Until he fell in love. That brought the whole world into focus for him. Colors became brighter, music held special meaning, words of love were not silly but profound. He’d taken a short gig as a recruiter near a university because it would give him a chance to pick up some credits toward his master’s degree without being interrupted by deployment. He heard a speaker at the university who knocked him out. She was lecturing on human rights, and the second he saw her, heard her, he went into a trance. She was stunningly beautiful and brilliant. After the class broke up he approached her, stupid with lust and cunning, and said, “I’m an Army Ranger and I’ve been to most of the places you were talking about. Would you like to get a drink sometime and talk?”
She smiled and said, “What about food? Italian?”
“That would be perfect,” he said.
Their connection was instant; their chemistry was powerful. He was a goner. They even had a great deal in common, given he had spent a large amount of his time in the Middle East and that was her humanitarian focus. It was perfect and, on a university campus, just another romance. To the students and professors, there was nothing unusual about them. He could almost forget that in the world at large they might be misunderstood.
Hasnaa was a Sunni Muslim; her parents immigrated from Jordan before she was born. She was finishing her PhD in international human rights, had worked as an interpreter for the UN and been in the peace corps. She wanted to dedicate her life to alleviating human suffering and raising the stature of women wherever she could. She sometimes wore a hijab. When he met her, her head was uncovered or he wouldn’t have offered to buy her a drink. On their first date she wore her hair free. She rarely wore a black scarf when she covered up, as she favored colors, particularly pastels. She explained to him the way she grew up. Her mother taught her that the hijab symbolized modesty and respect for their religion. Hasnaa honored the religion of her family even if she didn’t practice strictly. She covered her head when she visited her parents, who lived in Los Angeles, when she worked alongside a male colleague who was Muslim, when she went to the mosque. But Hasnaa had her own interpretation of Islam, much to her parents’ dismay. She had obviously pursued her education, worked and earned money, which she kept, and she refused to have an arranged marriage. It set her at odds with her parents for years. Then she introduced them to Dakota. Her parents, remarkably, did not die on the spot, but they were less than thrilled.
The passion between them was quick and hot and Dakota was consumed by it. At first he had trouble reconciling her Western ways, especially when seeing her wear the hijab, but he soon learned Muslim women were as individual as any others. She was a brilliant feminist, of course. He warned her that her parents would not approve of him; they would naturally prefer she accept a Muslim husband. She laughed wildly at that, asking him where she was supposed to find a Muslim man who would accept her as she was, so independent and demanding.
He told her he was in love with her before two months had passed. They began to discuss the challenges they’d face as a couple and how they were willing to find a way to bridge their diverse cultures. “Will your parents accept me?” she asked him. He had laughed before telling her about his father. “He could as easily take you for Abraham Lincoln as a Muslim woman.”
Her mother could not hide that she liked Dakota, but there was no question her father did not. Nothing mattered. In his thirty years, Dakota had never felt that kind of completeness. After being together just a few months, he would have walked through fire for her.
Then there was an attack. An act of terror.
She’d been in London at a meeting and had gone to dinner with a few colleagues afterward. Their restaurant had been targeted by a lone-wolf terrorist who drove his bomb-laden vehicle over the sidewalk and into the restaurant. Eleven people died and many were injured. His beloved Hasnaa was lost.
And so was Dakota.
Hasnaa’s mother called to tell him the terrible news but he’d already heard from one of her colleagues. She was buried by her family in a sacred place and the prayers were offered in the Islamic tradition, but because Hasnaa had so many friends and colleagues who were not Muslim, her mother opened her home to them so they could gather and comfort each other.
That was the end of everything. There was no ongoing relationship or friendship with her family or her friends. He felt like he lived in a black hole, but he was back in training, then deployed, then sucked back into a world where someone in a chronic angry or dark mood didn’t stand out. He was lured back in time to his first experience in the Army, when the best thing he could do to leave the past behind was to be the best, to achieve. One day, sometimes one hour at a time, he moved on.
He’d never talked about it. There was never an opportunity to say, “I was in love with the most incredible woman and she died a violent death, and I will never be the same.”
