Page 22 of Chasing Amanda

This was the terrorists’ fault. He blamed them and the attacks two months before. Now that America was at war, his feelings were heightened. Not just his, either, he didn’t think. The good seemed amazing, the bad horrendous, the future uncertain. Why not fall in love?

He could think of a few reasons. Well, he would think of them, if it weren’t already too late.

That was the problem, of course.

It was too late.

Whatever.

It was one thing for Mark to fall for Amanda. To bring himself pain. Stupid, definitely. It certainly wouldn’t help him climb on that plane in a week. But having Amanda on his mind while he was fighting—he could think of worse images to focus on. Now that he’d spent so much time with her, he’d be able to pull out his memories like photographs whenever he was lonely. He’d remember her smile, her voice, her laugh. This weekend could carry him through the war.

But she wasn’t supposed to know how he felt. Somehow, she’d picked up on it. Somehow, she felt it too.

She was a student with better things to worry about than some Marine halfway around the world.

He had to stop this before it got out of control.

He had to tell her the truth. And he needed help to do it because the last thing he wanted was to hurt her.

Mark had gone to church as a kid, but he hadn’t had a lot of time for God in the last few years. Sure, he’d done a good thing rescuing Amanda the other night. And going into the service—that had to count for something. But would those good things make up for all the bad? Would they make up for all the ways he’d disappointed his mother? For his shortcoming and sins? For breaking Amanda’s sweet heart?

He gazed up at the clear blue sky. “Help me out here, God. Tell me how to do this.”

Not that he’d expected a voice or anything, but he’d hoped for some insights or something. He got nothing, though, and a few minutes later, he gave up and made his way back inside.

She watched him, wariness in her gaze, as he made his way to their table and slid in across from her.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine.” But in those two words, he knew she’d lifted her defenses again.

Probably just as well. “Are you finished?”

“Uh-huh. You?”

He dropped more than enough money on the table without waiting for the check. “Let’s go.”

He placed his hand on the small of her back and felt warmth through her thin sweater as he led her through the dining room and into the cool November day. Outside, she stopped and slipped on her wool coat.

“Do you mind if we go for a walk?” he asked.

“Fine.”

They made their way across the street and onto the sidewalk that ran the length of the beach. He walked at a slow pace, adjusting to her shorter legs. Empty benches lined the lane every twenty or thirty feet. They were alone, and it was time to tell her the truth. How could she possibly understand loss, understand the kinds of sacrifices he was about to make? How could she understand what being with him would cost her? She couldn’t, and he didn’t want her to. This was the only way.

“This has been fun,” he said. “We should head back soon.”

“If you say so.”

“I’m sure you have better things to do than hang out with me.”

She didn’t respond. She wasn’t going to make this easy.

“I love the beach,” he said. “It’s always made me feel connected, somehow.”

“To?”

He shrugged. “God, I guess. Do you believe in God?”