CHAPTER TWO
KENDALL
ISLEPT IN ADAM’Sbed all weekend. I woke up Monday morning and his hand was high on my thigh, fingers grazing my panties under my t-shirt. I was warm, tucked into his spoon and before I opened my eyes, I wanted his touch. Craved more. Desired his fingers all over and inside of my neglected body—like he used to do. When my eyes fluttered open, my insecurities arrived, and I threw Adam’s arm off me in a hulking, jerky movement. He apologized profusely, but I could see the disappointment in the way he held his body away from me. A coiled man, seeking release from the only person who can provide it. I can’t do it. I told him it was okay, that it wasn’t a big deal, but that was just another lie piled on top of our crumbling marriage shanty.
I’m still trying not to think about Adam’s hand between my legs, how it made me feel, or Noel’s urn as I carry a small, cardboard box into an office building adjacent to the main building on Harbour Point Base where the SEALs work. It’s early in the morning, but people are bustling around. Men in uniforms jog between buildings, and civilian support staff, like me, are beginning their day with coffee and emails. I check in at the main desk and hand them the piece of paper I printed out from the email attachment. It was also what gave me permission to drive on base without a military identification card. The man in uniform behind the desk nods his head, stamps the paper, directs me to my office, and where to go to obtain my credential badges I’ll need to access all the different areas in the buildings.
I drop off my box in the empty room he specified, and continue on my way. The hallways smell like a combination of new carpet and disinfectant cleaners. I’m reminded just how new this base is, and what that means. The war is still raging. On American soil. Sure, the news doesn’t talk about it nonstop like they used to, but new bases wouldn’t be opening if the threat was diminished. There are now special force bases surrounding the United States along the perimeter. Goosebumps prickle my arms at the thought.
I check in at another desk and let the woman know I’m here to get my credential badges. I slide her a few pieces of identification to prove I am who I say I am, and she asks that I take a seat and wait to be called back, even though I am the only person waiting in the office.
A woman, whom I recognize from my interview, pokes her head into the room, “Kendall Simmons?” she says, raising one brow when her eyes find me.
“The one and only,” I reply, standing from the uncomfortable chair. “Hello, Ms. Peterson,” I reply, trying to smile. “It’s so nice to see you again.”
“Margaret, please. Call me Margaret,” she says. Margaret Peterson is my boss. She is the person responsible for giving me a job, and little does she know, a second chance at life. Today is day one of my reset. “You can come get your ID card and keys later. They take forever first thing in the morning. Come to your office, settle in a bit. How do you take your coffee?”
I glance at the woman behind the desk to see if she’s offended by Margaret’s rude, slow comment, but her eyes are on the monitor and she’s tapping at her keys like no one has said anything at all. “Cream and sugar,” I say. “Thank you again for giving me this chance.” I adjust my purse strap on my shoulder. “I hope I put my box down in the correct office, it was huge.”
Margaret reassures me I did, and we chit chat while she shows me around the break room and fixes two cups of coffee. A few people meander in and out. Some are wearing the standard issue uniform, and others are dressed business casual. It’s a good mix. She notices me looking around. “The SEALs typically stay in the other building unless they’re here for classes or need to take care of something in the administrative arena,” she says, handing me a steaming cup. Bringing it to my lips, I blow gently before trying a sip.
“When does my first class begin?” I ask, surveying my surroundings. We walk across the hall to the dark office where I left my things. She throws on the switches and illuminates a large room with a conference table in the middle and a small wooden desk off to the side.
“This is you. I wish I could say you had a month to get your first lessons together, but unfortunately, we took too long filling your position and they’re expecting lessons at the beginning of next week. I can help you if you need it,” Margaret says.
I swallow hard. I wanted the challenge, craved something to take my mind off of my own life. This is it. Reaching down, I pick up the box I left by the door with the few personal items I brought from home, and set it on my new desk. “I can handle it. No worries, Margaret. Spanish is an easy one. I’ll be able to whip up a month’s worth of material this week. How much do they know now, if anything?”
