closer to him. “What I want to know, what I want to test, is what happens to the human spirit not just when we create our art but also when we share our art?”

He rubs his chin. “And you want to share your art with me?”

“No,” I say a little too loudly, then cover my mouth when I laugh. “Sorry. I need names and addresses of five deployed women. We’re going to send care packages to soldiers full of items they need as well as one selection of art from each halfway house tenant.”

He narrows his eyes, and I worry my idea sounds stupid to him. But I want him to understand. To see what I see.

“The project goes beyond the basics of art and art appreciation. It will open doors for discussions about gratefulness, encouraging others, and the impact of military service. But it’s more than that. Sending a piece of something you created to a complete stranger just for the sake of sharing a part of yourself can be powerful.” I smile on a wistful sigh. “I think it has the potential to be beautiful.”

He shakes his head, his sharp eyes intense. “I only recently finished ILE. Then I got called up to be an XO. My PSC orders were expedited to get me to Fort Carson because the 2IBCT already deployed and have boots on the ground.”

With so many acronyms, it’s hard to translate exactly what he said. But the strain in his voice is enough to communicate he’s under pressure with his new post and duties. “Really. I understand, Major Knox—”

“Call me Michael.”

“Michael.” My thumb itches to scratch at the nail polish. “I’m sorry my professors mentioned anything. When I envisioned this project coming to fruition, I pictured asking some as-yet-unnamed grandmother for help. Possibly the spouse of a retired public servant. In no scenario did I picture a . . .” I hold my palm out and gesture to him.

He tilts his head. “A what?”

A single, attractive, sightly taciturn but entirely intriguing officer.

He continues to stare at me, my face flushes with heat, and I unsuccessfully rack my brain for an explanation. “A . . . you. I didn’t expect to ask someone like you.”

He raises his eyebrows, the left quirking a bit higher than the right, but instead of feeling flustered, I pause to look at him. To see what he’s saying without words. To take in the hard planes of his face and the way he carries his body like it’s never allowed to rest.

Compassion. This warrior needs compassion.

“Michael, I didn’t expect someone on active duty to help me. Please don’t feel like you have to do this. I can’t imagine the pressure you’re under with a move, a new job, and an impending deployment.”

He exhales, turns away from me, and runs a hand through his shorn hair. “I’m in over my head,” he says in the faintest of voices.

His words surprise me, but not as much as the vulnerable tone. I’m tempted to offer him a light touch of support, but he whips back around, his mouth set in a grim line. “I’m sorry, Ms. Fielding. I haven’t had time to orient myself to my duties or personnel. I’m afraid my focus needs to be on my new post. I can’t be of service to you.”

He thrusts his hand toward me, and when we shake goodbye, the heat of his palm and the disappointment of his answer hit me at the same time. With a brusque nod, he shifts and strides to the grand mahogany staircase that leads to the lobby.

No. No, a man like Major Michael Knox wouldn’t commit to anything he couldn’t do well. A man like that doesn’t buy a painting he doesn’t care for. And a man like that doesn’t need anything messy in his life. Or anyone.

“It’s okay,” I whisper to his retreating figure. “I know what it’s like to be in over your head.”