Dino O'Leary

Three hours later, Genoma and I are in my room at the Ritz. I'm just off the phone to Thornie. Genoma stands before the window, one hand resting on the pane, the other cradling a crystal tumbler that holds two fingers of scotch nestled around three melting ice cubes.

Her shoes are lying on the floor in front of the couch. I smile at them; they seem familiar and foreign at the same time. Just like this woman in the room with me.

"He's got off-the-grid resources," I say, looking into her reflection in the window. She nods and bites her lip. "It may take a few days."

"I still don't understand how he could do this for someone he doesn't even know."

"Genoma, he's not doing it for you. He's doing it for me. Don't you have any friends who'd &ldots;" I stop as I hear what I'm saying. The truth is, if she's anything like my Gen, then I'm just beating the crap out of her while she's already down on her knees. "Some day, I'll tell you our stories. You'll see - we both got plenty, plenty reason not to trust the weasels who'd come after you based only on one vindictive person's lies."

She looks at me over her shoulder. "Did I ever say they would be lies?"

My eyes sharpen. Her chin rises. I couldn't be any more reassured by that gesture. "It's what you'll have to say. We both know that."

"I want you to hear the truth from me, Dean. It's important to me&ldots;"

"I've heard the truth, Genoma. Loud and clear, honey."

Genoma squares her shoulders, turns from the window to study me. She sips her scotch, walks around the suite's small living room before slowing sinking into an armchair. She crosses her legs and watches me watch her do that. Even now, I can only describe that move as sensual.

"Isn't it ridiculous?" She leans her head back; her eyes slide shut. "Why would I want to stay in the Air Force this badly?"

I slug down a belt of scotch and walk to window. I look my reflection in the eye before looking past it to gaze at the distant lights I know belong to the Pentagon. "You have a tough decision to make, Genoma. We both know that. If your career's viability is this fragile that one threat could make you this scared&ldots;"

"Are you trying to say I'm paranoid, Dean?"

"You got careless."

"I got human."

I swallow hard around the next sip of scotch. My throat burns with emotion I won't examine or wallow in until long after I fly home to my sanctuary. Right now, it feels utterly depraved and selfish to think of me. To comprehend the death of what I should never have brought to life.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"You gonna be okay?"

"Nothing to it."

"Please don't lie to me, Dean. You have to trust me enough to just say what you're feeling. You asked me to trust you - and look what you're doing to help me now that I did." She pauses; I glance at her reflection in the window I face. She's looking at me so intently as she says, "I've never met anyone like you. I don't quite know how to read you - and here I've placed by life in your hands."

"Not your life, Genoma. Just your career. And I'm here to tell you, some day you'll realize your career is not your life. Hate to say it, but that day's probably going to come the moment you walk away from the service."

"That's harsh."

"Well &ldots; yeah." I smile at her, hoping she can see it in my reflection as she stares at it.

"You were attracted to me. At least let's deal with that."

It's such a strange statement to cause me such a stab of guilty pain. I nod at her. "Attracted to you? Damn straight. But that's a story for another night."

"Will there be another night? I mean&ldots;"

"I know what you mean, Genoma." I turn to look at her now, lifting my glass in a toast. "Trust me, we're going to stay in touch. Through the fire and beyond, isn't that what you say?"

She blinks. "How would you know that?" Her voice is a hush.

"Like I said, it's a story for another night. Let's just get you through this danger, then we'll figure out what happens next."

"You're spooking me."

"You ain't seen nothing yet," I say, now grinning, feeling absurd. What will she think when I do tell her? When she sees the film? When I tell her my old life included another woman who looked just like her? Who was like her down to so many details? But who loved me with every cell in her body and shared every dream because she knew they were safe with me? "Look, none of that is important tonight. You want to talk to me about what you'll do if she's reported you?"

Her eyes close and her head rests back. She breathes deeply. "They'll probably let me resign after they do an investigation."

"You need an attorney. I'll get you some names of good ones."

"What if they don't let this end easy? What if they decide to make an example of me?"

