The Death Date

chapter five

I slipped my hair out of its messy bun the second I removed my work apron. Shaking out my copper locks, I stashed the apron and retrieved my backpack. Phoebe, The Morning Grind's manager, stood just beyond the register, blocking my path to leave through the half door. Her thin mouth was parted, and she lifted a hand to move stray chestnut strands off her forehead. I knew she was going to demand a toll before I crossed.

"Delia, a word before you leave?"

I nodded and stepped to the side so the two of us were out of sight from customers.

"As you know, Meghan started a couple weeks ago. She'll have had her two weeks of training with me after today and is going to be starting the morning shift Friday." Phoebe leaned on one foot. "Would you be able to keep an eye on her? We're training her for bar, and since you've got the most experience with that, I figured you'd be the best fit to help her out. She's doing well and shouldn't need much help. But you know how mornings are, especially when you first start out."

"Sure, not a problem. I'd be happy to," I said. The looming thought of hearing another death date made my skin itch. I wrung my hands and then folded them at my waist. That would be Friday's problem.

"Thanks, Delia," Phoebe said. "I really appreciate it. Anyway, get out of here. Enjoy your afternoon, and I'll see you tomorrow." She stepped back towards the register, and I departed the shop.

My day on base wasn't over quite yet. Nick had texted me earlier asking if I wanted to meet him for lunch with some guys from his shop. Ordinarily, I avoided crowded spaces such as the Navy Exchange food court, but it was still early and I had met – and received the death dates for – all his coworkers. Plus, my stomach was growling something fierce.

Nick was placed at a rectangular table with a series of guys in uniform surrounding him. His hands were waving in the air and mouth moving animatedly, which matched the long-winded story I could hear as I approached. My presence received a head nod, but before I took the empty seat beside him, someone else caught my eye.

"We meet again," the grating voice said opposite me.

I halted in place, my backside hovered above the chair between Nick and the taut face of Warner. Nick was the first to break the silence.

"Oh, yeah – forgot to tell you, Delia, Warner got stationed on the Vinson. Ran into him the other day. Crazy, right? Could've gone anywhere, and both of us end up back here in San Diego."

My eyes never dropped from Warner's, which seemed to be growing harder by the second. If he wasn't going to blink, neither was I.

"Delia and I had our reunion already," Warner chided, causing my mouth to run dry.

"What?" Nick asked, flipping his attention to me. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Warner laughed darkly. "Why does Delia do anything if not for some good reason."

The comment stung as the picture book of memories split open once more. My response to the unwanted stimuli was to reduce my eyes to slits. "I forgot."

Another laugh. "Right." Warner held my gaze for a moment before leaning back in his chair. "I guess I must have blended in with all the other guys in uniform."

I sunk into the chair and glanced at Nick, who had been watching the exchange between Warner and me with a blank expression. He knew our history. In fact, he was a large part of it, and maybe this was the reason he hadn't picked up my extreme discomfort on being beset by a figure from my past. He was familiar with it, had been there when it all happened, and thus wasn't surprised by the tense exchange. The other explanation would be that he simply hadn't noticed either my discomfort or the animosity that still existed between Warner and me. I wasn't sure which option I preferred.