The Officer Says "I Do" (24 page)

“Veronica, how are things?”

The woman ducked her head, then as if determined to make eye contact, raised it deliberately. “Fine.” Her voice was naturally soft.

“Do you like the area?”

“Yes.”

So far, she wasn’t much on sharing past the basics. Her parents hadn’t given Skye her cousin’s background. They wouldn’t though. If Veronica wanted Skye to know, she would share. That’s the way it worked around the commune. Nobody was obligated to share their past.

“So where did you come from?” Skye hopped up on the counter and grabbed an apple out of the basket by the register. She wiped it on her shirt and took a bite.

“Around.”

Skye tried another tactic and said nothing. When Veronica realized she was still waiting, she added, “We moved around often.”

“Huh. I grew up here. Didn’t really leave until college. Might have been fun to explore other places. You’re my mom’s brother’s kid. Are there more of you?”

“Just me.” Veronica turned away, busying herself with looking for something—likely nothing—behind the counter.

Okay, so no family talk. “Have you met anyone around here? Hung out with anyone in the area? There were some people my age when I grew up here, though they might have all taken off now.”

Veronica shook her head, the thick gold braid shaking as it fell between her shoulder blades. For the first time, Skye could appreciate how long the woman’s hair really was. It reached past the waistband of her skirt. She could probably sit on it if she tried. That had to be annoying. She took a longer look at her cousin. Plain clothes, slightly baggy. Whether she bought them that way or she’d lost weight, Skye had no clue. Not a hint of makeup. No jewelry either, simple or otherwise.

“Do you like working at the store? If not, I bet my parents could find you another job in the commune. Maybe working at the teashop or the bookstore. I know when I was saving up cash for college I used to grab a few hours of work over at—”

“No.” The word was sharp, definite. Skye smiled. So she wasn’t entirely a mouse after all. “I like working here. Your parents have been wonderful. I couldn’t have hoped for better.”

Skye’s smile grew. “Yeah. They are pretty great. How old are you?”

Veronica eyed Skye out of the corner of her eye. “Twenty-six.”

There was a formal tone to her speech. Sort of like people who spoke English as a second language. Even more interesting. Skye was determined not to pry, however. “Well, my parents are great to work for, and live with.” She hopped down from the counter, ready to head over to the house for a break and some privacy before the town meeting that night.

As much as she loved her parents, loved the commune, and loved revisiting her past, it was time to figure out her future. Tomorrow she’d head home.

***

Tim followed the GPS as far as it would take him, which wasn’t far. Apparently Skye’s family lived in the middle of nowhere. Literally. Tim’s symbolic little blue car on the GPS screen was driving through nothing. If he hadn’t stopped at the last gas station to ask where the infamous commune was located, he would have been lost an hour ago.

Actually, he wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t lost now. Hippies, despite their
peace, love, happiness
attitude, apparently liked their solitude.

He didn’t have time to roam around the great state of Texas looking for his wife. He had exactly one week to reach Skye, figure out where things went wrong—on both sides—and convince her to come back with him.

If he could find her first.

Another fifteen minutes and Tim felt like singing a hallelujah chorus as he saw signs of civilization in the distance. Inching closer, he picked out several buildings that appeared to make a complete circle, with one road that led in. He drove on, heading straight for the opening. If this wasn’t it, then he was going to demand a guide like Lewis and fucking Clark to get the rest of the way there.

Tim headed for the first thing that looked like a business—a café of some kind—and parked in their front lot. He got out and walked around to the front of the business, taking in the area. The circle of buildings looked like it was a mile around, with another layer or two of buildings behind the first, sort of laid out in a spiral. The wide sidewalks flanked decent, well-kept roads. And not every building was cookie-cutter perfect, each carrying its own charm. This little town was definitely not built by a mega-millionaire corporation.

He jerked on the door to the café, determined to ask a few questions, but the door didn’t budge. On second glance, he saw the
Closed
sign. Sort of an odd time to be closed, being in the middle of dinner. He walked over to the next building, a salon, and found the same. Closed. Then Tim looked around, listened.

Nothing.

No cars driving around the roads, no people walking from store to store, no radios blaring or kids laughing. It was a ghost town. Or was it a ghost commune?

Someone had to live here. A ghost town didn’t stay this well-maintained and preserved. So where the hell was everyone? He wandered down the sidewalk, searching for signs of life, practicing the speech he would give once he finally found his runaway wife.

As Tim rounded the curve, he heard a faint buzzing noise. The first real sign of civilization since he parked. He followed the noise, winding back between a bookstore and a coffee house and then slipping around a house to find an open field full of bodies, a few hundred by his estimate. Some sitting, some standing, some… dancing? Yes, a few were actually swaying to some unheard music. Tim hesitated to call them crazy. His wife would simply say they were free spirits, moving to the beat of their own drummer—literally. But it was impossible to see if Skye was among the crowd.

People of all ages were gathered, from babes in arms to a few with wheelchairs and walkers. Everyone was dressed very Skye-like. Or rather, Skye before she started changing her look. Flowing garments, loose folds, tunics, crazy patterns. Tim glanced ruefully at his own khakis, button-down shirt, and simple dress shoes. For once, he was the one who stood out.

