Free Unburying Hope by Mary Wallace

no,” she said.   “Frank is my work buddy.   We have no interest in each other, but he’s my closest
friend here.   Everyone else in our
office has been furloughed and it’s down to just us and a rotating temp
worker.”
    “Just to clarity, then,” Eddie said, his hands
clasped on the table, “you are single, not involved with anyone.”
    “Of course,” she said, her brow furrowing at
his directness.   “Not involved with
anyone.   You can meet Frank, he’s
really funny.   But I haven’t dated
anyone in months.”   She pushed a
stray hair off her cheek.   “What
about you?   Seeing anyone?   Married?”
    He cringed, then shook his head.   “Nope.   Never married.   Not seeing anyone.”
    “This feels so stilted,” she said, smiling at
the strangeness of mapping out their dating statuses.
    “In the military, I did tactical work.   It’s what I do best.   I analyze places or relationships very
quickly and I have to plot how to get through them with as little loss as
possible.”   He looked around the
restaurant and said quietly, “ten tables, 30 chairs, 26 people, 2 exits, 4
windows and a skylight.   So poorly
set up that if a bomb went off, only a dozen could get out smoothly, those
people at the 4-tops along the side wall.”
    She looked at the diners at the three tables
he pointed towards, then at the other tables around them.  
    “Two service tables set up to help the busboys
actually impede traffic, so those four 2-tops would be cut off from what looks
like an easy exit.   And I bet you
$100, none of those people have thought even once about their egress from this
place.”
    Celeste looked at the diners at the smaller
tables, including the old couple, the wife in the wheelchair haplessly unaware
of Eddie’s analysis.   “Nothing is
going to happen here,” she shooed the air with her hands.   “I’m impressed but you can let down
your guard here.”
    His face fell, but he shook his head.   He leaned over his plate, coming close
to her.   “Do you know the one thing
that quadruples your survival rate on an airplane going down, in a mountain
lion attack, or a small building bombing?”   His voice was on edge.
    “No,” she said.   As much as he was agitated, there was a slim vein of sorrow
in his demeanor and she found herself looking into his eyes.   What was his truth?   How had he survived four tours in war
zones?
    “Attention to detail.   When you walk on a plane or into a
room, note all the exits, note the obstacles, note the people around you.   Know what part of town you’re in,
notice the hills around you if you are hiking.   If you operate from knowledge, then you stand a great chance
of being the one that comes home alive.”
    She nodded and softly said, “You came home
alive.”
    His eyes wavered, his mouth shook for an
instant before he fought it back under control.   For a split second, she thought he might cry but then he sat
upright, his emotions shrouded.
    “Yes,” he said abruptly.
    They sat silently for a few minutes.   She could feel the confusion in his
posture.   There was a military
bearing that spoke wordlessly of competence, courage.   But under that cloak, there were the sorrows of a man who
had seen or done things that were unimaginable to her.   What was the cost of the expertise, the
ability to count exits?   “Well, I’m
happy that you’re here.”
    “Me too,” he replied.   He took her hands into his.
    “I feel safe,” she said, “knowing that you’ve
got those… skills,” she stumbled, choosing her words carefully.
    “Combat is a tough thing to shrug off,” he
said.   “But I did those tours so
someday I could sit in peace at a place like this with a pretty gal like
you.”   He winked at her and she
couldn’t help it, she blushed at his intent stare.
    “I’m not a real sitter, though,” he said.   “I’m not comfortable unless I’m moving.   So we can go running along the
waterfront, or I’d love