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Well, if nothing else, I could make myself useful.
“Need a hand?” Waving a greeting, I exited my motorhome.
“Yes,” the short, plump woman answered for both of them. “Velma’s knees just aren’t up to the bending in this damp weather.”
“I do fine, Martha.” Nevertheless, Velma moved out of the way so I could crouch and take care of the hose and both connection points. “Thank you, young man. Where’d you serve?”
Velma nodded at my forearm tattoo, a familiar glint in her eyes, backed by the veteran license plates on the truck towing their RV.
“Spec Ops. Based out of Virginia mainly, but I did my time overseas.” I regarded her levelly. After all my service, I recognized a fellow operator when I saw one.
“Good man. We lost my older brother to Nam, but that just pushed me to sign up as a nurse. Stayed as long as the navy let me, then worked at Walter Reed as a civilian till they too had enough of me, made me retire. These days, I’d have had more options to serve longer, go more places, I reckon.”
“We could have used someone like you in the teams.” I flashed a thin scar on my other arm. “Damn fine medic stitched this one up on an aircraft carrier in a location I’m not at liberty to reveal.”
“Nice piece of work.” She whistled through her front teeth. “Who did the one on your neck?”
“Army doctor, but the navy can’t catch all the good ones.” I forced myself to laugh along with the women.
“Camping alone?” Martha had the sort of pointed expression that had me bracing for a bevy of single relatives to be presented my way.
“At the moment.” I added a vague gesture and immediately tried to focus the conversation back on them. “How long have y’all been traveling together?”
“Fifty years, if you can believe it.” Velma chuckled before flipping over her long, bony hand to reveal a shiny wedding ring. “This here’s my best friend. Only nowadays, I get to call her wife. Granddaughter Megan calls us ride-or-die besties. No one I’d rather see the country with.”
“I bet.” My breath caught in my chest. Ride-or-die. Holden didn’t want me to die, didn’t want to stick around for me to take risks, didn’t want me as I was, risk-taking, diving and all. And I’d had a best friend once, lost him, found Holden, who wasn’t my best friend, but also wasn’t not my best friend either. Besties. The word wasn’t nearly big enough for everything jostling around in my chest. “I better get back inside. I’ll leave you two to your adventures.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” Velma smiled broadly. She had a long face and sharp eyes, and I could see how she’d managed to snare Martha for all these years. “Life’s a grand adventure, better shared.”
“She says that now.” Martha gave Velma a tender look. “Wait till we’re arguing over the remote later.”
“Hey, you kick cancer’s behind, and you can watch every darn dating show they make.”
“Oh.” I made an involuntary noise. The hat and scarf made more sense now.
“Don’t you listen to her.” Martha pursed her pale lips. “Lord, Velma, you make it sound like I’m out here on death’s doorstep with a bucket list. Gonna send me sky diving next.”
“I know some buddies who could make that happen.”
“I bet you could.” Martha shook her head, hat bobbling slightly. “I’m too ornery to kill.”
But in that moment, she looked inescapably fragile, with small shoulders, thin hands, pale skin, and far, far too mortal. And Velma, well, I knew Velma’s type, all bluster and business, routine and orders, cool as a cucumber under pressure. But if something happened to Martha, well, you might as well take Velma too.
Ride-or-die besties. Ah. I got it now, not the ride, but the until-the-end part. Perhaps my argument with Holden wasn’t about whether he trusted me as a diver, was willing to risk others’ safety to ensure my welfare, or even whether he desired my company enough to want me to stick around. He needed me safe because of what it would mean to him if something happened to me.
Damn. That was humbling.
As I made my way back to my motorhome, Velma retrieved a carved wooden walking stick from the side of their trailer, leaning on it as they set up camp. Martha bustled around, putting a red cloth on the picnic table and setting out a small portable grill. Standing on my RV steps, I tried to picture Martha without Velma, without that steadiness and balance. Would she wither away? I damn sure might if something ever happened to…
Oh. I stumbled into the small booth-style table in the motorhome’s kitchenette area. A part of my soul had died right along with Ev, and nothing I’d done in the years since had managed to retrieve it. If I let myself have Holden—the way he seemed to be offering himself, the way he wanted to claim me—and lost him, well, my whole damn heart would go too. Choosing to ride with Holden was terrifying, but was there any alternative when the die part was a given?