He realized someone was up front, standing on top of a pickup with amplifiers, speaking into a microphone. Though it was difficult to hear, he worked his way around the outside of the crowd until he had a better spot. From the sounds of it, it was a sort of town hall meeting. Business about the community. Updates about a homeschool co-op was next up on the agenda.

“Hi there.” A woman, probably in her eighties, with steel-gray hair and a feel of frailty about her, placed a hand on his arm. Chunky bracelets clanked as she moved, and her eyes were kind. “Are you passing through?”

“I don’t know.” Tim continued scanning the crowd, looking for any hint of Skye. There was so much color, so much light, it almost hurt his eyes to stare at it. Almost nobody wore dark colors, and black didn’t exist to these people.

I
have
to
be
close.

“Are you searching for something? Enlightenment of some kind?”

“I’m searching for—whoa!” Tim pulled gently against the woman’s grip, which tightened on his wrist. The rings covering her gnarled fingers dug into his skin. “Can I help you?”

The woman turned serious eyes to him. “All newcomers should be introduced.”

“Oh, there’s been a mistake. No introduction necessary.” Please and thank you.

Watery blue eyes stared back at him. Then, as if she hadn’t heard him, she repeated, “All newcomers should be introduced.” With that, she started walking toward the front, pulling him behind.

No. Oh hell no. Tim tried digging his feet into the ground, but she managed to continue pulling. He could have jerked his arm away, but the thought of causing the elderly woman to fall or hurt herself was worse than being dragged around like a lost child in an airport. He followed, grudgingly, still scanning the crowd for Skye.

No such luck.

They reached the side of the pickup located at the front of the crowd, where a bald man in his late fifties, maybe early sixties, was reading about someone’s newest little bundle of joy. Tim’s captor tugged on the man’s flaring capri pants with authority. “Peter, we have a newcomer.”

The man looked at Tim, his eyes narrowing a moment. “Yes, we do. Well, come on up, young man. Tell us about yourself.”

Tim stared out into the crowd, praying for a glimpse of Skye. Or at least someone to rescue him. Nope. Not his lucky day. He sighed and stepped up, figuring it was easier to go along with the shenanigans than run away. He could easily guess nobody would be overly helpful to the man who knocked down an eighty-year-old woman just to escape saying hi. Besides, why not ask four hundred people at once where Skye was rather than one at a time? It was just more efficient, really.

Yeah. Efficient. That’s how he’d mentally file this one. Efficient sounded better than crazy.

Hopping up on the bed of the truck, he waited until the vehicle stopped rocking, then took the mic from the older man. He stared into the sea of faces, some smiling, some skeptical, others lost in their own world, like their minds were tuned to a completely different channel.

“Hi, my name is Tim, and I—”

“Hi, Tim!” The roar of the crowd almost knocked him back. Christ, what was this? Some AA meeting?

“Uh, right. Anyway, I’m not here for enlightenment or anything like that. Or maybe I am. I guess that depends.”

There was some mild chatter, and a few brilliant smiles aimed his way. He rubbed the back of his burning neck.

“Ignore that. First things first. I’m looking for my wife. Skye McDermott? I think this is where she grew up.”

The crowd, buzzing with welcoming energy, shut down faster than a frat party during a raid. The smiles melted away, the skeptics looked smug. Even those who appeared lost in their own world seemed to shrink back, as if some psychic wavelength told them he was bad news.

What the hell did he say? He’s a stranger, and these people don’t know him. Right. Of course, a small little commune like this would circle the wagons—or rather, circle the flower power—around one of their own.

He tried again. “She came for a visit, and I was just trying to find her. She’s about this high—” he held up his hand to shoulder height, “with long brown hair. Blue-gray eyes? Beautiful? Anyone?”

Silence. Owl stares. Sweat dripped between his shoulder blades.

“Right. Well, if you see her,” and he knew they would, “tell her that her husband is looking for her. Tell her… just tell her—”

“Tim? What the hell are you doing?”

He jolted, almost dropping the mic. “Skye?” He turned around, not daring to hope. But there she was. Her hair was pulled back on either side from her face, curls and waves flowing around her shoulders. The sunburst tunic top skimmed over her hips, and her legs were in some bright yellow leggings. Her feet were bare, kicking up dust as she walked toward him.

“What are you doing here?”

His mouth was dry when he tried to speak. She looked so beautiful, so naturally Skye, that he almost lost his thoughts. “I came. For you.”

The shock showed on her face. “Really?”

“Yeah. I didn’t come to practice my public speaking skills.” Realizing he still held the microphone, he thrust it at the other man and hopped down from the bed of the pickup. In three long strides he reached her but stopped just short of wrapping his arms around her like he wanted. “I’m here to bring you home.” Before she could speak he shook his head. His world narrowed until all he saw was her face, all he heard was her breath, growing heavier. “No, I meant that. Home. Our home. I hate that you think you were a roommate. You’re my wife. And I want you to be home with me. I don’t care if that means you’ll burn twelve different incense a day and hang up posters of spirits and leave your socks on the coffee table. Just come home.”