"It'll be fucking ugly, Genoma. I won't lie to you. And they could do that. For starters, they'll grab your clearance. Probably start looking for other women you've been with. They'd need that to court martial you."

"But it's like you said before - they probably would prefer this be kept quiet so they don't find themselves in a scandal and all that publicity." Her eyes open; she studies the ceiling for long moments. Her voice is stronger when she says, "Maybe I should see an attorney now. Make sure I have someone on my side, just in case."

"You got me on your side, honey. And all my friends."

She sits up to look in my eyes. Slowly, she smiles. I feel my heart twist and something deep inside quivers. "You are such an intriguing man. I still can't believe this has happened - but I'm glad I met you, for sure."

"Ditto, honey. Ditto."

"If things were different&ldots;"

"But they're not." I smile at her. "Don't worry, I feel the same way."

"I'm flattered."

I stand, putting a hand out to help her to her feet. This close, I don't miss the fatigue in her eyes, the worry on the edges of her pupils, the vigilance she'll never lose if I know anything about her. "Why don't I walk you down to the lobby and bundle you into a taxi? I want you to go home, get into your favorite pajamas, climb into bed and tune everything out. Get some rest."

"I'll try."

"Genoma, go to work tomorrow like everything is normal because it is if you say it is. We'll know soon if any investigation has begun."

"What will you do?"

"I'm going to wait on my business partner to do his thing. In the meantime, I'm going to get to know your former girlfriend better."

"You won't talk to her or anything though?"

"No. Just want to scope her out. See if there's any obvious signs she's more than just miffed at you for stopping the affair or if she's making good on her threats."

As she gets her shoes on, Genoma shakes her head and says, "I still can't believe she wants to hurt me like this."

"Love makes you do things you wouldn't believe you could. And so does hatred."

At the door, Genoma pauses to wait on me to scoop up the key card. When I reach her, she suddenly envelops me in a hug. Her mouth is against my ear; her voice husky. "You are an amazing man. I never saw you coming."

She's not the only one who never saw someone coming.

When she pulls away, Genoma graces me with the second smile I've earned from her. It's also the first time I no longer fight to not see Gen standing before me.

This other woman, Genoma, grins a bit lopsided. She chucks my chin. "Who'd ever believe I could start this evening thinking you were my most dangerous enemy only to find a white knight in this horrible time? I was so ugly to you earlier - now all I want is your friendship."

"I don't take friendship lightly, Genoma."

Her face sobers. She gazes at me for a long moment. Her voice is soft, more confident than it's been in hours, as she says, "I don't either, Dean. Somehow, we just knew that about each other, didn't we? Don't you find that eerie?"

"It was karma I'd be here for you." 

And what I don't say out loud is that I'm convinced this cycle of karma began the moment my Gen reached from another existence to save my life by bringing me back after that crash that claimed Romeo. There was a reason she came to me - is this it?

I'm here to help Genoma, who's being blackmailed by her ex-lover, a young woman who knows that if the Air Force is presented the sordid evidence of her homosexuality, it will spell the end of Genoma's security clearance, not to mention her career. Genoma, who has lived in fear for two months, sure her life is about to be torn apart only for the mistake of falling out of love with a woman who'd turned vindictive. Genoma, who's almost walked off a ledge into the loss of all her life's built on. Genoma, who's taking my hand and letting me help her find a way back from the brink.

Genoma, not Gen.

Genoma, who will never be my lover.

The next morning, Thorne's voice is raspy. He's pulled an all-nighter. He's deadly serious. Did I expect he'd be any different? Like, did I think he'd be making fun of me right now when all I need is his stability?

Did I think he'd be razzing me that at the end of my rainbow I've found the woman I sought as my lover only to find out she's gay? You know, I can't think of the jokes he could make at my expense, but I know they're out there - I'm just still too numb to formulate them.

I knew, I did, that he'd be there for me. I knew he above all others would understand I'm not going to deal with some of this right now. I knew he would support my abject need to protect Genoma, to save her, to help her, to fight the world that threatens her, to dive into this role. I may be a ninja to his samurai, but even ninjas give themselves over to the cause they adopt.