* * *
When Sidney got home, the house was quiet except for the rhythmic purr of her brother’s snore. He sat on the end of the sofa, feet up on the ottoman, book in his lap. She smiled to herself. If she’d been paying closer attention, she would bet he hadn’t read an entire chapter in a month. But he was diligent. He kept trying. He probably got home from the bar at about eleven, took off his shoes, propped up his feet and read. He worked such long days, he never lasted long.
She touched Rob’s knee and his eyes popped open. He stared at her for a second, then he grunted and sat up straighter. “Time’s it?” he asked.
“Almost twelve.” She sat down in the chair at the end of the sofa, kicked her shoes off and put her feet up. They each had their own ottoman, like an old married couple. “Are you home early or late?”
“I came home at dinnertime for about a half hour, got the boys fed and went back to work. They went to a ball game with the Rogers boys. I knocked off at eleven to be here when they get home. Mitch is closing the bar. Trace is cleaning up.”
“If you’d told me, I could have arranged to be home for them,” she said.
“No one really has to be home for them. They know how to unlock a door and lock it up again. But I wanted to hear about the game. And...you know...be here. Late for you, isn’t it? You have a big crowd tonight?”
She shook her head. “Pretty regular. But I tricked Dakota Jones into helping out, then I had coffee and cake with him.”
Rob looked startled. “Is that so?”
“Don’t get that look,” she said. “It was just coffee. He’s been pestering me for a while now. It couldn’t hurt.”
Rob put his feet on the floor. “Sid, you don’t have to be alone forever.”
“Neither do you,” she said.
“I’m not trying to be,” he said. “I’ve had dates...”
“I think you’ve had hookups, but I make no judgment,” she said. “But dates?”
“I’m low-key about it, that’s all. I don’t want the boys to get all up in my business about lady friends. It’s not like I have a lot of spare time.”
“You’ve had dates? Actual dates?” she asked. “Like where you go out to do something, like dinner or something?”
He let his chin drop in a brief nod.
“Like who?” she asked.
He gave a helpless shrug. “That woman from the kitchen supply warehouse—Tricia. I took her out three or four times. But she made it pretty clear she was looking for something with a future. Then there’s a friend in Aurora who is the opposite. She doesn’t want a serious relationship. That’s working out a little better. It’s been ten years,” he said, speaking of his wife’s passing.
Sid’s mouth stood open. “You never once said...”
“What? That I’m ordering kitchen supplies and going out to dinner? Here’s what I say, Sid. I say where I’m headed, approximately when I’ll be back and that I’ll have my cell if anyone needs me. If it’s you or the boys, I pick up if I can. If it’s work, I might call back in ten minutes. After I listen to the message.”
“You never said you were going to see a woman!”
“Was that important?” he asked. “You’ve lived here with us for a little over a year. You’ve come a long way from that dark period. Your divorce has only been final for about a year and that was a challenge—that bastard was going to wring every last dime out of you. You were adamant that you weren’t looking for another relationship and I don’t blame you, after all you went through, though at the end you came out of that joke of a marriage with your purse. Thank God for decent judges. But you didn’t want to meet men and you refused those who showed any interest.
“My situation is completely different,” he went on. “I have a hundred reasons to be discreet. I’m a busy guy and a business owner. I have kids and I don’t particularly want someone else’s kids, too. I hate fix-ups and that’s the first thing that happens when you admit you’re open to the idea of dating. I avoid complicated women... Should I go on?”
“All this time, you’ve had a sex life,” she said.
“All this time, for the last six or eight years, I’ve had a private life that sometimes includes sex, and not nearly as often as I’d like. What does this have to do with you? Have you been avoiding the opposite sex for me?” he asked.
“Of course not,” she said. “It’s just that...the first time I accept a date for a cup of coffee, I come clean! All this time you’ve been completely normal!”
“Normal for my situation, maybe. Not optimal but all right. Tell me about Dakota? Is he a nice guy?”
“Sure,” she said. “Yes. You know he is.”
“He’s new around here but he has good connections. What made you decide to take a chance on him?”
“It was coffee. I didn’t take that much of a chance.”
“I knew we’d have to have this talk eventually. Sidney, I think it makes sense for you to be cautious and go slowly after what David did to you, but if I believed the majority of men were like him, I’d lose faith in all mankind. Just take your time. But when I think you might close yourself off from life, I could cry.”