She stared at him for a moment, eyes widening. Then she jerked her head to the side and walked back behind the pickup truck, shielding them from a majority of the curious onlookers.

“Why?” Her voice was soft, almost scared.

Thank God. An easy one. “Because I love you. I love you, Skye Meadow McDermott, the way I married you. I don’t know what happened, why you thought you had to change completely to make me happy. And I don’t know why I ever let you think you needed to. But I want Skye back. You.”

Skye closed her eyes, and Tim felt his stomach drop and the blood rush in his ears. He was too late. He didn’t move fast enough. And now he was going to suffer because of it.

But then without opening her eyes, Skye launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, taking him completely by surprise. He stepped back a few feet to regain his balance and held her tight. Thank God the side of the pickup was right behind his back or they would have topped into the dirt.

“I love you too,” she mumbled into his neck. “I just… I didn’t…”

“I know.” He stroked her wild hair once, tangled his fingers in the curls. “I know.”

Past the roar of his own heartbeat, Tim heard the sound of applause, muffled and distant. As they stood peacefully, soaking each other in, his hearing cleared and the clapping became louder until it was like a tidal wave, crashing over them.

“Uh, Skye, I think—”

“Yeah. They’re clapping for us.” Her voice held laughter, and he smiled. He’d put up with a lot to hear her that happy again.

Soon—too soon—Skye slid down until her feet touched the ground. “Dad.”

The bald man from the truck peeked over the side of the cab, a huge grin on his face. “Yes, pumpernickel?”

“That’s your dad?” Tim asked incredulously. When Skye nodded, he turned to the man. “And when I was up there, pouring my heart out about my wife, you didn’t think to stop me and say, ‘Hey, she’s back that way’?”

The man shrugged, completely unapologetic. “Not my decision to make.”

“Dad,” Skye broke in, laughing. “We’re heading to the house for a bit.”

“I gotcha.” The man winked and turned back to the crowd, asking them to settle down so he could finish his announcements.

Tim let his head drop to the side of the truck with a thump. “That wasn’t awkward or anything.”

She grabbed his hand and tugged. “Come on. Everyone here will be busy for at least another hour.”

“Say no more.”

***

Skye pulled the door shut behind them, watching as Tim wandered the living room, soaking in the mementos of her childhood. Pictures, childish crafts, awards were all displayed in random order, scattered throughout the room and the house. She wondered what he would think of the completely mismatched home, with its worn, broken-in furniture and bizarre decor.

“Looks like you,” he said after a minute. “I see you in this place.” He stopped to grab a framed picture of Skye at seven, holding a trophy for being the homeschool co-op’s best peacekeeper. “Cute,” he said with a grin.

“So you flew in?”

“Yup. Didn’t have a lot of leave time. But since you have your car, we can drive back.” He glanced around and saw the suitcases next to the kitchen door. He stared at them, as if he’d never seen luggage before. “Are those packed?”

“Yeah.” When he said nothing, just continued to stare at the bags, she went on. “I was leaving tomorrow morning.”

“Going where?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Home. Back to you.” When he finally looked her way, she smiled. “You just beat me to it.”

He reached her in two steps and crushed her against his chest. “Don’t do this again. Please. Talk to me. Scream at me. Rearrange the furniture or burn the place down. Just… don’t leave again,” he mumbled into her hair.

Poor Marine. Always so sure of himself at work. Ready to fight wars, take over countries. Solve any problem. And instead, he suddenly looked so… lost. She scratched his scalp lightly with her fingernails until his body started to relax, tension seeping out. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t see another way at the time. That was rude of me, to leave during the function. I hope I didn’t get you in trouble at work. I know—”

“Fuck work.” He held her at arm’s length, his face fierce. “I mean don’t leave me. Just me. I don’t care if you never host another coffee or never go to another function. I want you to, because I love being with you, having you with me. But if you don’t, I won’t care. Just don’t run away from me.”

“The coffee wasn’t too bad,” she murmured as she eased back into his arms. “And I like barbeques.”

“I’m sorry too. I didn’t see how you were taking things. I should have spoken up sooner, let you know you didn’t have to change. But the truth was, I wasn’t sure myself how things were going to work. It was so much, so fast and I—”

“Shh. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

His hands stroked over her back, soothing at first. Then he slipped under the tunic, his rough fingertips electrifying the nerves along her back until she shivered.

“Are you making a move on me in my parents’ living room, Captain?”

“I sure as hell am.” His hands moved around to cup her breasts, pulling them out the top of her flimsy bra. Skye let her head drop back while he nuzzled her jawline. “If you have to ask, I must be doing a piss-poor job of it.” And without warning, he bent at the waist until he could lift up with Skye draped over his shoulder. She shrieked, then laughed as he carried her to the sofa and plopped her down. “Is this more obvious?”

His heavy, comforting weight draped over her, and she smiled. “You’re nothing if not a perfectionist.”

“I aim to please.”

Skye let him please her until the meeting was over.

***

Dinner should have been uncomfortable, eating with his in-laws who he had never met before. Not to mention the numerous not-so-subtle digs about the military and war that Peter kept tossing into the conversation.