"I'm emailing you the girl's background. No criminal record. Dodgy financial record, though, mate. You know what I'm saying?"

"Yeah. We have a way in."

"Dino? You need me there on this one? I can be there tonight &ldots; maybe it'd be easier on you if I took this part&ldots;"

"Appreciate it, man. I do. But this is my gig."

"Softly, mate, softly."

I chuckle in response. He laughs, a baritone lift that tells me I'm not alone.

"I shall be charm and smoothness defined, me old buddy. Trust me." I hope I sound cocky; I'd like to think I was cocky this morning, cloaked in bravado and ease. "Any early word back from over the pond on whether there's any file pulled on Genoma?"

"Not yet, mate. I'll get you word as soon as I know something."

Late that night, I sit studying the file of Genoma's ex-lover, Noel. Between what Terry was able to pull together and what I've observed first hand today, she has no obvious signs of being dirty - or, more importantly, of being an operative. You never know, I remember Terry saying that afternoon, that this couldn't have been something more than just a love affair gone sour.

Genoma's already debriefed me on my activities today. She's then given bits and pieces that will help me approach Noel tomorrow.

Now I close my eyes to visualize the encounter with Noel.

But I'm startled from my meditation by my cell phone. Gwendolyn, my physical therapist, is calling to check on me. I hear myself telling her the trip hasn't turned out like I expected. That I'll be a while longer. That I may not need therapy anymore. That I may have too busy a schedule when I get back to have time for therapy.

"Mr. O'Leary? Are you all right? You voice sounds odd&ldots;"

"It's nothing. Just work."

"No, it isn't 'just work' and I'm asking because I want only the best for you in your recovery." Gwendolyn's voice suddenly seems so close I could put my hands around it and hold on. "Remember once telling me about that sand casting you did with some artist you met on Carmel Beach?"

My eyes concentrate on the lights in the park my room faces. "I do. You said you didn't believe me. That there was no way I'd do something fru-fru like a sand casting. But you changed your tune when I brought it in to show you, didn't you?"

"I did. Indeed." Her voice is soft, musing. "Today was my morning off. I was walking on the beach. I think I saw your artist."

"Yeah?"

"I'd never seen him before and yet he says he's there all the time. It was odd, the way that happened. I was thinking about you and then I saw him working with that odd pail you talked about. I followed him to his studio. I just knew&ldots;" Now her voice trails off, as if she's not sure I want to hear this.

But I do. So much it surprises me. "You knew if you went with him, you'd make your own sand casting."

"Yeah." Breathy, expectant.

"What did you make, Wendy?"

"A Torii gate of all things."

In my mind, a rapid vision of the last real Torii gate I ever saw: the one that guarded the temple near Aomori when I'd been lost in the forest surrounding Lake Towada, searching for answers to Gen's death. The spiritual awakening, the peace - it floods over me - memories I have never had reason to share.

"Did you ever live in Japan, Wendy?"

"A long time ago. When I was a kid, my dad was stationed at a base way up north."

"Misawa?"

Her surprise leaks through in her voice. "You too? I never knew that. But how else would you know about Misawa? This is weird."

"I was only there a few months. On temporary duty."

"Maybe we were there at the same time," she says.

I chuckle and then laugh. For some reason, the absurdity amuses me. She keeps asking me what's so funny and I can only laugh. Finally, I manage to get out, "The way you said that, Wendy. You were there as a kid; I was there as an adult - and you ask if we were there at the same time? How old do you think I am?"

"Well &ldots; I guess that's &ldots; I just&ldots; Hmmm. That wasn't so smooth, was it?" Now she's chuckling.

"Here I was thinking you were flirting with me, telling me you were thinking about me this morning. You've burst my bubble, honey." I'm amused. Tickled, even. Tomorrow, I'll probably be bummed.

"Okay, now you sound like yourself, Mr. O'Leary. This makes me happy." And she does sound pleased.

"Could you just lie; a bit of salve to my ego? Pretend you were flirting with me? There's nothing like a beautiful woman flirting with me to restore me to full health."

