Marrying Daisy Bellamy (3 page)

Present Day

Daisy pondered her history with Julian far more than she should, especially at times like this, the middle of the night, when she was all by herself, her body aching for a human touch. If her life had followed a movie script, everything would have been simple after that first unlikely, electrifying meeting. The music would swell, the birds would sing, and that would be that. Go directly to happily ever after. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Just go.

It was a lot of baggage to lay on the first meeting of two teenagers, she acknowledged. The wilderness camp had been the ideal setup for a summer romance—two star-crossed kids, attracted to each other against all common sense…forced apart at summer's end by families who didn't understand them.
Perfect
.

Except things hadn't played out that way. Instead, Daisy and Julian had done the impossible. Resisting the heady rush of revved up hormones, they had spent the summer in an agony of yearning, and by some miracle they hadn't hooked up. It wasn't really a miracle, but Julian's self-restraint. He'd made a vow to his brother to stay out of trouble, and it hadn't taken her long to realize he was a man of his word. At summer's end, they had gone their separate ways, resigning themselves to circumstances.

She should have realized they never had a chance to be more to each other than a summer memory. Back in Manhattan that fall, Daisy went a little nuts at the start
of her senior year in high school. She'd made an incredibly bad decision that had resulted in an incredibly precious gift—Charlie, born the summer after graduation. But just because she'd had a baby didn't mean she could forget Julian. She never had. She kept waiting and hoping their time would come. But she had a kid, and Julian had a dream of his own to follow.

She tried to read between the lines of the invitation to his commissioning ceremony, a futile endeavor, since it was printed, like all the others had been. The words on the back could be interpreted in a variety of ways. Did he really want to see her, or was he simply being polite?

She didn't know, because she was in a weird place with him, like always. Despite a mutual, undeniable attraction, she tried to stay resigned to the fact that she and Julian were destined to go their own ways. He was a graduating senior at Cornell, focusing on school and on his ROTC program, as well he should. She lived in Avalon now, a place that had seemed as bleak as Siberia when she'd first seen it that first summer at Camp Kioga. These days, she called it home because it was close to family, the best place to raise Charlie.

There didn't seem to be any way for her and Julian to be together without one of them sacrificing everything. Some things, she told herself often, simply weren't meant to be. Still, she couldn't help but dream, and in the deepest, most sleepless hours of the night, she caught herself wondering if her time would ever come, if she'd ever experience the searing joy of love her camera captured, wedding after wedding.

A small inner voice reminded her that she'd had her chance, not so long ago. There had been a ring, a proposal…but she'd been too scared and confused to
even consider it. She'd opted instead for a year of studying abroad with Charlie, which ultimately proved to her how very much she needed her family.

Oh, Daisy,
she thought.
Figure out your own heart. How hard could it be?

Torn and restless, she set down the invitation and walked away, her chest already squeezing tight with emotion. Julian had always had that effect on her, from the first moment they'd met as teenagers.

Yet in spite of the diverging paths their lives took, their connection persisted. During their college years—she at SUNY New Paltz, he at Cornell—they managed to see each other on rare occasions. Whenever their school holidays synched up and didn't bump up against his ROTC training and duties, they stole time together. And on each occasion, the yearning that had begun all those summers ago flared, more intense than ever. It seemed to grow despite all the life events that intervened. They continued to seek each other out, but it was never enough. She didn't understand it, tried to rationalize it away, because being with a guy like Julian seemed so impossible. Their lives kept leading them away from each other. He had the ROTC and Cornell, and she had Charlie, work and…Charlie's dad. No wonder things had never worked out for her and Julian.

Sometimes when Daisy fantasized about being with Julian, she tried to imagine him and Charlie together, like father and son.

But the painful fact was, Julian seemed adamant about
not
taking on that role. He was nice enough to Charlie, yet she could see Julian keeping his distance. She recalled a time when Charlie had slipped and called Julian “Daddy.” Julian had winced visibly and said, “I'm not your daddy, boy.”

Little had he known the remark would give rise to a nickname. From that day onward, Charlie had dubbed Julian “Daddy-boy.”

When you were a single mom, Daisy reminded herself, your life was dictated by the needs of your child. Charlie needed a
dad
, not a daddy-boy.