Margaret perches on the conference table, drinking her coffee. “Assume they know nothing. It will vary day to day which SEALs will be available for language training. They’ll all sort of work along at their own pace. Some will be proficient in no time and some will make you want to open a vein and shave your head with a dull blade. Their personalities are, ah, somewhat challenging,” she says, coughing. “I’m sure you can handle it. It’s why I chose you for the job.” She eyes me over the rim of the cup. “I have a feeling you’ll hold their attention better than the last person did.”
I know for a fact the person who held the position before me was a woman in her mid-fifties. I searched for her online and was impressed with her resume. She’s the reason I didn’t think I had a shot at this position. Far more qualified, and much more seasoned in working with military personnel. I’m not dense, I know Margaret is suggesting I’m easier to look at and the men might respond better. I’m not above using what God has given me to further my career. As a married, emotionally stunted woman, brushing off any advances will be easy.
“There are only two men starting the Spanish class and one of them is deploying to the West Coast next month. I think he’ll be a quick study, though.”
I eye the monster of a conference table in front of me. “Two? Only two?”
She smiles with her eyes. “I don’t have to tell you, but the budget knows no bounds when it comes to the Special Forces. These men take precedence. They pretty much get whatever they want, and definitely everything they need.”
“This is a full-time position?” I ask, swallowing a searing sip of coffee.
She nods. “Yes. Men will come and go and their needs will vary. Some weeks you might be helping translate memos in the intelligence department, other weeks and months you’ll be teaching a table filled with unruly men how to hold a civil conversation in another language.”
“Seems strange,” I say.
“What, that these men can hold civil conversations?” Margaret asks, laughing again.
I shake my head. “My stepdad is a SEAL. I know exactly the kind of personality I’m about to deal with. I read that my job description would vary, but this seems like a really great opportunity to learn a lot.”
“Learn something new every day, right?” she says, holding her free hand out. “I’ll let you settle in. You can head back to the ID office after that. I’m sure you’ll still have to wait for a few minutes. That office is military run. You’ll understand quickly what is civilian and what is Navy. Fast and slow.” She clicks her tongue and shakes her head.
I thank her again and walk her to the door. She tells me where her office is and points to a folder on my desk that contains a handbook and all of the passwords I’ll need to access the systems and my new email. I take out the few things I brought for my desk. Several language resource books, a box of new pens, a notepad, and a large sand timer my mom gave me last Christmas. I think it’s supposed to be a paperweight, but watching the black sand fall brings me comfort. The constant falling, the same amount of time passing with each turn of the paperweight is calming. I didn’t bring any photos. Nothing that would remind me of my life outside of these walls. Sitting in the comfortable office chair, I decide to take a quick peek at the materials Margaret has given me.
In bold, running along the top of the handbook, says, NO CELL PHONES IN THE BUILDING. Makes sense with the top-secret clearances required in some of the areas. The welcome email made note of the cell rule, so I left mine in the car, but I realize what an adjustment it will be. I let my eyes scan the basic rules, regulations, and job expectations. A lot of it is verbatim from the job offer, so it’s familiar. I put my purse into the bottom left drawer of my desk and head back into the cool hallway. I’m met by a group of men who definitely don’t work in this building. They’re SEALs. I’m positive. Their builds are large and their voices are boisterous. They swagger instead of walk, their self-confidence boiling over in the form of well-sculpted muscles and a brazen presence. Sure enough, the large, gold trident pin marks their chests.
Sighing, I try to move around them without garnering attention—keeping my head down. “Hey,” one guy says as I pass, drawing the vowel out for longer than necessary. I should have known better. “You’re new here.”
I pause and determine if I’m going to gain their respect, I need to establish boundaries right away. “It’s my first day,” I reply, spinning on my heels to face him. His gaze rakes my body. “I’m the new linguist. My name is Simmons,” I say, extending a hand. Everyone goes by last names here, or so my stepdad Aidan told me when I called to tell him about my new job.
The big, wolfish man with white teeth and a predatory gleam in his eye, shakes my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Simmons. I’ll be sure to fail my next language test. You freelance your services?”