"You know what?" For a few heartbeats, she says nothing and I hang on the line, waiting, listening, wondering. 

And I experience near life. 

Then she says, "When you come back here and finish your rehab, I'll show you my sand casting. And&ldots;"

"And?"

"And I'll tell you whether or not I was flirting with you tonight. And if I'm feeling very generous, I'll tell you about my dream last night. Japan's been on my mind, I guess. But &ldots; you featured as well."

"Hmmm." I picture Gwendolyn. The intensity of her appraisal of my healing limbs. The generosity of her smile when she celebrated my advances. She dreamed about me, about Japan. Don't read too much into it, you bastard. Don't reach anymore. Stay inside.

"Deal?"

"Well &ldots; yeah!" The lightness in my voice comes without me even realizing it'd be there. "Wendy? I'll be in touch when I'm back in town. Won't be that long, I imagine."

It takes another four days to know everything we're going to know to help Genoma make decisions. They will be hers alone; I learn much about her as she waits to say anything. In whatever incarnation, it appears Genoma will hold her own counsel until the pieces are in place.

Thornie and his resources have worked valiantly to bring her facts as well as qualified opinions. Nothing in bureaucracy works swiftly, though, and this gives the grace of time for this Air Force colonel who must weigh her professional future against her personal choices against her duty against the world meeting her unblinking gaze.

It appears the old O'Leary charm has accomplished its own headway with the ex-girlfriend. It's not without another dose of irony to consider I've employed that legendary charm on Noel, a young woman not the least interested in me as a man. While I crow to Thorn about how well I've done with Noel, Tio says I will sprain my elbow patting myself on the back.

Behind our words on this situation, we are never blind to the unspoken pathos in all of this. I put on a good face, the one I want everyone to see. Only Terry knows the breadth of the cost to my soul.

As soon as we learned through Terry's resources that, indeed, an official investigation had begun, Genoma was clear-eyed and focused. We wanted to give her options for saving her career if not her dignity. Time, though not unlimited, is just enough to give us a place to maneuver. The investigation hasn't moved much beyond taking the ex-girlfriend's statement.

My observations of Noel's financial and emotional status led to well-received overtures. In the first meeting, Noel was suspicious she was in danger. When she admitted she'd only "outed" Gen to Air Force security investigators because she knew it would destroy her career, it was as if she only then really heard herself admit what she'd done. It's one thing to be gay in the military; it's quite another for the military to have someone with that level of security clearance have a lover willing to turn her in. Sometimes, they'll look the other way; not this time.

Noel regretted what she'd done; her spite all spent by then. She was grateful for the offer to help her with financial problems. In addition to her gratitude, she turned over to me every memory card on her camera as well as the replacement for her soon-to-be-destroyed computer. We didn't pretend we were wiping out all the evidence of the affair; we just wanted to take away the easy evidence the bureaucrats would try to recover once the ex-girlfriend became a reluctant witness.

Then we planted a bit of disinformation about Noel to make her a less credible witness, should it come to that. I didn't feel a bit guilty about that because, overall, it's a winning situation for them both, if you think about it.

Noel gets a better life and revenge.

Genoma can fight the investigation better armed. It's the best shot we can give her to save her career with the military.

Still, as I sit with Genoma over a late drink in the hotel bar this night, I figure she won't ever consider this a win so much as a life lesson.

The table at which we sit has a glossy varnished wooden top. Beads of moisture from our drinks glisten atop the varnish. I watch Genoma trace her fingers through the beads, gathering them up in a pattern random to anyone but her. It makes me smile; it's a gesture so like my Gen.

I'm comforted by the similarities. The differences can throw me.

"Before I came here, I was on a mission that went sour," I tell her, surprised to hear myself; aroused at the steady tone of my own voice and the even gaze of Genoma's eyes. "I lost a man. I haven't forgiven myself."

"Did you make a mistake? Is that why he's dead?" Her voice is cool, distant. 

Is she grateful I've pulled her out of her own head by sharing something this private and troubling? "You sure know how to ask the rough questions, Genoma."