Against all expectations, Logan was a pretty great dad. Like Daisy, he'd earned his degree from SUNY New Paltz and settled in Avalon. He had bought an insurance agency from a guy who was retiring. Business was brisk. Despite hard economic times, people still needed to cover their asses in case something happened. Daisy didn't know whether or not he felt passionate about his career, but he was totally devoted to Charlie. So far, their unconventional arrangement was working out.

Sometimes she caught herself wondering if this was really supposed to be her life.

She sighed, picked up the invitation once more, and turned the reply card over and over in her hands. The commissioning ceremony sounded important. It
was
important. Everything Julian had done since high school was important. With no money, nothing but brains and ambition, he had done exactly as she'd suggested that summer. He had qualified for ROTC to finance college. It was the only time she'd given advice and it had actually worked out. In exchange for his Ivy League education, he owed the next four years of his life to the air force, longer if he later qualified for pilot training.

This service incursion meant he might be sent anywhere in the world.

Anywhere but here, she thought, thinking about the place she called home—impossibly small, impossibly quaint Avalon, of absolute zero strategic value to the military.

She double-checked the date of the event.

Yes, she was free that day. Wendela's Wedding Wonders employed several photographers and technicians, and Daisy wasn't scheduled for anything that weekend. She could ask Logan to watch Charlie, and she could go to the event in Ithaca, camera in hand, to document this most auspicious moment.

She wanted to go. She
needed
to go. She needed to find some serious private time with Julian. After years of yearning for him, years of stumbling toward each other, only to be pulled apart by circumstances, she finally saw her chance.

Once and for all, she would do what she should have done long ago.

It was time to get real with Julian, with herself. She would have to be completely honest. Finally, after all this time, she was going to tell him exactly how she felt. Judging by his cryptic note on the back, she suspected he might be thinking the same thing.

F
alling through thin air at a speed of 150 mph, Julian Gastineaux exulted in the way the g-force of the wind seemed to enter his very essence. It ripped at every seam of his jumpsuit, filled his nose and mouth, turned his face into a nightmare visage of distorted features. He felt caught up in a power that was greater than any man, and it was the ultimate trip.

Kind of like being in love.

Unlike love, this was an optional training exercise. Although in his opinion, when offered a chance to jump out of a plane, a guy's only option was to go for it. His work in the field was done, but he'd never been one to say no to a jump. He might be crazy but he wasn't an idiot who'd turn down the opportunity. He loved the feeling of weightlessness and knowing that beneath him there was nothing but sky. He could see the patchwork countryside of middle New York State—undulating hills, river-fed farmland, a spectacular array of long lakes gouged out of the landscape as if by giant claws.

His altimeter vibrated, signaling that it was time to
quit admiring the scenery. He loosed the pilot chute into the airstream.

A wind shear swooped in at the worst possible moment. As the bridle of the pilot chute was supposed to be pulling out the deployment bag of the main chute, control was torn from him.

And just like that, the optional training exercise turned to a nightmare. He was sent careening off target—way off target, way too fast, at the mercy of the stream. Grinding out curses through clenched teeth, he managed to wrestle the deployment bag out. The lines were supposed to release one stow at a time, but they were a tangled mess. The main chute was lopsided, out of control. He worked the toggles to slow the wind as the stream rushed him toward a dense thicket of trees.

He signaled Mayday, let out another string of violent curses and said a prayer.

 

The prayer was answered, sort of. He hadn't slammed into the ground at 150 mph, turning himself into a pancake of blood and gristle. Instead, he'd managed to navigate a little and slow down. The landing wasn't quite what he'd been aiming for, though.

Hanging upside down in his parachute harness, he surveyed the world from a unique vantage point. Pliant branches, covered in new leaves, bobbed up and down with his weight. He could see nothing but green and brown, no sign of civilization anywhere.

Damn. This had been the final exercise of his training here, and it was supposed to go well.

He forced himself to be slow and deliberate as he considered what to do. Blood trickled from somewhere on his face. He hurt in a lot of places; nothing felt broken, though his shoulder flared with fire. It might be dislocated. His goggles were completely wrecked. Just
reaching for his utility knife caused him to slip too fast toward the ground, so he went still, trying to plan his next move. Breaking his neck right before commissioning would be the lamest of moves, for sure. And Daisy—he didn't even want to think about what it would do to his plans for her and hoped like hell this mishap was not a bad omen.

