Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Just because I didn’t know the man didn’t mean I couldn’t fantasize about him. People thought about other people all the time. As long as no one ever found out, I told myself, I could think whatever the hell I wanted. With permission from my own inner critic, I picked up the book again. This time it was definitely Lincoln and me in the bedroom with the illogical wind. I let the author take me away, exploring all the intimate details. The sun had set before I finally put the phone down and went back inside.
7
LINCOLN
It was early Monday morning when I climbed off the couch. I was avoiding the bedroom as if my life depended on it. I supposed, if I really thought about it, I felt vulnerable in the bed. Taking off my shoes and stripping down to my boxers only made me nervous. The thought of being unconscious for any amount of time turned me off. Too many times, insurgents had tried to attack our camp or our convoy in the night. I learned to sleep with one eye open, with a weapon at the ready, and my boots still on.
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 least I 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.