Her fingers reach out to draw the beads closer to my glass. And now she puts her hand atop mine. Her fingers are cool, damp. "Isn't that what we ask ourselves when it happens? And no one can ever answer it but us. I know just where you are right now, Dean. You can read the official report over and over - but no matter what it says, you don't believe anything but what you've written in your own mind."

Now I know why I am telling her this. I'd forgotten she'd know. Is she the only one who can help me work on this? Maybe not, but there's a method to my madness; I hadn't seen it until right here. Because if Gen had been alive, she's the one I would have used to work this out with me.

So I lean in over the table and look in Genoma's eyes so she can see what's going on. "Just before it happened, just before he died, we'd been joking around. We were jazzed to be leaving with the hostage and no blood shed, thanks to our good work &ldots; or so we thought..."

She nods and studies me. Says nothing else. Instead, raises her eyebrows, asking for more information.

So I tell her about the operation. How we'd gone to that final rendezvous, bringing the ransom that'd been agreed but with weapons hidden in the truck in case we'd needed to take it in another direction. In case we'd needed to fight for our lives. You have to be ready, I tell her. I thought we were.

Then I tell her how the guy we'd been negotiating with, the one who'd finally agreed to our terms, had done so only when we proved Amy, the hostage, was a student, not a CIA operative. That she really had been traveling on her own, like the brash young person she was. How I'd told him the reason we were there with a ransom wasn't because she was CIA but because her folks had money and had given everything they could raise to claim her back from captivity.

"Is that normal, Dean? For the negotiation to be about more than money? That it's also about respect you have to give the kidnappers?"

"Nothing's ever normal. Usually, it's just business. This time&ldots;" I stop, take a deep breath. "This time, it was business &ldots; and yet&ldots;"

She waits on me. Waits to see what clicks for me. She's patient; she's trusting me to be heading somewhere.

"They weren't happy with the ransom." I am whispering. "I was so confident &ldots; it'd been like clockwork &ldots; they'd taken the money and given us Amy &ldots; we left the rendezvous spot &ldots; the plane was waiting &ldots; Romeo's the best driver &ldots;"

"They weren't happy with the ransom? Did you know that going in?"

"Yes."

"But they agreed to it?"

I nod. My mind leaps backward. "I'm always jazzed. Always."

"On a mission, you mean? You're jazzed up on a mission? I can see that. It's your style, Dean, right? It keeps you sharp."

"I always thought so."

"But this time you wish you could look back and have proof of how serious you were instead of only remembering you were joking around with Romeo? Or you're saying you should have been more careful?"

"We were careful." I snap it out at her, insulted &ldots; and scared. "We were careful, Genoma. You have to understand what it's like&ldots;"

"An extraction of a hostage? Yeah. I don't know what that's like. I'm not sure I'd want to."

"You would be so good at it. You would be incredible. You've got instincts &ldots; the ability to lie to people you don't care about&ldots;"

She squeezes my hand. "You say the nicest things. I'm flattered."

I smile at her, letting her see I am not fooled. "You know it's true."

"My great talent as an undercover. Which I'm not anymore. Undercover, I mean. Ever since I got kicked upstairs with this promotion, I've been out of the field except to run the operatives in special circumstances." She sounds as if she's just now realized how much she misses being in the field.

"Actually, Genoma, that isn't your greatest talent undercover. It's your ability to blend into the background, to be overlooked as a threat. To get in there that deeply no one suspects you."

Genoma gazes into me, steady but ruffled. "How is it you know things like that about me, Dean? This isn't the first thing you've known that someone can't know about you unless you've been in the trenches together &ldots; and we both know it's not true in our case."

I clear my throat, shrug my shoulders, try to sound nonchalant but come out sounding patronizing. "Some day, Genoma, I have secrets to share with you. But now is not the time."

"That's a bullshit answer, Dean." She sits back, studies her glass, irritated. Then looks in my eyes as she pounces. "Amy really was CIA or some other kind of operative, I take it? And I'm guessing you passed on Big Brother's help, thinking you stood a better shot at the tack you took."

"Damn. You're good."