He was still pondering his options, noting the strange feeling in his head, when a crashing noise sounded somewhere in the woods. A few minutes later a small figure in a jumpsuit appeared.

“You're a damn maniac, that's what you are,” railed Sayers, one of his training partners. She was a no-nonsense girl from Selma, Alabama, and she reminded Julian of some of his relatives in Louisiana. Except that unlike those relatives, Tanesha Sayers was duty-bound to give aid and assistance to her fellow officer in training.

“Fool,” she blustered, “you're damned lucky your beacon worked. Otherwise you'd be swinging here till you turn purple in the head and die. Hell, I ought to let you turn purple.”

Julian let her yammer on. He made no excuses for himself; no sense blaming the wind shear. Besides, Sayers was basically harmless. She had an uncanny ability to berate a person roundly and simultaneously get things done. Slated for commissioning, same as Julian, she would make a good officer. She chewed him out, all the while hoisting herself up into the branches where he was caught and using a utility knife to cut him free.

“You got your own knife,” she pointed out. “Why the hell didn't you get yourself down?”

“I was going to. Wanted to make sure I didn't cut the wrong strap and land on my—” He plunged to the ground, slamming against the forest floor. He felt the impact despite his helmet.

“Head,” he finished. “Thanks, Mom.” In the unit, Sayers's nickname was Mom because, although she fussed and bossed everyone around, she cared about each one of them with the fierceness of a mother bear.

“Don't thank me, fool,” she said. “Just you hold still while I put a field dressing on that wound.”

“What wound?” He gingerly touched his forehead, feeling a warm slickness at his hairline. Great.

She jumped down, landing with a grunt, and radioed the base.

He wiped his hand on his jumpsuit, and that was when he thought about the ring. He'd carried it around for a long time. Even during the jump, he had kept it in a pocket next to his heart, layers deep, zipped up tight.

When the ring was offered to Daisy, it wasn't going to be like last time, in the midst of a fistfight on a train platform, for Chrissake. This time…

He ripped open the Velcro collar tab at his throat and plunged his hand inside, fingers grappling with a zipper closure on his shirt.

Sayers knelt down in front of him. “What's the matter?”

“Just checking for—ah.” Julian went limp with relief as his hand closed around the ring box. He pulled it out and flipped it open to reveal the prize—a certified non-conflict diamond in a warm gold setting, engraved on the inner curve with “Forever.” He angled the box so Sayers could check it out.

She studied it thoughtfully. “Sorry, Jughead,” she said, using his nickname, “but I don't love you in quite that way.”

“Sure you do.” He snapped the lid shut and tucked the box away. “You're on your knees, baby.”

“Mmm.” She ripped open a blister pack of sterile wipes. “It's your wounds I love. I swear, Jughead, you are a walking, talking crash test dummy. I
love
that about you.”

Sayers wanted to attend medical school one day. She was obsessed with blood and guts, the gorier, the better. Julian, with his penchant for going to extremes, had provided her with more than his share of abrasions, sprains, bruises and bleeders during their training.

She cleansed the gash and clamped it shut with a few butterfly bandages. As she worked, she said, “What are you doing, carrying that damn ring everywhere you go?”

“I don't know what else to do with it,” he said. “Shoving it in the back of my underwear drawer seems a little…well, that's where I used to stash my—never mind.” He didn't want to go there with Sayers. “Sad to say, campus theft happens.”

Unspoken was another truth they both understood. If the jump had proven fatal, the presence of the ring box would've been a silent final message to the woman he loved, the woman he wanted to love forever.

“I figure I'll keep it handy and I can pop the question when I know the time's right.”

Sayers shook her head in disgust as she touched gentle fingers to the row of butterflies. “A word to the wise,” she cautioned. “Make sure the poor girl is present when you whip it out.”

“That's the plan. I invited her to our commissioning ceremony, so if she comes for that—”

“Wait a minute,
if?
There's some question?”

“Well, things have been a little weird for us,” he said.
Understatement.

“Oh, now there's a fine basis for a lasting relationship,” she said, putting away her gear and grabbing his hand. She yanked, helping him to his feet.

He shook out each limb, schooling himself not to wince at the pain. His nerve endings had nerve endings,
but pain was only a feeling. Everything was in proper working order—that was the key. Despite the fiery aches, he was sure they hadn't overlooked a break or sprain. Nope, he was good to go.

