Chapter 15: Through That Door Together
The light had gone flat by the time we came back around the block. It wasn't darker, just thinner, that late afternoon overcast that made the brick look grayer and the glass look cleaner. The cafe's open sign was still on but the clock behind the counter said 4:47. My shift had ended at three. Diane had left a note taped to the register: Locked the back, took tips to office. Take your time. - D
Ethan's duffel was still where he'd left it, just to the side of the open door, out of the foot traffic but not hidden. He stopped a foot short of the threshold and looked at it, then at me.
He didn't step forward. He kept his hands at his sides. His boots were dusty from the sidewalk.
"You need to go back in for your bag," he said. His voice was low. He cleared his throat. "May I come through the door when you do? I don't want to just walk in behind you."
I felt my breath catch. It was such a small question and it held everything. For nine months he'd moved through checkpoints and schedules that told him exactly where to stand and when. Now he was asking.
I reached for the handle. The metal was cool. I pulled the door wider and held it open with my shoulder.
"Yes," I said. "Come through with me."
He picked up the duffel in one hand and we stepped inside together. The bell over the door jingled, that same thin sound it had made this morning when I thought it would be a slow Tuesday. The heat inside was still warm from the grill, and it smelled like coffee and cleaner.
The white towel was where I'd left it, folded in a neat square on the edge of the metal counter. Not clutched, not bunched. Just folded. Diane must have straightened it, or maybe I had without remembering. It sat there like a period at the end of a sentence.
We stood at the counter where it had all frozen that morning. There was a foot of laminate between us. I could see the faint crease in his uniform where his pack had sat, the tired line under his eyes that hadn't been there when he left.
He looked at the towel, then at me, and asked, "Can I?"
I nodded before he even finished. "Yeah."
It wasn't the kind of hug they show in videos. He stepped around the end of the counter, not over it, and stopped with enough space that I had to close it. I did. I put my hands light on his back, right between his shoulder blades where the fabric was warm from the sun. He put one arm around my shoulders, careful, and his other hand still held the duffel strap so there was a little distance built in. We both breathed.
"I'm scared," I said into his shoulder. It came out quiet and fast.
"I know," he said. "Me too. I care about you, Maya. I'm not going anywhere tonight unless you ask me to."
We let go at the same time. No one had to pull away. It lasted maybe five seconds. It felt honest.
My bag was under the counter where I always left it, next to the time clock. I lifted it onto the stool and zipped it open to check my keys and phone. Ethan set his duffel down and didn't open it.
"We should call your mom together," I said. "And mine. I told them you weren't coming home for the holidays. I told them a lot of things that weren't true because it was easier than saying I was thinking about leaving."
He nodded, his jaw tight but not angry. "We'll call them together on speaker, from here or from the apartment. Whatever you want to say, I'll stand next to you while you say it."
"What about the rent?" I asked. "I was short last month. I covered with the extra shifts."
"We'll handle it tonight," he said. "I've got back pay coming. We can go by the office tomorrow morning before I report."
I looked up. "Report?"
"Fort Cavazos. I have to report back by 0800 tomorrow to clear leave and do medical." He said it plainly, no apology hidden in it. "Staff sergeant gave me forty-eight hours. I used half getting here. I have to go back, but not tonight. After that, there's post counseling. Couples. I already put our names down. If you want it."
I felt the floor steady a little under me. It wasn't a promise that everything was fixed. It was a next step I could see.
"I want it," I said. "I want that."
He exhaled, a little smile breaking through for the first time since the window. "Okay."
I folded my apron and laid it on the stool next to the towel. I didn't touch the towel again. It could stay. It didn't need to be a shield anymore.
"You ready?" he asked.
I slipped my bag over my shoulder. He lifted his duffel. I pushed the door open and held it again, this time for both of us to go out. The bell jingled once more.
May you like
Outside, the sidewalk was empty. The overcast hadn't broken. I turned the deadbolt, pulled the door until it latched, and heard the click. The sign in the window still glowed OPEN, and I reached in to flip it to CLOSED.
We stood for a second on the sidewalk with the brick at our backs and the glass door closed behind us. Then we started walking, side by side, toward the apartment and the phone calls and tomorrow morning's drive to Cavazos, his duffel between us and my bag bumping my hip, not rushing, not letting go of the choice we'd just made to go through that door together.