"You're more transparent than you realize," she says. "You also have a bit of a God complex. Not everything always works the way it should, despite all your talents. Have you other losses in operations for which you also have no resolution? Does it always bug you when you have nothing specific you can point to and know why it went wrong the way it did?"

Gen's face floats before me. Have I ever forgiven myself? I thought I had. Lately, I've been wondering. "You're thinking if Amy wasn't what I said she was and they figured it out &ldots; they came after us to teach a bigger lesson?"

"Was she?"

"I never thought she was. Not until later &ldots; I got this phone call right after I got out of the hospital..."

She studies me a bit longer. I see her eyes shift. She's been hammering at me out of annoyance at my patronizing remark about a secret I'll deem her worthy of knowing someday. Now annoyance drops away; in its place is compassion. "You haven't told anyone about this, have you? It wasn't the kidnappers you misjudged - it was the hostage. If you'd known, you would have been ready for a retaliation strike. Oh, damn, Dean. I'm sorry. That's horrible."

"I should have figured it out. There was something about her family&ldots;"

"No. They should have told you." Genoma's voice is a whisper, full of earnest cynicism. I think it's this one moment, that cynicism - it makes me understand the fullest differences between her and Gen. "Those bastards never do the bleeding. It's easy when it's someone else's man who gets hurt."

We finish our drinks in one gulp. We sit as compadres who've faced a life the other will understand. Her eyes are rimmed in red - fatigue, emotional overload she can't admit to me yet, anger at the things we've revealed to each other since we met.

"It's the weekend," I say in a while. "You got any plans tomorrow?"

"Nothing specific other than getting a hangover I have to nurse most of the day."

I grin; she smiles and even chuckles. I'm in love with the idea of knowing we'll be friends some day. "I got some killer single malt that's just so worth causing your hangover. Without being accused of sexual harassment, would you like to come up to my room for a few hours?"

"Why, Mr. O'Leary, you know I don't swing that way. You should be ashamed." She snorts her amusement and then laughs out loud at her snort.

"You know that secret you're pissed at me for holding back on? You come up with me to my room and I'll show it all to you. Think you're bold enough? Or was that all talk, Genoma?"

"You'll show it to me? Jesus, Marine. How many ways I gotta tell you I'm not that kinda girl?"

"I'm not dropping my drawers for ya, honey. I'm gonna show you a movie about my life &ldots; and it's not rated 'X,' either."

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"Like a heart attack."

"A movie about your life? Damn. This I gotta see, Dean."

"Yeah. You do."

Three weeks have passed since I left Genoma in DC. Three weeks of being back into the unholy grind of going to physical therapy three tortuous times a week followed by the sweet hands of Kathy soothing my poor muscles.

Today is graduation day at the rehab clinic.

"Wait. You're telling me all I get is this lousy t-shirt?" I ask Gwendolyn as I stand holding said shirt with the clinic's logo on the front. "Not even a diploma I can put on my dart board?"

Gwendolyn puts her hands on her hips and frowns at me. She wore a special polo shirt today; it's red. She said it was worn in my honor but hates it normally because she looks bad in anything red. I managed to resist the urge to not give voice to the obscene comeback that comment begged for.

"Mr. O'Leary, you have far more than a lousy t-shirt," she says tartly. "You have a body that works again." 

"Okay, I grant you that."

"And do you solemnly promise to continue the flexibility exercises until you're running at least two miles without losing your pace?"

"I do so solemnly swear."

"Then, Mr. O'Leary, you are officially released from rehab." The other therapists are gathered around; they give me a round of applause. Their patients are watching all this and I hope they're learning from how well I sass my therapist. Then Gwendolyn surprises me. She kisses me on the cheek. "I'm very proud of how hard you worked, Mr. O'Leary. I hope you know that."

Her words sit easily on my shoulders as I leave the rehab clinic. When I sign out at the front desk for the last time, I feel light and warm.

Before I even reach my car, my cell chatters. It's Sheila. "How was the last session?" she asks in that no-nonsense tone of hers.

"It's over now. There should be no more of that weeping from me you find so unmanly."