“See, here's the thing,” he said, wading up the chute. “With Daisy and me—we've been like a moving target. Nothing is ever simple. She's got this kid, a great kid, but he complicates things. She's going in one direction, and I'm going in another, and we can never get on the same page.”

He and Sayers started hiking out of the woods. His heart sped up as he thought about Daisy. “I'm nuts about her, and I know she feels the same. Getting engaged is going to cut through all the extraneous crap and simplify everything.”

Sayers stopped walking and turned to him, putting her hand on his chest. “Oh, honey. Can you really be that stupid?”

He grinned. “You tell me.”

She studied his face, her expression reflecting concern, exasperation and barely suppressed compassion. “My mama once told me never to underestimate the thickness of a man's skull. I think she was right.”

“What? She's nuts about me, too,” Julian pointed out. “I know she is.”

“That makes two of you, then.”

It took a while to get back, make a full report, tag and submit the chute for a safety study.

Julian ignored a deep twinge of soreness in his shoulder as he returned to campus, stopping off at the student center to check his mail. He sorted through the small stack as he hiked back to the residence hall. He tried not to let the commissioning ceremony mean too much to him. It was a personal milestone, his achievement to
own, and if nobody but his half brother, Connor, showed up for it, Julian would be okay with that.

Then again, he was probably telling himself that, preparing for disappointment.

Others in his detachment were planning on half the civilized world to show up. Julian simply didn't have a ton of people in his life. His father, a professor at Tulane, had died when Julian was fourteen. Julian's aunt and uncle, in Louisiana, had lacked the means and the space to take him in. With no other options available, Julian had gone to Chino, California, to live with his mother.

It wasn't the kind of personal history that gave rise to a host of adoring relatives. Could be that was why he was so at home in the service. The people he trained with and worked with felt like family.

As usual, his mind wandered to Daisy. She came from a big extended family, which was one of the many things he loved about her, yet it was also one of the reasons he had trouble imagining a future with her. His duties meant she'd have to tell them all goodbye. It was a hell of a lot to ask of someone.

Flipping through the mail, he came to a small envelope, pre-addressed to him. He ripped into it, and his face lit up with a grin.

Everything fell away, his worries about the ceremony, the pain in his shoulder, the fact that he had a presentation due tomorrow, everything.

He stared down at the simple reply card: “Daisy Bellamy
will___ will not attend.” At the bottom, she'd scribbled, “Wouldn't miss it! Bringing camera. See you soon.—XO.”

He was in a great mood by the time he got back to his room. Davenport, one of his suite mates, took one
look at his face and asked, “Hey, did you finally get laid, Jughead?”

Julian simply laughed and grabbed a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge.

“You must have finished your presentation, then,” said Davenport.

“Barely started it.”

“What's the topic again?”

“Survivable Acts in Combat.”

“Which means it'll be a very short list, eh? No wonder you're not worrying.”

“You'd be surprised what disasters a person can survive,” Julian said.

“Fine. Surprise me.” Davenport swiveled away from his computer screen and waited.

“Parachute mishap, if you can find a soft place to fall,” Julian said, rotating his sore shoulder.

“Ha-ha. Give me a rocket-propelled grenade over that, any day.”

“A grenade can be survivable.”

“Not to the guy who throws himself on top of it to save his buddies.”

“You want to throw the thing back where it came from, ideally.”

“Good to know,” said Davenport.

Julian wasn't worried about the topic. The hard part of life did not involve physical tasks and academic achievement. He could do school, no worries. He could run a marathon, swim a mile, do chin-ups one-handed. None of that was a problem.

He was challenged by things that came easily to most other people, like figuring out life's biggest mystery—how love worked.

That was about to change.

There was no textbook or course of study to show him the way, though. Maybe it was like getting caught in a wind shear. You had to hang on, navigate as best you could and hope to land in one piece. That was kind of what he'd always done.

February 2007

Julian stared at the cover letter from the United States Secretary of the Air Force. He couldn't believe his eyes. Three different ROTC detachments had admitted him, and now he had confirmation of his scholarship. Crushing the formally worded notice against his chest, he stood in the middle of a nondescript parking lot and looked up at the colorless sky over Chino, California. He was going to college. And he was going to fly.