Call Me

[Cassie Granger 0]

Call Me

A Silver-Granger Log

 

It was early afternoon, gray waves lapping the west coast where hundreds of colonists had retreated for a warm Saturday. Orbiting somewhere above, veiled by daylight, the Creek silently rested, haunt of a reclusive, tinkering wizard. They had two months of leave remaining after debarking the Buffalo Gap; enough to travel to exotic places and find more exciting things to do. He could’ve spent a week or two with his brother and sister-in-law in South Dakota before reporting to his new post. But Gage gave into old habits, choosing to spend it on New Topeka’s military installation, aimlessly wandering through neighboring cities in the Creek’s unseen shadow. Reminiscing about another coast years ago: shivering at Coronado, surfing at Pacific Beach, strolling the Gaslamp, butting heads with a couple wannabes at Ruby’s on the Oceanside Pier.

 

Now he had memories of another coast to add: Crossing the line when he kissed Cass; the awkward moments after.

 

Stuffing the last of his belongings into his seabag, he knew he should’ve gone home. He’d made a mistake. He hadn’t acted on her behalf. Her traumatized mind barely held together trying to process what happened.

 

Five minutes? Ten? Half an hour? Gage wasn’t sure how long he sat on that rock, watching Cass stare at the sand until the silence became oppressive. “Look, Cass,” he said just to keep his sanity, “I like you. A lot. Tried not to, but I donno what for and not sure this is a good sign. Was sure you’d try to snap me in half.” A cynical half-chuckle escaped, then he sobered.

 

“Wasn’t thinking,” he admitted. “My transfer’s up in a few weeks. I’ll understand if you wanna avoid anything long-term.” He glanced at her for a sign, but her eyes still bored holes in the sand. “Or short-term.” Another glance and he added in one breath: “With whiskey. Or at all. Hey, Dulcinea, you want me to leave?”

 

“No,” she blurted, putting up a hand. “you don’t have to leave. It’s.... I’m.... Just gi’me a sec.” The free hand returned to brace against the rock, her expression constantly changing as she continued to stare at the sand.

 

“Don’t know what to do,” she said finally, “don’t know what to say." She looked up, giving him that puzzled look again. “I never thought....”

 

"Never thought what, Cass? That a good lookin' guy like me would wanna a girl like you?"

 

“No, sir. That anyone would. It's not even been on my radar. Ever."

 

Gage nodded. “Got a lot on your mind.” He considered her for a moment before he stood.

 

“Get better, Cass. Call me when you’re ready for that drink,” he said and strolled up the beach for the boardwalk.

 

Call never came. Maybe better that it didn’t. She didn’t need more to think about and slow her progress right now. They were both married to their careers — Cass by choice, Gage by contract. Would never have worked.

 

A knock interrupted his thoughts as Gage secured his duffle. He glanced at the door, allowing that fleeting idea that Cass was on the other side.

 

A crewman held out a slate when the door opened. “Transport’s waiting to take you to the Comanche Creek, sir.”

 

“The Creek? Why?”

 

“I don’t know, sir,” the man shrugged. “I’m just the messenger.”

 

* * * * *

 

Halfway down the corridor, sea bag in hand, Cass waited. Slate went in. Slate came out. Door closed.

 

“You said you were fighting something all the way through the course, and I get the feeling it was something besides your experience during the mission, something more personal than that.”

 

Cass liked the shrink. Didn’t like the question.

 

“Personal?”

 

“Personal. Like a relationship.” The psychologist rocked back in her chair, her hands apart, “Like an unresolved personal relationship.”

 

Cass stared at the wall. The doctor waited.

 

“Yeah,” Cass finally replied, “something I have to deal with on my own. Because it’s personal,” emphasis on the personal.

 

 

She stood in the corridor until the crewman was out of sight, then approached the door, dropped her bag, and knocked.