Sheila chuckles softly. "You asked me to call when Ms. Sullivan's flight was arranged. She'll be in San Francisco in two days. I have rooms set up for her in the guest house for this visit."

"You set her up with a real estate agent already?"

"Yes, sir. I've also arranged for the mover to be at her condo the day after she signs her exit papers from the Air Force."

"You know, Sheila, you're gonna love her."

"So you've told me - several times, in fact. Are you trying to set me up?"

"You could do much worse."

"Mr. Thorne is waiting to speak with you. Shall I transfer you?"

When Terry is on the line, he rattles through the figures dealing with Genoma becoming our latest operative, including the training we'll send her on in a few weeks to arm her with the skills we need. "Red, sometimes even you come through for the firm," he says at last. "She's a damned good find. Still find it hard to believe she's coming to work for us. You sure about this?"

"Positive." I pace around the car as I talk to him. "If for no other reason, it's the way she took seeing our film and finding out about Gen."

"She told me she'd had a strange feeling about you all along - I told her I've always had a strange feeling about you. I promised her she'd get used to it eventually."

"Something tells me the two of you are gonna gang the hell up on me."

"And you'll love it, mate." He must be smiling. He loves to imagine me tortured by something he's set up.

"It's the right thing to do for her, Terry. You know that, right?" I close my eyes and face the hazy sky. "We both know what she's going through - how it feels when you know bone-deep that the military's no longer what you thought it was - when you lose your faith in it."

His voice is deep, rough. I know he's remembering his own disillusionment - both with his military and with his former employer. "At least she got out before they fucked her over. But, mate, the fact someone as good as her felt she had to leave before she got kicked out? She deserved better."

"Open minded of you, Tio. Sometimes you still surprise me."

"I figure you'll be up here when she gets in. Let's plan to grab a drink. Surprise me by taking the shout, eh?"

I'm still in the parking lot a half hour later. I look at my watch and note the time. I suck on a breath mint. Am I nervous? Just ever so much. From my vantage point, I see the clinic's employee entrance open. I smile when I see her red polo shirt and get out of my car.

She glances around before walking toward me. I stand, feet firmly planted, and watch her approach.

For the first time in so long, I know I'm ready to admit I can be hurt again. Deep down, gut coming out of your mouth, soul-killing hurt that only comes when you open yourself up to someone else so much you love them into becoming a part of you.

It feels like scraping hard on an old scar you know you're about to cut open.

"Are those flowers for me, Dean?" Wendy asks me, a smile just for me.

"For you, I went classic: red roses." I hold them out to her; as she takes them, I put a hand on her waist to keep her steady while I kiss her cheek. "You look very pretty with that blush, by the way."

She laughs, looks me in the eye. "Oh, I can tell this is going to be an adventure getting to know you this way."

"I'm a very nice guy, Wendy. Ask anybody."

"I don't have to. I already know that," she whispers, taking my hand in hers. "Or I wouldn't have developed such a massive crush on you."

"Flattery works very well on me, I am honest enough to admit." My hand on her elbow, we walk to her car, parked a few spaces away. She'd made the mistake of telling me she would leave work early so she would have time to change into something a bit more girly for our first date, which will be lunch at a nice seafood place on Cannery Row. "I'll pick you up at your place in an hour. For now, I just wanted to start the date off right. With flowers. So you see how much I'm looking forward to being with you."

"You make me feel very special, Dean."

And she is special. I don't know how special she'll be in the grand scheme of my life, but she is the woman I am taken with right now. It's also significant that she's the one I trust enough to date at this precarious time.

I don't really know if I'll ever love again. Not in the way I loved Gen. But I'm ready to find out. It's not about saying goodbye to Gen. It's about knowing I'm finally in a place where I've forgiven myself. And I'm ready to accept that I want to love again.

Even knowing that to love the way I want means opening myself up to loss.

I've lived near death for so long.

I am ready to live again in full - even when it hurts more than I think I can bear. 

This is the route I have to take to come out the other end. To let go of what I can't change. To forgive what I wish I'd done differently. To relinquish what I'll never have again.

And to choose to a different way forward into the future.