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Whatever contortions my mind was doing told me that the couch was safer than the bed. I suspected if an intruder came into the apartment and I was on the couch, I would be better prepared to leap up and confront them. After several sleepless nights, I decided I would chance taking my boots off. Sleeping in full combat gear had been a matter of survival in the desert, but it just seemed crazy in rural Tennessee.
I drew the line at pajamas though. They had forced me to wear scrubs at the VA hospital, but my first night in Singer’s Ridge, I discarded that tradition. If I was going to be attacked, at leastI would be dressed. I had visions of running down the street without shoes to escape the enemy, and that was bad enough.
The truth was, I didn’t sleep much, so it wouldn’t really matter if I was on the couch or the bed. I kept the TV playing in the background. Its constant reminders to buy auto insurance and take Cialis took my mind off my problems. I needed the normalcy that it provided, the suggestion that life would continue with or without my drama.
I got itchy Sunday night and into Monday morning, so I left my place and walked around the neighborhood. It was peaceful and quiet, and everything was green. It was so unlike the landscape of Afghanistan that my racing heart calmed itself. I was able to go home and sleep a couple hours, still on the couch, still with the TV chattering. I woke at six instead of four though, so I counted that as a win.
I had been to the grocery store, so I had a stocked fridge. It was mostly cold cuts and eggs. I was into protein and wasn’t a great cook. I figured I should pack myself a lunch on day one. I made myself some coffee, a sandwich, and a boiled egg. Morning TV featured a dog who could do tricks and about a dozen truck commercials.
I called for my Uber with a half hour to spare, and it took nearly that long for the ride to get there. This driver was nosey, asking all kinds of questions about who I was and where I was going.
“You work at the lumberyard?”
I nodded. “Yup.”
“Did you grow up around here?”
I sighed. “Yeah.”
“Me too.” He pulled up at a stoplight. “Not many people know about Singer’s Ridge.”
What the hell, I thought. I didn’t know this guy, and I would probably never see him again. I wasn’t interested in small talk. “I’m getting out of town first chance I get.”
“I hear that.” He laughed, pulling into the parking lot.
I got out, thanked the driver, and strode confidently to the house at the back of the lot. It was just past nine a.m., and I knew that Aly would be sitting behind the reception desk. I thought about her more than was healthy. I tried to remember how she had looked in high school and why I had never made a pass at her.
We’d had a few classes together. She had been part of one of the peripheral cliques, not a snob or a cheerleader, not a brainiac. She had her girlfriends and they stuck together, whereas I had no one and I liked it that way. I would have ventured out of my protective bubble if she had been as alluring in high school as she was now.
I had to stop thinking about the past. I was four paces from the front door and about to come face to face with the beauty. I needed a game plan. My usual curt nature wasn’t going to cut it. I needed some topic of conversation that would demonstrate how cultured and worldly I was while simultaneously making her feel good about herself. Not surprisingly, nothing came to mind.
I paused, my hand on the doorknob. This next encounter was likely to be as great a failure as the previous one. More than anything, I had wanted to stay and talk with her. I had wanted to see her smile, to know that I had been the one to make her smile.Unfortunately, I was too awkward and unaccustomed to small talk.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Just as I had imagined, Aly was seated behind the desk. She had a small stack of papers in front of her and was entering information into the computer. She paused when I stepped inside, looking up with those striking coffee-colored eyes. After a beat, she smiled.
“Good morning, Linc,” she said. “Porter’s gonna take you around, but he’s got a few phone calls to make first. You can have a seat.” She gestured to the couch.
I sat down, grateful to have been granted another five minutes of her company. “When do you get in?” I asked. It was the first thing that came to my mind, even though it was a lame excuse for playful banter.
“Eight thirty,” she said.
“You like the job?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Porter’s real nice. He’s like family.”
“Do you know Gina?” I asked, suddenly comfortable asking real questions.
“Yeah.” She eased into the conversation, shifting her attention from her work to me. “Gina and I go out sometimes. I also have dinner with their family once a week.”
“The family?” I asked. “So, you’ve met the baby?”
She nodded. “Seth.”
“Seth,” I tried.
My nephew. I hadn’t really thought about having a nephew or having a family. The baby was something that had happened to Gina and didn’t involve me. Now that I considered it, the idea of being attached to a family made me feel simultaneously nervous and optimistic. Maybe there would be someone around who would miss me, who would look forward to seeing me and wonder where I was when I was gone.
And that was a problem. The more attachments you had, the more vulnerable you were. To protect myself and my family from the specter of insurgents, I had to remain constantly ready. That meant no family barbeques, no sleeping in beds, no letting my guard down.
