Communication Failure
I WAS IN love with Facetime. No more waiting in an Army base comms unit for Skype via whatever crappy IP provider Uncle Sam was paying for. I had a boosted cell phone and solar powered charger, courtesy of the New York Times, and better still, they were picking up the bill.
I didn’t get a chance to call Jackson as often as I’d have liked. Apart from anything else, Jordan was eight hours ahead of the East Coast, so the time difference made it difficult. It was definitely worth the wait.
My heart jolted with joy when he answered on the third ring.
“Hey, Maggie! It’s so good to see you. You look . . .”
Jackson bit off whatever he was going to say, and I was thankful for that.
“I know, I look awful,” I said, running a hand through my lank hair. “Rough day.”
“No, you look great,” he lied. “I just meant tired. You want to tell my why it was rough? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I shrugged. “It’s hotter than hell and I didn’t hydrate enough. Headache.”
“That’s not all, is it?”
I shrugged helplessly.
“You know what it’s like out here . . . the things you see. I’m used to seeing dead bodies . . . well, not used to it, but it doesn’t affect me like it did the first time, or the second . . .” I took a deep breath. “But when they’re children . . .”
He swallowed and nodded. And I was so grateful that I didn’t have to explain. Because Jack knew. He knew and he understood.
“Yeah. But you’re doing great, Maggie. I read that article you wrote about the MSF. It was real good. Too good,” he said with a grimace. “And those photographs . . .”
His words trailed off and he looked away.
“How are you doing?” I asked gently, knowing how hard this was for him, for both of us. “How’s Gulfport treating you? Met any debutantes lately?”
I was hoping to make him smile, but it wasn’t working.
“It’s a double whammy. You’re over there, up to your neck in shit, dodging bullets, and I’m over here. As useful as tits on a bull.”
“Jackson,” I said quietly, “you of all people know that . . .”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said roughly. “Ignore me. I’m real happy to hear your voice.”
And he gave his patented panty-dropping grin. He was trying. We were both trying. For what? Some sort of normalcy when that was just an illusion?
“So, what are you up to?”
“Sitting here drinking a cold beer.”
“Oh, shut up!”
He laughed unapologetically.
“Glass is frosted, too.”
“I hate you!”
“No, you don’t. You love me really.”
There was an uncomfortable pause as he sucked in his breath, trying to bite back the words we weren’t ready to say.
“Nah, I only want you for your body,” I teased. “Take your shirt off.”
Jackson grinned.
“Only if you take yours off.”
I shot him a wry look.
“Um, probably shouldn’t do that right now,” I said, letting my phone show the body armor that I was wearing, my helmet sitting on the cot next to me.
“Ah shit, Maggie,” he said softly, screwing up his eyes with concern.
“I’m fine, Jack. Really. Just being careful—like you said. But it would cheer me up if you took your shirt off,” and I gave him a flirty wink, reaching for the light-hearted tone I needed to hear from him.
He forced a weak smile, because he was supposed to, because I’d asked him to, but it soon faded.
“I probably shouldn’t start undressing either. Mama has her friends over. I snuck away for some peace and quiet.”
“A tactical withdrawal?”
“Something like that.”
“Aw, poor baby! Can’t you handle some cougar action?”
He pulled a face.
“Not from my mama’s friends. They’ve known me since I was a twinkle in my Daddy’s eye. That would just be so wrong.”
I laughed at the expression on his face. But then I heard a woman’s voice in the background.
“What are you doing out here all by your lonesome, Jack, honey?”
He must have put his hand over the phone because the picture went dark and his voice became muffled.
“Just talking to a friend, Emmy.”
I didn’t hear what came next but it was several seconds before Jack’s apologetic face was back.
“Sorry about that.”
“Emmy?”
His mouth tightened.
“An old . . . friend.”
“Okay . . .”
“There’s nothing going on, Maggie, I promise. Her mama and mine are kissing cousins.”
I gave him a reassuring smile.
“I’m not worried, Jack,” I said honestly. “I’m jealous as hell that she’s with you and I’m over here, that’s all.”
“Really?”
“Truly.”
He rubbed his face and I couldn’t help wishing that it was my fingers trailing over that lightly stubbled jaw.
“God, Maggie—you’re amazing.”
“Not so bad yourself.”
He smiled and winked, his tight expression relaxing.
“Tell me something no one knows about you.”
He gave me an amused smile.
“Feel free to ask the easy questions!”
“I’m serious. Things you don’t tell anyone. It doesn’t have to be big—just silly stuff.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Anything!”
“Give me an example . . .”
“Like . . . whenever I finish a bag of chips, I lick the salt off my fingers then tie the packet in a knot. I don’t know why I do that, I just do. Silly, right?”
I could hear his deep laugh over the miles and miles of fathomless air.
“Uh, okay. I love to walk on the beach in the rain.”
I couldn’t help the sigh that fell from my lips.
“I know it sounds weird,” he said defensively, “but the sea goes slate gray, and it’s wild and rough, and I’m usually the only person there. It’s . . . cleansing, peaceful. I just really like it.”
It told me so much about him. And that he was a romantic at heart.
“We should do that when I . . .”
Suddenly, there was a massive explosion and all the lights in the camp went out. I dropped my phone, grabbed my helmet and flung myself under the cot as missiles sang overhead.
Six thousand miles away, Jackson reached for a weapon that wasn’t there, his heart hammering in his chest. He stared at the blank screen of his phone.
“Oh, Christ! Maggie.”